What does it mean to neglect something? It comes from the Latin word neclegere, which
in a literal sense means not to pick something up. To not pick
something up is to leave it lying there. In the sense in which we use
"neglect" nowadays, we mean something along the lines of "to be
indifferent to," "to disregard." That which is neglected is something
that one doesn't trouble oneself with. It is not cared for. If a thing is neglected, one does not
enjoy oneself with it, nor do anything with it at all for that matter.
Considered in this literal sense, the opposite of neglecting something is picking it up and holding it. The opposite of neglect is care and present usage. We can also look at the literal etymological root of "neglect" and consider it figuratively without stretching it too far, as we often talk about holding something in one's mind, or letting it drop off. The thoughts we neglect are the thoughts we have forgotten, that have dropped off and don't come to mind.
To pick something up, (i.e. to use it,
practice it, or even occupy one's thoughts with it), one must give it
their attention, and in so doing, something else gets set aside, or even
dropped. This is because we only have so many hands to hold things with, and only so much time in the day to care for them or use them. Even someone with a hundred hands could still only hold a hundred things, and the catch is always that a hundred other things are left lying around. There is only so much time in a day before we have to sleep, and only so much space that can be used in a room before things have to get put in a closet. When we set up our spaces, we choose the things that will stay out on the tables and get dusted off now and again, and some things will wind up in the closets, gathering dust, neglected.
For the sake of this entry, I am more interested in the figurative sense of neglect. For instance, it is not uncommon for someone to say, "I have been neglecting playing this instrument." I sometimes say "I have been neglecting my writing," or more specifically, "I have been neglecting this blog post I was intending to finish." When we talk about neglecting a practice, neglect means falling out of practice, usually for a while. Maybe something we used to do every day, we now only do once a week, or once a month. Truly neglecting something would be fully forgetting it, but often we still notice the things we neglect, like the bookshelf you've been meaning to dust off for months but haven't gotten around to. Potential in something may still be noticed, yet there it lays, untouched.
Just as neglect is indifference, being fully engaged in a practice or habit is to be interested in it, caring for it in some way. But indifference doesn't have to be permanent—most of the time we can pick these things back up. Getting re-accustomed to a practice may require some time, like the fingers remembering effective placement over the holes or strings on an instrument. To be fully enjoyed, an old neglected object will likely require some dusting off. But for one who has played an instrument enough times, even if it's been a very long time, the fingers will remember where to go more easily than they would if trying something completely new. The table in a corner with some objects that have not been wiped in so long that they begin collecting dust is not as neglected as the box in the corner of the basement that may not have been picked up for years. The table is easier to dust off, but both can be dusted.
We can also talk about leaving a habit behind, which in a way is a kind of neglect. If a continued practice can become a habit, we can neglect the habit as we can neglect a practice. After all, we commonly use the phrase "I picked up this habit." Of course, some things take more will to pick up, while others are easy. Some things we
don’t see ourselves as neglecting because we think they are better off being left to lie. For example, smoking cigarettes is an easy habit to pick
up, but you never hear someone who hasn’t smoked in a while say they
have been neglecting smoking, or neglecting their cigarettes. On the other hand, going to the gym requires a lot of will to get into for most people, and people will often feel they have neglected working out if they miss a few days or a week of going. But if we can sensibly use the word "neglect" to refer to our habits, from here it’s not such a stretch to say that one who has stopped
using some addictive substance has neglected his or her appetite for
that. They have become indifferent to it—they have dropped it. In this strange way of bending the usage of a word, “neglect,”
there might be a bit of truth in saying something like that.
But again, habits are like objects—there are only so many one can hold onto at once. In picking
something up and holding on to it so as to use it and be with it, one is
always neglecting other things. In picking up a cigarette habit, I
could be neglecting looking after my lung capacity, or paying attention
to the complaints of my throat after smoking one too many. In still
smoking more, I am neglecting the ideal of being as healthy as I can be,
in favor of satisfying a certain appetite. If someone goes to the gym regularly, through the duration of being at the gym, they are passing on the chance to sit around and read or play games, or smoke cigarettes for that matter. It is interesting to take the literal sense of neglect and bend it to consider mutually exclusive concepts.
Because there is a limit to how much we can literally practice, care for, and hold on to, there is an art to deciding what will end up being neglected. Since we choose the things we hold on to and those which we neglect, there can be elegance in the way one spends one's time, in the habits one chooses to occupy oneself. It is like how when we set up a room, some things get displayed on the tables, while others get put in boxes in the closet, and the decisions as to what gets displayed and neglected make up one's style—and almost everyone who goes through this process sets up their room with their own peculiar sense of elegance. Indeed, our word "elegance" comes from the Latin word "eligere," which literally means "select with care, choose," and comes from the same root as our word "elect."
Being humans, with bodies of particular structures, it just so happens to be that we can only hold on to so many things at once. Existing in a single place in space, we can only do so much at once, And existing for a limited span of time, there is only so much in total that we can do. So it goes, and so it is not an uncommon experience for someone to reflect on the past from where they stand today and think of how much has changed, and how much may seem to have been lost. For example, someone might say, "I remember when as I child, I used to love dinosaurs and wanted to be a paleontologist. How I have neglected that passion in my adolescence and adulthood!" But this is the consequence of choosing among our limitations, and if someone could do literally everything at the same time, it would be quite impressive, and perhaps even tantamount to godhood, but it would certainly not be elegant. Perhaps that is one of the gifts of mortality and limitation—it necessitates the potential for elegance.
As we can talk about neglecting habits and practices, we can also talk about neglecting certain thoughts, and certain frames of consciousness. In every moment we live, we are thinking one thought or another. How often do you repeat the same thought throughout the day—day in and day out? (Bearing in mind the uniqueness of every given moment in which we exist, is it ever really the same thought?) If we think in phrases and words, those words can be repeated an immense amount of times throughout the day. If we think in images, those images can be envisioned repeatedly. "I am going to do this tomorrow." How many days will someone think this thought before they actually find themself doing the thing they thought about doing?
We can think about this in terms of our values as well—the habits and practices we value, and the thoughts and images we value. To return to the example given above, the choice between spending the night reading and smoking cigarettes, or spending the night at the gym, can also be thought of as a choice between the values of pleasurable relaxation or healthy physical activity. One cannot always satisfy both values simultaneously. Moving to a new pattern of valuation is leaving behind the old one. But it is always there waiting in the corner for you to return to it and pick it up again. Maybe, as some people hold on to smoking in lieu of healthier habits, some people hold on to thinking self-destructive and sabotaging thoughts in lieu of helpful and encouraging thoughts. It is true that the mind has a much greater capacity for holding on to various thoughts than hands do for holding on to various things. We only have two hands, but the mind can juggle an uncountable number of thoughts in a very short span of time—but this time is still limited.
In the space of a moment, there is only one thought that can be thought at that given time—but a short span of time can be divided into nearly infinite moments. How do we hold and care for ourselves, and what thought-patterns do we hold on to? Moment after moment passes, and maybe those productive, encouraging thoughts have been neglected, as a series of moments became a very long time. That which is neglected and tarnished, we can pick up and polish, and we can see it in a new way after it has been left for so long. Just like someone can start playing an instrument well that they once played, even if it has been neglected for a long time, and begin to make beautiful music again, so can we start thinking those helpful thoughts that bring us to the places we want to be, becoming the beautiful selves we have always had the potential of being. You can pick something up that is brand new. Can you pick something up that is old and look at it in a brand new way? Maybe you neglected it for so long, it began collecting dust. But that better version of yourself is waiting in the corner, ready to be uncovered, polished off, picked up, given a little bit of care, and held again.
Wednesday, May 1, 2019
Sunday, March 24, 2019
A Practical Method of Applied Semiotics
"This species-specific primary modeling device, also called language, endows human beings (differently from other animals) with the special capacity to produce a great plurality of different worlds, real and imaginary. This means that human beings are not condemned to remain imprisoned in the world as it is, to forms of vulgar realism." (Susan Petrelli, Semioethics, subjectivity and communication. For the humanism of otherness, 20)
Ethics is the type of philosophy we are doing when we try to figure out what is right and wrong. Put succinctly, Ethics is figuring out how to act, and why. The semiotic endeavor wherein we seek to understand what we mean when we talk about doing the right thing is known as semioethics. To paraphrase the words of Petrelli, semioethics lies at the intersection of semiotics, ethics, and pragmatism. My work in developing a practical theory of semioethics has turned into something I call Applied Semiotics. The reason why I consider what I am proposing here to be a method of semioethics is because it is intended to be not just an aid in contemplation, but to be a process that sets us up for effective action, or at least allows us a space to evaluate our past actions. In other words, it is meant to be a practical and accessible application of semiotic thinking.
In doing a brief internet search, I have found others who do something or another they call "Applied Semiotics," but none of them seem to be exactly the same as what I am doing here, and I have not based this approach on any of these other things those people have been doing.
Some of these writers apply semiotics to "branding" and business applications, which could not be farther from what I am doing. Some journals are literally applying Semiotics across academic disciplines, and for that reason could be a bit inaccessible to those not disposed to academic discourse. These journals seem to present respectable bodies of work in themselves, but don't appear to be relevant to what I'm doing here in any explicit way. Distinct from these other writers, what I am doing in the system of Applied Semiotics I propose is attempting to apply semiotic thinking to experiences we undergo in our day-to-day lives, both on a personal basis and a basis of social interactions. I have experimented with this in my own day-to-day conversations and reflecting, and what I provide here is a general outline to help guide myself and others, particularly in a workshop setting. It is not a strict method to be followed verbatim, but rather a general guideline which welcomes deviations and ingenuity. I may revise this in the future, but I can say at this time that it is now in a state that I am comfortable publishing.
The only prerequisites that any person needs to be able to engage in this method are sincerity, patience, and a willingness to participate.
I am going to test this approach in my next few workshops and see how it works out. This outline is intended to be easily exercised by anyone in any conversation or personal contemplation, and the goal of this method is twofold:
A) So we can enrich our experience of meaning and thus understand ourselves and one another to our utmost capacity, allowing us to think and act more effectively.
B) So we can resolve conflict in a manner that does not just leave one winner and one loser, but rather in a way that leads us to a more complete understanding, where we come to a resolution that benefits everyone by stimulating us to become more conscious and thus more connected, by which means we evolve together.
The Method
I have outlined this method in four steps. I stopped at four because I found that to be the minimum amount of distinct steps to completely cover what I hope for us to be able to accomplish, while being a small enough number to stay simple and easy to remember:
1. Signs - What is the literal meaning? What is the meaning intended by the speaker? (Typically these will be words, as this takes place as a conversation. However we can consider other forms of signification as well.)
I didn't initially intend to categorize the steps in this kind of diagram, but as I was evaluating them, I noticed that they ended up fitting into this format quite naturally. 1 and 3 I consider internal because they are oriented towards individual reflection. They don't need to be exclusively personal, but they can be easily conducted without the aid of a conversation partner. On the other hand, 2 and 4 I call external because they are oriented towards a conversation with one or more people, even though it is not impossible to do them by oneself. While these do break down nicely into quadrants, I keep the numbering in this diagram because this method is intended to be followed step-by-step, with step 4 being the ideal situation we can arrive at, as it is the point at which we shift to a creative mindset where everyone is engaged. That collaborative fourth step serves as a springboard for us to begin taking action.
In individual self-reflection and mental health, 1 has the most bearing because the thinker is reflecting on their words and what they mean to themselves. Are meanings being used in the way they are most commonly used, or do words take on a new and unique meaning based on specific associations and experiences?
In one-on-one relationships, 2 has the most bearing because we strive to understand one another so that we may better relate. It is amazing what happens when we simply intend to understand each other before intending to do anything else.
When planning on an individual basis, 3 has the most bearing because we seek to consider the way we are affecting the world through what we are attempting. It is always worth taking a pause and asking ourselves if we have the complete picture, or only part of a bigger picture.
In social applications, 4 has the most bearing, because a social context is always about what we do together. 4 is the point at which, having come to our fullest understanding through the previous three steps, we can bring things back together. It is, in essence, synergy, conducted in a semiotic mindset.
Regardless of the situation where one may apply this method, it is possible to engage in all four steps. When I first came up with this outline, I was envisioning how I might conduct a workshop that is interactive for a sizeable group of people. I think this method is really intended for use in a conversation between at least two people. That being said, any one person might find some usefulness in conducting a cognitive exercise where they imagine a discourse with someone who has totally different views—though in doing so, one may be limited by one's own imagination.
Breaking it Down
Even if we cannot come to agree on the exact same values, (nor should we necessarily aim to do so, as our individual perspectives each offer something unique and valuable to this shared experience), we can, through some careful listening and directed effort, get a good sense of where our values can intersect. I think a good analogy for this method would be singing in a choir, or playing in a band. I'll stick with the choir analogy because a conversation involves people's voices: A choir is not comprised of everyone singing in unison, singing the exact same notes at the exact same tempo—if it were, it would be rather dull and uninteresting. What makes a good chorus so beautiful is the way that people sing various different parts, different notes, and different tempos, all harmoniously intersecting in a way that makes the whole even more beautiful than each individual part. Some people may indeed be singing the same part, so unison is not entirely out of the question for some period of time, but even for these parts, each singer sings it with their individual voice, style, and volume. In a choir, we tune ourselves and pay attention to if we are singing more or less quietly or loudly, each of us making concessions to not sing at our loudest and proudest, instead carefully listening to each other with an ear to the overarching beauty of the whole.
When we carefully listen to each other and come to be conscious of how we each interpret our experiences, the possibilities expand substantially. New solutions can come to mind that nobody would have been able to think of on their own. Rather than striving for a groupthink or herd mentality, this approach allows each person to hold to their individual values and needs, making it a fitting template for a discourse that acknowledges (and perhaps even thrives on) intersectionality.
Resolve (as a verb) is a word that means "settle or find a solution to." If we look at the etymology of the word, we see it comes from the Latin word "resolvere," which meant "to loosen, loose, unyoke,", "to set free," "to relax," and in some contexts "to dispel." (Looking at it in terms of semiotics, one might say we unyoke the yoking our concepts have imposed upon us. One might also say we dispel the spells our words have cast over us.) The sense of "to loosen" and "to cut apart" can be traced back to the Proto-Indo-European root "*leu-". Interestingly, our modern word "analysis" can also be traced back to this ancient linguistic root.
To use another analogy, consider a context to be a tapestry, i.e. an assembly of threads, with the threads being the meaningful aspects or signs that comprise the whole meaningfulness of a situation, which would be the tapestry. (I did not come up with this myself, as the etymology of the word "context" shows us that it originally came from roots "con-" and "*teks" which literally say "to weave together."). When we seek a resolution to a problematic situation, we are all coming into the conversation with our own contexts, and the situation as a whole has its context. Resolving that situation is like unwinding a beautiful and intricate textile so that we can see the individual threads that comprise it. When we can see the colors and textures of each of the threads, and get a sense of how they got into the shape they were in before we unwound them, we can do so much more than if we were just trying to sew these already-wound tapestries together. Instead of being tightly bound up, we relax and see each other for who we really are.
This may be an imperfect analogy, but the point is that we often come into situations of conflict, both internal and external, with a lot of wound up meanings and implications, and we don't always give ourselves a chance to communicate these meanings and implications to one another. Often, an individual may not fully understand the meanings that came together to make the experience one finds oneself in. If this method does anything, it sets us in a frame of mind where we take the time to sit down together and come to understand ourselves, each other and the full situation to the utmost of our abilities, and thus increase our capability to create a better situation—one that takes into account each person's perspective and circumstance.
Ethics is the type of philosophy we are doing when we try to figure out what is right and wrong. Put succinctly, Ethics is figuring out how to act, and why. The semiotic endeavor wherein we seek to understand what we mean when we talk about doing the right thing is known as semioethics. To paraphrase the words of Petrelli, semioethics lies at the intersection of semiotics, ethics, and pragmatism. My work in developing a practical theory of semioethics has turned into something I call Applied Semiotics. The reason why I consider what I am proposing here to be a method of semioethics is because it is intended to be not just an aid in contemplation, but to be a process that sets us up for effective action, or at least allows us a space to evaluate our past actions. In other words, it is meant to be a practical and accessible application of semiotic thinking.
In doing a brief internet search, I have found others who do something or another they call "Applied Semiotics," but none of them seem to be exactly the same as what I am doing here, and I have not based this approach on any of these other things those people have been doing.
Some of these writers apply semiotics to "branding" and business applications, which could not be farther from what I am doing. Some journals are literally applying Semiotics across academic disciplines, and for that reason could be a bit inaccessible to those not disposed to academic discourse. These journals seem to present respectable bodies of work in themselves, but don't appear to be relevant to what I'm doing here in any explicit way. Distinct from these other writers, what I am doing in the system of Applied Semiotics I propose is attempting to apply semiotic thinking to experiences we undergo in our day-to-day lives, both on a personal basis and a basis of social interactions. I have experimented with this in my own day-to-day conversations and reflecting, and what I provide here is a general outline to help guide myself and others, particularly in a workshop setting. It is not a strict method to be followed verbatim, but rather a general guideline which welcomes deviations and ingenuity. I may revise this in the future, but I can say at this time that it is now in a state that I am comfortable publishing.
The only prerequisites that any person needs to be able to engage in this method are sincerity, patience, and a willingness to participate.
I am going to test this approach in my next few workshops and see how it works out. This outline is intended to be easily exercised by anyone in any conversation or personal contemplation, and the goal of this method is twofold:
A) So we can enrich our experience of meaning and thus understand ourselves and one another to our utmost capacity, allowing us to think and act more effectively.
B) So we can resolve conflict in a manner that does not just leave one winner and one loser, but rather in a way that leads us to a more complete understanding, where we come to a resolution that benefits everyone by stimulating us to become more conscious and thus more connected, by which means we evolve together.
The Method
I have outlined this method in four steps. I stopped at four because I found that to be the minimum amount of distinct steps to completely cover what I hope for us to be able to accomplish, while being a small enough number to stay simple and easy to remember:
1. Signs - What is the literal meaning? What is the meaning intended by the speaker? (Typically these will be words, as this takes place as a conversation. However we can consider other forms of signification as well.)
- Domain: Internal/Personal - Understanding
- Aided by: Etymology, denotation, current accepted usage, personal meanings to the speaker.
- Domain: External/Mutual - Understanding
- Aided by: Considering other's perspective, asking questions to learn of other's experience, imagining seeing through the other's eyes.
- Domain: Internal/Personal - Assessing Implications
- Aided by: Listing consequences, considering implications, reviewing motives.
- Domain: External/Mutual - Assessing Implications
- Aided by: Elaborating and sharing visions/ideals, creativity and building solutions, identifying where our ethics and motives intersect.
I didn't initially intend to categorize the steps in this kind of diagram, but as I was evaluating them, I noticed that they ended up fitting into this format quite naturally. 1 and 3 I consider internal because they are oriented towards individual reflection. They don't need to be exclusively personal, but they can be easily conducted without the aid of a conversation partner. On the other hand, 2 and 4 I call external because they are oriented towards a conversation with one or more people, even though it is not impossible to do them by oneself. While these do break down nicely into quadrants, I keep the numbering in this diagram because this method is intended to be followed step-by-step, with step 4 being the ideal situation we can arrive at, as it is the point at which we shift to a creative mindset where everyone is engaged. That collaborative fourth step serves as a springboard for us to begin taking action.
In individual self-reflection and mental health, 1 has the most bearing because the thinker is reflecting on their words and what they mean to themselves. Are meanings being used in the way they are most commonly used, or do words take on a new and unique meaning based on specific associations and experiences?
In one-on-one relationships, 2 has the most bearing because we strive to understand one another so that we may better relate. It is amazing what happens when we simply intend to understand each other before intending to do anything else.
When planning on an individual basis, 3 has the most bearing because we seek to consider the way we are affecting the world through what we are attempting. It is always worth taking a pause and asking ourselves if we have the complete picture, or only part of a bigger picture.
In social applications, 4 has the most bearing, because a social context is always about what we do together. 4 is the point at which, having come to our fullest understanding through the previous three steps, we can bring things back together. It is, in essence, synergy, conducted in a semiotic mindset.
Regardless of the situation where one may apply this method, it is possible to engage in all four steps. When I first came up with this outline, I was envisioning how I might conduct a workshop that is interactive for a sizeable group of people. I think this method is really intended for use in a conversation between at least two people. That being said, any one person might find some usefulness in conducting a cognitive exercise where they imagine a discourse with someone who has totally different views—though in doing so, one may be limited by one's own imagination.
Breaking it Down
Even if we cannot come to agree on the exact same values, (nor should we necessarily aim to do so, as our individual perspectives each offer something unique and valuable to this shared experience), we can, through some careful listening and directed effort, get a good sense of where our values can intersect. I think a good analogy for this method would be singing in a choir, or playing in a band. I'll stick with the choir analogy because a conversation involves people's voices: A choir is not comprised of everyone singing in unison, singing the exact same notes at the exact same tempo—if it were, it would be rather dull and uninteresting. What makes a good chorus so beautiful is the way that people sing various different parts, different notes, and different tempos, all harmoniously intersecting in a way that makes the whole even more beautiful than each individual part. Some people may indeed be singing the same part, so unison is not entirely out of the question for some period of time, but even for these parts, each singer sings it with their individual voice, style, and volume. In a choir, we tune ourselves and pay attention to if we are singing more or less quietly or loudly, each of us making concessions to not sing at our loudest and proudest, instead carefully listening to each other with an ear to the overarching beauty of the whole.
When we carefully listen to each other and come to be conscious of how we each interpret our experiences, the possibilities expand substantially. New solutions can come to mind that nobody would have been able to think of on their own. Rather than striving for a groupthink or herd mentality, this approach allows each person to hold to their individual values and needs, making it a fitting template for a discourse that acknowledges (and perhaps even thrives on) intersectionality.
Resolve (as a verb) is a word that means "settle or find a solution to." If we look at the etymology of the word, we see it comes from the Latin word "resolvere," which meant "to loosen, loose, unyoke,", "to set free," "to relax," and in some contexts "to dispel." (Looking at it in terms of semiotics, one might say we unyoke the yoking our concepts have imposed upon us. One might also say we dispel the spells our words have cast over us.) The sense of "to loosen" and "to cut apart" can be traced back to the Proto-Indo-European root "*leu-". Interestingly, our modern word "analysis" can also be traced back to this ancient linguistic root.
To use another analogy, consider a context to be a tapestry, i.e. an assembly of threads, with the threads being the meaningful aspects or signs that comprise the whole meaningfulness of a situation, which would be the tapestry. (I did not come up with this myself, as the etymology of the word "context" shows us that it originally came from roots "con-" and "*teks" which literally say "to weave together."). When we seek a resolution to a problematic situation, we are all coming into the conversation with our own contexts, and the situation as a whole has its context. Resolving that situation is like unwinding a beautiful and intricate textile so that we can see the individual threads that comprise it. When we can see the colors and textures of each of the threads, and get a sense of how they got into the shape they were in before we unwound them, we can do so much more than if we were just trying to sew these already-wound tapestries together. Instead of being tightly bound up, we relax and see each other for who we really are.
This may be an imperfect analogy, but the point is that we often come into situations of conflict, both internal and external, with a lot of wound up meanings and implications, and we don't always give ourselves a chance to communicate these meanings and implications to one another. Often, an individual may not fully understand the meanings that came together to make the experience one finds oneself in. If this method does anything, it sets us in a frame of mind where we take the time to sit down together and come to understand ourselves, each other and the full situation to the utmost of our abilities, and thus increase our capability to create a better situation—one that takes into account each person's perspective and circumstance.
Monday, March 11, 2019
How We Imagine a Better World
Is there something to the talk of "making your dreams come true?"
In the grand scheme of the twistings and turnings of eternity, our lives pass on their transient paths in what amounts to a blink. How uncanny, then, that in the span of such a relative instant, within a much, much smaller instant of however long we spend contemplating, we find ourselves at times dreaming up imaginary futures than can span much greater lengths. Goals and ideals, ambitions and aspirations, dreams of what could be a righter, juster way for things to be, and of a world the dreamer will never see. It seems paradoxical that our word "ideal" is thought to originate from the Proto-Indo-European root "*weid-", which means "to see." The ideal can be thought of as a future vision, and yet it is not the kind of vision that we see with our eyes.
What do these visions and imaginings all amount to? They are the conceptualizations of the minds of highly intellectually developed primates. As we turn this way and that, searching, seeking, and sometimes finding, how often it is that we turn inward. Consciousness turns towards itself, becoming conscious of itself, and envisions itself as something else—something, perhaps, better? The context in which consciousness imagines itself is as a body, or in a body, depending on the ontology to which the imaginer subscribes.
Would the consciousness be able to express this kind of vision without being so embodied? Perhaps we cannot truly know the answer to this question, but it certainly seems as though the human animal is the only thing we are currently aware of which has the ability to reflect on these matters through the use of linguistic symbols. It is with these linguistic symbols that we tell ourselves stories of our pasts, presents, and futures. Language is the embodied form by which we contemplate and express these visions. Human minds have developed to the point of being so highly self-aware, that we can come to reflect on our own self-awareness, as I am doing right now in writing this.
We may not always be the only ones who do this, and we can ask ourselves if other species will continue to evolve towards greater self-awareness. As long as we continue to destroy them, however, we may never get the chance to find out. In fact, those species that demonstrate self-awareness: dolphins, crows, pigs, and others that are here unmentioned, but which you may read about with a simple internet search, may end up being extinguished by the results of our more destructive endeavors. Or perhaps we will first push ourselves into extinction, and it is they that will outlive us humans, perhaps someday telling stories that we will never hear.
How ironic that the mind that evolved to the point of being able to dream and idealize a better way of living has also dreamt up the means for its own annihilation. This annihilation exists as a physical potential already, held in the form of undetonated but highly destructive nuclear warheads that have been stockpiled in vast amounts. The shift of the climate towards a seemingly ever more catastrophic state, the pollution and over-fishing of the oceans, and the destruction of the rain forests may be leading us down a much more insidious path to annihilation. And as we continue to further develop more advanced and powerful technology that can make yet greater changes on the environment, the decision as to how we will use this technology will form the determination between this dreaded fate being mere possibility—or grave inevitability.
But why would I start a piece that began with talking about the glorious things we dream of, and then twist the reader's arm and take us down this wayward venture of exploring the horrors man has committed and has the potential of committing? The reason I have chosen to write about that is because in this troublesome but undeniable development, there is yet to be found a deep-seated gem: for the devastation humankind has wrought is a testament to the impact that can be made when people work together for a certain ideal. In the case of the above example, the ideal at work is that of gaining profit and utilizing all of the planets resources—an ideal which while on its own can lead to the reaping of substantial benefits and enjoyable luxuries, can certainly be (and has certainly been) quite costly when implemented with disregard for the land, the creatures living on it, and the ecosystem as a whole. If we take this incredible power of imagination that we refine and express through language, and turn it to the betterment of one another, and ideals of compassion, wisdom, and liberty, we can raise up together and create a world as beautiful and inspiring as the previous vision is ugly and disheartening.
The twistings and turnings with which I began this article essentially describe the grand scheme of things: motion and activity, or substantial non-idealized existence. The dreaming and idealizing we engage in takes place at merely one bend or turn, and the inward gaze is like pausing to momentarily look in a mirror. These dreams, both despicable and delightful, are but a flicker on the great cosmic mirror. But brightly may this flicker glimmer—and those who gaze at it too long may find themselves momentarily blinded. When we reflect, when consciousness looks at itself, it is looking at a reflection in the great mirror of the cosmos—an image of an existence, future or past, that is not the present moment in which consciousness exists. And the bright flicker is the dazzling manner in which fixating on the past or future can captivate us and pull us out of the present, where our real power exists, where the motion and twistings and turnings take place. Whether we imagine a utopian or dystopian future, this very imagining, in order to maintain its bearings, requires that we return to looking at the realities of the world we live in. Our aspirations must be grounded in the reality we find ourselves in, if they are to have any impact on changing it. Our ideals, (our visions of that which is not), must be balanced by our sight, (looking at that which is).
If people were to come together and unify our vast capacity to change the world in order to realize the dream of a world where we prioritize the health of the planet, the advancement of scientific discovery, and the betterment of every human being with maximization of freedom, the world would be transformed in short order. If we have been able to wipe out much of the life of the ocean that evolved over billions of years within the span of only less than a hundred years, imagine what type of positive impact we could make by dedicating the next hundred years to the thriving of civilization, idealizing an attitude of environmental stewardship and a harmonious coexistence with the other species of this planet. It may seem like a tall order to wish for everyone to come together for these ideals, but the imagination and articulation begins with individuals—it begins with you and me. Each one of us has the capacity to implement the glorious dreams we dream of in our own lives, and these dreams can extend to include the lives of others. After all, aren't we all living one life together, here and now?
It seems to me that being able to articulate an idea of the way things could be as being a certain way is one of the most powerful, wonderful, and dangerous things to ever happen in the entirety of the universe's existence. What other animals do we know of who think of being in different places than they are? Do our dogs imagine us while we are gone? There is probably evidence to suggest a plausible answer to that question, but I ask it more in a rhetorical sense, to lead into pointing out what makes us different from them and other imaginative animals—and that is our being able to articulate, and in particular to express through language, a particular expression of a particular state envisioned in the future.
Furthermore, once spoken or written in physical form, such future visions can be read and interpreted and considered by others who may not have had such articulations occur in their own minds. Thus, inspiration can spread like a blessed fire, just as fear and demagoguery can be communicated like a cursed plague. With the dawn of language, no longer was one's imagination limited to a silent musing. This, I believe, is the primary means by which human civilization has risen to such heights in such a short span of time, and it is also how we have at times become so collectively misguided and have made terrible destructive large-scale decisions such as genocide and mass-scale war. We can move together towards a united vision, or at least as close as we can get to each other's respective visions, by uniting around the words we share a common understanding of through our customarily developed linguistic system.
As those ideas which we articulate in the public sphere are to inevitably find themselves leaving impressions on the minds that understand and interpret them, it falls upon those who project their ideals to refine and shape them in the most mindful and considerate of ways. When one articulation is taken up and reinterpreted through another mind, the refining process can be further potentiated. It is in this way—by potentiating one another's ideals—that we can enact the greatest change by working collaboratively. But he who plants the seed has the initial responsibility of taking the time to understand and consider that which he is about to sow, and to foster a down-to-earth connection with the ground the seed is to be planted in. This is the essence of Semioethics: the endeavor within Semiotics wherein we contemplate and consider what it means to do something good. In Ethics we consider what is good and how we go about doing what is good. Semioethics takes a step deeper and asks what we mean when we say something is good.
With sincere, genuinely well-meaning intentions and inquisitive minds, we can take ourselves to incredible places. Now, I am not suggesting that you or I are tasked with hashing out the perfect ideal that will lead us all to some kind of salvation, nor would I encourage that degree of hubris. What I am suggesting is that we not take our ability to propose ideal futures for granted. Knowing the impact we can make, we can be mindful of the dreams we are dreaming, listen carefully to one another, and take the time to envision something that really makes sense. We can all recognize the great power we have at our fingertips, and in doing so there lies, as Spiderman's Uncle Ben so famously tells us, the recognition of great responsibility. Because everything we dream can become what we say and put out into the world in embodied form, and that has palpable potential to affect and shape reality. There's nothing supernatural about that. Of course, Uncle Ben got that idea from free-thinkers writing during the French Revolution. They saw that people in power are not noble just for having power, nor is nobility passed through blood, but that what is truly noble is to recognize the responsibility inherent in great power. I am using the statement in regard to our capability of imagining ideals, and I will acknowledge that even those who stay silent have some share of responsibility. But I am not the sort to push responsibility on people, but rather to simply point it out. The real point of this article is to thoroughly consider and give the reader a sense of the power we possess through the articulation of our ideals. And so here I can joyfully leave off and say: with great power comes great possibility.
In the grand scheme of the twistings and turnings of eternity, our lives pass on their transient paths in what amounts to a blink. How uncanny, then, that in the span of such a relative instant, within a much, much smaller instant of however long we spend contemplating, we find ourselves at times dreaming up imaginary futures than can span much greater lengths. Goals and ideals, ambitions and aspirations, dreams of what could be a righter, juster way for things to be, and of a world the dreamer will never see. It seems paradoxical that our word "ideal" is thought to originate from the Proto-Indo-European root "*weid-", which means "to see." The ideal can be thought of as a future vision, and yet it is not the kind of vision that we see with our eyes.
What do these visions and imaginings all amount to? They are the conceptualizations of the minds of highly intellectually developed primates. As we turn this way and that, searching, seeking, and sometimes finding, how often it is that we turn inward. Consciousness turns towards itself, becoming conscious of itself, and envisions itself as something else—something, perhaps, better? The context in which consciousness imagines itself is as a body, or in a body, depending on the ontology to which the imaginer subscribes.
Would the consciousness be able to express this kind of vision without being so embodied? Perhaps we cannot truly know the answer to this question, but it certainly seems as though the human animal is the only thing we are currently aware of which has the ability to reflect on these matters through the use of linguistic symbols. It is with these linguistic symbols that we tell ourselves stories of our pasts, presents, and futures. Language is the embodied form by which we contemplate and express these visions. Human minds have developed to the point of being so highly self-aware, that we can come to reflect on our own self-awareness, as I am doing right now in writing this.
We may not always be the only ones who do this, and we can ask ourselves if other species will continue to evolve towards greater self-awareness. As long as we continue to destroy them, however, we may never get the chance to find out. In fact, those species that demonstrate self-awareness: dolphins, crows, pigs, and others that are here unmentioned, but which you may read about with a simple internet search, may end up being extinguished by the results of our more destructive endeavors. Or perhaps we will first push ourselves into extinction, and it is they that will outlive us humans, perhaps someday telling stories that we will never hear.
How ironic that the mind that evolved to the point of being able to dream and idealize a better way of living has also dreamt up the means for its own annihilation. This annihilation exists as a physical potential already, held in the form of undetonated but highly destructive nuclear warheads that have been stockpiled in vast amounts. The shift of the climate towards a seemingly ever more catastrophic state, the pollution and over-fishing of the oceans, and the destruction of the rain forests may be leading us down a much more insidious path to annihilation. And as we continue to further develop more advanced and powerful technology that can make yet greater changes on the environment, the decision as to how we will use this technology will form the determination between this dreaded fate being mere possibility—or grave inevitability.
But why would I start a piece that began with talking about the glorious things we dream of, and then twist the reader's arm and take us down this wayward venture of exploring the horrors man has committed and has the potential of committing? The reason I have chosen to write about that is because in this troublesome but undeniable development, there is yet to be found a deep-seated gem: for the devastation humankind has wrought is a testament to the impact that can be made when people work together for a certain ideal. In the case of the above example, the ideal at work is that of gaining profit and utilizing all of the planets resources—an ideal which while on its own can lead to the reaping of substantial benefits and enjoyable luxuries, can certainly be (and has certainly been) quite costly when implemented with disregard for the land, the creatures living on it, and the ecosystem as a whole. If we take this incredible power of imagination that we refine and express through language, and turn it to the betterment of one another, and ideals of compassion, wisdom, and liberty, we can raise up together and create a world as beautiful and inspiring as the previous vision is ugly and disheartening.
The twistings and turnings with which I began this article essentially describe the grand scheme of things: motion and activity, or substantial non-idealized existence. The dreaming and idealizing we engage in takes place at merely one bend or turn, and the inward gaze is like pausing to momentarily look in a mirror. These dreams, both despicable and delightful, are but a flicker on the great cosmic mirror. But brightly may this flicker glimmer—and those who gaze at it too long may find themselves momentarily blinded. When we reflect, when consciousness looks at itself, it is looking at a reflection in the great mirror of the cosmos—an image of an existence, future or past, that is not the present moment in which consciousness exists. And the bright flicker is the dazzling manner in which fixating on the past or future can captivate us and pull us out of the present, where our real power exists, where the motion and twistings and turnings take place. Whether we imagine a utopian or dystopian future, this very imagining, in order to maintain its bearings, requires that we return to looking at the realities of the world we live in. Our aspirations must be grounded in the reality we find ourselves in, if they are to have any impact on changing it. Our ideals, (our visions of that which is not), must be balanced by our sight, (looking at that which is).
If people were to come together and unify our vast capacity to change the world in order to realize the dream of a world where we prioritize the health of the planet, the advancement of scientific discovery, and the betterment of every human being with maximization of freedom, the world would be transformed in short order. If we have been able to wipe out much of the life of the ocean that evolved over billions of years within the span of only less than a hundred years, imagine what type of positive impact we could make by dedicating the next hundred years to the thriving of civilization, idealizing an attitude of environmental stewardship and a harmonious coexistence with the other species of this planet. It may seem like a tall order to wish for everyone to come together for these ideals, but the imagination and articulation begins with individuals—it begins with you and me. Each one of us has the capacity to implement the glorious dreams we dream of in our own lives, and these dreams can extend to include the lives of others. After all, aren't we all living one life together, here and now?
It seems to me that being able to articulate an idea of the way things could be as being a certain way is one of the most powerful, wonderful, and dangerous things to ever happen in the entirety of the universe's existence. What other animals do we know of who think of being in different places than they are? Do our dogs imagine us while we are gone? There is probably evidence to suggest a plausible answer to that question, but I ask it more in a rhetorical sense, to lead into pointing out what makes us different from them and other imaginative animals—and that is our being able to articulate, and in particular to express through language, a particular expression of a particular state envisioned in the future.
Furthermore, once spoken or written in physical form, such future visions can be read and interpreted and considered by others who may not have had such articulations occur in their own minds. Thus, inspiration can spread like a blessed fire, just as fear and demagoguery can be communicated like a cursed plague. With the dawn of language, no longer was one's imagination limited to a silent musing. This, I believe, is the primary means by which human civilization has risen to such heights in such a short span of time, and it is also how we have at times become so collectively misguided and have made terrible destructive large-scale decisions such as genocide and mass-scale war. We can move together towards a united vision, or at least as close as we can get to each other's respective visions, by uniting around the words we share a common understanding of through our customarily developed linguistic system.
As those ideas which we articulate in the public sphere are to inevitably find themselves leaving impressions on the minds that understand and interpret them, it falls upon those who project their ideals to refine and shape them in the most mindful and considerate of ways. When one articulation is taken up and reinterpreted through another mind, the refining process can be further potentiated. It is in this way—by potentiating one another's ideals—that we can enact the greatest change by working collaboratively. But he who plants the seed has the initial responsibility of taking the time to understand and consider that which he is about to sow, and to foster a down-to-earth connection with the ground the seed is to be planted in. This is the essence of Semioethics: the endeavor within Semiotics wherein we contemplate and consider what it means to do something good. In Ethics we consider what is good and how we go about doing what is good. Semioethics takes a step deeper and asks what we mean when we say something is good.
With sincere, genuinely well-meaning intentions and inquisitive minds, we can take ourselves to incredible places. Now, I am not suggesting that you or I are tasked with hashing out the perfect ideal that will lead us all to some kind of salvation, nor would I encourage that degree of hubris. What I am suggesting is that we not take our ability to propose ideal futures for granted. Knowing the impact we can make, we can be mindful of the dreams we are dreaming, listen carefully to one another, and take the time to envision something that really makes sense. We can all recognize the great power we have at our fingertips, and in doing so there lies, as Spiderman's Uncle Ben so famously tells us, the recognition of great responsibility. Because everything we dream can become what we say and put out into the world in embodied form, and that has palpable potential to affect and shape reality. There's nothing supernatural about that. Of course, Uncle Ben got that idea from free-thinkers writing during the French Revolution. They saw that people in power are not noble just for having power, nor is nobility passed through blood, but that what is truly noble is to recognize the responsibility inherent in great power. I am using the statement in regard to our capability of imagining ideals, and I will acknowledge that even those who stay silent have some share of responsibility. But I am not the sort to push responsibility on people, but rather to simply point it out. The real point of this article is to thoroughly consider and give the reader a sense of the power we possess through the articulation of our ideals. And so here I can joyfully leave off and say: with great power comes great possibility.
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Friendship, Love, Freedom
"It is all in the day's work; everything I do, I do con amore; and so too I love con amore."
-Soren Kierkegaard (Johannes Climacus), "Either/Or"
There is a commonly known expression: "If you love someone, set them free." It seems these words are actually closely related, and this relation goes back a long ways.
The etymology of the word "friend" can be traced to Proto-Indo-European, where we find the present participle form of the root, "*pri-". "*pri-" means "to love," and the present participle form, "*pri-ont-" could roughly be translated to "loving." We also find that "*pri-" is closely related with the Old Church Slavonic "prijatelji," which means "friend," as well as Welsh "rhydd," which means "free."
Love loves, and does nothing more. All love accepts that which it loves, letting the beloved freely be that which is loved. Why do I say this? Because the moment we decide that the beloved must be changed, it follows that by changing, it must be changed into something else—something entirely different. Therefore, the desire to change the beloved is something other than the initial love, even if a bit of love remains.
All friendship has love at its roots. Why do I say this? Because when we call somebody our true friend, we accept them for who they are and allow ourselves to abide with them, that is, to stay by their side. While it is theorized that the kinship between the words "free" and "friend" has its factual historical basis in the association between free men (as opposed to the association between a master and slave), I find that there is an even richer way of looking at the relationship between these words. To love someone, we let them be, that is to say, we let them be free. When we love our friends, we let them be who they are. If we seek to change a perceived quality in a friend, it is because the quality that has appeared is something that we cannot abide with, and thus cannot love. It is in this way that I find "love" and "freedom" are still related in today's usage.
What are the things that we love about somebody? We may find that we love their way of saying and doing things. We may find that we love their courage or their compassion. We may love their sadness or anger. We may even love just about everything about them. That which we are able to love about someone depends on how we see them, and if we see someone behave a way in a situation, or see someone display a certain quality, we then are capable of loving this behavior, or loving this quality. In other words, if we believe someone is a certain way or has a certain quality, we can then dispose ourselves towards that quality in one way or another. We could approve of said quality, or disapprove of it. We might scorn it or desire it. We might hate it, or we might love it. This entry simply focuses on how we love. Those things that we love about somebody are those things that we stay with, and, so it seems, those things stay with us.
Some may find this to be an oversimplification. For I say "love," and perhaps different meanings come to mind for different readers. But when you look at it more closely, love is actually quite easy to understand. The tricky part is that we never seem to be feeling just one thing purely. Oftentimes with love of any degree, whether it be a kindly friend's love, a concerned family's love, or a passionate love of romantic attraction, etc., there are other feelings that happen at the same time, for instance, striving, needing, lamenting, anger, or hate. All of these kinds of experiences have led people to say things like "love is really sadness," "if you love something, you need it," and "love is really akin to hate." Many people think that love is happy, love is sad, love is angry, love is needy, on and on and on. Many people think that love needs, love laments, love fights. But really, these are overcomplications that lead people to think love is so hard to define. They overcomplicate because they add more to love than what love itself is. The truth is, love loves.
Now I would like to move from exploring the more general sense of love to a more specific sense. I would like to explore the sense of love that we often call "romantic love," which the ancient Greeks called "eros," a name which was also used for the god, Eros, who we commonly refer to by the Latin name, Cupid. Before diving in, I want to make note of the way that the Greeks' use of love is tied up with a sense of desiring or wanting. In the Platonic dialogue, Symposium, Socrates and his friends discuss the nature of eros, and before getting into it, he establishes a couple things: one is that "everyone who desires, desires that which he has not already, and which is future and not present," and the other is that "when you say, 'I desire that which I have and nothing else,' is not your meaning that you want to have what you have now in the future?" Making note of these remarks, we can see how if love is tied with desire, then this desire either seeks to be with that which it has not, or seeks to stay with that which it has. This seems to fit just perfectly with my earlier characterization of love as wanting to abide or stay. For abiding is a disposition towards the future. Now I will remind the reader that I do not think that love necessarily connotes desire, for we do not lose the sense of "loving" if we take away the sense of "desiring." However I think it is important to deal with the sense of "desiring" as it is commonly connected with love. It is by assuming there to be a correlation between love and desire that people often mistake love for lust, or assume that love involves lust. Really, lust is just a form of desire that can accompany love, especially eros. I think we can conclude from this digression that if love sets its gaze towards the future, it can easily bring about a strong desire, but this desire, which looks towards the future, is not the same thing as love, which in the present simply loves.
Now to resume the exploration of romantic love. The old Proto-Indo-European term "*leubh-", which means "to care, desire, love," is closely related with Latin "lubet" which means "pleases," and, (my favorite version), Lithuanian "liaupse," which means "song of praise." Closer to our English language term, we have Old English "lufu," which means "love, affection, friendliness," which is closely related to the Old High German and Old German words for "joy" and "praise." In all of these we see a common thread. That sense of joy, praise, care, and, as some, such as Indians and Greeks, use it, desiring.
To return to the Greeks, they considered eros to be love of the beautiful. "For the beloved is truly beautiful, and delicate, and perfect, and blessed" (Symposium). It does seem to always be the case that when we love someone in a romantic way, we find them beautiful. To reconnect with my earlier conviction that love abides, we might make this distinction: In loving a beloved friend, there are many different things about them that we may find ourselves loving; while in loving someone in the romantic sense (aka eros), the quality which we find standing out is beauty. So when the beloved is seen in a romantic way, their beauty is what is most loved, and the beauty is what stays with the lover. (I don't just mean beauty in the way we might say a waterfall is "beautiful." Here, and fitting the context, I mean it in the sense of "attractiveness," "seductiveness," and in the oldest sense, "revered." This is what I think the Greeks had in mind when talking about "beauty" regarding eros.)
The Lithuanians seem to get closest to the activity of love with their phrase, "liaupse." If there were any action that would be a perfect parallel for love, would it not be music? A song exists as an expression in itself, not sung for any means, but simply to be sung. Love is the same way: it has no end, yet is an end in itself. Joy is one of our words in the English language which has not departed far from its Proto-Indo-European origins. "*gau-" means "to rejoice," and it is very closely related to the Ancient Greek word, "gaio." This sense remains in the Old Germanic words that are closest to Old English and its daughter language, the English we speak today. When we love something, we praise it, we rejoice in it, and the joy needs not achieve any purpose, but is simply rejoicing. So it is that when beauty becomes the object of love, we find in many of those cases the all-too-familiar lover's poem or song.
The core revelation that Socrates arrives at in his effort to understand the nature of love is the idea that the highest form of love loves beauty in itself, "beauty absolute, separate, simple, and everlasting" (Symposium). We take note that Socrates would often postulate things in terms of "eternal Forms." He would often say that all things in the material world derive their qualities from immaterial, objective, eternal "Forms." What he is talking about in Symposium is the "Form of Beauty," a Form that every beautiful person, animal, and object partakes in, just as every instance of justice would take its quality from the "Form of Justice," and so it goes with any Form. I am not inclined to believe in the existence of Platonic Forms, and it seems to me that the knowledge of such Forms may be impossible. In other words, I don't believe there are such things as beautiful people. One of my favorite parables from the Chuang Tzu goes as follows:
Men claim that Mao-ch'iang and Lady Li were beautiful, but if fish saw them they would dive to the bottom of the stream, if birds saw them they would fly away, and if deer saw them they would break into a run. Of these four, which knows how to fix the standard of beauty for the world?
It seems clear to me that no one creature understands what true beauty is. But then, no one man or woman knows this either. Could it be that beauty truly lies in the eye of the beholder?
We need not deal with the confusions of asserting objective, ethereal Platonic Forms, to understand what I find to be the kernel of truth in what Socrates says: When we love something in the romantic way, it is not that we love a thing that is beautiful, but, rather, we love the beauty in that thing. When the lover feels eros, the beloved is seen as beautiful by the lover. Bearing in mind the semiotic angle that this exploration takes, it seems no small stretch to take these words of Socrates in a semiotic sense: "beholding beauty with the eye of the mind, he will be enabled to bring forth, not images of beauty, but realities" (Symposium). When he says this, Socrates seems to imply that we are seeing into the "eternal reality" of the "Form of Beauty." However, if we understand, via semiotics, the way in which a mind is always affecting and creating its reality by the way it defines things, we might say there is yet some truth in his words, and here's how I would express it: Regardless of whether there is an eternal "Form of Beauty" or not, it seems that whenever we love in this way, we bring forth beauty. There is no eye that can behold beauty but the eye of the mind.
Now, to take a final turn in this exploration, let us examine the role love can play for us in life. Love is a feeling that makes itself known. If there is a life worth living, it is a life loved. Whatever we love, we are willing to stay with it, and if we let love prevail, this acceptance warms the heart. Nietzsche wanted to be a lover of fate. In section 276 of The Gay Science he says:
I want to learn more and more to see as beautiful what is necessary in things; then I shall be one of those who make things beautiful. Amor fati: let that be my love henceforth! I do not want to wage war against what is ugly. I do not want to accuse; I do not even want to accuse those who accuse. Looking away shall be my only negation. And all in all and on the whole: some day I wish to be only a Yes-sayer.
Amor fati is Latin for "love of fate." Even our fate we can learn to love. Can we see life and fate as beautiful? Can we bring forth the beauty in life? To have such a love that we are inspired to make music out of it, to sing a song of praise, ah, now that seems like a powerful view to take on life, (a view we take with the mind's eye). To truly love life would be to let it be, to let it be free. Being a friend to a beloved friend, we need not change them, but simply be their friend. Being a lover of a beloved lover, we need not change them, but simply love them. To love life is to set it free, which means not trying to change it, but to live it. Those who wish to be lovers of life with me, can you sincerely say these words? "I do what I love and I love what I do. I am what I love and I love what I am." If you can say these words, if you can love your life—set it free! The music will surely follow.
Friday, May 20, 2016
Know Thyself
Shall I ask wealth or power of God, who gaveMuch remains beyond the reach of our current sensory apparatus. The idea that we could somehow understand the entirety of what is going on in the universe seems so incredible that one might, in a more conservative mindset, call such a striving hubris. Nietzsche makes a relevant comment in On Truth and Lying in a Non-Moral Sense, saying that "if we could communicate with a midge we would hear that it too floats through the air with the very same pathos, feeling that it, too, contains within itself the flying center of this world." Certainly the wavelengths of sound and light that we perceive are limited to those which can be received by the eyes and ears, and interpreted by the brain, and the same could be said for the variety of sensation experienced by any organism.
An image of himself to be my soul?
As well might swilling ocean ask a wave,
Or the starred firmament a dying coal,-----
For that which is in me lives in the whole.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Gnothi Seauton"
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| Image by Abstruse Goose |
Now, to expand this exploration beyond mere sensory perception and into deeper matters of our very thoughts, I think it would yield some insight for us turn this exploration to the modern psychological idea of the "unconscious." Many people nowadays suppose that there is a sphere of being which remains unknown and mysterious: that part of every person which seems to operate behind his or her awareness and deciding. Alan Watts discusses this unconscious, claiming that the ancient mystic traditions understood it in terms of gods and demons. He refers to the ancient maxim to know thyself as an encouragement that a man realize "that his being was not a simple unit but a pantheon of gods and demons." I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes from Hesse's Steppenwolf: "The breast and body are indeed one, but the souls that dwell in it are not two, nor five, but countless in number. Man is an onion made up of a hundred integuments, a texture made up of many threads." I find the use of the metaphor of a texture made of many threads to be quite insightful, for if we look into the etymology of the word "context" we find it to mean a weaving (textus) together (con-). So every context in which we find ourselves or consider ourselves to be in is actually made by us, like picking and choosing a few colorful strands from the infinitude of threads, and weaving them together into the tapestry that is our life story. In this sense, life is like a work of art, and here I refer to the even older sense of "texture" which comes from the Ancient Greek "techne," meaning "art" in the sense of a craft, and from Sanskrit "taksati," meaning "fashions" or "constructs."
Watts reflects on this truly immense myriad of mystery, which we may in a religious tone call a pantheon, and says that "when people started talking about the unconscious as though it were just a repository of repressed sexuality, the occultists laughed outright, knowing that it contained far more divinities than libido, who was just a little imp dancing on the surface." The whole point of this discussion of his is to get at the point that people try to impose simple rules on themselves, aligning their lives to some sort of reasoned purpose or identity, when the truth is that there is much of what we are is mysterious and unknowable. Just as far as the expanse of the universe we cannot sense or even comprehend extends in every direction, so within the depths of consciousness there lies an unknown just as infinitely great, and just as powerful.
It is in this sense that I think comes the true force of the inscription on the arch anyone had to pass under in Ancient Greece when they went to visit the Oracle at Delphi: "γνωθι σεαυτόν" it read, (pronounced "gnothi seauton"). When one went to visit the Oracle, one was getting a communication from the gods—from beings who were supposed to be beyond our mere ability to comprehend through reason. Socrates is famously known to have said "I know one thing: that I know nothing." This is sometimes called the "Socratic paradox." The phrase is perhaps most well-known in Plato's Apology, wherein Socrates claims that when he visited the Oracle, the Oracle told him that "Socrates is the wisest in all of Athens." Socrates interprets that the Oracle must have said so because unlike most others, Socrates knows how little he truly knows, and in that rests the wisdom the Oracle spoke of. Perhaps this was merely a rhetorical device used by Socrates to encourage others to have dialogues with him, but whether it actually happened or not, the point of the story sticks.
It is from this base understanding of the limits and vastness of consciousness that we can begin to see how "God," which some may call "gods and demons," while others may call it "Tao," while still others may just call it "all of creation," rests within the moment of consciousness, where we all live now. With sharp discernment, Watts notes how "too many would-be mystics and occultists try to follow the rationalist technique of imposing a discipline upon themselves without first understanding the nature of the thing to be disciplined."
Saint Matthew said (7:15) "Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves." I find it is equally true to say "Take heed of thoughts in sheep's or wolf's clothing, but inwardly they are shining gods." Regarding the words inscribed on the arch at Delphi, Eckhart Tolle provides a valuable interpretation. "Knowing yourself deeply has nothing to do with whatever ideas are floating around in your mind. Knowing yourself is to be rooted in Being, instead of lost in your mind" (A New Earth, 186). For indeed, to be lost in the mind is to lose that expansive eternity from whence the mind is born, from whence the mind is constantly dying and being reborn.
Ah, it looks like we have arrived at another paradox. For while it would seem that we cannot bend our thoughts to comprehend the vastness of all of creation, at the same time, it turns out that all of creation is contained within our minds. How mysterious that while we conceive of the incomprehensible vastness of eternity, we also find that now is the time where we conceive of eternity. Alan Watts says of this eternity: "that infinitely small and therefore infinitely great point of time is called the present moment." How mysterious: "infinity" is a concept that denotes what is so vast we cannot in thought comprehend it, and yet we are the ones who thought of "infinity."
Monday, May 2, 2016
Inspiration and Enthusiasm
“I am a hole in a flute that the Christ’s breath moves through. Listen to this music.” -Hafiz
Have you ever watched someone who is truly in love with an art, such as dance, or music, seem completely carried away by what they are doing? For them, in that moment, what they are doing is everything, and the past and future do not matter. I have known such moments, when music moves to dance like a reed in the wind, or the ocarina flute is played in a frenzy.
Arthur Schopenhauer writes of what he calls "genius," and while he thinks some people are born with a predisposition to be geniuses, he also thinks that almost anyone can potentially have a "moment of genius." The Latin word genius can refer to a type of guardian deity or spirit. Schopenhauer thinks a moment of genius is very much like a “rapture,” an old word which means "being seized and carried off." Genius, then, is not merely some kind of person—it is something that takes possession of someone, in a sense akin to the way that Ancient Greeks viewed artistic inspiration as coming from the Muse, which was a divine spirit or goddess that worked through artists. Homer began his epic poems with the phrase: "Sing, oh heavenly Muse...," invoking the divine spirit to speak through him.
The root of the word “enthusiasm” in fact comes from the Ancient Greeks. The word is constructed with the prefix “en-“ attached to “theos.” One is literally “enthused,” or filled with the spirit of the Muse or inspiring god or goddess (theos), which enters their body and acts through them. The relevance of Schopenhauer's opinion is that he characterizes the work of genius as a work done not as a means to some practical end, but as work which is an end in itself. In other words, it is not the kind of work done to fulfill some purpose, but it is work which is itself fulfilling. But then, it would seem the more appropriate word here would not be work in our usual sense, which we tend to correlate with drudgery and tasks, but rather, the work of a genius seems also like some sort of play.
The word "inspiration"comes from "in-" + "spirit," and "spirit" comes from "spirare," which meant "to breathe." The word "inspiration" is constructed in such a way as to mean not simply breathing in, but rather a being breathed into. If we look at the oldest known root of the word "spirit," we find the Proto-Indo-European word "(s)peis-" which meant "to blow," a term which is similarly derived in the form of "pisto" which would be translated today as "to play a flute." From the idea of blowing into a flute, then, is where we get the sense of "blowing" in "inspiration." To make things even more interesting, another fact is that the oldest instruments archaeologists have discovered are flutes made from rocks, branches, or bones. It would seem that the very word "inspiration" can be traced back to the earliest forms of music.
So, then, it seems that the inspired creator which we might in a broad sense call "genius" does not do work, but the divine work is done through them. The inspired creator does not so much play, but they are played. It is often said that such creations are immortal.
But how could he or she who writes now know if his or her work will become timeless as the plays of Shakespeare? How can he or she who plays now know if his or her song will be timeless as the symphonies of Mozart? As much as we may treasure and cherish the works of these geniuses and call them “timeless,” these works, too, are ephemeral. Each step in the inspired dance is over as soon as the next one begins, and the notes of a heartfelt solo may be heard by none but the player, and even if that tune is recorded and played for millions, billions to hear, it too will dissipate with the passage of time. But then, what is timeless, immortal, about an immortal work? Perhaps just that it will come again in the passing of infinite time, and every time we hear it, play it, dance it, we are out of time, and in eternity, the eternal moment, which Alan Watts calls "that infinitely small and therefore infinitely great point in time." The eternal moment—what’s that? The moment that has no past or future? But these moments, even the eternal ones, seem like they end so quickly… Ah, sometimes we have such fun we wish the moment could never end. But you see, the catch is—it will never end.
Have you ever watched someone who is truly in love with an art, such as dance, or music, seem completely carried away by what they are doing? For them, in that moment, what they are doing is everything, and the past and future do not matter. I have known such moments, when music moves to dance like a reed in the wind, or the ocarina flute is played in a frenzy.
Arthur Schopenhauer writes of what he calls "genius," and while he thinks some people are born with a predisposition to be geniuses, he also thinks that almost anyone can potentially have a "moment of genius." The Latin word genius can refer to a type of guardian deity or spirit. Schopenhauer thinks a moment of genius is very much like a “rapture,” an old word which means "being seized and carried off." Genius, then, is not merely some kind of person—it is something that takes possession of someone, in a sense akin to the way that Ancient Greeks viewed artistic inspiration as coming from the Muse, which was a divine spirit or goddess that worked through artists. Homer began his epic poems with the phrase: "Sing, oh heavenly Muse...," invoking the divine spirit to speak through him.
The root of the word “enthusiasm” in fact comes from the Ancient Greeks. The word is constructed with the prefix “en-“ attached to “theos.” One is literally “enthused,” or filled with the spirit of the Muse or inspiring god or goddess (theos), which enters their body and acts through them. The relevance of Schopenhauer's opinion is that he characterizes the work of genius as a work done not as a means to some practical end, but as work which is an end in itself. In other words, it is not the kind of work done to fulfill some purpose, but it is work which is itself fulfilling. But then, it would seem the more appropriate word here would not be work in our usual sense, which we tend to correlate with drudgery and tasks, but rather, the work of a genius seems also like some sort of play.
The word "inspiration"comes from "in-" + "spirit," and "spirit" comes from "spirare," which meant "to breathe." The word "inspiration" is constructed in such a way as to mean not simply breathing in, but rather a being breathed into. If we look at the oldest known root of the word "spirit," we find the Proto-Indo-European word "(s)peis-" which meant "to blow," a term which is similarly derived in the form of "pisto" which would be translated today as "to play a flute." From the idea of blowing into a flute, then, is where we get the sense of "blowing" in "inspiration." To make things even more interesting, another fact is that the oldest instruments archaeologists have discovered are flutes made from rocks, branches, or bones. It would seem that the very word "inspiration" can be traced back to the earliest forms of music.
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| A prehistoric bone flute. Photo by |
So, then, it seems that the inspired creator which we might in a broad sense call "genius" does not do work, but the divine work is done through them. The inspired creator does not so much play, but they are played. It is often said that such creations are immortal.
But how could he or she who writes now know if his or her work will become timeless as the plays of Shakespeare? How can he or she who plays now know if his or her song will be timeless as the symphonies of Mozart? As much as we may treasure and cherish the works of these geniuses and call them “timeless,” these works, too, are ephemeral. Each step in the inspired dance is over as soon as the next one begins, and the notes of a heartfelt solo may be heard by none but the player, and even if that tune is recorded and played for millions, billions to hear, it too will dissipate with the passage of time. But then, what is timeless, immortal, about an immortal work? Perhaps just that it will come again in the passing of infinite time, and every time we hear it, play it, dance it, we are out of time, and in eternity, the eternal moment, which Alan Watts calls "that infinitely small and therefore infinitely great point in time." The eternal moment—what’s that? The moment that has no past or future? But these moments, even the eternal ones, seem like they end so quickly… Ah, sometimes we have such fun we wish the moment could never end. But you see, the catch is—it will never end.
Sunday, April 24, 2016
Saying Some Thing
So many different ways to say—
Every moment of which we are aware includes the thoughts and words that are present. I like to call words "linguistic objects," as they stand out in our world, existing to sensory perception as sound. Thoughts, too, exist, and as such they stand out, and as such they are as real as anything else in our experience.
When responding to a situation, a curse can fly to one’s lips just as rapidly as a prayer—and the words uttered in the way they are uttered cast their color over the whole moment. By thinking we are able to focus on the aspects of a situation which aren’t. Thinking gives form to what would without the aid of conceptualizing, without the aid of an organized system of representation, be formless. The same is so for saying, though the mark left by words spoken is more easily noticed. The great paradox of language is that it names only the part of the present moment it names, though it is meant to hold on to something in the future or past. But language, which exists in the present, cannot be of a form to fit these fabricated futures and pasts, as they are nonexistent, for all that exists is the present. Rather, these fabricated futures and pasts are formed fitting language. Language can only reflect or anticipate—so even if the words seem situated in the present reality, there is only so much that they say. Seeing as one cannot say what has never yet been said, (for having said it, it has thus been said), so we are never really saying anything about the future, as there’s not a thing to say anything about, but rather we say the future (or think it).
Every moment of which we are aware includes the thoughts and words that are present. I like to call words "linguistic objects," as they stand out in our world, existing to sensory perception as sound. Thoughts, too, exist, and as such they stand out, and as such they are as real as anything else in our experience.
When responding to a situation, a curse can fly to one’s lips just as rapidly as a prayer—and the words uttered in the way they are uttered cast their color over the whole moment. By thinking we are able to focus on the aspects of a situation which aren’t. Thinking gives form to what would without the aid of conceptualizing, without the aid of an organized system of representation, be formless. The same is so for saying, though the mark left by words spoken is more easily noticed. The great paradox of language is that it names only the part of the present moment it names, though it is meant to hold on to something in the future or past. But language, which exists in the present, cannot be of a form to fit these fabricated futures and pasts, as they are nonexistent, for all that exists is the present. Rather, these fabricated futures and pasts are formed fitting language. Language can only reflect or anticipate—so even if the words seem situated in the present reality, there is only so much that they say. Seeing as one cannot say what has never yet been said, (for having said it, it has thus been said), so we are never really saying anything about the future, as there’s not a thing to say anything about, but rather we say the future (or think it).
When we cultivate a careful
listening to not just the words and thinking with which we are surrounded, but also the tone in which they are said and thought, we become much more expansive and powerful.
The slightest, quietest little words that show up in our thoughts
almost unnoticed can affect us in remarkably deep ways. “So and so has got better things
to do than call me back…”—a phrase like that can slip in so slightly that it
could be mistaken as the whole reality, without it being realized that such a statement is borne of the particular elements of one's experience of the
situation and one's presupposed notions, and is thus a part of a very limited and probably preconditioned
understanding.
Suppose you are about to do some work. You might think: “Oh, what a situation I’m in…I’ve got hard work ahead of me…” which is a very different way of phrasing from "High ho! Off to work we go…" These are of course a couple of extremes, as there are countless ways of phrasing and framing one's experience in thought. These different sayings (thoughts) could all even occur very close to one another, in the same train of thought.
If the smallest little thought patterns have such power over us, how much more power we have when we realize this. Upon this realization we can begin to decide which patterns to which we habituate ourselves, simultaneously breaking free from patterns that had been unnoticed.
Suppose you are about to do some work. You might think: “Oh, what a situation I’m in…I’ve got hard work ahead of me…” which is a very different way of phrasing from "High ho! Off to work we go…" These are of course a couple of extremes, as there are countless ways of phrasing and framing one's experience in thought. These different sayings (thoughts) could all even occur very close to one another, in the same train of thought.
If the smallest little thought patterns have such power over us, how much more power we have when we realize this. Upon this realization we can begin to decide which patterns to which we habituate ourselves, simultaneously breaking free from patterns that had been unnoticed.
Much of our thinking is in a language with a vocabulary. Some thoughts seem familiar, as if they have been thought before. But even if we use the same words at surface, every thought beneath this surface of vocabulary is borne of this moment, and is thus what it is now, despite the resemblance to previous forms. This is a trick language plays on us. An aspect I have noticed which
brings certain thoughts their familiarity is not just the concepts
which words are meant to denote, but the very way, the tone, in which they are
presented. When considering the tone, for instance, with which one might
regard their listing off of errands to run, or the attempting to
communicate approval/disapproval to a young child, or the preparation to go to an anticipated event, etc., we see how
drastically different can be the effect of the same words when they are
said differently. This difference in saying is marked by various
factors in the situation out of which the speaking arises, including
intention, but also one’s culture, the context of what is being said, and, perhaps most often taken for granted, the fact that one becomes accustomed
to this or that way of saying (thinking).
Now, focus in and realize our power. What one eventually ends up in the habit of thinking may seem the least controllable aspect of one’s forms of thought, but it is by our very actions and intentions that we direct ourselves to do the things which, through enough repetition, eventually evolve into habits. What people do not seem to be terribly observant of in most contexts in our society are the ways one is habitually accustomed to behave—one's ingrained patterns of thinking or speaking—and these patterns are taken for granted, as though oneself were to be known by these familiar patterns which show up as highlighted aspects of the experience because they are so easily recognized. We identify ourselves with certain behaviors which are most often repeated—and what happens is we forget the creative, self-driven role that is played when one chooses to behave a certain way or not.
Here are some examples:
Now, focus in and realize our power. What one eventually ends up in the habit of thinking may seem the least controllable aspect of one’s forms of thought, but it is by our very actions and intentions that we direct ourselves to do the things which, through enough repetition, eventually evolve into habits. What people do not seem to be terribly observant of in most contexts in our society are the ways one is habitually accustomed to behave—one's ingrained patterns of thinking or speaking—and these patterns are taken for granted, as though oneself were to be known by these familiar patterns which show up as highlighted aspects of the experience because they are so easily recognized. We identify ourselves with certain behaviors which are most often repeated—and what happens is we forget the creative, self-driven role that is played when one chooses to behave a certain way or not.
Here are some examples:
- "I am lazy"—Are you this word we named "lazy," or are you just in the habit of not getting things done?
- "I am stupid"—Are you this word we named "stupid," or are you just accustomed to having difficulty grasping things, and perhaps blundering due to ignorance (which can be corrected through education and practice).
- "I am beautiful"—Are you this word we named "beautiful," or are you just accustomed to receiving people's love and adoration and praise of your appearance and actions?
The above examples remain helpful when thought of with the chosen adjectives' converse terms inserted.
Carry enough words around with yourself, and you'll begin to feel the weight.
We take the behaviors
chosen as being the self, but the real self, if it were to be
identified by anything, would be much better described as the very choosing that led up to the occurrence of those behaviors. From the stillness from which we choose, something which we might call pure consciousness, how
much better one can hear the many sayings (thinkings) that are taking place than when instead one mistakes the
baseline as the drone or slight whisper of certain
statements, allowing them to go unheeded, their reality-sculpting force taken for
granted. For indeed, every word or thought grants something. Do we define ourselves or do we create ourselves? If we consider ourselves defined, the things we think seem granted; whereas if we consider ourselves created, we grant the things we think.
Our English word "grant" comes from the old Anglo-French "creant" which means in one of its senses, "will, wish, pleasure." We often like to say to each other, "be careful what you wish for." I have found that thinking stands out in its granting of things, so much so that I sometimes feel more inclined to call it "thinging" than "thinking."
Our English word "grant" comes from the old Anglo-French "creant" which means in one of its senses, "will, wish, pleasure." We often like to say to each other, "be careful what you wish for." I have found that thinking stands out in its granting of things, so much so that I sometimes feel more inclined to call it "thinging" than "thinking."
Ah, did you have a wish?
But give voice to it, and it shall be granted.
—A tautology?
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