When you have a sultry egg and slice it anywhere to produce a separation or divorce, a single slice but clean through and through (crosswise or in that fashion would be two – however well-met at the intersection – two slices at cross purpose doubling the results, to the degree of an exponential insult where, between me and you, one would do) there is born three: the mother-egg (it's not a fire-hydrant no matter how you slice it) and two crescents, cross-sectioned offspring with faces whose similarity is reversed in one sense, and in any other, or by comparison, depends on how you cut the mustard or how thick you spread it.
The scalpel or demi-urge, of course, and excluding for the moment asexually reproducing organisms (we are after-all, on the topic of eggs), stands in for the father, any of which will do, but has some lingering say on matters of appearance and even more-so if motherly (or at least like a kindly uncle), but otherwise is hereafter inconsiderate to our purpose and has no further bearing on the matter unless she invites him back or at a later date another just won't do.
In cell biology, mitosis represents a discontinuity of trangendered mother-father embedded-embodied unity: With the principle of identity one divided by one is two (1/1=2) – if the second one was any other, the result would have been three. In family life, division and addition are co-equivalent, lest there comes along an unforeseen subtraction. Meiosis has no long-term disruption to continuity of the original matter/mother or big picture: 1/1=3(or more); 1+1=3(or more) and then things get sticky until it's time to start over again with a secure sense of prodigality at one end or cantankerous old age at the other.– Introductory Biology & Counter-Mathematics
(Hardcore, Brace & Bittington, ISBN: 72)
We've been well informed and should by now accept without question that humans have an innate fear of the unknown, at least until it's been accurately quantified. To be sure, the only thing less feared is death. Tomorrow, BBC Science Headline News will report the discovery of the gene responsible for manufacturing the protein actuating universal paranoia. Induction reminds us that this production must come later in development, since every newborn would expire from shock due to instantaneous saturation with unknown variables at birth, or at least shortly thereafter. Even were this debilitating tendency overcome by a more powerful defensive protein to counter the hideous effects of the natural environment impacting the senses, no child would thereafter need be punished for an over-active imagination or curiosity beyond the limits of a recursive tautology. Our own experience suggests otherwise, and inverted logic provides an alternate and more comfortable hypothesis: there may be a ubiquitous fear of a difference of opinion. It can't be a matter of resistance to ambiguity, else neuronal activity would cease and we'd all swoon at every modern inconvenience.
The one immortal truth is that nothing can be discussed without reference to something else, even if unintended: as one thing leads to another, all discourse is metaphoric, and metaphor is the juxtaposition of forms set side by side, hence comparison, hence artificial, hence natural, all at the same time and not indisposingly so. It is an a priori deduction subject to such passioned embitterment its truth-value would best be ignored.
There is a sense of security called trust essential to everyday life (very likely, to any other sort as well). One approaches a chair almost mindlessly. It's name, title and definition are irrelevant if we can set upon the sensory appearance matching up well with any relayed or recalled experience. One rarely questions it or even plans ahead so-as to be certain it will not metamorphose into a dragon's nostril and set fire to your ass. Conversely:
No matter how high and mighty the throne,
what sits on it 's the same as your own!– Chad Mitchel Trio
When you've seen one ass, you've seen 'em all, or so goes the saying in proctological circles. Inductive reasoning does not lead to knowledge but to decision, that is, action coupled to the sense of psychological security one would wish it accompanied had we only lived in Eutopia. It applies to sticking to a path as well as pealing off it. Right or wrong is inconsequential to the action taken, the criterion or hinge or justification is the sense of calm or excitement or pleasure or relief it brings – it comes bearing gifts so is considered politely correct, even when in the form of a double-dare.
Therefore, there is no immutability to be expected, movement can continue on a transitory, provisional basis, truth is excluded. Investigative consciousness only comes to play after the advance of the unexpected, like the wrong appendage protruding from one's backside. Induction has no concern with the unknown, which is to say is not otherwise curious except when a perturbation seems somehow familiar or reminiscent. The inductive facility steps to the background, incompetent regarding such matters, when the playful poetic sense is called forth if not a second opinion. Suppressing play early-on leads to both morality and political-economy, generating such encyclopædic reams of dogma as to warrant it's own name and title: Modernity. It only rhymes with Maternity like honey to an orbiting cyanide capsule, and the fruit it bears is just as deadly.
If truth exists as is colloquially expected, because each claim differs from or contradicts every other but the nepotistic (where nothing is excluded or defined away just to force an issue, which is to say, "sans politics"), then every interpretation or representation is false, in error or fuzzily indeterminate. If, on the other hand, axiomatic truth is excluded or suspended as itself a dead end, a conversation stopper, a sleep inducer or any other stoppage or provoker of war (a true answer, in its infallible finality is all of these) then each interpretation is appropriate, each performance an act and every utterance is silently preceded with an "as if" as loud as any winking eye. It should be given or even taken that it's only a pretense – education can only ever familiarize one with the current script. It's not like we should take it with us after the show.
As Proudhon once observed, there's nothing supernatural about it: the Absolute is the holy trinity in all of its three-headed aspect: religious, political and economic. The absolute extends its insatiably sticky fingers into everything. It gropes, grabs, grapples, gripes, grumbles, groans, grinds, graduates and grows, all coated with honey to both cover its ass and suck you into it like a fly to a sticky yellow no-pest strip, because the omnipotent has but one limitation: it can't reach to lick its own ass (except metaphorically) without being booed off the stage for an all-too-obvious costume malfunction. How else is it that the greater good is invariably seen walking in the company of a large evil and even a lesser evil is always the preferred champion? Well, as Baudrilard tried to reply discussing the simulacron, instead of no reality hiding behind the present situation, he might have said "there's nothing lower than the slimy truth", and more safely got away. No one likes to hear another dis their mother, not at least without sufficient pay.
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