All the world lives under one guiding system or another. These systems may be religious or political, cultural or familial. Regardless, they determine the course of our lives and the constitution of our spirits. For many born in our cross-cultural world, these guiding systems seem senseless and arbitrary. It looks as if we could easily be something or someone entirely different from who we are, if we were just born somewhere else, with a different family, culture and community. Learning that our beliefs are determined by our environment, we become disillusioned and search for something higher, more reliable and more concrete – something, namely true. We come to see all guiding systems as systems of control, borne of the will to dominate. We despair that there is not even one system that can be trusted. But though all systems systematize, very few were created to stifle and oppress. Most were guided by a more innocent intent.
True creators do not wish to harm others with their creation, but rather to free them from something else by way of their creation. Such systems are best seen not as an invention and something essentially new, but rather as the re-imagining and newborn manifestation of that good spirit which has grown hungry through long neglect and suppression. And that good spirit had been there all along, though it dwelt quietly unexpressed, obstructed by the inadequacy of a system which had lived past its usefulness. Living within such a dying system, one is presented with the unique opportunity to do good by doing ill. Here, to create one must first tear down. Here, one must destroy to make free.
These good destroyers are liberators. They free captives from the oppression of dying systems, thought they fall short for they offer no alternative. They release the captives from constraint and comfort into a boundless anarchy. They destroy the jail, but whence go the captives?
It is here that the captives, freed, become captors, building safe havens that shall become the prisons of their children. Confronted with true boundlessness, they discover that freedom is less a promise than a challenge, less a consolation than a difficulty. So they set out to build strongholds against the radical violence of liberty, the harsh reality that once was their only hope.
But he who builds well does not safeguard against jailbreaks. Rather he promotes the creation of a prosperous utopia in which the captives may live free, should they come to escape their prisons, should they find the utopia more alluring than the desert of anarchy. The good creator does not constrain but rather frees. He frees the spirit and mind to a world of its own choosing. He opens the space to a chosen world, a world that is both revelation and necessity, a free world both chosen and true.
Friday, June 10, 2011
More System Building
A system is created after it is born. It originates as a byway, a path from constraint to freedom. As it frees, the number of the freed grows and becomes a community. Dwelling in its newfound freedom, the people comes to know that openness also means emptiness, that by leaving the oppression of a system they also lost their security. Boundless faith becomes too great a demand, for they are completely unprepared to practice such a radical emptiness. Longing to reclaim a sense of security, they come together and rebuild. So freed, they cannot return - instead they recreate. After all, it was not Christ who founded Christianity but Paul. While Christ preached the kingdom of heaven and eternal salvation, Paul offered a present security by building the church.
The Dialectic of Reconciliation Redux
What is required to achieve unity, peace and reconciliation of the most disparate views? Many things, but one thing – the will to do so. It requires a certain attitude: that of open-mindedness and understanding. One must have the will to hear what one does not think, and just be willing to listen. For if you will not listen, I cannot speak with you but only to or at you, as with an uncompromising wall. And if you are such a wall, that wall is your strength and cannot be breached by anyone. Your wall only falls if it desires to fall, only crumbles if it desires dust instead. That is also to say, the barriers that make us deaf to each other are only broken when we would rather have no belief at all than only own belief, when we would rather be filled with the emptiness of the desert than be fortified within a castle. And unless we are willing to endure that stark and lonely desert expanse, we will never find the oasis of true belief, the paradise which flows boundlessly back into the desert, whose residents dwell transitively between perfection and nothingness.
Monday, May 30, 2011
History
A necessary error is not a mistake. If something is not what you hoped it would be, it still matters – just differently. For many, the past is a resource to be culled and put to service for the sake of the future. Interpret this past in this way as a means toward this future. Although nearly everyone exercises this kind of thinking, it is both an affront to history and an abuse of memory. It reduces the overfull vitality of the past, stemming its full power, such that what remains may be harnessed and put to use. But the past is not ours; it is rather we who belong to it.
The future bears down on the present, and the past lingers still. There is no divorcing the present from either. They bleed together, forming a single inexhaustible continuum. Nevertheless, we relate to our past and our possible future in dramatically different ways. While the future changes with the slightest provocation, the past is not so flighty. It matters. It has a weight and establishes our grounding. Furthermore, the bearing it holds on our present is not wholly chosen. We cannot decide what will have mattered to us, and how past matters shall effect us. The past has its own character, and asserts itself without regard for our desire. For this reason, it is up to us to be receptive to the true character of the past, to peaceably align ourselves with its direction, and not attempt violence upon it. This is the only way we can attain a clear view for the future, and a justified confidence in our capacity to move into it.
"History is written by the victors." I have won, therefore I will present history in such a way as to ensure that I will continue to win. I have lost, therefore I will interpret the past in such a way that I may become victorious in the future. But history is not written on any paper, nor illustrated in any art, nor constructed through any power structure. History is history. It is that past which is written upon the present, whether that be the present world, our present selves, or something besides. History is performative, and we do engage in its performance. But we are not its creator, owner or prophet – rather it is we who are created, possessed, and guided by it. History is not its writing, but something besides. It is more real, more undeniable, and entirely unaccountable. True history is not given to interpretation, for it is immune to every such exercise of power.
"History is written by the victors." But why do we think of the past only with regard to loss and gain? Isn't history more than a series of contests? History is insensitive to the values and motives of man. Everything is preserved as the past daily dies, each event and person given the continued vitality they deserve. There is history, and it is written daily. It is receptive to our present, and how we choose to remember it does matter. For a correct understanding of the past, we must move past thinking in terms of victory and defeat, for history knows nothing of either. People determine what constitutes victory, and history is insensitive to our determinations.
History has its own motives, things which matter to it and come to matter to us regardless of our want. We would benefit from being receptive to our determining past, rather than seeking endlessly to interpret it on our terms, to achieve flight from the natural course of history by hiding in a wholly and only human future – a future that can never come.
The future bears down on the present, and the past lingers still. There is no divorcing the present from either. They bleed together, forming a single inexhaustible continuum. Nevertheless, we relate to our past and our possible future in dramatically different ways. While the future changes with the slightest provocation, the past is not so flighty. It matters. It has a weight and establishes our grounding. Furthermore, the bearing it holds on our present is not wholly chosen. We cannot decide what will have mattered to us, and how past matters shall effect us. The past has its own character, and asserts itself without regard for our desire. For this reason, it is up to us to be receptive to the true character of the past, to peaceably align ourselves with its direction, and not attempt violence upon it. This is the only way we can attain a clear view for the future, and a justified confidence in our capacity to move into it.
"History is written by the victors." I have won, therefore I will present history in such a way as to ensure that I will continue to win. I have lost, therefore I will interpret the past in such a way that I may become victorious in the future. But history is not written on any paper, nor illustrated in any art, nor constructed through any power structure. History is history. It is that past which is written upon the present, whether that be the present world, our present selves, or something besides. History is performative, and we do engage in its performance. But we are not its creator, owner or prophet – rather it is we who are created, possessed, and guided by it. History is not its writing, but something besides. It is more real, more undeniable, and entirely unaccountable. True history is not given to interpretation, for it is immune to every such exercise of power.
"History is written by the victors." But why do we think of the past only with regard to loss and gain? Isn't history more than a series of contests? History is insensitive to the values and motives of man. Everything is preserved as the past daily dies, each event and person given the continued vitality they deserve. There is history, and it is written daily. It is receptive to our present, and how we choose to remember it does matter. For a correct understanding of the past, we must move past thinking in terms of victory and defeat, for history knows nothing of either. People determine what constitutes victory, and history is insensitive to our determinations.
History has its own motives, things which matter to it and come to matter to us regardless of our want. We would benefit from being receptive to our determining past, rather than seeking endlessly to interpret it on our terms, to achieve flight from the natural course of history by hiding in a wholly and only human future – a future that can never come.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Comedy
There is nothing funny about the expected. Comedy is born with the advent of the inexplicable. Just as an infant giggles with delight playing peekaboo, so too is humor borne always from surprise.
A joke is a curtain lifted, a laugh the resolution of a rift torn in the mind. This is why humor is so vitally important for the promotion and preservation of sanity. A laugh is the garbage man taking out the trash. Without that garbage man, the paradoxes of life would pile endlessly higher, blinding us to everything but chaos. For there is no way to repair ourselves of the searing rifts of life except through laughter. When taken seriously, a paradox leads always to madness. Only by taking things lightly can we hope to rid ourselves of the overwhelming weight of life, thereby paving the path to clarity of vision, clarity of thought, and a higher sanity.
A joke is a revelation. The apparently mundane is revealed to be substantially impossible, and the incommensurability of these opposites compels us to... laugh. But the joker is not surprised by his own joke; he already knows the punchline. Knowing the joke's end, his art lies in deception. He must keep concealed the essential moment of the joke until its proper time, at which point he delivers the unexpected truth with expert force. The joker must walk a line and deliver a punch. In this way, the joker is a combatant - and a liar.
If the joker is a liar, might also the liar be a joker? And if the liar does not laugh, doesn't that just make him more honest? A laugh can be had without a joker, and a joke can be told without a teller. Suffering considerable loss, who of us is brave enough to laugh?
All lies are potential jokes - it all depends on how seriously you take them. In comedy, white lies become light chuckles, significant deceptions become sick jokes, and flagrant abuses of trust become black commentaries on the gut-shot absurdity of life. All the world's a stage, and all of us merely players... but are our lives comedy or tragedy? It all depends on how seriously we take them.
A joke is a curtain lifted, a laugh the resolution of a rift torn in the mind. This is why humor is so vitally important for the promotion and preservation of sanity. A laugh is the garbage man taking out the trash. Without that garbage man, the paradoxes of life would pile endlessly higher, blinding us to everything but chaos. For there is no way to repair ourselves of the searing rifts of life except through laughter. When taken seriously, a paradox leads always to madness. Only by taking things lightly can we hope to rid ourselves of the overwhelming weight of life, thereby paving the path to clarity of vision, clarity of thought, and a higher sanity.
A joke is a revelation. The apparently mundane is revealed to be substantially impossible, and the incommensurability of these opposites compels us to... laugh. But the joker is not surprised by his own joke; he already knows the punchline. Knowing the joke's end, his art lies in deception. He must keep concealed the essential moment of the joke until its proper time, at which point he delivers the unexpected truth with expert force. The joker must walk a line and deliver a punch. In this way, the joker is a combatant - and a liar.
If the joker is a liar, might also the liar be a joker? And if the liar does not laugh, doesn't that just make him more honest? A laugh can be had without a joker, and a joke can be told without a teller. Suffering considerable loss, who of us is brave enough to laugh?
All lies are potential jokes - it all depends on how seriously you take them. In comedy, white lies become light chuckles, significant deceptions become sick jokes, and flagrant abuses of trust become black commentaries on the gut-shot absurdity of life. All the world's a stage, and all of us merely players... but are our lives comedy or tragedy? It all depends on how seriously we take them.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Art and Artifice
Every art has something of art and something of artifice. There is no artifice without art, and no art without artifice. Without both, neither would be possible.
What then is the relation between intention and meaning in art? The artist speaks best that message which he does not intend. Intending to speak a message, he rarely ever succeeds in affectively communicating it. But some arts are more receptive to the intentional impression of meaning than others. As a general rule, the more an art is based in artifice, the easier it is to effectively communicate a meaning intended. But just as the accidental is not inessential or subordinate to meaning, so too is artifice not without its art.
The art of artifice is its technique. Since artifice is artificial, it is superordinate to the content inscribed within it. As method, it structures that which is without structure. As technique, it works upon dead matter so as to present it in a way, so as to re-present it as what it is not. A diamond as itself will not sparkle, and gold of itself does not shine. Only when it has been worked upon can it be seen for what it is, that is to say, for what it is not.
At the same time, the spirit of art is something wholly other from technique. It is that spirit which moves in music, soaring with our heart and plummeting into our soul. It is that tear which rolls down our cheek as we are touched by the marvelous sensuality of flowing drapes locked into marble. But none of this should mistake us into thinking that the purpose of art is merely to move us to feeling. Beauty is not grounded in emotion; it is grounded in spirit. The end of art is not to move us to feeling; it is to move us to meaning.
What then is the relation between intention and meaning in art? The artist speaks best that message which he does not intend. Intending to speak a message, he rarely ever succeeds in affectively communicating it. But some arts are more receptive to the intentional impression of meaning than others. As a general rule, the more an art is based in artifice, the easier it is to effectively communicate a meaning intended. But just as the accidental is not inessential or subordinate to meaning, so too is artifice not without its art.
The art of artifice is its technique. Since artifice is artificial, it is superordinate to the content inscribed within it. As method, it structures that which is without structure. As technique, it works upon dead matter so as to present it in a way, so as to re-present it as what it is not. A diamond as itself will not sparkle, and gold of itself does not shine. Only when it has been worked upon can it be seen for what it is, that is to say, for what it is not.
At the same time, the spirit of art is something wholly other from technique. It is that spirit which moves in music, soaring with our heart and plummeting into our soul. It is that tear which rolls down our cheek as we are touched by the marvelous sensuality of flowing drapes locked into marble. But none of this should mistake us into thinking that the purpose of art is merely to move us to feeling. Beauty is not grounded in emotion; it is grounded in spirit. The end of art is not to move us to feeling; it is to move us to meaning.
Intentionality
Every act of communication effects both an intended and an unintended meaning, and there is no reason that the intended should be given priority in the metaphysics of meaning. And why should intention be appointed the godhead of meaning? Why should we think that the unintentional has no role to play in the comprehension of meaning? Should the accidental be less meaningful, simply for want of an intending mind?
There is meaning in the unintended, for only that meaning may be discovered. For the counter-movement of intention is attention, which minds nothing for what the mind imbues into meaning, but rather attends to discover the essentially new. To paint a complete picture of what meaning is, we must admit a place for both attention and intention, for both play a role in the advent of meaning. Not only is intending responsible for the advent of meaning, but so also attending, for only an attendant is responsive from the first to the coming of meaning and therefore capable of its discovery.
There is meaning in the unintended, for only that meaning may be discovered. For the counter-movement of intention is attention, which minds nothing for what the mind imbues into meaning, but rather attends to discover the essentially new. To paint a complete picture of what meaning is, we must admit a place for both attention and intention, for both play a role in the advent of meaning. Not only is intending responsible for the advent of meaning, but so also attending, for only an attendant is responsive from the first to the coming of meaning and therefore capable of its discovery.
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