the territory of ignorance

Michael Smithson, a social scientist at Australian National University who co-taught an online course on ignorance this summer, uses this analogy: The larger the island of knowledge grows, the longer the shoreline — where knowledge meets ignorance — extends. The more we know, the more we can ask. Questions don’t give way to answers so much as the two proliferate together. Answers breed questions. Curiosity isn’t merely a static disposition but rather a passion of the mind that is ceaselessly earned and nurtured.

Mapping the coast of the island of knowledge, to continue the metaphor, requires a grasp of the psychology of ambiguity. The ever-expanding shoreline, where questions are born of answers, is terrain characterized by vague and conflicting information. The resulting state of uncertainty, psychologists have shown, intensifies our emotions: not only exhilaration and surprise, but also confusion and frustration.

The borderland between known and unknown is also where we strive against our preconceptions to acknowledge and investigate anomalous data, a struggle Thomas S. Kuhn described in his 1962 classic, “The Structure of Scientific Revolutions.” The center of the island, by contrast, is safe and comforting, which may explain why businesses struggle to stay innovative. When things go well, companies “drop out of learning mode,” Gary P. Pisano, a professor at Harvard Business School, told me. They flee uncertainty and head for the island’s interior.

Holmes, J., 2015. The Case for Teaching Ignorance. The New York Times. Available at: https://nyti.ms/1KGCGLU [Accessed August 24, 2015].

paysage

{ the face of earth }

{ land as scapegoat }

beneath higher-wattage
free-ways of addiction
carpeted filled bursting
with religious-military
political-economic
junkies

{ anything goes }

***/~o

^^^^

silent existence?

Human existence cannot be silent, nor can it be nourished by false words, but only by true words, with which people transform the world. To exist, humanly, is to name the world, to change it. Once named, the world in its turn reappears to the namers as a problem and requires of them a new naming. People are not built in silence, but in word, in work, in action-reflection.

Freire, P., 2000. Pedagogy of the Oppressed, New York: Continuum

To the Nightingale

On what secret night in England
Or by the incalculable constant Rhine,
Lost among all the nights of my nights,
Carried to my unknowing ear
Your voice, burdened with mythology,
Nightingale of Virgil, of the Persians?
Perhaps I never heard you, yet my life
I bound to your life, inseparably.
A wandering spirit is your symbol
In a book of enigmas. El Marino
Named you the siren of the woods
And you sing through Juliet’s night
And in the intricate Latin pages
And from the pine-trees of that other,
Nightingale of Germany and Judea,
Heine, mocking, burning, mourning.
Keats heard you for all, everywhere.
There’s not one of the bright names
The people of the earth have given you
That does not yearn to match your music,
Nightingale of shadows. The Muslim
Dreamed you drunk with ecstasy
His breast trans-pierced by the thorn
Of the sung rose that you redden
With your last blood. Assiduously
I plot these lines in twilight emptiness,
Nightingale of the shores and seas,
Who in exaltation, memory and fable
Burn with love and die melodiously.
— Jorge Luis Borges

sunned

how silently

the sun

exclaims

( the juice )

girdle

of blue mane

{ lacquer }

{ hearth }

the apse adept

finl

fondl

funl

comb

older-younger

( altar )

( jule )

the ocean

sawyer

snores

***/~o

^^^^

Treasure

I grew up in the nineteen forties in a village at the edge of the New Forest in England, on the other side of the road from the bungalow in which I was born there were two massive oak trees, beneath and beside the oak tree on the left was a holly bush, we would cut berried twigs from the bush to decorate our home at Christmas.  When I was five or six I crawled into the space under the holly bush and there I found a small round tin that rattled when I shook it.

“Treasure!” I thought. The tin was rusted shut, it had obviously been lying there for quite a while. I did, after some considerable effort with a screwdriver, get the tin open and inside was … a set of false teeth!

sans-filtre: politics of the absurd

politics theater of the absurd…

proceeding. into histories. as present/future seem not to supply a place to occupy.

Our acquiescence to the thorough mediation of the world as sensed through our technological devices produces deep strains in the viability of the hegemonic (or democratic!) State. Requisite to civil society is the face-to-face encounter with the Other, where human reason and compassion, and, yes, empathy, are central to ‘knowing’ that Other. (Christian doctrine, anyone?) The level of technological mediation applied to what once was face-to-face encounter has stripped it of the potentials of relation that empathy provides. This loss unravels a crucial thread in the social fabric.

The further reliance on (media)ted feeds for information about the world reduces our ability to make accurate and propitious judgements about what to do next. The fact that these information feeds are now largely reduced to theater, and worse yet, simple life/time -consuming spectacle places us (as a class of self-determining individuals) at profound risk of external control. (That is, when we ‘pay’ attention to them, consume them!) The sensory sophistication of these feeds has the demonstrated capacity to re-form even personally-acquired memory. What are we left with?

The Peace Of Wild Things

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— by Wendell Berry

The Field of Attention, The Field of Flows

Slipping through a day, from dawn to late evening, time is a field of flows. Attention calls flow from its progress, delineating it temporarily as distinct and heterogeneous. Pass through attentiveness, and one arrives at the granular curtain of awareness. Seeing both detail and the full over-flow of being.

Fighting to maintain constant attention to lived life. Back to breathing?

An attempt to address the title of this blog entry. Entries arise from these titles. Titles self-generate from the textures of living. Entries are attempts to address the titles, to address the textures of life, to form a text: a reduction of life. A tautology of be-ing — writing about be-ing — a pleonastic embolism destined to disrupt attention, flow, and life itself. And yet these become normative to the social. Normative to the day of lived-life, pried from living body, in service to social presence, social acceptance, and social ‘success’. If only all the world were ignorant of Plato!

writing what?

1. Abandon the idea that you are ever going to finish. Lose track of the 400 pages and write just one page for each day, it helps. Then when it gets finished, you are always surprised.

2. Write freely and as rapidly as possible and throw the whole thing on paper. Never correct or rewrite until the whole thing is down. Rewrite in process is usually found to be an excuse for not going on. It also interferes with flow and rhythm which can only come from a kind of unconscious association with the material.

3. Forget your generalized audience. In the first place, the nameless, faceless audience will scare you to death and in the second place, unlike the theater, it doesn’t exist. In writing, your audience is one single reader. I have found that sometimes it helps to pick out one person — a real person you know, or an imagined person and write to that one.

4. If a scene or a section gets the better of you and you still think you want it — bypass it and go on. When you have finished the whole you can come back to it and then you may find that the reason it gave trouble is because it didn’t belong there.

5. Beware of a scene that becomes too dear to you, dearer than the rest. It will usually be found that it is out of drawing.

6. If you are using dialogue — say it aloud as you write it. Only then will it have the sound of speech. — Mr. Steinbeck

Libertine

Consecration of the Host

at the Feast of the Projectile

auto-matic

( as eye deaf

ear blind )

the terrorist

the suicide today

right now

hope to win

the trip to Paradise

they aspire to be

gardeners

***/~o

^^^^

sliding scale versus spectral range

I often use the metaphor of “sliding scale” to indicate a situation that can be described as having two end points and a continuum of blended conditions between those two points. The image came about first when talking about the different social relations indicated by the two end points “network” and “hierarchy” — and how any particular social system can be characterized as sitting somewhere along the line between those two (theoretical!) end points. I’ve always been uncomfortable with the geometric linearity of such a metaphoric illustration, though, as is relies on a limited Cartesian model. And, indeed, in an open system there are no end points to any particular description system. So, does “spectrum” OR “spectral range” perform an adequate substitution?

To speak of or to “re-present” an open system is to close the system. Language and re-presentation is a process of reduction and modeling of reality (where reality is the open system). The question of the adequacy of representation is core in this Age of Data Mining. The challenge of rendering digital data into human-readable analog information that can be effectively interpreted will always be the limiting factor in any data-driven decision-making process.

Back to the spectrum question: it is foundational to identify the (multi)variables that are of interest or crucial to what is being examined. A spectral space allows for this, but also allows for degrees of complexity that are greater than can be sensibly interpreted. This is where intuition, not analysis, comes into play. Forget artificial intelligence (what has intelligence brought us, anyway?); forget fast-Fourier-transformations (except in the case that they are generated through meat-space neural cascades; better to use a manual quasi-Gaussian blur by squinting and whatever analog output you can manage)… argh; the question of interpretation of what the spectral model presents is another challenge altogether.