ART:
The
Parent Thesis
(A Musical Composition by Bob
Hoernel)
All
Rights Reserved
Draft Only: Not for Citation
January 6, 2011
Musical Thought
When musing, I tend to look about laterally
upon fields of orientation; however I also tend to
muse upon another very different level. What makes these
levels of amusement so different is not so much a function
of their elevation or depression, as it is a function of
'finding' myself contained within an interior space, or
(by contrast) standing upon a lateral plain or exterior
surface. These two situations, and their respective modes,
are as a generation apart: the 'above deck' mode is
masculine in gender, and characterized by relations that
are seen as a planet is seen . . . in contextual relations
between particular and multiple facets, as well as their
nets of textual relations and the hard lines that
separate one 'plan' from the next. The 'below decks' mode
is feminine, and characterized by composite
relationships between contours and shapes. Although each
mode has its appeal, I would not compare the two: the
'above deck' or planetary mode is that of understanding;
the 'below deck' mode is the more comprehensive, however
comprehension requires a capacity to fit both modes
together in a cognitive process based upon fitting
placement and positioning (in a cognition that is very
similar to the fitting together of a jig-saw puzzle). I
cannot recommend that others attempt such 'musical'
thought, as (although it cannot be taught) it requires a
great deal of training. Those who would be most familiar
with it (and most likely to have some of the
necessary training) would be persons who have been to sea
in boats or in ships.
When seamen approach a port after long passages they
require a pilot (even if the crew is very familiar with
the port they seek to enter). In cabotage, when sailing
along coasts or between capes, having a pilot is not so
necessary; it is necessary after long passages because
crews (having spent so long within their ships) begin to
think in a manner that is decidedly more feminine than is
the norm for people ashore. This is as true of the skipper
as it is of any other crewman; they tend to become more
subjective and less attentive to the detailed and abstract
requirements of plotting and piloting whilst inshore. Our
normal civil, masculine and formal mode is primarily
pensive, whilst the naval, feminine and voluminous mode is
mainly cognitive (and, whilst pensive is relative to mass
and weights, cognition is based in relationships of fit .
. . and that which is, or is not, good).
Comprehension
is not figurative . . . and nor can it be
'figured out.' Neither is comprehension arcane;
in truth, it is our automatic application of the
formal and civil code that serves to hide the
fullness of all that art . . . the proverbial
'fig leaf.' There is no implication that either
mode (the pensive or the cognitive) is any
better or worse than the other; what I would
emphasize is that they are as the dynamic of
gender . . . and that to recognize either
one of the two, in isolation of the other, is
errant and misleading. Knowledge without
comprehension may produce pragmatic results and
technological marvels, however it will soon
become self-destructive. Art, however, is not
only creative: it is beatific, and generic . . .
art embraces both aspects of the dynamic. For
people, for most of us that are civil, all that
we find about, above and below us must be what
Ortega y Gasset referred to as 'identified' . .
. in order to be understood and known as things,
they must be stripped of all that they
essentially are (to become but shadows of what
they were before being 'identified').
Furthermore, this application of our
intellectual code serves to separate all things
from their substantive relationships. We are all
very familiar with this . . . indeed, so
familiar that we cease to be aware of what we
are doing (as we quickly learn to do it
automatically, as well as reflexively).
Definition, for civilized people,
has to do with arrangement (and the laws of
classification and arrangement, or taxonomy). Most of
you would be familiar with how we 'file' the various
life forms into vertebrate or non-vertebrate, and so
on (from the most general to the most specific
sub-species). We think within exclusive sets and
subsets whenever we attempt to 'put' something into a
nominated file across and a categorical rank. The rank
is categorical in that it lists things in a descending
order of importance, of power, or of scale. Our
interest here is focused upon the exclusiveness of
each specific file, and each ordering of rank: upon
the need to find a pigeon-hole for all things on the
basis of whether or not the traits or characteristics
of each 'thing' fits (with respect to all the
'pigeon-holes' constructed in accord with any scheme
of classification and taxis). Words, however, are
defined in quite another manner.
A category, in its prime sense, is as a
crowd of citizens in a marketplace or agora: that is, a
gregarious herd or gathering of others of one's own kind
(with the implication of a descending order). The way we
define words changes over time, however all words are
symbols: like names, words began as spoken symbols . . .
although symbolic of such characteristics as gender,
magnitude, valor, and value, all spoken words were sonic:
they possessed a fullness (with regard to sounded timbres,
pitches, and lengths that were both composed and
composite). Written presentations were as compositions of
musical notes represented within a graphic and taxonomic
scheme that served to literate (to flatten) each of these
'notes' into symbolic structures that were not
composite: speech came to resemble writing . . .
reflective of formal articulated constructions (and
that came to lack the beatific, rhythmic, and tonal form
of spoken words). Written words depend upon a scheme
of arrangement and of abstraction 'in order' to isolate a
'meaning' more or less consistent with that of the spoken
work. Where graphic language seeks to replicate the spoken
word we once noted it as scripture (and all writing that
did not seek this composite goal, was called description).
This is ironic in the extreme. Almost all
things came to be known and noted, reduced to flattened
informational and historical facts, until it appeared that
we knew almost everything. The more we thought we knew,
the more we came to feel a need to expose or uncover those
few 'things' that remained hidden, arcane or enshrouded.
The irony, of course, is that (in our questing for
knowledge) we have stripped the figurative bark off of
almost every tree, and peeled almost every 'apple' . . .
and, after rendering almost all 'things' pared and
particulate, we must inevitably come to find that what we
had failed to see was hidden not by some skin or cloak . .
. but by the manner in which we came to prepare
all that came to our attention. It was not our
formal systems that served to hide the essentials; it
was our failure to remember that what we saw in our
optimized and abstract vision was a function of our
having drawn them from a fuller and composite reality.
Shortly after we came to comprehend the dynamic and
organic essence of art and architecture, be began
planning and building the first city. Little doubt we
would have sought to both preserve and to secret away
the 'recipe' that enabled such productive organisms
that civil structures made possible. Critical aspects
of this 'formula' (or diminutive and formal scheme), I
would wager, were hidden as insignia . . . and
especially that of what came to be called military
(from soldiers, or people paid to become soldered or
welded into a group that would act as one). We soon
came to automatically encode and encrypt all that we
saw immediately (or on the fly), and so what we saw,
was seen within the scheme (as experiential,
informational and interpretative). Moreover, as all
that was civil came to be representative of the common
place, we soon came to forget that all became 'seen'
in the abstract context of the civil code. Having
effectively forgotten the 'recipe' as a result of
seeing all in terms of civil measures and ingredients,
we (unknowingly') ceased to comprehend that all that
was now civil and commonplace was a product
of that which we had created from the recipe.
Following the discovery of abstract and formal
articulated systems (especially those of written
language and numeration), people proceeded to
reiterate all in generative degrees. The comprehensive
relationships that had been obvious when the city was
founded, soon became compressed and expanded in
generational progressions and digressions that
rendered these earlier comprehensions as complicated
(folded over) and confused (consolidated) relativities
expressed in formal terms and symbols. There
remained a sense, however, that much of what had been
was now missing or hidden; this memory of a fuller
sense of past has come to be assessed as the Cadmean
cost.
Ever since, we have sought to find some magical 'key' to a
cryptic code that might serve to reveal all . . . to
remove the veil, shroud, or cod that contained. Of course
the code of revelation would never be found (as it was too
well hidden amongst the commonplace). The code of
civilization, of creation, of language, iteration,
abstraction and of quantitative number was none other than
the descriptive and intellectual encryption wherein we
rendered all we encountered in our environments
understandable and intelligible as known things.
Our formal and ironic systems serve to iron all that we
find about us out flat . . . to literate form into shape
(hence, we call them 'formal').
Thesis is a Greek word that originally meant a position;
what it means today is an intellectual proposition. We can
see how these meanings relate, and why when we hold up an
intellectual proposition we are positing. What we may not
see is that all that is posited 'speaks' to a realm that
possesses space (or is characteristic of what we now call
'three dimensions'); were we to locate, rather than posit,
we would be speaking of a point upon a flat plane or
surface. Before Pythagoras transformed the word
'theory' it meant simply to envision or to behold.
These definitional distinctions are very basic and
determinant with regard to all of our attempts to 'make
sense' (of ourselves and all that we find about us). I
often look within and about an intellectual 'circus' that
is quite distinct from what has come to be the norm. This
distinction has much to do with whether or not we are
thinking within the literal and contextual relations of
our formal schemes and their systems, or within a
full-bodied realm wherein things 'take up' space. From
within such a realm I can posit and think in composite
relationships (whereas from within the confines of our
formal systems, I must confine myself to thinking within a
fabric of woven relativities, and a context of shapes
without form). From my observation, our common, and almost
universal preference, is to shape our intellectual images
as framed pictures 'painted' upon the flat canvass of our
respective and collective cerebral screens. The 'frame'
about a canvass exists as a felt need to remind us of what
is 'lost' in abstraction and formal 'thingification.'
All three of our formal systems (language, logic and
mathematics) have very strict rules; when we demand a
strict interpretation of these regulatory laws, we express
the formal case in language (and when we interpret these
laws more loosely, we express the informal case). Although
we speak of perspective and composition with respect to
the canvasses we 'paint' or the images we draw upon this
medium or that, in graphic representation we often, in
effect, pretend a fullness of form: ancient Egyptians (I
would wager) did not fail to 'discover' the means by which
to express an illusion of depth in their graphic
representations (a 'discovery' of later Minoan culture) ––
they prohibited such depiction because of the danger
implied. That danger, I would suggest, was, in effect,
that of becoming caught or trapped in the nets of our own
cleverness. So long as there remained a clear
differentiation between what is observed 'in the round'
and what is formally located within a web of relativities
in graphic and intellectual representation (or notes), the
'trap' was avoidable. What I am trying to carry over
to others is the very likely probability that, if we are
'imprisoned by the chains of our thought,' it is
because we have become so ensnared. In antithesis
we, in effect, turned the thesis back upon itself in
countless iterations and reiterations . . . and came to
find ourselves (and all 'its') caught up in degrees of
confounded and complicated folds of complication and
complexity.
There are things, many and essential things, that cannot
be explained or 'known' in the sense that one might come
to know how or why a machine 'works' or fails to work.
Whosoever may be reading this would acknowledge that all
literature, fiction and non-fiction, is (of necessity)
expressed in a code: the ideas and correspondences offered
in any story (whether fictional or not) can only be shared
in a representational, graphic, explicit and abstracted
mode of exchange. Much is lost in the abstract reduction
and literate representation of observed phenomena:
whenever we note or notate something observed in our
circumstance, we compound and compress that which had been
full of form into a formal and symbolic representation (a
representation that lacks both stance and substance). We
'thingify' all that we literate and iterate. Perhaps most
importantly, we continue to pay the price for having
forgotten the essential dynamic (and confusing gender with
sex).
A very important aide to remembering and comprehending
spoken (and musical) systems of symbolic
representation exists in etymology (in the histories
of linguistic forms, or word origins). I have found
this to be very helpful, however, in tracing the
evolution of a word, one must remain mindful that
words are often derived from names (and, as with all
naming, the symbolic name seeks to 'capture' something
of an essential or distinguishing quality of
character). Words express both an aspect of logos
(or a portional and rhythmic relativity), as well
as a quality of mythos (which is to say, an
essential, if often symbolic, 'flavouring'). In
attempting to get back to the spoken word, we are also
moving back into a distinct and compositional mode: a
mode that is more akin to that associated with generic
and comprehensive relationships. This is why both
words and myth can be so helpful.
Where I have (in earlier efforts) written that life, as
civilized humans experience it, is equivalent to drama,
the characterization rests upon a similarity between
conscious life and what we might call ‘virtual’ (or
synthesized) reality. ‘Consciousness’ refers to an ability
to establish a sense of knowledge through a process of
interpretation that may be thought of as the ‘decoding’ of
information: ‘data’ must be transmitted, received, and
sorted into meaningful and intelligible relationships and
relativities (and how we sort through data in our brains
is not unlike how a computer’s processor sorts through
information). What I would stress in this procedural
capacity for interpretation, is the very essential dynamic
established between what is held within (or insulated) and
what is exterior to the ‘shell’ or hull, and kept without.
The notion of ‘houses’ (or of vessels) is representative
of what I have called the essential dynamic: of gender.
You might think of the cargo hold of a vessel as the
thesis, and the antithesis as that which the thesis is
insulated from. The synthesis, then, is thought of
as a momentary satisfaction of two differentiated
impressions or expressions. What is intellectual, I would
offer, is all that is instantly transmitted: is all that
is immediate and lacks magnitude. Bits of
information may require some tiny space in order to be
stored as bytes, however every bit possesses only a
character (and is characterized only with regard to
location). This location is non-specific: the location may
only be plotted upon a matrix (a ‘table’ of similarly
plotted relativities wherein relativities are established
on the basis of some or another graphic scheme wherein
every point of location has no magnitude, and is thought
of as a point upon a flat surface). All that we ‘make’
sense of is (or becomes what we interpret it as) but a
function of how we process such informational bits upon
the matrix of our mental panes.
This brings up what may be the most essential question of
all: is the movement from a 'full-bodied' and feminine
realm, to an abstracted schematic and formal 'virtual'
(and informational) reality? Or, is the movement from an
intellectual and virtual reality to one of composite forms
seen 'in the round'? My own sense is that perhaps the more
essential question is not one of sequence . . .
not one of 'antis' that may come before or after, but one
of complements and their reciprocation –– between
revolution and evolution (and their momentary
resolutions). That is, the relationship is, perhaps, more
properly thought of as that between a vessel's
hold, and that which forms the hold (the hull,
shell, or outline). In effect, the twin visions
are seen to be generic and general (rather than in a
specific and temporal relativity between 'befores' and
'afters'). Their complementary flips of
reciprocity may be posed within a dialectic framework
(wherein the movement is across a referential 'table or
'frame,' however is seen in complementary, rather
than in oppositional, terms). The same may be thought of
with regard to a diameter . . . rather than an
oppositional relativity, the 'flip' is as verse and
obverse (rather than verse and reverse). In other words,
we would view the transition as one of multiple
precessions (rather than as transgressions): when viewed
in the fullness of form, the movement is from one side (as
of a coin or of a cube) to that a quarter revolution
removed. Oppositional relativity is intellectually 'read'
as a movement that transgresses a line (either a
mathematical line, a line etched in the sand, or a line of
written text). The difference is between obverse and
reverse –– and the difference is of great significance
(even if the difference is not obvious from within our
formal and platitudinous constructs).
The very basis of
reasoned knowledge is syllogistic reasoning. You
would, reasonably, accept that such reasoning is
essentially intellectual. We begin with an argument
between two independent (or, mutually exclusive)
propositions and a function (that, at least
momentarily) puts the argument to rest. In
arithmetic 'terms' the argument of a syllogism is as
a number, whilst the function (that satisfies the
argument) is as the logarithm of the number (and, as
such, is a mathematical 'power' or a generational
degree of magnitude advanced or retarded from the
co-efficient number). There is always a degree or
generation between the two argumentative choices and
the function that flows between them.
Dialectics have much in common with both, however the
movement is somewhat distinct. The movement is across and
between two choices, or two elected actors (their
interests, or their agents) . . . in a sense then, it
considers the dynamics of an active system of exchange.
Dialectics would seem to focus upon the evolution and
devolution of dynamic systems, whereas the syllogism and
the synthesis are concerned with the dissipation of
tensions relating to dissimilar 'charges' (in much the
same manner in which electrical potential is temporarily
relieved of its dynamic electromotive force). A thesis, I
would posit, expresses a theme (as distinct from a scheme)
. . . a thematic capacity to behold both the
temporal, horozontal, and chronological character of
literal and linear schemes, and the durational, vertical,
and horological schemes. Although it would appear that the
horizontal would better relate to horology, the horizontal
axis is named for the manner in which units upon that axis
indicate unitary divisions of a vertical range or
tide. Where we insist upon testing a thesis with an
antithesis, and then seek to resolve the two in synthesis
we -- in effect -- insist upon a needless confusion (that
serves only to artificially reiterate the sufficient
thesis). If the thesis is thought of as articulating a
theory, than our prime sense of 'beholding' is pronounced
(in a lectural or sonic relationship) as our thesis. In
other words, a thesis must be offered through the
medium of spoken words; when written (even as
scripture) its reiteration serves to put it
in a formal context that becomes interpretative and
argumentative (consistent with syllogistic relations and
regenerations). This -- believe it or not -- is also
consistent with our oppositional convictions relating to
creation and evolution.
.
Musical Instruments
and Their Cases
Since gender is the adhesive sizing that will hold
our composition together, we should not loose sight of its
central role in all that we envelop and develop. Every
body, whether celestial or terrestrial, is corpulent and
corporeal: is as a corpus (as a cellular or insular
encased body). Both gender and relative size are a function
of some relationship that 'turns' about a core in
insular degrees of revolution and volition, and the
effective or efficient correspondent tension between that
which covers and that which is covered. This
correspondance is as a constant 'dance' of reciprocation
between our coefficient partners (that function as one).
It is this 'dancing' that is representative of unitary
systems (systems based in evolutionary and revolutionary
degrees, each of which is both generative and
generational). Integrity (for which I have always held in
great regard) is oppositional: that is, it is as an
immediate media that lacks 'cases' or enclosures of any
sort . . . is indefinite. In essence, integrity is as the
play of the genders between two extremes: that which is
situational or passive, and another that is active. There
is no expression or word for degrees of integrity: here we
have an 'either or' condition, wherein either the twins of
gender are seated together or they are not.
All words and numbers are connected to other words and
numbers: we can consider them in endless consequences,
or we can follow them back to some set of incipient
parents. Creativity is, in essence, a procession
of growth that generously evolves (if only to reach some
fullness of satisfaction before devolving). This process
is recipient –– it both evolves and devolves
simultaniously (although, in awareness, we always 'see'
it as one or the other).
There is a very thin edge between that
which is virtue, and such that is virtual; as there is
also between that which is formed, and such that is
formal. In each generation it would appear that we tend
toward one side of that edge, and in the next (or in
that prior) we tend toward the other. I would not seek
to value the one side (or the visions of the one side)
relative to that of the other . . . as without the one
there would be no other. This comprehension is not
wisdom, as it has little to do with visions or
revisions; to behold (or, for that matter, to believe)
requires a sensibility that transcends phenomena and all
that is phenomenal . . . what enables comprehension is
the whole pack of our most primal feelings, emotions,
and sensibilities (along with an integral and genuine
honesty that cannot be feigned). Faith is born of
intuition, and physical life -- nativity -- offers ample
opportunities for passion, and for the relief of such
that we passionately suffer. All accretive systems are
instrumental and arranged in some order or another,
however for every generative degree of expansion there
is also a reciprocal degree of compression. And, for
every moment of consolidation, there is a reciprocal
moment of particularization. Without passion there can
be no joy. Agony, however, eliminates all articulate
junctures. All elbows, all art, and all that art ceases
to be as such systems approach the perfection of their
terms . . . in an expression of absolute rectitude
and/or absolute circularity (as the generative members
of our 'dynamic duo' become at once consumed and
fulfilled) . . . in a return to the status quo anti
(to the chaos that both precedes and follows). Chaos may
be thought of as total confusion, or as a total and
ordered particularization; it has little to do with
order, and much to do with integrity (and the
incontinent and bi-polar 'sea,' as well as with the
consolidated cube from which all began).
The intent of dialectics is similar to that of logic, as a
mediated resolution of opposed notions is sought through
reasoned dialogue or discussion. This is best known in
western cultures through the example of Plato's Socratic
dialogues; in eastern cultures it goes further back in
time . . . to the Vedic tradition. Both the active cause
and the passive nature are thought to bring all into
existence, as both follow a universal law of nature (of
Dharma). Creation is thought of in terms of three phases
in concert: they have to do with a system of arrangement,
a force fostering ordered arrangement, and a force that
works to diminish such order (in disarray). As with
any syllogism, there is an argument and a resolution;
dialectic discussion (and thought) acknowledges the
transient nature of all such resolved, but partially
satisfied, products. All of these constructs are, it would
be agreed, formal and intellectual in nature. They
speak to such that is toric and historic in formal
relations that are formal and relative (and, essentially,
envisioned and considered related). They are relative to
such that is begotten (and, as in birth, one of those
begotten must be dismissed or disposed). Whenever we
legate any thing within such constructs, we are
bequeathing . . . saying it within the connective
relations of a constructed system. The elusive and
illustrious objective of all such syllogistic operations
is thought of as Truth or Virtue. Such an objective must
also be 'thrown out' or outward. Truth (the 'whole' truth)
is but an idealized vision of some formal purity or
perfection . . . it is as chaos, as an intuitive sense of
generic integrity.
As with the twin aspects of a poetic or musical beat, and
the dissimilar aspects of a number (or syllables of a
syllogism), when these are brought to their ultimate and
exhaustive perfection values, they express two extreme
cases: religion (the word) seeks to re-legate or
re-legislate in what is presumably a more 'perfect'
expression of these component syllables . . . and comes to
focus upon 'the word' (or the wording). The thesis
of being, however, seeks to join the embryonic aspects of
all dialectic (and all spoken dialects) into a
comprehensive and beatific symbiosis that acknowledges
both genders (and of the 'son' born able, as well as
the placental 'son' that served to insulate and protect
during the gestation of both). In effect, the one
'brother' did not slay his twin . . . the twin was
sacrificed so that the full-bodied 'son' might live
(however, if the able-bodied twin is able to truly be,
such being must include the sacrificial sibling). To live
with a 'bewareness' of this beatific and composite self,
is -- in essence -- to believe.
The
'Universal Law' (not the natural law) is thought to be
serious and serial: expressive of weights and all that is
naturally massive (of grams). This, the pensive law of
grammar, is expressive of cases that must be
'framed' or 'set up.' In a real sense, therefore, all of
our efforts aimed at revealing a 'truth' that is
expressed in the contextual relations of the subjective
and the objective (or in the sequential tenses of before
and after) are rigged and set up . . . and the
function of all syllogistic thought is seen to be
determined with respect to how we set up or set down
our argumentative 'independents.' These are factual and
virtual, however the 'objective' of religion – as well as
of science – is impossible . . . the 'veal' cannot be
revealed (and the dialectic aspects of personification
cannot be re-legated, its law legislated, or its true
relationships expressed in formal speech or thought). If
truth is, truth cannot be 'thingified' . . . and neither
may we 'find' truth through experience or through
speculative explanation or exploration. Truth cannot be
'uncovered' from thinking within such schemes that we call
formal because we see only visions that
are already exposed (and see them as naked, stripped
of stance and substance, and expressed in partial and
particular depictions . . . as sketches of
the composite relationships that were together at birth .
. . and so gestated and begotten). These visions, our
formal visions, are unitary . . . and our
collections and recollections of them are Unitarian,
however they are also formal, capital, qualified and
quantified (rigged and framed in arrangements that are not
rations of one with the others). If we fail to beware,
no amount of informed awareness will serve to render our
self-imposed complications and re-iterations
comprehensible . . . an awareness may offer us only
shadows (as thrown by some body that appears to hide this
illusive 'truth' we seek and quest for).
Instruments are, above all, instructive (especially with
regard to structural building); more informally, they
express things that assist us in the attainment of some
end. Some musical instruments are instrumental in our
efforts to make sounds, and others (such as words and
myths) are instrumental in our efforts to muse
thoughtfully. Instruments also assist us in measuring or
gauging. The most elemental of musical instruments are
those that are struck or beaten (as bells or as drums). These
help us to gauge the space between beats. Percussion
instruments (such as the sistrum and the drum) have been
with us from very early in our history, and the role that
they have played is quite more important than we might be
consider on the surface.
We tend to look upon, and think of, levels of cultural
development in association with the artifacts that
civilizations have 'left behind' . . . in a largely linear
and superficial context related to degrees of technical
sophistication. In truth, most of our modern thinking is
associated with relativities that are similarly evaluated
(and ranked with regard to practical or constructive
building). When we seek to think more deeply, soundings
(and the ability to gauge between their marked strata)
become more important than they are in our more mundane
and plenary scheme. These early instruments not only
assisted persons in their efforts to think deeply, but
also to beware. Although modern thought seeks to 'think'
in terms of great complexity and complication, our mode
remains that of our cosmetic and facial schemes of
abstraction. When we attempt to think in stratified
relations, we (in effect) simply turn our superficial
grids or nets 'on end' . . . we rotate them through a
quarter rotation. As a function of this, depth of thought
becomes relative to a multiplicity of what we have come to
call dimensions (that is, measured 'spaces' between strata
as spans). For earlier peoples, thinking 'in depth'
remained beatific and tectonic . . . they thought and they
comprehended in a manner that did not disregard or
disrespect the standing or the seating of 'things' . . .
their thought was musical.
Were every sapient and conscience being upon the face of
this globe to look about them (or upon their
circumstance), what the great majority of us would see
would be largely the produce of technical building; such
building is as the constructions and artifacts of
carpentry (technos). Our constructions have greatly
altered our circumstantial environment: what most of us
see about our respective environments is synthetic . . .
is synthesized or built up as in a series of articulated
constructions. What we see greatly influences how and
what we think, and how we think serves to largely
determine both what and how we see. We attempt to 'make
sense' of what we find about us (and of how what we find
about us 'works'). For most of us, 'life' becomes defined
amid a web of synthetic relativities that are either
reflections of our thoughtful abstract schemes, or as
shadows of our earlier and more natural surroundings: this
is what I have intended to share when I have suggested
that (for us) life has become a drama.
What has become 'real' to us is largely understood
as
essentially
factorial (and all that happens in understanding becomes
seen in the contextual and contractual relations of commercial
(and physical) factors and factories. Each scene is
experienced as a generational iteration in productions
that are staged (and evaluated in the relations of
'feedback' between the agents of the company and the
agents of an audience that no longer listens). All
commerce requires exchanges and a medium of exchange. This
'medium' (or the media upon which we store information) is
as a background or surface, and is (essentially) integral
. . . and lacks a nature of its own.
Relativity and religion are associated
with lineage and things linear; both are to be followed,
or to be retraced. Relationships, on the other hand, may
be both entered into and exited; they, as all ships, are
navicular. Early cultures sounded the depths, as well as
they sensed all that appeared upon the surface, however
they did not evaluate the two from within a single
exclusive scheme; their thought was musical (and very much
concerned with the metrics of beats). They thought more
deeply and more widely . . . within relationships
what were (in essence) spiritual. It is significant that
modern people have ceased to comprehend what it is to be a
person.
Persons comprehend, and their visions are
comprehensive. Modern people tend only to see what is
eventual in nature: we tend to see all as events are seen
(hence, all becomes eventual and unavoidable) . . . there
must always be an evening. In spite of this, we continue
to play the odds. In the historical writing of science it
has been noted (by Professor Whitehead, if I am not
mistaken) that the vision of science is quite like that of
classical drama: an event issues forth, and must
inevitably and inexorably proceed to its ultimate
conclusion (or result). There is here a confusion between
events and happenings. Events are celebrated and are
predictably anticipated; happenings, however, are more
exuberant . . . they are related to the utter (or the
'lowerings' of a cow). Happenings are what we would call
accidental or chance occurrences that are not usually
anticipated (however, they are always explicable in
retrospect . . . they and their results are never contrary
to the laws of nature).
What we fail to see is unseen in our dramas as
a function of our failure to acknowledge our stance
(as we see only our interpretative circumstance) –– all becomes constant and instant
when viewed within our superficial and connective webs of
interpretative relativities. Without taking note of the
stance, we may play with the odds (and constantly seek to
load the dice), however we will also tend to view
happenstance only with respect to what might happen
accidentally (and, thereby, to frustrate our plans . . .
as well as the continuity they, and we, tend to assume).
Gender in language is reduced to the association we equate
with drama (to exchanges between actors and those
passively seated in the audience), and, in number, the
'twins of dynamic' are seen only in terms of those
units that are active and odd, and those that appear
passive and even.
For
Our
Next
Number
.
. .
Whereas all actors perform on a stage, numbers
must be performed upon a base (that is also numbered, or
named for a number). 'One' might think in terms of laps
and gaps: numbers are 'numb' as a function of our seeing
them as pared (as distinct from paired). When we compare
one number with the next or with that which came before,
we are thinking in a partial and particulate context. When
we pare an apple, we remove its skin or peel . . . and
when we compare such cores, we 'work' numerical values
that are gaped. This is a function of what we call
quantification. When we forget what we do in
quantification, we come to view numbers in relation to
values that appear to flow seamlessly from one value to
the next (and cease to have regard for their lapped or
gaped terms). Such numbers (quantified in a manner that
neglects such laps or gaps) are seen as temporal spans
that lack a standing (as are consistent with our
abstract nets and their superficial schemes). The base is
essential, as well as determinant: what the base serves to
determine is the extent of our symbolic, parabolic, and
hyperbolic numerical and arrhythmic terms (inclusive or
their coverings).
In
musical notation we associate measures that are based upon
the duration of specific and discrete sounds. What serves
to distinguish one sound from others in a series is a
'matter' of their pitch, however what we numerate is not
these discrete notes: what we numerate is completed beats
of a designated duration. Time (in musical notation) is
relative to a signature that designates now many beats are
to be found within each measure. A conductor, whose
function is to regulate the tempo, however, governs the
effective ‘velocity’ of time. These measured beats are not
unlike days: that is, quite like the days defined in Genesis
(wherein 'the morning and the evening' constitute a day) .
. . there is a rising component and an evening component
to each beat. What each measure seeks to identify
is a term that is dependent upon how many beats
(or days) are to be held within the span of a measure: a
musical span is measured with regard to the phases of
beats that rise and fall (as tides that possess a
magnitude of duration, within a specific range). The
quantity of 'days' within each measure is a function of
how we define the durational magnitude of each whole note,
and of the tonal phases expressed by each (as well as the
conducted tempo). With regard to our analogical
relationship with days, a complete cycle, thought of as a
measure, would behold a quantity of 'meals' (or 'whole'
notes) required to precisely complete a fully phased cycle
. . . a month. As with any cyclical wave form, the metered
or metrical relationship is between a vertical amplitude
and a lateral wave length (and the term, or temporal
magnitude, of each cyclical wave) is a measure that
relates to peaks and troughs, however is guaged with
regard to the completion of a phased series (that
culminates in a reiteration that is representative of a
generative degree, or an order of magnitude). As the
notated waveform (beheld with regard to amplitude and
latitudinal length) may also be indicated or noted in a
rectified saw-toothed 'wave,' we are able to express
the same relationship with only the punctual points of
these 'teeth' in a representation of relativities.
In these formal representations, we do not 'see' in
phases: we 'see' only in contextual relativities
that relate to them . . . but are expressed in
relativities of pitch. Hence, the question: 'how are
your tents pitched?' What is lost in this shortcut is more
than the very basis of a measure: we lose also the
sense of what we are measuring or guaging.
Quantified numbers are expressions of the lengths
of chords: they are numb, and they are funny (or
funicular, rather than musical and navicular). Were 'one'
to strike one's funny bone, one would simulate what it is
to strike a vibrant chord (in 'string' theory). The
problem is, just what is it that 'one' relates to? An
arithmetic 'one' can begin to numerate just about anything
. . . even degrees of infinity, or fractional parts of
anything particular or non-particular. Perhaps that is why
numbers are so useful, as well as so misleading.
We might think of this as emblematic of chaos, or we might
think of it numerically as the saturation of a set of
three in base four.
One of the immutable laws of mathematics states that
multiplication is to addition as subtraction is to
division. Whenever we add values, we get a larger value
(and whenever we subtract one value from another, we get
either a smaller value or a negative value). Very well,
however when we multiply fractional values we always get a
lesser value (and this, it would appear, is inconsistent
with a repeated process of addition). Why the
multiplication of fractional numbers results in a value
less than that of the multiplier is a function of how we
define our units: if our unit is one discrete thing (as it
is in the realm of number above one), the resultant
product could not be less than the multiplier; yet if
(when 'dealing' with the division or multiplication of
numbers between zero and one) our unit were changed to
express the value of one as an expression of Unity (or, of
all things universal), rather than of the smallest
possible fractions or fractals of one, the currently
accepted products of any two fractional values would be as
they are. Were we to accept this, we would also have to
accept that there is a more significant separation between
numbers greater than a unit and those below (that is, the
number one would have to be seen as a 'deck' between those
values above and those below) or . . . we would
have to assume that our unit immediately becomes
expressive of unity the moment we enter the realm
expressed by values that are less than one (as
well as the observation that 'mixed' numbers are indeed
very, and inappropriately, mixed). If we are interested in
the relations between chaos and feedback (a multiplicative
and additive operation), this question of just what our
unit is representing (it would seem) is central to
whatever the application of feedback (or, the inverse of
feedback) would lead us to conclude.
Feedback is commonly thought of with respect to the
amplification of sound; the microphone 'picks up' sound at
a certain volume and amplifies it by degrees (thought of
as gain), and the amplified sound that comes out of
'speakers' is far greater in loudness or amplitude of
volume; there is, however, a threshold wherein either the
loudness of the input or the degree of amplification
transgresses the limit imposed by the threshold: the
resultant output becomes as a scream (of feedback). The
formula for feedback (that is the diminutiveformal
representation of feedback) is expressed as (x2
plus x) where x is representative of the sound 'put in,'
and x squared is representative of each degree of
amplification. The inverse of feedback would be expressed
as such that is representative of root of x, minus x. You
might want to play with different fractional valuations of
x in reverse feedback; and you may well find another
unanticipated threshold. Should you get to a value of 1/4
for x, the square root of x would be 1/2, and 1/2 minus a
quarter is a quarter . . . the series simply repeats, and
cannot digress beyond a bit or a quarter (expressed as a
fraction of a unit).
Hiding within that 'space' between one and zero is another
'whole' that is not unitary, however its magnitude is but
three quarters that of Unity. This we might remember as
integrity, however we numerically represent it as the
endlessly irrational perfection of the proportion: of pi
or of phi. How we abstract our realm, as well as how we
effectively define the 'undefined terms' of mathematics,
has a great effect upon how we come to view both integrity
and chaos.
Chaos
is the name we have given to the status quo anti:
to the status of that which both preceded and would
presumably follow our Unitarian Realm. We now think of
chaos as a state of absolute confusion (and assume that
such a state would lack order). We typically think of this
lack of order as the opposite: as a realm of perfected
order . . . and we call such a realm Cosmos. Order has to
do with taxis; with an order of arrangements, and to
ordain is to organize into a prescribed arrangement, or to
join such an arranged order. Hence, the new science of
Chaos is especially concerned with ordered arrangements
(or repeated patterns of distribution) and the lack of
such arrangements. Chaos scientists are very much
interested in the arrangement of things on the micro
level: minute fractals (on the diminutive extreme).
Whereas ancient peoples might think of pixies, these
scientists think of pixels.
I am reminded of our musical system of notation.
With respect to tones, we think of their pitch in a base
of eight . . . in generational octaves. Here we are
looking at a base of four (or a gamut of one more than
gamma). In the prime base, we have Gamma plus 'Ut'
expressed rationally as one further unit. This is
an expression equivalent to a visible spectrum of our
three basic colours: red, yellow, and blue (plus an unseen
sector represented by 'Ut.' The definitional zone is of
the utmost significance (even when unseen). I do not wish
to appear pugilistic, pungent or pugnacious, however this
has to do with boxing and boxing rings.
Here we have
a sense of perspective depth. Each successive square and
each successive circle is twice the area of that
immediately 'below' or within. The diameter of each circle
is equivalent in length to the diagonal of the square
'beneath,' and the length of a side of every square is
equivalent to the length of the diameter of every circle
beneath. The next image that comes to mind is one of
sessions of spin: each following the first is preceded by
a precession: a change of attitude, that serves to produce
another plane of spin . . . our spinning square card or
den begins to spin on a different plane, and it does this
in a series of moments.
Between each moment is a brief transitional recess (that
in which a precession 'takes place'). This progressive
process is generational, and, with the completion of each
generational series, the duration of these recesses
diminishes relative to that of each moment. In the prime
series, each of four moments is segregated by a recess
equivalent in duration to a quarter of a moment.
Rationality is maintained, as the sum of all recessive
rests is equal to an active moment. There is no division,
and each moment (whilst rendered discreet in accord with
law) is neither divorced nor cut-off from that which
preceeds or that which follows. This qualifies as an
appreciative system.
Like
our musical composition, we now have a scale . . . a
diatonic scale. If diatonic, our focus is upon the pitch
of sounds; that focus moves across 'the grain' of each
discrete tonal sound: that is, it moves in levels, whilst
the 'flow' of these discrete tones is relative to a
lateral movement (upon the various planes or levels) from
left to right or right to left. The effect is vectoral;
each tone is noted with regard to its pitch (in the same
manner in which a ladder -- also called a scale -- may be
'set' at an angle between a point upon one level and
another upon the plane or level of a different strata).
When climbing up our pitched ladder we are moving in the
direction of our vector's arrow (or, when descending, the
arrow is shifted to the level upon which our ladder is
set).
In musical notation our ladder or scale is also graduated
(and, as with the rungs of a ladder, each rung corresponds
rationally with the 'thickness' of a sound and a space
between discrete sounds). The factor that governs that
which distinguishes one sound from another is that of
pitch, and we 'read' our stepped scale with regard to its
angular set. When the vector is as a ladder laid upon a
plane, we regard that posture as flat in the absolute (and
when standing on end, we would regard it as sharp in the
extreme). There is a useful correlation to be made with
the 'sounding' of primal colours with regard to their
spectrum.
With regard to the spaces between strata (or between
rungs), the sum of the spaces between is equivalent to the
'thickness' of each distinct chromatic sound or hue. Where
gamma is three units, the tote of all the rungs is a
'further' unit. In quantification, however, the tote is as
the quant that holds all that is categorized within a
collection of discrete units. This is (literally, as well
as vertically) fundamental, critical, and basic: the base
of every scale is always as the 'sol' of the diatonic
scale . . . and the 'doe, ray, me' is as the primary
trinity contained within the 'quant' of quantification.
These phonetic elements are essential, however are also
hopelessly confused when we fail to comprehend that all
'things' quantified are unitary only when we remain
cognizant -- when we remember -- how we have
encoded or encased them. When we judge things, we
try only their cases (however, in trying them, we also
render them hollow: no matter how we decide a case, it is
always dispensed).
When you think about how much and how often we
quantify (without a comprehension of what we encode), the
ramifications are all pervasive. As expressed in Minerva's
tapestry, the colours of the rainbow are all slurred
together (one into that before and that after) . . . so
also are all of the tones of sonic vibrations. The
significant relationship is that between the
thickness of our skins, and that of the cores revealed and
appealed. What we typically do (when peeling grapefruit,
apples, tomatoes or grapes) is to put all the peals into a
bin, and keep only the cores. These we put into piles. In
quantification we take what would be in the bin (be they
the peals of apples or of oranges) and form them into one
large hide; we then gather up our pile of apple cores or
skinless oranges and put them in a sack made of our hide.
When so contained and hidden, we have quantified all of
our units (be they apples or oranges). Each apple or
orange is particular: that is, each has been either pared
or was prepared before hand. The base we count in is a
function of how many units we have pared, and one further
that is as our quant or containing bag. Where we count in
base ten, we have but nine units in the bag (and a
further unit made up of the bag). There is always
one unit less in the bag . . . and, when we add up all the
parts of our numerical 'whole' we always find that we are
one unit 'short of a quid.'
Further: when we slice and dice any of our unitary apples,
we find that the sum of all the severed parts is equal to
the 'whole' . . . that 'whole' however, is not the 'whole'
that we sliced and diced. A unit is quite distinct from an
integer. A formal and arrhythmic 'whole' is partial or
pared: it lacks insulation, and, therefore it also lacks
finite limits (or a boundary that possesses magnitude).
Cities were once envisioned within a composite and
integral theme, wherein the central core was exemplified
by a plaza or square, and every city was bounded by a
peripheral area from which bounty was taken inward.
Nowadays, cities are considered more as arithmetic units,
defined only by abstract mathematical bounds . . . and
they often grow to a point wherein one grows into the
next. They come to be seen as (it would seem) most things
in this age are seen: characterized by numerical values,
and in terms that are exclusively instant and distant . .
. 'standings' without stances, and points without
positions.
We could go on extensively, and expand upon this thesis
that I have here put and placed, however I (somehow) do
not feel that it is either necessary or appropriate to do
so. I am not so inclined. This should be sufficient,
should any of you wish to regain or remember your
composure (and your integral capacity for bewaring and
beholding). I would close with an observation that we tend
too often not to see.
There remains in this whirling world a very significant
composite residual, and especially upon the periphery and
within the central plaza. Not all is eventual, and the
serendipity of happenstance remains (to bring miraculous
smiles to our faces). There remain composed 'sons' (of
both sexes), in contrast with the multitude of suns that
are stellar. Our 'mother ship' Earth remains an artful
composition of core, crust and atmosphere. Surely there is
the light of Unitarian starts or stars to assist our
vision, however our seeing need not be so optimal as to
foreclose those visions that are complementary and
composed in radiant hues. The 'true' meaning of a miracle
is a surprise -- a happening -- that was not expected or
anticipated . . . and a good outcome that brings a smile.
'Good' is indicative of a snug fit, and of intuitional and
integral situations. Where we not to comprehend the artful
and composite nature of our surroundings, as well as the
more integral and informational dynamic of creative
gender, our lives would be quite barren (and eventually
come to turn is terms of polar extremes) . . . and so
(whilst there remains a hesitation between beats) either
we leave ourselves receptive to panic and despair, or we
come to accept all that might or might not happen, and all
that must eventuate in comprehension. For myself, I try
not to expect; I am open to all that may come along, and
content to accept such that does come along as possibly
the best of all outcomes. I might pretend to know much,
however I am sufficiently able to beware that I also know
that what is most fitting must remain unknown until each
'surprise' is beheld. If we cannot know that, what then
can we possibly know with regard to what would be good for
us collectively?
What is hallowed is as the
beaten path about a millstone. It would appear that the
grain we now grind has the quality of powder, and that the
twin stones (the top one, and that beneath) are almost
touching each other. The 'grinding' is getting
increasingly laborious, and the powder is beginning to
blow away with the winding winds. I have for some time
felt that we are again approaching a threshold . . . a
threshold that signifies more than a change in the
relative coarseness or fineness of our ground grain. And
yet, there is no advantage to be gained through preparation.
What -- I feel -- can make all the difference is a
confidence that flows from our memories (and a strength
borne, not in conception or conviction, or through
judgment, but born of our confident faith that
flows from a comprehension that fits together as do the
myriad of pieces in a jig-saw puzzle.
Where the process comes nearer to that point wherein all
the pieces are snugly and firmly put together, it becomes
increasingly easy to 'explain' the questions of 'hows' and
of 'naus' . . . and, as the surface image slowly
takes shape, those remaining pieces are more easily found.
Where all is fit snuggly 'put' together, there is no need
to judge or to demonstrate. Our faith, as well as our
confidence, is (essentially) an intuitive sense that all
will come together and ‘work out’ as it should and must .
. . and that 'the show' will always go on. Belief is
composite, and (as artists all) we should greet whatever
is before us with the composure that only comprehension is
capable of enabling . . . such genuine and authentic
smiles as we wear upon our countenance cannot be feigned.
Beyond the finality of the most minute particle, there are
mass less 'shells' . . . mere quirks that we have
given the name 'quarks.' These would be quite
indistinguishable were it not for their colours, and it is
most interesting that we can classify them only with
respect to their perspectives. They are not particulate
(and are not a part of physics . . . they are
apart from the natural discipline of physics, as
well as from what we understand as knowledge). With
regard to what matters, what has always mattered to me is
the voyages and stories of our lives. We shall always
manage to compose and create vessels with which to
navigate uncharted waters, and once again (as now) all
that will really matter is as simple as getting our
vessels to the next port. That has always been satisfying
in the fullest sense. It is, however, getting our vessel
back to her home-port that will be our most fulfilling
destination, our destiny, and a good beginning for all
future sorties.
Speaking of returns and reunion, none could be as
fulfilling as that between one's full-bodied self and
one's placental self. It is reminiscent of the time we
spent in our providential 'paradise' of gestation. The
composite pleasure of getting to 'truly' know your
composite and comprehensive self is such that it fully
restores one's composure. It is this that brings the only
smile that is fully genuine and sincere. As with any
story, the ending that becomes a new beginning must be as
a return to one's 'home port.' Once the final
passage is conducted and the voyage of both 'sons'
concluded, a 'fitting' finale (that is 'good') is fully
satisfactory. In the meantime, simply the satisfaction of
getting ourselves from one port to the next (completing
each successive passage) is extraordinary and fulfilling
enough.
José Ortega y Gasset nevergot to write his intended essay
on limitation, and nor did he manage to finally think
together the the relationship between life and reason; he
did, however, set a challenge at the end of History As A System:
He would
have seen this as his 'vital life-project,' and (as it
appeared that he would not be able to manage it fully) he
sought to (in effect) pass the firurative baton on to
another. For whatever reason, I saw fit to attempt to
'pick it up and run with it.' I know only that it felt
appropriate. He died without knowing if his efforts were
to be completed. As I near the end of my circuit, I also
wonder much the same . . . and even whether or not I will
get to 'pass it along.' But no matter . . . I have managed
to get my vessel to the next port. I -- we -- are never
sure if the harbour we sail into is our home (as the home
that we left may well have changed as we have) ___ yet we
can surely get a sense of whether or not it feels 'good'
to call it 'home.'
_________
I stress that what I have placed before you is not a gift
to be unwrapped . . . and neither is reciprocation
expected. If it should happen that others come to
comprehend as a function of this offering, I would be
quite satisfied. If that should happen, it is not to be
seen as a function of my intellect or of naus. I
have sought only to be honest with myself (with my
continent self), and all that I have managed is but a
strenuous effort to remember . . . and effort that
required decent and assent that is not dissimilar to my
moving through the companionway of Intuition (that
is, between the feminine interior and the masculine
exterior of my vessel . . . 'tween the deck that was as a
strata: betwixt the horizontal deck that pitched and
rolled, as well as between the expansive space above and
the insular space below). It did, however, require a great
deal of persistence. Now, at least, I feel that it is time
that I get on with whatever comes up or along. Do with
this as you please, however do not get yourselves all
wrapped up in the particulars.
Although we live in a natural and whirling world of forces
and mass, this is but a function of some ill-advised
recreation that served to complicate and confuse . . . an
attempted re-creation that failed to acknowledge the
essential cod or the code. The world, our universe, is one
of consolidation and dispersion. Yet one need but look above
or look below to confirm that there remain stratification
and insular cores within their peripheral hulls. For myself,
I have no argument with science (with knowledge) or with
method and ideological instruction. It is, however, its
characteristic movement toward specialization and
particularization that, ironically, leads away from our
inborn potential for comprehension. Perhaps knowledge
without comprehension is sufficient for others, however
(again, for myself) such knowledge impresses me as ingenuous
and insufficient. Perhaps I am mistaken, however I feel that
what all of us yearn for is an all-embracing comprehension
that both fits and satisfies. I am not inclined to
intervene, or to feel that I either need to or should
attempt to engineer some or another outcome . . . I feel
only (yet strongly) that I need do naught but to get to know
my character, and to play my part as faithfully as is
possible. In a sense, this is not distinct from what Joseph
Campbell left with us . . . although I, perhaps, would not
have chosen the word 'bliss.' Perhaps the result is
happenings that are happy, however 'bliss' implies an
extreme . . . a paradise. My own choice is to follow that
which intuitively fits my character, and the destination of
my voyage is the 'home' that brings fulfillment.
May your smiles be sincere and genuine.
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