Aphorisms can be seen as an art: making the best connection between
existing knowledge so as to reveal some truth through the shortest expression.
There seem to be two conditions for achieving this: first, the aphorism
must be both profound in the thought that it expresses (not just a commonplace
or triviality) and the language used must be strong yet terse. If all of
these are achieved, the aphorism can be both enlightening and memorable.
Very few philosophers have tried to use this approach in their philosophy,
although it was certainly there in the Ancient tradition of the Chinese
sages, as well as in the writings of Parmenides and other Ancients. More
recently, Nietzsche and Wittgenstein seemed to write almost in aphorisms.
Here Zura Shiolashvili sets out to prove the case.
A word is like a brush that paints a picture, and its creator tries
to breathe heart and a soul into it, whilst simultaneously expressing the
sounds of nature, philosophy, music... An aphorism is seen then as a merging
of art and philosophy - the separation of which, one from the other would
leave just small pieces, devaluing that eloquent picture intended to guide
us towards the truth.
Or an aphorism can be characterised as being like a valuable stone.
The purer a stone is, the more precious. The same too, with the thought.
But thoughts from the top of the true art have to captivate us not only
with the beauty of their summits - but with the depth of their precipices
as well. And these are precipices that should be filled with love - for
the more saintly the basis of thought is, then the more brilliance its
fruit will display, and it is the brilliance of the colours of this very
fruit that represent philosophy. The fruit is its wisdom, the sainthood,
its truth.
The free body with its instinct is the same beast that fights for existence.
As the equilibrium of life is in pleasure, the beast is excited towards
a pleasure by that bestial part which is within it. For the gained freedom
is the loveliness of its passion, in this loveliness it gratifies the whim
and finds its equilibrium.
It is difficult to be heartless by bewitching senses and allowing their
jollification in the vivifying world. To go deeper - is it worth sacrificing
ourselves for the pleasure of such attractiveness if it betrays the genuine
essence - betrays the beauty? And when the glamour of body subjugates us,
displacing that love which embodies our second source of cognition, our
conversion into mere animals is happening.
To be insatiable with brutish passion is to be similar to the swine.
Yet, in spite of that, the symbol of the swine's freedom is dirt . . .
life is pleasant even for the swine. In the end, to close the book, we
can give to all colourations of these views another face with the same
meaning. If we tie together these points in one bunch of ideas, and then
model a little sculpture from them, like a sample of art, indeed this should
not be named prose, poem or wisdom, but merely the sculpture that it is.
But its philosophical idea will be common for all of them . . .
Embroidery of each word with the thread of truth provides us not only
with a supply of meaning to mediate on, but physically impacts on our feelings,
making us more humane. In the emptiness of consciousness with the image
of thoughts, it sparks such a beauty that before it the whole brightness
of materialism is seen to be worthless.
Answers to questions connected with the spirit and its values too often
leave a distinct emptiness in the heart, and the reason for this emptiness
is the superficiality of these answers. Imperfect, they are unable to exist
long. In this way aphorisms claim to be to be the beautiful answer for
the replenishment of this emptiness.
One of the main functions of the frame by which they are styled is the
personification of the punctually exact thought. On the one hand, as the
complicated solution of an equation, which always gives our consciousness
a possibility to breathe out, on the other, this solution reveals a grain
of the new thought that is by now philosophy in itself. The content of
wisdom could be called a key to a science of the soul, the science through
which we shall create and conceptualise ourselves. For if we cannot conceive
ourselves like this, what are we? Where are we from?
Scientific research about the universe is unconsummated - a frame made
for the picture and not vice versa. The limit that divides and connects
the soul and material world is that miracle we call God - and for believers
the belief in this miracle will lead to a solution to the equation - to
the questions science and philosophy generate.
One of the main reasons for matter's formation is in the emptiness in
which it is yielded up, and without which it could not exist. So, it is
that with the blend of the matter and emptiness, existence springs up this
is where the thought builds its nest. If we recognise that this world embodies
the little fruit of cosmic energy in which the thought exists, how much
more real is the existence of such an element? And then the Questions:
What is thought? From where has it been originated? Through what kind of
nature do human minds mediate ?
Philosophy is unimaginable without wisdom, or is it that wisdom could
not be without philosophy? The essence of both is truth, and their indivisible
connections may be the only true art - so without this art both wisdom
and philosophy are unimaginable. With it, their harmony is like the perfume
of that fascinating garden which makes us drunk with the hope of eternity.
And to be fully sober in such a garden is not only the negation of their
beauty, but a kind of blindness too.
True words always charm and stay invariable. Through their thoughts
we go somewhere far away, and not only to this extent. And the beauty of
that perception which only human nature can neither imagine nor create
nor conceptualise...
To the aphorisms...
About the author
As I approach that thirty-nine year marker, I realise that I face three
choices: to become a Beast, to become a slave - or to become crazy. Of
the three, the way of the crazy seems the least unattractive, and I should
confess that I have already reached a certain level.. And to be in such
a country as Georgia is today, I prefer to stay as the fool...
Comments to:
Zura Shiolashvili, email: zuraandyetfight@hotmail.com
For publication of my writings my special thanks to:
The editorial board of The Philosopher, and Martin Cohen through
whose efforts many versions for this publication have been done;
the online magazine New York Review
and Janice Curran-Koppell;
to Dawn A. Phillips,
S. Rebecca Bamford,
Simon P. James,
at Philosophical Writings.
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