Friday, June 17, 2016

Hebrew story telling (II): Once upon a level of complexity

We moderns tend to align our stories with calendars and clocks, even though our memories typically don't work that way (something experienced a year ago may be reckoned nearer by our mind's eye than something that occurred yesterday).

In our modern stories, events are married to specific points in time, and since time comprises countless points, our histories consist of countless events. This is not very efficient and, due to perceived connections between events, will cause a library to grow faster than the events it discusses. Hebrew story telling works precisely the other way around.

Hebrew story telling marries events to levels of complexity rather than points in time. When a moderner tells of a mountaineer on his journey to the top, he'll describe every step forward and every step back when they occur.

A Hebrew story teller would describe the levels of the mountain, and discuss events where they occur. A moderner must tell a whole different story for each additional climber, but a Hebrew's story covers anyone who would ever attempt the climb.

"She/He Who Climbs To The Top" may be one single character in a Hebrew story,
but it would describe everybody who ever played that part.

Simply put: if the "mountain" we are climbing is the human condition, then the Biblical genealogies from Adam down convey the human condition from general to specific. Adam would thus describe the level of complexity which all living things share. Eve, after all, was the "mother of all life," what we today call the biosphere; Genesis 3:20, and the famous "fall of man" covered the whole of creation: Romans 8:22.

At the level of complexity described in Noah, humans can be distinguished from animals (see Matthew 24:39: "they knew not until the flood"; also see 2 Peter 2:12 and Jude 1:10), which means that Noah's three sons -- Ham, Japheth and Shem -- represent the most fundamental distinctions of human mentalities.

A second major advantage of Hebrew story telling is its lavish use of fractals and broken symmetries. That means that a certain narrative principle can be evoked at any point in the story, like a snippet of autonomous computer code that can be called upon from anywhere in the master code.

The Mandelbrot Set is a fractal that shows the same general form at different levels of complexity.
The Hebrew Bible works the same way.
An example of this is the principle story of the Father with the Three Sons, which is told with the father being Adam (and his sons Cain, Abel and Seth) and told again in Noah (and sons Shem, Ham and Japheth), and again in Terah (and sons Abraham, Nahor and Haran) and again probably in the parable of the talents (Matthew 25:15).

There's advanced knowledge of light and relativity theory captured in the inner structure of the Hebrew language (see our article on the words nur nahar), and the Story of the Father and the Three Sons is probably also applicable to light ("father" White and "sons" Blue, Red and Yellow).

Two stories that are somewhat the same convey additional information in the matter in which they differ, and the more instances of the same principle story there are, the more additional information can be conveyed: in the differences between the differences (put mathematically: 3 versions lead to dAB, dBC, dAC but also d[dAB-dBC] and so on).

But this system also predicts that when the similarities of obviously differing stories are understood under the umbrella of an overarching principle, all stories should eventually marry into one, utterly primary principle. Science has dubbed this utterly primary principle the Grand Unified Theory. The Bible calls it, or rather Him, the Word of God, or Logos.

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