Some deep thinkers say that concepts have a life that is independent of a particular thought or mass of thoughts, since they are trans-individual and trans-situational. They have their ways, they say, of coding and ordering human thought/being in such a dense way that it's fair to say that, in certain moments, a concept is the major ingredient in determining an effect or series of effects. (And for other animals, too, since we are not the only forms of life that think conceptually). And, like other forms of life, concepts have vectors/tendencies/refrains which flow in the direction of their reanimation and renewal. --Think about what the concepts of Eternity and State have done to the ordering and history human life.
Let's skip right to a paradox: the concept of Death is alive. Should we foster that life? My grandfather's death -- specifically when it happened, and where I was at the time -- has had an ongoing impact on my psyche. It's affect is multiplicitous.... parts of it fill me with a sort of remorse which borders on catatonia (he was essentially my father for the first several years of my life, and I was absent for his accident and death, which were sudden); other parts give me a rich sense for character and passage/time... like when I think of the water falling at Iguazu, which is where I was on the day of his funeral.
So, for me, the problem of 'promoting Life' is poorly formed in that phraseology. --Promoting the catatonic forms of Death, which are alive, seems like a bad idea.
I think the problem gets a little clearer if we say that the imperative is to promote forms of life which increase vitality affect or play. The life which is imperative to promote is that which expands the realm of the possible, and which brings forth a greater and proliferating number of sensations. This is why I rally against monolithic models of Truth, which shut down play.
This all reminds me of an experience I had while gardening this year. My girlfriend and I planted a patch of poppies in our yard (of the mild opium-producing variety, which grow to about 5 or 6 feet in height). They're magnificent looking plants, with long arms branching out from the base, leafy greens that look like arugula, and these delicate papery pedals which unfold from a swollen pod about the size of the tip of your finger. We planted these next to some snapdragons and other little soft pedally delicacies. Now, my point: with the latter, common practice is to enjoy those first qualities/signs of spring but then quickly 'deadhead' the bloom, so that plant becomes more of a bushel which will produce more qualities/signs of spring. More blooms. More color. Then quickly deadhead those, too.... and so on. With these plants, there's been this dance with humanity... spring!; cut!; more spring!; cut!... and so on. The drama is a celebration of spring. But you can't behave this way with poppies. If you were to deadhead the bloom, then that leafy arm would not produce another. Instead -- and this is especially true if you are after the opium in the pod -- you enjoy the bloom and its passage. Once the bloom has fallen, the pod remains, like a lantern on a stick. In it, is the milky residue that contains opium. In short, it's the autumnal signs/qualities that you're after: the opium builds up with duration only. The drama is a celebration of the autumnal.
Now, all this made me realize how readily we abort autumnal qualities. We'll dig up a snapdragon the second it stops its springtime affairs, paying little or no attention to its autumnal phase.
I'm not in the business of saying whether we'd be better off enjoying the autumn phase of snapdragons, so I won't. I can't speak for "we" using these gardening materials, but I do feel empowered to speak for "we" in other scenarios. I can tell you that I've enjoyed the snapdragons' autumnal expressions.
