Order (n.) is how Western science sees nature, with spontaneity screened out — which is why the West feels dismay when physics turns up a principle of uncertainty.
Order (n.) is not fixed in the world: the world is ordering itself ever more subtly by means of, and as, living organisms.
Order (n.) must not win if the game is to remain a game; as prediction rises, the game stops being worth the candle and we must hide again.
Order (n.) arrives when a net is laid over the big wiggle, cutting it into little wiggles in squares so it can at last be counted.
Order (n.) is Western man's peculiar passion: life's whole meaning lies in arranging experience, since what is ordered is predictable — a basis for safe bets.
Order (n.) is supposed, deludedly, to be held up by the categories of human thought, as if letting go of them would drop everything into chaos.