Book Review: Diaphany, vol. 1

Diaphany: A Journal & Nocturne, Volume One
Aaron Cheak, PhD; Sabrina Dalla Valle, MFA; Jennifer Zahrt, PhD (eds)
Rubedo Press

Aaron Cheak of Rubedo Press kindly sent me a PDF of Diaphany for the purpose of a review and after only the first few pages I knew that I would be ordering a hard copy at some point soon. Peer-reviewed philosophy journals tend, in my experience, to be two things first and foremost: somehow both dry and masturbatory at once. Diaphany is neither of these.

How did Rubedo Press and their body of academic contributors manage this? Why, they navigated through to the other side of that cramped but complex city in which many an intellectual finds himself lost years or decades after entering. No, not Pittsburgh, but good guess; I mean abstraction. Abstraction is a useful tool when trying to examine general principles, but it is altogether too easy to wander around in abstraction in search of some ever-evasive reductive truth. But the men and women who edited and contributed to Diaphany drew from that one thing which absolutely forbids abstraction: reality. I’ll let the website blurb briefly do the talking for me:

While strictly peer-reviewed, and while upholding the highest standards of academic research—including an unwavering fidelity to source materials—Diaphany is not a conventional academic journal. That is, Diaphany is not interested in so-called ‘objective’, ‘dispassionate’, or ‘impersonal’ inquiry for its own sake. Rather, Diaphany seeks philosophers tempered in the fires of genuine wisdom rather than mere information; scientists whose work emerges as much from a fervent, personal quest as it does from the perception of inexorable, impersonal realities; and artists of poēsis and presence who make the invisible visible and the eternal tangible according to a Kandinskian ‘inner necessity’ (innere Notwendigkeit).

The articles contained herein stand apart from one another in showcasing the unique experiences and thought processes of their respective authors (as well as any traditions from which those authors draw), never flattening them out into mere principles. The eminently Gebserian contribution by Aaron Cheak, “Rendering Darkness and Light Present” cannot be adequately compared to the Zen-inspired “Never Paint what Cannot be Painted” by Jason M Wirth, even less to “Exploring the Fractal Nature of Ibn ‘Arabi’s Cosmology” by Moselle N Singh—except to say that their central message is ever and always about what Craig Williams (author of Cave of the Numinous, which I previously reviewed here) calls “sacramental vision”, the increasingly direct perception of what is embodied and revealed within phenomena. Here is no Procrustean bed of esoteric religious traditions but an exploration of some of the ways in which experience of one way can deepen the experience of other ways. The diaphany of which the title speaks is therefore not an opaque vale which one must pull from the face of Isis, but a vale of gossamer which, if one looks upon it with intellectual intent and an open heart, is here opaque, there translucent, and there again entirely invisible, as the subtle currents of the atmosphere cause it to sway about in the light of the Moon. Each and ever written piece which makes up this volume shows off not the theoretical or merely metaphorical knowledge of this vale, but the loving approach to whatever of the face of Isis the Goddess Herself chooses to reveal. While the writing is therefore the thing, the supplementary or, perhaps, exemplary artwork included enhances rather than distracts from the overall impact of each article. In the piece aforementioned “Never Paint what Cannot be Painted”, for instance, the reader is treated to examples of precisely what can be painted and, blessedly, not a stroke more.

If modern philosophy is that guy at the dinner party who is somehow both boring to an almost catatonic degree and yet somehow so obnoxious as to be unavoidable, Aaron Cheak is the guy who gently directs you to the door and says, “C’mon, I know of a really laid-back after-hours place with good beer on tap and comfortable couches.” In volume one of Diaphany, he and his fellow editors and contributors kindly take us in their midst, pour us a relaxing cold one, and gather around with unforced smiles, and talk of what must be known if the world is to mean a damn.