2022/08/09 The Edge of the World
Many think the Earth is a globe spinning around an axis spanning from pole to pole. If you are a geographer, a sailor, or a an aeroplane pilot, this is a perfectly reasonable way to understand the world; yet if you've never left your country and travel very little, it seems a little absurd. Why is the pole - the axis mundi, the centre of the world - a cold, barren wasteland? Why is all life and reason centred upon bleak nothingness? If you ask me, seeing the centre of the arctic as the pole is an ec-centric view: a mis-centred and mis-aligned view of the cosmos. Historically, the pole has been in Jerusalem, as any mediaeval map shows:
The map above is a little later than mediaeval, as the inclusion of America suggests, but the general scheme common to many maps of the era is demonstrated. These maps are topological rather than topographical: they aren't trying to show the graphical (graphein) or perceived view of how the land masses are oriented, but rather show the logical (logos) or relational view. With these maps, there is a clear centre around which the world rotates; not an arbitrary topographical one, but rather a specific topological one. Instead of giving sailors directions, as the topographical map does, the topological map gives people direction. It orients us in a far more profound sense.
Keeping the distinction in mind, I'll proceed to mildly doxx myself. Recently, I went to South Africa to see family (I am half Greek and half South African) to a town in the Karoo desert where they live. There, my brother and I went on small adventures with my uncle who's a local country vet to watch/help him do a variety of procedures (mainly horse castrations). The Boer farmers we met were enormous. It's no wonder the British had such a hard time in the Boer War. They stand six foot six at a minimum, and their hands when you go to shake them are nearly twice the size of one's own. They are true giants.
On a more personal note, I've never known how to relate to my South African side. There's the smoggy haze of recent politics which obfuscates the understanding of the country's spirit and core beneath a miasma of guilt and resentment. The last time I went, however, I realised what South Africa's meaning is: South Africa is the edge of the world.
Britain, the country I was born and raised in, was once the edge of the known world. Looking at the map above, Britain hangs off the edge of the European lobe, like a kind of distant splinter from the continent - and to the Roman mind, Britain very much was the distant island of much speculation and wonder. The first Roman to land there was of course Caesar on his expedition to a near mythical land famed for its giants. There, he was greeted with battle hardened Celts who warded him away from their barbaric island of human sacrificers. The sentiment continued into the mediaeval era, even though Britain was very much Christianised by this point, in the form of Arthurian legend. The crazed happenings in Britain, with monsters and debauchery, are a kind of manifestation of Britain's edge-ness. The centre of the world, historically seen as Jerusalem, is a kind of lighthouse bathing the world in the logos; and the further out you travel from this centre, the more the logos begins to break down, spawning giants, chimeras, and immorality (greater fallenness).
In this light, South Africa too is the modern edge of the world. Strange chimeric megafauna, backwards morality as the last racist state, and giant Dutchmen; all the qualifiers are there. Also South Africa is very far away - almost as far away as you can get - in the southerly direction of the African landmass, much like how Britain's as far as you can get on the European landmass. Now granted, there's also Madagascar and Ireland, but they're even more out there; Madagascar for it's bizarre fauna, and Ireland for its faeries. On the Asian landmass you get Japan... somehow I've collected a trifecta of edge nations. But note how Japan also has this allure of the edge: a land of famed for their idiosyncratic culture and, unfortunately, hentai (but no large people). And of course Australia, a country which many say is literally upside-down, continuing the antipodean (opposite-footed people) story descending from Plutarch
Why is this important then? The topology of your map is important - whether you acknowledge it or not, it's always there - and to discover the centre instead of letting it be picked for you aids you in balancing yourself. Many see the US as the modern world's centre, since it's the current seat of worldly power; but the Atlantean continent hardly deserves such a title. There is a kind of antipodean inversion to much of American culture, making it an unsuitable centre. For me, recognising South Africa as the edge of the world, as a frontier, helped me understand what that aspect of my blood meant, and how to relate to it as part of my identity. After all, only through maps can we begin to understand the territory.
I shall return to the differences between topology and topography in the context of worldview in a future article.
The map above is a little later than mediaeval, as the inclusion of America suggests, but the general scheme common to many maps of the era is demonstrated. These maps are topological rather than topographical: they aren't trying to show the graphical (graphein) or perceived view of how the land masses are oriented, but rather show the logical (logos) or relational view. With these maps, there is a clear centre around which the world rotates; not an arbitrary topographical one, but rather a specific topological one. Instead of giving sailors directions, as the topographical map does, the topological map gives people direction. It orients us in a far more profound sense.
Keeping the distinction in mind, I'll proceed to mildly doxx myself. Recently, I went to South Africa to see family (I am half Greek and half South African) to a town in the Karoo desert where they live. There, my brother and I went on small adventures with my uncle who's a local country vet to watch/help him do a variety of procedures (mainly horse castrations). The Boer farmers we met were enormous. It's no wonder the British had such a hard time in the Boer War. They stand six foot six at a minimum, and their hands when you go to shake them are nearly twice the size of one's own. They are true giants.
On a more personal note, I've never known how to relate to my South African side. There's the smoggy haze of recent politics which obfuscates the understanding of the country's spirit and core beneath a miasma of guilt and resentment. The last time I went, however, I realised what South Africa's meaning is: South Africa is the edge of the world.
Britain, the country I was born and raised in, was once the edge of the known world. Looking at the map above, Britain hangs off the edge of the European lobe, like a kind of distant splinter from the continent - and to the Roman mind, Britain very much was the distant island of much speculation and wonder. The first Roman to land there was of course Caesar on his expedition to a near mythical land famed for its giants. There, he was greeted with battle hardened Celts who warded him away from their barbaric island of human sacrificers. The sentiment continued into the mediaeval era, even though Britain was very much Christianised by this point, in the form of Arthurian legend. The crazed happenings in Britain, with monsters and debauchery, are a kind of manifestation of Britain's edge-ness. The centre of the world, historically seen as Jerusalem, is a kind of lighthouse bathing the world in the logos; and the further out you travel from this centre, the more the logos begins to break down, spawning giants, chimeras, and immorality (greater fallenness).
In this light, South Africa too is the modern edge of the world. Strange chimeric megafauna, backwards morality as the last racist state, and giant Dutchmen; all the qualifiers are there. Also South Africa is very far away - almost as far away as you can get - in the southerly direction of the African landmass, much like how Britain's as far as you can get on the European landmass. Now granted, there's also Madagascar and Ireland, but they're even more out there; Madagascar for it's bizarre fauna, and Ireland for its faeries. On the Asian landmass you get Japan... somehow I've collected a trifecta of edge nations. But note how Japan also has this allure of the edge: a land of famed for their idiosyncratic culture and, unfortunately, hentai (but no large people). And of course Australia, a country which many say is literally upside-down, continuing the antipodean (opposite-footed people) story descending from Plutarch
Why is this important then? The topology of your map is important - whether you acknowledge it or not, it's always there - and to discover the centre instead of letting it be picked for you aids you in balancing yourself. Many see the US as the modern world's centre, since it's the current seat of worldly power; but the Atlantean continent hardly deserves such a title. There is a kind of antipodean inversion to much of American culture, making it an unsuitable centre. For me, recognising South Africa as the edge of the world, as a frontier, helped me understand what that aspect of my blood meant, and how to relate to it as part of my identity. After all, only through maps can we begin to understand the territory.
I shall return to the differences between topology and topography in the context of worldview in a future article.