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Notes from Below Sea Level
“Exporting Pain”
I've been particularly busy at work lately—which mostly means I’m less efficient than usual but also (perhaps) a bit distracted. Still, I’ve been enjoying my spare time in measure.
One particular distraction is my friend Jason—an attorney practicing in Colorado but now mostly living in Mexico City—who swore to me his last trial (which ended early last month) was his last. Of course, I’ve heard that particular threat before and can only hope he is telling himself the truth this time. Anyway, he’s been banging away at his latest novel and—facing a quick-approaching deadline—is behaving a bit more manic than usual. About a week ago, I get this text from him.
you may dislike me, you may actually loathe me, consider me to be a fraud, but you will respect the phrase EXPORTING PAIN TO IMPORT ALIENATION. enjoy your evening.
Not a bad line, I’ll admit (goes with his angst-ridden, deeply-flawed protagonist); but I don’t usually give him much quarter during the creative process and responded with some inanity about it meaning less than nothing and reminded him of the slipperiness of words. He wasn’t fazed or deterred. He never is. And this past Monday, he sends me this.
i think schopenhauer was a genius. the other guys had thoughts but hes like his own ocean. he reached or at least pointed toward reality
Jason was knowingly baiting me. I have been rereading sections of Tractatus, and On Certainty by Ludwig Wittgenstein, an Austrian philosopher and one of the subjects of my graduate studies. In doing so, I ran across this observation that (for me at least) is a bridge between what we understand to be language and the complex way in which we use words; and in early April had sent Jason this particular passage (along with an inept warning about the reality of meaning in literature).
Like everything metaphysical the harmony between thought and reality is to be found in the grammar of the language.
While Wittgenstein is making a profound point about grammar as a construct and our use of words in daily life, he is likewise telling us something much less weighty: the misuse of language can make it base, unappealing, and unintelligible. When we use the word "chair" we all understand the meaning although we may each have a different image of a "chair" in our minds; when we use the words "love" or "hate" or even “alienation,” it is more difficult to agree upon a single meaning—so different are the images and understandings of those words to each of us.
In dissecting Saint Augustine's theories on the development of language, Wittgenstein observes: "Augustine says in the Confessions "quid est ergo tempus? si nemo ex me quaerat scio; si quaerenti explicare velim, nescio." We can replace Wittgenstein's tempus [time] with musica [music] (which would include poetry as well) and repose the question without changing its meaning: "What, then, is music? If you don't ask me, I know; if you do ask, I don't know." In my mind, I understand “music,” as well as "love" and "hate" until I am asked to explain them. In my case—laying out my argument to Jason—this isn't an instance of being at a loss for words but an instance of there being no words to be found.
I have experienced the last few months as a difficult time to visit news sites, particularly those of a political nature dealing with the ongoing conflict in the Middle East and the state-sponsored violence on college campuses around the US.
There is anger and contempt; blame seethes from the seam where politics collide; our moral codes are challenged; the nastiness of Schadenfreude sneaks in on occasion; and self-loathing is the rule of the day.
In such times, as you are witness, I escape into words and the grammar of another nature, unable to fully grasp the universe of reasons underlying man’s cruelty to man. In such moods, I willingly take a page from my past: read poetry, revel in Wittgenstein, dive head-long into work, play music too loud, make time for reading to my son, and escape in senseless arguments with a friend nearly 1,300 miles away. In such times, all else is lost in our conflicting understandings of "love" and "hate,” in our collective inability to articulate shared meanings of “pain” and “alienation.”
For now—at least for me—there are no words to be found.
(May 2024)
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My hope for the day is that each of you celebrates life in one way or another and finds peace in these turbulent times. Be well, be kind, and appreciate the love you have in your life.
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Grab your coffee or tea and join us, please.
What's on your mind this morning?