Reinventing the Wheel

Barnett Newman said that his zipper paintings paid homage to man’s first truly creative act, which was to take a stick and draw a line in the dirt.

**

I came across a man today that had a tattoo around his arm. It was a quote from Wittgenstein’s Tractatus in German:

“What can be said at all can be said clearly; and whereof one cannot speak thereof one must be silent”

**

How much can one learn in a lifetime?

The indelible contribution that language has made to our search for truth and understanding is that it allows a given man to 'learn' for many lifetimes not his own. For example, Newton spent his whole lifetime studying, among other things, the nature of the physical universe. He set aside some time to write down everything he learned, so that the next person would not have to reinvent the wheel. When the next great physicist came along, he could just read such books and comprehend Newton’s whole life’s work in a matter of days. One only had to re-read the written conclusions, without re-conducting all the experiments. In that sense, the capacity for human understanding grew exponentially with the advent of language, and by extension, the maintenance of libraries, and most recently, the creation of google.

By that, I mean that one’s ability to understand life is not bounded by the length of one’s own time on earth any longer. Rather, one has at his or her disposal the countless lifetime’s that have been reduced to newspaper articles, academic journals, philosophical treatises, novels, novellas, charts, power point
presentations, paintings, poems, songs, movies, hieroglyphs, excel spreadsheets, abstracts, tables of contents, indexes, and the backsides of children’s cereal boxes. Among other things.

But suppose this wasn’t the case. Suppose, we didn’t, as a matter or habit, look to our fathers, teachers, scholars, or dusty old books for lessons on what to know and how to know it. Suppose we weren’t rabid consumers of other people’s conclusions. Suppose it was all on us. Then what? If you had to start from scratch, how much could you possibly learn in your 70 years? How much in the 40 or 50 you have left?

My first instinct is to say, very little. But, I think that may be the right answer to the wrong question. Rather than ask, how much, I think it might be better to consider what kinds of things I’d want to know if I had to start over. It appears to me that all the requisite knowledge I would need to lead a happy and relatively healthy life would be within my gasp, even if I had to begin anew. That is to say, 70 years, or even 50 years, is plenty of time to figure things out by oneself. I have to believe that the very design of life is such that it is possible to ‘complete the task’ within the allotted time.

Our life, of course, does not function that way. We are told a great many things. From a very early age, we are instructed on how to live life in the imperative– how we should dress, how we should act, how we should carry ourselves, but we are rarely ever given instruction on why. Indeed, should the question ever be broached, the response is often, “because so and so said so.” Indeed, even the great many who claim to be steely individualistic merely “reject” that which they’ve been taught, and are thus, merely a predictable mirror image of their lessons. The fact is, we are served ethics on a silver platter. We are so used to being given it, that when we have to go out and get it, we don’t know where to begin.

Then the question becomes, does our culture – one that encourages the blind consumption of pre-fabricated conclusions - aid or hinder our search for the good life? A central characteristic of the good life, it appears to me, is the search itself. Our culture does not search, for it believes that truth and understanding
is a commodity that can be bought and sold, traded or given. We give a university some $30,000 a year in exchange for knowledge, meaning, and wisdom as though such a trade were possible. We go to church to listen to someone tell us how we can be saved. We listen to the director’s commentary special feature to be told what the movie really meant.

In a like manner, 100% of everything I know to date was given to me – some of it was paid for, some of it was charitably bestowed, but all of it was passively received from someone else. Our culture encourages this. They tell you that nothing is new under the sun. They tell you that there’s no such thing as a truly original idea.

I envy the first man, his simple life, his humble pursuit of understanding necessary to live. I want to forget everything I’ve ever learned and go back to that time. I want to tear it down. I want to give back all of the lifetimes I’ve consumed and all the conclusions I’ve greedily devoured. I want end plagiarism; I want for everything said to have been mine in the first place. I want for the wheel never to have existed and I want to reinvent it. I want a stick, a dirt canvas, 50 years and the will to figure the rest out.

What would you believe if someone before you didn't believe it first? What would you know after being granted your freedom from the known?

**
Tear It Down - Jack Gilbert

We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound
of raccoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within that body.

Color Sandwiches

"I thought: how ridiculous, how off-base.

It would be like Botticelli calling 'The Birth of Venus'
'Composition in Blue, Ochre, Green, and Pink,'
or the other way around
like Rothko titling one of his sandwiches of color
'Fishing Boats Leaving Falmouth Harbor at Dawn.'"
-Billy Collins

ndakasimba kana makasimba ow?

In American, when you meet someone, it is customary to say, "Hello. How are you doing?”

To which, the typical American will respond, “I’m good. How are you?”

To which original speaker will then echo, “I’m good, too.”

**

In Zimbabwe, when you meet someone, it is customary to say, “Are you strong?”

To which, the typical Zimbabwen will respond, “I am strong, if you are strong.”

To which the original speaker will state, “I am strong.”

**

Ndakasimba!

Personal Creed

The challenge was put before me by the Toll Collector to define the starting point for my intellectual inquiry. Admittedly, I'm a little afraid to go down that road, for fear of where it will take me. Suppose, like Descarte, I find that I cannot prove anything to begin with? Where do I go from there?

It appears, at first glance anyway, that my starting point may very well have to be a labor of faith rather than of rationalism. That is to say, maybe the best I can do is to begin page one, not by saying 'this is what I know to be true,' but rather, 'this is what I BELIEVE to be true.' In other words, I'd have to begin with my personal creed. In such a statement, I'd have to answer things like - Do I believe that man is fundmentally good or evil? Do I believe in God? Do I believe in predestination? Do I believe that Truth can be grasped by human understanding? Do I believe that love is real? These kinds of things...

Of course, the nature of these questions is that the 'answer' cannot be proven. We must, instead, say, 'ok, given these beliefs, what then?' In a word, I'm laying out my assumptions. Or, in another way, to be more precise, I'm building, as Kant did, a groundwork for a metaphysics of morals.

I ran a google search to see if it's a common practice for random people to write their own personal creeds. (No, it's not, apparently.) Most stuff I found was modeled on the Nicene Creed and dealt with one's religious beliefs. I'm aiming at something more secular in nature. It will take me some time to put together an actual creed, but in the meantime, here's the closest thing I could find to what I'm envisioning. It was written by John D. Rockefeller, Jr. and can be found on a brass plaque on the famed Rockefeller Building in New York City...

I believe in the supreme worth of the individual and in his right to
life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

I believe that every right implies a responsibility; every
opportunity, an obligation; every possession, a duty.

I believe that the law was made for man and not man for the law; that
government is the servant of the people and not their master.

I believe in the dignity of labor, whether with head or hand; that the
world owes no man a living but that it owes every man an opportunity
to make a living.

I believe that thrift is essential to well ordered living and that
economy is a prime requisite of a sound financial structure, whether
in government, business or personal affairs.

I believe that truth and justice are fundamental to an enduring social
order.

I believe in the sacredness of a promise, that a man’s word should be
as good as his bond; that character -- not wealth or power or position
-- is of supreme worth.

I believe that the rendering of useful service is the common duty of
mankind and that only in the purifying fire of sacrifice is the dross
of selfishness consumed and the greatness of the human soul set free.

I believe in an all-wise and all-loving God, named by whatever name,
and that the individual’s highest fulfillment, greatest happiness, and
widest usefulness are to be found in living in harmony with His will.

I believe that love is the greatest thing in the world; that it alone
can overcome hate; that right can and will triumph over might.

Elective Cosmetic Surgery

The ER doctor, taking a close look at my face, says to me, “I’m not sure how all these pieces fit back together. Maybe it will become clearer once we start..” Now, a normal human being might respond adversely to this situation. But, I, being completely insane, and finding a great deal of humor in the confluence of bizarre circumstances that has landed me in the emergency room in the first place, but mainly because I’m insane, quip back, “Well, Doc, do you think we can take this opportunity to make some improvements?”

**

I’m sitting on a bench talking to this lady about C.S. Lewis’ contention that a man should be the head of the household, when all of a sudden I hear a dog screaming. Most of you, I imagine, have never heard a dog scream. You may even think that the only sounds a dog is capable of making are a growl, bark, or whimper. But this is not the case. Dogs can scream just like humans. Indeed, the resemblance in sound is disturbingly similar. But, unlike humans, dogs reserve the sound for times when they really mean it.

I scan over to my left and my dog is involved. Great! As I’m running the 50 feet or so over to the two dogs, I’m trying to evaluate what exactly is happening, but it just appears that the two dogs are standing side by side, only that one of them is screaming. When I get to arms’ length, I say to myself, “Oh no!” (in not so many words). The other dog has a hold of my dog’s collar. That’s not so bad. What is bad is that somehow the collar, or the dog, has gotten flipped around such that the other dog’s jaw is literally knotted in my dog’s collar. He’s the one screaming. My dog isn’t making any noise, because the knot has taken the slack out of his collar and he can no longer breathe.

**

I didn’t see how exactly this occurred, but I have a theory. Little Brady, the other dog, likes to grab a hold of dog’s collars. You may not know this either, but all dogs have a signature move. Some dog’s bite ankles. Some dogs nip at ears. Brady goes for the collar. Most of the time, you can figure out from a dog’s signature move what he was bred to do. You can envision that at one time or another, such behavior served a purpose.

But then there’s my dog. His signature move is a flying helicopter kick. Now, I’m not going to pretend to be disappointed that my dog looks like a disciple of Chuck Norris. I think it’s the greatest signature dog move ever. I’m merely pointing out that it does not now, nor could it ever have, served a purpose, evolutionarily speaking. Unless of course he was originally bred to be the companion to… a ninja.

It’s likely difficult for you to imagine a dog doing a flying helicopter kick, so I’ll walk you through the process. First, he gets up on his hind legs, so he’s standing up like a human. This serves two purposes: (1) it builds momentum and (2) it gives the other dog that false sense of security that my dog is of conventional fighting style. Next, he takes his front paws, which are now some 3 feet in the air and drives them to the ground. Simultaneously, he stiffens his back such that as his forequarter descends, his hind quarter gains lift. As his hind quarter starts to rise, he twists his hips, creating torque and causing his back legs to spin out towards the other dog. If he left it at that, it would be a simple spin kick, which would be impressive enough… for a dog. But, that, I tell you, is only the beginning! As his front legs hit the ground, he twists and pushes off, launching his entire body airborne, his arms and legs twirling about in the air like the blades of a helicopter. After doing a complete 360, he usually lands on top of the other dog’s back, straddling it, as a human would a horse. Few dogs know how to respond to an aerial attack, so it’s at this point that my dog usually wins.

I suspect that on this fateful night, when my pup used his signature move, the other dog had a firm hold of his collar, with the jumping and spinning tying a knot around his jaw.

**

I dove in and tried to take my dog’s collar off. No luck. In order to undo the buckle, you have to pull it tighter, which was all but impossible with the slack now wrapped around Brady’s lower jaw. I then tried to slide the entire collar off over my dog’s head, but again without luck. It was too tight. Meanwhile, Brady’s owner is screaming that her dog’s jaw is going to break (if it hasn’t already). I see that my dog is opening and closing his mouth, trying to get some air into his lungs. This is bad, very bad.

Here’s where things get a little cloudy. All of a sudden, I’m able to remove the collar with great ease. I assumed, wrongly it turns out, that a guy standing nearby also jumped in and somehow freed Brady from underneath the collar. That would explain why the collar suddenly came off so easily, with the slack returning, but it would also mean that my efforts were, at that point, superfluous, Brady already being rescued, my dog now able to breathe. I sat back on the ground, disappointed in myself, but happy that the dogs were free.

I got up to make sure that both the pups were ok. Brady is fine, it appears. His owner is screaming for someone else to take a look at him to make sure he’s ok, her fearing the worst. He has a tiny cut in his mouth, his jaw is not broken. I look at my dog and he seems fine. That’s when I notice that his mouth is covered in blood. I look down and my shirt and jeans are covered in blood. In fact, there’s blood all over the ground. What the heck? With only one possibility remaining, I turn to that guy and ask, “How do I look?”

“Not so good.”

**

A few days later, the two other people would explain to me what happened. I was the only one in with the dogs. I couldn’t get my dog’s collar off but at some point in the struggle, our heads collided. The soft flesh around my mouth yielded to his sharp teeth and blood started spewing everywhere. I suspect that once I started spewing, my body was shot through with adrenaline, which made it so much easier for me to remove the collar. It was like the story about a woman lifting a car off her kid, but in miniature. In fact, the other guy, who I thought may have jumped in to pull out the other dog, says that he never got closer than 4 feet (but that even he got blood on him from that distance!).

**
Back in the ER, the doctor puts in the last stitch and says, “WOW! That came together quite nicely!” He calls over the nurse practitioner who agrees, “Wow! That looks really clean. Well done.” “Don’t act so surprised,” I said, “You’re making me nervous.” Honestly, the last thing you want to hear is a doctor say, “Woohoo! I did it! I ACTUALLY did it. This is unbelievable. High Five!”

**

Back at the park, the lady with whom I had been sitting on the bench has returned from her car with a towel and a box of, what are basically, baby wipes. I took one wipe, put it to my face, told her that was all I needed and walked away. She insisted that I take the towel, but I didn’t think I needed it. After all, whatever was wrong with me hardly hurt. In fact, I didn’t even notice when it happened. It didn’t occur to me to think that all the blood on my clothes, the people around me, the two dogs, and the ground, all came from my face. I felt fine.

It wasn’t until I got home that I realized that the part of my mouth where my top lip hits my bottom lip was severed and that a chunk of my upper lip was completely missing. I looked around my mouth to see if maybe it was just misplaced, but it wasn’t. It was back at the dog park and I wasn’t going to find it anytime soon. I called my brother, who’s a doctor, and told him roughly what happened, sans details, and he said I had to go in for some shots, antibiotics, and stitches.

This is all pretty ridiculous, I thought to myself. What are the chances?

**

The wound is nearly completely healed now. The doctor really did a remarkable job. There’s hardly any scarring. And considering the train wreck that my mouth was in when I walked into the ER, I find it hard to believe that I won’t at least have a gnarly facial scar to show for this. I could have used one. Oh well. Maybe next time.

I’m fine. The pups are fine. And in the end, I guess I did get to play hero, although you wouldn’t know it by looking at my face! Sadly, I look exactly the same, not better, not worse, just the same. High Five!