Why not start with the truth?
In this somewhat regular letter, some sprinkles of my wanderings through philosophy, culture, art and, well, life. An attempt to ease some ruffled spirits, perhaps. Mine, at least. This is me on the internet.
In the letter below, a thread is picked up from last time, in a high castle, and so, a search for truth begins, weaving its way through a song called truth, a Kendrick Lamar song about liberation, a love song by Lauryn Hill to her truth and first son, Zion, called To Zion, an album that is a mysterious electronic saxophonian duet, a book for all the perplexed people out there, here, a GREAT conversation between Rick Rubin and Andre 3000, some magical quotes from some magical books, and, finally, some beautiful words on forgiveness from some beautiful characters in some beautiful series, and a last, final word - emet - to wrap it all up.
That’s the short version. Below, the thing itself.
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‘Where to start?’
This last week I’ve had various encounters and conversations where this question came up.
‘Start where you are’, was one answer.
I like that answer.
Here I am. I just finished Philip K. Dick’s ‘The man in the high castle.’ The last chapter is quite something; something somewhat confusing, somewhat unsettling, and it leaves the reader (me, at least) somewhat helpless. Somewhat.
But, there are clues.
The feeling and impression permeating throughout the book, is that there is something just a bit off with the reality the characters inhabit, as if it’s not quite the complete or ‘true’ reality, as if there is another layer of truth just at the edges of one’s vision.
In the last chapter, one of the main characters decides to ask ‘the book of changes’, the ancient Chinese book of wisdom that can also be used as an oracle, the I Ching. Maybe not surprisingly, this book, that can mysteriously reveal underlying truths, is also a main character in the book.
So, she asks the I Ching, and gets the following archetype as an answer:
Inner Truth
This reminds me of a song.
Alexander - Truth
And reminds me of a quote:
Truth is like poetry. And most people fucking hate poetry.
(That’s from ‘Don’t look up’, a movie about looking away from (quite the inconvenient) truth)
But, well, I quite like both.
So let’s see about that Inner Truth. This is the sign:
Before reading on, maybe listen to some music that came along this week:
The I Ching says the following about Inner Truth:
Open in the center, a heart free of prejudices and therefore open to truth.
There, in the middle, where the two broken lines are, an open space in the middle, where truth can ‘land’. Only through openness, truth. Only when our thoughts and judgments and old hangups over this-and-thats are cleared, out of the way, can the this-and-thats be seen as they are.
Truthfully.
But we are human beings, beings that mostly do. Want to do. Have to do. So what happens when this truth is captured in the heart, in this empty egg? If we brood on it, what will hatch?
Innner Truth says:
Whenever a feeling is voiced with truth and frankness, whenever a deed is the clear expression of sentiment, a mysterious and far-reaching influence is exerted.
If you read a bit on the album ‘Promises’, that album you may now be listening to, there seems to be a somewhat mysterious (and truthful?) connection that drew Pharaoh Sanders and Sam Shepherd together.
Reading on:
The root of all influence lies in one’s own inner being: given true and vigorous expression in word and deed, its effect is great. The effect is but the reflection of something that emanates from one’s own heart. Any deliberate intention of an effect would only destroy the possibility of producing it.
Isn’t this amazing? When one has a goal, wants an effect from truth and frankness, it destroys the possibility of producing it. It collapses unto itself. Of course! For within the search for effect, an intention other than itself, truth and frankness is lost.
This, I feel, has to do with ‘the sophomore curse’ - the struggle many artists face with producing a (‘good’) second album or book or other artwork. The creation of ‘a first’ is oftentimes without expectation. But then, people come to expect something, the artist (and the outside world) has an opinion of him or her(self), (s)he ‘is’ something, and from this expectation an intent in the artist might be born, thereby losing ‘truth’, thereby struggling to create something that ‘emanates from one’s heart.’
An interesting connection between art and truth, from ‘A guide for the perplexed’ by E.F. Schumacher:
If art aims primarily to affect our feelings we may call it entertainment; if it aims primarily to affect our will we may call it propaganda. (…) We have no difficulty in sensing that something is missing. No great artist … was ever satisfied with just these two. Invariably he strove to communicate truth, the power of truth, by appealing to man’s higher intellectual faculties, which are supra-rational. Entertainment and propaganda by themselves do not give us power but exert power over us. When they are transcended by, and made subservient to, the communication of Truth, art helps us to develop our higher faculties, and this is all that matters.
It’s too much for now to go into Schumacher’s ideas of ‘higher intellectual faculties’, for it deserves a whole book. By the way, that book is written, and is called: A guide for the perplexed. So, if perplexed, read!
A great interview from Rick Rubin with Andre 3000 of Outkast is (partly) about this difficulty. The whole conversation is beautiful.
Lauryn Hill comes to mind. After she made ‘The miseducation of Lauryn Hill’, one of the great albums, where (her) truth is spoken loudly, clearly and beautifully she ‘left the public eye to raise her family in a quality environment and (to) maintain her integrity as an artist, which was constantly threatened and pressured to make music for the wrong reasons.’
Let’s listen and read some of her truth:
But everybody told me to be smart
"Look at your career," they said
"Lauryn, baby use your head"
But instead I chose to use my heart
A great song from Kendrick Lamar, HiiiPower, alludes to this as well.
Listen & read along, if you want:
Frightenin', so fuckin' frightenin'
Enough to drive a man insane, a woman insane
The reason Lauryn Hill don't sing,
or Kurt Cobain
Loaded that clip and then said bang
The drama it bring is crazy
(…)
Somebody told me them pirates had got lost
'Cause we been off them slave ships
Got our own pyramids, write our own hieroglyphs
Back to that book of changes:
Whenever a feeling is voiced with truth and frankness, whenever a deed is the clear expression of sentiment, a mysterious and far-reaching influence is exerted.
An authentic voice, one might say. But then, what is the opposite? A lie? What happens then?
I sometimes have this feeling, when telling a lie, that there is this very subtle altering of the fabric of reality. As if there is this very slight reassembly, a very faint clicking of something minuscule into (or out of) place. Like looking at a painting where you feel there’s something off, but you can’t quite figure out what it is.
And maybe something is altered in lying. Maybe (not) in reality, but in oneself. It is something you now have to carry with you. Because you added this lie, to what you actually are, to what actually is, and you now need to act differently for the lie to fit.
In high school I lied about lots of things - about what I felt, what I liked - mostly so that I accorded with the image I had created of myself. One lie still stands out, because it’s so silly and yet so revealing.
I lied that I disliked the TV Show Dragonball Z. I actually loved it. Here’s a good fight scene:
Every afternoon I would sneakily watch it, quickly turning the tv off if my brother or mother came in.
At school I would make fun of my friends who were completely into it.
And what happened?
The lie slowly became a weight, a prison. Lying is like a ball and chain you create and then have to carry around. Also, over time, it became more difficult to return to the truth. As if I stepped into a current, and every lie made that current stronger, got me further away from where I actually was. But it took effort to stay there, because part of me wanted to, needed to paddle back, back to the river of truth, so to speak.
And then, when truth is spoken - relief.
Truth is light, you feel lighter when you speak it, however hard it is. A lie weighs on you. You are on guard for this ‘other’ reality you created - this lie that may expose you. And then, finally free, exposed, people now know that you like Dragonball Z! Somehow, for the 15 year old me, that was a terrible reality. It could mean the undoing of very carefully built persona, it could maybe even mean death of that specific persona. So, in a way, I was fighting for my life in pretending to dislike the show. That takes effort.
Truth sets you free, I guess is what I’m saying.
It liberates.
And it makes you face reality, which is sometimes scary.
From Earthsea, the great, great book series (about wizards and truth and life and love and all the important stuff) from Ursula Le Guinn:
It was hard for him to lie. He thought he was awkward at it because he had no practice. Hound knew better. He knew that magic itself resists untruth. (…) The art of magic, though it may be used for false ends, deals with what is real, and the words it works with are the true words. So true wizards find it hard to lie about their art. In their heart they know that their lie, spoken may change the world.
Well, precisely!
Back to some sunny truths in the I Ching:
The sun of the self is truth (…); Truth means sincerity. If one does not understand, one cannot be sincere, if one can understand, one will be sincere. With understanding and sincerity, as the first thought is truthful, one will be able to overthrow and revolutionize the self.
And:
Benevolence, justice, courtesy, and knowledge are all based on truthfulness.
I have been watching two tv shows that are (indirectly) about addiction (both pretty great shows by the way, the Bear, and Euphoria, so I guess it makes sense I’m reminded of the serenity prayer, popularized by the Alcoholics Anonymous 12 step program:
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.
The wisdom to know the difference. Wisdom, seeing things as they are, seeing the truth. Accepting this truth, and acting (one could say, having the courage to act) upon it.
Now, I wonder, what is the connection between truth and justice?
Back to the I Ching, Inner Truth says:
The superior man, when obliged to judge the mistakes of men, tries to penetrate their minds with understanding, in order to gain a sympathetic appreciation of the circumstances.
-
(In ancient China) a deep understanding that knows how to pardon was considered the highest form of justice. And it was ‘not without success’, for the judgment sprang from a superior clarity.
Knowing how to pardon, isn’t that a beautiful way of looking at justice?
I open up a book from Nietzsche and read
To be sure, there is also quite another category of genius, that of justice; and I can in no way see fit to esteem that kind lower than any philosophical, political, or artistic genius. It is its way to avoid with hearty indignation everything which blinds and confuses our judgment about things; thus it is an enemy of convictions, for it wants to give each thing its due, be it living or dead, real or fictive - and to do so it must apprehend it clearly. Therefore it places each thing in the best light and walks all around it with an attentive eye. Finally it will even give its due to its opponent, to blind or shortsighted ‘conviction’ (or ‘faith’) - for the sake or truth.
Here again, letting go of convictions, opening up the heart, to be able to truly, clearly, see.
And from clarity, vision, true-seeing: truth seeing. Only judgment through truth brings justice. Truth as the ultimate ground from where to start.
A song by Kendrick Lamar comes up. Listen and read along. It is quite something. ‘This is liberation!’
Interestingly, the title is also about sobriety, the prerequisite for seeing clearly.
Only in acknowledging the truth, however painful, liberation.
One last thing on ‘the highest form of justice’, or: pardoning.
Pardoning, I feel, is close to forgiveness. But not quite the same. Forgiveness is not institutional, nonhierarchical.
Only a victim can forgive. And you yourself might be that victim, even of your own actions.
Forgiveness plays a big role in one of the series I just mentioned, Euphoria. There is one episode in which the protagonist of the show, Rue, an addict, talks to her sponsor, Ali. This whole episode is absolutely mesmerizing. Completely gripping. And it is ‘just’ a conversation. I can’t find the scene on Youtube, so I’ve written it out below. To set the scene and feel the vibe, see the clip below for a different scene in the same episode.
Ali:
Forgiveness is the key to change. (…) If the sentence, the punishment you give yourself is that you are beyond forgiveness, that punishment is way too harsh, and it’s also way too easy. It allows you to keep doing exactly what you’re doing without changing because, you deserve it, there is no hope, you’re beyond forgiveness.
This is why the world keeps getting worse. People keep doing shit that we deem unforgivable and in return, they decide there is no reason to change. So now you got a whole bunch of people running around who don’t give a fuck about redemption; that’s scary.
Scary, indeed. And so, stepping out of that fear, we end with forgiveness. Or is it the starting point?
If that’s the case, we are now ending with the starting point.
Then, now, somewhat confused, I am lastly reminded of the word ‘emet’, the Hebrew word for truth, composed of the first and last letters of the Hebrew alphabet. Also called “the seal of God,” in Judaic tradition it carries somewhat the same connotation as Alpha and Omega. In this way, the alphabet, just like the seasons, isn’t linear, but cyclical. After ‘Z’, ‘A’, and within this circle of letters, the all-encompassing ‘all’, the truth.
It must be in here somewhere, right?
Love,
from,
Louis
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Before wrapping up, some coincidences this week:
In that other series I binged this week, ‘the Bear’, one of the characters says “I’m grateful for Philip K Dick.” So am I!
And,
in ‘The man in the high castle’, one of the main characters is called Baynes who, probably not very coincidentally, is also the translator of this I Ching.
I think I actually have nothing to add now.