Two is the New One
You’ve probably heard the expression, ‘All is One’. This is a popular claim amongst mystically inclined physicists, an increasingly rare breed, and amateur Buddhist philosophers, disturbingly less rare with every passing moment. During my monk training we studied ancient sanskrit texts discussing Oneness at great length. Oneness, it turns out, is not only surprisingly complex, but is a well established concept. In number popularity contests, One consistently performs well above average.
Yet the all embracing wisdom of Oneness was recently called into question when a certain emerging intellectual giant (also known as ME) posed the following probing query: “I know that a lot of wise people, like Krishna and Werner Heisenberg, maintained that All is One, but from where I’m sitting it looks like at least two.”
It is a sad testimony to the lack of deep reflection as a habit in our dominant culture that this Earth shattering observation had close to zero impact on the public mind. In other words, nobody heard me.
But all was not lost. You may have heard of the popular TV show, Orange is the New Black. This title is literally nonsensical yet I owe the author my gratitude, for this phrase inspired the name of my brilliant new theory: Two is the New One.
Two is the New One
Catchy isn’t it? But what does it mean? And what bizaare context gave rise to this brilliant new philosophical concept?
Bizarre is the right word. Let me explain. My Russian friend, Zhanna, embodies enthusiasm and positivity. Negativity is not part of her mental vocabulary. Naturally, this compels me to make fun of her as often as possible in order to restore balance to the natural order. And of course she doesn’t mind because, as an embodiment of the positivity principle, she is incapable of minding.
Zhanna is a member of our group that meets to sing and meditate together. Each Tuesday, once everyone arrives, I ask them to share a highlight from their week, or tell us something special, such as a favorite book or piece of music. Whatever it is, it is supposed to be just one. Not three, not seven, but one. Which seems pretty straightforward. I mean, I know squirrels who can count to one. It is also worth noting that Russians tend to score particularly high in international mathematics competitions. This is a genuine fact.(the bit about the Russians, not the squirrels)
In our little group of 10–15 meditators there are a lot of smart people. One week we had four Phd’s between us. None of them were remotely related to me but I felt very intellectual just being in the same room with all those brain cells. So I’m pretty sure everyone there grasped the concept of One. Including Zhanna, who, tragically, only has a Master’s Degree, but is nonetheless definitely smarter than even the cleverest squirrel. So there is no possible way that she does not understand the concept of One.
But there was one problem (not two, and surely not seven). Remember we were supposed to be sharing highlights, or best things of some kind? From the unique Zhanna perspective, life consists entirely of highlights and best things. Her modus operandi is to be constantly on the verge of bursting with enthusiasm. You know that kid in class, (invariably a girl — think Hermione Granger), who always knows the answer to the teacher’s questions and raises her hand in an agony of desire, desperate for a chance to demonstrate her intellectual prowess. This obnoxious archetype makes the rest of us look bad and is super annoying.
Zhanna’s eagerness to share her joy about life in general reminds me of that archetype, yet it has a different quality, an innocence devoid of hubris.
To ask Zhanna to pick just one highlight from an entire week seems like an unreasonable request. Try as she might, she cannot restrain herself to a mere one. She always smiles with joy and says, ‘I know we’re only supposed to share one, but I’ve got to tell you about this!’ Whereupon she happily goes on to relate her little tale which, even if it were the most boring story in the world (which it never is), would have seemed delicious, simply due to her unquenchable enthusiasm.
But rules are rules, and for months I held out, patiently explaining to Zhanna that one equals one. Then one fateful Tuesday, I weakened. As convener of the group I wielded my dictatorial power recklessly and granted Zhanna a special license to share two items rather than just one.
Hence: 2 is the new 1. You see? Clever isn’t it?
This worked fine for the first couple of weeks. I patted myself on the back for cunningly re-directing the wild and dangerous Zhanna energy without entirely losing control of the situation.
But on the third week, when Zhanna had finished explaining in joyous detail why she has two favorite colors, the yarn of peace binding our little circle began to unravel. The next person after Zhanna did not stop at one story. She seemed to think that by granting Zhanna this special license, I had granted permission to her as well. And sure enough, everyone started taking liberties and presenting two stories or anecdotes. It was chaos! Zhanna didn’t say anything, but her facial expression was clear: Now she wanted three…
What began as a loose patch of snow was becoming an avalanche and before I knew it we were fully into ‘too many stories’ mode. As I watched our little oasis of civilization dissolve into barbarism I had pause to reflect why we have laws in this country, and in mathematics, and why judges are so wary of ‘precedents’. Little had I imagined the dark place where my moment of misguided compassion would lead.
This evening our formerly pleasant and relaxing little meditation gathering took a still grimmer turn. I asked everyone to tell us about a book they found particularly inspiring. Andrii, who, you guessed it, speaks Russian (he’s actually Ukrainian), in the new spirit of sloppy interpretation of my ‘suggestions’ (aka ‘rules’), instead spoke about a spiritual philosophy series on Youtube, which is in Russian. So to enjoy it, we all have to learn Russian. Then he told us about a book which sounded really brilliant. But you can only actually appreciate it if you understand string theory. Now deeply intimidated I plaintively asked if we can choose — if we might perhaps learn either Russian or string theory, because learning both sounded kind of hard.
But no, came the reply. Two is the new one. ‘Wasn’t that your idea,’ I was reminded and there I was, hoisted upon my own petard. So now I have to learn both string theory, and Russian, neither of which I am remotely capable of. Apparently all Russians learn string theory in kindergarten.
Spare a thought for me in my plight. Our former happy circle, where life was simple and we all shared just one item of delight each week, is now a maze of impossible challenges and unsolvable riddles, all in Russian. Or Vietnamese. Or Urdu.
Let this be a lesson to us all lest in our hubris we seek to improve on the work of our Creator and fall into the abyss like Lucifer before us. My advice to you, to avoid a similar fate? Stick to established truths. Think, FACT, FACT, FACT. Remember: Orange is not Black and never will be, even if you live in a lightless cave. Orange is still orange. And One remains forever One.