The Book That Is the Labyrinth That Is God
On Spinoza, Borges, and the infinite substance of all possible things Perhaps the mistake began when we imagined that the labyrinth was something through which we traveled, that there was an entrance somewhere and an exit somewhere else, that we had been placed inside a structure whose purpose was to confuse us or to test our intelligence or perhaps to punish us for some offense we had committed before we were born, and that if we were sufficiently patient, sufficiently clever, if we could remember the turns we had taken and the corridors we had abandoned, we might eventually arrive at the center where some secret had been hidden for us, or at the outer wall where the world would begin again, but this was already a misunderstanding, because there was no outer wall, and the center, if such a thing existed, was everywhere, and the corridors were not passages through space but the very substance of space, and our movements did not carry us through the labyrinth so much as they constit...