A fractal is a recursive element: "fractals can be any type of infinitely scaled and repeated pattern." (http://rsb.info.nih.gov/ij/plugins/fraclac/FLHelp/Fractals.htm)
Also useful for this discussion are the terms "nonlinear" and "stochastic."
"a nonlinear system is any problem where the variable(s) to be solved for cannot be written as a linear combination of independent components"
"A stochastic process is one whose behavior is non-deterministic in that a state's next state is determined both by the process's predictable actions and by a random element. Stochastic crafts are complex systems whose practitioners, even if complete experts, acknowledge that outcomes result from both known and unknown causes. Classical examples of this are medicine: a doctor can administer the same treatment to multiple patients suffering from the same symptoms, however, the patients may not all react to the treatment the same way. This makes medicine a stochastic process.[1] Additional examples are warfare, meteorology and rhetoric, where success and failure are difficult enough to predict that explicit allowances are made for uncertainty."
Why are fractals important?
Fractals provide a way of successfully mapping extremely complex systems. Non
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Schopenhauer's World as Will and Presentation
I was going through Schopenhauer and am about halfway through book 2 of this thing. It is hard to follow at times. The first book mainly concerns reason, and his detailed explanation with regards to how reasons doesn't really explain things at all, and the second book thus far introduces will as the only explanation that we should ever really need.
That summary doesn't really do justice to what is actually a very deft and verbose affair-- a lot of the points he makes are convincing and you find yourself wanting to follow the entire arch of the argument better.
The translator did a decent job but I wish I had a professor to help me walk through it.
That's all for now.
That summary doesn't really do justice to what is actually a very deft and verbose affair-- a lot of the points he makes are convincing and you find yourself wanting to follow the entire arch of the argument better.
The translator did a decent job but I wish I had a professor to help me walk through it.
That's all for now.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Spatial Relations
What makes a distance a distance?
I mean, how do we know it takes, say, 2 miles to get to school, or 15 miles to get to work?
One can "feel" that some distances are greater than others. But some days, don't some distances "feel" shorter even though one's traveled them X number of times already?
One can "see" that one thing is further away than another. But this is merely a matter of immediate comparison which can change the moment you change your position.
One can "measure" distance by using instruments. The question remains: Does the machine correlate with how we "feel," or do we adjust our feelings to correlate to the measured distances?
Take for example, a 25 mile bike ride down the beach, in contrast to a 20 mile bike ride through hot, humid, industrial downtown.
Without an instrument to measure distances, would not these two distances, perhaps, via personal judgment, be swapped?
Also, we should remember that there is more than one way to get to the same point. The distance conventionally used to label two points' distance apart is not the shortest distance between them, for such a distance involves the curvature of the earth.
I mean, how do we know it takes, say, 2 miles to get to school, or 15 miles to get to work?
One can "feel" that some distances are greater than others. But some days, don't some distances "feel" shorter even though one's traveled them X number of times already?
One can "see" that one thing is further away than another. But this is merely a matter of immediate comparison which can change the moment you change your position.
One can "measure" distance by using instruments. The question remains: Does the machine correlate with how we "feel," or do we adjust our feelings to correlate to the measured distances?
Take for example, a 25 mile bike ride down the beach, in contrast to a 20 mile bike ride through hot, humid, industrial downtown.
Without an instrument to measure distances, would not these two distances, perhaps, via personal judgment, be swapped?
Also, we should remember that there is more than one way to get to the same point. The distance conventionally used to label two points' distance apart is not the shortest distance between them, for such a distance involves the curvature of the earth.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Animals' rights
Do animals have a right not to be eaten?
First I'd like to point out that there seems to be a running assumption that humans already have a right not to be eaten; the assumption is inferable due to the fact that "animals" is the subject in question, not humans. In today's world, there is not a matter of public controversy concerning whether it's fine to eat humans-- it is simply wrong. This is a taboo which cannot really be justified any further in our society. It may be worth mentioning that many primitive societies did practice cannibalism, so that it wasn't taboo in all historical circumstances, so it cannot be defined as an absolute law, not even by Kant's categorical imperative strategy.
Let us rephrase the question, then: assuming humans possess the right not to be eaten, do animals have the same right?
We need to further refine the question, however. For we could imagine two situations in which this question is applicable: one, in which an animal is treated humanely throughout its life, then dies naturally, and consequently we have to ask the question: do we have the right to eat it? The same question could be applied to a human who lived a long and natural life. Do we have the right to eat him after he dies?
The other situation involves the necessary conditions that have to be established for a meat-consuming society, and to make things as clear as possible we should subtract the eating component from this side of the question. The conditions in question are the establishment of inhumane practices that treat animals' lives as parts of an assembly line. Are the suffering an animal experiences over the course of its life in this assembly line wrong? Once again, the same question could be asked concerning a human: if we forced a human to experience all the suffering an animal did in the assembly line we created, would it be wrong?
Four questions now. Let us rehash:
1) Is it wrong to eat a dead human, regardless of what kind of life he lived?
2) Is it wrong to eat a dead animal, regardless of what kind of life it lived?
3) Is it wrong to treat a human as an item on an assembly line?
4) Is it wrong to treat an animal as an item on an assembly line?
Now let us imagine a number of different people came to answer these questions. The first is a cannibal who believes in the sacredness of life. The second is an animal rights activist. The third is an average American who just enjoys his hamburger.
The cannibal would say:
1&2) It's fine to eat a dead human or a dead animal.
3&4) It's not okay to treat any living thing as part of an assembly line.
Animal Rights Activist:
1&2) It's not okay to eat dead animals or dead humans.
3&4) It's not okay to treat animals or humans as parts of assembly lines.
Average American:
1&2) It's okay to eat dead animals, NOT dead humans.
3&4) It's okay to treat animals as part of an assembly line; NOT so for humans.
The average American is the only one who places special status on the species human. Can this special status for humans be justified?
It has been proposed that humans are the only beings on Earth capable of deep reflection upon their past experiences. Humans have the most complex understanding of the self, which makes their suffering far greater than any animal's could ever be.
But imagine that an alien race descended upon Earth and enslaved the race of man, treating them like cattle. This alien race had such a level of intelligence that it dwarfed man's cognitive abilities. To this race of aliens, humans were nothing special; though we could reflect, we could not perform what they might call "reflection squared"-- we'll just make up this term, which will serve as a cognitive ability the aliens use to justify their treatment of humans.
Does this alien race perform an act that is morally wrong? By our "reflection" rule, yes! By the aliens' "reflection squared" rule, no!
The line that differentiates humans and animals can be drawn however one pleases. We could say chimps and men both possess a sufficient level of consciousness that neither should be subject to prolonged suffering... but we draw the line at human consciousness.
What about just eating humans and animals, then? I haven't heard any ethical arguments against those, except that it might be healthier to stick to vegetables.
First I'd like to point out that there seems to be a running assumption that humans already have a right not to be eaten; the assumption is inferable due to the fact that "animals" is the subject in question, not humans. In today's world, there is not a matter of public controversy concerning whether it's fine to eat humans-- it is simply wrong. This is a taboo which cannot really be justified any further in our society. It may be worth mentioning that many primitive societies did practice cannibalism, so that it wasn't taboo in all historical circumstances, so it cannot be defined as an absolute law, not even by Kant's categorical imperative strategy.
Let us rephrase the question, then: assuming humans possess the right not to be eaten, do animals have the same right?
We need to further refine the question, however. For we could imagine two situations in which this question is applicable: one, in which an animal is treated humanely throughout its life, then dies naturally, and consequently we have to ask the question: do we have the right to eat it? The same question could be applied to a human who lived a long and natural life. Do we have the right to eat him after he dies?
The other situation involves the necessary conditions that have to be established for a meat-consuming society, and to make things as clear as possible we should subtract the eating component from this side of the question. The conditions in question are the establishment of inhumane practices that treat animals' lives as parts of an assembly line. Are the suffering an animal experiences over the course of its life in this assembly line wrong? Once again, the same question could be asked concerning a human: if we forced a human to experience all the suffering an animal did in the assembly line we created, would it be wrong?
Four questions now. Let us rehash:
1) Is it wrong to eat a dead human, regardless of what kind of life he lived?
2) Is it wrong to eat a dead animal, regardless of what kind of life it lived?
3) Is it wrong to treat a human as an item on an assembly line?
4) Is it wrong to treat an animal as an item on an assembly line?
Now let us imagine a number of different people came to answer these questions. The first is a cannibal who believes in the sacredness of life. The second is an animal rights activist. The third is an average American who just enjoys his hamburger.
The cannibal would say:
1&2) It's fine to eat a dead human or a dead animal.
3&4) It's not okay to treat any living thing as part of an assembly line.
Animal Rights Activist:
1&2) It's not okay to eat dead animals or dead humans.
3&4) It's not okay to treat animals or humans as parts of assembly lines.
Average American:
1&2) It's okay to eat dead animals, NOT dead humans.
3&4) It's okay to treat animals as part of an assembly line; NOT so for humans.
The average American is the only one who places special status on the species human. Can this special status for humans be justified?
It has been proposed that humans are the only beings on Earth capable of deep reflection upon their past experiences. Humans have the most complex understanding of the self, which makes their suffering far greater than any animal's could ever be.
But imagine that an alien race descended upon Earth and enslaved the race of man, treating them like cattle. This alien race had such a level of intelligence that it dwarfed man's cognitive abilities. To this race of aliens, humans were nothing special; though we could reflect, we could not perform what they might call "reflection squared"-- we'll just make up this term, which will serve as a cognitive ability the aliens use to justify their treatment of humans.
Does this alien race perform an act that is morally wrong? By our "reflection" rule, yes! By the aliens' "reflection squared" rule, no!
The line that differentiates humans and animals can be drawn however one pleases. We could say chimps and men both possess a sufficient level of consciousness that neither should be subject to prolonged suffering... but we draw the line at human consciousness.
What about just eating humans and animals, then? I haven't heard any ethical arguments against those, except that it might be healthier to stick to vegetables.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Love
Whenever we love, we stumble upon something truly enigmatic. It is at once superficial, yet inexplicable: a "crush" will fall apart into oblivion, or perhaps instead turn into something quite different, what might be called an emotional investment. Marriage is an imprisoning social contract which some, with sufficient willpower, can break and by doing so, reforge their lives.
The only thing which makes love important, pragmatically speaking, is the consequence we have all come to expect and desire, for one reason or another: offspring. Undesired pregnancies abound, revealing that the mechanism of love is still performing its intended function. Does that not repulse you? Or does that fill you with awe? Perhaps a little of both.
But why should it be repulsing? The images in themselves have been tainted: the fluids, the taboo of pornography and blazing harshness of the raw flesh, reveal within us a cringing coward who dares not embrace the concept of sexuality. It is a silent thing that belongs to the night, unseen except by one secret companion. (or perhaps more than one?)
And yet then, why should it fill us with awe? Paradoxically for the very opposite reasons; we stand amazed at witnessing the act of creation, a soul of new innocence unfold into the complexity of the world. What was ugly in man has become beautiful in his child.
There are those who perhaps see the complete opposite for each; who admire adult human flesh, and hate the wailing of the newborn with passion.
Regardless of what you feel your reasons for these feelings to be, I suspect to some extent they exist in us all-- the duality of revulsion and awe at our own bodies, as well as concerning those of the desired sex. What next?
What is gained by love? What is lost by abstaining from it? These questions can only be answered by taking a path that cannot be easily returned by. Commitments are never easy to retreat from.
What is gained by abstaining from love? What is lost by pursuing it?
The same questions, inverted. But the same questions could be applied to any aspect of your life. How would your life have been different if you'd pursued politics instead of medicine? Public service instead of law? You would be different.
Pragmatically speaking, if you pursued love, you would likely have a child, and know what it is to be a parent.
If you did not, you would experience much more that you would never have had time for, had you taken care of a child instead.
We can think in terms of selfishness-- that a selfish man would obviously not pursue love. Only superficial love, love that satisfied his appetites, but not committing love that results in a family.
Why is this so important? Consider at least this. For every human being who has survived until adulthood, there have been those who have taken care of him. These humans performed the function of parents. Do you want to know what the experience of this function is like? Do you have any idea of how it would feel? The emotions that would course through you? You do not, at least, not until you perform that function.
What does it mean to be human? Is it to philosophize? Not at all. Philosophy only becomes an interest when all other avenues are exhausted. It is defined as ultimatum. Being human is far more inevitable. We feel the call night and day. We see children and families together all the time. That is the pressure pushing us towards this continuation.
One could choose not to be human, to make goals and destinies for himself that do not include love. This man would not be human. He would accomplish things I would probably characterize as inhuman. Is that bad? I cannot say. It is another question. All I can say is that neither path looks particularly appealing at the moment. That is a frightening thought.
The only thing which makes love important, pragmatically speaking, is the consequence we have all come to expect and desire, for one reason or another: offspring. Undesired pregnancies abound, revealing that the mechanism of love is still performing its intended function. Does that not repulse you? Or does that fill you with awe? Perhaps a little of both.
But why should it be repulsing? The images in themselves have been tainted: the fluids, the taboo of pornography and blazing harshness of the raw flesh, reveal within us a cringing coward who dares not embrace the concept of sexuality. It is a silent thing that belongs to the night, unseen except by one secret companion. (or perhaps more than one?)
And yet then, why should it fill us with awe? Paradoxically for the very opposite reasons; we stand amazed at witnessing the act of creation, a soul of new innocence unfold into the complexity of the world. What was ugly in man has become beautiful in his child.
There are those who perhaps see the complete opposite for each; who admire adult human flesh, and hate the wailing of the newborn with passion.
Regardless of what you feel your reasons for these feelings to be, I suspect to some extent they exist in us all-- the duality of revulsion and awe at our own bodies, as well as concerning those of the desired sex. What next?
What is gained by love? What is lost by abstaining from it? These questions can only be answered by taking a path that cannot be easily returned by. Commitments are never easy to retreat from.
What is gained by abstaining from love? What is lost by pursuing it?
The same questions, inverted. But the same questions could be applied to any aspect of your life. How would your life have been different if you'd pursued politics instead of medicine? Public service instead of law? You would be different.
Pragmatically speaking, if you pursued love, you would likely have a child, and know what it is to be a parent.
If you did not, you would experience much more that you would never have had time for, had you taken care of a child instead.
We can think in terms of selfishness-- that a selfish man would obviously not pursue love. Only superficial love, love that satisfied his appetites, but not committing love that results in a family.
Why is this so important? Consider at least this. For every human being who has survived until adulthood, there have been those who have taken care of him. These humans performed the function of parents. Do you want to know what the experience of this function is like? Do you have any idea of how it would feel? The emotions that would course through you? You do not, at least, not until you perform that function.
What does it mean to be human? Is it to philosophize? Not at all. Philosophy only becomes an interest when all other avenues are exhausted. It is defined as ultimatum. Being human is far more inevitable. We feel the call night and day. We see children and families together all the time. That is the pressure pushing us towards this continuation.
One could choose not to be human, to make goals and destinies for himself that do not include love. This man would not be human. He would accomplish things I would probably characterize as inhuman. Is that bad? I cannot say. It is another question. All I can say is that neither path looks particularly appealing at the moment. That is a frightening thought.
Big Questions
Let us imagine that you are taking care of a six year old girl with an insatiable curiosity. You need to do a series of chores until such time that her parents return, and yet she refuses to be left alone. Instead, she prefers to follow you around as you perform each chore. You start by putting clothes in the washing machine. When you put soap in afterwards, she asks why you did. You explain that the soap is what allows the clothes to get clean.
"Why is that?" she asks in response. You explain that soap is a base, which corrodes certain materials more than others, and so will remove the ugly stains that are currently on the dirty clothes.
"And how does the base do that?" she asks. You get into excruciating detail, trying to remember the organic chemistry you took in college; you even take out the molecular kit you still have lying around and try to get her to play with that. To no avail.
"Why does the hydrogen get given to the stain? Why does that make the stain fall off the clothes? Why don't the clothes fall apart?"
You cannot answer any more of these questions off the top of your head. You go online and do some research until you find answers that satisfy you-- answers which actually relate to the molecular orbitals formed, and the electrons that form each bond. When you relate these answers to her, she only has more questions. You throw up your hands in despair and give up-- an answer may have been discovered, but you are fairly certain that whatever the answer is, it is beyond your immediate ability to comprehend. This little girl has already probed the boundaries of knowledge, and she has only asked five series of whys.
This little girl has the same spirit as the most profound philosophers; the only difference being she has not acquired the vocabulary to fully express herself. Rather, she is in the process of acquiring this vocabulary by asking this recurring question, "why?"
A lesson to take from this scenario is that there will always be more questions. The philosopher may take a question that normally we would not even bother to answer, such as "Why do I want to live?" or "Why do I think I have free will?" These are very difficult questions to answer, questions which shake us to our very foundations if properly investigated. The beautiful thing about such questions, however, is that the answer will satisfy if investigated for a sufficient length of time.
The little girl was not satisfied-- this is what made her profound. A philosopher might investigate one of the above questions-- on the subject of life and free will-- and find a suitable explanation. The problem is, that every time an answer is attained, the answer will inevitably lead to more questions. This is the lesson to be learned from the scenario. This is the lesson to be taught to all would-be philosophers, who have a desire to be profound.
"Why is that?" she asks in response. You explain that soap is a base, which corrodes certain materials more than others, and so will remove the ugly stains that are currently on the dirty clothes.
"And how does the base do that?" she asks. You get into excruciating detail, trying to remember the organic chemistry you took in college; you even take out the molecular kit you still have lying around and try to get her to play with that. To no avail.
"Why does the hydrogen get given to the stain? Why does that make the stain fall off the clothes? Why don't the clothes fall apart?"
You cannot answer any more of these questions off the top of your head. You go online and do some research until you find answers that satisfy you-- answers which actually relate to the molecular orbitals formed, and the electrons that form each bond. When you relate these answers to her, she only has more questions. You throw up your hands in despair and give up-- an answer may have been discovered, but you are fairly certain that whatever the answer is, it is beyond your immediate ability to comprehend. This little girl has already probed the boundaries of knowledge, and she has only asked five series of whys.
This little girl has the same spirit as the most profound philosophers; the only difference being she has not acquired the vocabulary to fully express herself. Rather, she is in the process of acquiring this vocabulary by asking this recurring question, "why?"
A lesson to take from this scenario is that there will always be more questions. The philosopher may take a question that normally we would not even bother to answer, such as "Why do I want to live?" or "Why do I think I have free will?" These are very difficult questions to answer, questions which shake us to our very foundations if properly investigated. The beautiful thing about such questions, however, is that the answer will satisfy if investigated for a sufficient length of time.
The little girl was not satisfied-- this is what made her profound. A philosopher might investigate one of the above questions-- on the subject of life and free will-- and find a suitable explanation. The problem is, that every time an answer is attained, the answer will inevitably lead to more questions. This is the lesson to be learned from the scenario. This is the lesson to be taught to all would-be philosophers, who have a desire to be profound.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Analytic vs Continental
Philosophy of language is considered to fit under the subgroup of analytic philosophy.
Analytic philosophy is opposed to continental philosophy.
Analytic philosophy is opposed to continental philosophy.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Philosophy of interpretation
This is a subject that is better covered by the introducer of literary anthologies. However, it is important to reflect upon such a task before moving forward.
I am preparing to interpret Beckett's trilogy. This is not a single "work", per say; it was against Beckett's wishes that they be regarded as such. They are considered as a trilogy in the public eye, and that is a fact.
Therefore a distinction may be drawn: a de facto reality, and what we shall call a minority perspective: that of the author.
Does it matter what Beckett wanted us to do, if what has happened is that most people regard the three novels written in quick secession as having a central theme? Some unifying principle?
To me, it is more important to think of how the novel is viewed by everyone. The task of the literary critic is to make SENSE of the common view, not to cater to a minority, even if that minority is the author. Just like any marketing scheme... you are trying to sell your product to the most customers.
So what are the objective principles that I can set down, having just recently finished all three of these increasingly crazy works?
A lot of what I can say I found on wikipedia, unfortunately. I haven't learned too much from reading them... yet.
First, these three works, when construed together, represent a movement. From a typical Beckett plot, then stripped down some, then stripped down to pretty much nothing. Ramblings; a conflict between a desire to continue and a desire for closure and conclusion; that is all that is left by the very end.
There is a person behind the text that becomes increasingly apparent as the stripping down occurs. In a sense, Beckett himself becomes more clear. This is a personal observation... not really an objective thing I can rely on.
I read one piece of criticism that related Molloy to CG Jung. I am a bit annoyed at this... segways into the realm of psychoanalysis, which I feel is too... what's the word? specialized, yes. Can't sell my product as well.
I am particularly interested in this idea of existentialism-- not the precise understanding that is developing in the philosophy departments across our nation and the world, but mainstream existentialism. I think Beckett is key to this. Call it a hunch. Call it something I remember someone saying in passing once. The idea is there, and it's stuck.
Fragments of philosophy are all over the place in Beckett's ramblings. I feel that I am the common man, desperately trying to solve an enigma. What will I discover? A personal truth? Beckett's truth? Or something in between?
How has this idea changed from the beginning glimmers of this gold we call existentialism? Is it fools' gold? That's not my question to answer. I think it is real gold to many people. I think it is gold to me. But I haven't found it yet. It's not tangible enough, not yet.
Rumination...
I am preparing to interpret Beckett's trilogy. This is not a single "work", per say; it was against Beckett's wishes that they be regarded as such. They are considered as a trilogy in the public eye, and that is a fact.
Therefore a distinction may be drawn: a de facto reality, and what we shall call a minority perspective: that of the author.
Does it matter what Beckett wanted us to do, if what has happened is that most people regard the three novels written in quick secession as having a central theme? Some unifying principle?
To me, it is more important to think of how the novel is viewed by everyone. The task of the literary critic is to make SENSE of the common view, not to cater to a minority, even if that minority is the author. Just like any marketing scheme... you are trying to sell your product to the most customers.
So what are the objective principles that I can set down, having just recently finished all three of these increasingly crazy works?
A lot of what I can say I found on wikipedia, unfortunately. I haven't learned too much from reading them... yet.
First, these three works, when construed together, represent a movement. From a typical Beckett plot, then stripped down some, then stripped down to pretty much nothing. Ramblings; a conflict between a desire to continue and a desire for closure and conclusion; that is all that is left by the very end.
There is a person behind the text that becomes increasingly apparent as the stripping down occurs. In a sense, Beckett himself becomes more clear. This is a personal observation... not really an objective thing I can rely on.
I read one piece of criticism that related Molloy to CG Jung. I am a bit annoyed at this... segways into the realm of psychoanalysis, which I feel is too... what's the word? specialized, yes. Can't sell my product as well.
I am particularly interested in this idea of existentialism-- not the precise understanding that is developing in the philosophy departments across our nation and the world, but mainstream existentialism. I think Beckett is key to this. Call it a hunch. Call it something I remember someone saying in passing once. The idea is there, and it's stuck.
Fragments of philosophy are all over the place in Beckett's ramblings. I feel that I am the common man, desperately trying to solve an enigma. What will I discover? A personal truth? Beckett's truth? Or something in between?
How has this idea changed from the beginning glimmers of this gold we call existentialism? Is it fools' gold? That's not my question to answer. I think it is real gold to many people. I think it is gold to me. But I haven't found it yet. It's not tangible enough, not yet.
Rumination...
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Trilogies
Trilogies are like trinities, like triangles. There are a work split into three pieces, and they each contribute to the whole. But it is also defined by what it is not, a single work, and so the three pieces individuate themselves through their distance.
A question:
Is each piece of approximately the same length/volume/object?
An answer:
I see no reason to say yes. A triangle can be isosceles. A trinity operates as one entity represented in three different ways; the three sides would thus just be three different ways of viewing the same side. Properties such as size, shape, or length would thus be insignificant.
A question:
What is a trilogy?
An answer:
This is a difficult question. I can only address it if it's broken up a bit more.
A question:
Why would someone split a single work into three parts?
An answer:
That is not a very helpful question to ask, I think. Commonly, I suppose, the answer is for marketing purposes. By hooking people on the first part, you can ensure the success of the next two. But why three? Why not four, or five, or seven? The answer is because it's traditional. It's the way things have been done. Humans are things of habit, that's all; stories have beginnings, middles, and ends.
Q:
What can be said about the connectedness between the parts of a trilogy?
A:
The only thing that can be said is that there is some common thread of thought to all of them. There is an element of unity. The answer lies in the question, unfortunately... there is nothing more that can be said other than that there is some connectedness.
I am thinking about Beckett's trilogy, specifically. It is hard. I feel... there is a lot of similar thread in all of them, but what bothers me is this recycling of names. The second part makes reference to characters in the first part, and the third part makes reference to chars in the second and first parts.
So in a way, they are chronological. But so is time, and... the way memory works, I suppose, is being mimicked, but what's really interesting, actually, is his reference to chars in novels written long before any of these parts of "the trilogy."
A question:
Is each piece of approximately the same length/volume/object?
An answer:
I see no reason to say yes. A triangle can be isosceles. A trinity operates as one entity represented in three different ways; the three sides would thus just be three different ways of viewing the same side. Properties such as size, shape, or length would thus be insignificant.
A question:
What is a trilogy?
An answer:
This is a difficult question. I can only address it if it's broken up a bit more.
A question:
Why would someone split a single work into three parts?
An answer:
That is not a very helpful question to ask, I think. Commonly, I suppose, the answer is for marketing purposes. By hooking people on the first part, you can ensure the success of the next two. But why three? Why not four, or five, or seven? The answer is because it's traditional. It's the way things have been done. Humans are things of habit, that's all; stories have beginnings, middles, and ends.
Q:
What can be said about the connectedness between the parts of a trilogy?
A:
The only thing that can be said is that there is some common thread of thought to all of them. There is an element of unity. The answer lies in the question, unfortunately... there is nothing more that can be said other than that there is some connectedness.
I am thinking about Beckett's trilogy, specifically. It is hard. I feel... there is a lot of similar thread in all of them, but what bothers me is this recycling of names. The second part makes reference to characters in the first part, and the third part makes reference to chars in the second and first parts.
So in a way, they are chronological. But so is time, and... the way memory works, I suppose, is being mimicked, but what's really interesting, actually, is his reference to chars in novels written long before any of these parts of "the trilogy."
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