A DISCUSSION OF OPPOSITES

Hrwyfy in four-part opposition

We have found expressions of bilateral contrast embodied together in the figure of a Hrwyfy, paired in the union of an Indra-Sachi, or set one against the other as with God and the Devil. But we have also seen these very expressions manifest in such trinities as Horus-Seth-Apep, Indra-Sachi-Airavata, and Jove-Satan-Lucifer. Meanwhile, we have found the very integrity of Indo-European culture disassembled into four or five separate, often antagonistic components. Likewise, we have seen our initial dichotomy of Red versus White somewhat confused through alchemical blendings of Red-White-Gold, Aryan diffusions of Red-White-Black, and potential amalgams of all of the four. Now competing, now combined. Now two in number, now any number you like. One questions what weight, or even reality, we're to afford the very notion of opposites in the first place. Recalling, here, the fluid ambiguity found within such previously met colour terminology, and given the underlying implications of perceptual/conceptual relativity, would we be at all justified in asking what portion of these so-called opposites might fall under the same rubric of mere linguistic construction?

That opposition is largely a phenomenon of language may, indeed, be an idea worthy of some further examination — especially considering that language has been the primary focus of our studies thus far. If we view language as an arbitrary threshold between ensuing opposites, the situation, in some fashion, appears reminiscent of our ruined progression of multi-dimensional gateways in which the path from one side to another can lead in any number of directions. In other cases, though, our paths to opposition would seem blocked, or lead to nowhere at all. If we return, then, to our "two lonely portals" of the broken Humber Summit bridge, we'll encounter just such an example.

Anyone who appreciates the odd moment of solitude or privacy will likely have noticed there is no precise opposite of "lonely" in the English lexicon. As a result, in seeking respite from any madding crowd, or even a close gathering of friends, it is often difficult to excuse oneself from polite company. After all, what can one really say? "I'm sorry everyone, but I'm just feeling a bit..." What? It is perhaps symptomatic of the inherently social nature of our species that thesauric lists of relevant antonyms (when any can be found at all) seem only to suggest ingravescent stages of some permanent pathology (i.e. introverted, reclusive, hermitic, antisocial, misanthropic), rather than supply direct counterpoints to the normally passing emotion that is loneliness. "Retiring," perhaps, comes closest as an adjective, although it remains grammatically out of place in the sense we're looking for here: "I'm sorry everyone, but I'm just feeling a bit retiring...retirery...retired..." What? On the other hand, one might argue that the true opposite of loneliness is not to feel "retiring" at all, but rather to find oneself presently content among others; another condition without any specific terminology. In this case opposition seems dependent on one's current state — whether one is alone or not, and whether one is pleased with their situation or not — which would all seem to beg yet a fourth neologism.

Of course, "lonely" does not stand alone it its lack of linguistic opposites. There are numerous words without any satisfactory antonyms. And for some, while there is no obvious reason that they shouldn't have any, there is also no obvious reason that they really could. Take "bathos," for instance, of which the standard definition involves, in itself, a transition between two opposites; namely a descent from the sublime to the ridiculous. As such, would the antonym of "bathos" be simply an ascent from the ridiculous to the sublime? Or, rather, would it be a situation which is neither sublime nor ridiculous, but, instead, one which is the opposite of both these states, i.e. banal and respectable? Here, the logician may draw a distinction between reverse and contrapositive opposites, or make reference to contradiction, contrariety, and alternation. Likewise, the grammarian may speak of complementary, gradable, and relational antonyms, while the mathematician and physicist each has his own particularized jargon. All such phraseology, however, depends on an initial concept of oppositeness, which generally suggests some absolute binary incompatibility, and would thus seem to preclude any such array of variants. So what exactly do we mean when we speak of such things?

Double-headed hermaphrodite holding a mirror; detail from the Splendor Solis

In considering the subject of opposites one often conjures the idea of a mirror image. But when facing a mirror is one truly facing his most opposite form? Or are there, in fact, degrees of opposition? True, in a typical reflection your features will appear reversed. But in certain fun-house mirrors they may appear both reversed and upside down (inverse), which is surely even more "opposite." Yet even this can be improved upon, for wouldn't the opposite image of your face actually be the back of your head (obverse)? Or perhaps the heels of your feet (converse)? Would then the ultimate opposite reflection be some bizarrely reversed inverted obverse conversion? Or is it still more antithetical to display your image turned, somehow, inside-out as well — or, to reflect someone (or something) else entirely? Then again, would not the true opposite image of anything actually be an image of nothing at all? A non-image?

Implicit in the idea of any exact opposite seems to be the concept of negation. Indeed, another common emblem of opposition, along with the mirror image, is the photographic "negative" image. Likewise, opposites are reflected in mathematics by way of the "additive inverse," or negative numbers, while in physics matter holds either a positive or negative electric charge. Antimatter, the opposite of regular matter, will thus have the contrary charge and quantum numbers of its counterpart — and if ever the two should meet they would instantly annihilate each other, leaving only a void. In the same way, an equal combination of positive and negative particles results in a "neutral," or nonexistent charge, whereas an equal combination of positive and negative integers results in nothing but zero.

The coming together of opposites, however, need not always imply nullification. In fact, the very idea of "opposites" seems to have opposite connotations, for, as we've already seen, they are often involved in creation as well. Male and female join to create offspring, black and white blend to create grey (or red and white, pink, in our particular case). In the Hegelian dialectic thesis and antithesis are required to create synthesis, while any two logical opposites, when accepted simultaneously, create a paradox. Similarly, it is often noted that opposites, by nature, sustain each other's existence. "Without pain there is no pleasure," you have surely heard it said. "Without darkness there is no light," et cetera, etc. Such pairs, then, tend to create middling states between two extremes (like numbness and murk in the preceding instances). Certain pairs of opposites, though, seem not to have any novel effect on the world. It is not clear, for example, that inside and outside, on and off, or even life and death combine to create, or negate anything. As all opposites go, then, they would seem, like electric charges, to come in positive, negative, and neutral varieties.

Opposite faces of the same coin flipping between dual and triple visages;
from a 4th century BC silver piece (possibly minted at Tarsus, southern Turkey)

This notion of opposites which come in threes extends into other areas as well, challenging the standard binary model of opposition itself. Winning, for example, is universally accepted as the opposite of losing. Yet, in a game, one can also tie. But tying a game is not merely some transitional halfway point that one must pass on a spectrum between losing and winning (as, say, middle-age would be on the spectrum between young and old). Tying is a separate outcome, just as possible as a loss or a win; a third option in a ternary system. As such, this option creates a triangular relationship between all three outcomes — and, of course, a triangle is notable for having no opposite points, or parallel sides. Rather, sides oppose points and vice versa. Is, then, the true opposite of "winning" some hypothetical outcome between a loss and a draw?

Such questions would seem to illustrate how ill-defined and arbitrary the idea of opposites can be; a concept often highly reliant on context, or even culture. When asked what the opposite of dog is, for further instance, the most frequent, almost automatic reply is cat (at least within the English-speaking world). Yet there is no readily apparent reason why this should be so. Both are animals, mammals, and common household pets; four-legged and furry, close cousins in the evolutionary family tree. In many, if not most respects, they are actually more similar to each other than any other two creatures one might pick at random. Perhaps, then, this is simply a matter of seeking opposites where none need be sought. Yet even in more firmly established opposites one will find such similarity by dint of their very relationship to each other: black and white, after all, are both colours; up and down are both directions; happy and sad are both emotions. Indeed, for two things to actually be opposite they are generally required to be similar in some respect; to share some common characteristic, lest they be merely irrelevant to each other. Odd, then, that the antonym, or opposite of "opposite" is generally given as similarity or sameness. More properly, the antonym of "similar" is simply different. Yet to be similar things must also be, in some ways, different, or else they would then be identical.

From this strange situation a sort of diametric dialectic results, in which synthesis breeds antithesis. Push and pull, for example, may be opposite actions, yet as actions they now share in opposition the concept of inaction. Of course, this process seems eventually to reach a conceptual limit, for what exactly are action and inaction opposite components of? Potentiality? And then what is the opposite of that? Non-potentiality? From here we quickly find ourselves in a vague nether-realm of obscure ideas and abstraction; a well-spring, perhaps, of ever higher-order notions, as yet unconceived — or, perhaps, merely a vortex of perpetual confusion and progressive insanity. It may suffice for most to say that, as far as our current lived experience goes, action and inaction are as close to genuine, absolute opposites as we can get — and beyond this there lays only that one ultimate opposition of things, concepts, and existence versus nothing, silence, and the void.

Still, for some, the urge to create something out of nothing persists — to posit opposites where none have previously been apparent, or simply to produce them out of thin air. As we have seen, certain ideas like "lonely," "bathos," and even "opposite" itself seem to call out through the gaps in our vocabulary for commensurate antonyms. But do all things contain within themselves their own contradiction; a mirror or negative image which can then be called forth at will? Through language this is easily, if rather cheaply done by simply adding a non-, un-, in-, dis-, or anti- prefix to any word one wishes to oppose. But, of course, such fabrications often leave their speakers wanting. The task is never truly complete, it seems, until a concept can stand on its own two feet; encased in a term of its own unique etymology — or, at least, in one bolstered by generations of previous usage. Merely contrast the semantic weight of "cold" versus "un-hot," or "young" versus "anti-old" to test this theory. Such constructions are typically ambiguous as well. If something is "un-hot," for example, it might just as well be lukewarm as cold. Then consider some other coinage like "un-computer," or "anti-nose." Do such words automatically confer a new and specific opposite idea, or do they simply name some gratuitous category of all things which aren't computers, or isn't a nose? As necessity generally precedes invention, one tends toward the latter. But, then, who's to say how necessary "necessity" really is — and in what degree to whom? Certainly anyone born sans-proboscis could argue the concept of "anti-nose" with greater conviction than the rest...or, at least, experience said concept if it could not quite be explained.

In the end, it would seem, we are still left asking whether an antonym need be absolute or universal to truly be antonymical; and, if so, do any antonyms — do any opposites at all — truly meet these criteria? The Pythagoreans (at least according to Aristotle) held that there were 10 fundamental opposites. Given all the conceptual vagaries with opposition, however, could it be that the actual number is somewhere closer to infinity, or zero?