We begin, dear boy, by defining a point—
σημεῖον, in Euclid’s Greek.
Zero length and zero width, zero
height, zero dimension. Zero substance,
mere indication, indistinguishable
from nonexistence—yet distinct.
On this invisible foundation
by surest logic we construct
our world. What is a line but points,
a plane but lines? What is a circle
but a set of points—of zeroes
equidistant from a zero? Thus
from nothing we derive perfection.
All else follows. Segments, angles,
polygons and polyhedra, Pythagoras
and Ptolemy and Plato, the five regular solids,
the heavenly spheres, sweet music
of the spheres, the earth a sphere revolving
round a sphere. Picture the sun as a basketball…
Yes, spheres and globes and basketballs,
and cylinders, mere circles piled on circles, holding
oatmeal, pots and pans and spooned brown
sugar, molasses, island plantations,
slavery and conquest, caravels with triangles for
sails that circumnavigate the globe, triangle
trade and revolutions, as of spheres, and civil
war and politics. Elections. Electric
light and darkness, Zippo lighters, candelabras,
Liberace, Lawrence Welk and Lady Gaga,
Laurie Grossman, making out backstage
in high school, lips like honey-
lemon Halls, and lace-trimmed panties.
Men have fought wars for less—
for nothing, come to think, which was my
point. All comes ex nihilo.
All comes to naught. Our sweetest
loves are cruel, and sense made mere excuse
for madness. Thus senselessness
is made our surest sense! The only firm
foundation’s nothing, and the light
of reason emanates from shadows. If
we stand upon the shoulders of a giant,
where does the giant stand? Best not look down.
Any questions? Excellent. Now
onto lesson two: the queue.