We sit in meditation awaiting spectacular apotheotic experiences. This distracts us from receiving the incessant gift, offered, re-offered, again and again: the insight of distraction. Who, exactly, decided to seek spiritual orgasms, flashing divine lights, the face of God? Who, exactly, decided to depart the seated now to revel in magical ambitions or to struggle with past sufferings? And who, exactly, summons us back to now, to feel the faint tickle of breath on nostril and lip, the aching or vibrating body? Nobody did. Nobody does. It is the same nobody who flees the here and now and sees me from a nonexistent elsewhere, most minutes of most days, between birth and death.
Category Archives: Works
Protected: Gestellen
Math weirdness
I feel that The New Math: a Political History might hold the keys to the mystery of my own bizarrely qualitative and intense relationship with mathematics.
It is a weird thing, and I do not understand it, but it matters. It is inscribed in my codeset.
I have always been appallingly bad at doing math. I cannot calculate anything without making dumb, careless mistakes. (I am a disaster in the letterpress studio!)
I cannot remember times or calendar dates. I cannot retain even short sequences of figures or of anything. No kidding! — it all evaporates from my mind on contact.
It seems like some kind of quantitative dyslexia.
The only math I excelled at was geometry. I couldn’t memorize proofs, but I could derive the hell out of them them. My teacher indulged my differently-ablement, and allowed me to work on my geometry tests through lunch. I needed this time because I memorized only the barest minimal set of proofs and had to manually derive all the derivations. This was a shorter cut than to attempt memorization of arbitrary strings of shifting symbols. I was also good at computer programming, and was briefly a comp sci major in college before discrete math drove me out of the program. I coded intuitively. My classmates always came to me to help them debug their programs.
My abilities were existent, but narrow and beyond their limits dropped instantly to zero.Yet, math haunted the primitive roots of my weird soul.
An exhibit of idiosyncrasies:
James Gleick’s Chaos was the only book I owned when Susan met me in 1989. I was obsessed with the M-Set, and Mandelbrot’s preternatural pattern-recognition talents. That was an ability I prized and desired for myself.
When I read Shapinsky’s Karma I was taken by Nicholas Slonimsky’s ability to hear a piece of music once and to be able to recall and reproduce it years later — not by remembering the sounds but by grasping its structure.
All my visual designs are — and always have been — composed to OCD-level exact grids and ratios. I do not let the measurements override my eye, but my eye is never allowed to overrule the measurements. Every finished piece reconciles visual and intellective beauty.
I prized an early, dilapidated copy Roycrofter’s chapbook edition of a legendoidal “Little Journeys to Homes of Great Teachers” bio of Pythagoras. The fact that it was hastily, sloppily and semi-factually tossed off from the semi-reliable myth-drunk memory of Elbert Hubbard was not a bug, but a feature. It was only the myth I wanted. Math mysticism harmonized with my own subsonic resonances.
For a few years I sought a way to translate musical ratios (mainly tone frequencies in melodies and harmonies, and rhythmic patterns) essential to a song, graphically as spatial and color-frequency relationships. I wanted to design record cover art that, when contemplated while listening, would fuse with the music to form a panperceptual gestalt. I failed, but the hours I sat in the USC music library studying music theory books, listening to stochastic and serialist music, straining (and failing) to find elusive structural beauty in the sonic nonsense, did something good to me.
In Brian Eno’s A Year with Swollen Appendices, I was intoxicated to learn of his project of watching Conway’s Game of Life in order to train his intuition to trace the morphing organisms.
Most recently, I’ve letterpress printed both pi and phi to the myriadth place. I don’t even know what e is, but now that I know of it, I will be printing that, too. I might do a kickstarter to print these irrational constants as a series.
There’s more, but this gives a sketch of the general family of tendencies.
I should also mention: All my best thoughts originate as intuitions that first crystallize as visual diagrams, preceding language. Words sometimes lag relational gnoses by years.
I’m damn near innumerate, but some quality of quantity has a shimmery, mystical, dreadful hold on my heart.
I don’t know what is going on in my head-heart, but I think New Math in my early education somehow activated it.
ASCII sigil
The Mercury symbol emoticon, an abstracted caduceus — used to mark a localized omnipresence of Hermes — also precisely represents the great triad, earth-man-heaven.
+O(
- Plus sign: The four directions. Earth.
- Letter O: Cyclical life. Man.
- Open parenthesis: Enveloping transcendence. Heaven.
The dome of heaven is even faithfully everted!
It is a static symbol, articulated grammatically, and, at the same time, a symbol sentence, collapsed into a gestalt. It is true and authentic ASCII sigil.
This must be handset and printed. Digital ASCII art pressed into wood pulp by Gutenberg’s crusty invention, conveying truth before and beyond words, chronologic blasphemy.
Intellectual sacrifice
From Charles Stein’s Light of Hermes:
Mathematics as sacrifice: one sacrifices one’s woolly fantasies for the orderliness of collective positivity. But the sacrifice is only satisfied or completed when the entire mathematical project becomes a noetic mandala and one’s sacrifice is of one’s phantom apparencies only as requiescent unto Being. What one believes or supposes to be real is accepted only in so far as it can be relieved of its ontological positivity which it offers up to unique, undivided Being itself.
My interpretation of this passage: Mathematics is a kind of tradeoff, or exchange. Give up personal, idiosyncratic, intuitive knowing and in return, receive a more disciplined, shared, public knowledge. But this tradeoff is only an intellective gain if we fully understand — (I would argue in a different, everted mode of metaknowing) — that all these various ways of knowing, these subjects (each with their own special objectivity) together belong (as all things do, including ourselves) to Being, who can be approached numerous ways but never reached and possessed in the form of positive knowledge.
In this everted metaknowing we situate ourselves… as comprehended by infinitude. And it is our situation we comprehend, not the comprehension itself. — This is suprehension: everted metacomprehension of comprehension.
Mathematics is one sacrifice to public life.
Another is exalting liberal democratic order above our own policy preferences and passions. Out of loyalty to our way of self-governing, we champion another citizen’s right to slander what we hold sacred, or we uphold a law we abhor because that law was established lawfully.
Jewish law is yet another. It is beyond silly to refuse to eat a cheeseburger in order to be neurotically certain we are not accidentally eating a baby goat that was cooked in its own mother’s milk. But we decided this matter together and that sacralizes the decision and makes it the furthest possible thing from silly. (This being said, I do not observe this particular prohibition.)
But I gladly make Judaism’s highest and most sacred sacrifice — the sacrifice that replaced the bloody, smoky, visceral Temple sacrifices, and founded rabbinic Judaism in the wake of the destruction of the first Temple and subsequent Babylonian bondage. This is the sacrifice called Machloket L’Shem Shamayim — sacred conflict.
In Machloket L’Shem Shamayim, we vigorously argue our side against another, while suprehending that a higher truth always and eternally transcends my side and yours. I’ve heard this expressed as “The argument itself is truer than either side.”
Above our own certainty is agreement, but not mere compromise for the sake of practicality, but dedication to Being who permanently transcends any single truth, and ultimately all truth.
Those mystics who sneer at liberalism, believing they are wise to it, and in fact superior to it, demonstrate by this attitude that they are not even equal to liberalism — much less to their own religious tradition.
Higher sacrifices are sublimated Golden Rule, carried far beyond rule of computation, law or ideal — the metaprinciple of principle.
I, like you, am finite and limited in some unique way.
I, like you, am limited, but situated at the I-point heart of the world, which is one enworldment.
I, like you, cannot help but believe what seems most true to me.
If we can know this together we can dwell together in holy irony of comprehension within suprehension.
The fruit is restored to its orchard.
Protected: Subjective multistability
Protected: Hex
Returning to some enworldment design themes
I’ve said it before, but why not say it again? Take this as attention sustained for decades — as evidence of an enduring soul…
A better distinction than technology (or artifice / artificiality) versus natural is what we experience as natural versus what we experience as unnatural. That turns it into a matter of design quality. What artifice lends itself to second-naturalness, and what stays unnatural? We’ve used fire and language for so long they seem like part of nature to us. What other artifices can we add to the world to make the addition — and the world — and ourselves feel natural?
This standard, by the way, pushes Liz Sanders’s classic useful / useable / desirable framework to new levels of aspiration.
Useful is not only just having needs met. Useful means reducing or eliminating unnatural-feeling tasks required to meet our needs, or to change tasks into more natural and meaningful ones. “Do it for me, or allow me to do it myself in a less painful, more meaningful way.”
Usability is not just a matter or reducing frustrations, but also the need to figure things out at all. The goal is to make natural extensions of our thinking, our perceiving and our doing. “Afford me direct intuitive connect with the world.”
Desirability is not merely about aesthetics or entertainment, but about affirming what makes us love the world and our own lives together. “Inspire me to feel more value and more gratitude for our life.”
Pearls and Shells, reinvocation
In earlier invocations of the “Pearls and Shells” anomalogy, the pearlescent element, nacre, insulated the subject from the object and environment, and allowed these not-self beings to peacefully neighbor or environ the self.
This individuating substance was imagined to be mind: We coat whatever realities we cannot incorporate into our own selfhood with intelligibility. Mind helps us cope with not-self, also known as alterity.
The earlier anomalogy goes like this: An oyster inhabits an existence suspended between two alterities. The first alterity, the outer alterity, is the all-encompassing ocean. The second alterity, inner alterities, is whatever particles from the ocean get inside the shell with the oyster. The oyster responds to both alterities the same way. It secretes its own selfhood, its mind-nacre, and coats the offending alterity, layer upon layer, until the alterity is smooth, lustrous and undisturbing. The particles are painted smooth and round and become pearls. “Good fences make good neighbors.” Now the oyster can live side by side with these irritants, because they are comprehended with nacre. The ocean, too — the dread source of all irritants and inexhaustibly teeming with existential dangers — is coated with layer upon layer of protective nacre. It is painted on all sides, repainted, innumerable times until it is thick, smooth and protective. The oyster coats the ocean with nacre, and the inner surface of the shell, the mother-of-pearl lining makes the ocean habitable for the oyster and its treasure-house of pearls.
The nacre substance is the same in both alterities, and its function is the same — insulation, protection, self-preservation. What differs is the topology — the situating curvature. Pearls are convex and are comprehended by the oyster. The shell is concave; it comprehends the oyster. Flip your shell inside-out — that is, evert it — and you will find yourself holding a pearl. Evert a pearl, and you will find yourself held within a shell, or rather, the shell will find you held within it.
Lately, I have noticed that my thinking has moved to a new standpoint.
The next invocation of “Pearls and Shells” goes like this: Perhaps the nacre with which we paint the defining boundaries between selfhood and otherhood is not mind, but something beyond mind that conditions and enables it. Perhaps nacre is the principle of “not” — nihilitude.
Nihilitude belongs to infinitude, and is inseparable from it. Nihilitude generates and sustains finitude within infinitude, without disturbing the all-inclusive purity of infinitude with even a trace of exclusion. Indeed, exclusion of nihilitude from infinitude would be an abhorrent exclusion.
Perhaps nihilitude is the substance the ocean self-secretes into itself in order to allow a spark of itself to be an oyster, liberated to be not-the-whole-ocean, through imprisonment within a mother-of-pearl vault. The vault fills with ten-thousand pearls, each of which, touched by the oyster’s tender midas flesh, is counted among its pearly hoard.
As behind, so beyond. And so thrice-present between.
Protected: Scrappy thoughts on metanoia
Protected: As aleph, so tav
Nihilism pandemic
In our time, and in all times like this one, nihilism is in the air.
I do not only mean that nihilism is in the news or in art, or in the nihilistic blending of news and art. Each time some lost youth commits a politically-charged murder, but their ideology cannot be pinned down because — let’s be real — these young pale criminals are barely able to think, much muster the integrity to believe anything whole-heartedly or whole-mindedly, which is the crux of the problem! — and it appears they are caught in the nowhere between the extremist poles of the horseshoe. where the only possible point of agreement is hatred of this world, whatever has produced such a world of which they are both product and victim (and, of course, inevitably whatever hydra head of Jew-hatred is in fashion, whether anti-Pharisee, antisemite, anti-Elders Cabal, anti-Zionist).
Such amorphous hatred craves an object upon which it may condense and have form — a thing to vent itself upon, and justifications for the venting and its object. A universal loathing — ressentiment — precedes all ideological justification. But the theories, the alleged causes, the expressions, the abuse are only stations on the way to fully embodying the nihilistic impulse in consummating acts of annihilation.
The ideologies, manifestos, memes and suicide notes are not the logic behind such murders. They are the final sputters of failing language on the way to the ultimate expression of nihilism: murder.
But again, the nihilism in the air is not only, or even primarily, the topic of nihilism or nihilism as diagnosis.
Rather, nihilism in the air is the rebreathed bad breath we draw into our lungs wherever a critical mass of people at some time or place is meaning-starved.
I have been in a great many corporate headquarters. In some, I was disturbed by an odor of fear. In others, I have choked on despair. We can also sometimes smell negativity (detect “bad vibes”) in retail spaces (especially big box stores and malls), cultural events, political demonstrations, places of worship, and, let us not forget! — schools. Anywhere that people of similar disposition gather, the air carries a spirit, a breath of some kind, most noticeable to outsiders.
People who breathe fumes of fear, despair, disregard, contempt, absurdity — if they are not of the kind who actively exhale that kind of air — are enervated by it, and gradually, passively lose their taste for life. They lose hope. They stop caring about the future because they cannot even feel the possibility of future meaning. They do only what they are forced to do, by others or by themselves through that internalized slavery we call “self-discipline”. And they do not much mind the idea of the world being destroyed, if it spares them the wearying prospect of being at work tomorrow. They might even siphon a little energy from counter-nihilists who hate the order in which they are trapped. “The enemy of my enemy” might not be my friend — in fact, the enemy might despise passive complicity even more than their active enemies — but from a safe distance and through a shielding screen, the destruction of my own oppressors (by potentially worse ones) emits heat, noise, flashing, vengeance, pity-fodder and moralistic escapism.
And the products and services of such unhappiness is the same kind. If these brand emanations are not energetically negative, they are energetically nil — that half-pointless, half-phony charade we call “corporate”. Abandon all hope, employees and vendors who enter here, physical or metaphorical. And consumers of their productive output beware.
All this together — the strip-mining of human souls to extract depleted psychic resources — a world overflowing with unlovable and meaningless consumer products, supported by listless, robotic, over-scripted services — education optimized for life in these conditions, in schools that epitomize these conditions and suck life, hope and enthusiasm out of children and replace it with meaning-depleting ideological mechanics — entertainment-news media whose message is inattentive, flitting and spastic consumption — produce conditions ideal for active annihilation — righteous violence, vengeance, martyrdom of self and others to causes that justify it. We know victory by the enemies of our enemies will be even worse than what we have, but at least we can indulge a moment of schadenfreude watching our despised tormentor suffer and perish a few moments before it is our own turn.
Here we are.
But this can be reversed. Or rather, eversed. And the passage is precisely where we least expect it: nihilo.
And our best access is, believe it or not, design. Not the kind of servile and domesticated corporate consultant “design” optimized to meet or exceed the expectations of C-suite sociopaths and their demoralized drones — but rather design which challenges the hegemony of technik.
Ontological membranes
Nihilitude is the active ingredient of relevance, or, rather, of irrelevance.
And so nihilitude is also the essence of abstraction, of focus, of all selective attention of thought.
Why suppress what is real but irrelevant? Why selectively focus (and filter) attention? Why read abstract order into (or, more accurately, leave myriad alternative orders unread from) the “blooming, buzzing confusion” of chaos surrounding us?
It is a necessity of maintaining finite being. An anomalogy: To hear any signal in radio frequency noise, we must tune a radio receiver to one narrow band of frequency, instead of listening to the white noise of the full range of frequencies and enjoying all the signal simultaneously like some kind of god. We do it for the same reason living organisms have skin, and organs have membranes. Any being that desires duration encloses, shelters, clothes, envelopes itself within semipermeable boundaries, holding itself in dynamic balance between openness, closure and carefully controlled disclosure — between dissolution, consumption, digestion, dissipation and insularity, stagnation, isolation, starvation, asphyxiation. (Tif’eret, the principle of balance, the spinal essence of being within greater being, linking sole with crown).
Nihilitude is ontological membrane. It is the horizon, the far side of every object, the receding undersurface, the back of one’s head, the thing you’ve never noticed, and the imperceptibility of your own perception.
An enworldment is what emerges when some finite aspects of reality emerge from nihilitude. The enworldment “projects” (through subtraction of all else) a schema or template of definite beings. Nihilitude flows between each definite thing, each object of experience, a “not”, against which it is defined — literally, de-finitized.
Whatever prevents the schema from crystallizing (finitely manifesting its continuity within infinitude) is coated with nihilitude, and drowned in irrelevance — tuned out, set aside, downplayed, explained away — or submerged in nihilitude, and is so irrelevant that it is never noticed. It drowns in oblivion.
Nihilitude makes possible a holistic organic understanding needed by a living being. A soul, in order to persist as a soul, must spontaneously perceive and conceive real entities (givens) as whole units – gestalts — and spontaneously perceive and conceive these given wholes as themselves belonging to higher order wholes. Simltaneously it also perceives and conceives these units of being as constituted of lower order whole units, not only objective (third-person) entities, but also first person subjective beings within and exceeding that of one’s I or another’s thou. Sketchy genius Arthur Koestler called this kind of order of nested wholeness “holarchy”. Souls are holarchic.
But souls can, with effort, non-spontaneously connect whole entities with others in order to construct truths. It can argue, figure out, analyze and construe knowledge. This is what is called “constructed truth”. The basic units of such knowledge remain spontaneously perceived and conceived ideas, but the way these givens are combined are not.
Constructed knowledge must be memorized and recalled in order to be known in any particular moment. When they are not in active recollection the knowledge exists as data and rules of recombination. Constructed truth laboriously rebuilds bridges across gaps of nihilitude, linking fragmentary clusters of knowledge with one another. Sometimes construction links objects in ways that obscure rather than illuminate their continuity. The more the construction obscures rather than reveals the continuity among given entities the more force of will and artifice is required to sustain it. It is a the kind of artificiality that gives the word “artificial” its connotations of unnaturalness.
But sometimes constructions reveal, rather than obscure, continuity. Something “clicks’ and a layer of nihilitude clears away, admitting new givens traced out by the constructions.
These are not only intellectual motions, like what we do when we dance along with a philosophy book or choreograph ideas of our own. They can also be physical movements — physical dances, moving from some steps to feeling the rhythm and grace in response to music — or perceptual pattern-finding — like perceiving the animating beauty in art or noticing natural patterns or forms in nature and suddenly experiencing continuity between one’s own nature and the environing nature to whom one belongs as a natural creature. Between two people it can be finding rhythm flow and rapport, and becoming swept up in a literally animated conversation. This is the intimate congeniality of thought and life beyond thought.
This heterogeneity is one reason why the? term enworldment is preferable to worldview or perspective or other ontologically-limited or reductive terms — even ontology. Enworldment concerns the entire field of being, not only thoughts or thoughts about being.
Being rises from oblivion and shows itself, often reconfiguring what is spontaneously given, smashing artificial constructions, submerging (de-emphasizing) givens that had been relevant, and pushing irrelevant given into the foreground. And this also often requires new constructions capable of bridging gaps in this new reconfigured landscape — this new ontological archipelago rising from an ocean of oblivion, new faith-moved mountain ranges. This is the experience of conversion.
Some conversions convert the converted soul to a metaphysics where conversion and its revelations ex nihilo are an ever-present possibility, especially when this possibility is inconceivable.
Let us name this conversion to permanent possibility of conversion, irrupting precisely from the inconceivable oblivion of nihilitude. Let us call it exnihilism.
…to be continued… refinements, exrensions… application to design…
Infinity versus myriad
I’ve probably said this a zillion times, but it is worth repeating: Myriad is a pretty way to express indeterminate magnitude — uncountably many. Originally, myriad meant ten-thousand, and in pre-digital times ten-thousand was, for all practical purposes, uncountable. Computers have since blown out the limits of countability. We need something much larger, now. For this purpose, I like “zillion” quite a bit. Zillion is technically a fictional number, which pushes it beyond the limits of quantity into a quality of uncountability, and which gives it an attractive goofiness and some substantial functional advantages over myriad.
The widespread use of infinity as a quantity is, metaphysically speaking, incorrect. Infinity is beyond the domain of quantity.
What most people mean when they say “infinite” is indeterminate. But because within their particular enworldment there is no need for metaphysical infinite, it makes no internal difference.
It does, however, close off all thought that might lead beyond this understanding. But that is actually a feature, not a bug.
In third grade, when I was chain-reading every Oz book in the Morrison Elementary Library, I learned that the land of Oz was protected by the Deadly Desert. Set foot on it, you yourself dissolve into sand. Later I learned that Hades is moated by obliviating rivers, each annihilating some aspect of selfhood. In The Hero With a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell observed a universal pattern in myths and fairy tales of thresholds at the start and end of the hero’s journey that dissolves and reconstitutes the hero.
The hero’s journey, Campbell’s meta-myth, sheds important light on what these stories are really about: transformational experiences. They involve leaving this world, entering a new world, the hero undergoing ordeals and overcoming profound challenges that fundamentally and inwardly change the hero, and then the hero returning to this world with new insights and gifts for the people still on this side of reality.
Soul and place are intimately connected, and this is because enworldment dissolves the subject-object dichotomy. A new enworldment always entails a reborn subject, and a new subject always reenworlds itself.
But this is not a painless change. “Leaving this world” is always a kind of death and an entry into something inconceivable. Nietzsche said it beautifully, “only where there are graves are there resurrections.”
A rebirth event cannot happen within an enworldment, as a simple change of opinion or moral outlook or life trajectory. They happen across enworldments — in traversal of nihilitude that dissolves self and world together.
Rebirth is preceded by death — nihilitude — and, before that, dread, which is the existential response to intuited nihilitude, by no means limited to death. But if we confront dread and plunge into oblivion, we reemerge on the other side, in the next enworldment… ex nihilo.
Is this myriad vs infinity distinction just is a pedantic hair-split? Yes! And perhaps life as you know it depends on this remaining so. Note the note of unease behind the annyance and boredom. Also, have you checked Instagram today?
Psych everso
Psychology is how a materialist copes with transcendence. Realities barely within the soul’s reach but well beyond its grasp — including the soul itself — are flipped inside-out, everted, into objects and stuffed inside each individual’s mind.
Everything-sized souls, everted, become minute, and are sealed inside the physical body — ghosts who haunt our physical frame.
And the membrane of nihilitude that insulates each self from infinitude, everts into a vacuum of interminable finitude, endless stacking of spaces, times, subjects.
When wind blows through this ghost, it disturbs our sense of reality, but we know that it originates in the unconscious and terminates in delusion. So it is for psychologists.
Protected: Key to “A Painter Paints a Painting of a Painter”
A Painter Paints a Painting of a Painter
A painter is painting a picture of another painter in the act of painting. The painter plans to call this piece “A Painter Paints a Painting of a Painter”.
The second painter (like the first) is holding a palette in his left hand, a brush in his right, and is standing before a canvas, and upon the canvas is his painting-in-progress.
The essential difference between these two painters (besides, of course one being the painting subject, and the other being a painted object) is that the two artists paint using different palettes.
(Neither painter is color blind. Only their palettes are limited.)
The first painter’s palette has only two colors: red and white.
What makes the second painter so fascinating and infuriating to the first — and, in fact, the entire reason he wants to paint him — is the fact that the second painter paints only in blue and black. For the first painter, this difference is a crisis, and he hopes to resolve it by capturing that difference on canvas. This is why he is painting “A Painter Paints a Painting of a Painter”.
So the first painter sets out to capture this difference — of painting in blue and black — using his own palette of red and white.
And the painting is a success. By some poetic miracle, the first painter perfectly captures the essential difference. Or at least some artists believe so. The community of painters who paint in red and white, marvel at his success.
But the second painter sees in the portrait allegedly of him, only a reflection of the first painter — certainly not himself. And his view is shared by his peers who paint in blue and black.
And here I am — palette and brush in hand — painting this fable in black, white, red and blue, which is the palette of this fable-world.
And whoever hears this fable is cursed to paint this story and the telling of this story onto their own canvas with their own palette.
The end.
From mid-ladder
If we imagine being as a ladder, we might situate ourselves at the base.
But what if we imagine ourselves elsewhere, neither at the base, nor at the top of the ladder.
Something is gained if we situate ourself at a permanent middle — metaxy, media res, thrown — with superscendent rungs always beyond the reach of our fingertips and subscendent rungs extending interminably below the soles of our feet.
No more tidy, enclosing heaven or supporting earth with humankind between. Here it is rungs and more rungs.
Wherever we climb, upward or downward, we reach from the heart — ex cord — arms above outstretched, hands groping upward to grasp whatever is graspable here, our feet below, seeking footholds, security, a supporting under-standing.
In this imagined situation, there is a point where we might climb — and we are here! — where we confuse our ideas about nature and our capacities to command and control it. Many of us were born on this rung, carved from a solid plank of a probabilistic swarm of subatomic particles. Our feet, too, were carved from this substance, and our hearts, too! We stand here, fused to our rung, groping above for the right political aspirations, oblivious to our footing.
But matter is not subatomic particles, though she might allow herself to seem so, when she feels cooperative. Matter sometimes deigns to cooperate with our laboratory play. But she reserves her right to turn on us arbitrarily, when we least expect it.
And physical matter is only one of myriad materials.
Material is any reality — physical or otherwise — that can take form, without itself being form.
And no material is pure. Any thing is a chaotic convergence of materials. And with each additional witness, materials proliferate. Instauration (revelation-creation) ex cord is difficult. Instauration ex con-cord borders on impossible. A designer knows this truth. Who else knows…?
Transcendence is not only ascension to ecstatic heights, nor penetration to fathomless depths. It does not leave or aspire to leave mundane life. It completes a circuit of behind and beyond. It stands mid-ladder, ushering lower angels upward, and higher angels downward. It circulates divine light so the bright blood bathes the tissues of matter, saturating matter with soul and form, then returns the spent light to the source for replenishment.
Chaos is not absence of meaning. Chaos is too many meanings. Chaos is hypermeaning.
Extreme white noise vanishes into blind ether, nothing-present-nothing-missing.
To a finite soul, infinity is nothingness; hypermeaning is meaningless.
The midpoint of unity and infinity is zero.
Absolute infinitude versus the infinite infinitesimals.
In the Metaxic Middle — Malkhut
in whom we are suspended
Ein Sof — Absolute Infinitude — One
meets
Shekhinah — Infinite Infinitesimals — Sparks
one spark of which is oneself
within One’s Self.
I have quite a heresy brewing here!
Craft as conversation
To be alive to craft is to converse well with materials. Good conversation is reciprocal exchange — give and take, hearing and responding — within an event of emergent meaning.
Hans-Georg Gadamer said that in the best games, players are participants through whom the game plays itself, and, similarly, in the best conversations, the conversation has itself through its interlocutors.
In craft, artisan and artifact, speaking a common language of materials — physical or otherwise — participate in the emergence of form.
This is your civilization on drugs. Any questions?
Postmodernism is civilization on acid.
Those bale-wire concepts that held everything together are snipped, and the whole is flying apart into mad coils of notional chaos. This wild profusion can eventually be gathered back up, after the unbound ideas release their spring energy in expansion and diffusion.