I Am Not...

"I Am Not..." is (well, at least so far) my favorite Rumi excerpt. I originally came across it quite a few years ago in a video production (Four Seasons) for 'poetry in motion'. The title of that excerpt was, "Only Breath," and was read by the American Rumi afficianado and poet, Coleman Barks.

It is so simply because, to me, it seems to fit in neatly with so many non-linear ways of seeing the world.

For example, the phrase 'I am not' is an instance of what is known as a 'strange loop', discussed in Douglas Hofstadter's book, Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid.

This concept comes, in part, from Godel's 'Incompleteness Theorem'--especially in relation to what he terms 'undecidable statements.' Although this phrase is often used in describing problems in mathematics, it also applies to situations within human cognition and language.

In this sense, it is similar to the statement: "This statement is false." Which is true...a paradox.

There are also visual 'strange loops'. For example, in the work of Dutch artists, M.C. Escher.

The Waterfall:

Or, Ascending and Descending:

The most famous example of the visual 'strange loop' is probably August Ferdinand Möbius' the Mobius Strip (sometimes called the Mobius Band):

As an aside, in Ancient Greece there is a similar creation known as the Ouroboros. It is associated with the Mobius band here in that both represent infinity (in fact, lookl closely at the Mobius Band and you'll see the mathematical sign for 'infinity'):

...looks a lot like a zero, huh...


The Mobius Band has several famous incarnation, but my two favorite are from Escher:

And one on a similar theme simply called Rind:

Which reminds me a little of Aristophanes tale of how humans came to be two sexes in Plato's  Symposium.

There's an interesting video that illustrates the paradoxes that emerge  from within the paradox created by the 'strange loop' of the Mobius Band that's worth watching.

Finally, there is another visual much akin to the "this statement is false" sentence in the Belgian painter, René Magritte's, "The Treachery of Images":

The French translates to: "This is not a pipe"...which, of course, it isn't...it's an image of a pipe, but not the thing itself. A subtle derivation of Plato's 'theory of forms'.


In Music there's an example of the 'strange loop' in J.S. Bach's Crab Cannon. Here a musical score is played forward 'into' music, but can also be played backward into silence: again, a paradox.

And then there's the 'Shepard Tone.' If you listen to this you'll note that although the tone appears to be descending it is, in fact, staying the same. This is an example of an auditory illusion.

To return to language, the aforementioned sentence--"This statement is false"--is called the 'Liar's Paradox' in logic and represents a problem of binary (semantic) interpretation. More technically, it is a problem of bivalence, where any declarative statement under investigation is said to have only one truth value (indetermined as it may be): 'true' or 'false'. The Liar's Paradox illustrates possible paradoxical situations that may arise from holding this belief (in its epistemological sense, that is).

However, with language there are depths of meaning (semantics) beyond the binary. Take for example the following ambiguous sentence:

"The boys are throwing rocks at the bank"

There are two types of ambiguity in this sentence: semantic and syntactic.

Semantically, we'd have to know what the speaker means by the noun 'bank': a river bank or the institution (i.e. Royal Bank). Each variant leads to a quite different possible interpretation. This is an example of Godel's 'undecidable statements.'

Further, if we look at the syntactic ambiguity in the dependent (prepositional) clause--"at the bank"--we face two more possible interpretations: the boys were 'at' (location) the river bank throwing rocks at something unknown; or, the boys were 'at' (location) the Royal Bank, again throwing rocks at something unknown.

Although we as listeners could deduce which statement is most likely to be correct (or, with enough added information, exactly which interpretation is correct) we're still faced with the fact that we cannot decide which of these interpretations is 'true' until we have that information. Furthermore, the possible interpretations move beyond the binary model.

To return to the Rumi excerpt, there is also the idea stemming from the 'strange loop' that the "I" is what is known as a 'narrative fiction'; that is, "I" doesn't really exist at birth but is, as part of our identity, something that emerges only after we've developed an 'ego', we've gained command of our native sign systems (language--spoken and written, etc), and have, then, developed this thing called the "I". It does not, however, actually exist 'in-the-world'. 

This is a part of the 'absurdity' spoken of by existentialist philosopher's like Jean Paul Sartre.

In Rumi's excerpt, "Only Breath," I noticed the hint of this is the speakers conscious pause between "human" and "being"--versus the more common "human being." Here the term 'being' (as in 'to be') is emphasized/highlighted. That is to say, I believe--and akin to the existentialists preoccupation with that odd verb--our 'being, like our development of the "I", is not the same thing as our biology, as in 'human'. 'Being' is a construct to aid in determining the subjective and objective presence we hold--simultaneously--in the world; yet, it is integral to our identity and, therefore, as real as any thing.

In the excerpt, "I Am Not..," I believe Rumi is highlighting something very similar. By addressing that which is not he is drawing attention to that which is.

Here I am reminded of several--culturally diverse--similar expressions of the same sentiment.

In math, we have the concept of 'zero' (or 'nought'). A paradox because it cannot, in reality, exist. In regards to the zero, if we think of it as a circle (neither the numeral nor the letter) I think Rumi is drawing attention to the paradox of being in two states at once in his lines ("Only Breath"): "outer, inner." If we think of our being in such a predicament, we can see ourselves as existing at once 'in' and 'out'--which, by definition is, at worst, non-being; or, at best, existing in a liminal state.

In art, 'negative space' defines the space around which the object invades. It is, perhaps, better seen than defined. This is an example of both negative space and negative space as a paradox (two things--but neither--at once) designed by the Danish psychologist, Edgar Rubin, and known as the 'Rubin vase':

On the left, the 'positive' spaced object (vase); on the right, the negative space surrounding the vase is highlighted and, here, presents the paradox: are we looking at a vase? Or, at two people nose-to-nose? Or, neither and both at once..?

In the Japanese culutre there are the twin concepts of 'ma' and 'mu'.

'Ma' is the space--or gap, or pause--between the objects presented in art (akin, I think, to what is 'left out' in Saphho's poetry). We can see something similar to this in the use of 'white space' in publishing. That is, the space on the page of a book we'd commonly call the 'margins'; and, the space, for example, between the chapters of a book. I'd suggest it is also akin to Rumi's 'pause' between "human" and "being"...much exists in that pause that is us.

On the other hand, there's the concept of 'mu'. This, although similar to 'ma', differs n its emphasis on 'nothingness', 'non-existent', and 'non-being'. The 'not' in Rumi's "I Am Not..."

The purpose in these explorations is not, I believe, to create a cynicism or pessimism; rather, to remind us that we are 'not' simply one thing or another: we're not 'Christian or Jew, or Magian, or Muslim'; we're not 'of the west or of the east'; we're 'us'; we're 'all'.

We're the "[o]ne I seek, One I know/One I see, One I call."

In this I see as much 'reason' as there is 'passion'. It is, like much of what I've discussed before, and come more firmly to believe over time, syncretic.

I'd like to leave you with the following sentiment regarding my collective use of 'us' and 'all' as wonderfully presented by the late Carl Sagan, entitled "Pale Blue Dot." 

Like Rumi's 'not' I think the recognition of things beyond our selves and that we're more than one or simply a few things is paramount to our survival and evolution. I am reminded of the time I spent deep in either the desert or the arctic. Here, there is a liberty, and freedom, that comes with the realization of one's own insignificance. This isn't pessimistic or devaluing; quite the contrary: it reminds us that what is 'real' is often intangible and what is really important is not necessarily what's right in front of us.

Lucretius

I was originally introduced to Lucretius', On the Nature of Things, in a philosophy of science course I took many years ago. Lucretius came up again when I was taking a graduate course in historiography. In both instances, Lucretius was presented as an example of the wonders and the dangers that await when we delve into the past.

The historian, David Lowenthal, provides the following preparatory advice to those embarking upon such excursions:  "The past is a foreign country whose features are shaped by today's predilections, its strangeness domesticated by our own preservation of its vestiges" (p. xvii, The Past is a Foreign Country).

On our map of the past we need be wary of that mysterious spot that read: "Here, be anachronisms."

The potential treasures of the past are a compelling draw for us, but we must be aware of the very real dangers such inquires into the past present. On the one hand, there's anachronism: an instance where we read into the past something from the present which either simply isn't there, or which may be present as such, but not simply so. Again, Lowenthal warns us that the "past thus conjured up is, to be sure, largely an artifact of the present" (p. xvi).

On the other hand, there's nostalgia. Here we harken back to the past in search of a better period of time as evidence of how we should resolve issues in the present. However, much is lost (forgotten) in the journey from past into the present; and, much of these attributes not only do not fit within a contemporary context, but are often regressive.

Certainly no one would deny that there is much to gain and to learn from the past. However, history as evidence must be viewed very cautiously. Sifting through the past requires close and rigorous analysis. So, like archaeology and paleontology, from vast stretches of land are distilled only tiny fragments emerge. What emerges are artifacts.

Lowenthal's book is amongst the best explorations into historiography because of his interest in finding insight into the past without privileging a single form of evidence, something historians are often wont to do. As we've seen recently from readings of Aeschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles we can read between the lines to gain some insight into the audiences and, thus, the worlds, within which these authors existed. But, we must do so with caution and being well aware of the short-comings and pitfalls of doing so.

Science (natural philosophy) has been with us for millennia; however, the scientific method (natural science), and its successes, have been with us for only several centuries. Since the 16th and 17th century 'scientific revolution', our knowledge and command of knowledge has exploded and advanced at a break neck pace. So, much so one could say that science is a victim of its own success. It is perhaps because of its explosive growth and success that science is still often misunderstood.

Science has been castigated as hubris, while being exalted as genius. It has been condemned as harmful, while being lauded as panacea. It has been attacked as hypocritical, while moving to fill in the gaps of our knowledge.

Equally, science's adherents have presented science over-enthusiastically; as panacea. Scientific determinism, and its corollary in logical positivism, gave rise to nothing less than hyperbole resulting in: the derogation and denigration of the arts; an over-emphasis on certain forms of evidence, warrants, and thus, what constitutes knowledge (i.e. behaviourism); an arrogance that has seen us 'do' when we would have been best served by first asking 'should'.

In regards to this latter 'arrogance', I am reminded of Robert Oppenheimer's statement after witnessing the detonation of the first atomic bomb he helped develop: "I am become death, the Shatterer of Worlds" (quoting the Baghavad Gita).

That science is still controversial, reasonably or not, is indicative of its challenge to human understanding. Science is one way of seeing, and thus understanding, the world around us. It is more (and less) than simply a 'worldview', but it is often seen as a direct challenge to others' worldviews. As such, although science really is a method of pursuit, it would be naive to hold that its' results do not impact how we see the world.

Such as it is today, so it has been for most of human history as evident in that we remember the names of Plato and Aristotle, but have mostly forgotten Lucretius.

Lucretius' writings were part of the movement away from a more super-natural and super-stituous way of viewing the world toward a more natural--that is empirical--means of viewing the world. It is perhaps important to note that what Lucretius', et al, were doing in this period is better described as 'natural philosophy' than the more 16th century 'natural science'.

What we're witnessing in Lucretius' time is what would eventually become the division between scientific and religious ways of viewing the world that we struggle with today.

The world of Homer and Hesiod did not distinguish myths from reality. The cosmogony of this period was understood, for example, to be that as described in Hesiod's, Theogeny. A distinction between fact and fiction did not exists as we understand it today.

Between the 7th to 6th centuries there is a period of separation or differentiation. Here, we can find the early stages of the separation between fact and fiction, although we must be careful to not take this too far. One can see the evolving place of the gods in comparing the story of Medea in Hesiod's, Theogeny to that of Eurpides re-telling, for example.

During this period factual (what would become prose) information is becoming more discursive, while fiction becomes to been as pleasure (poetry). The distinction is only in its genesis here, and it would be some time before we would see this distinction clearly.

As such, poetry as a means of understanding the world begins to become less 'serious'. Mythic understanding is still central, but it has become the domain of the discursive and what we can call, with caution, theological. At the same time, natural philosophy is also gaining in prominence. As we enter the period (c. 5th BCE) between Socrates and Aristotle, we can also begin to see a distinction being made between this 'theology' and that of 'natural philosophy'.

What is occurring during this period also is that natural philosophy is taking a decidedly inward turn. That is, to understand the world we're best served by understanding it internally (abstraction) to find the 'rules' and then to apply these to the world around us; that is, at the expense of our senses. As such, the senses will come to be viewed with more and more suspicion well into our own time (i.e. behaviourism). Equally, the arts--bound as they are to the senses--are moving more and more into the realm of pleasure (leisure).

In Epicurus' time, natural 'philosophy' is beginning to become a kind of natural 'science' in its emphasis on materialism. however, we must be careful to not make this distinction complete, let alone hold that this is how they would have seen it then. Epicurus is attempting to return the external world of observations to the fold of internal, abstract reasoning. And, he is not alone in doing so.

It should also be stated that although superstition is being removed from the stage, as it were, this is not a form of either secularism or atheism. Where Epicureans did not believe in divine providence (intervention) they did not deny the existence of gods (as Lucretius would clarify in making the gods of atoms, there were still gods nonetheless). The Stoics, who held wisdom to be the highest ideal, did believe in divine providence. Sophocles, who pursued knowledge via poetry and who also believed strongly in the gods, did not appear to believe in divine providence. The salvation offered by the Stoics and the Epicureans was to be sought predominantly through attaining wisdom via reasoning, and reasoning of the natural philosophy cum science.

What this illustrates is simply that this period of differentiation and the development of what would become natural science was not formalized in this period. That, as Lowenthal warned, is an artifact of the present.

Lucretius certainly can be seen as a man ahead of his time. His efforts to compliment the internally focused, yet abstracted, reasoning of the Socratic schools with that of observation were, indeed, visionary. They did not, however, come out of the blue; they were not, to use Joyce's term, epiphany. In fact, these insights were 'in the works', directly, as far back as the pre-Socratic Thales (the 'father of science'), c. 7th BCE. His students were equally important (and pre-Socratic): Pythagoras and Leucippus (c. 5th BCE).

This is not to take away from Lucretius, merely to warn us to avoid idolatry, if you will. (the irony here being Lucretius' possible idolatry of Epicurus' as seen in Book V, On the Nature of Things).

Lucretius genius is twofold, in my opinion. On the one hand, he manages to fuse the two, now relatively distinct, worlds of the discursive (fact, prose, serious) with that of the poetic (fictional, pleasurable) while demonstrating the power of his observational (external locus) method and the weaknesses of the abstract reasoning (internal locus). On the other hand, he is addressing his observations of the world as a means of ameliorating people's fears of death (and the "dread of punishment"; Bk.1, L.110); and, in so doing, providing a viable alternative to the monopoly that superstition has had on this question and domain.

In essence, his approach is an aggregate; it is syncretic. Given that this is a culture in crisis, or existing at least in a period of tumult and change, this move toward a unifying goal shouldn't come as a surprise. In fact, we could, rather tongue-in-cheek way granted, see it as a very Canadian thing to do (a 'middle way'). That the Epicurean 'school' also allowed women and non-Greeks should only provide more evidence of this approach, this worldview, as syncretic.

Simply to provide an analogy to illustrate my point, a similar approach is also seen in teachings of Lin Zhaoen who attempted to harmonize the teachings of Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism (remember Mencius)during the equally tumultuous 14th to 17th Century CE, Ming Dynasty, China.

Lucretius' observations that "nothing can be made from nothing" (Bk.1, l. 155), "nothing can be reduced to nothing" (Bk.1, l.235), or that "things that seem to perish utterly, do not" (Bk.1, l.263), and that "[a]ll things decompose/Back into the elemental particles from which they rose" (Bk.1, l.248-49), although quite insightful, should in no way be confused with, or compared directly to, either the 19th Century Laws of Thermdynamic, nor seen as direct precursors to Newtons Laws.

Equally, his observations that "there are particles/Which are but which cannot be seen" (Bk.1, 268-69) is not a prediction, or a species, or quantum physics.

To believe that Lucretius' observation even represent a direct line to the physics of the modern world is to demonstrate a misunderstanding or an ignorance (however honest) of both the advances in method that occurred during the scientific revolution as well as what constitutes evidence (let alone the need to demonstrate that evidence).

When Lucretius demonstrates his point regarding these unseen particles by comparing observations of the wind to that of water he is demonstrating not the existence of that which is not seen, rather the reason why one could deduce the possibility of such unseen things existence. It is a logical argument, not scientific proof. In fact, even within logic, this approach, can equally easily result in the logical error known as a post hoc ergo propter hoc; that is a coincidental correlation fallacy (it isn't here, but such a line of reasoning can fail in this way).

What is missing (or is at least insufficiently developed) in Lucretius' time is a method. Lucretius, and others, certainly are demonstrating an important component of what would become the scientific method: hypothesis and observation; but, this should not be confused with scientific knowledge as we understand it (even as far back as the 17th Century). In fact, in regards to the scientific method, 'observation' is actually 'systematic' observation; something still in development in Lucretius' time (there wasn't a single agreed upon 'system' as is evident in the competing schools).

Again, we're simply seeing Lucretius in his time so as to see him clearly. In no way should we construe clarification as undermining the value, the insight, and the part which people like Lucretius have played in the development of knowledge. To do so would be equally erroneous.

Some of the motivation to seek into the past, we have to admit, is to avoid the present. The proverbial 'good old days'; nostalgia.

In the past things may have seemed much simpler, but this is simply because of our unfamiliarity with it. The more we know of the past, the more we realize that it is no less complex, sophisticated, or dynamic than our own time; but it is different.

Another reason people commit the error of nostalgia and anachronism is because understanding the world today, in detail that is, requires highly specialized knowledge and training. It appears that although we're asking the same questions that we, as a species, have always asked, understanding the answer is, well, like trying to understand what people are saying when you're in a foreign country, where people are speaking a foreign language, and much around you is alien.

We see the end result of this in, for example, the 'debate' between the new creationism (aka 'intelligent design') and evolution. The challenge evolution (via science) has presented reaches far beyond understanding 'natural selection', 'environmental pressures', 'genetics', 'adaptive competency', etc. Evolution presents a direct assault (however unintentionally) on the questions: 'how did we get here', 'what is our purpose here', and so on. Further to this, the means to understanding the answers evolution provides--the theories, research findings, or terminology--are daunting even to those who do not question its validity.

Understanding, for example, Genesis is far more simple and more easily accessible, and comforting, than is understanding evolution (if such a thing is even possible).

Tension arises when the world view attempts to 'prove' itself to the method. The evidence for evolution is overwhelming, in both senses of the word. It has also stood to the challenges, although creation has stood for a long period of time, it has failed to meet even the most basic challenges to its claims. Evidence for creationism, in whatever its current manifestation, is simply unsound, soundly disproven, internally incoherent, and non-reproducible; neither, on even cursory inspection, does it provide a meaningful means to understanding the world.

The problem isn't between these as competing worldviews (sometimes called 'teaching to the controversy'). Science is a method whose findings impact how we view the observable, physical world. Religion (faith) is a means to understanding not how the world works, rather it is a means for people to access to make sense of the subjective, meta-physical world--therefore, its real competitor is philosophy. There's a reason why every major western (and beyond) religion holds some variation of a 'leap of faith'.

One thing I strongly believe we can learn directly from Lucretius comes in his syncretic goal; his attempt to unify the poetic with the prose. We do see aspects of this today in inter-disciplinary approaches; however, I think we're still doing a poor, and thus inefficient, job of bringing these two necessary parts back into equilibrium as the whole from which they were so unnaturally and unnecessarily severed.

Lucretius, in his time, soundly demonstrated that fact and fiction, poetry and prose, the discursive and the pleasurable, not only could be a whole, but should be a whole. Where science, for example, teaches us the 'how' of the world, the arts present us with perspectives into the 'why'. Separate we're less, in much the same way as Aristophanes suggested in his description of humans before Zeus cleaved us in two.

In seeking to unify we can look to the past, but with caution; equally, we must closely examine current attempts at unification that really amount to a return to superstition as seen in the 'quantum mysticism' movements of Deepak Chopra; or, in the attempts of scientific theists to reconcile religion with science--the two are mutually exclusive and inherently incompatible by their very definitions.

These, however, represent potential dangers and pitfalls to avoid and be aware of. However, like Lucretius almost two millennia ago, these dangers and pitfalls are no reason to cease to explore...

Mencius and Antigone

Again, just attempting to keep with chronology.

Will fill-in-the-blanks ASAP...famous last words...*sigh*