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Audio Essay: Emptiness as the Center

The center is a crucial element of every composition. The central motif, the central pillar, the center of focus. In everyday language, when we try to explain the concept of a center, we are guided by the logic of position. The center is a location. However, that same center can also be explained through its content. In terms of content, the center differs drastically from what surrounds it. It is not merely in the middle – it is different.

It is precisely this difference of the center – its ontological, not just geometrical nature – that this text attempts to articulate. Through examples from spiritual practice, psychological dynamics, and philosophical thought, we will explore the idea of the center not as a place, but as emptiness – and not just any emptiness, but a positive, functional, and ontological one.

Something about Silent Retreats and Depression – and How They Relate to the Center

On Silent Retreats

The concept of a silent retreat intrigued me from the very beginning. I first encountered it more intimately through the lectures of Alan Watts, where he mentions Hindus who abandoned everyday life, went into the forest and solitude, and practiced active forgetting of language to reconnect with their own (instinctive) nature. He describes how these people killed off their “individuality” and functioned entirely spontaneously, fully surrendering to the inertia of context. Although I cannot fully grasp this idea, I can to some extent identify with that state of consciousness.

Years ago, when I first learned that language is not acquired like other sciences, but rather that we are preprogrammed for linguistic adoption, I had an epiphanic realization: that without language, I would fully immerse into my animal being. My assumption at the time was that, stripped of language, I would be reduced to basic instinctual impulses – hunger, fear, sexuality, primal movement.

Silence Before Meaning

Pre-conceptual thought, or the “house of being,” as Heidegger would call it, is the ontological site that precedes all language. It is a state of consciousness that is unarticulated, unexpressed in words, and thus hard to describe. It’s difficult to speak about this “house of being” because it is, in essence, non-contentual in the classical sense – it contains no images or words, only the potential of form.

Plato, in his theory of ideas, mentions the “Idea of Differentiation.” This idea is the foundational law by which things, in their deepest structure, differ from one another. On the conscious level of the ego, we perceive this difference through comparative analysis of content. But Plato would argue that the “Idea of Differentiation” is not necessarily content-based, but logos-based – that it exists beneath existence, before manifestation. It doesn’t distinguish by what, but by how.

Silence as Method

In my view, silent retreats trigger something I would call artificial depression – and in doing so, they help people. As strange as that may sound, I will try to explain what I mean.

Depression as a Corrective

As I’ve moved through life, I’ve reached one conclusion. Depression – and here I don’t mean clinical depression, but the common, existential kind we all face from time to time – emerges as a consequence of poorly constructed systems of value and meaning. As human beings, we have a natural need to orient our existence through a value system. However, being imperfect, we often make mistakes in that delegation. Depression arises as a corrective mechanism.

In other words, depression is the negation of a value system. When we are depressed, nothing holds meaning or value. We become indifferent to both the external and internal world. I believe this is how the subconscious protects the whole from the errors of consciousness. When consciousness loses orientation, the subconscious revolts – radically:
“If you cannot establish values correctly, I (the subconscious) will return you to ground zero – where nothing has value, and nothing has meaning.”

That moment of total meaninglessness is what I call the starting point. In that emptiness, new meaning can be built. Without it – no true reconstruction is possible.

How Do Silent Retreats Lead to This State?

At the core of the silent retreat is non-linguistic experience. The idea is not to speak with others, not to write anything down, and – as much as possible – not to talk to ourselves either. Since our value delegation is primarily linguistic, the silent retreat introduces a complete counterpoint – a non-linguistic marking of reality.

What happens then?

Individuals begin to feel mood shifts, bodily sensations, spontaneous impulses, emotions without narrative. Neuroses, or repressed complexes, which were previously fenced off by language and thus kept under control, are now unleashed. Language no longer acts as a barrier – and the repressed comes to consciousness. These manifestations are not necessarily pleasant – often disturbing – but they are liberating.

The experience that follows is cathartic. The silent retreat, as a non-linguistic mechanism, provides a moment of release from the rigid constructs language often cements. Complexes can then emerge, no longer as unspoken problems, but as living beings, bodily experiences, images, intuitions.
The individual, in this non-linguistic space, leaves an empty center of focus – like a vessel. That emptiness is not nihil – but a functional ontological emptiness. Something ready to receive what has not yet arrived.

The Configuration of Central Value

A central value must have a negating nature. It must be an antithesis to everything previously held as thesis. Only in this way does the center become dynamic. And movement is life (Leonardo da Vinci).

Movement is exactly what is lacking in depression. Depression is a state of stagnation, of freezing. And a static center – whether it’s an ideology, goal, or dogma – creates a monolithic structure that limits the soul’s needs.

“Art for art’s sake,” Kant would say.

Regime art, in contrast, is impoverished political propaganda. Within it, there is nothing unpredictable, nothing unexpected, nothing magical. And the phenomenon of the soul, if it is to be likened to anything, resembles an artwork more than a political doctrine.

Corrective truth, as Heidegger would call it.

Homo Universalis, said Weininger.

Thesis and antithesis, as method.

If the center contains an intuited thesis – then truth demands an antithesis as correction. Dynamism is the ontology of the center.

Identity Through Negation

A child builds identity through negation:

“I am not my exterior,”
“I am not my parents,”
“I am not the objects I possess,”
“I am not my finger.”

Therefore, I am what remains – and that “something” I don’t know how to name. That is positive emptiness.

An adult, however, affirms their weaknesses – acknowledges errors and attempts to integrate them. They hope correction is possible in a new context. And that too is positive emptiness – a place for a future whole.

Such systems of negation confirm Heidegger, Weininger, Jung, and Buddha. Negation, when directed toward synthesis, can be a system of construction.

The spider’s web illustrates this vividly. A series of threads woven into a system, with emptiness at its center. That emptiness is not absence – but an ontologically active center. The point where the spider sits is not semantic – it means nothing – yet it holds the structure. It is an anchor point.

The Burden of Meaning

“Man must move between meaning and meaninglessness like a snake.” – Vladeta Jerotić

Guided by this quote, we can conclude that even meaning has its antithesis. Those who feel an inner need to bring all aspects of life under the umbrella of “meaning” know how burdensome that need can become. Meaning tends toward unification. It tries to subsume everything into one. This process leads toward ideas, but simultaneously drifts away from the material world, from motion, from everyday reality.

This isn’t necessarily bad – but it mustn’t become the everyday home.

Conclusion: The Center as Sacred Unknowing

The central element is not only positional but also semantic.

The irony is that this semantics is not something concrete – but a negation of semantics itself.

Sacred unknowing, the theologians would say.

Anti-knowledge, said Philemon.

The center as functional emptiness – the beginning of all meaning.

Not a place of dogma, but of openness.

Not meaning – but space for meaning.

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Symbolism in Architecture: Crafting Spaces that Speak

Architecture is more than the physical act of constructing buildings; it is the art of shaping spaces that communicate with the human spirit. At its core, architecture harnesses symbolism to create environments that resonate on a deep, subconscious level. Through the thoughtful use of forms, materials, and spatial relationships, architects can craft structures that go beyond mere functionality, becoming vessels of meaning and narrative.

Archetypes as Foundations

To understand the power of symbolism in architecture, we must look to the archetypes—universal symbols embedded in the collective unconscious. These are the foundational elements that inform the design of spaces, drawing on ancient patterns that have been etched into human experience over millennia.

Imagine a community space that blends the essence of the past with the vibrancy of the present. Here, the design subtly evokes the timeless archetype of the “village square,” a place where individuals come together to form a collective whole. This isn’t just a functional gathering spot; it’s a symbolic representation of communal life, where tradition meets modernity in a seamless dance.

The Language of Forms

Symbolism in architecture operates through a visual language—a carefully constructed grammar of forms, materials, and spatial dynamics. This language speaks to us not just on a conscious level, but on a deeper, more instinctual plane. The challenge for the architect is to balance the literal and the symbolic, creating spaces that are both functional and rich in meaning.

Consider a museum where the walls seem to whisper stories of both the past and the future. This space is designed not just as a repository of artifacts, but as a living narrative, a place where visitors can engage with history in a way that feels immediate and relevant. Here, the architecture itself becomes a medium for storytelling, weaving together different temporal realities into a cohesive whole.

Evolving Symbolism

Symbolism in architecture is not static; it evolves with time, adapting to new cultural and societal contexts. A building that once symbolized power might, over the years, come to represent resilience or transformation. The most successful symbolic architecture is that which remains relevant, resonating with different generations while preserving its core meaning.

Imagine a structure that challenges our perceptions, blurring the line between the real and the imagined. This is a space where architecture takes on a phantasmagoric quality, inviting us to question our assumptions about what is tangible and what is not. Such a design doesn’t just occupy physical space; it inhabits the mind, prompting us to explore the boundaries of our own understanding.

Conclusion

In the architecture we create, symbolism isn’t just an afterthought—it’s the essence that breathes life into the spaces we inhabit. By tapping into the deep well of archetypal imagery, we transcend the mundane and craft environments that speak directly to the human spirit. Each structure becomes a dialogue between form and meaning, where every line, every material choice is infused with intent. In this way, our buildings do more than house—they communicate, they resonate, and they invite us into a story that is as old as time yet ever-evolving. Here, architecture is not just a profession; it is a mythic journey, where each project is a step towards understanding the deeper truths that lie within and around us.

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“One on one, even ten on ten, we are embarrassingly similar to chimpanzees. Significant differences begin to appear only when we cross the threshold of 150 individuals, and when we reach 1,000–2,000 individuals, the differences are astounding.” (Y. N. Harari, Sapiens). The greatest strength of humankind is not within an (or even the) individual but within the collective. If we know that this is true, why are the works of art still made by the individuals?

Historically speaking, with few exceptions all to film, art has always been defined through the creator and interpreted through his individual work – opus – the product of one person. Remember paintings, sculpture, music, architecture, prose, poetry and film as well as theatre, ballet, performance, etc.

On the other hand, in the period between the 18th and 19th centuries, science slowly begins to understand its own stubbornness in individual creation. After accepting the united creation method (which means that there is no more “one man band”) an unseen exponential development emerges. We would not be wrong to say that the last two centuries have been marked by science, not by art. Hence the age of information. Thanks to this science we have come to the greatest transformation in the history of civilization.

As a consequence of it, we live in a time in which almost every individual carries the amount of knowledge that could not be imagined in the past. The development of science has resulted in an extension of life, an overall increase in the scope of education, leisure time (even to the level of boredom) and the rise of the general comfort of life.

On the other hand, art somehow stagnates and cannot be pulled out of its frames in which it is defined and interpreted. Even in the era of mass-production of art, artist are still individuals limited to themselves or a certain number of specifically picked people/creators (orchestra, film, theatre etc)

Still, the situation may not be what it seems like. The human world may have truly created an artwork as a product of a collective rather than a single or a limited number of creators. Due to the fact that this is a collective work, it is completely unusual. It’s so strange that in the strict (philosophical or broader, theoretical) sense, it cannot be called artistic, but meta-artistic work of art. It’s so strange that it’s left unseen, although it’s been in front of us for quite some time. Is this meta-artwork the Internet? Let’s make a thought experiment. Let’s try to look at the Internet as a singularity and not a plurality (ie. as one rather than many) and then to simply put this in the context of aesthetical observations.

The newly emerging phenomenon is an artwork that has been created and is still being created. In addition, it is also a tool for creating and a place for consuming. So, if we look at things from this angle, we see that established schematic changes in three essential relations: creator – work; work – consumer; consumer-creator. In the most plastic sense, this new-born relation now looks like this: The creator-consumer stands in front of the screen as before the final manifestation of the meta-artwork.

Is this idea in any way contrary to the artistic definitions we had?

If we make a small step of common sense and will and put aside the intuitive recognition of an artwork (intuition as an emotion), which, we should not forget, is the result of two narrow reference frameworks, we can look for contradictions in the real knowledge we have.

What happens if some of the creators of the previously based observation of the artwork are set before this phenomenon? Do their opinions confirm or deny the idea of the Internet as a meta-artwork?

Plato believed that the essence of the art was to simulate reality. The Internet does not only replicate external phenomena to the border of hyper-reality but in the sum of these replicas builds itself as a world for itself. Seling argued that an artwork must set up a whole universe within itself, or, in other words, it must build an autonomous world. The Internet world is not only real in one fantasy-based sense, but it is actually completely independent of every fantasy. Social networks are virtual (which is not the same as non-real) place where the phenomenon of the inner autonomous world arises. Jung gave two basic models of artworks: the harmonious completeness and suggestive incompleteness. In its parts (web portals, networks, etc.), the Internet is harmoniously completed and taken as a (still)-developing singularity (the process) is suggestively incomplete. In the end, did Eco not show a change in the aesthetic standard (change of the ideas of beautiful and ugly through the ages)? In this case, the aesthetic standard is so far that we do not have capacities for its complete determination. Even from the perspective of moral values (the difference between good an evil), internet again provides an ideal image for the interpretation and a discussion of the world in these categories.

Thus the internet as the work of the next category – meta-art – encapsulates all previous definitions in the absolute line.

In a descriptive sense, the Internet is not just a network because it is singular. The Internet is one and it has it’s space and it’s time. From these elements, a mechanics of events different from the one in the “offline world” is created. That it has its own space is clear and that needs no more explanation. As for the time – it passes faster, although the basic measurements are the same as on the other side. In addition, these elements produce a bunch of brand-new and autonomous phenomena (subcultures etc.)

Hence, the Internet is a truly existing world (it should be remembered that the virtual does not mean non-existing) with its own space, time and mechanics.

However, as the pragmatic value of an object goes “up”, the aesthetical value goes “down” in the eye of the one who is using it. And internet exclusive had pragmatic or use-value from the start. Whit the passage of time, the Internet only existed in the context of mere practicality.

The screen is a portal to the world of a different, non-linear and non-successive hyperspace. This space (world) holds nearly the entirety of the knowledge of humanity, and we can access any part of it within seconds.

This world, besides holding knowledge and information, has such a complicated structure that it can satisfy most of the curiosity-induced needs. A place where it is equally possible to work, to rest, to entertain, to socialize, and to learn; a place with internal hierarchies in which, through our own online avatars, we get a reward for merit and condemnation for the opposite.

Simulating the feeling that our thinker from the past would have in front of this portal is not entirely possible. Still, we can get close. That thinker would look at this collective meta-artwork, probably in a similar manner to that in which we would look at Borges’s Aleph.

Written by:

Luka Stojanovic

Mihailo Stojanovic

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