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From: Tom Steele
Date: 25 Dec 2001
Time: 14:39:23
Remote Name: 64.12.104.36
On Nothing I consider nothing to be more of a concept than a word. The word nothing suggests “no thing”, a tangible representation, a symbol of a uniform definition. Although the word nothing frequently peppers casual conversation, its context is twisted and dark, and difficult to navigate. I have explored the vast caves of nothingness, plunged into its murky depths, and have found that they yield a forgotten treasure and insight into the human condition. Caves, like the many furrows of this single word, are not uniform, and contain vast, undiscovered paths and twisted geography. Consider the lie of nothing. A bald, middle aged, sullen man enjoys a quiet anniversary dinner with his beloved. He is correctly attired, donning his single pressed suit and cornflower blue tie. A loving father and devoted husband, this software engineer peacefully sips his French Onion soup in the center of the trendy restaurant chosen by his wife. The short table between them, with its pressed almond tablecloth and off -white napkins, holds elaborate place settings awkwardly close for this phase of life, and far too intimate for subtlety. A breezy, golden, young goddess drifts past the tired couple, briefly locking eyes with the tired engineer. The slight curve of her back, the wash of auburn hair across nude shoulders, and the coy, flirtatious smile of the nymph prove too much for the cornflower-blue-tied-to-his-rumpled-life/wife husband. He forgets himself and his place, and his eyes shine in imagined carnal pleasures with the luscious youth striding past. His wife, an excellent and astute schoolteacher, a loving mother, catches his gaze over her Jumbo shrimp cocktail. Although knowing his answer, as every woman has since the dawn of time, she absently asks what her love might be thinking. Brought abruptly back to his wife, her shrimp cocktail, his soup, and their anniversary, he replies in a studied, even, and practiced tone with the single word spoken by every man engulfed in a similar situation, “Nothing.” In contrast to the lie of nothing, consider its raw truth. As a slack-jawed twenty-something, ripe with the bitter stench of apathy, flaccid in malaise, sinks deeper into the oversized cushions of a worn sofa. Slumped in an upright fetal position, her fuzzy bunny slipper shod feet rest on the coffee table before her. She is outfitted in unfashionably baggy clothing from her private collection, a conglomeration of styles with multiple stains matching the various sundries found at her sides. Her mouth is agape, as a single line of drool oozes from her plumbago lip. She stares absently at Sunday television, with its vast array of hour-long infomercials and programs devoted solely to Gouda cheese. Her brain waves registering alpha, she has slipped into the unconsciousness of her conscious. As the phone rings beside her, she flings a stiff arm to her side, a Pavlovian response from her teenage years. As the inquisitive caller politely inquires about her current activities, she replies in a tired sigh, “Nothing.” Although it can exist as a lie as well as a truth, the actual mirth of nothingness lies in its theoretical implications. Scientific studies covering various disciplines yield elusive results on the concept of nothing. Nature dictates that nothingness cannot exist, as nature abhors a vacuum. If nothing does exist in nature, it is mostly likely contained within the confines of a black hole, where all natural laws are repealed. We cannot consider that a black hole consists of nothing, however, as it consists of that nothingness. Mathematically, the same principle is easily demonstrated. Recall the Freshman Algebra teacher, his voice flat, his eyes dull, standing before the sea of the blackboard. His pointer scraped against that pitch, pointing into its void as he tried to define the idea of nothing. Nothing, in mathematics, is represented by the null set. This is a misnomer, as a set of nothing still contains something, namely nothing. To simplify even further, when the glass of our tired engineer is drained of wine, it sits empty on his table. He considers it to contain nothing, and asks for more Thunderbird. This idea is often confused, as his empty glass already contains particles of air. If his glass, or anything, contained absolutely nothing, it would collapse onto itself. These facts both hinder and define the conception of something that quite possibly does not exist at all. The pseudo-opposite of the former concept, the muddled nothing is yet another phenomena. It contains so much that it cannot be easily defined. Consider a first time novelist, squirreled away in his tiny hovel while toiling at his practice. A thin, overeducated man that has taken to incessant smoking, he is unkempt, unshaven, and unwashed. Having long forgotten a social existence, he merely subsists as he writes, ironically pouring himself onto virgin pages with the hope of changing society. His work is fanatical, as he has redoubled his efforts while losing sight of his goal. His novel is flush with his blood, as he has included everything he is into its text. Its scope is so vast, its themes so complex, the entire piece has become overbearing and unclear. Upon delving into his novel, one is left confused, stunned by its exclusivity, mired in its obtuse, difficult words, that one cannot accurately describe its contents. The best description of the convoluted piece is to remark that it is worthy as a “complete documentation of nothing.” Although comically oversimplified in the above paragraphs, the concept of nothing is often far removed from its literal meanings. Spelunking into nothing reveals its several passages, the multiple caverns of nothingness related to its usage and context. In exploring its difficult simplicity, one realizes the depths of its paradox. Nothing contains much more “thing” than “not”.