The One, The Many, The (U)2

Almost two weeks ago, Rita, Helena, and I went to Rita's parents' house to celebrate her father's 73rd birthday, and though Helena loves being around people, sometimes she needs time alone, so one morning we left the busy kitchen, full of siblings and in-laws, to find a quiet place in another room.  I rocked Helena in her cradle and watched her watching her own hand, varying between looking at only her index finger, then her index and thumb, and then her entire hand.  She was researching her hand, fascinated by the fact that she could control it, but also learning something about the difference between one and many.  And since that is one of the most serious questions in the history of philosophy, it seemed to make sense to talk with her about Parminides and Democritus.

Perhaps the first text we have from Greek Philosophy is a fragment from Parmenides, "All is One."  This idea echoes through the history of philosophy and religion (monophysite Christianity and Islam both grow out of the idea, as does New Age Gaia spirituality and many other forms of mysticism): Parmenides contended that the plurality and diversity of life we see everyday is an illusion covering an essential unity of Being.  The changes that happen over time and space are in fact all a part of one coherent whole, which we can call God or Being or the One.

On the opposite end of the philosophical spectrum was Democritus, I explained to Helena as she opened her hand to look at all of her fingers.  Democritus insisted that everything is broken into infinitely small parts, which he called atoms (indeed, the origin of the term used in modern physics).  Each one of these little pieces was, for Democritus, independent of the other little pieces of the world.  There is no unity, only division.

Whether Helena had reached the end of her patience with my philosophizing, had learned what she wanted about her hand, or was just tired, I'm not sure, but at this point she got impatient.  She hadn't slept well the night before, so I thought she might want to sleep, and one of the best ways to help her along that path is to sing.  And the first song that came to mind, given what we had been talking about, was "One", by U2.

Is it getting better 

Or do you feel the same 

Will it make it easier on you now 

You got someone to blame 

You say... 

One love 

One life 

When it's one need 

In the night 

One love 

We get to share it 

Leaves you baby if you 

Don't care for it 

Did I disappoint you 

Or leave a bad taste in your mouth 

You act like you never had love 

And you want me to go without 

Well it's... 

Too late 

Tonight 

To drag the past out into the light 

We're one, but we're not the same 

We get to 

Carry each other 

Carry each other 

One... 

"We're One, but we're not the same."  What would Parmenides have made of this line?  It strikes me as an interesting attempt to synthesize the two Greek ways of looking at the One and the Many, a recognition that unity and plurality are both true descriptions of the world, looked at from different angles.  We can say two opposing things honestly: Helena was looking at her one hand; Helena was looking at her five fingers.

Perhaps I am simplifying a theme that is far more complicated than the song of an Irish rock band, but perhaps not.  And in the end, what matters most is that the song helped Helena to sleep, and when she woke, she was happy again.

A philosophical blog for a new baby

What matters most with a baby is to talk: The content isn't anywhere near as important as the tone, the eye contact, the attention.  Last night, after she was born, I just began to free associate on the history of philosophy with Helena Iara. It might seem that talking ontology with a baby would be a one-way conversation, but she responded, reacted... and her mere presence made me think in different ways than I would talking with a child or an adult.  Even if the content wasn't the most important thing, I'm very glad to say that Helena Iara was very attentive as I tried to explain to her the development of pre-socratic philosophy and how autarchic, decentralized government lies at the root of the thinking of Thales and Anaximander.  Whether these hypotheses are true or whether she will even be interested in philosophy matters very little.  What was great was her constant, curious eye contact.

Today I'm creating a new blog to celebrate an entirely personal event, one that has little to do with street kids or child soldiers or indigenous kids making telenovelas (though the name Iara is Guaraní...), the themes about which I write, film, and work.  Rita and my daughter was born last night, weighing in at a little over seven pounds, and since then has shown herself to be strong, healthy, and curious.  Her eyes are in constant movement until they find an interesting object or person, at which point they maintain an intense attention.  Pediatric neurologists say that babies can't focus their eyes at birth, and certainly the concept of an "object" hasn't yet entered her eager brain, but she certainly pays attention to color, form, and movement.

For the Pre-socratics, the world was made of up of four elements: water, fire, earth, and air.  For Helena Iara, the elements are probably movement, color, smell, and sound... but they still come together to form a world.