ENTAUS

A t the end of the day (which might not be until 4:30 am, like last night—I’m a bit of a night owl and a morning bird, so I split the difference), I’m an intellectual. I am in pursuit not quite of Wisdom (I’m not stupid, I’m just post-post-modern), but of some sense of all of what nature has to offer us before we beg for that late checkout from our motel. I want to know what’s there . And here. I’ll take some hooey if it means that I get to glimpse what’s real. I don’t despise the religious and I do think we’ve come upon the beginnings of the end of science in a certain (classical) sense (and a philosophical sense, too). My eyes roll equally at the dogmatism of a physicist as they do the occultist who thinks they’ve pierced the veil of Isis and comes bearing the knowledge by acquaintance of the gnostic. In my professional writing (such as it is—I’m laughably under-accomplished by the standards of the great many gifted scholars which graced Sol’s mainstage during this two-day kickoff ev