THEOREM
Today I got up with this line in my head: don't worry about the soul. That has been fixed. As I was dreaming about walking around Riemann's zeta landscape, climbing the mountain and looking down to the zeros of the zeta function, I felt fixed in my soul. When plugged into Riemann's prime formula, each zero of the zeta function, or the points that correspond to the complex numbers, produces a wave corresponding to a pure musical tone. Simplified here, and in line with my own trivial thinking about Riemann's hypothesis—which, for the life of me, I don't know why I tend to think of on Sundays—the idea that one can chart exactly the occurrence of prime numbers on an infinite line, is fascinating. As we tend to think of the primes as occurring at random, the notion that one can orchestrate them, when one 'knows' them by plugging them into a harmonic scale, creates the illusion that the primes possess some sort of cosmic otherness.
Now, why the soul, via Riemann? Yes, because since March 18, when Grigori Perelman was announced to receive the first Clay Millenium Prize Problems Award for his resolution of the Poincaré conjecture (consisting of 1 million dollars, the prize was instituted in 2000 with view to be awarded to anyone who will come up with a proof for any of the 7 most intriguing mathematical conjectures), I've been thinking about the reason why I didn't become a mathematician myself. The story is too long and lousy, so I won't get into that, but I do want to mention the fact that there is out there a beautiful solution to such regretting anguish. Perleman, who is only two years older than me, and whom I would marry on the spot if he didn't live with his mother and was so sensitive—he declined the Fields medal in 2006, and gave up mathematics because he thinks that the discipline is now devoid of mathematicians with intact integrity—formulated a proof for what is called the soul theorem... The soul is in general not uniquely determined by the manifold...
I may not have become a mathematician, but by treading the landscape of analysis (the opposite, as it were, of algebra), I get a sense of the fact the even the greatest ironies in my life, if seen as symbolic inconveniences, can be orchestrated to yield the output zero, Riemann's laughter at incongruities. Schopenhauer once said: “every good joke is a disrupted syllogism.” The question of the soul is then, still, a question of what we choose to believe in. Today, I believe in numbers, even if, cosmically speaking, well, another long and lousy story...
Comments
(Btw. I've been reading your posts for awhile- they're fresh, smart and snappy...any tips/strategies for writing like this? i.e. tips for writing math papers? ;))
1.Keep it simple. And yet allow yourself to move with ease between beliefs. In his youth Bertrand Russell was ready to swoon over the transcendental power of mathematics. In his 80s he dismissed his youthful enthusiasm calling it nonsense, and then referred to mathematics as being nothing other than the sum of tautologies. This being the case, you can start your paper with stating theorem X in elegant and composed prose, yet suggesting its vast beauty, only so that in the proof of theorem X you can start embellishing by using some other symbolic language than the strictly mathematical one. Look at music. My favorite contemporary violinist is Maxim Vengerov. Not only is he a smashing player but his master classes are a gem. He always entices people to bring to a very rigid structure of a Bach piece or something else that's demanding a good dose of imagination. Create a scenario, he says, and the sillier the better. In other words, be a mathematical hybrid between Rudolf Valentino and Groucho Marx.
2.Know thyself. Write for yourself and strangers. Don't write for peers. Write for yourself and strangers. Thinking of how afraid Cantor was of that schmuck of Kronecker, and how he thought that he had to write for him, so that he wouldn't dismiss everything, makes me cringe. Waiting for others to recognize what you do is a waste of time. Sure, recognition is crucial if we want to score a good job, but the lack of it should not be turned into a personal failure. That's bound to depress the shit out of everybody. Perelman had the right idea when he decided to say to all: why don't you go fuck yourselves? People think he's crazy, but I'll tell you a secret: it won't surprise me at all if I met him on top of a mountain, digging the earth, and calculating the speed of clouds. While he wouldn't be of much use to the 'community', he sure as hell would make my day. A genius never thinks of himself as a genius. A genius knows what he knows, and that's all. If people want to know what a genius knows, then they will, and if they don't, they won't. This even has a wider application: generally, if people want to know you, they will, and if they don't, they won't. If you know what you give, and you're happy with that, you can't think of it as being your loss, if people decide not trust what you say, dismiss you, or telling you to go fuck yourself, which may also be the case.
3.Write for the occasion. Be fearless. Donald Barthelme once said: “Writing is a process of dealing with not-knowing, a forcing of what and how.” Force your limit, but also know it. Math is mysterious, it moves, and it demands. Whichever way the theorem goes, be grateful for having been allowed to experience getting there, wherever 'there' is. End your paper with 'thank you.'
Some of the argument for this thought is in the current issue of Hyperion, in the dedication to James Rossant, which I wrote. I suppose I was talking about more than just him. "
But I love making up stories, love simple and elegant things turning complex, and appreciate originality- let's see how my phd thesis will turn out, now that I got a new positive perspective on writing it!
Thank you for reminding me of the Glenn Gould film. I have not seen it in some time, but I have left behind Gould's example and inspiration for no more than a few days, perhaps weeks, at a time. I keep something of his on me at all times, along with a few other imperatives. And I must admit you have read my mind, with your point about touching people with one's undisturbed excellence. (Great adjective) To find the beauty (that hardly seems the word any longer), the entrancement, in the impeccable expression, no, the impeccable gesture, the exquisite curve, rather than mutual wallowing in joint commiserations, in collective self-pities, which we pretend are sympathies and are generous. I will be doing an essay (if that's the word for what I'm aiming at) for Hyperion, probably in October, on the Super-Massive Black Hole in the center of the galaxy - most galaxies - an aesthetics essay that will touch on this matter of excellence rather than, well, rather than a number of things we've taken as the proper objectives of art. But, that will come, later.
For now, I'll be presumptuous on your forbearance and offer you a reciprocal gesture, in response to the moments of poetry you've offered me and many of us through your blog and in Hyperion. There is a poem of mine in which you might locate something of interest. You will find it at http://homepage.mac.com/cohenmd1/Poetry/Hollow.html
It is one small piece of a much larger project - rather, a mission - and it is an example, for good or for ill, of what I have managed by way of keeping no one's counsel but my own.
Again, you read my thoughts, very concretely: a kind of geometry that lends itself to touch. I am working on several philosophy books simultaneously, one of which, and the most personal for me, is titled Treatise on Poetic Reason. One of its axioms is the proposition that all thought, prior to acquiring semiotic character, is geometric - that thought is fundamentally geometric. (This is a result of one of my arguments with Kant - not an argument with him actually, but my contention that Kant's writing of the first Critique several decades prior to Gauss was deadly to his objective.) Another of the book's axioms asserts that geometry is not visual but tactile. (As is sculpture, both points being obvious, I think, the moment one considers them - at least, it took me that long, ultimately.)
(By the way, you'll probably enjoy this thought - the book is organized like Wittgenstein's Tractatus - geometrically, the numbering being a coordinate system - except that Wittgenstein worked in two dimensions, and this book will work in three - http://www.facebook.com/l/6a1f3;xxx.xxx.xxx)
Second, thank you for the reminder about Tlön - it's been too long since I entered Borges - I've not been home since the accident and I'm foreign to my library, although the iPad has helped enormously. Along with Shakespeare, Mallarme, Beckett, and Hopkins (for sound, I suppose that's self-evident), he's essential to my mission.
And - most important - Thank you for your offer to publish my work (it's my real work) in EyeCorner Press. I would be honored for you to publish the work and, in particular, honored to have you write an introduction. I must give you a better idea what I meant by mission - not really an orchestrated project.
My mission, my real work, is poetry - as I understand poetry, which is very English language, very traditional, very Shakespearean in sound and technique. It is also very Beckett, I believe - there are perhaps a thousand ways to go about explaining this, which means I shouldn't try, so I'll save that for another time - reading it is the most explanatory.
What is available is a number of lyric poems, most of them longer than The Hollow at the Core, a large number of translations of poems, some of which have been published in Hyperion, and a one-act verse drama, which is - I'm told and I believe - the most successful example of my literary objective.
Please let me know what you'd like to see, and what you think would be appropriate content for a book. I can make my suggestions but of course, they'll be more meaningful when I can discuss material you've read.
Thank you so much for the offer, and for the obvious compliment implicit in the proposal. It is greatly appreciated, which is no contradiction to my basic posture. I believe it's all a zero sum game - the less one hungers for general, anonymous approval, the more one can relish individual, personal appreciation.
Jesus fucking Christ, I want to say, but I don't want to sound ever so vulgar, on telepathic things and the like. You're on with the publishing of your work. And I shall be most delighted if you designed the whole thing yourself. Give me a camera-ready file, and I'll "fling the monster to the public" (Churchill's words) in a snap. We don't want to waste time. Send me whatever you think is appropriate and resonates with you the best, and I'll throw myself at writing an introduction with the best of my energy. I'm quite sure that I'll have no problem tapping into your thinking. As for some geometry in philosophy, I'd say it's about time someone other than Borges remembers it. “We already know that in Tlön the subject of knowledge is one and eternal.” Yes, I read for the writing that astounds, not the truth. The only truth I believe in is the one I can catch in the astonished eye. There is enough knowledge in it to confirm my certitudes as there is enough mystery in it to keep me in a state of marvel if I lived forever.
It will take a while for me to be able to put this together, but then, I'm sure there's no rush, not for doing something that's been waiting to happen. Of course, I remain in my convalescence, although I am getting very impatient to be up and about my life again. In the meantime, I have just finished a book (well, the introductory essay for an artist's book), this last issue of Hyperion, an article in the latest issue of Sculpture magazine, my day job (managed by people who don't want to understand what it means to be on disability, something that is going to be resolved before very long - I'm not pleased), and the next issue of Hyperion. Not a bad work load for someone laid up from a rather serious care accident. But then - if you can, you must - unfortunately, much of the world exploits that near natural law, which is the beginning of my argument in defense of elitism. (Nobody wants it eradicated - if it were, they'd have to do their own work.)
I will consider what I'd like to include in the volume. In the meantime, I'm going to email you the one-act drama. It will be either the core of the volume or the entire volume - I'm thinking in one of those two directions. It is titled Coarctate: Antigone's Return - the title itself is a story. (I needed a word with a very specific meaning, and did not know such a word. I then heard the word "Coarctate" in my head. Looked it up in the OED and found it means exactly what I needed to say, and the latest citation in the OED was over 200 years ago. Telepathic indeed.)
Please email me directly, so that I can be sure I've got your proper email address, and I'll send the play to you.
In short, it's a go.
is mainly mathematical, with more abstract 'philosophical' implications than actual real-life applications...In any case will be reading your blog for inspiration! ;)
I sensed it was something menacing, but the persuader's logic was infallible. My position was, "I'm afraid, I don't know what it means to be 'digitized,' what if it is irreversible and permanent and what if it means to be extinguished?" and Your, or rather the persuader's, convincing retort, was "Oh but you must experience it, and if you do, it will give me pleasure!"
Naturally, I agreed. The persuader smiled a wicked smile, giggled, and instantly i was reduced to zeros and ones -- powerless, vulnerable to infinite manipulation.
For some reason this seemed too embarrassing to post on your blog, but, of course, i defer to You.
Numbers are a realm of the abstract, unconstrained by the checks and balances of ordinary life. After all, one way of becoming a number is to become a statistic. And becoming a number can mean forfeiting one's individuality and personality.
And so the wish to become one is quite puzzling -- unless it's another form of submission. Perhaps being digitized means having all of one's qualities and aspects (including one's soul) converted to strings of numbers, infinitely long, like the threads of a stocking, infinitely stretchable, but forever useless once broken. . . .