On page 214 of Graham Harman's wonderful book, Prince of Networks: Bruno Latour and Metaphysics (a book I read a week or so ago), there is this marvelous passage:
In passing, we must also reject those hasty traditional analogies that refer to death as a long peaceful sleep... Death shatters the bond between a creature’s component objects to such an extreme that its essence is shattered, as opposed to internal survivable changes such as the death of component cells. By contrast, sleep preserves the creature perfectly intact—but free for now of relation, ready for another day. The highly refreshing character of good sleep has the metaphysical significance of freeing us from the various trivial encrustations of relation in which we become enmeshed. It restored us for a time to the inner sanctum of our essence, subtracting all surface ornament. Reversing the usual association of higher organisms with greater wakefulness, it might be the case that higher entities are higher precisely through their greater capacity to sleep: ascending from insects through dolphins, humans, sages, angels, or God. If someone took the gamble of an object-oriented theology, the omniscient God of monotheism might be abandoned in favor of something resembling Cthulhu, the sleeping monstrosity of H.P. Lovecraft.
This is precisely the problem with the Christian God—he does not sleep.
Matthew 10:29 "Are not two sparrows sold for a cent? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father."He is always awake, always aware, always watching things fall, things rise, break, breath, beat, weep. Every eyelash is not missed by this God who refuses to close His own penetrating eyes and let the world be without him for a moment or two. The Christian God is the ultimate insomniac.
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The brain's tendency to occasionally blur the line between sleep and wakefulness may help explain the phenomenon of near-death experience, preliminary research suggests.
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