In the world we know, the only world we know, there are objective things and there are subjective things, there are experienced things and inferred things, and there are complex inter-relations between all these different modes of mattering. There is a tree and there is my seeing of the tree and your seeing of the tree and our conversation about what we each see, including each other, which conversation is an objective thing, made of words, sounds and silences, that references experienced and inferred subjective events in various ways. It is dizzying complex but it all seems to work and to be made up out of successive instants of time which are connected only by causal relations which are inexorable and wholly virtual. It seems to be an immense and stationary functioning, whether seen as a block universe, as prakriti, as brains in minds or minds in brains, or only mathematics, going on by itself; and within that totality there are certain marked subspaces which are conscious selves. These conscious selves are then entirely of the flesh of the world, and if their leading feature is taken to be intentionality this is only their sinew, entirely integral and exhausted by their special function within the whole. Every thing is included, but one, the mark, the original distinction, the necessary reference outside the system, which fails, spectacularly, but how could it have even failed, if not...