In this post I’d like to show my own exploring of my identity through sound and vision. I put these short videos together in 2009 as an experiment, trying aesthetically express my sensibilities. Each of the three depicts a different aspect of me. As usual I am always grateful for peoples views and ideas.
It is a wonderful life. It is a wonderful life because we can feel it. Time passes for all of us, each day to stop and reflect, each day that has passed. Never to be lived again. Because it is wonderful.
Each second is unique. Each mind experiences it’s own fragment as time moves forward through us; passing back into a horizon that we’ve passed. Friends, love, laughs, they swell into an abyss of memory, only to be mirrored by another event, itself passing. And it is wonderful. It hurts wonderfully to know that each one of these moments is an end; an end of time. And it is wonderful.
Sometimes love is so pervasive it can’t be shared. In a moment of refection, in a glance a ray of light burns through a leaf and time evaporates into a mist. Transported into the heart of another time once lived a smile crosses like it was the first, and then all of a sudden a noise and back to the ending present. and it is wonderful.
And as age correlates more and more with the passage of time the bank of imagery grows all consuming. Wistful reflection. Why? Because life is wonderful.
Overhead the earth is a miracle of magnitude. Removed from the immediate youth of all that is present. Embedded in the flesh we see with our eyes, we are narrowed to the compass of vision, trapped; if it were not for imagination. Trapped to the hunger and lust that are the anathema of civilization.
And at every level each age is closer to the physical character of being. Before we adulterate life children play with no thought of the concrete. The world is the world of imagination, it is the world we destroy. Possibility, unscathed by the meanings of everything, children free to imagine, the world they dream could be real. It could couldn’t it?
It is blank of the things to come; those things which daunt the prospects of every child.
One Sunday we were like children, playing in the fields, running after gazelle in the mist as they jumped from puff to dew. Our house traveled with light and warmth through the horizon as the world awoke to a jaded reality, and we lived a moment of innocent nothingness before that time. And soon the quicksand of being took us from the playground to the world; preoccupation faintly understood. But we were not disappointed.
And so from the world within to the world without, life was only told though stories, communicated at other times. Never twice the same.
On the kitchen floor a giggle signified the privacy of our experience. Shared, but not to be shared again. Like a nod between men, as full of meaning and companionship as any nod can be. We giggled like children.
How many freedoms? The mystic and the rational combine, if only in the innermost parts of the mind; at some level recognizing the sense of another reality, one disconnected from the occupation of the body, connected only with the imagination; we travel with each other infinitely in finite time remembering the the impossibility of the infinite in the expression of mind.
And we would be forgiven for thinking that beyond the concrete lies nothing but space. However, within the depth of our minds are the rhythms of meaning. That would be nonsense anywhere else. Yet they carry for each a significance not held by any other.
That is the power of nostalgia. A Time forgotten, a time only the passing bird sees. It is held in the spaces beyond quantification, to be understood to the longing for more than the void. There is a world we find within others when we smile, it is that single moment of creative insight that exists between people; the meanings of the worlds are resonant equally among us all at this time.
It is the essence of all human bondage. In a world that none but minds can acquiesce, can forget and can live on: The moment of belonging is the moment of genuine imagination.
But for those moments those worlds were there; between us and forever in our minds, our worlds to share. They were there to remind us that beyond here the world continues, devoid of the facts of the minds but full of a psychological reality. A real reality for us.
It is that world across the human that is the humanity. It was the fact of experience that meant the word and not misunderstanding or false interpretation monopolized existence. It was that which is all that matters, all that does matter.
From the mystical to the concrete we live, and we live on; with pleasure disguised as an opiate, the fallacy of misunderstanding that has left the possibility and the reality of all which is false to nothing; we continue to live, and our life remains in this world between us, between the concrete and the abstract, it is this world of interaction. Embedded we are and embodied we become.
“For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure. I never can catch myself at any time without a perception. When my perceptions are removed for any time…..I am insensible of myself, and may truly be said not to exist…….nor do I conceive what I is farther requisite to make me a perfect non-entity”
David Hume: A Treatise On Human Nature
“1. The world is all thst is the case”
“1.1 The world is the totality of facts, not of things.”
Wittgenstein – Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus
“Assuming physics to be broadly speaking true, can we know it to be true, and, if the answer is in the affirmative, does this involve knowledge of other truths besides those of physics?”
Bertrand Russell – Physics and Experience
To think about consciousness is difficult, moment to moment it is the one thing of which we are not aware, that is despite its unique relationship with all with which are aware. Of course from time to time we will comment on how we feel or what we see but in none of those statements are we even implicitly referring to our own consciousness. But without it, we wouldn’t have the awareness that would make any of those statements remotely intelligible.
The words here as they are read by you, the sense of your hand guiding you, the sense of the back of your neck. These are not things, they exist as constellations of activity in your brain. They are qualia, aspects of consciousness. The sense of having a word on the tip of your brain, that’s also consciousness. But, and it would be unnatural to do anything but this; we conflate each of those experiences with the things they are experiences of; they are in fact just mental activity.
Of course your hand and your neck exist, as do these words. However, the point remains; between you and your experience is a world taken for granted. That world is an interpretation, and reality, once you’ve been removed from it is something quite different to what we interpret. Cut open a human brain and there is nothing that looks like a word or a book or even a desk lamp, there is a fleshy organ and in that organ millions of connections infer not just the lamp, the book and the words, they infer you reading it as well.
Given that this is the case, and this is the case, what certainty do we have that we are even really real? That is a question that has been asked and examined and attempts have been made to answer with varying degrees of satisfaction. Ultimately however, each answer has led to a regress of absurdity, leading to more and more questions at every turn. One of my favourite answers used to be the idea that it is by virtue of the coherence of evidence that we can be sure that the world exists, and my favourite retort; we could also be be coherently wrong about all of those facts as well.
To make matters worse; physics tells us that the world that we see is in fact an inference and a relatively bad one at that. The table, the book and even the ink on the page that make up the words are made up of billions of electrons buzzing about, and between them a lot of empty space.
The issue it seems to me that makes us nervous is that we like to feel certain about things. Novelty is always nice when it doesn’t threaten you, but when you can’t be sure that you’re really reading these words on this screen because you may in fact not exist, or these words may only exist by virtue of your thinking them, then the uncertainty is a little more daunting.
To be certain of everything you believe is in reality a probabilistic nightmare. Desire for certainty is a necessary disease of the mind, it is the anxiety of uncertainty that lies behind neurotic disposition, and that is the point. How many nightmares have been caused in the world because one group of people have killed to defend one false proposition against another? How much of history is marred by sacrifices made in the name of ideas that today we’re certain are parochial, ridiculous even. Science itself is in part built around the idea that it’s central authority lies in its own ability to falsify itself. And how many ideas that we take to be the fabric of reality today will our future generations inquire with an equal humour? But that said the fabric of what we take to be the essence of the world, the values and assumptions we make in the simplest of our observations seem unavoidable.
That single impasse, the impasse of pragmatism has shifted debate from the quest for truth to the nature of attitude. Progress, it seems, is less to do with what we know than our attitude towards what we think we know.
And yet we certainly will, and we certainly do take our own existence for granted. But we fail to take for granted the same sense of existence in others, or even the world in which we live. The distance between us and the minds of others, those minds who share the uncertainty of reality with us are at a greater distance from us than the least tenable of our beliefs.
That is an irony, and it’s a bad one too; the further away someone is from us the easier it is to forget the one thing they certainly do share with us, that is humanity, consciousness and a mind. It is all of the minds in this world taken together that give is the most coherent picture of the world we can have, it therefore seems viciously illogical that we are also so capable of standing at such a distance from people who for all the superficial differences are in essence the same as us. Most importantly, people who share a world with us and have as much right to a picture of existence as us.
Within the depths of those minds are the anxieties of existence that drive each of us. For some however that existence is in fact desperate, and in a society that can give anything to anyone most people struggle with the very fact of existence. That is madness for a rational society.
But as much as we would like to believe it is the case, society is not rational. Of course the law, the government and the values that we share preserve some kind of rationality. The concept of human rights, international diplomacy and democracy are in effect standards of rationality that have developed and evolved over time, they have been made possible through history; even though many of these ideas were born of inequity at one time or another. But there is a deeper and more significant point, one that leads to an absurdity that is unavoidable, just like art, language and any other form of expression, each of these institutions are born of human minds and shape human reality and in as much as that is the case, and again, that is the case, they are only capable of as much reason as we are in using them.
“THE HOPE OF SATISFACTION TO OUR MORE HUMAN DESIRES – THE HOPE OF DEMONSTRATING THAT THE WORLD HAS THIS OR THAT DESIRABLE ETHICAL CHARACTERISTIC – IS NOT ONE WHICH, SO FAR AS I CAN SEE, A SCIENTIFIC PHILOSOPHY CAN DO ANYTHING WHATEVER TO SATISFY”
&
“THE GOOD WHICH IT CONCERNS US TO REMEMBER IS THE GOOD WHICH IT LIES IN OUR POWER TO CREATE – THE GOOD IN OUR LIVES AND IN OUR ATTITUDE TOWARDS THE WORLD. INSISTENCE ON THE BELIEF IN AN EXTERNAL REALISATION OF THE GOOD IS A FORM OF SELF ASSERTION, WHICH, WHILE IT CANNOT SECURE THE EXTERNAL GOOD WHICH IT DESIRES, CAN SERIOUSLY IMPAIR INWARD GOOD WHICH LIES IN OUR POWER, AND DESTROY THAT REVERENCE TOWARDS FACT WHICH CONSTITUTES BOTH WHAT IS VALUABLE IN HUMILITY AND WHAT IS FRUITFUL IN THE SCIENTIFIC TEMPER.”
Among the most difficult issues faced by humans in science and in philosophy is consciousness. The problem with consciousness is that is has many sides to it. On the one hand there is the very difficult problem understanding what it is. Is is a stuff like say an electron is something i.e. matter, or is it it’s own stuff? That is the problem of substance. Then there’s another problem, that is: how is it that we are conscious?
Wittgenstein remarked “If a lion could talk, we could not understand him”. It’s worth noting that the insight was not Wittgenstein’s alone. Xenophanes (approx 400 BC) stated “if oxen, horses…. had hands or could paint…
my own exploring of my identity through sound and vision. I put these short videos together in 2009 as an experiment, trying aesthetically express my sensibilities. Each of the three depicts a different aspect of me. As usual I am always grateful for peoples views and ideas.
A tantalizing part of experience is the noise we don’t experience; both the visual and auditory noise in the environment is immense. The environment is an almost chaos. Light, shapes and sounds; all varied and complex.
Knowing how the world and our own consciousness of it will help us to frame ourselves in relation to the concepts that inhabit our world. The physical world is important if we want to understand that other word we inhabit, the world of ideas.