The Zero

Categories are placeholders, designed to group together items or ideas that we experience as related. We do this instinctually, for the sake of efficiency of thought and communication, and it is not in and of itself an unwise tendency. Children for instance wouldn’t be able to learn the world without the use of strict categories. At its logical conclusion, however, every category that includes two or more discrete items will ultimately come up short, since by its very nature a category will always be limiting. Given this, a fundamental problem arises when, after exploiting categories to gain a basic understanding of a particular idea or thing, an individual never gets back to re-questioning the initial assumptions upon which his or her crude but useful categories were based. This can lead to a situation in which the thought process of the individual acts as de facto slave to an unconscious collection of categorical rules, as opposed to the individual simply using the categories as tools toward his or her broader understanding of the world.

Like the zero, the category holds a crucial place in our comprehension of reality. The ultimate point however is to understand the larger meaning of what’s being represented by the placeholder, the actual purpose behind this communicative tool. Broad categories are like mental training wheels or the kiddie pool - they help bring us into the fold of a new concept. However, in order to make sure that this automatic impulse doesn’t end up ruling our existence and limiting us from proceeding to a higher level of communication, we must at some point realize that the categories as they were given are barely a point of departure, a temporary and patchwork crutch. Consequently, in order to engage in any actual thinking an individual has to reach beyond the necessity for large categorical rules, to see a thing as discrete and in some way classification unto itself. The initial, wider category is merely an instigation - a stepping stone to get us closer to the real idea of the individual - and this tool should not be permitted to instead become a leash. Ironically, the actual thing or idea toward which we are driving, as it is individual and discrete, will always ultimately remain beyond the perimeter of true categorization.

I don’t believe in the concept of an a priori “chair.” Or, if it does exist, it’s only in the collective agreement of a particular culture as to the definitional characteristics of “chair." A common use definition of “chair” is functional and it arises out of a majority consensus of those using the term at that time. It is not an eternal idea to which we strive to be privy - as there is no permanent “chair,” only the “chair” upon which we here presently agree for our needs as we try to understand the world and talk to each other. A great deal of time seems to be wasted adamantly arguing over who’s version of “chair” is the “correct” one. This mistakenly treats the idea of something like “chair” as sacred, as if it were a notion to which we are beholden and not the other way around. The point here is not for us to understand an eternal concept or category (nonetheless nonexistent beyond our own consensus), but simply to make use of the most ideal tools for our own communication given the context in which we find ourselves. The end goal is the communication and our greater understanding of the discrete and unique - the category is simply a jumpstart to help get us there.

The Pleasures of Complexity

In the process of trying to explain why I love scotch, I realized recently that the reasons are very similar to those underlying why I am so attracted to certain kinds of complicated art, and that the respective experiences of each have a great deal in common for me.

Though I love it, I don’t drink scotch all that often. It’s more of an occasional delicacy, as I find that I enjoy it more when it’s consumed in smaller amounts and less frequently. Part of the reason for this is that for me a little goes a long way - not in terms of alcohol content but in pure weight of experience. I thoroughly enjoy the complexity of good scotch and the process of experiencing and working through this complexity. At the same time I find that this kind of extra depth in any experiential form naturally requires additional space in which to resonate, and therefore that avoiding saturation allows me to experience scotch more ideally when I do drink it. An amazing scotch is both challenging and comforting at the same time, and at its best the world of taste it offers is an autonomous rabbit hole. I know I would be frustrated were everything I consumed to be this rich and confronting. However, I nonetheless gratefully reserve a small space in my life in which to ideally enjoy this particular kind of aesthetic puzzle, simply because it adds something special that wasn’t there before.

I don’t drink cheap scotch unless it’s blanketed in a cocktail. For me, naked scotch is only worth taking the time and consideration for if it’s of a certain age and standard as, not unlike rich chocolate, it seems best consumed in high quality and sparing amounts. I enjoy different cocktails for different reasons and there’s nothing wrong with a one-dimensional drink: I love a sweet, cheap margarita. However, I also recognize that I enjoy a $5 margarita and a 15-year-old scotch in different ways and for very different reasons.

As with booze, different approaches to art and media are also best criticized and understood against a specific and appropriate context. I make no apologies for judging the music at the nightclub differently than that presented in the concert hall, because the two are deliberately designed with very different (yet both functional) goals in mind. However, each can be judged in terms of its craft and intentions within the context of its own world, as compared against its own goals. Craft is contextual, and with both art and booze, “good” remains a situational question.

The question of ultimate adjudication is also relevant to both alcohol and art. To become an expert in discerning and judging wine, a sommelier will dedicate copious time ingesting, considering, analyzing, and then articulating the minute distinctions in an endless library of variations. Given this, when an expert drinks a glass of wine and tells us what he or she tastes, we don’t wonder at the process. We understand that deep immersion in a specialized field tends to lead to a certain kind of heightened judgment concerning items within that field, and that we sometimes find this judgment very useful when, say, we’re trying to figure out what to order with dinner or what might be a good cellar investment.

A core problem, however, is that it can be difficult for a novice to accurately discern where a standard does or should lie, particularly when a field becomes very abstruse and we are unsure of the motivations of those helping to guide our choices. Every niche wine maker and scotch dealer wants you to believe that his or her product is the best, and so distinguishing between truth and marketing can be hard in these situations, especially when we ourselves are not experts in the field. Were leaders of any stripe inherently trustworthy and self-policing this would not be an issue. However, too many obvious incentives exist now for the keepers of arcane tastes not to educate toward an open and free thinking society, but to control the standard of what is tasteful for ultimately personal gain: by controlling resources, gerrymandering aesthetic rules, and mastering a game of rhetorical justifications, highly mediocre artists with theories far more creative and considered than their music are able to engineer little worlds that mathematically justify their work in utter spite of its impotence and irrelevance.

Therefore, though we may not be expert, in the end we have nothing but ourselves as the most trustworthy barometers when we approach the new thing about which we are curious. Whether scotch or complicated music or whatever else, our experience will always be incomplete, always imperfect, because in the end no one ever has a complete experience. Sure, those who’ve spent more time studying a thing will tend to understand more about its mechanics, but in the end no one sees everything and even the best judgments are easily be clouded by arrogance, insecurity, and other people’s bad opinions. Research, dig around for yourself, follow your own curiosity, and yes, do ask the advice of those who’ve dedicated their lives to the subject, whatever it may be. However, at the same time realize that if an individual can approach a new experience openly and honestly, then it’s ultimately the sole duty of that individual to make his or her own choices about the particular new experience - what was valuable about it, and whether something like it should be undertaken again.

I am no educated connoisseur of scotch, just another fan. I ask recommendations and listen to those around me who know more, but in the end I understand that if I can have an honest experience then I need make no apology for making up my own mind. I’ve found some of the most precious things in my life this way, far outside of anything I thought I knew. However, to get to these treasures we have to first be comfortable cutting through the fortifications of expert nonsense, to just focus on simply what we are experiencing and what we love about that experience: Complexity, challenge, and the ongoing reward of spending a little extra time considering something special and beautiful.

Vindication

There is no test of a philosophy beyond the effect that occurs in reality upon that philosophy’s implementation. It’s very worthwhile to engage in discussion, debate, and patient, methodical consideration regarding a system of beliefs. However, the only and true test of an ideology is what happens when it crosses over the threshold to become an action, or a series of actions. Does the updated network make reality better than it was before? The new system need not be perfect - many of those in use are still quite flawed. However, in order for it to be of any actual value, it does need to induce some kind of real, physical progress.

It is a powerful thing to see a philosophy, good or bad, become incarnate through a person’s work and life - when an individual actually changes his or her mind, even a little, and then starts to actively put this change into practice. And it’s a particularly powerful thing to see a philosophy change something or someone for the better. I also believe that in this way people can change their environments and that the process can unfold out macroscopically: a consistent set of actions guided by a positive, functional philosophy can directly influence the environment of the individual in sometimes extraordinary and quite remarkable ways.

This last weekend, Redhead and I celebrated our wedding with many of our dearest friends. We wanted people to be allowed to be who they were, and in the end everything worked more perfectly that we could have imagined. Set in the Bay Area, amazing people of all stripes traveled from Boston, New York, LA, and Ohio. It was utterly ideal in so many ways, with one of the lesser important yet nonetheless notable lessons being simply how well it all worked. We believed that if you collect creative, good-willed people in a free, comfortable space then the results would be extraordinary, beautiful, and utterly effective. It turns out that we were right.

Thank you so much to our amazing friends - you are our family! 100910

Love

"For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation."

— Papa Rilke