The River Styx (Canto XX)

My theme pursuing, I relate that ere

We reach'd the lofty turret's base, our eyes

Its height ascended, where two cressets hung

We mark'd, and from afar another light

Return the signal, so remote, that scarce

The eye could catch its beam. I turning round

To the deep source of knowledge, thus inquir'd:

Say what this means? and what that other light

In answer set? what agency doth this?

Canto XX

"But 'on the earth' already means 'under the sky'. Both of these also mean 'remaining before the divinities' and include a 'belonging to men's being with one another'. By a primal oneness the four - earth and sky, divinities and mortals - belong together in one."

Heidegger, Building Dwelling Thinking

In a dark and lonely ocean, we seek a lighthouse to help us to shore without knowing whether there is either shore or lighthouse. We find only each other in the darkness but the similarity of our positions gives us little to no comfort. Sometimes there are lights in the distance but there is no way to know whether they are lighthouses or mirages born of desperation, and by the time we sail close enough to find out we may be too far from a lighthouse to ever reach the shore.

We are caught in the thick of it. Cast into existence blind and without the guiding perspective of memory, we are compelled to act without the knowledge requisite to properly guide our actions. Living in the thick, we are shipwrecked sailors desperately trying not to drown in the stormy, quiet blue seas of life.

Found as we are in this dire state, none of us has the privilege of idealism. We must make do with what we have. As we are cast about, we gather what debris and shrapnel we find, binding it all haphazardly together to form the feeblest of craft and shelter. With nothing but our makeshift ships and the forever chaos of the storms outside, it is no surprise that we take great pride in our crafts, thinking them right and strong and reliable. But in this, not one of us is justified.

Perhaps we can commend each other for the skillful pragmatism and constant improvisation requisite for building such strange ships as ours, but even the best of them would pale in comparison to the worst ship built at a proper docked haven. Nevertheless, ours is ever a task of imperfection and loss. There are no docks, no ports, no sheltered landed havens. Nothing but the forever chaos of the open sea. 

Built by the sheer force of necessity, our feeble constructs are called true so long as they protect us from the storms. But the sea of experience is vast, and its currents vary wildly from one region to another. That ship which sails true and easy through one stretch of life can find itself utterly obliterated by the unknown tides of the future.

If the makeup of our respective vessels is always in flux, by what measure may we know the truth? Is the truth to be found only when we willfully depart from our crafts, and cast ourselves back out into that chaos storm we have ever feared? Must we stake ourselves naked and exposed to the elements if we are to truly know reality? Or is there another way?

Sailing through the very life of life, we are without any point of reference by which to measure life itself, and therefore lost to a pure understanding of its truth. Since we cannot stand without, we must dwell within, and cast about blindly for our answers. Though our crafts are feeble, the construction thereof nevertheless serves as the first step toward the experiential discovery of life's true path.

In the beginning, everything is unbound, open and chaotic. From this, we build our crafts, creating within them a singular world where all is sensible and right. We hide out in these, our solitary worlds, for as long as we may. But soon enough, experience challenges our ideological safeguards. The winds drive us far off course, and the strength of the ocean starts tearing our rafters asunder. Reality impresses itself on us, and we must look past our singular self-containment to discover our place in the larger sea. No longer do we hide away, but instead embrace that ours is a world of opposition.

But this is not the final movement. The truth is not divided. It is a unity. So too, we are not divided against our world. Its movements become our movements; its will, our will. The ravages of the storms without become the impetus for our growth within. The course of its currents shapes the constitution of our beliefs and identity. Yet we are not perfectly identical with our world. We stand apart, and are fundamentally capable of experiencing disconnect and alienation.

Paradoxes abound. We are divided against reality, and yet unified with it. We are singular creatures, yet we always stand in relation to others. Which level of analysis paints us the true picture of how things are? Which state of understanding carries us transcendentally unto the ever coveted view from without?

In truth, there is truth everywhere. It is only by acknowledging the full omnipresence of the truth that we can begin cultivating our understanding toward a total comprehension. Truly, we are isolated. Truly, we are divided. Truly, we are unified. Truly, we stand apart. All these things are true.

Passing through the four, we arrive at the one. Each and every level of analysis implicitly contains the other three. We are as this, we are as that, we are as both, we are as neither. All these things are true. There is a simple oneness in this fourfold passing from illusion unto truth. Look to this unity when seeking the truth in full. The nature of reality, living life always in the thick, is such that our truths can only be arrived at with certainty by way of a transcendental movement.

It is only by way of the four that we discover the one.