Perspectives in Context
Let’s begin with a true and therefore irrelevant story: My father had a friend named Gene who owned a sandwich shop named Gene’s. One of Gene’s sandwiches was called “Too Much Too Soon.” It was the only sandwich my father would order. I have no idea what was in it (which is so perfect, I wish I made it up.) Anyway, the name of the sandwich is perhaps a caveat for what follows. Bon appetit!
Things (words, images, sounds, movements) mean a lot more when you don’t know what they mean. Once the meaning is known (that is to say, defined for you, imposed upon you, delimited for you) and that insane banality (or tautology), “the meaning is that which is known” shall be dissected, parsed down to orts, later, then the meaning becomes limited: constricted; finite; fenced in; caged; bounded; circled; measurable and thus meagerly measured. It is the precise purpose of defining something that results in a precision that is necessary and admirable in some fields, but not in all in reality. Even scientists will agree that strict – to the point of sacrosanct – definitions may actually be a deterrent to progress; and by progress, we mean acquiring the truth. The construct is the enemy. (We’ll return to this.)
This quandary about meaning is part of the fun that the deconstructionists have: they’re brilliant at proving the impossibility of disambiguation…in anything. They practically dance in for joy when they hear the word ‘semantics.’
Words – those lovely, delicate inventions – are bits of paint on a canvas: spots, splashes, dashes, blotches, until our brains find a way to make them mean something, usually through the tenuous process of connecting them to other blotches. There are some people who are gifted with perception or creativity or transcendence because their minds do not divide, isolate, and delegate to different tiers or drawers or sections their thoughts and experiences, but allow them to coalesce, connect and compound. Their minds are pools of thought rather than filing cabinets of thought. This pool of associations that magnify via connectivity their meaning, makes me think of Thoreau, when he writes, “The universe is wider than our views of it.” The limitations of our visions come from within; the boundlessness of our visions come from within. Sadly, these visions cannot be shared as they should if the visionary lacks the ability to convey those visions, whether in words or music or images. Artists require two rare qualities to be allowed that appellation. Imagine! Vision and Talent! There is no rule that states the two must exist in the same person; it is pure luck to be the possessor of both. We plebeians must be wary, for some possessors of only one or the other are very good at feigning possession of both. Two final points: my metaphor that “minds are pools” comes straight from Wallace Stevens’ Proverb, “Thought tends to collect in pools.” The second point that brings all of the above neatly together is Aristotle’s axiom, “But the greatest thing by far is to have command of metaphor. This alone cannot be imparted by another; it is the mark of genius, for to make good metaphors implies an eye for resemblances.” (Somebody’s translation. Not mine. But this translation does the trick.)
There are times when this limitation – specificity – is a very good thing, indeed; yet there are times when such limits are walls and fences and moats and – worse – blindfolds.
Should ART have meaning in the context given above? Should we be able to say with mathematical or logical certainty “this symphony, this grouping of notes played in this order at this time and level and pace and arrangement and organization and relation to other groupings of notes played on other instruments at specific intervals etc. etc. means such and such”? Or this painting or these words and so on?
I love science and mathematics and logic: I find them beautiful, though – or because – I have such a fuzzy understanding of them. And many philosophers find them not just fun but funny: their claims to solidity and reliability and fixedness as benefits are gloriously absurd, especially so because we are so anxious to trust them, to believe in them. They are a wonderfully-rendered religion. This is not at all intended to be belittling.
Sometimes, even I crave something solid, something that I can call “real.” Though those few things that I label as “real” are usually the most frightening things I can imagine: e.g. death, disease, senescence, the fiction of justice and fairness and good triumphing over evil, and so on.
Other times, fuzzy is good. Embrace the fog.
[Caveat (the gravity of which is emphasized by those scary brackets): It is quite possible that all of the above is my excuse, my justification for my inability to understand anything fully, that I get bits and pieces; that I am embracing my stupidity. It would be sad if I were trying to turn the old antipodal hierarchy upside-down by arguing that stupid is somehow superior to smart. That would be wrong and really wrong. I may be obligated to recant on “Embrace the fog”; perhaps I should say, “Appreciate the fog” or “Linger in the fog before fumbling your way through it to whatever is beyond it, though that may well be another fog.”]
Does this mean that I am espousing willful stupidity, deliberate obscurantism, intentional non-reception? Absolutely not. For the “fog” to yield anything, there must be some compass, something that will guide you through it and help you process the fog and your progress. Fog, at the very least, is an experience, and we derive what we can from experience if we are genuine explorers, searchers or seekers.
This compass we just mentioned is called knowledge, which is often used by the ignorant as a disguise for their lack of intelligence; for the intelligent, knowledge is a topographical masterpiece. (Yes, I simply could have said ‘map.’) Knowledge and Intelligence are completely different; the latter is essential; the former is advantageous. Knowledge can be learned, gained, and – in the right brain – applied. Intelligence is what you are stuck with, for better or worse. (Naïve or benighted psychologists, psychiatrists, social scientists, researchers, and others will claim that there are ways to increase a person’s intelligence; they are wrong. They are selling something; they have ulterior motives, so do not trust them. Intelligence is genetics plus luck. Period. And then there is Wisdom, which I say with some trepidation or enormous sagacity has some connection with fog.
So let us return to our fog.
A suggestion: If it means nothing or yields nothing, give it another try. Several tries. Then, if it still means nothing or yields nothing, give it meaning, yourself. That counts.
The problem with bar jokes is that they are loaded with meaning. No, that’s not the problem with bar jokes; that’s the problem with our failing to analyze, to look deeper, to really understand what is being said. Here is one example:
A pair of jumper-cables go into a bar and demand a drink.
The bartender says, “I’ll serve you, but you better not start anything.”
This is an existential matter. A matter of essence. Of purpose. What are jumper cables supposed to do; what are they expected to do? Should jumper cables be expected not to start anything? This is the gift of essence before existence. As Sartre and his existentialist gang would explain, this is the very predicament of Man: created – made to exist – before having an essence, a reason to exist. Jumper cables know why (but don’t be surprised by their reticence to share that knowledge, though it could be my lack of fluency in the language of jumper-cables that is the reason for their silence) they were created; Man has no idea, so he has to go around lost, without a compass, and has to search all over the place to find his essence, the justification for his existence. A delightfully stupid predicament if you are a happy cynic or imbecilic optimist (yes, that’s an implicit redundancy); but if you are genuinely pained by this hole in your being, you have no choice but to search your way through everything from bibles to bottles of booze to find your way through your existence. Wait: I forgot to use our key word: Meaning.
By the way, this is a common theme in bar jokes. Consider the bartender who warns Thomas Edison not to get any bright ideas. Or, better still, being a gift from Nature, a drop of rain creating a glorious, animated geometry in that man-made moat, while the watchers on the battlements barely blink, their minds on stirrings in the forest and supper.
T. A. Young is the author of The Fairy Tale Book of Bifford C. Wellington; Elephant and Rabbit As Told By Skib Bricluster; Elephant and Rabbit and Skib; and co-author with Marian Grudko of Claudine: A Fairy Tale for Exceptional Grownups. That’s the published stuff, but keep your eyes peeled for The Book of Epitaphs; The Philosophy of Punctuation; and an as-yet-untitled book about cliches, coming to a fireplace near you.