What I Think and Feel at 25
F. Scott Fitzgerald July 1, 2025
The man stopped me on the street. He was ancient, but not a mariner. He had a long beard and a glittering eye. I think he was a friend of the family's, or something. "Say, Fitzgerald," he said, "say! Will you tell me this: What in the blinkety blank-blank has a-has a man of your age got to go saying these pessimistic things for?…
‘The Beautiful and the Damned' first edition illustration by W. E. Hill
In 1922, when this article was first published, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s life was in a moment of enormous change. He was newly married to Zelda, and his second novel ‘This Beautiful and the Damned’ had been published just months before before to enormous acclaim, rocketing the young writer to fame and praise as the certified voice of the Jazz Age. Of course, Fitzgerald would go on to live up to this early reputation but at the tender age of 25, as he details in this short essay for ‘The American Magazine”, that future seemed far from inevitable. In classic wit, remarkable insight, and searing exploration of society and relationship Fitzgerald makes a case for youth in an world run by the old, and paints a vivid portrait of a genius grappling with his place and purpose.
F. Scott Fitzgerald July 1, 2025
The man stopped me on the street. He was ancient, but not a mariner. He had a long beard and a glittering eye. I think he was a friend of the family's, or something.
"Say, Fitzgerald," he said, "say! Will you tell me this: What in the blinkety blank-blank has a-has a man of your age got to go saying these pessimistic things for? What's the idea?" I tried to laugh him off. He told me that he and my grandfather had been boys together. After that, I had no wish to corrupt him. So I tried to laugh him off.
"Ha-ha-ha!" I said determinedly. "Ha-ha-ha!" And then I added, "Ha-ha! Well, I'll see you later." With this I attempted to pass him by, but he seized my arm firmly and showed symptoms of spending the afternoon in my company.
"When I was a boy he began, and then he drew the picture that people always draw of what excellent, happy, care-free souls they were at twenty-five. That is, he told me all the things he liked to think he thought in the misty past.
I allowed him to continue. I even made polite grunts at intervals to express my astonishment. For I will be doing it myself some day. I will concoct for my juniors a Scott Fitzgerald that, it's safe to say, none of my contemporaries would at present recognize. But they will be old themselves then; and they will respect my concoction as I shall respect theirs... “
And now," the happy ancient was concluding; "you are young, you have good health, you have made money, you are exceptionally happily married, you have achieved considerable success while you are still young enough to enjoy it - will you tell an innocent old man just why you write those"
I succumbed. I would tell him. I began: "Well, you see, sir, it seems to me that as a man gets older he grows more vulner-"
But I got no further. As soon as I began to talk he hurriedly shook my hand an departed. He did not want to listen. He did not care why I thought what I thought. He had simply felt the need of giving a little speech, and I had been the victim. His receding form disappeared with a slight wobble around the next corner. "All right, you old bore," I muttered; “don’t listen, then. You wouldn’t understand, anyhow.” I took an awful kick at a curbstone, as a sort of proxy, and continued my walk.
Now, that's' the first incident. The second was when a man came to me not long ago from a big newspaper syndicate, and said: "Mr. Fitzgerald, there's a rumor around New York that you and-ah-you and Mrs. Fitzgerald are going to commit suicide at thirty because you hate and dread middle-age. I want to give you some publicity in this matter by getting it up as a story for the feature sections of five hundred and fourteen Sunday newspapers. In one corner of the page will be—“
"Don't!" I cried, "I know: In one corner will stand the doomed couple, she with an arsenic sundae, he with an Oriental dagger. Both of them will have their eyes fixed on a large clock, on the face of which will be a skull and crossbones. In the other corner will be a big calendar with the date marked in red."
"That's it!" cried the syndicate man enthusiastically. "You've grasped the idea. Now, what we" "Listen here!" I said severely. "There is nothing in that rumor. Nothing whatever. When I'm thirty I won't be this me - I'll be somebody else. I'll have a different body, because it said so in a book I read once, and I'll have a different attitude on everything. I'll even be married to a different person-"
“Ah!" he interrupted, with an eager light in his eye, and produced a notebook."That's very interesting."
"No, no, no!" I cried hastily. "I mean my wife will be different."
"I see. You plan a divorce."
"No! I mean—"
"Well, it's all the same. Now, what we want, in order to fill out this story, is a lot of remarks about petting-parties. Do you think the-ah-petting-party is a serious menace to the Constitution? And, just to link it up, can we say that your suicide will be largely on account of past petting-parties?"
"See here!" I interrupted in despair."Try to understand. I don't know what petting-parties have to do with the question. I have always dreaded age, because it invariably increases the vulner—“
But, as in the case of the family friend, I got no further. The syndicate man grasped my hand firmly. He shook it. Then he muttered something about interviewing a chorus girl who was reported to have an anklet of solid platinum, and hurried off.
That's the second incident. You see, I had managed to tell two different men that "age increased the vulner-" But they had not been interested. The old man had talked about himself and the syndicate man had talked about petting-parties. When I began to talk about the "vulner-" they both had sudden engagements.
So, with one hand on the Eighteenth Amendment and the other hand on the serious part of the Constitution, I have taken an oath that I will tell somebody my story.
*
As a man grows older it stands to reason that his vulnerability increases. Three years ago, for instance, I could be hurt in only one way-through myself. If my best friend's wife had her hair torn off by an electric washing-machine, I was grieved, of course. I would make my friend a long speech full of "old mans," and finish up with a paragraph from Washington's Farewell Address; but when I'd finished I could go to a good restaurant and enjoy my dinner as usual. If my second cousin's husband had an artery severed while having his nails manicured, I will not deny that it was a matter of considerable regret to me. But when 1 heard the news I did not faint and have to be taken home in a passing laundry wagon.
In fact I was pretty much invulnerable. I put up a conventional wail whenever a ship was sunk or a train got wrecked; but I don't suppose, if the whole city of Chicago had been wiped out, I'd have lost a night's sleep over it-unless something led me to believe that St. Paul was the next city on the list. Even then I could have moved my luggage over to Minneapolis and rested pretty comfortably all night.
But that was three years ago when I was still a young man. I was only twenty two. When I said anything the book reviewers didn't like, they could say, "Gosh! That certainly is callow!" And that finished me. Label it "callow,"and that was enough.
Well, now I'm twenty-five I'm not callow any longer-at least not so that I can notice it when I look in an ordinary mirror. Instead, I'm vulnerable. I'm vulnerable in every way.
For the benefit of revenue agents and moving-picture directors who may be reading this magazine I will explain that vulnerable means easily wounded. Well, that's it. I'm more easily wounded. I can not only be wounded in the chest, the feelings, the teeth, the bank account; but I can be wounded in the dog. Do I make myself clear? In the dog.
No, that isn't a new part of the body just discovered by the Rockefeller Institute. I mean a real dog. I mean if anyone gives my family dog to the dog-catcher he's hurting me almost as much as he's hurting the dog. He's hurting me in the dog. And if our doctor says to me tomorrow, "That child of yours isn't going to be a blonde after all," well, he's wounded me in a way I couldn't have been wounded in before, because I never before had a child to be wounded in. And if my daughter grows up and when she's sixteen elopes with some fellow from Zion City who believes the world is flat-I wouldn't write this except that she's only six months old and can't quite read yet, so it won't put any ideas in her head why, then I'll be wounded again.
About being wounded through your wife I will not enter into, as it is a delicate subject. I will not say anything about my case. But I have private reasons for knowing that if anybody said to your wife one day that it was a shame she would wear yellow when it made her look so peaked, you would suffer violently, within six hours afterward, for what that person said.
"Attack him through his wife!" "Kidnap his child!" "Tie a tin can to his dog's tail!" How often do we hear those slogans in life, not to mention in the movies. And how they make me wince! Three years ago, you could have yelled them outside my window all through a summer night, and I wouldn't have batted an eye. The only thing that would have aroused me would have been: "Wait a minute. I think I can pot him from here."
I used to have about ten square feet of skin vulnerable to chills and fevers. Now I have about twenty. I have not personally enlarged-the twenty feet includes the skin of my family-but I might as well have, because if a chill or fever strikes any bit of that twenty feet of skin I begin to shiver.
And so I ooze gently into middle age; for the true middle-age is not the acquirement of years, but the acquirement of a family. The incomes of the childless have wonderful elasticity. Two people require a room and a bath; couple with child require the millionaire's suite on the sunny side of the hotel.
*
So let me start the religious part of this article by saying that if the Editor thought he was going to get something young and happy-yes, and callow-I have got to refer him to my daughter, if she will ive dictation. If anybody thinks that I am callow they ought to see her-she's so callow it makes me laugh. It even makes her laugh, too, to think how callow she is. If any literary critics saw her they'd have a nervous breakdown right on the spot. But, on the other hand, anybody writing to me, an editor or anybody else, is writing to a middle-aged man.
Well, I'm twenty-five, and I have to admit that I'm pretty well satisfied with some of that time. That is to say, the first five years seemed to go all right-but the last twenty! They have been a matter of violently contrasted extremes. In fact, this has struck me so forcibly that from time to time I have kept charts, trying to figure out the years when I was closest to happy. Then I get mad and tear up the charts.
Skipping that long list of mistakes which passes for my boyhood I will say that I went away to preparatory school at fifteen, and that my two years there were wasted, were years of utter and profitless unhappiness. I was unhappy because I was cast into a situation where everybody thought I ought to behave just as they behaved-and I didn't have the courage to shut up and go my own way, anyhow.
For example, there was a rather dull boy at school named Percy, whose approval, I felt, for some unfathomable reason, I must have. So, for the sake of this negligible cipher, I started out to let as much of my mind as I had under mild cultivation sink back into a state of heavy underbrush. I spent hours in a damp gymnasium fooling around with a muggy basket-ball and working myself into a damp, muggy rage, when I wanted, instead, to go walking in the country.
And all this to please Percy. He thought it was the thing to do. If you didn't go through the damp business every day you were "morbid."That was his favorite word, and it had me frightened. I didn't want to be morbid. So I became muggy instead.
Besides, Percy was dull in classes; so I used to pretend to be dull also. When I wrote stories I wrote them secretly, and felt like a criminal. If I gave birth to any idea that did not appeal to Percy’s pleasant, vacant mind I discarded the idea once and felt like apologising.
“ If you don't know much - well, nobody else knows much more. And nobody knows half as much about your own interests as you know.”
Of course Percy never got into college. He went to work and I have scarcely seen him since, though I under- stand that he has since become an undertaker of considerable standing. The time I spent with him was wasted; but, worse than that, I did not enjoy the wasting of it. At least, he had nothing to give me, and I had not the faintest reasons for caring what he thought or said. But when I discovered this it was too late.
The worst of it is that this same business went on until I was twenty-two. That is, I'd be perfectly happy doing just what I wanted to do, when somebody would begin shaking his head and saying: "Now see here, Fitzgerald, you mustn't go on doing that. It's-it's morbid."
And I was always properly awed by the word "morbid," so I quit what I wanted to do and what it was good for me to do, and did what some other fellow wanted me to do. Every once in a while, though, I used to tell somebody to go to the devil; otherwise I never would have done anything at all.
In officers' training camp during 1917 I started to write a novel. I would begin work at it every Saturday afternoon at one and work like mad until midnight. Then I would work at it from six Sunday morning until six Sunday night, when I had to report back to barracks. I was thoroughly enjoying myself. After a month three friends came to me with scowling faces:
"See here, Fitzgerald, you ought to use the week-ends in getting some good rest and recreation. The way you use them is -is morbid!"
That word convinced me. It sent the usual shiver down my spine. The next week end I laid the novel aside, went into town with the others and danced all night at a party. But I began to worry about my novel. I worried so much that I returned to camp, not rested, but utterly miserable. I was morbid then. But I never went to town again. I finished the novel. It was rejected; but a year later 1 rewrote it and it was published under the title, "This Side of Paradise."
But before I rewrote it I had a list of "morbids," chalked up against people that, placed end to end, would have reached to the nearest lunatic asylum. It was morbid:
1st. To get engaged without enough money to marry
2nd. To leave the advertising business after three months
3rd. To want to write at all
4th. To think I could
5th. To write about "silly little boys and girls that nobody wants to read about"
And so on, until a year later, when I found to my surprise that everybody had been only kidding-they had believed all their lives that writing was the only thing for me, and had hardly been able to keep from telling me all the time.
But I am really not old enough to begin drawing morals out of my own life to elevate the young. I will save that pastime until I am sixty; and then, as I have said, I will concoct a Scott Fitzgerald who will make Benjamin Franklin look like a lucky devil who loafed into prominence. Even in the above account I have man aged to sketch the outline of a small-but neat halo. I take it all back. I am twenty five years old. I wish I had ten million dollars, and never had to do another lick of work as long as I live.
But as I do have to keep at it, I might as well declare that the chief thing I've learned so far is: If you don't know much - well, nobody else knows much more. And nobody knows half as much about your own interests as you know.
*
If you believe in anything very strongly-including yourself-and if you go after that thing alone, you end up in jail, in heaven, in the headlines, or in the largest house in the block, according to what you started after. If you don't believe in anything very strongly-including yourself you go along, and enough money is made out of you to buy an automobile for some other fellow's son, and you marry if you've got time, and if you do you have a lot of children, whether you have time or not, and finally you get tired and you die.
If you're in the second of those two classes you have the most fun before you're twenty-five. If you're in the first, you have it afterward. You see, if you're in the first class you'll frequent!y be called a darn fool-or worse. That was as true in Philadelphia about 1727 as it is to-day. Anybody knows that a kid that walked around town munching a loaf of bread and not caring what anvbody thought was a darn fool. It stands to reason! But there are a lot of darn fools who get their pictures in the schoolbooks -with their names under the pictures. And the sensible fellows, the ones that had time to laugh, well, their pictures are in there, too. But their names aren't-and the laughs look sort of frozen on their faces.
The particular sort of darn fool I mean ought to remember that he's least a darn fool when he's being called a darn fool. The main thing is to be your own kind of a darn fool. (The above advice is of course only for darn fools under twenty-five. It may be all wrong for darn fools over twenty-five.)
I don't know why it is that when I start to write about being twenty-five I suddenly begin to write about darn fools. I do not see any connection. Now, if I were asked to write about darn fools, I would write about people who have their front teeth filled with gold, because a friend of mine did that the other day, and after being mistaken for a jewelry store three times in one hour he came up and asked me if I thought it showed too much. As I am a kind man, I told him I would not have noticed it if the sun hadn't been so strong on it. I asked him why he had it done.
"Well," he said, "the dentist told me a porcelain filling never lasted more than ten years."
"Ten years! Why, you may be dead in ten years.”
"That's true."
"Of course it'll be nice that all the time you're in your coffin you'll never have to worry about your teeth."
And it occurred to me that about half the people in the world are always having their front teeth filled with gold. That is, they're figuring on twenty years from now. Well, when you're young it's all right figuring your success a long ways ahead if you don't make it too long. But as for your pleasure-your front teeth!-it's better to figure on to-day.
*
And that's the second thing I learned while getting vulnerable and middle aged. Let me recapitulate:
1st. I think that compared to what you know about your own business nobody else knows anything. And if anybody knows more about it than you do, then it's his business and you're his man, not your own. And as soon as your business becomes your business you'll know more about it than anybody else.
2nd. Never have your front teeth filled with gold.
And now I will stop pretending to be a pleasant young fellow and disclose my real nature. I will prove to you, if you have not found it out already, that I have a mean streak and nobody would like to have me for a son.
I do not like old people. They are always talking about their "experience"- and very few of them have any. In fact, most of them go on making the same mistakes at fifty and believing in the same white list of approved twenty-carat lies that they did at seventeen. And it all starts with my old friend vulnerability.
Take a woman of thirty. She is considered lucky if she has allied herself to a multitude of things; her husband, her children, her home, her servant. If she has three homes, eight children, and fourteen servants, she is considered luckier still. (This, of course, does not generally apply to more husbands).
Now, when she was young she worried only about herself; but now she must be worried by any trouble occurring to any of these people or things. She is ten times as vulnerable. Moreover, she can never break one of these ties or relieve herself of one of these burdens except at the cost of great pain and sorrow to herself. They are the things that break her, and yet they are the most precious things in life.
In consequence, everything which doesn't go to make her secure, or at least to give her a sense of security, startles and annoys her. She acquires only the useless knowledge found in cheap movies, cheap novels, and the cheap memoirs of titled foreigners.
By this time her husband also has become suspicious of anything gay or new. He seldom addresses her, except in a series of profound grunts, or to ask whether she has sent his shirts out to the laundry. At the family dinner on Sunday he occasionally gives her some fascinating statistics on party politics, some opinions from that morning's newspaper editorial.
But after thirty, both husband and wife know in their hearts that the game is up. Without a few cocktails, social intercourse becomes a torment. It is no longer spontaneous; it is a convention by which they agree to shut their eyes to the fact that the other men and women they know are tired and dull and fat, and yet must be put up with as politely as they themselves are put up with in their turn.
I have seen many happy young couples -but I have seldom seen a happy home after husband and wife are thirty. Most homes can be divided into four classes:
1st. Where the husband is a pretty conceited guy who thinks that a dinky insurance business is a lot harder than raising babies, and that everybody ought to kow-tow to him at home. He is the kind whose sons usually get away from home as soon as they can walk.
2nd. When the wife has got a sharp tongue and the martyr complex, and thinks she's the only woman in the world that ever had a child.
3rd. Where the children are always being reminded how nice it was of the parents to bring them into the world, and how they ought to respect their parents for being born in 1870 instead of 1902.
4th. Where everything is for the children. Where the parents pay much more for the children's education than they can afford, and spoil them unreasonably. This usually ends by the children being ashamed of the parents.
*
And yet I think that marriage is the most satisfactory institution we have. I'm simply stating my belief that when Life has used us for its purposes it takes away all our attractive qualities and gives us, instead, ponderous but shallow convictions of our own wisdom and "experience."
Needless to say, as old people run the world, an enormous camouflage has been built up to hide the fact that only young people are attractive or important.
Having got in wrong with many of the readers of this article, I will now proceed to close. If you don't agree with me on any minor points you have a right to say: "Gosh! He certainly is callow!" and turn to something else. Personally I do not consider that I am callow, because I do not see how anybody of my age could be callow. For instance, I was reading an article in this magazine a few months ago by a fellow named Ring Lardner that says he is thirty-five, and it seemed to me how young and happy and care free he was in comparison with me.
Maybe he is vulnerable, too. He did not say so. Maybe when you get to be thirty five you do not know any more how vulnerable you are. All I can say is that if he ever gets to be twenty-five again, which is very unlikely, maybe he will agree with me. The older I grow the more I get so I don't know anything. If I had been asked to do this article about five years ago it might have been worth reading.
F. Scott Fitzgerald ( 1896 – 1940) was an American novelist, essayist, and short story writer. He is best known for his novels depicting the flamboyance and excess of the Jazz Age, a term that he himself popularized. Revered and respected in his lifetime, since his death Fitzgerald place has been cemented as one of the great American writers of the 20th century.
The Seven of Cups (Tarot Triptych)
Chris Gabriel June 28, 2025
The cups of pleasure which we have been filling throughout the suit overflow here. If five was not enough, and six was just right, then seven is too much. This is an overindulgence in sensory pleasure…
Name: Debauch, the Seven of Cups
Number: 7
Astrology: Venus in Scorpio
Qabalah: Netzach of He
Chris Gabriel June 28, 2025
The cups of pleasure which we have been filling throughout the suit overflow here. If five was not enough, and six was just right, then seven is too much. This is an overindulgence in sensory pleasure.
In Rider, we have a backlit figure in awe of the phantasmagoria before him. Seven fantastic cups emerge from a cloud, within them are various images: a head, a veiled person, a snake, a castle on a hill, jewels, a skull cup where a laurel sits, and a dragon. This is visual overstimulation, relatively uncommon in 1909 when this deck was first published, but a daily occurrence today. This is the algorithmic feed and a walk through the city, bright colors, temptations, and madness.
In Thoth, we have seven cups arranged in the form of the lower half of the tree of life. They overflow with sickly green viscous water. The lotus system which moves this water is drooping down. The card is given to the badly placed Venus in Scorpio. The Six of Cups, Pleasure, was a perfect match for our desires, this Debauch is too much. The green fluid of this card is the vomit that comes from too much drink, and the discharge of a Venereal disease. (Venereal literally means of Venus).
In Marseille, we have the least negative form of the card. A column of three cups stands between four cups in the corners. Qabalistically it is the Beauty of the Queen, and represents Love in and for the World. The vast sensory inputs of the world are treated with kindness and care here.
In the Tao Te Ching, Lao Tzu writes:
Five colors blind the eye
Five notes deafen the ear
Five flavors dull the mouth
The Great Hunt drives men's hearts wild
What’s difficult to get brings harm
The Wise trust their guts, not their senses
This card embodies this wisdom, the overstimulation of the senses leaves us burnt out, depressed, and numb. In dieting, there is a concept called “Intuitive Eating”, the idea that one can eat when they feel hungry, and stop when they are full. This ability is akin to telepathy in terms of how easily it can be achieved! In reality, many tend to eat like animals. Dogs, cats, horses, goats, and many others, when given an endless supply of food will eat themselves to death.
The sensory pleasures cannot be truly satisfied until one learns what fullness is, just as a great deal of war goes on because the powerful cannot themselves bear the boredom of peace. As this card is Venus in Scorpio, this is especially relevant to romance. This is a “toxic” love, one that we can’t get enough of. Even when one knows they are in a bad romance, it is far too enticing to see it to the bitter end.
When we pull this card, we may indeed be given a feast for our senses, and have it! Take your fill and will of Love. Just be ready for the hangover of the morning after.
Patterns of Authority: Sound is Spatial (I)
Robin Sparkes June 26, 2025
Architecture provides a framework to understand how spatial design shapes and expresses socio-political power. Physical structures carry ideologies. The built environment directs movement, frames perception, and conditions behavior. Sound plays a central role in this dynamic…
Athanasius Kircher, Musurgia Universalis. 1650.
Robin Sparkes June 26, 2025
Architecture provides a framework to understand how spatial design shapes and expresses socio-political power. Physical structures carry ideologies. The built environment directs movement, frames perception, and conditions behavior. Sound plays a central role in this dynamic. The way sound travels through space organizes social interaction and reinforces authority. Architectural acoustics become instruments of control, structuring who is heard, how voices carry, and where silence falls.
Space shapes perception. It provides the conditions through which experience unfolds. Before meaning is formed, spatial relationships already guide how bodies move, how attention is focused, and how presence is felt. Architecture organizes these conditions. It defines proximity, enclosure, elevation, and direction. These spatial arrangements establish the grammar of interaction.
When sound emerges, it activates the logic of space. The shape and material of a building influence how a voice carries, how it lingers, and how it reaches others. Sound travels according to the forms it encounters—reflecting, absorbing, amplifying. In this way, acoustics shape social access. They determine who commands attention, who listens, and who remains outside the field of awareness. Power operates through arrangement, constructing systems of order, repetition, and hierarchy. Architecture gives form to these systems. Raised thresholds, central positions, enclosed chambers—all delineate roles and distribute authority. Sound follows these lines, reinforcing their influence.
By tracing the interaction between spatial design and sound, we can understand how architecture conditions us. This interplay generates authority, amplifies its presence, and sustains its influence. Acoustics, as an integral part of architecture, are closely tied to the geometric forms that govern how sound moves through space. Material and geometry influence both the physical and sensory experience of architecture. Here, sound becomes a tool of authority.
By examining how architectural acoustics mediate the intersection of spatial design and ideology, we can begin to see how the manipulation of sound in the built environment reflects and reinforces political power dynamics. “Acoustic space is where sound and space converge, creating a dynamic relationship between what is heard, how it is heard, and the environment in which it is heard”, says Oliveros. We hear through architecture—a medium that frames social hierarchies and directs human behavior.
From Eyes to Ears
Understanding the influence of architectural acoustics is essential for revealing how power dynamics are constructed and reinforced through the ‘unseen’ forces of sound, shaping human interaction and perception. Juhani Pallasmaa, in The Eyes of the Skin, critiques the dominance of vision—Plato’s ocularcentrism. Pallasmaa argues that prioritizing sight over other senses diminishes the full experiential depth of architecture, especially the auditory. He writes, “Architecture is the art of reconciliation between ourselves and the world, and this mediation takes place through the senses”.
The acoustic dimensions of space contribute to the embodied power of resonance. Acoustics frame space, as sound is inherently relational and immersive, shaping how individuals and communities engage within built environments.
Architecture as a Means of Understanding the Superstructure
The relationship between sensory experience and societal structures helps us understand architecture’s role in shaping power. Karl Marx’s concept of the superstructure offers a framework for seeing how architecture mediates sensory experiences and supports ideological authority. Marx identified the superstructure as comprising cultural, political, and ideological systems that arise from—and reinforce—the economic base.
Architecture, as a cultural artifact, reflects the ideologies of the ruling class, shaping and legitimizing authority in physical space. In this context, buildings become instruments of power, with design choices aligned with dominant state ideologies. Marx’s framework highlights how architectural spaces, through both function and form, reinforce social hierarchies and facilitate control. Repeating typologies reveal how architecture is embedded within the superstructure, reinforcing values through spatial design.
Marx noted that “the ruling ideas of each age have ever been the ideas of its ruling class”. We see these values in the spaces we move through and speak within.
“Architecture was more than functional or aesthetic—it revealed divine truths through geometry and sound.”
Power, Space, and Surveillance
Michel Foucault’s analysis of power and spatial control in Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison offers a critical lens for examining the socio-political implications of centralized acoustic design. Foucault introduces the panopticon as a model of disciplinary power, where spatial arrangement enforces constant surveillance and internalized authority. He writes, “The Panopticon is a [surveilling] machine which, whatever use one may wish to put it to, produces homogenous effects of power” (Foucault). This spatial configuration becomes both a literal and symbolic expression of how power operates.
Foucault’s Panopticon.
When applied to acoustics, the panopticon’s principles reveal how sound systems—like public address speakers or soundproofed hierarchies—reinforce authority by shaping auditory experience. Centrally planned spaces often elevate an authoritative figure, amplifying their presence and power through spatial arrangement and sound projection.
Louis Althusser’s concept of interpellation describes how individuals are “hailed” into ideological systems that shape their behavior and perceptions. In Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses, Althusser writes, “Ideology has the function (which defines it) of ‘constituting’ concrete individuals as subjects” (Althusser). The acoustics of a courtroom or temple draw attention to the singular voice of the judge or priest. These spaces acoustically and spatially “hail” individuals, embedding them into systems of authority and control.
Together, Foucault’s and Althusser's theories reveal how architectural acoustics serve as mechanisms of social and ideological conditioning. This conditioning is both theoretical and embodied—through doors we enter, windows we open, and corridors that guide our behavior. These are choreographed interactions. Simply by existing in space, we are interpelled into expected patterns of conduct.
Architecture, Power, and Resistance
Architecture, through its spatial and acoustic properties, serves as both a tool of control and a potential medium for resistance. Rafael Moneo, in On Typology, argues that architectural forms embody cultural and historical continuities. He writes, “Typology is not a neutral concept; it is a reflection of the ways societies organize their space and their values” (Moneo). By studying recurring forms—typologies—we can see how social ideologies are embedded in design.
Moneo shows how typological structures can also help us understand, critique, and reform power. The superstructure, through typological morphology, becomes a system of spatial ideology. Typological discourse, then, becomes a framework not just for reinforcing systems but for transforming them.
Renaissance Theories of Harmonic Proportion and Acoustic Design
Renaissance architects’ use of harmonic proportions—drawn from musical theory—offers another lens for exploring the relationship between space and sound. Rudolf Wittkower explains how architects like Andrea Palladio used musical ratios to govern building proportions and acoustics. “The application of harmonic ratios derived from music lent buildings a rhythm that could be perceived visually and aurally, creating a multisensory experience of order” (Wittkower).
Palladio believed that well-proportioned spaces could foster moral and spiritual well-being. Geometry affected how sound resonated—how frequencies lingered or faded. Wittkower notes that Palladio’s adherence to harmony was not just aesthetic but moral. “He believed that a well-proportioned building could inspire the virtues of order and balance in its inhabitants” (Wittkower).
Research in psychoacoustics supports this, showing that specific frequencies influence mood, cognition, and even physical health. “Different frequencies stimulate different neural circuits, influencing mood, cognition, and even physical health” (Levitin). Yet access to resonant, harmonious spaces is often determined by wealth—proximity to nature, for instance, or insulation from urban noise. Architecture and environment together create acoustic ecologies that shape how bodies and minds feel space.
Leon Battista Alberti also tied proportion and design to moral and spiritual ideals. His centrally planned churches aimed to align spatial design with divine principles. Wittkower writes, “Alberti regarded beauty as an inherent quality of proportion, believing that mathematical harmony in design could elevate the human spirit” (Wittkower). His designs optimized acoustics, making space both sacred and socially organized.
Catholic churches especially demonstrate this. Their central layouts amplify voice and song, reinforcing the church’s authority both spiritually and socially. “Typology acts as a dialogue between tradition and innovation, enabling architects to adapt historical forms to contemporary needs without losing their symbolic resonance” (Moneo). Moneo’s view shows how Renaissance principles—especially in acoustics—continue to shape architectural practice today.
In Ars Magna Lucis et Umbrae (1646), Athanasius Kircher argued that architecture was more than functional or aesthetic—it revealed divine truths through geometry and sound. He described buildings as “microcosms” that align earthly structures with celestial harmony. Cathedrals, rooted in sacred geometry, were instruments to channel divine grace.
Kircher’s work explored how acoustics could be engineered—through ideas like the “acoustic wall,” a reflective surface that amplified sound. His organ designs also show how architecture could be integrated with musical instruments to shape auditory experience. For Kircher, buildings didn’t just shelter—they resonated, actively producing harmonious soundscapes.
His vision aligns with Renaissance ideals, as Wittkower describes in Architectural Principles in the Age of Humanism. Renaissance architects believed their job was not to invent new forms, but to discover and express eternal harmonies. Wittkower writes, “The Renaissance architect did not see his task in creating something new, but in discovering the eternal validity”.
Robin Sparkes, is a spatial designer, studying the kinesthetic experience of architecture. Her design, research, and writing practice traverses the relationship between the body, temporality, and the acoustics of space.
Some Thoughts on Relationships (Enneagram V)
Suzanne Stabile June 24, 2025
For several months, I’ve been perusing my old journals and thinking about how these experiences affected my life in what I now understand to be both positive and negative ways. It seems important to note that the events of the 1960’s were, in many ways, unexpected and unprecedented. And yet, what we experienced, and the way we responded to our new reality, never included the kind of polarization we are experiencing now…
Le Lit, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. 1893.
“In my experience there are two things we have in common:
we all want to belong, and we all want our lives to have meaning.
But finding belonging and meaning are dependent on our ability
to build and maintain relationships ___ with people who are like us,
and often with those who are not.”
The Path Between Us
Suzanne Stabile June 24, 2025
It is my hope in writing this article that readers will find time to reflect on at least some of the ideas I’m sharing from my life experience to date. I want to spark conversations with this contribution to Tetragrammaton for there are some things we just need to talk about. It doesn’t matter where, how, or who with, but I’m pretty sure we all need to start talking in earnest about relationships.
At seventy-four, I’m old enough to begin looking back and evaluating the many seasons of my life. Because I “came of age” in the 1960’s, my life has been partially defined by:
The Viet Nam War
The Civil Rights Movement
The Women’s Movement
Hippies, Mini Skirts, Love Beads and Woodstock
The Assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, and Martin Luther King, Jr.
For several months, I’ve been perusing my old journals and thinking about how these experiences affected my life in what I now understand to be both positive and negative ways. It seems important to note that the events of the 1960’s were, in many ways, unexpected and unprecedented. And yet, what we experienced, and the way we responded to our new reality, never included the kind of polarization we are experiencing now.
Despite the suggestion that in our modern age we are constantly “communicating” and “connecting”, I’m convinced that we find ourselves in a Relationship Crisis. We are polarized in too many parts of our lives and more tribal than we’ve been in my lifetime. Our standard response to most issues is increasingly dualistic: “I’m right and you’re wrong.” Simply stated, dualistic thinking is by its nature, a question of “either/or”, which choice is the right one and which is not?
Another way of assessing our choices is possible, if only we embrace a nondualistic approach. At its most basic level, non-duality is represented by “both/and” thinking. “My choice is good and so is yours.” We could go with either one, knowing we made a good decision.” Of course, there are choices that involve each person’s life experience and perhaps their belief systems. and sacrificing integrity is never necessary. The key, however, is found in respecting the life experience and integrity of every other person, while allowing room for difference without distance.
I’ve had the privilege of teaching the Enneagram for most of the past four decades. Serious study of this ancient wisdom has offered me the opportunity to understand why I do what I do, and to a limited degree, why others do what they do. It has afforded me the time, space, and place to explore the basic differences in how we, as individuals, see the world.
I’ve heard so many times, “We’re all pretty much the same when you get right down to it.” That is just not true. Enneagram wisdom teaches us that we all belong to one of nine groups of people, each one defined by how we interpret, make sense of, and respond to information from the universe. Of course there are unending examples of nuance, and millions of possible choices to be made but at the same time, predictable, habitual, and ultimately mechanical patterns of behavior have served us well since we were children.
It’s a challenge to change those patterns of behavior. When talking about personality, willpower is a myth that is fueled by emotion, and it will not help us in addressing our methods for dealing with the world. We cannot clench our fists and grit our teeth in order to make meaningful changes in our personalities.
Two of the best things you can do to make changes that would enhance your relationships are the practices of self-observation and allowing.
Practice observing yourself nonjudgmentally. It won’t be easy. But when we judge ourselves, we defend ourselves and then we are deeper in personality than when we started. Just observe your behavior, gently acknowledge it, and move on.
Practice allowing parts of your personality that don’t serve you well to simply fall away. Try to avoid feeling frustrated or angry, and after you acknowledge the behavior that you are trying to change just let it go. The result won’t be immediate, but after time you will find that a new way of responding to similar situations will emerge.
“Every expectation is resentment waiting to happen”
For deeper thought and conversation:
Choose one of the statements below that you think describes you. Think about it, maybe even journal about it a little and then consider discussing your insights with someone else. Each of these ways of being in the world can be problematic in relationships.
Do you take responsibility for making situations better for others?
Do you believe you can affect the world without being affected by it?
Are you accustomed to being focused inward, depending on your own strength to get you through.
There is nothing easy about relationships. There are no short cuts. They require lots of awareness, energy and hard work. My best advice on the subject is this:
Do your personal work and be the healthiest person you can be.
Then find someone else who is doing the same.
I happen to be relational by nature. I always have been. But there are two sides to everything, and this “gift” is no exception because relationships are messy and unpredictable. If I’m not discerning about the people I choose to be in relationships, with I can easily end up committing too much time to too many people, often resulting in taking for granted the people I love the most.
I’ve confessed this many times to my husband, my children, my therapist, my spiritual director, and my pastor. So I’m sharing it not in search of grace, though that would be nice, but because it is part of a bigger teaching about relationships.
One of the most valuable things I’ve learned from people who are in the Recovery Community is this: “Every expectation is resentment waiting to happen.” Expectations are at the core of most of our relationships, whether they have been agreed upon or assumed. Our failure to talk about them clearly and openly causes harm that could potentially be avoided with honest conversation.
For deeper thought, journaling or perhaps conversation, consider this quote:
“Inability or unwillingness to appropriately deal with feelings
Is problematic. When others can’t be honest about what they feel and
what they need, the delayed emotional responses are usually expressed
as anger, shame, fear, or perhaps resentment, all of which are
damaging to a relationship.”¹
What we do is seldom more important than how or why we do it. I find myself more challenged by the “why” but for others, it can be the “how.” Both are, perhaps, determined by personal motivation. Maybe, like me, you are motivated by a deep desire to be wanted. My husband Joe’s motivation most of the time is to believe his presence matters. Our children, in discussion with their spouses, have discovered that within their community of eight, their motivations include: believing their presence matters, avoiding betrayal, knowing they will be taken care of, wanting to be understood, a deep desire to hear that they are good, and being able to trust that they are safe.
For deeper thought, journaling or perhaps conversation:
If you were asked to name one motivation that you believe is most consistent in your sharing life with others what would it be?
Would you say that your motivation in relationships is more about connection and belonging, or about being right?
These ideas are clearly not exhaustive. In fact, they are a mere beginning of all that I believe we need to talk about concerning relationships. Our responses to life are determined in part by how we make sense of what we see, and how we decide to respond. It’s different for all of us.
What we consider to be strengths in our relationships in our twenties can easily become weaknesses in our thirties and forties and beyond, if we aren’t willing to engage in deep, self-reflective inner work.
I sincerely believe a relationship crisis is at hand. We can either decide to work toward healthier and more respectful relationships, or we can continue to contribute to the dualistic and polarizing nature of who we are becoming both individually and collectively.
We will always fall short in relationships, challenged to name and work through disappointment. Even though this is more difficult for some of us than for others, I hope we will all find a way to begin offering and receiving forgiveness. It’s just part of the deal.
¹The Path Between Us
Suzanne Stabile is a speaker, teacher, and internationally recognized Enneagram master teacher who has taught thousands of people over the last thirty years. She is the author of ‘The Path Between Us’, and coauthor, with Ian Morgan Cron, of ‘The Road Back to You’. She is also the creator and host of The Enneagram Journey podcast. Along with her husband, Rev. Joseph Stabile, she is cofounder of Life in the Trinity Ministry, a nonprofit, nondenominational ministry committed to the spiritual growth and formation of adults.
The Seven of Disks (Tarot Triptych)
Chris Gabriel June 21, 2025
The Seven of Disks is a card of waiting, of boredom, tedious labour, and perseverance. If the Six of Disks has given us a great gift of say a field or a house, this is the time where we “watch the grass grow” and the “paint dry”…
Name: Failure, Seven of Disks
Number: 7
Astrology: Saturn in Taurus
Qabalah: Netzach of He
Chris Gabriel June 21, 2025
The Seven of Disks is a card of waiting, of boredom, tedious labour, and perseverance. If the Six of Disks has given us a great gift of say a field or a house, this is the time where we “watch the grass grow” and the “paint dry”.
In Rider, we see a farmer leaning on his staff, looking sadly upon his growing crop. The sky is grey. He yearns for brilliant flourishing flowers, but must wait.
In Thoth, we have a more depressing image: dead plants covered in seven leaden coins. Four bear the face of Saturn, and three the Bull of Taurus. Saturn in Taurus is a long suffering placement, the efforts it undertakes can take years and years to come to fruition. This position requires constant effort without seeing results.
In Marseille, we have four coins about the corners of the card, with a central three forming an upright triangle. A flower grows from within the three. Qabalisitically, this is Netzach in He, the Beauty of the Princess.
“Rome was not built in a day” is an obvious, but painful truth. The materialization of our dreams and desires is not always a simple task. We wait in a dark night, knowing not when or if the Sun will rise, but we must keep going and have faith that it will pay off.
I am reminded of Churchill’s famous speech:
“We shall prove ourselves once more able to defend our island home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone. At any rate, that is what we are going to try to do.”
This willingness to go on indefinitely is the dignified character of the Seven of Disks, the negative element is that of dejection and failure in the face of time.
Up to this point in the suit, each card has been focused on growing and developing the seeds of the future. This is perhaps the darkest point in the suit, when all of that hard work seems to be for nothing. This is not only the waiting for full growth, but the blight and pestilence which can affect what we have grown. Perhaps we have raised a large crop of wheat, only to find it blighted, overgrown with fungus. This is the sort of failure we face here.
When pulling this card, we must strengthen our resolve through any given setback, delay or difficulty. We must continue to have faith in a seemingly fruitless effort. The suit goes on to profit a great deal, this is just one difficult step toward a brilliant goal.
'Stalking The Wild Pendulum' Of Vibratory Attunement
Molly Hankins June 19, 2025
For many spiritual leaders, raising our vibration is synonymous with accessing higher levels of consciousness, but scientist and author Itzhak Bentov explains how this actually works in his book Stalking The Wild Pendulum…
Molly Hankins June 19, 2025
For many spiritual leaders, raising our vibration is synonymous with accessing higher levels of consciousness, but scientist and author Itzhak Bentov explains how this actually works in his book Stalking The Wild Pendulum. Bentov is a fascinating character - a Czech-born national named Tobias with no academic background who immigrated to British-controlled Palestine in the mid-1940s and became a mechanical engineer and inventor, changing his name after joining what would soon become the IDF Science Corp. His inventions range from rocket science components and medical devices to low-carb spaghetti, but his research into the mechanics of consciousness became his most memorable legacy.
Bentov believed that every living being has one material and one nonmaterial organizing system, and that no organized energy is ever lost. Just as our physical body is reabsorbed by the Earthly elements at the time of death, so too is our “organized energy body of information” reabsorbed by the organized information body of the cosmos. According to Bentov, these two systems produce a measurable frequency signal called the electro-static field, a vibration that can be measured by static meters. The strength of this signal depends on the vitality of the subject being measured; a person, plant or animal in poor physical health or depressed spirits will have a weaker signal than a healthy, happy subject. He claims stronger signals entrain vibrating bodies in their proximity. Entrainment occurs when two oscillating systems synchronize their rhythms, meaning a high-frequency electro-static field will raise the vibration of other beings in its field.
Meditative states entrain our physical bodies with the Earth’s vibration, strengthening and stabilizing the signal. As Maharishi Mahesh Yogi said, “If world peace is to be established, peace in the individual must be established first. Transcendental Meditation directly brings peace in the individual life.” Maharishi, who trained as a physicist, began teaching Transcendental Meditation in the 1950s and popularized it at a global scale after teaching The Beatles in the late 1960s. Stalking The Wild Pendulum provides a scientific basis for the idea that in order to bring peace to the world, we have to establish peace within ourselves first. Bentov’s work claims that when we become entrained with the Earth’s vibration, all of our vital functions become attuned to each other, synchronizing at seven cycles per second.
He gives another example of this phenomena using two grandfather clocks, each wound slightly differently so that the two swinging pendulums are out of sync. The faster moving pendulum, meaning the one with the higher frequency, will entrain the slower one, thereby increasing its speed and bringing the two resonance. In the first sentence of the book’s introduction, Bentov tells us that Stalking The Wild Pendulum is a product of late-night conversations with friends and colleagues calling future scientists to action. Instead of conclusively proving anything to the reader, his work invites us to apply the famous axiom of “as above so below” to draw our own conclusions from the parallels he points to between what he calls micro-realities, such as the behavior of two grandfather clock pendulums, and macro-realities, such as collective human behavior.
“We change reality as we change our level of consciousness”
Most of us have our own subjective experiences of interpersonal vibratory attunement. If we’re in a room with someone who is joyful, the mirror neurons in our brains make us feel joyful. The same applies to negative emotions. However, the logical conclusion from Bentov’s findings is that whoevers electrostatic signal is stronger and higher vibrating will ultimately raise the frequency of the other by being in their presence. Dr. David R. Hawkins created an emotional scale diagram showing specific electrostatic frequencies corresponding with different emotional states. Studies building on his work have since shown that shame has the lowest frequency and authenticity has the highest.
Our emotional states also correspond with what Bentov refers to as higher or lower consciousness. Higher consciousness, such as authenticity, has a wider range of possible responses to any given stimulus than lower consciousness, such as shame. He writes, “The higher we move along the scale of evolution, the higher the degree of free will, and the higher our ability to control or create our own environment.” It is not until our consciousness has expanded over different lives that we begin to build up our ability to exercise free will. As shared in the beginning of this essay, Bentov believed in both material and non-material organized systems of information energy, both of which evolve over time by way of experience.
By cultivating a stable, high-vibrating frequency via meditation, expanding our repertoire of personal experience, managing our emotional state and living authentically, we’re able to entrain others in our powerfully positive signal. This is the most important work that can be done on our planet now. Bentov said the terms “levels of consciousness” and “realities” were interchangeable - we change reality as we change our level of consciousness, and there is a critical mass element to this as Maharishi also claimed. The magic number, according to many yogic and spiritual traditions, is 144,000 people meditating enough to entrain their own signal with that of Earth, thereby entraining the signals of the rest of the global population.
Bentov goes a step further. He claims that when beings of higher consciousness focus their attention on beings of lower consciousness, the capabilities of lower consciousness-beings expand. Again, the level of consciousness refers only to how broad the range of possible responses are to any given stimulus - it’s not a value judgment. He writes, “As long as we are just sitting and producing idle thoughts, the thought energy is diffuse, and it eventually spreads out, weakens and disappears. However, when we consciously concentrate and send coherent thoughts, that thought energy or thought form will impinge on the person for whom the thought was meant.” Balancing our work between optimizing the health of our physical and non-physical organized information bodies will give us the energy to stabilize our signal and empower our thought forms to positively impact other beings.
Molly Hankins is an Initiate + Reality Hacker serving the Ministry of Quantum Existentialism and Builders of the Adytum.
Maeshowe, Sound, and Viking Runes (Artefact II)
Ben Timberlake June 17, 2025
Maeshowe is a Neolithic chambered burial complex on the Orkney Islands, an archipelago to the north of Scotland that is a floating world of midnight suns and brutal, dark winters. The tomb overlooks the Lochs of Harry and Stenness. On the narrow spit of land that separates the two lochs is The Ring of Brodgar, an ancient stone circle. It is nothing to look at from the outside - bored sheep munching salty grass on a small mound — but inside is one of the finest prehistoric monuments in the world…
WUNDERKAMMER #2
Artefact No: 2
Location: Maeshow, Orkney Islands, Scotland
Age: 5,000 years
Ben Timberlake June 17, 2025
Maeshowe is a Neolithic chambered burial complex on the Orkney Islands, an archipelago to the north of Scotland that is a floating world of midnight suns and brutal, dark winters. The tomb overlooks the Lochs of Harry and Stenness. On the narrow spit of land that separates the two lochs is The Ring of Brodgar, an ancient stone circle. It is nothing to look at from the outside - bored sheep munching salty grass on a small mound — but inside is one of the finest prehistoric monuments in the world.
The tomb’s structure is cruciform: a long passageway some 15m long, a central chamber, with three side-chambers. The main passageway is orientated to the southwest. Building began on the site around 2800BC. It is a work of monumental perfection: each wall of the long passageway is formed of single slabs up to three tons in weight; each corner of the main chamber has four vast standing stones; and the floors, walls and ceilings of the side-chambers are made from single stones. Smaller, long, thin slabs make up the rest of the masonry. They are fitted with unfussy but masterful precision in the local sandstone. It is even more impressive when you realize that these stones were cut and shaped thousands of years before the invention of metal tools. It is estimated to have taken 100,000 hours of labor to construct.
The interior chamber of Maeshowe, illuminated by the sun of the Winter Solstice.
Maeshowe sits within one of the richest prehistoric landscapes in Europe. The four principal sites are two stone circles - the Ring of Brodgar and the Stones of Stenness - Maeshowe and the perfectly preserved Neolithic village of Skara Brae. These sites are within a further constellation of a dozen Neolithic and Bronze Age mounds, and other solitary standing stones.
Aligned within this landscape like a vast sundial, Maeshowe is sighted so as to tell the time just once a year, at midwinter. For a couple of weeks at either side of the winter solstice the sun sets to the southwest and the rays of the run enter down the long passage and illuminate the wall at the back of the end chamber. And this midwinter sun, at the zenith of its year, sets perfectly above the Barnhouse Stone some 700m away. The spectacle can be viewed live online every year.
Maeshowe and its sister sites are open to the public and well worth a visit. Because of their remote location they get a fraction of the visitor numbers similar sites receive. There is something deeply penitential about a visit there. The long passage is only a meter and a half tall and archaeologists believe it was designed this way to force people to bow and submit as they walked towards the center of the complex.
The Barnhouse Stone, on the left, aligns perfectly with the entrance to Maeshow, the mound on the right, so that on the day of midwinter, the sun sets above the stone and into the entrance to Maestowe.
“The frequency for Maeshowe was a drum being beaten at 2hz creating an infrasonic frequency that, although inaudible to us, could be felt as a physical or psychological sensations such as dizziness, raised heartbeat, and flying sensations. And that’s before we factor in the drugs.”
As much as Maeshowe is a place of the dead, it is also a temple to sound. Dr Aaron Watson, an honorary fellow from Exeter University, spent a number of years researching the effects of sound at different prehistoric sites. He found that specific pitches of vocal chants and different types of drumming could produce strange, amplified sound effects known as ‘standing waves’. These are very distinct areas of high and low intensity which seem to bear no relation to the source of the sound. In the case of Maeshowe, a drummer in the central chamber could be muted to those standing nearby but the sound would be vastly magnified in the side chambers. The acoustics are so powerful that the Neolithic builders must have known what they were doing when they built the structure. A recessed niche in one of the tunnel walls allowed a large stone to be dragged into the passageway blocking the passage and amplifying the sound.
Even more impressively was the possibility that Maeshowe displayed elements of the Helmholtz Effect - a phenomenon of air resonance in a cavity - but on a much larger scale. The frequency for Maeshowe was a drum being beaten at 2hz creating an infrasonic frequency that, although inaudible to us, could be felt as a physical or psychological sensations such as dizziness, raised heartbeat, and flying sensations. And that’s before we factor in the drugs. These European prehistoric societies made ample use of regular magic mushrooms and the red-and-white spotted Fly Agaric. To the Neolithic visitors the acoustics effects of Maeshowe alone must have been powerful but to combined with hallucinations it must have been one of the most profound and life changing experiences of their lives.
The tomb was rediscovered in 1861. I write ‘rediscovered’ because when the Victorian antiquarians began to clear soil and debris from the inner chambers, they came across evidence that they were not the first ones there since prehistoric times: the walls were adorned with Viking runes.
We have a very good idea who these Vikings were thanks to the Orkneyinga Saga, a medieval narrative history document woven through and embellished with myths. There appear to be two sets of culprits. Firstly, in 1151, a group of Viking Crusaders led by Earl Rognvald on their way to the Holy Land. Then, a couple years later - Christmas 1153 to be precise - a band of Viking looters on a raid led by Earl Harald.
The Norse traditionally held such ancient places with dread and it is not known what drove them to risk their mortal souls and enter the mound: a terrible storm is mentioned, but it may have been the legends of treasure too. The saga records that two of the Earl Rognvald’s men went mad with fear of the mythical Hogboon, from Old Norse hiagbui, or mound-dweller.
There are some 30 runes in Maeshowe, the largest collection outside Scandinavia. Here is a sample:
Crusaders broke into Maeshowe. Lif the earl's cook carved these runes. To the north-west is a great treasure hidden. It was long ago that a great treasure was hidden here. Happy is he that might find that great treasure.
Ofram, the son of Sigurd carved these runes.
Haermund Hardaxe carved these runes.
Thatir the weary Viking came here.
Ingigerth is the most beautiful of all women (carved beside a picture of a slavering dog).
Thorni fucked. Helgi carved.
All too often historians and archaeologists concern themselves with official inscriptions left by kings and emperors and other fevered egos but I don’t think that anything quite says ‘Look on my works ye mighty and despair’ than a Viking warrior getting laid and then recording it on the rock of ages with his axe.
Ben Timberlake is an archaeologist who works in Iraq and Syria. His writing has appeared in Esquire, the Financial Times and the Economist. He is the author of 'High Risk: A True Story of the SAS, Drugs and other Bad Behaviour'.
Death (Tarot Triptych)
Chris Gabriel June 14, 2025
Death is undoubtedly the most feared card in the deck. He is a skeleton looking down at the bodies and souls of the dead below. While this card pertains to mortality itself, we shall see that death is far more than the failure of our bodies…
Name: Death or Nameless
Number: XIII
Astrology: Scorpio
Qabalah: Nun, a Fish
Chris Gabriel June 14, 2025
Death is undoubtedly the most feared card in the deck. He is a skeleton looking down at the bodies and souls of the dead below. While this card pertains to mortality itself, we shall see that death is far more than the failure of our bodies.
In Rider, Death is depicted Biblically, as the horseman on the pale steed.
And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.
Revelation 6:8
The skeletal rider is clad in black armor with a red plume atop his helmet. He holds aloft a black flag emblazoned with a white rose, a symbol of purity. His horse is pale white with red eyes. Before him a bishop prays, a child kneels, his mother swoons, and a king lays dead, his crown fallen. Behind them is an island, a ship, and, on the horizon, the Sun, that sets between the two towers featured in the Moon.
In Thoth, Death is a black skeleton wearing the Atef crown of Osiris. He weaves the karmic tapestry of souls before him with his scythe. Above him is the phantom of an Eagle, below there is a serpent and a scorpion, all symbols of Scorpio, and a fish to symbolize Nun. This is the Grim Reaper.
In Marseille, we have a notably nameless card, the only one in the deck. Here Death is a skeletal Grim Reaper in a field of hands, feet, bones, and two decapitated heads. One is crowned, the other is shaggy.
A primary image that arises is that of the dead king, a symbol which Diogenes the Cynic expresses best. Alexander, having heard that Diogenes was the wisest man in the world, came to hear his wisdom. When he arrived, Diogenes was digging through the waste of his trash can home. Alexander asked him what he was doing, to which he replied “I am trying to distinguish the bones of your father from those of a slave.”
As Shakespeare says, “Your worm is your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service—two dishes, but to one table. That’s the end.”
Death is the great equalizer: beneath masks and costumes, beautiful and ugly flesh, lays a pale skeleton. The skull is a profound truth, and death’s head has always been used to terrify. Nearly every ancient culture revered it, pirates raised it as their flag, even today American police officers wear it on their uniforms.
Death in occultism, however, is more akin to the death of Paul, who says “I die daily”. The Scorpion willingly kills itself when surrounded by flames. This card invites us to “Die”, transform our body through terrifying alchemical processes and, like the white flower, be made purer. Our essence is distilled through this continual cycle of life and death. The given number of 13, an unlucky number, signifies this very thing. After the 12 hours, the 12 months, the 12 signs of the Zodiac, what comes next? What comes after the end?
When we pull this card, we must not be afraid. Instead, willingly put an end to what is limiting you,nand to the stilted, decaying structures that you cling to. People spend their whole lives avoiding change and, in doing so, die long before their body. When we decide to shed our skin like the serpent, we can have absolute confidence that we are becoming a stronger, greater version of ourselves.
When we outgrow our old life, we must die and be born again.
Footnotes to Plato (c.428-347BC)
Nicko Mroczkowski June 11, 2025
Ancient Greece was the cradle of Western civilisation. Art, agriculture, and commerce had progressed to the point of creating, apparently for the first time, a culture of intellectuals. Many of the things that we now call ‘institutions’ – democracy, the legal process, the education system – had their start in this period. It was even here that ‘Europe’ got its name…
Rafael's School of Athens, 1511.
Nicko Mroczkowski May 9, 2024
Ancient Greece was the cradle of Western civilisation. Art, agriculture, and commerce had progressed to the point of creating, apparently for the first time, a culture of intellectuals. Many of the things that we now call ‘institutions’ – democracy, the legal process, the education system – had their start in this period. It was even here that ‘Europe’ got its name.
In this flourishing new culture, thinkers began to try and understand the world in a more organised way. From this, Western philosophy was born, and science came along with it. These thinkers asked themselves: what is the world made of, and how does it work? This was not a new question, most likely every culture before had asked it in some way, but what made the Ancient Greeks unique was their systematic approach. Because they also asked a secondary question, which, arguably, is still the starting point of any scientific inquiry: what is the correct way to talk about what something is?
L. Vosterman, after Rubens. c. 1620.
Each of the very first philosophers answered this question with one thing: ‘substance’, or stuff. They believed that the right way to understand the world is in terms of a single type of matter, which is present in different proportions in everything that exists. Thales of Miletus, perhaps the earliest Greek philosopher, believed that all things come from water; solid matter, life, and heat are all special phases of the same liquid. For him, then, the true way to talk about an apple, for example, is as a particularly dense piece of moisture. Heraclitus, on the other hand, believed that everything is made of fire; all existence is in flux, like the dancing flame, of which an apple is a fleeting shape.
We don’t know much more about these thinkers, as not much of their work survives; most of the accounts we have are second hand. We only know for sure that each proposed a different ultimate substance that everything is made out of. Then, a little while later, along came a philosopher called Plato.
Despite its prominence, ‘Plato’ was actually a nickname meaning ‘broad’ – there is disagreement about its origin, but the most popular theory is that it comes from his time as a wrestler. His real name is thought to have been ‘Aristocles’. Whatever he was really called, Plato changed everything. Instead of arguing, like his predecessors, for a different kind of ultimate substance, he observed that substance alone is not enough to explain what exists: there is also form. In other words, he more or less invented the distinction between form and content.
One could spend a lifetime analysing these terms, and there are whole volumes of art and literary theory that address their nuances; but it’s also a common-sense distinction that we use every day. The form of something is its shape, structure, composition; the content, or substance, is the stuff it’s made of. So the form of an apple is a sweet fruit with a specific genetic profile, and its content is various hydrocarbons and trace elements. The form of a literary work is its style and composition – poetry or prose, past or present tense, first- or third-person, etc. – and its content is its subject matter, what it describes and what happens in it.
An attempt at a classification of the perfect form of a rabbit. (1915)
We can already see Plato’s influence on modern knowledge in these examples. The correct way to talk about something, for him, was primarily in terms of its form, and only secondarily in terms of its substance. This is still the case for us today. There is a powerful justification for this preference: it allows us to talk about things generally. This is basically the foundation of any science; we would get absolutely nowhere if we only analysed particular individuals. There are just too many things out there. No two animals of the same species, for example, will ever have exactly the same make-up – even if they’re clones. They have eaten different things, had different experiences; they also, quite frankly, create and shed cells so rapidly and unpredictably that differences in their substance are inevitable. What they do have in common, though, is their anatomy, behaviour, and an overall genetic profile that produces these things.
Forms are peculiar, however, because they don’t exist in the same way as substances do. While there are concrete definitions of substances, the same cannot be said for forms. There are, for example, no perfect triangles in existence, and we could probably never create one – zoom in enough, and something will always be slightly out of place. So how did Plato come up with the idea of something that can never be experienced in real life? The answer is precisely because of things like triangles. Mathematics, and especially geometry, is the original language of forms, and it can describe a perfect triangle or circle, even though one may never exist. The success of mathematical inquiries in Plato’s time allowed him to recognise that the concept of forms which worked in geometry can be applied to understand the world more generally.
Forms are perfect specimens of imperfect things, are exemplars, or things we aspire to – they are the way things ought to be, in a perfect world. ‘Form’ in Plato’s work is also sometimes translated as ‘idea’ or ‘ideal’. And so, Plato’s answer to the question of how to conduct scientific inquiry was this: the correct way to talk about something is in terms of how it should be. Despite our imperfect world, rational thinking – the capacity of the human mind for grasping things like mathematical truths – can do this, and that’s what sets human beings and their societies apart from the rest of nature.
Perfect Platonic Solids
It gets a little strange from this point on: Plato believes that forms really exist, but in a separate, perfect world. Our souls start out there and then make their way to the material world to be born, but still have implicit knowledge of their original home, and this is where reason originates. Improbable, yes, but not completely absurd. Plato was clearly trying to explain, to a society that was just beginning to understand the importance of perfect knowledge, how it could exist in our imperfect world of change and difference. Two millennia later, Kant would show that it’s due to the way the human mind is structured, but we don’t really know how this happened either.
Really, we’re still playing Plato’s game. The basic realisation that to know the world, we must study the general and the perfect, and ignore the non-essential characteristics of particular individuals – this is his legacy. Of course, this way of thinking is so deeply ingrained in Western culture that it can be hard to grapple with; it’s so fundamental that we take it for granted. But what we call knowledge today would not be possible at all without it. Seeing this, we can imagine what the influential British philosopher Alfred North Whitehead meant when he wrote that ‘the safest general characterization of the European philosophical tradition is that it consists in a series of footnotes to Plato’.
Nicko Mroczkowski
On Photography (Excerpt)
Susan Sontag June 10, 2025
To collect photographs is to collect the world. Movies and television programs light up walls, flicker, and go out; but with still photographs the image is also an object, lightweight, cheap to produce, easy to carry about, accumulate, store…
Portraits in Life and Death, Peter Hujar. 1976.
When Susan Sontag released ‘On Photography’ in 1977, itself a collection of essays written in the preceding four years, it announced a new era in thinking about the medium. In the near fifty years since, it has become easy to overlook how radical Sontag’s ideas were for they have been absorbed so readily into the common theoretical understanding of photography we struggle to understand photography outside of her thinking. The book considers photography as a somewhat violent act that fosters a voyeuristic relationship with the world, separate from the reality it purports to capture. Yet the work is not inherently critical of the medium, instead it asks us to consider the power of depiction that the camera gives us, and to weild the tool with respect and compassion.
Susan Sontag, June 10, 2025
To collect photographs is to collect the world. Movies and television programs light up walls, flicker, and go out; but with still photographs the image is also an object, lightweight, cheap to produce, easy to carry about, accumulate, store. In Godard's Les Carabiniers (1963), two sluggish lumpen-peasants are lured into joining the King's Army by the promise that they will be able to loot, rape, kill, or do whatever else they please to the enemy, and get rich. But the suitcase of booty that Michel-Ange and Ulysse triumphantly bring home, years later, to their wives turns out to contain only picture postcards, hundreds of them, of Monuments, Department Stores, Mammals, Wonders of Nature, Methods of Transport, Works of Art, and other classified treasures from around the globe. Godard's gag vividly parodies the equivocal magic of the photographic image. Photographs are perhaps the most mysterious of all the objects that make up, and thicken, the environment we recognize as modern. Photographs really are experience captured, and the camera is the ideal arm of consciousness in its acquisitive mood.
To photograph is to appropriate the thing photographed. It means putting oneself into a certain relation to the world that feels like knowledge-and, therefore, like power. A now notorious first fall into alienation, habituating people to abstract the world into printed words, is supposed to have engendered that surplus of Faustian energy and psychic damage needed to build modern, inorganic societies. But print seems a less treacherous form of leaching out the world, of turning it into a mental object, than photographic images, which now provide most of the knowledge people have about the look of the past and the reach of the present. What is written about a person or an event is frankly an interpretation, as are handmade visual statements, like paintings and drawings. Photographed images do not seem to be statements about the world so much as pieces of it, miniatures of reality that anyone can make or acquire.
Photographs, which fiddle with the scale of the world, themselves get reduced, blown up, cropped, retouched, doctored, tricked out. They age, plagued by the usual ills of paper objects; they disappear; they become valuable, and get bought and sold; they are reproduced. Photographs, which package the world, seem to invite packaging. They are stuck in albums, framed and set on tables, tacked on walls, projected as slides. Newspapers and magazines feature them; cops alphabetize them; museums exhibit them; publishers compile them.
For many decades the book has been the most influential way of arranging (and usually miniaturizing) photographs, thereby guaranteeing them longevity, if not immortality-photographs are fragile objects, easily torn or mislaid-and a wider public. The photograph in a book is, obviously, the image of an image. But since it is, to begin with, a printed, smooth object, a photograph loses much less of its essential quality when reproduced in a book than a painting does. Still, the book is not a wholly satisfactory scheme for putting groups of photographs into general circulation. The sequence in which the photographs are to be looked at is proposed by the order of pages, but nothing holds readers to the recommended order or indicates the amount of time to be spent on each photograph. Chris Marker's film, Si j'avais quatre dromadaires (1966), a brilliantly orchestrated meditation on photographs of all sorts and themes, suggests a subtler and more rigorous way of packaging (and enlarging) still photographs. Both the order and the exact time for looking at each photograph are imposed; and there is a gain in visual legibility and emotional impact. But photographs transcribed in a film cease to be collectible objects, as they still are when served up in books.
Photographs furnish evidence. Something we hear about, but doubt, seems proven when we're shown a photograph of it. In one version of its utility, the camera record incriminates. Starting with their use by the Paris police in the murderous roundup of Communards in June 1871, photographs became a useful tool of modern states in the surveillance and control of their increasingly mobile populations. In another version of its utility, the camera record justifies. A photograph passes for incontrovertible proof that a given thing happened. The picture may distort; but there is always a presumption that something exists, or did exist, which is like what's in the picture. Whatever the limitations (through amateurism) or pretensions (through artistry) of the individual photographer, a photograph-any photograph-seems to have a more innocent, and therefore more accurate, relation to visible reality than do other mimetic objects. Virtuosi of the noble image like Alfred Stieglitz and Paul Strand, composing mighty, unforgettable photographs decade after decade, still want, first of all, to show something "out there," just like the Polaroid owner for whom photographs are a handy, fast form of note-taking, or the shutterbug with a Brownie who takes snapshots as souvenirs of daily life.
While a painting or a prose description can never be other than a narrowly selective interpretation, a photograph can be treated as a narrowly selective transparency. But despite the presumption of veracity that gives all photographs authority, interest, seductiveness, the work that photographers do is no generic exception to the usually shady commerce between art and truth. Even when photographers are most concerned with mirroring reality, they are still haunted by tacit imperatives of taste and conscience. The immensely gifted members of the Farm Security Administration photographic project of the late 1930s (among them Walker Evans, Dorothea Lange, Ben Shahn, Russell Lee) would take dozens of frontal pictures of one of their sharecropper subjects until satisfied that they had gotten just the right look on film-the precise expression on the subject's face that supported their own notions about poverty, light, dignity, texture, exploitation, and geometry. In deciding how a picture should look, in preferring one exposure to another, photographers are always imposing standards on their subjects. Although there is a sense in which the camera does indeed capture reality, not just interpret it, photographs are as much an interpretation of the world as paintings and drawings are. Those occasions when the taking of photographs is relatively undiscriminating, promiscuous, or self effacing do not lessen the didacticism of the whole enterprise. This very passivity-and ubiquity-of the photographic record is photography's "message," its aggression.
Images which idealize (like most fashion and animal photography) are no less aggressive than work which makes a virtue of plainness (like class pictures, still lifes of the bleaker sort, and mug shots). There is an aggression implicit in every use of the camera. This is as evident in the 1840s and 1850s, photography's glorious first two decades, as in all the succeeding decades, during which technology made possible an ever increasing spread of that mentality which looks at the world as a set of potential photographs. Even for such early masters as David Octavius Hill and Julia Margaret Cameron who used the camera as a means of getting painterly images, the point of taking photographs was a vast departure from the aims of painters. From its start, photography implied the capture of the largest possible number of subjects. Painting never had so imperial a scope. The subsequent industrialization of camera technology only carried out a promise inherent in photography from its very beginning: to democratize all experiences by translating them into images.
That age when taking photographs required a cumbersome and expensive contraption-the toy of 'the clever, the wealthy, and the obsessed-seems remote indeed from the era of sleek pocket cameras that invite anyone to take pictures. The first cameras, made in France and England in the early 1840s, had only inventors and buffs to operate them. Since there were then no professional photographers, there could not be amateurs either, and taking photographs had no clear social use; it was a gratuitous, that is, an artistic activity, though with few pretensions to being an art. It was only with its industrialization that photography came into its own as art. As industrialization provided social uses for the operations of the photographer, so the reaction against these uses reinforced the self-consciousness of photography-as-art.
“It seems positively unnatural to travel for pleasure without taking a camera along. Photographs will offer indisputable evidence that the trip was made, that the program was carried out, that fun was had.”
Recently, photography has become almost as widely practiced an amusement as sex and dancing-which means that, like every mass art form, photography is not practiced by most people as an art. It is mainly a social rite, a defense against anxiety, and a tool of power.
Memorializing the achievements of individuals considered as members of families (as well as of other groups) is the earliest popular use of photography. For at least a century, the wedding photograph has been as much a part of the ceremony as the prescribed verbal formulas. Cameras go with family life. According to a sociological study done in France, most households have a camera, but a household with children is twice as likely to have at least one camera as a household in which there are no children. Not to take pictures of one's children, particularly when they are small, is a sign of parental indifference, just as not turning up for one's graduation picture is a gesture of adolescent rebellion.
Through photographs, each family constructs a portrait-chronicle of itself-a portable kit of images that bears witness to its connectedness. It hardly matters what activities are photographed so long as photographs get taken and are cherished. Photography becomes a rite of family life just when, in the industrializing countries of Europe and America, the very institution of the family starts undergoing radical surgery. As that claustrophobic unit, the nuclear family, was being carved out of a much larger family aggregate, photography came along to memorialize, to restate symbolically, the imperiled continuity and vanishing extendedness of family life. Those ghostly traces, photographs, supply the token presence of the dispersed relatives. A family's photograph album is generally about the extended family-and, often, is all that remains of it.
As photographs give people an imaginary possession of a past that is unreal, they also help people to take possession of space in which they are insecure. Thus, photography develops in tandem with one of the most characteristic of modern activities: tourism. For the first time in history, large numbers of people regularly travel out of their habitual environments for short periods of time. It seems positively unnatural to travel for pleasure without taking a camera along. Photographs will offer indisputable evidence that the trip was made, that the program was carried out, that fun was had. Photographs document sequences of consumption carried on outside the view of family, friends, neighbors. But dependence on the camera, as the device that makes real what one is experiencing, doesn't fade when people travel more. Taking photographs fills the same need for the cosmopolitans accumulating photograph-trophies of their boat trip up the Albert Nile or their fourteen days in China as it does for lower-middle-class vacationers taking snapshots of the Eiffel Tower or Niagara Falls.
A way of certifying experience, taking photographs is also a way of refusing it-by limiting experience to a search for the photogenic, by converting experience into an image, a souvenir. Travel becomes a strategy for accumulating photographs. The very activity of taking pictures is soothing, and assuages general feelings of disorientation that are likely to be exacerbated by travel. Most tourists feel compelled to put the camera between themselves and whatever is remarkable that they encounter. Unsure of other responses, they take a picture. This gives shape to experience: stop, take a photograph, and move on. The method especially appeals to people handicapped by a ruthless work ethic-Germans, Japanese, and Americans. Using a camera appeases the anxiety which the work-driven feel about not working when they are on vacation and supposed to be having fun. They have something to do that is like a friendly imitation of work: they can take pictures.
People robbed of their past seem to make the most fervent picture takers, at home and abroad. Everyone who lives in an industrialized society is obliged gradually to give up the past, but in certain countries, such as the United States and Japan, the break with the past has been particularly traumatic. In the early 1970s, the fable of the brash American tourist of the 1950s and 1960s, rich with dollars and Babbittry, was replaced by the mystery of the group minded tourist armed with two cameras, one on each hip.
Photography has become one of the principal devices for experiencing something, for giving an appearance of participation. One fullpage ad shows a small group of people standing pressed together, peering out of the photograph, all but one looking stunned, excited, upset. The one who wears a different expression holds a camera to his eye; he seems self-possessed, is almost smiling. While the others are passive, clearly alarmed spectators, having a camera has transformed one person into something active, a voyeur: only he has mastered the situation. What do these people see? We don't know. And it doesn't matter. It is an Event: something worth seeing-and therefore worth photographing. The ad copy, white letters across the dark lower third of the photograph like news coming over a teletype machine, consists of just six words: " ... Prague ... Woodstock ... Vietnam ... Sapporo ... Londonderry .. . LEICA." Crushed hopes, youth antics, colonial wars, and winter sports are alike-are equa lized by the camera. Taking photographs has set up a chronic voyeuristic relation to the world which levels the meaning of all events.
A photograph is not just the result of an encounter between an event and a photographer; picture-taking is an event in itself, and one with ever more peremptory rights-to interfere with, to invade, or to ignore whatever is going on. Our very sense of situation is now articulated by the camera's interventions. The omnipresence of cameras persuasively suggests that time consists of interesting events, events worth photographing. This, in turn, makes it easy to feel that any event, once underway, and whatever its moral character, should be allowed to complete itselfso that something else can be brought into the world, the photograph. After the event has ended, the picture will still exist, conferring on the event a kind of immortality (and importance) it would never otherwise have enjoyed. While real people are out there killing themselves or other real people, the photographer stays behind his or her camera, creating a tiny element of another world: the image-world that bids to outlast us all.
Photographing is essentially an act of nonintervention. Part of the horror of such memorable coups of contemporary photojournalism as the pictures of a Vietnamese bonze reaching for the gasoline can, of a Bengali guerrilla in the act of ba yoneting a trussed-up collaborator, comes from the awareness of how plausible it has become, in situations where the photographer has the choice between a photograph and a life, to choose the photograph. The person who intervenes cannot record; the person who is recording cannot intervene. Dziga Vertov's great film, Man with a Movie Camera (1'929), gives the ideal image of the photographer as someone in perpetual movement, someone movmg through a panorama of disparate events with such agility and speed that any intervention is out of the question. Hitchcock's Rear Window (1954) gives the complementary image: the photographer played by James Stewart has an intensified relation to one event, through his camera, precisely because he has a broken leg and is confined to a wheelchair; being temporarily immobilized prevents him from acting on what he sees, and makes it even more important to take pictures. Even if incompatible with intervention in a physical sense, using a camera is still a form of participation. Although the camera is an observation station, the act of photographing is more than passive observing. Like sexual voyeurism, it is a way of at least tacitly, often explicitly, encouraging whatever is going on to keep on happening. To take a picture is to have an interest in things as they are, in the status quo remaining unchanged (at least for as long as it takes to get a "good" picture), to be in complicity with whatever makes a subject interesting, worth photographing-including, when that is the interest, another person's pain or misfortune.
Susan Sontag (1933 – 2004) was an American writer, critic, and intellectual, considered one of the most important and brilliant thinkers of her generation. Mostly writing in essay form, through she produced a number of novels and long form works, she explored ideas of art, culture, war, and pain with a singular voice and relentless insight.
The Devil (Tarot Triptych)
Chris Gabriel June 7, 2025
The Devil is amongst the most feared cards in the tarot, he is the enemy of mankind. Each depiction shows a horned Devil alongside entrapped humans, but the cause of their entrapment varies greatly…
Name: The Devil
Number: XV
Astrology: Capricorn
Qabalah: Ayin, the Eye
Chris Gabriel June 7, 2025
The Devil is amongst the most feared cards in the tarot, he is the enemy of mankind. Each depiction shows a horned Devil alongside entrapped humans, but the cause of their entrapment varies greatly.
In Rider, we are given the most moral portrait. The Devil is in a traditional form - a man’s body with hairy goatlike legs and clawed feet. His goat horns are topped by a Pentagram, and they arch downwards to his bat wings. He holds his right hand up, while his left holds a flaming wand towards the ground. His face is bearded and monstrous. At his feet, a man and woman are chained to a column. They too are horned, nakeded, and tails protrude behind them. The woman has grown a tail tipped with a cluster of grapes, the man’s is tipped with flames.
In Thoth, the Devil is not a humanoid at all, but a goat replete with great spiralling horns, a third eye, and a bough of blue flowers. The stands in front of a great phallus crowned with a nimbus, and the entrapped souls are not chained, but are the sperm within the immense testes. They are not trapped in the way of the other two cards, rather, they are held in potentia, not yet actualized, but awaiting their future.
In Marseille, the Devil is the strangest of the three: a blue skinned beast with breasts and a penis. While the Rider Devil took on the pose of Baphomet, here we have the full hermaphroditic figure. The Devil differs greatly in different Marseille decks, often having a face in his stomach or eyes in his knees. His body is schizophrenically split into many organs and parts, each one conscious of itself, but the sum total of the Devil is unconscious as he uses his upheld flaming wand to light his way through the dark. The imps beside him have asinine ears and tails. Their horns are stick-like. They are chained to the pedestal of the Devil.
The Devil invites us into the depths of the Unconscious, the root of our desires and fear. This Hell is his home. Marseille and Rider clearly show that these wants are the sinful roots that sprout vice in our lives. The vices controlled by the Rider Devil are wrath, symbolized by the flaming tail, and drunkenness, symbolized by the grape tail. The Hell of this Devil is shown best in Disney’s Pinocchio as Pleasure Island, where ‘naughty boys’ go to smoke, drink and gamble, but soon are turned into asses, growing ears and tails, until they are enslaved and forced to work deep in the mines.
The vices of Marseille are bodily: lust, hunger, and the desires of the flesh. The Marseille Devil calls to mind the delusions of schizophrenics, as described by Victor Tausk, in which one's organs are felt to be foreign, and dominated by outside forces. This tends to be localized in the genitals, but can often spread throughout the whole body. The Devil is the embodiment of that eternal outsider who controls the bodies of the unwilling. As well described vividly by David Foster Wallace in Big Red Son, and typified by Origen, many will castrate themselves to overcome sin and grow closer to God.
Thoth shows us this is not necessary. The card shows the wisdom that Crowley received in the Book of the Law, that “the word of Sin is Restriction”, and that these unconscious forces need not fester down below, but demand to be expressed and brought forth into reality. The souls of the damned are not chained to the ground, but held as sperm awaiting their future fertilization.
Freud has shown that it is only when the drives are repressed, forced down into Hell, that they grow sick. As Blake writes in the Proverbs of Hell: He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.
The Devil of Thoth is but an animal, and though he has a mystic third eye, he is driven by his sexual urges. He is the long maligned sexual drive at last given the freedom to create.
When the Devil comes up in a reading, we must be careful not to overindulge in our vices and follow our simple urges down, but instead to exalt, raise, and utilize them for greater creativity.
Pronoia Pt. 1 - The Art of Sacred Clowning
Molly Hankins June 5, 2025
Pronoia is paranoia’s positive counterpart and describes a worldview rooted in the idea that the universe is conspiring in our favor…
Molly Hankins June 5, 2025
Pronoia is paranoia’s positive counterpart and describes a worldview rooted in the idea that the universe is conspiring in our favor. Author Rob Brezney describes the concept in his 2005 book Pronoia, a modern-day, illustrated manual to life akin to Be Here Now by Ram Dass, and introduces two aspects of the sacred clown that can guide us towards pronoia. The first is a tummler, which is a Yiddish term that refers to someone who “makes a racket”, stirring up a commotion to heighten self-awareness. The second is the Iroquois word ondinnonk, meaning a secret wish of the soul that longs to do good deeds. Brezsny recommends that we allow our ondinnonk to lead our pronoaic mission as a tummler, so that we may elevate the consciousness of ourselves and our community.
Clowning is a primary expression of any tummler, whose sacred duty is to affectionately incite agitation that promotes self-reflection and positive action. The Native Amrican Hopi tribe ritualized the art of sacred clowning in an annual summer performance. Known as Kachina Ceremonies, these displays would last from the Winter to Summer Solstice with a six month build-up to the climax of the summer ritual, taking place in July because heat causes expansion drawing out impurities. Clowns, Princeton University Art and Archaeology Professor Hal Foster explained, played the essential role of clearing corruption out of the community by , “Tracing fractures that already exist in the given order to pressure them.” Existing areas of corruption were pressured to a breaking point by the affectionate agitation of the sacred clowns, and community members became strengthened by this release of impurities.
Brezsny believes that in order to see where corruption has accumulated within ourselves, our leaders and our communities, we must trigger each other. He writes in Pronoia, “We can inspire each other to perpetrate healing mischief, friendly shocks, compassionate tricks, blasphemous reverence, holy pranks and crazy wisdom.” This is the role of the sacred clown or tummler, guided by the good-natured principle of ondinnonk. Within a traditional social hierarchy, only the court jester can safely speak truth to power, and it can only be successfully communicated through play. The Hopi regarded corruption as an inevitability of being human, building in a social purification ceremony aligned with natural cycles to ensure that a corrupted people did not become the dominant force in the tribe.
In Pronoia, fundamentalism is the primary corruptive force of modernity, and Brezsny believes the fundamentalist attitude demands everything be taken too seriously, personally and literally. “Correct belief is the only virtue. Every fundamentalist is committed to waging war against the imagination unless the imagination is enslaved to his or her belief system,” he writes. “And here’s the bad news: like almost everyone in the world, each of us has our own share of the fundamentalist virus.” The next page of the book is blank except for an invitation to confess in writing where we harbor fundamentalism in our own worldviews, challenging us to realise how easy it is to see in others and ignore it in ourselves.
“Healing mischief, friendly shocks, compassionate tricks, blasphemous reverence, holy pranks and crazy wisdom”
If we endeavor to put pressure on the fractured places within our own psyche, we can uncover where fundamentalism has corrupted us and open ourselves up to otherwise unavailable opportunities. These are opportunities for both transcendent self-awareness and society-evolving consciousness expansion. Like the famous Leonard Cohen lyric from “Anthem” says, the cracks are where the light gets in. Though living by a pronaic philosophy in 2025 feels outlandish, it is radical to consider the possibility that we are currently experiencing an increase of pressure on existing fractures that will ultimately lead us to trade corruption for lightness. The fear of facing our own corrupted nature as individuals and a collective lightens when we approach it with a sense of humor.
Pronoia serves as an invitation to become tummlers unto ourselves, powered by the purity of our innate ondinnonk spirit that inherently wants to perpetuate goodness. As we do so, lightness spreads to the people around us and we all become more suited to administer the sort of, “...healing mischief, friendly shocks, compassionate tricks, blasphemous reverence, holy pranks and crazy wisdom,” that pressures the fractures of our own corruption and gives way to goodness.
Perhaps the secret of how to speed up this process in the collective lies in the blank page Breszny put in Pronoia. In the book’s forward he recommends we act as pronaic co-authors, knowing that the underlying axiom of “as above, so below” applies to both the macro and the microcosm. Breszny knows that to reflect upon and root out our own corruption is to become co-conspirators with the universe, scheming to generate more favor for ourselves and all of life. Embodying sacred clown energy as we undertake the process ensures success.
Molly Hankins is an Initiate + Reality Hacker serving the Ministry of Quantum Existentialism and Builders of the Adytum.
Ominous Commandments
Elif Blackstock June 3, 2025
In a large field in northeastern Georgia, just outside the small city of Elberton and its population of below 5,000, stood six granite stones, arranged in a Stonehenge like construction. They functioned, in part as a solar calendar…
The Georgia Guidestones after the 2022 bombing.
Elif Blackstock June 3, 2025
In a large field in northeastern Georgia, just outside the small city of Elberton and its population of below 5,000, stood six granite stones, arranged in a Stonehenge like construction. They functioned, in part as a solar calendar: holes drilled into the granite aligned with the Pole Star, the solstice, and the equinox, and one allowed a ray of sun to pass through at noon, pointing to the day of the year. They were erected in 1980, and commissioned by a man known only by the pseudonym R.C. Christian, allegedly on behalf of a small group of individuals who believed in the importance of the stones, and the message they held. Over the years, they became a tourist attraction, drawing tens of thousands of visitors each year, and the subject of conspiracy and fascination across the world until, in 2022, a bomb exploded at the site, shattering one of the slabs and leading to the demolition of the rest over concerns for their structural integrity after the damage. No one has ever been caught in relation to the crime, and many rejoiced their destruction, for upon the stones were ten maxims which, since their inception, have caused controversy, confusion, celebration, and speculation in equal measure.
On the four main stones, in eight languages, were what appeared to be new commandments for living, written by Christian, and the group he claimed to represents. They do not prescribe to an obvious or exact school of thought, at times political, social, and moral, and moving between the sensible, the eccentric, the absurd, and the worrying. Rational commands such as ‘Be not a cancer on earth—leave room for nature', ‘Protect people and nations with fair laws and just courts’, and ‘Balance personal rights with social duties’, stand next to more poetic, cryptic, or outlandish ideas such as ‘Prize truth, beauty and love, seeking harmony with the infinite’, and ‘Unite humanity with a living new language’. Of the ten maxims, however, it is numbers one and two that caused the stone’s controversy, and ultimately led to its destruction. At the top of each of the granite slabs, in English, Spanish, Swahili, Hindi, Hebrew, Arabic, Traditional Chinese, and Russian respectively, were the phrases ’Maintain humanity under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature’ and ‘Guide reproduction wisely – improving fitness and diversity’.
In 1980, when the stones were erected, the human population was close to 4.5 billion. The two opening principles, then, seemed to not only call for the eradication of nearly 90% of the earths population, but the second maxim also was interpreted as encouraging eugenics. With their obscured origins, the shady nature of their commissioner, and mysterious purpose, alongside the fact that many of the other commandments seemed both rational and applicable to modern life, the two opening statements seemed ominous, and a slate of theories as to the true meaning of the stones began to develop.
“Despite—or perhaps because of—the speculation, no one ever came forward to confirm or deny the identity of R.C. Christian, nor to clarify the stones’ intended purpose”
To some, these declarations represented a philosophical musing on how humanity might live sustainably in the aftermath of global catastrophe when population levels may already be drastically reduced. The Cold War was raging in 1980, and a nuclear armageddon did not seem so far away to many. The Georgia Guidestones, to some, served not as a genocidal directive, but as a kind of Rosetta Stone for future survivors, offering guidance on how to rebuild civilization in harmony with the natural world. The ecological language woven throughout the inscriptions supported this to those who believed this view, seeing the project as a modern-day monument to environmental stewardship and enlightened governance.
Others, however, saw something far darker in the granite. The language of “guiding reproduction” and maintaining a specific population cap struck many as eerily similar to the rhetoric of eugenicists and promoted authoritarian population control. Conspiracy theories flourished, especially in the internet age. Some believed the stones were the work of a shadowy elite planning a New World Order, using the monument as a declaration of their future intentions. For these theorists, the anonymity of R.C. Christian was no coincidence, but a deliberate attempt to mask the involvement of powerful globalist actors. The fact that the site also aligned astronomically only contributed to ideas of occult symbolism, spurring claims that the monument had Masonic or even Satanic undertones.
In right-wing and religious circles, the stones became a lightning rod. Christian evangelicals decried the language of a “new world language” and “harmony with the infinite” as New Age heresy, incompatible with biblical teachings. Some described the structure as “America’s Stonehenge of Satan,” believing it to be the work of dark spiritual forces masquerading as enlightenment. Politicians and pundits from conservative media outlets occasionally referenced the stones as proof of moral decay or creeping globalism, fanning public suspicion.
Despite—or perhaps because of—the speculation, no one ever came forward to confirm or deny the identity of R.C. Christian, nor to clarify the stones’ intended purpose. The Elbert County Granite Finishing Company, which had been paid handsomely for the project, honored a vow of silence, further deepening the mystery. As years passed, the stones stood silent, defying explanation, as more and more visited them each year. Their destruction in 2022 was, to many, both an act of terror and of symbolism. Whether the bomber saw them as a threat, an abomination, or merely a target to stir fear and debate, the Guidestones were finally reduced to rubble. But the questions they raised—about humanity’s future, its values, and its power to shape the world—remain etched in the imagination, if not in stone.
Temperance (Tarot Triptych)
Chris Gabriel May 31, 2025
Temperance is the image of spiritual attainment. This is the card of the Guardian Angel, the embodiment of the individual divine Will. It is the Godlike function in man: Creativity…
Name: Temperance or Art
Number: XIV
Astrology: Sagittarius
Qabalah: Samekh
Chris Gabriel May 31, 2025
Temperance is the image of spiritual attainment. This is the card of the Guardian Angel, the embodiment of the individual divine Will. It is the Godlike function in man: Creativity.
In Rider, we are shown an angel in white robes. They pass water between two golden cups while their robe is marked with a golden triangle. They have great red wings, their flowing blonde hair is topped with a little sun, and their head is surrounded with radiance. Their bare feet stand in two worlds: one dips into the pool before them, the other is on the ground where irises grow beside them. They stand in front of a long path which leads to a radiant light in the distance.
In Thoth, we have an angel as an alchemical Hermaphrodite. The Emperor and Empress married in the Lovers card, and here become one. Their skin is blue and white, they have six breasts hanging out of a large green dress adorned with bees and serpents. Their royal mantle is the rainbow, which flows down their chest, as an arrow sits in it. Their crown is silver and gold and they hold fire and a cup of water, both of which are being poured into the cauldron which sits before them. A white lion and red phoenix sit in the flames around the cauldron. Two crescent moons form a lunar bow atop the card, and behind the angel is a golden disk adorned with an acrostic Latin motto of the alchemists::
Visita Interiora Terrae Rectificando Invenies Occultum Lapidem-
Visit the interior of the Earth, rectification will reveal the hidden stone
VITRIOL.
In Marseille, our angel wears a red and blue robe. They have blue wings and blonde hair with a five petaled flower. They smile as they move water between the two cups they hold.
Temperance is self control, which in its truest mastery is the craft of alchemy. Alchemy, in its most basic form, is the transformation of substances, and through the true alchemy, wise men sought to transform their bodies of lead into divine bodies of gold. The beakers, alembics, vessels and metals were but ceremonial tools to visualize the interior process they were undergoing.
This process is the source of all art: the transformation of external input into sensory impressions and ideas, which are again transformed, distilled, and ultimately externalized to create a work of art.
In Genesis, man is described as being made in God’s image, but at that point, there were no physical descriptions, the only thing one knows about God at that point is that they create. We are, therefore, godlike only in our ability to create and transform.
The Angel of this card is the embodiment of the Divine in each individual, the Guardian Angel, the higher Soul that is simultaneously in contact with God and you. It is the rainbow and the Greek god hermaphroditus, the divided colors and sexes unified. Through magick we can make contact with this higher part of ourselves and begin to follow that great path,symbolized by Sagittarius, the Arrow.
All of this may sound very lofty, but more mundane forms of alchemy are performed every day. In nature, fire and water are opposite, when fires start, rain puts them out. It is extremely rare to find boiling water in nature, outside of a few geysers and hot springs. But through our genius, we developed technologies with which we could overcome nature, we gained control of fire, and placed water over without dousing it. Every cup of tea is an alchemical work.
When we pull this card, we are soon to have a great deal of creative energy, we may begin a serious undertaking, this may be the start of a huge project. When we create, we are engaging directly with the divine, and this card lets us know that forces greater than ourselves are by our side.
The Death of the Author
Roland Barthes May 29, 2025
In his story Sarrasine, Balzac, speaking of a castrato disguised as a woman, writes this sentence: "It was Woman, with her sudden fears, her irrational whims, her instinctive fears, her unprovoked bravado, her daring and her delicious delicacy of feeling". Who is speaking in this way? Is it the story's hero? Is it the man Balzac? Is it the author Balzac?
The Death of Marat, Jacques-Louis David. 1793.
First published in 1967 in the American magazine-in-a-box ‘Aspen’, the French theorist Roland Barthes’ essay has gone on to become one of the most important modern words of literary criticism. Barthes central claim is that literary analysis has long, and incorrectly, relied on the intentions of the author as a means to explore and explain written works. Instead, he suggests, it is the individual interpretation of the reader that is the key to discovering meaning in texts, and the author should not be considered. Barthes gives power to the words alone, and removes them from their maker - once they exist on the page, the only intention that matters is the reader, and there is no objective nor definitive meaning to the writing. In the years since it was first published, countless essays, books, and lectures have been given in favor or criticism of Barthes work, but his ideas have nonetheless entered both the pedagogical and popular mainstream, today more than ever.
Roland Barthes, May 20, 2025
In his story Sarrasine, Balzac, speaking of a castrato disguised as a woman, writes this sentence: "It was Woman, with her sudden fears, her irrational whims, her instinctive fears, her unprovoked bravado, her daring and her delicious delicacy of feeling". Who is speaking in this way? Is it the story's hero, concerned to ignore the castrato concealed beneath the woman? Is it the man Balzac, endowed by his personal experience with a philosophy of Woman? Is it the author Balzac, professing certain "literary" ideas of femininity? Is it universal wisdom? or romantic psychology? It will always be impossible to know, for the good reason that all writing is itself this special voice, consisting of several indiscernible voices, and that literature is precisely the invention of this voice, to which we cannot assign a specific origin: literature is that neuter, that composite, that oblique into which every subject escapes, the trap where all identity is lost, beginning with the very identity of the body that writes.
· · ·
Probably this has always been the case: once an action is recounted, for intransitive ends, and no longer in order to act directly upon reality — that is, finally external to any function but the very exercise of the symbol — this disjunction occurs, the voice loses its origin, the author enters his own death, writing begins. Nevertheless, the feeling about this phenomenon has been variable; in primitive societies, narrative is never undertaken by a person, but by a mediator, shaman or speaker, whose "performance" may be admired (that is, his mastery of the narrative code), but not his "genius" The author is a modern figure, produced no doubt by our society insofar as, at the end of the middle ages, with English empiricism, French rationalism and the personal faith of the Reformation, it discovered the prestige of the individual, or, to put it more nobly, of the "human person" Hence it is logical that with regard to literature it should be positivism, resume and the result of capitalist ideology, which has accorded the greatest importance to the author's "person" The author still rules in manuals of literary history, in biographies of writers, in magazine interviews, and even in the awareness of literary men, anxious to unite, by their private journals, their person and their work; the image of literature to be found in contemporary culture is tyrannically centered on the author, his person, his history, his tastes, his passions; criticism still consists, most of the time, in saying that Baudelaire's work is the failure of the man Baudelaire, Van Gogh's work his madness, Tchaikovsky's his vice: the explanation of the work is always sought in the man who has produced it, as if, through the more or less transparent allegory of fiction, it was always finally the voice of one and the same person, the author, which delivered his "confidence."
· · ·
Though the Author's empire is still very powerful (recent criticism has often merely consolidated it), it is evident that for a long time now certain writers have attempted to topple it. In France, Mallarme was doubtless the first to see and foresee in its full extent the necessity of substituting language itself for the man who hitherto was supposed to own it; for Mallarme, as for us, it is language which speaks, not the author: to write is to reach, through a preexisting impersonality — never to be confused with the castrating objectivity of the realistic novelist — that point where language alone acts, "performs," and not "oneself": Mallarme's entire poetics consists in suppressing the author for the sake of the writing (which is, as we shall see, to restore the status of the reader.) Valery, encumbered with a psychology of the Self, greatly edulcorated Mallarme's theory, but, turning in a preference for classicism to the lessons of rhetoric, he unceasingly questioned and mocked the Author, emphasized the linguistic and almost "chance" nature of his activity, and throughout his prose works championed the essentially verbal condition of literature, in the face of which any recourse to the writer's inferiority seemed to him pure superstition. It is clear that Proust himself, despite the apparent psychological character of what is called his analyses, undertook the responsibility of inexorably blurring, by an extreme subtilization, the relation of the writer and his characters: by making the narrator not the person who has seen or felt, nor even the person who writes, but the person who will write (the young man of the novel — but, in fact, how old is he, and who is he? — wants to write but cannot, and the novel ends when at last the writing becomes possible), Proust has given modern writing its epic: by a radical reversal, instead of putting his life into his novel, as we say so often, he makes his very life into a work for which his own book was in a sense the model, so that it is quite obvious to us that it is not Charlus who imitates Montesquiou, but that Montesquiou in his anecdotal, historical reality is merely a secondary fragment, derived from Charlus. Surrealism lastly — to remain on the level of this prehistory of modernity — surrealism doubtless could not accord language a sovereign place, since language is a system and since what the movement sought was, romantically, a direct subversion of all codes — an illusory subversion, moreover, for a code cannot be destroyed, it can only be "played with"; but by abruptly violating expected meanings (this was the famous surrealist "jolt"), by entrusting to the hand the responsibility of writing as fast as possible what the head itself ignores (this was automatic writing), by accepting the principle and the experience of a collective writing, surrealism helped secularize the image of the Author. Finally, outside of literature itself (actually, these distinctions are being superseded), linguistics has just furnished the destruction of the Author with a precious analytic instrument by showing that utterance in its entirety is a void process, which functions perfectly without requiring to be filled by the person of the interlocutors: linguistically, the author is never anything more than the man who writes, just as I is no more than the man who says I: language knows a "subject," not a "person," end this subject, void outside of the very utterance which defines it, suffices to make language "work," that is, to exhaust it.
“Everything is to be distinguished, but nothing deciphered”
The absence of the Author (with Brecht, we might speak here of a real "alienation:' the Author diminishing like a tiny figure at the far end of the literary stage) is not only a historical fact or an act of writing: it utterly transforms the modern text (or — what is the same thing — the text is henceforth written and read so that in it, on every level, the Author absents himself). Time, first of all, is no longer the same. The Author, when we believe in him, is always conceived as the past of his own book: the book and the author take their places of their own accord on the same line, cast as a before and an after: the Author is supposed to feed the book — that is, he pre-exists it, thinks, suffers, lives for it; he maintains with his work the same relation of antecedence a father maintains with his child. Quite the contrary, the modern writer (scriptor) is born simultaneously with his text; he is in no way supplied with a being which precedes or transcends his writing, he is in no way the subject of which his book is the predicate; there is no other time than that of the utterance, and every text is eternally written here and now. This is because (or: it follows that) to write can no longer designate an operation of recording, of observing, of representing, of "painting" (as the Classic writers put it), but rather what the linguisticians, following the vocabulary of the Oxford school, call a performative, a rare verbal form (exclusively given to the first person and to the present), in which utterance has no other content than the act by which it is uttered: something like the / Command of kings or the I Sing of the early bards; the modern writer, having buried the Author, can therefore no longer believe, according to the "pathos" of his predecessors, that his hand is too slow for his thought or his passion, and that in consequence, making a law out of necessity, he must accentuate this gap and endlessly "elaborate" his form; for him, on the contrary, his hand, detached from any voice, borne by a pure gesture of inscription (and not of expression), traces a field without origin — or which, at least, has no other origin than language itself, that is, the very thing which ceaselessly questions any origin.
· · ·
Death Finds an Author Writing his Life, Edward Hull. 1827.
We know that a text does not consist of a line of words, releasing a single "theological" meaning (the "message" of the Author-God), but is a space of many dimensions, in which are wedded and contested various kinds of writing, no one of which is original: the text is a tissue of citations, resulting from the thousand sources of culture. Like Bouvard and Pecuchet, those eternal copyists, both sublime and comical and whose profound absurdity precisely designates the truth of writing, the writer can only imitate a gesture forever anterior, never original; his only power is to combine the different kinds of writing, to oppose some by others, so as never to sustain himself by just one of them; if he wants to express himself, at least he should know that the internal "thing" he claims to "translate" is itself only a readymade dictionary whose words can be explained (defined) only by other words, and so on ad infinitum: an experience which occurred in an exemplary fashion to the young De Quincey, so gifted in Greek that in order to translate into that dead language certain absolutely modern ideas and images, Baudelaire tells us, "he created for it a standing dictionary much more complex and extensive than the one which results from the vulgar patience of purely literary themes" (Paradis Artificiels). succeeding the Author, the writer no longer contains within himself passions, humors, sentiments, impressions, but that enormous dictionary, from which he derives a writing which can know no end or halt: life can only imitate the book, and the book itself is only a tissue of signs, a lost, infinitely remote imitation.
· · ·
Once the Author is gone, the claim to "decipher" a text becomes quite useless. To give an Author to a text is to impose upon that text a stop clause, to furnish it with a final signification, to close the writing. This conception perfectly suits criticism, which can then take as its major task the discovery of the Author (or his hypostases: society, history, the psyche, freedom) beneath the work: once the Author is discovered, the text is "explained:' the critic has conquered; hence it is scarcely surprising not only that, historically, the reign of the Author should also have been that of the Critic, but that criticism (even "new criticism") should be overthrown along with the Author. In a multiple writing, indeed, everything is to be distinguished, but nothing deciphered; structure can be followed, "threaded" (like a stocking that has run) in all its recurrences and all its stages, but there is no underlying ground; the space of the writing is to be traversed, not penetrated: writing ceaselessly posits meaning but always in order to evaporate it: it proceeds to a systematic exemption of meaning. Thus literature (it would be better, henceforth, to say writing), by refusing to assign to the text (and to the world as text) a "secret:' that is, an ultimate meaning, liberates an activity which we might call counter-theological, properly revolutionary, for to refuse to arrest meaning is finally to refuse God and his hypostases, reason, science, the law.
· · ·
Let us return to Balzac's sentence: no one (that is, no "person") utters it: its source, its voice is not to be located; and yet it is perfectly read; this is because the true locus of writing is reading. Another very specific example can make this understood: recent investigations (J. P. Vernant) have shed light upon the constitutively ambiguous nature of Greek tragedy, the text of which is woven with words that have double meanings, each character understanding them unilaterally (this perpetual misunderstanding is precisely what is meant by "the tragic"); yet there is someone who understands each word in its duplicity, and understands further, one might say, the very deafness of the characters speaking in front of him: this someone is precisely the reader (or here the spectator). In this way is revealed the whole being of writing: a text consists of multiple writings, issuing from several cultures and entering into dialogue with each other, into parody, into contestation; but there is one place where this multiplicity is collected, united, and this place is not the author, as we have hitherto said it was, but the reader: the reader is the very space in which are inscribed, without any being lost, all the citations a writing consists of; the unity of a text is not in its origin, it is in its destination; but this destination can no longer be personal: the reader is a man without history, without biography, without psychology; he is only that someone who holds gathered into a single field all the paths of which the text is constituted. This is why it is absurd to hear the new writing condemned in the name of a humanism which hypocritically appoints itself the champion of the reader's rights. The reader has never been the concern of classical criticism; for it, there is no other man in literature but the one who writes. We are now beginning to be the dupes no longer of such antiphrases, by which our society proudly champions precisely what it dismisses, ignores, smothers or destroys; we know that to restore to writing its future, we must reverse its myth: the birth of the reader must be ransomed by the death of the Author.
Roland Gérard Barthes (1915 – 1980) was a French literary theorist, essayist, philosopher, critic, and semiotician. His writing explored a diverse range of fields and influenced the development of multiple schools of theory, including structuralism, anthropology, literary theory, and post-structuralism.
Knight of Disks (Tarot Triptych)
Chris Gabriel May 24, 2025
The Knight of Disks is a man with a plan. He sees the cyclical movement of the world and contemplates his movements within them. He is agricultural intelligence, for he knows when to plant seeds, when to harvest, and when to allow a field to remain fallow…
Name: Knight of Disks
Number: 1 or 3
Astrology: Virgo, Fire of Earth
Qabalah: Yod of He or Vau of He
Chris Gabriel May 24, 2025
The Knight of Disks is a man with a plan. He sees the cyclical movement of the world and contemplates his movements within them. He is agricultural intelligence, for he knows when to plant seeds, when to harvest, and when to allow a field to remain fallow.
In Rider, we have an armoured knight, his helmet topped with a sprig, and a pentacle resembling the sun is held in his gloved hands. His black horse also bears a laurel, and they both wear red garments as they stand atop freshly tilled farmland.
In Thoth, our knight is in black armour and his helmet is topped with the bust of a stag. He carries a flail, and a shield in the shape of a disk that radiates solar light. His curious horse looks at the wheat field they stand in.
In Marseille, we have an unarmoured knight following his celestial disk. He rides a blue horse over barren ground and carries a large green wand, the only Knight in the deck to involve two weapons. It is fitting, as he is the Fiery part of the Earth, the active part of nature, the impulse that pushes vegetable life out from the depths of the Earth.
Where the Virgo ruled minor arcana us images of investment, returns and bounty, here is the investor himself. He is not bold or quick like the Knights of Wands and Swords, but he is also not the hesitant coward of Cups. The Knight of Disks is patient and content to wait. We can think of the Battle of Bunker Hill, when Colonel William Prescott insisted his rebels conserve their ammunition, and only fire when they see the whites of their enemies' eyes. This kind of dangerous investment is the bread and butter of the Knight of Disks.
To take action years in advance and at the penultimate moment is the nature of agriculture, an effort of regular immediacy, and a plan that will outlive the farmer. This sort of thinking ahead was absent in America, when farmers destroyed their land by overfarming and led to the Dust Bowl. A good image to keep in mind with this card is a Planter’s Clock. Which notes the solar and lunar cycles, and gives the proper time to plant a given crop.
The Knight of Disks embodies the wisdom of King Solomon in Ecclesiastes, aware of three maxims.
1. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3. A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
He takes heed of the great cycle and moves accordingly, allowing for great development and power.
When we pull this card, we may be dealing with questions of investment or dealing with an investor. This may also indicate a Virgo directly. When faced with this, look to your cosmic clock and see what time it is, and what the proper action is.
Gene Keys and the Hero’s Journey
Molly Hankins May 22, 2025
The hero’s journey mono-myth, as described by author Joseph Campbell, details the commonalities found in heroic stories across many cultures, and serves as both a formula for narrative creation and a metaphor for the arc of the human experience…
Peter Paul Rubens, ‘David Slaying Goliath’. c.1616.
Molly Hankins May 22, 2025
The hero’s journey mono-myth, as described by author Joseph Campbell, details the commonalities found in heroic stories across many cultures, and serves as both a formula for narrative creation and a metaphor for the arc of the human experience. In his most recent white paper, the philosopher and mathematician Robert Edward Grant explains his novel take on simulation theory, claiming that the hero’s journey is much more than a structure for crafting stories. The human experience, he claims, is a “blockchain-based social AI spiritual life simulation”, where participants follow the archetypal structure of the hero’s journey in order to “learn about consciousness, emotional states and the nature of authentic love.” If we accept this hypothesis, astrological tools such as the Gene Keys take on a new dimension of utility for navigating life.
Describing the hero’s journey, which entails the call to adventure, the quest and a return, Campbell identifies different character archetypes in The Hero With A Thousand Faces,. These archetypes are expanded upon in the Gene Keys to describe individual blueprints of what Kabbalah calls tikkuns, our soul’s corrections in this lifetime. Developed by author and channeler Richard Rudd, the Gene Keys combine elements of Human Design, Kabbalah, tarot and the astrological zodiac with the Chinese I Ching and the structure of the human genome sequence. The resulting system mirrors the hero’s journey in many ways, beginning with the expansion on Campbell’s concept of archetypes. There are 64 Gene Keys, matching the 64 hexagrams in the I Ching and the 64 codons of the human genetic code.
Every Gene Key sequence, based on our time and place of birth, contains a life, love and prosperity path known respectively as the Activation, Venus and Pearl Sequences. Each path, in turn, has four archetypal keys describing our tikkun by way of a shadow state we must transmute through a corresponding gift. We all have our own way of moving from the shadow to the gift frequency, represented by different lines in our profile. Each state of being is an attitude, and Rudd contends that rather than our DNA dictating how our lives unfold, our attitudes tell our DNA what kind of person we want to become. The first of the 64 Gene Key archetypes is called ‘From Entropy to Syntropy,’ and it has the shadow frequency of entropy transmuted through the gift of freshness leading to the transcendence state of beauty, which is called the siddhi.
Having this shadow as part of our tikkun can make us feel depressed or frenetic, melancholy about being human or desperate to get away from the fear of gradual decline. But the opposite of entropy is creativity. By shifting our attention towards creative imagination and an appreciation of beauty, we inject freshness into our lives. In the gift frequency of the first Gene Key, we embody the archetype described by Campbell as the ally, assisting the hero by shifting their focus to what is unique. Appreciation of beauty is also the number one factor for building resilience in the face of grief, according to author Florence Williams, who spent many years studying the science of healing from heartbreak.
“It’s impossible to know how many lifetimes it could take us to learn the specific ways of being we must correct, in order to get the best out of human experience, but as we continue to evolve so do our systems for understanding ourselves.”
Each path in the three Gene Key sequences that make up our tikkun, takes us through a challenge and breakthrough to ultimately arrive at core stability. The Activation Sequence begins with the first node of our personal profiles, our life’s work. Doing our life’s work takes us through the challenge of evolution, followed by a breakthrough that allows us to access our radiance, then bringing us to discover our life’s purpose, where we find core stability. Each stage of the Activation Sequence has a corresponding Gene Key archetype detailing what shadow frequency we must shift in order to stabilize our gifts. Shadows block our manifestations whereas gifts magnetize them, and the siddhi is a level of transcendence that describes the frequency of enlightenment. Even if many of us may not reach the siddhic level of expression in this lifetime, studying the siddhis of the Gene Keys orients us to the specific attitudes of enlightened masters so we can expand our consciousness beyond the confines of human limitation.
The hero’s journey is also embodied in the relationship that each sequence has to the others, playing out the call to adventure, the quest, and a return. This makes up what Rudd calls The Golden Path, beginning and ending with our life’s work. For instance, if you have Gene Key 55 with a first line as your life’s work, then the personal challenge that gives way to your evolution is transmuting the shadow of victimization through the gift of freedom. Each line corresponds to the six lines contained in the I Ching hexagrams, and expresses how we move from shadow to gift. If you have a first line in your life’s work then you are here to create something new. The gift of Key 55 is the same as the siddhi, and freedom is the ability to see and ultimately live beyond the cycle of human drama.
It’s impossible to know how many lifetimes it could take us to learn the specific ways of being we must correct, in order to get the best out of human experience, but as we continue to evolve so do our systems for understanding ourselves. Many Kabbalistic teachings refer to ways we can accelerate our evolution, with spiritual study being one mechanism. The Gene Keys is one such an accelerant. While the voluminous system of very specific data can be intimidating at first, particularly to those who’ve never studied any astrological systems, it’s incredibly useful even at the surface level. Any information gleaned is always immediately relevant to your personal hero’s journey.
According to Rudd, influencing our DNA through our attitude is the future of epigenetics, which is the study of how our environment and behaviors affect genetic expression. “You can only be a victim of your attitude. Every thought you think, every feeling you have, every word you utter and every action you take directly programs your genes and therefore your reality. Consequently, at the quantum level you create the environment that programs your genes,” Rudd says. “ This is the great secret the Gene Keys hold - the secret of freedom.” Embodying the hero archetype gives us the strength and boldness to shine light on our shadows and step into the gifts that allow us to freely manifest our will.
If life is, as Robert Edward Grant believes, “an emergent simulation,” then perhaps we can change the game we’re playing by changing ourselves. Nothing less than a global consciousness shift is required of us at this pivotal time in human history, and we have tools like the Gene Keys to accelerate that change by helping us face our personal and collective shadows in a readily actionable way.
Molly Hankins is an Initiate + Reality Hacker serving the Ministry of Quantum Existentialism and Builders of the Adytum.
The Poem as Functional Object
Eugen Gomringer May 20, 2025
Some years ago, I defined the new poem as a functional object. This definition was accepted by some as a sign of the times and misguided youth, and by others as a working hypothesis for different developmental procedures.
Untitled, Eugen Gomringer. 1953.
In this introduction to a collection of his ‘constellations’ - visual poems that used the placement of words on a page to communicate ideas, serving as both a literary and visual art - Gomringer lays the foundations for what was still a remarkably new understanding of language. Gomringer tried to liberate writing from its context, to treat words and the printed page as an artwork unto itself, with words being just one shade in the paintbox of a poet. He makes an argument that poetry must be more like utilitarian creative disciplines of design and architecture, and only then will it be given the respect and consideration it deserves.
Eugen Gomringer, May 20, 2025
Some years ago, I defined the new poem as a functional object. This definition was accepted by some as a sign of the times and misguided youth, and by others as a working hypothesis for different developmental procedures. At the same time in South America, or more exactly, in São Paulo, a group was formed whose definition of tile poem coincided with mine. I called my poems "constellations" omitting reference to earlier poems with the same title by other poets. Later, after similar and different forms had been created, my friends in São Paulo and I grouped all our experiments under the term "Concrete Poetry." One reason for this was to honor the concrete Painters in Zürich - Bill, Graeser, Lohse, Vreni, Loewensberg and others - a strong group from which impulses felt throughout the world had been emitted uninterruptedly since the early forties. Since 1942 my creation of the constellations has been decisively influenced by this group. Today "Concrete Poetry" is the general term which included a large number of poetic-linguistic experiments characterized with either constellation, ideogram, stochastic poetry" etc., by conscious study of the material and its structure (for a short time there was a magazine with this name material in Darmstadt): material means the sum of all the signs with which we make poems. Today you find concrete poetry in Japan, Brazil, Portugal, Paris, Switzerland, Austria and Germany.
For some younger poets, the constellation is already old hat. That is it does not go far enough for them. Some of them work typographically more freely; others work typographically less imaginatively. Still others criticize me for trying to say too much. In spite of the fact that many of my purer constellations (for example "avenidas"/ "baum kind hund haus" (tree child dog house)/ "mist mountain butterfly" were preceded by divers experiments. Even today, again and again, I make logical, atomistic and graphic experiments, which serve only as stimulation and discipline.
I find it wisest to stay with the word, even with the usual meanings of the word. By doing this I hope, in spite of the apparent scarcity of my words as compared to the verbosity of non-concrete poetry, to stay in continuity with poetry which emphasizes formal pattern. The purpose of reduced language is not the reduction of language itself but the achievement of greater flexibility and freedom of communication (with its inherent need for rules and regulations). The resulting poems should be, if possible, as easily understood as signs in airports and traffic signs. I see danger in taking away from Concrete Poetry its useful, aesthetic-communicative character on the one side by not understanding the simpler linguistic phenomena (by being over-fed with words, and by lack of artistic sensibility) and on the other side by following the new esoteric of the typographic poets in whom one can sometimes notice a certain lack of imagination. To date I see only in the experiments of Claus Bremer, in his poems in the form of ideograms, genuine enrichment of the constellation. This selection is not comprised of pure constellation only. Each poem contains elements of constellation: the direct juxtaposition of words; repetitions and combinations; questioning of equivalent statements; over-all unity of themes; analysis and synthesis as poetic subject; minimal-maximal tension in the smallest space. I want especially, to show through this small variety that the constellation can be the rallying point as well as the point of departure. Anyone who makes use of the freedoms of the art of poetry in a reasonable way will see that the constellation is not a dead-end or an end at all, as the literary people have said, but on the contrary that it uses thinking and structural methods which can connect artistic intuition with scientific specialization.
Concrete poetry, in general, as well as the constellation, hopes to relate literature as art less to "literature" and more to earlier developments in the fields of architecture, painting, sculpture, industrial design - in other words to developments whose basis is critical but positively-defined thinking.
Eugen Gomringer (b. 1925) is a Bolivian-Swiss poet, professor, and the father of the European Concrete Poetry movement that he began in the 1950s.
Queen of Disks (Tarot Triptych)
Chris Gabriel May 17, 2025
The Queen of Disks is the Earth Mother. In each rendition she cradles the world, embodied in a coin. This is her child, and through her energy and eternal fertility it retains its form…
Name: Queen of Disks
Number: 2
Astrology: Capricorn
Qabalah: He of He
Chris Gabriel May 17, 2025
The Queen of Disks is the Earth Mother. In each rendition she cradles the world, embodied in a coin. This is her child, and through her energy and eternal fertility it retains its form.
In Rider, the Queen is crowned with a long green headdress, and is dressed in red and white. She looks down upon the coin happily. Her throne is ornately carved with imagery of fruit, children, and the head of a Goat. These are all symbols of fecundity:ripe swelling fruit, the libidinous goat, and the children which are produced. The environment around her is verdant, and a bunny rabbit sits in the corner.
In Thoth, we find the Queen at a different stage of motherhood altogether. Her crown topped with great spiralling goat horns as she wears an armoured top and holds a crystal-tipped, spiral scepter. She cradles her disk close to her breast. Her throne is atop a palm tree, and a goat stands beside her. Here the Queen is Capricorn, the goat at the top of the mountain; she looks to the vast desert before her, spotted only with a few palms and a dry river. There is much work for her to do.
In Marseille, the Queen is in royal robes, crowned, and bears a scepter that looks like an ear of corn, or a fleur de lys. She is focused entirely on the disk she holds aloft. In it is the heart and seed of her world, the material reality that she inhabits. Qabalistically, she is the water of the Earth. She is mud, the great sign of civilization.
When we think of the Queen of Disks let us think of the great title of Mesopotamia: the Cradle of Civilization. What allowed civilization to flourish was mud. A close proximity to the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, and then the Nile for Egypt. The water of these rivers turned deathly desert to fertile mud, which allowed for agriculture to flourish. This is the nature of the Queen -she is the union of water and earth as fertile mud.
Mythologically, she is Gaia, Mother Earth, the great globe itself, a union of land and sea in herself, and the endless processes which maintain the world. In humanity, we can think of the hardworking women who raise what is around them. In Thoth, the Queen is a domineering mother who coldly looks at what is around her, and needs to exert her will to ascend to her lofty place. This is softened in Rider and Marseille, where it is the maternal love which cradles the world and keeps it growing.
When we pull this card, we can expect something to take care of. Just as the environment has lovingly given us life, we must give life to the environment. This may be directly a project, an investment in something that will grow and profit. This can also directly relate to a Capricorn in our lives.
The Relativity of Wrong
Isaac Asimov May 15, 2025
I received a letter the other day. It was handwritten in crabbed penmanship so that it was very difficult to read. In the first sentence, the writer told me he was majoring in English literature, but felt he needed to teach me science. I sighed a bit, for I knew very few English Lit majors who are equipped to teach me science, but I am very aware of the vast state of my ignorance and I am prepared to learn as much as I can from anyone, so I read on…
The Trouvelot Astronomical Drawings. Étienne Léopold Trouvelot, 1882.
The title essay from a collection of Asimov’s science writing, ‘The Relativity of Wrong’ shows the master of science-fiction at his rationalist best. Beginning with a personal anecdote on unknowable truth, Asimov makes an impassioned argument for the necessary fallibility of science not being a reason to ignore it, but the very reason we should attempt to accept it, and an ode to the modern era as providing, for the first time in human history, an understanding of the universe less wrong than ever before. It is not a defensive rebuttal, but a thoughtful, humorous exploration of what it means for a scientific theory to be “wrong”, and a powerful defense of rational thinking in a world that often seeks simplicity over nuance.
Isaac Asimov, May 15, 2025
I received a letter the other day. It was handwritten in crabbed penmanship so that it was very difficult to read. Nevertheless, I tried to make it out just in case it might prove to be important. In the first sentence, the writer told me he was majoring in English literature, but felt he needed to teach me science. (I sighed a bit, for I knew very few English Lit majors who are equipped to teach me science, but I am very aware of the vast state of my ignorance and I am prepared to learn as much as I can from anyone, so I read on.)
It seemed that in one of my innumerable essays, I had expressed a certain gladness at living in a century in which we finally got the basis of the universe straight.
I didn't go into detail in the matter, but what I meant was that we now know the basic rules governing the universe, together with the gravitational interrelationships of its gross components, as shown in the theory of relativity worked out between 1905 and 1916. We also know the basic rules governing the subatomic particles and their interrelationships, since these are very neatly described by the quantum theory worked out between 1900 and 1930.
What's more, we have found that the galaxies and clusters of galaxies are the basic units of the physical universe, as discovered between 1920 and 1930. These are all twentieth-century discoveries, you see. The young specialist in English Lit, having quoted me, went on to lecture me severely on the fact that in every century people have thought they understood the universe at last, and in every century they were proved to be wrong. It follows that the one thing we can say about our modern "knowledge" is that it is wrong. The young man then quoted with approval what Socrates had said on learning that the Delphic oracle had proclaimed him the wisest man in Greece. "If I am the wisest man," said Socrates, "it is because I alone know that I know nothing." the implication was that I was very foolish because I was under the impression I knew a great deal.
My answer to him was, "John, when people thought the earth was flat, they were wrong. When people thought the earth was spherical, they were wrong. But if you think that thinking the earth is spherical is just as wrong as thinking the earth is flat, then your view is wronger than both of them put together."
The basic trouble, you see, is that people think that "right" and "wrong" are absolute; that everything that isn't perfectly and completely right is totally and equally wrong.
However, I don't think that's so. It seems to me that right and wrong are fuzzy concepts, and I will devote this essay to an explanation of why I think so.
First, let me dispose of Socrates because I am sick and tired of this pretense that knowing you know nothing is a mark of wisdom.
No one knows nothing. In a matter of days, babies learn to recognize their mothers.
Socrates would agree, of course, and explain that knowledge of trivia is not what he means. He means that in the great abstractions over which human beings debate, one should start without preconceived, unexamined notions, and that he alone knew this. (What an enormously arrogant claim!)
In his discussions of such matters as "What is justice?" or "What is virtue?" he took the attitude that he knew nothing and had to be instructed by others. (This is called "Socratic irony," for Socrates knew very well that he knew a great deal more than the poor souls he was picking on.) By pretending ignorance, Socrates lured others into propounding their views on such abstractions. Socrates then, by a series of ignorant-sounding questions, forced the others into such a mélange of self-contradictions that they would finally break down and admit they didn't know what they were talking about.
It is the mark of the marvelous toleration of the Athenians that they let this continue for decades and that it wasn't till Socrates turned seventy that they broke down and forced him to drink poison.
Now where do we get the notion that "right" and "wrong" are absolutes? It seems to me that this arises in the early grades, when children who know very little are taught by teachers who know very little more.
Young children learn spelling and arithmetic, for instance, and here we tumble into apparent absolutes.
How do you spell "sugar?" Answer: s-u-g-a-r. That is right. Anything else is wrong.
How much is 2 + 2? The answer is 4. That is right. Anything else is wrong.
Having exact answers, and having absolute rights and wrongs, minimizes the necessity of thinking, and that pleases both students and teachers. For that reason, students and teachers alike prefer short-answer tests to essay tests; multiple-choice over blank short-answer tests; and true-false tests over multiple-choice.
But short-answer tests are, to my way of thinking, useless as a measure of the student's understanding of a subject. They are merely a test of the efficiency of his ability to memorize.
You can see what I mean as soon as you admit that right and wrong are relative.
How do you spell "sugar?" Suppose Alice spells it p-q-z-z-f and Genevieve spells it s-h-u-g-e-r. Both are wrong, but is there any doubt that Alice is wronger than Genevieve? For that matter, I think it is possible to argue that Genevieve's spelling is superior to the "right" one.
Or suppose you spell "sugar": s-u-c-r-o-s-e, or C12H22O11. Strictly speaking, you are wrong each time, but you're displaying a certain knowledge of the subject beyond conventional spelling.
Suppose then the test question was: how many different ways can you spell "sugar?" Justify each.
Naturally, the student would have to do a lot of thinking and, in the end, exhibit how much or how little he knows. The teacher would also have to do a lot of thinking in the attempt to evaluate how much or how little the student knows. Both, I imagine, would be outraged.
Again, how much is 2 + 2? Suppose Joseph says: 2 + 2 = purple, while Maxwell says: 2 + 2 = 17. Both are wrong but isn't it fair to say that Joseph is wronger than Maxwell?
Suppose you said: 2 + 2 = an integer. You'd be right, wouldn't you? Or suppose you said: 2 + 2 = an even integer. You'd be righter. Or suppose you said: 2 + 2 = 3.999. Wouldn't you be nearly right?
If the teacher wants 4 for an answer and won't distinguish between the various wrongs, doesn't that set an unnecessary limit to understanding?
Suppose the question is, how much is 9 + 5?, and you answer 2. Will you not be excoriated and held up to ridicule, and will you not be told that 9 + 5 = 14?
If you were then told that 9 hours had pass since midnight and it was therefore 9 o'clock, and were asked what time it would be in 5 more hours, and you answered 14 o'clock on the grounds that 9 + 5 = 14, would you not be excoriated again, and told that it would be 2 o'clock? Apparently, in that case, 9 + 5 = 2 after all.
Or again suppose, Richard says: 2 + 2 = 11, and before the teacher can send him home with a note to his mother, he adds, "To the base 3, of course." He'd be right.
Here's another example. The teacher asks: "Who is the fortieth President of the United States?" and Barbara says, "There isn't any, teacher.”
"Wrong!" says the teacher, "Ronald Reagan is the fortieth President of the United States.”
"Not at all," says Barbara, "I have here a list of all the men who have served as President of the United States under the Constitution, from George Washington to Ronald Reagan, and there are only thirty-nine of them, so there is no fortieth President.”
"Ah," says the teacher, "but Grover Cleveland served two nonconsecutive terms, one from 1885 to 1889, and the second from 1893 to 1897. He counts as both the twenty-second and twenty-fourth President. That is why Ronald Reagan is the thirty-ninth person to serve as President of the United States, and is, at the same time, the fortieth President of the United States.”
Isn't that ridiculous? Why should a person be counted twice if his terms are nonconsecutive, and only once if he served two consecutive terms? Pure convention! Yet Barbara is marked wrong—just as wrong as if she had said that the fortieth President of the United States is Fidel Castro.
“What actually happens is that once scientists get hold of a good concept they gradually refine and extend it with greater and greater subtlety as their instruments of measurement improve. Theories are not so much wrong as incomplete.”
When my friend the English literature expert tells me that in every century scientists think they have worked out the universe and are always wrong, what I want to know is how wrong are they? Are they always wrong to the same degree? Let's take an example.
In the early days of civilization, the general feeling was that the earth was flat. This was not because people were stupid, or because they were intent on believing silly things. They felt it was flat on the basis of sound evidence. It was not just a matter of "That's how it looks," because the earth does not look flat. It looks chaotically bumpy, with hills, valleys, ravines, cliffs, and so on.
Of course there are plains where, over limited areas, the earth's surface does look fairly flat. One of those plains is in the Tigris-Euphrates area, where the first historical civilization (one with writing) developed, that of the Sumerians.
Perhaps it was the appearance of the plain that persuaded the clever Sumerians to accept the generalization that the earth was flat; that if you somehow evened out all the elevations and depressions, you would be left with flatness. Contributing to the notion may have been the fact that stretches of water (ponds and lakes) looked pretty flat on quiet days.
Another way of looking at it is to ask what is the "curvature" of the earth's surface Over a considerable length, how much does the surface deviate (on the average) from perfect flatness. The flat-earth theory would make it seem that the surface doesn't deviate from flatness at all, that its curvature is 0 to the mile.
Nowadays, of course, we are taught that the flat-earth theory is wrong; that it is all wrong, terribly wrong, absolutely. But it isn't. The curvature of the earth is nearly 0 per mile, so that although the flat-earth theory is wrong, it happens to be nearly right. That's why the theory lasted so long.
There were reasons, to be sure, to find the flat-earth theory unsatisfactory and, about 350 B.C., the Greek philosopher Aristotle summarized them. First, certain stars disappeared beyond the Southern Hemisphere as one traveled north, and beyond the Northern Hemisphere as one traveled south. Second, the earth's shadow on the moon during a lunar eclipse was always the arc of a circle. Third, here on the earth itself, ships disappeared beyond the horizon hull-first in whatever direction they were traveling.
All three observations could not be reasonably explained if the earth's surface were flat, but could be explained by assuming the earth to be a sphere.
What's more, Aristotle believed that all solid matter tended to move toward a common center, and if solid matter did this, it would end up as a sphere. A given volume of matter is, on the average, closer to a common center if it is a sphere than if it is any other shape whatever.
About a century after Aristotle, the Greek philosopher Eratosthenes noted that the sun cast a shadow of different lengths at different latitudes (all the shadows would be the same length if the earth's surface were flat). From the difference in shadow length, he calculated the size of the earthly sphere and it turned out to be 25,000 miles in circumference.
The curvature of such a sphere is about 0.000126 per mile, a quantity very close to 0 per mile, as you can see, and one not easily measured by the techniques at the disposal of the ancients. The tiny difference between 0 and 0.000126 accounts for the fact that it took so long to pass from the flat earth to the spherical earth.
Mind you, even a tiny difference, such as that between 0 and 0.000126, can be extremely important. That difference mounts up. The earth cannot be mapped over large areas with any accuracy at all if the difference isn't taken into account and if the earth isn't considered a sphere rather than a flat surface. Long ocean voyages can't be undertaken with any reasonable way of locating one's own position in the ocean unless the earth is considered spherical rather than flat.
Furthermore, the flat earth presupposes the possibility of an infinite earth, or of the existence of an "end" to the surface. The spherical earth, however, postulates an earth that is both endless and yet finite, and it is the latter postulate that is consistent with all later findings. So, although the flat-earth theory is only slightly wrong and is a credit to its inventors, all things considered, it is wrong enough to be discarded in favor of the spherical-earth theory.
And yet is the earth a sphere?
No, it is not a sphere; not in the strict mathematical sense. A sphere has certain mathematical properties; for instance, all diameters (that is, all straight lines that pass from one point on its surface, through the center, to another point on its surface) have the same length.
That, however, is not true of the earth. Various diameters of the earth differ in length.
What gave people the notion the earth wasn't a true sphere? To begin with, the sun and the moon have outlines that are perfect circles within the limits of measurement in the early days of the telescope. This is consistent with the supposition that the sun and the moon are perfectly spherical in shape.
However, when Jupiter and Saturn were observed by the first telescopic observers, it became quickly apparent that the outlines of those planets were not circles, but distinct eclipses. That meant that Jupiter and Saturn were not true spheres.
Isaac Newton, toward the end of the seventeenth century, showed that a massive body would form a sphere under the pull of gravitational forces (exactly as Aristotle had argued), but only if it were not rotating. If it were rotating, a centrifugal effect would be set up that would lift the body's substance against gravity, and this effect would be greater the closer to the equator you progressed. The effect would also be greater the more rapidly a spherical object rotated, and Jupiter and Saturn rotated very rapidly indeed.
The earth rotated much more slowly than Jupiter or Saturn so the effect should be smaller, but it should still be there. Actual measurements of the curvature of the earth were carried out in the eighteenth century and Newton was proved correct.
The earth has an equatorial bulge, in other words. It is flattened at the poles. It is an "oblate spheroid" rather than a sphere. This means that the various diameters of the earth differ in length. The longest diameters are any of those that stretch from one point on the equator to an opposite point on the equator. This "equatorial diameter" is 12,755 kilometers (7,927 miles). The shortest diameter is from the North Pole to the South Pole and this "polar diameter" is 12,711 kilometers (7,900 miles).
The difference between the longest and shortest diameters is 44 kilometers (27 miles), and that means that the "oblateness" of the earth (its departure from true sphericity) is 44/12755, or 0.0034. This amounts to l/3 of 1 percent.
To put it another way, on a flat surface, curvature is 0 per mile everywhere. On the earth's spherical surface, curvature is 0.000126 per mile everywhere (or 8 inches per mile). On the earth's oblate spheroidal surface, the curvature varies from 7.973 inches to the mile to 8.027 inches to the mile.
The correction in going from spherical to oblate spheroidal is much smaller than going from flat to spherical. Therefore, although the notion of the earth as a sphere is wrong, strictly speaking, it is not as wrong as the notion of the earth as flat.
Even the oblate-spheroidal notion of the earth is wrong, strictly speaking. In 1958, when the satellite Vanguard I was put into orbit about the earth, it was able to measure the local gravitational pull of the earth--and therefore its shape--with unprecedented precision. It turned out that the equatorial bulge south of the equator was slightly bulgier than the bulge north of the equator, and that the South Pole sea level was slightly nearer the center of the earth than the North Pole sea level was.
There seemed no other way of describing this than by saying the earth was pear-shaped, and at once many people decided that the earth was nothing like a sphere but was shaped like a Bartlett pear dangling in space. Actually, the pearlike deviation from oblate-spheroid perfect was a matter of yards rather than miles, and the adjustment of curvature was in the millionths of an inch per mile.
In short, my English Lit friend, living in a mental world of absolute rights and wrongs, may be imagining that because all theories are wrong, the earth may be thought spherical now, but cubical next century, and a hollow icosahedron the next, and a doughnut shape the one after.
What actually happens is that once scientists get hold of a good concept they gradually refine and extend it with greater and greater subtlety as their instruments of measurement improve. Theories are not so much wrong as incomplete.
This can be pointed out in many cases other than just the shape of the earth. Even when a new theory seems to represent a revolution, it usually arises out of small refinements. If something more than a small refinement were needed, then the old theory would never have endured.
Copernicus switched from an earth-centered planetary system to a sun-centered one. In doing so, he switched from something that was obvious to something that was apparently ridiculous. However, it was a matter of finding better ways of calculating the motion of the planets in the sky, and eventually the geocentric theory was just left behind. It was precisely because the old theory gave results that were fairly good by the measurement standards of the time that kept it in being so long.
Again, it is because the geological formations of the earth change so slowly and the living things upon it evolve so slowly that it seemed reasonable at first to suppose that there was no change and that the earth and life always existed as they do today. If that were so, it would make no difference whether the earth and life were billions of years old or thousands. Thousands were easier to grasp.
But when careful observation showed that the earth and life were changing at a rate that was very tiny but not zero, then it became clear that the earth and life had to be very old. Modern geology came into being, and so did the notion of biological evolution.
If the rate of change were more rapid, geology and evolution would have reached their modern state in ancient times. It is only because the difference between the rate of change in a static universe and the rate of change in an evolutionary one is that between zero and very nearly zero that the creationists can continue propagating their folly.
Since the refinements in theory grow smaller and smaller, even quite ancient theories must have been sufficiently right to allow advances to be made; advances that were not wiped out by subsequent refinements.
The Greeks introduced the notion of latitude and longitude, for instance, and made reasonable maps of the Mediterranean basin even without taking sphericity into account, and we still use latitude and longitude today.
The Sumerians were probably the first to establish the principle that planetary movements in the sky exhibit regularity and can be predicted, and they proceeded to work out ways of doing so even though they assumed the earth to be the center of the universe. Their measurements have been enormously refined but the principle remains.
Naturally, the theories we now have might be considered wrong in the simplistic sense of my English Lit correspondent, but in a much truer and subtler sense, they need only be considered incomplete.
Isaac Asimov (1920–1992) was a Russian-born American author, professor, and biochemist, who’s science fiction works and accessible science writing are some of the most influential works of 20th Century Western Literature. He wrote over 500 books, including the Foundation series, and was a master at making complex scientific ideas digestible for general audiences.