Nothing: The Origin of Everything
In our 'show about nothing', we now hear everything, all at once. So, we revel in the Age of Resonance, turning the constraints of our media into art.
I divided this post into two parts. The first part is about nothing. The second part is not only about something but also about everything, at least everything that matters at the moment. Whether you find more value in Part 1 or Part 2, subscribe for further updates.
Part 1 - Nothing: The Origin of Everything
In the most famous show about nothing, we find two views of what the idea means. In George’s view, “nothing” means exactly what it says, and nothing happens on the show. In Jerry’s view, even on the show about nothing, something happens.
As a solo Substacker, I contain multitudes, including my Inner George and Inner Jerry. I appreciate both of their views of nothing the way I might appreciate the fruitful contrasts between the views of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel in the Talmud.
However, my appreciation of these contrasts doesn’t prevent me from taking sides when necessary. George’s and Jerry’s views of nothing may seem irreconcilable, but there’s no need for reconciliation. Jerry’s right. George is wrong.
The preceding claim is true for this post, but when I last wrote about nothing, it was my Inner George who guided me. That’s why, I felt that, even a headline for a post about nothing would make it about something. So, I published the post with No Headline.
This time, guided by my Inner Jerry, I acknowledge that, in my show about nothing, quite a bit is happening, especially now that I’m raising capital during a historic descent into a maelstrom (see Part 2).
The Eternal Name
Before I tell you all about the maelstrom, I offer you the opening verse of the Tao Te Ching.
The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth.
The named is the mother of the ten thousand things.
Ever desireless, one can see the mystery.
Ever desiring, one can see the manifestations.
These two spring from the same source but differ in name; this appears as darkness.
Darkness within darkness.
The gate to all mystery.
Reminders
As we shift focus from the eternal name to the ten thousand things, I ask you to consider the following:
Let’s name the ten thousand things with due care. For example, as I pointed out in my first post about nothing, the first problem with any blog post is always in the headline, which reflects a web of unexamined assumptions we bring to naming the subject and establishing its relevance.
If you’d like to read more about nothing, consider Reading the World. If you’d like to hear more about nothing directly from me, email me at daasnow@proton.me to book a 60-minute DaaS session (Cost: $300). To receive a written public response to a question about nothing, play The New Game; it’s free.
Without further ado, let’s move on to the ten thousand things.
Part 2 - The Story of Everything
Here’s one way to tell the story of everything:
How’s everything?
Great! How about you?
Great!
After exchanging warm smiles and firm handshakes, they continue with their day.
My telling of the story of everything may require a higher word count.
The Limitless Life - Part 2
In my first post about the limitless life, I suggested that crossing the ‘very narrow bridge’ to a life free of unhealthy limitations requires us to shun smiling snake oil merchants. Here, I return to The Art of Living, the recent essay by L.M. Sacasas, and to the recognition that:
“The art of living, like any other art, is the art of learning to work creatively within the constraints of the medium.”
And
The limits of the medium are precisely what call forth the creative effort. They are what create the conditions that make art possible.
I also return to the question:
“…If the constraints of a medium of art appear self-evident—the canvas is only so large, the instrument plays only a certain range of notes—what are the limits of the medium on which the art of life plays. Indeed, what exactly is the medium in view?”
This question has been resonating in my mind ever since I read the essay by Michael Sacasas. In an interesting (and not immediately obvious) way, it relates to the desire to heal from the types of unhealthy limitations my subscriber mentioned in the first post linked above.
We may not want to name the medium on which the art of living plays, but we can discuss its biases. For example, the medium favors courage and, in my view, it most richly rewards courageous action that honors the laws of media.
When I say “laws of media”, I'm not talking about McLuhan's tetrad here. I simply mean how we inhabit our environments. We often create unhealthy limitations either by responding to our environments with insufficient courage or by failing to harmonize our courage with the constraints of its medium.
Healing from unhealthy limitations is certainly a worthy goal. To me, an equally important goal is to continue to turn all our limitations into art. That’s what the medium is asking of us more urgently than ever before.
The Value of Art
In The Economics of Art, I discussed the experience of pricing the priceless as both a paradox and a banality. Here, I would also like to describe this experience as a battle we're fighting amid our descent into the maelstrom.
As artists, we are embroiled in more battles than we can describe, against forces we pretend to understand. We may struggle to name these forces, but we increasingly recognize their effect: they algorithmically rob us of our lifeblood and livelihood.
To prevail in this struggle, we need more than capital. We need a new institutional consensus about the value of art. At the same time, consensus-building seems like Mission Impossible — especially, but not only, in the valuation of art. We can't even agree about the reality behind the Emperor's ‘new clothes’, so it seems like a pipe dream to think that we'll translate a new consensus about the value of art into the medium of money.
Without a new consensus, artists continue to speak their truths to markets that reward organized denial. The higher the organization, the higher the reward. In this economic climate, continued attempts at consensus-building become counter-productive. As a result, we descend into the maelstrom.
Into the Vortex
When we consume literature as medicine, we can easily find remedies for nearly every condition, including descents into maelstroms. For me, the first round of remedies typically takes the form of memorable descriptions of our predicament. Consider, for example, A Descent into the Maelstrom, a short story by Edgar Allan Poe written in 1841. (Read full text courtesy of The Poe Museum)
Poe tells the story of an old man who survived his encounter with Moskoe-ström, a powerful whirlpool, by observing his environment. The vortex left the protagonist changed forever, and it claimed the lives of his two brothers. To me, the tale serves as an allegory for our long-running descent into Second-Order Ignorance (SOI). Indeed, The shaping effects of our media are no less powerful than Moskoe-ström.
I won’t try to enumerate the ways in which this story reflects our current predicament. Instead, I’ll share two passages that poignantly highlight a relational aspect of our lived reality often overlooked in the tug-of-war between people trapped on opposite ends of the Optimism-Pessimism Spectrum (OPS).
When forces of nature throw people into desperate states, people grasp at straws. In this story of three sailors descending into Moskoe-ström, the ring-bolt on the boat replaces the ‘straw’:
All this time I had never let go of the ring-bolt. My brother was at the stern, holding on to a small empty water-cask which had been securely lashed under the coop of the counter, and was the only thing on deck that had not been swept overboard when the gale first took us. As we approached the brink of the pit he let go his hold upon this, and made for the ring, from which, in the agony of his terror, he endeavored to force my hands, as it was not large enough to afford us both a secure grasp. I never felt deeper grief than when I saw him attempt this act — although I knew he was a madman when he did it — a raving maniac through sheer fright. I did not care, however, to contest the point with him. I knew it could make no difference whether either of us held on at all; so I let him have the bolt, and went astern to the cask. This there was no great difficulty in doing; for the smack flew round steadily enough, and upon an even keel — only swaying to and fro, with the immense sweeps and swelters of the whirl. Scarcely had I secured myself in my new position, when we gave a wild lurch to starboard, and rushed headlong into the abyss. I muttered a hurried prayer to God, and thought all was over.
Betrayed by his panic-stricken brother, the protagonist feels grief but no resentment or contempt. He realizes that his brother is no longer there. Through sheer fright, his brother's been transformed into a raving maniac clinging to the ring-bolt as his only hope for salvation.
I resolved to lash myself securely to the water cask upon which I now held, to cut it loose from the counter, and to throw myself with it into the water. I attracted my brother’s attention by signs, pointed to the floating barrels that came near us, and did everything in my power to make him understand what I was about to do. I thought at length that he comprehended my design — but, whether this was the case or not, he shook his head despairingly, and refused to move from his station by the ring-bolt. It was impossible to reach him; the emergency admitted of no delay; and so, with a bitter struggle, I resigned him to his fate, fastened myself to the cask by means of the lashings which secured it to the counter, and precipitated myself with it into the sea, without another moment’s hesitation.
The protagonist treats the raving maniac with compassion, but in the end, resigns him to his fate. When a man is impossible to reach, why risk life trying to reach him?
A Descent into the Maelstrom is a sobering tale, and I find comfort in Marshall McLuhan’s message that predetermination is only the destiny of people who refuse to contemplate the situation. For the rest:
“Pattern recognition in the midst of a huge, overwhelming, destructive force, is the way out of the maelstrom. The huge vorticies of energy created by our media present us with possibilities of evasion of destruction. By studying the pattern of the effects of this huge vortex of energy in which we are involved, it may be possible to program a strategy of evasion and survival.”
— ‘Man as Media’ 1977
For a deeper dive into maelstrom escape strategies, I recommend this five-part series from The McLuhan Newsletter:
Strange Fire
If the story of the descent into Moskoe-ström doesn't tell you enough about our moment in history, try this week's Torah portion, Parshat Shmini. It's a monumental parsha and a highly concentrated dose of literature as medicine. It points both to the vital importance of working with the constraints of the medium and the tragic consequences of failing to honor these constraints.
In Leviticus 10, Nadav and Avihu failed to honor these constraints when they brought a strange fire before God. Sefaria translates aish zara as ‘alien fire’. Whether the fire was alien or merely strange, it violated the laws of the medium, and the consequences were deadly.
The story turns achingly poignant in the next verse, in the haunting silence of the father of the deceased.
Then Moses said to Aaron, “This is what God meant by saying ‘Through those near to Me, I show Myself Holy and gain glory before all the people’.
And Aaron was silent.”
Through the medium of Aaron's silence, we can hear what no words can convey.
The Futility of Words
“Solitude is for me a fount of healing which makes my life worth living. Talking is often a torment for me, and I need many days of silence to recover from the futility of words.”
— Carl G. Jung