In Which Things Take (Make) Place
Feb. 15th, 2011 02:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolven7We're going to have a little conversation about space, now. If I'm not clear, if you have any questions, or if I misrepresent something, please comment to that effect. If you disagree with me, and feel there are other ways to talk about what I'm talking about, say so. This is a conversational place; we come here to talk to each other.
This was written over many different parts of today.
----
To Take Place is JZ Smith's book on the nature of ritual space-- that is, space which is defined by ritual and that which is defined for ritual. In it, he discusses the way in which contextual appropriations of concepts-- the ways in which our ideas are changed by the situations in which we place them-- help us to express different modes of thought, action, and capability, depending on the people around us and the mental state in which we and they are approaching the task before us. We can come to a different kind of understanding about the nature of a fertility ritual when we approach it as such, when we partially beg the question of whether it will work, if for no other reason than that we have put our minds in the kind of mode wherein certain concepts link to other concepts. Ritual/Magical thinking is thinking that links up the concepts through which we engage the world in a way other than "normal" and is, then, intentionally set apart from all other kinds of action.
Now, I know what you're thinking. "1) That sounds like a purely psychological construction, having effects only on what we think and feel; 2) What the Hell does it have to do with 'Place?'" Well, in order, remember that, as we have said many times previous, the psychologocally constructed defines physically expressed and is, in fact, the only way in which we can begin to approach the world around us. Notions of subject and object, self and not-self, place us in a position to begin to investigate reality as it appears to us, but these notions are, at base, also created. We cannot truly trust that they will accurately describe to us the nature of the universe, except, oh yeah, that conceptual construction Is In Itself The Universe. A bit of a leap? Maybe. But the conceptually constituted universe is the only universe to which we have access, and changes to it change our concepts, even as changes to our concepts change the ways in which we can affect the universe.
The architecture of my thoughts defines the kinds of thoughts I can think. The architecture of my language describes the kinds of concepts I can express. The concepts I can express define the kinds of actions I can take within the universe. The kinds of actions I take and things I create help define the range of things in the universe to be understood. Taken all together, we have the machinery which constrains us, even as it provides us with the tools to alter/expand it to suit our needs. The psychological precipitates the physical.
Now, about your second question: If all concepts create the universe in which we operate, tthen any Place is necessarily constituted of concepts and connotations of locality, meaning, symbolic resonance, &c. What is Paris if not a collection of people's ideas about what a place is and means, carried down through history and accepted by those who encounter the collection? "Paris is wonderful;" "Paris is a shithole;" "Paris is lovely in the summer;" "Paris is too hot in July." A place A) marked by an invisible, intangible border, B) recognised by governments which derive their power from how C) people conceive of them, and D) given meaning by those who encounter it. Only the way that we conceive of a place gives it any meaning at all. When we create a ritual space, or a virtual space, or a psychologically "safe" space, we are marking borders and we are saying "In here, we think this way, we behave this way, we speak this way;" and if you enter that created space, you are agreeing to play by the rules and laws of that space. If you don't do that, then the consequences could be dire.
In Mark Z Danielewski's House of Leaves the reader is confronted with a number of different potential meanings, each or any combination of which depends on the structure of the context in which the elements are placed, and one of the most key components of this process of arrangement is the Reader itself. As we read the book, our particular thoughts and life experiences will bring certain elements to the fore-- which is, of course, what happens in every book, but rarely is a book so explicitly designed to produce this result in the reader. This presents us with a unique problem, when we consider or wish to discuss House of Leaves, that being the accute awareness of the the fact that to discuss this book with someone who hasn't read it is to fundamentally change how they will read it. Again, this is true of any book, but it is moreso with House of Leaves. That being said, I don't think there's anything I can tell you about this book which can be supposed to "spoil" it for you, precisely because it acts differently upon each individual reader. The structure of the piece is such that the very fact of my having recommended it to you tells you something about the both the book and myself, and that will, in turn, colour how you come to think about the book as you read it. So, that being the case, in for a penny, in for a pound.
One of the core conceits of House of Leaves is the idea of a House which is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Not only this, but the inner interior [(yes)] of said house is such that there are none of the traditional accoutrement of human architecture, which [are], literally, designed to be both a communitarian and communicative endeavour. You see, it's posited that when we design and build a house, we are seeking to create a place that's something that people will come to inhabit, and come to fill with their contextual interplay of concepts such as "family," "friends," "play," "rest," "sex," "dinner," et cetera. We generate the physicality of this space in such a way as to allow future iterations of these concepts to be imprinted upon the form that we feel represents these concepts as they are expressed in our minds. This is why everyone doesn't just buy the exact same house: different forms resonate with different concepts, for different people, and they therefore wish to inhabit different types of structures. This principle is alien to the eponymous house.
When we get into the interiors which constitute the Wholly Wrong Thing that is this house, we find rooms with windows onto other rooms, stairwells with no banisters, walls with no moulding, doorways with doors but no trim, and hallways which shift in an alarming fashion, whenever individuals or groups set about exploring the house. This is one of the ways in which it's larger on the inside than the outside: The house is an infinitely mutable structure, depending on the relationship of those who are within it. As those relationships change-- as their contexts alter-- the house shifts to represent that. The house itself is a blank edifice, offering no stylised accents, but only the bare form of what "house" means, but in that bare form, it becomes wholly alien because it provides us with nothing to seek to relate to, nothing to compare to our conceptualisations and say "I agree with crown moulding," or "I disagree with that shape of window casing." Because crown moulding and window casings make a house what it is, allow it to say what it can say, and attract to that place the kids of people who will make the best of them and fill those things with new meanings and contexts. And other people, as well.
When we pull people into our communicative project, we're placing our ideas and expressions in context with those of other people who are, necessarily, not us. They have at their disposal a shared edifice of linguistic constructs and the kind of conceptual architecture which allows them to believe that communication is possible, in the first place, but we have no guarantee that their meanings and connotations are our meanings. We don't know that a chandelier in the dining room means the same thing to them as it does to us. And so we enter an alien place, together, with trepidation, and the walls and halls shift and change around us, as we try to understand each other, and this is communication, this is language, this is the exposure of self to other for the sake of understanding.
Together, we create a space in which these concepts may be explored. Sometimes we do it more intentionally, more literally, and so we create cities, houses, sacred ritual grounds in which to think and act and understand in particular ways. Sometimes we aren't quite as aware of what we mean, and we simply create an interplay for communication, in a coffee shop, in a low voice, and we call it a "conversation." But, at all times, we're engaged in the project of taking the matrix of conceptual apparatii, in our heads, and placing them in context and conversation with those in the heads of other people.
We are always about the business of changing our minds, of altering how we perceive the world, and expressing that to other people, so that they can take that in, and do the same. Sometimes we want to do that forcefully, sometimes we want to do it subtly. I want to do it honestly, always, and so I say, know what you're doing when you converse, when you express. This isn't new, right? "Pay attention. Know your intent. Be aware of the potential consequences of your actions. Make a choice, anyway, and be willing to accept responsibility for what happens." Your choices will define your context even as your context defines the kinds of choices you think you have available to you.
This is always the case. The only difference is, this week, I'm thinking about doors, and so my mind immediately comes to thoughts of "Entry," "Place," "Space," and "Meaning."
See?
This was written over many different parts of today.
----
To Take Place is JZ Smith's book on the nature of ritual space-- that is, space which is defined by ritual and that which is defined for ritual. In it, he discusses the way in which contextual appropriations of concepts-- the ways in which our ideas are changed by the situations in which we place them-- help us to express different modes of thought, action, and capability, depending on the people around us and the mental state in which we and they are approaching the task before us. We can come to a different kind of understanding about the nature of a fertility ritual when we approach it as such, when we partially beg the question of whether it will work, if for no other reason than that we have put our minds in the kind of mode wherein certain concepts link to other concepts. Ritual/Magical thinking is thinking that links up the concepts through which we engage the world in a way other than "normal" and is, then, intentionally set apart from all other kinds of action.
Now, I know what you're thinking. "1) That sounds like a purely psychological construction, having effects only on what we think and feel; 2) What the Hell does it have to do with 'Place?'" Well, in order, remember that, as we have said many times previous, the psychologocally constructed defines physically expressed and is, in fact, the only way in which we can begin to approach the world around us. Notions of subject and object, self and not-self, place us in a position to begin to investigate reality as it appears to us, but these notions are, at base, also created. We cannot truly trust that they will accurately describe to us the nature of the universe, except, oh yeah, that conceptual construction Is In Itself The Universe. A bit of a leap? Maybe. But the conceptually constituted universe is the only universe to which we have access, and changes to it change our concepts, even as changes to our concepts change the ways in which we can affect the universe.
The architecture of my thoughts defines the kinds of thoughts I can think. The architecture of my language describes the kinds of concepts I can express. The concepts I can express define the kinds of actions I can take within the universe. The kinds of actions I take and things I create help define the range of things in the universe to be understood. Taken all together, we have the machinery which constrains us, even as it provides us with the tools to alter/expand it to suit our needs. The psychological precipitates the physical.
Now, about your second question: If all concepts create the universe in which we operate, tthen any Place is necessarily constituted of concepts and connotations of locality, meaning, symbolic resonance, &c. What is Paris if not a collection of people's ideas about what a place is and means, carried down through history and accepted by those who encounter the collection? "Paris is wonderful;" "Paris is a shithole;" "Paris is lovely in the summer;" "Paris is too hot in July." A place A) marked by an invisible, intangible border, B) recognised by governments which derive their power from how C) people conceive of them, and D) given meaning by those who encounter it. Only the way that we conceive of a place gives it any meaning at all. When we create a ritual space, or a virtual space, or a psychologically "safe" space, we are marking borders and we are saying "In here, we think this way, we behave this way, we speak this way;" and if you enter that created space, you are agreeing to play by the rules and laws of that space. If you don't do that, then the consequences could be dire.
In Mark Z Danielewski's House of Leaves the reader is confronted with a number of different potential meanings, each or any combination of which depends on the structure of the context in which the elements are placed, and one of the most key components of this process of arrangement is the Reader itself. As we read the book, our particular thoughts and life experiences will bring certain elements to the fore-- which is, of course, what happens in every book, but rarely is a book so explicitly designed to produce this result in the reader. This presents us with a unique problem, when we consider or wish to discuss House of Leaves, that being the accute awareness of the the fact that to discuss this book with someone who hasn't read it is to fundamentally change how they will read it. Again, this is true of any book, but it is moreso with House of Leaves. That being said, I don't think there's anything I can tell you about this book which can be supposed to "spoil" it for you, precisely because it acts differently upon each individual reader. The structure of the piece is such that the very fact of my having recommended it to you tells you something about the both the book and myself, and that will, in turn, colour how you come to think about the book as you read it. So, that being the case, in for a penny, in for a pound.
One of the core conceits of House of Leaves is the idea of a House which is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Not only this, but the inner interior [(yes)] of said house is such that there are none of the traditional accoutrement of human architecture, which [are], literally, designed to be both a communitarian and communicative endeavour. You see, it's posited that when we design and build a house, we are seeking to create a place that's something that people will come to inhabit, and come to fill with their contextual interplay of concepts such as "family," "friends," "play," "rest," "sex," "dinner," et cetera. We generate the physicality of this space in such a way as to allow future iterations of these concepts to be imprinted upon the form that we feel represents these concepts as they are expressed in our minds. This is why everyone doesn't just buy the exact same house: different forms resonate with different concepts, for different people, and they therefore wish to inhabit different types of structures. This principle is alien to the eponymous house.
When we get into the interiors which constitute the Wholly Wrong Thing that is this house, we find rooms with windows onto other rooms, stairwells with no banisters, walls with no moulding, doorways with doors but no trim, and hallways which shift in an alarming fashion, whenever individuals or groups set about exploring the house. This is one of the ways in which it's larger on the inside than the outside: The house is an infinitely mutable structure, depending on the relationship of those who are within it. As those relationships change-- as their contexts alter-- the house shifts to represent that. The house itself is a blank edifice, offering no stylised accents, but only the bare form of what "house" means, but in that bare form, it becomes wholly alien because it provides us with nothing to seek to relate to, nothing to compare to our conceptualisations and say "I agree with crown moulding," or "I disagree with that shape of window casing." Because crown moulding and window casings make a house what it is, allow it to say what it can say, and attract to that place the kids of people who will make the best of them and fill those things with new meanings and contexts. And other people, as well.
When we pull people into our communicative project, we're placing our ideas and expressions in context with those of other people who are, necessarily, not us. They have at their disposal a shared edifice of linguistic constructs and the kind of conceptual architecture which allows them to believe that communication is possible, in the first place, but we have no guarantee that their meanings and connotations are our meanings. We don't know that a chandelier in the dining room means the same thing to them as it does to us. And so we enter an alien place, together, with trepidation, and the walls and halls shift and change around us, as we try to understand each other, and this is communication, this is language, this is the exposure of self to other for the sake of understanding.
Together, we create a space in which these concepts may be explored. Sometimes we do it more intentionally, more literally, and so we create cities, houses, sacred ritual grounds in which to think and act and understand in particular ways. Sometimes we aren't quite as aware of what we mean, and we simply create an interplay for communication, in a coffee shop, in a low voice, and we call it a "conversation." But, at all times, we're engaged in the project of taking the matrix of conceptual apparatii, in our heads, and placing them in context and conversation with those in the heads of other people.
We are always about the business of changing our minds, of altering how we perceive the world, and expressing that to other people, so that they can take that in, and do the same. Sometimes we want to do that forcefully, sometimes we want to do it subtly. I want to do it honestly, always, and so I say, know what you're doing when you converse, when you express. This isn't new, right? "Pay attention. Know your intent. Be aware of the potential consequences of your actions. Make a choice, anyway, and be willing to accept responsibility for what happens." Your choices will define your context even as your context defines the kinds of choices you think you have available to you.
This is always the case. The only difference is, this week, I'm thinking about doors, and so my mind immediately comes to thoughts of "Entry," "Place," "Space," and "Meaning."
See?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-02-15 09:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-15 10:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-15 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-15 07:12 pm (UTC)And I can see how that idea has flowered, so to speak. I hope it continues to grow, and change, as you need it to.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-17 01:40 am (UTC)I am not the same person I was back then and you have just reminded me that I need to re-read that book. I want to see how different it is for me now.
no subject
Date: 2011-02-17 04:00 am (UTC)