The cycle of opposites
What we mean when we say it’s hot and cold
A philosophical concept that I often misinterpret is Socrates’ cycle of opposites. In my mind, this refers to the idea that life consists of infinite binaries that cannot exist without the presence of the other. I use this to reason the existence of bad things or experiences by telling myself that without the bad, good cannot persist.
According to the internet, Socrates’ Argument Of Opposites posits that everything that comes to be, comes to be from its opposite. The simplest way of explaining it is: fire is characterised by heat, and heat is by definition, the opposite of cold; yet fire does not materialise from nothing. It emerges from heat which at one time or another was or will be cold.
I suppose my own definition isn’t too far removed from what Socrates was philosophising. The part that confuses me is the crux of Socrates’ argument – something about souls being imperishable and forms being eternal and unchanging; but that part doesn’t really relate to the truth of this newsletter, which is fundamentally about the inextricable relationship between hot and cold.
If I were to philosophise over something it would be that hot and cold is the most elemental and truthful binary that exists in our lives – and the existence of both is instrumental for us to survive amongst one another.
And then there is the hot and cold of intimacy. Elasticated desire. The heat of passion that intensifies and makes us excited to be living breathing moving bodies.
I used to believe this was the key ingredient of love: a sense of drama, an obstacle standing in the way (of what? Reality? Mundanity? Normalcy?), the seeming high stakes of something built on sex. These were things I chased and chased until eventually I tired myself out.
What happens after the heat reaches its peak? I once asked a former flame this and he couldn’t answer because we both knew that we could never sustain this feverish impulse. The flame may grow and flicker and burn wildly but eventually it must be put out, return to darkness and go cold.
To oscillate like that is not to be in love.
In writing this, I’m poking holes in my own theory. Mine suggests you cannot have one without the other. It presents hot and cold as absolute opposites (as well as suggesting that the existence of these opposites allows each of them to exist in a silo). And while I won’t cosplay intelligence and pretend to understand Socrates’ whole Phaedo spiel, I can see that his definition offers a more nuanced way of looking at our experiences. That we must hold both ideals at the same time. It’s more than just balancing the opposites, but allowing them to exist simultaneously, constantly.
In interrogating this idea, I’ve realised how much I rely on binaries to explain away the complications of life. In my mind, things either are or they are not. I am either enraptured or I’m uninterested; ravenously empty or sick with fullness; craving community or in need of solitude.
I think of the Guinness soda bread ice cream, cold custard and piping hot deep fried bread and butter pudding at Cafe Cecilia. The similarly constructed wispy clouds of green tea soft serve that melts into Hong Kong style French toast at Shack Fuyu. The shards of ice I pour into a warm soy sauce brine for my favourite kind of chicken to bathe in. Lying in a bath or sitting in a sauna and reaching for impossibly cold water that feels like a lifeline as it drips down your throat and seeps into your brain so intensely that you can hear it pulse in your ears.
In eating and in cooking, I can hold hot and cold simultaneously in my hands. I have a taste for both. These aren’t binaries or opposites but instead simply elements that must coexist in order to create something good or pleasing or intriguing.
On my left forearm there is a burn, about an inch wide. I was pulling a pan out of the oven and for a brief moment, my arm touched the top of the oven. That was a heat that seared my skin and left a mark that will eventually fade, but not disappear.
I suppose what I’m learning is that it’s not always about balancing out hot with cold; but instead constantly towing the line between both, and realising that together they can offer up something that is just right.
