Thursday, December 28, 2017

SEGOVIA'S HANDS


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SEGOVIA'S HANDS

Andrés Segovia is without peer as a classical guitarist. He created the concept of the guitar as a concert instrument; and then, through masterful execution of pieces by Bach, Tárraga, Albeniz and others, proved his concept valid. His technique evolved to meet the needs of the complex pieces he played. Using fingernails to pluck the strings, for example, rather than merely brushing with the fleshy sides or tips of the fingers, he added another dimension to the tonal range of the guitar. This was largely an innovation of Segovia's.

The most striking aspect of the man's playing seems to me to be the combination of suppleness and precision of his hands. They seem to be totally relaxed yet have the dynamic tension to play arpeggios or complex barre chords flawlessly. Segovia's hands and fingers seem to move of their own volition, yet all the movement is best characterized by the impression of stillness.

Linked here is a video of Segovia, late in his life, still vibrant, playing Bach's Sarabande and Gavotte en Randeau. The video runs just over five minutes, but even a glimpse conveys an adequate sensibility of his mastery. And though stillness is commonly defined as an absence of motion, here its meaning is closer to an absence of unnecessary motion. Watching the performance, the impression is that all unnecessary motion---physical, mental, and spiritual---has been eliminated.

A balance between suppleness and tension in all areas of a person's life seems to be the essential necessity of a life well lived. Segovia, by any standard, has achieved such a balance in his life. And if one considers most of the enduring philosophies and arts of the East, one will find that the lessons taught strive for just such a blending. One need only consider the pranas of yoga or the intricate movements of tai chi to see the validity of this position. When the balance is perfected, only the moment exists, conceptions blur and dissolve, and plurality becomes mere illusion.



Wednesday, December 20, 2017

MICK RYAN'S LAMENT


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'Mick Ryan's Lament' is the name of a song written by Robert Emmet Dunlap, a Boston born, but well traveled singer songwriter. The core of the song is based on a west Ireland drinking tune that emerged in the late 18th century called 'Garryowen.' Many ironies surround both songs. Young rich men of Limerick, Ireland, adopted the tune as they drank and sang their way from pub to pub and party to party. Poor Irish emigrants in New York City also clung to the ballad and adopted it as their regimental marching song after forming a local militia. Beethoven wrote two arrangements of the song and General George Armstrong Custer selected Garryowen as the 7th Cavalry's marching tune. The garryowen haunted the wars in Korea, Viet Nam, and Iraq to name just a few. 'Mick Ryan's Lament,' of course, is a sad commentary on the folly of our specie's incessant drive to acquire and conquer.

The American government's policy on native Americans was as clear and decisive as the English government's policy on Ireland. All the various tribes from the Cherokee to the Cheyenne were subject to genocidal practices from simple displacement and meaningless treaties, to nefarious introduction of diseased bedding and alcohol. The English role in the An Gorta Mór, The Great Famine, was equally odious. While the potato crop did suffer a devastating blight, the Catholic peasants ruled by their English masters starved while exports of foodstuffs such as butter, livestock, peas, beans, rabbits, fish, and honey actually increased.1

The word garryowen comes from an Irish phrase Eóin garrai. Eóin is the proper name 'John' and garrai is the Irish for 'garden' which gives a translation of 'John's garden.' The old river town of Limerick, located on the Shannon River near the river's extensive estuary, has a neighborhood named Garryowen. The place name was derived from a 12th century church, St John's, and the adjacent fields and pastures.

click on link for song

Of the many covers of Dunlap's song, bluegrass legend Tim O'Brien has hit the right tempo and phrasing to convey the song's message; and his duet with Darrell Scott is included below. The Garryowen itself was an uptempo number with a defined insouciance which created its appeal to soldiers, rugby clubs, and rowdies generally. Dunlap slowed the tempo and created his own lyric, and the song turned inside out with the roisterous hubris becoming a melancholy despair.

Tim O'Brien and Darell Scott





Wednesday, December 13, 2017

A BRIEF WORD WITH TAO-MING


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A monk said to his master, "We are always putting on and taking off our clothes, and eating our food. Is there any way of avoiding this?"

Tao-ming said, "By putting on and taking off our clothes, and by eating our food."

The monk said, "I don't understand."

The master said, "Not understanding is wearing clothes and eating food."



Tao-ming (780 - 877) lived in one temple or another all located in southern China near Macao. He was a disciple of renowned master Huang Po. As was common of the time, he was known by several names: Bokushu, Reverend Chen, Tao-tsung, Muchou.




Monday, October 30, 2017

MISS CONSTRUED



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Conversations with a Hypoxic Dog began on May 1 of this year. On Thursday, November 6, a new format will be launched. Words and Language and other Nonsense will remain the focus; but a bit of History will be added.

Miss Construed

Historically, words misconstrued have created a great deal of mischief. In 1977, Jimmy Carter, then newly elected President, fell victim to inept translations. He said that he was happy to be in Poland; the translator rendered this as "... he was happy to grasp at Poland's private parts." Carter suffered several such incidents and became, literally, a Polish Joke.

Each week Miss Construed will visit CwHD with examples of and insights into word gaffs. How curious to think that an Italian astronomer's use of the 'canali' in his 1877 description of the Martian surface would lead to Orson Welles' classic 1938 radio broadcast 'The War of the Worlds'. Adapted from the novel by H.G. Wells, the broadcast caused a good deal of panic as a sizable number of citizens throughout the country thought they were listening to an actual news broadcast.

War of the Worlds Headline (linked to broadcast)

* * *

History also has its part to play in the ongoing travelogue, "A Brief History Of The Columbia River.' Travel literature is an old and respected genre. A Greek named Pausanias who lived some 2000 years ago is often mentioned as one of the earliest travel memoirest; but examples of the genre are fairly common in both Arabic and Chinese literature.

In 1336, Petrarch's climb on Mt Ventoux in France is often noted as the first mention of traveling simply for the sake of enjoyment. Petrarch wrote that he climbed Ventoux just for the pleasure of seeing the view from its famous height. In the 17th century, Japanese poet Bashō undertook several journeys for no other purpose than to visit friends and famous sites. His The Narrow Road To The Deep North is the definitive work of poetic prose.

By the 19th century, young English travelers had created the concept of The Grand Tour. Before a career could begin, one must travel to broaden one's horizons. Often a written account followed. This literature of tourism was pioneered by Robert Louis Stevenson. His An Inland Voyage (1878) and Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes (1879) are among the first books to suggest that camping might be an acceptable recreation.


These tales of bold journeys by mere tourists help to popularize the narratives of more daunting exploration. Cook's voyages, Byrd's attempt on the South Pole, Lindbergh's flight all became required reading. Darwin's account of his voyage in the Beagle has a far greater readership than his more important On The Origin of Species. And The Journals of Lewis and Clark are widely read and studied for their first glimpse of the Pacific Northwest despite the errant spelling, capitalization, and syntax. H. W. Tilman's climbing in the Himalaya in the 1930s and his subsequent sails to high latitudes in the 1950s provided the grist for many such tales. And it was Tilman's understated style that became the model for most of the writers who followed.

Exploration, whether physical, intellectual or spiritual, seems hard-wired into the psyche of homo sapiens. A need there is to go to terra incognito and then write an account. Sailor Webb Chiles has written:

People who know of me at all probably do so as a sailor; but I have always thought of myself as an artist, and I believe that the artist's defining responsibility is to go to the edge of human experience and send back reports.1



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1Webb Chiles, Introduction to weblog www.inthepresentsea.com

Monday, October 23, 2017

KNOW THYSELF

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This edition of CwHD continues my series of observations on writers and how character, or the lack of same, stamps its mark on their literary style. As I observed earlier, how one lives colors every aspect of what one does. The old computer science dictum still applies: garbage in equals garbage out.


KNOW THYSELF

This pre-Socratic momento mori was inscribed in the forecourt of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. Socrates later expanded the idea and his thought became: The unexamined life is not worth living ( Greek: γνῶθι σεαυτόν).

mosaic from Roman excavations

Hemingway's protagonist in For Whom The Bell Tolls, Robert Jordan, struggles with a more salient momento mori as he sits on a Spanish hillside, mortally wounded, waiting for the soldiers to come. He thinks suicide may be an option; but decides against this option for there was "... still something you can do yet." Written in 1939, Hemingway himself still had something he could do. By the late 50s, his options were gone; and the shotgun beckoned.

As I mentioned last week, the man's life style went counter to his writing style. How he wrote---simply, incisively, with an understated elegance---was not how he lived. His life seemed to be one futile attempt to be the characters he created in his fiction. He knew his creations; but he did not understand himself.

This conflict between creation and character and the abusive lifestyle that followed led to a breakdown of his abilities and ultimately his death. His life became complicated, his thinking muddied, and his actions predictably angry and destructive.

Heminway, Cuba

Benjamin Franklin in his Poor Richard's Almanack wrote: There are three Things extremely hard, Steel, a Diamond, and to know one's self. Need something to do? Have a good long look in the mirror.



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Monday, October 16, 2017

PAPA HEMINGWAY

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This edition of CwHD continues my series of observations on writers and how character, or the lack of same, stamps its mark on their literary style. As I observed earlier, how one lives colors every aspect of what one does. The old computer science dictum still applies: garbage in equals garbage out.

Ernest Hemingway went to Europe as a young man during the First World War, driving an ambulance in Italy. He had worked as a reporter for the Kansas City Star, and later said that the Star's style sheet was "the best rules I ever learned in the business of writing."1 The opening paragraph of the style sheet begins:

Use short sentences. Use short first paragraphs. Use vigorous English. Be positive, not negative.

He finished his war in a Milan hospital, returned to Illinois, but was soon back in Paris, determined to forge a career as a writer. 40 years on, in Ketchum, Idaho, he took his own life with a shotgun blast. Hemingway was 61 years old.

Hemingway 1927

His writing style was understated, economical; and his work became a major influence on 20th century fiction. He wrote a dozen or so excellent short stories ("Big Two-Hearted River"), and what was once the definitive book on bullfighting (Death In The Afternoon). Three good novels added to his reputation; and one book, The Old Man And The Sea, is as good as a piece of writing can be. In 1954, Hemingway won the Nobel Prize for literature.

Curiously, the man's lifestyle went counter to his writing style. His adventurous life---shooting big game on safari in Africa, fishing the Gulf Stream for marlin, the bullfight, his escapades during WWII, his four marriages, becoming 'Papa'---was just as influential as his writing.

One of his credo's was this: Man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed, but not defeated.
Hemingway Ketchum

In For Whom The Bell Tolls, a novel set during the Spanish Civil War of the 1930s, Hemingway's protagonist (and alter ego), Robert Jordan, lay beside a tree looking downslope waiting for the soldiers to find him. Shot in the leg, dying, he had decided to stay behind and let his band of rebels escape:

His leg was hurting very badly now ... You're not so good at this, Jordan, he said. Not so good at this. And who is so good at this? I don't know and I don't really care right now. But you are not. That's right. You're not at all. I think it would be all right to do it now? Don't you?
No, it isn't. Because there is something you can do yet ... As long as you remeber what it is you have to wait for that. Come on. Let them come. Let them come! Let them come!2

Next week I'll continue with Papa Hemingway.

1 Kansas City Star Copy Style PDF, www.kansascity.com
2Ernest Hemingway, For Whom The Bell Tolls (Scribner's and Sons, New York, 1943). p470


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Monday, October 9, 2017

THINKING ERRORS

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At one end of a spectrum, let me posit a 16th century Japanese sword master. At the opposite end of this spectrum stands a 13 year old American male middle school student. The first fellow is trained in martial arts and steeped in Zen Buddhism. The second is an indifferent student who plans on playing in the NFL. The sword master manages his thoughts and emotions to perfection; the boy does not.

Learning how to think and behave is the single most important task that our species has before them. Our myriad thoughts and many emotions often become a thicket from which we rarely escape unscathed. Understanding a problem begins the process of solving the problem.



Despite many long lists of various errors we commit while attempting to negotiate life's little byways, all can be placed in one of five categories:

Generalizing: I'm so bad at math (so why bother with the subject)
Fantasizing: I'm going to play in the NFL (so I don't have to study)
Rationalizing: it's only a little dent (so I don't have to be concerned)
Minimizing: NBA rules, no blood, no foul (so why make a big deal out of nothing)
Maximizing: the sky is falling (so who cares)

All of the above types of thinking errors involve deceiving another person. Deception, according to evolutionary biologist Richard Dawkins (The Selfish Gene) seems to be innate. It is what all organisms do to survive. Deceiving ourselves, on the other hand, seems to be uniquely human.

Awareness helps us to steer clear of the thinking pitfalls. Not fooling ourselves is a necessary first step. Learning mathematics might be the best way to learn how to think clearly. As I have pointed out previously, 2 + 2 is always 4. Math might be as near as we can get to clarity.

One might try Zen meditation to clear one's mind, but most people are too far removed from the essence of this philosophy to make that practical. Besides, math teachers are much easier to find than Zen masters.



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Monday, October 2, 2017

STYLE, LIES, AND OTHER CONUNDRUMS

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STYLE, LIES, AND OTHER CONUNDRUMS

Two weeks ago, I began a series of observations on writers and how character, or the lack of same, stamps its mark on their work. I defined style, in this context, as the way a writer used grammar, syntax, and vocabulary to embellish or compress his work to fit a specific context, purpose, or audience.

A useful exercise is to consider style in a different context, using images of two cars and a truck. All are from 1959. Eisenhower was president. Hawaii became a state. Gigi won nine Oscars including best picture. I chose that distant year to give some separation from the reality of now, and to give your imagination more room to play.

Consider the following three images. Who are the drivers you see behind the wheel of these vehicles?




With your drivers clear in your mind's eye, use your mind's nose to smell a rat. All images lie, and moving images lie absolutely. Is a picture worth a thousand words? Not in my book. Words do not stimulate the imagination as do photographs or video. Words are just symbolic representations of actions, ideas, people, places, and things. They are one step removed from the reality they represent.

Images, on the other hand, put us in the driver's seat. Thinking errors do the rest. Questions of style can be answered superficially with general responses. Tall, short, quick, slow: descriptors of that ilk. Or, as I did with Tilman in the previous editions of CwHD, one can probe a little deeper.

Before I move on to the character of Ernest Hemingway, I want to consider those errors we commonly make when trying to think our way out of a closet.




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Monday, September 25, 2017

H. W. TILMAN Part 2

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With the last edition of the weblog, I began a series of observations on writers and how character, or the lack of same, stamps its mark on their work. This edition is Part Two on the explorer H. W. Tilman.

TILMAN SAYS

From The Ascent of Nanda Devi1:

I have always admired those people who before ever reaching a mountain, perhaps even before seeing it, will draw up a sort of itinerary of the journey from base camp to summit---a complicated affair of dates, camps, loads, and men, showing at any given moment precisely where A is expected to be, what B will be doing, what C has had for breakfast, and what D has got in his load. It always reminds me of the battle plans an omniscient staff used to arrange for us in France, where the artillery barrage and the infantry went forward, hand in hand as it were, regardless of the fact that while there was nothing whatever to impede the progress of the barrage, there were several unknown quantities, such as mud, wire, and Germans, to hamper the movements of the infantry.

Tilman with his baked loaf

What does one make of the man from this snippet of his writing? The first step, perhaps, should be to consider style, generally, and its several characteristics. Then one might apply what was learned to assess both the writer and his writing.

Begin with a definition (so we have some idea what we are talking about): Style consists of the way a writer uses grammar, syntax, and vocabulary to embellish or compress his work to fit a specific context, purpose, or audience.

Grammatically, the selection above is both formal and precise. Parallel structures---four elements of the 'complicated affair' followed by four specific examples---suggest Tilman's preference for an orderly syntax. This structure is also the means by which he embellishes the piece. His audience, he expects, is one that is well educated. Words such as 'omniscient' with an etymological root from Latin pepper his work.

What offers the clearest insight into his character is his use of humor, typically British, dry as dust. He ends the selection with a flippant description of the horrors of the trenches of the first world war as merely so many 'unknown quantities.'

Where does this leave us? Tilman was a man both orderly and precise, well educated with enough experience of the world to give substance to his ideas. He was a laconic man, often described inaccurately, I think, as shy. He had no more use for slang and 'sloppy syntax' than he did for the hypocrites and slackards of the world.

Finally, another man's opinion. The following abridged quote is from David Warren's weblog 'Essays in Idleness' (http://www.davidwarrenonline.com/):

[He] communicates a masculine nobility almost gone from this world---a form of incorruptible flippancy which we correctly associate with those knights of old, who dared without hesitation, and laughed at everyone, especially themselves.


1Tilman H W., The Seven Mountain Travel Books (Diadem, London, 1983), 222.

Monday, September 18, 2017

H. W. Tilman

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With this edition of the weblog, I begin a series of observations on writers and how character, or the lack of same, stamps its mark on their work.


H. W. Tilman
(Born February 14, 1898, Wallasey, England; died 1977, at sea, Atlantic Ocean)



The way one lives colors every aspect of one's behavior. Irresponsibility breeds the accident prone man. Attention to detail fosters the dauntless woman. The athlete's dictum is that one plays as one practices. There is just no escaping the fate that comes when one's character lacks backbone.

Bill Tilman lived a full life through eight decades. He fought in both the first and the second world wars. A Himalayan explorer of the first rank during the 1930s, he summited Nanda Devi (25, 363') in 1936. At that time, the ascent was the highest ever accomplished. By the 1950s, Tilman decided he was too old for the Himalayas, so took to ocean sailing and climbing lower peaks in remote places. All his adult life he wrote.

In his biography of Tilman, author David Glen wrote:

He was a man whose basic shyness and reticence to boast of his astonishing achievements belied a great sense of honor in the way he conducted his life.1

And whether in the mountains or at sea, Tilman was always more than willing to do the hard work. First off in the morning on the trail; first to volunteer for the night watch at sea, he was a man who tolerated no slackness. Ready with praise for those who had done well; upbraiding to those who had succumbed to laziness.

He had this to say about writing:

Apropos of writing books, Dr Johnson's [Samuel Johnson, 1709 - 1784] opinion was that "any blockhead can write if he sets himself doggedly to it." I should like to alter that and say, "any blockhead can write a book if he has something to write about" ...

Tilman had a life well lived; and his books and the style of his writing are obvious reflections of that life. He noted the commonality of sailing and climbing; and his comments on the two apply equally well to writing:

Each is intimately concerned with elemental things, which from time to time demand from men who practice those arts whatever self-reliance, prudence, and endurance they may have.


Next time: The words we write are the life we live: The words of H. W. Tilman


1 David Glen, Warrior, Wanderer (Visual XS, LLC, 2003)

Thursday, September 14, 2017

SHALLOW WATER



Dawg Sez 17

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Stella

The Z Dawg is on vacation, off to Curaҫao. Stella the Waterdog returns. She has some thoughts on shallow water.

James Fenimore Cooper, 19th century writer (The Last Of The Mohicans), had this to say about that simple little word creek:

'Creek,' a word that signifies an inlet of the sea, or of a lake, is misapplied to running streams, and frequently to the outlet of lakes.

The 1934 Webster (last of the handbound dictionaries and a proper size for a dog my size) has 'creek' as a narrow inlet in the shore of a bay or cove winding through a low coast.

A fellow named Worcester, a competitor of Webster and the flag bearer for the English those erudite fellows at Harvard spoke, had a 'creek' simply as a small inlet. He was the first to note that "... in the Middle, Southern, and Western States, the word might well mean a 'small river" or a "rivulet."

Here in the Pacific Northwest no one would call the Columbia River a creek. In my backyard, a small stream of running water is named Boulder Creek. It runs into the Salmon River to the Sandy to the Columbia. This a common usage in this part of the world.

Now some folk use 'crick' instead of 'creek.' This is especially so in the Midwest and south. Them boys at Harvard would scoff at such usage. But it was good enough for Mark Twain (The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn), and William Faulkner (Flags In The Dust.) Good enough for me.


                Stella in the crick with her buddy Edgar

Monday, September 11, 2017

EXPLICATING THE GREAT PERHAPS



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EXPLICATING THE GREAT PERHAPS
tongue and cheek by jowl through the little gray cells

If quantum physics must supplant Newtonian physics, what are the implications for biology (and all the other sciences, for that matter, not to mention philosophy, ethics, and whatever else you care to name ... linguistics, anyone?)? At some point physics and biology must agree. (Or not. For those who know, things are just as they are; for those who don’t know, things are … just as they are.) If atoms come together to form molecules that come together to form both diamonds and dogs, the same process (processes, if you wish) must act on both. If matter is energy and energy matter, if nothing has substance, then substance is nothing, neither dogs nor diamonds. All and everything is naught but potentialities, possibilities.

Metaphors, analogies, analogs take on more important roles in this unified notion of science. Dawkin's notion from The Selfish Gene that humans are "gene machines" must yield in the new order of things. Mechanistic metaphors add a simplicity that is misleading to the proceedings and fatally misstates the nature of organic things (inorganic things as well no doubt). Newtonian physics does the same.

If the static view of the process of atoms and universes is adopted, this stasis underlines the dramatic quality of both planets and peanuts. They become tangible items, objective, 'real'. Understood as a dynamic process, however, these peanuts and planets (and all that other 'real' stuff) become something if not intangible at least less substantial, merely an energy blip, say; and a 'solid' then becomes more like electricity or water (or like the spinning rotor of a helicopter, 'acting' rather solid, but not solid at all).

A solid that is a solid, but that is not a solid, sounds a bit like one hand clapping. Allow me to turn to linguistics now to deal with this business of words and the meaning of words and so reach some conclusion about reality.

Language, like particle physics, is not a static business. Language is nothing, in my view, if not a dynamic process. A story told of T.E. Lawrence is that he spelled the names of his Arab characters in The Seven Pillars of Wisdom using a variety of letter groupings. When an editor called Lawrence to acquaint him with his various misspellings, Lawrence replied, Perfect. The names, in T. E.'s view, were not static entities, but changed in accordance with situational demands: emotion, location, inclination, and a host of others. English speakers do much the same thing. Tommy becomes Thomas becomes T-dog.

Most studies of language generally use various categories to create a more manageable subject. The four most common are phonology, morphology, syntax, and semantics. More, no doubt, have been added. We are pattern seeking folk and where a group of two might do, a group of four will do even better, and a group of eight better yet and a group of ... hair splitting ad nauseam. Be that as it may, the basic group stands. Phonology is the study of the sounds of the language (and the human physiology necessary to make those sounds). Morphology studies the grouping of those sounds into intelligible groupings of sounds (not, technically, 'words', though 'words' certainly gives the flavor of what morphology is about). Syntax is the organization or structure of words, the rules concerning how they can be grouped. Semantics is the study of the meaning of words.

Wittgenstein's theory from the 1930's that meaning is derived from use seems to be holding its own. Given that, the meaning of words (and phrases and sentences and paragraphs and entire well crafted essays) remains a slippery slope. 'Solid', as we have already seen, can be used a number of ways. Clearly, Mr. Johnson's rock was a solid. Mr. Einstein's rock was not.

The question that arises is, so what? Does it matter? Can we ignore 'solid' and take a shortcut through the bank walls picking up some spending money on the way? No problem. Well, some problem. Physically, nothing changes. Hit the wall, raise a bruise. Intellectually, everything changes. To give but one example: To understand that nothing has substance is to understand the subjective nature of all prejudice, whatever the -ism. No basis for differentiation exists. Value systems, ethics, morals will have to be reexamined. (A counter argument is, of course, that anyone who can understand the argument made here will understand the folly of prejudice. To add one more loop, reason explicates the argument; emotion feeds the bias: A logician might still be a racist.)

So, what?

Any attempt to write a cogent Unified Theory combining all the sciences---primarily particle physics and biology---might require a team comprised of a competent batch of evolutionary biologists, a competent batch of nuclear physicists, a few generalists from other scientific endeavors, a mathematician or two, a linguist (only one would be best for no two can agree), and a tolerant metaphysician. If Merlin became available, he would be perfect for the job. The various roles of the scientists and the mathematicians seem self-evident; the job of the linguist is less obvious. He or she would be needed to clarify possible meanings of words and to help construct an appropriate metaphor. The metaphor would be, from where I sit, the critical piece. (Spare me, please, the computer.

Any semblance of a resemblance between organisms and binary systems is naught but smoke and mirrors. Ask this question: Is language a binary system? Might it be? One hundred muscles and a dozen or more physical components [lips, teeth, tongue tip, tongue body, tongue base, epiglottis, larynx, to name just the most obvious] produce the sounds of the language. All of these 'parts' have to work together nearly simultaneously in order to do their work. All of these 'parts' seem to be networked with groups of neurons in the brain that initiate the process. To say, 'Yikes! There's a worm in my apple' begins with perception [we see the worm in the apple, neurons fire, a message is sent to the amygdale and, if we had first taken a bite, we might spit before we apprehend the message about the worm)]. Perception leads to messages to various neuron groups; a word is formed, or words, and we say: Yikes! There's a worm in my apple. And this explanation is probably simplistic. At least three rather complex networks work to produce the words. A binary system? Doesn't seem so to me.)

Before one generates a theory of what language is and how it works, perhaps a theory of what perception is should be offered. Language seems to begin with simple pattern recognition: Perceive a pattern (Yikes! There's a worm in my apple.). After perception, comes language; and the rules for symbolic representation of perceptions (commonly, for English, using some expandable notation such as NP + VP + Obj or Subject-Verb-Object) can be applied to explicate what is said. Most linguistic studies work at expanding the model to be all-inclusive. The object might be defined as a NP with a prepositional phrase embedded that contains a NP and on and on. This is usually known as a recursive system (loops looping within loops) and allows for an infinite number of unique expressions.

If one begins begin with the notion that the human animal is a pattern-seeking creature (before language or ideation, there is organization and differentiation), and that this pattern-seeking must precede language, then some form of symbolic representation is needed to explicate the pattern-seeking. The proposal here takes the form of an either-or-proposition. The statement proposed seems applicable to everything organic from amoebae to aardvarks (not just the human animal; and, as we‘ll see, to the inorganic 'creatures' as well). The statement is:

either:     P = aHA

where P = seek pattern, and aHA = stop at harmonious array.

or:    P = pp » ppp » pppp .…. A

where P = seek pattern, and pp » ppp » pppp = continue seeking pattern, and A = analysis that leads to theory.

The second part of the statement indicates a comprehensive search for fundamental particles (some harmonious array), a search that continues infinitely, or ends when analysis yields to theory. This is science. Occasionally one might have an aHA moment when analysis and intuition merge to some conclusion, an ending fraught with potentiality.

a harmonious array