The Fifth Science

by Exurb1a

I didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of hearing it, but really I was not terribly fond of this life as a prisoner inside a head which once belonged to me. Death would be fine.

A lifetime of almosts. Almost kissing Abigail Payne only to go back inside. Almost giving his father a piece of his mind just before the old man died. Almost pursuing his true dream of becoming a railway driver, only to go into academia instead out of a stupid sense of duty.

Humans must be the only animals who build zoos for themselves.

Most humans were not malicious, only drastically misguided and desperate in their loneliness. They learned at some point that there was an eccentric core to their personality and that it was possible no one else shared their own brand of eccentricity.

They put up screens around that core to shield from embarrassment and shame.

For all the pompous forms in which writers and musicians have described it, love was surely that moment when the screens might come down in front of another human, if only for a moment, and freely give them a long, unfettered...

An intellectual values ideas above all else, and if he or she is lucky enough to stumble on what might be a genuinely new idea, that is not so dissimilar to a mountaineer striving to be the first to climb some treacherous peak.

Many were disgusted by the concept of this sort of telepathy, especially in the halls of high-empire where I found myself now, and had chosen to respond with another, less invasive method of deep communication. Sweet Jesus, history is strange. When trying to see into the future, one always forgets that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. To every discovery, a parry. For every dove, a bullet.

In all things, across all avenues, a choice must be made: whether to follow love, truth, or power. That choice will consume the chooser. If he follows only love then his wellbeing will be constantly at the mercy of another, though his highs will be sublime. If he follows truth then it will be a lonely journey, but potentially a noble one. If he should follow power though, not only will he come to know a desperate and revolting loneliness, but he will also never experience even a drop of satisfaction in anything.

How can mental subjectivity and the objective workings of the mind pair up in a scientific model? Or, how can meat give rise to feelings of things? The taste of beer or the hotness of a fire, you know?”

“We believe consciousness is a force alongside the others in nature, that it is baked into the universe rather than an emergent property. Not only does that mean it could exist on platforms other than brains and electronics, but it goes some way towards explaining what you and I are.”

This wasn't an altruistic gesture, I just didn't want that on my conscience.

Still, political systems are self-correcting. One day Pasternak would die and a more tolerant Marquis would take his place. The pendulum always returns in the opposite direction.

“All utterances are really to do with the speaker, however remote the thing they may refer to is.”

I spent the duration of the travel in longsleep of course and woke to the almost-certain knowledge that my wife was long dead. This is one way to overcome marital issues.

Youth breeds a certain self-preservation instinct. It is understood on some primal level that one's whole life is ahead, and death or disfigurement now will result in decades of life unlived.

One knows life will be over soon, that the body will revert to little more than dust and a story. Then only a story. Then an old story. Then a nothing.

I fear that on my last day, on my deathbed, that is when the meaning of things will enter the room and kiss my forehead and whisper into my ear what it was I should have done with my life, and how I should've conducted myself. Hell isn't a fire pit but a museum of regrets.

I choose to believe that souls know their way home, wherever they start their long journey from.

History is a drunk magician however, and soon a strange thing came to pass.

Suicide is not a choice, but rather a consequence of having no choices left.

This is the hallmark of a wise culture. It seeks to know the divine and the ill in equal measure and lays its head at night on neither of those pillows exclusively.

All empires have their day and all empires go nightward eventually. Man’s was no exception.

All were aware what a long and perilous road had been trudged to reach this paradise. If the fruits tasted slightly of martyrs, it is because the trees grew right on top of them.

If philosophers gave clear answers then surely the whole field would've died out with the Greeks.

It was not a war but it had the character of one in that the youth of the society returned expired or broken and the motive appeared senseless. And, also in the character of a war, no great strategy was agreed upon beforehand beyond throwing more and more lives at the thing.

“If you knew Time’s true name you would understand that it is a bread loaf already baked.”

a man can choose to follow his passions, but not choose what his passions are.

Lomese is the only language in the galaxy with seventeen versions of thank you and no imperatives. That is, it is very easy to show gratitude and almost impossible to command anyone to do anything. Instead, on Lom, one learns to put things very gently. Perhaps you could take my bags up to the room? I would love to purchase your house. Now it is time for you to fucking die, I’m afraid.

Beauty is nice and virtue is attractive, but nothing is more gorgeous than meeting another creature who shares your deepest values.

he found it amazing that she, a creature so gorgeous and perfect, would undertake tasks just as mundane in her daily life—as though realising Jesus pissed.

Let’s pause for a second and acknowledge how easy it is to love from afar. One might see this person three or four times a week, and always in situations where difficulties needn’t crop up. Since the two of you never face a challenge, it is possible to imagine the object of your affection to be free of pettiness, stupidity, self-obsession, and all the other frequent visitors to the human psyche.

Inaction is the primary refuge of those who prefer their own constructed realities to the beautiful chaos of the real world.

He couldn’t stand watching everyone’s faces go from neutral to suddenly smiling the second the camera was raised, then back to neutral again. It made him feel unwell.

“People who spend all their time taking photos will just remember taking photos. Souvenirs only make you think of buying them, don’t they.”

They don’t have two personalities, one for the house and one for the world. They’re actual.”

Better to live as a free animal than a caged woman.”

He thought she was stupid. He thought she was clever. It is always like this with idealists. One scorns their passion, all the while secretly admiring their passion.

a short man called Matthew who spoke Galactic Standard with an accent so thick it was practically pidgin.

Some traditions were steeped in politeness and folk would talk for hours only to prove that they were good people. Others were more interested in communication, and anyone who had thought the matter over for more than a minute knew that conversation and communication have very little to do with each other.

All explanations are an attempt by humankind to divide itself from the world. An explanation without including the explainer is as a tree without the trunk. One is inseparable from the other. No system of knowledge can avoid this limitation. Numbers are not the true face of measure. Words are not the true description of things. The world is the explanation.

“We all go down roads we don't intend. Those are the best journeys.

In even asking a question one affects the world. The safest course is to ask no questions that must not be asked and change nothing that does not have to be changed. The true lifeforce is inaction. The true deathforce is the will to conquer. The world is the explanation.

“All structures have a breaking point,” Perda said with a hint of melancholy. “When they grow too big, they collapse. All empires are destined to collapse. They must expand to survive and in expanding they die. Or it is a knowing limit. They discover a thing too wild to control, and in discovering the thing, they die.

A thing appeared in him, small at first. He might've called it reassurance but it wasn't that. The feeling was grey, the colour of true wisdom. Everything will go to hell, the feeling said. And that's okay.

The world was just a totality of facts. Nothing had a goodness or a badness about it. Thinking only made it so and now he saw the world clearly, just for a moment, free of the veil of judgement. It was a beige relief and a pure awareness.

“All seeds contain the tree they will become. In that seed is the limit of its growth. No amount of water or nurture or love can grow a tree taller than the seed has allowed. If it is pushed to grow taller or wider than that, then it will die slowly. It will die of itself. Most things in the universe fade this way. If a tree is to survive then it must make itself content with its height and hide. It must hide its pride and limit its curiosity, lest it birth the end of everything.”

“Empires are roses,” Perda said. “They bloom and then they die. Or they go Fifth. And they die that way too.”

Passion is the slip before the fall,

“How can you possibly expect to convince anyone of such a ridiculous notion?” “The same way anyone is convinced of ridiculous notions eventually. With sufficient evidence, with an open mind, and with an underlying appreciation of the terror of a new idea.”