Re: Groping toward the future

Judy Diamondstone (diamonju who-is-at rci.rutgers.edu)
6 Jan 1999 14:52:05 -0000

The sociality of time.... The only way we can
see past the teeny arc of our conscious gaze... the
hardened arc of a cultural horizon.... To imagine a
past that we cannot remember; to project a future that
is not an image of the collective body, not a repeat of
what has been, but a dimly seen Beyond - it's so

romantic....

STILL it is only in the sense of a collective imagining
"from some space of possibles" that no single one of us can
see that we can move proleptically toward a future.

Paraphrasing, we 'progress' along the proleptic social
adventure that is us.

Judy

At 12:04 AM 1/6/99 -0500, you wrote:
>At 9:03 PM -0500 1/5/99, Jay Lemke wrote:
>>We can even project elements for the future that are like no one's
>>memories, in part by interpolating and extrapolating from comparisons
>>within the collective memory. If we do not imagine for ourselves what has
>>already been real for another, we imagine from some space of possibles that
>>we create over such "reals".
>
>And through diversity we are offered greater possibilities, through a
>greater collective of alternative memories. New and different pasts offer
>new and different futures. Diversity, providing ensembles of experiences
>with others and their pasts, becomes a process of proleptic admixture, the
>vicarious and personal.
>
>
>Bill Barowy, Associate Professor
>Technology in Education
>Lesley College, 31 Everett Street, Cambridge, MA 02138-2790
>Phone: 617-349-8168 / Fax: 617-349-8169
>http://www.lesley.edu/faculty/wbarowy/Barowy.html
>_______________________
>"One of life's quiet excitements is to stand somewhat apart from yourself
> and watch yourself softly become the author of something beautiful."
>[Norman Maclean in "A river runs through it."]
>
>
>

Judith Diamondstone (732) 932-7496 Ext. 352
Graduate School of Education
Rutgers, the State University of New Jersey
10 Seminary Place
New Brunswick, NJ 08901-1183

Eternity is in love with the productions of time - Wm Blake