Episode 15 - Intimacy as Knowledge: How Intimacy Becomes Our Knowing

Can there be an intellectual intimacy? What is intimacy we feel when we have a lovely conversation with a friend? Can intimacy be a knowledge of ourselves and the world around us?

In this episode of Inner Dialogues with Ecem, let's flip the script on intimacy. Let’s discover different and deeper layers of it.

I’m following the echoes of a recent conversation I had with a friend of mine about Virginia Woolf’s book “To the Lighthouse”.

I’m looking at the reflections of this idea “Can intimacy be a path towards knowledge?”

Can we create intimacy with our loved ones, a stranger on the street, or even our own cities?

Join me in exploring the philosophy of intimacy ✨

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Intro & Outro Music Credit: Joseph McDade - Olympus (https://josephmcdade.com/music/olympus)

References:

- “To the Lighthouse” by Virginia Woolf

“Was it wisdom? Was it knowledge? Was it, once more, the deceptiveness of beauty, so that all one’s perceptions, half-way to truth, were tangled in a golden mesh? Or did she lock up within her some secret which certainly Lily Briscoe believed people must have for the world to go on at all? Every one could not be as helter skelter, hand to mouth as she was. But if they knew, could they tell one what they knew? Sitting on the floor with her arms round Mrs. Ramsay’s knees, close as she could get, smiling to think that Mrs. Ramsay would never know the reason of that pressure, she imagined how in the chambers of the mind and heart of the woman who was, physically, touching her, were stood, like the treasures in the tombs of kings, tablets bearing sacred inscriptions, which if one could spell them out, would teach one everything, but they would never be offered openly, never made public. What art was there, known to love or cunning, by which one pressed through into those secret chambers? What device for becoming, like waters poured into one jar, inextricably the same, one with the object one adored? Could the body achieve, or the mind, subtly mingling in the intricate passages of the brain? or the heart? Could loving, as people called it, make her and Mrs. Ramsay one? for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge, she had thought, leaning her head on Mrs. Ramsay’s knee.”