Donghoon Gang is an artist, composer, and researcher.
[KR]
[EN]
Score for Light for 影없는 聲音, 2026
Axioms for a Sonic Ontology, 2025
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The fear brought on by absence lingered on intensely. Just as each creation had felt wondrous, the certainty of the inevitable annihilation of a thing, of something, filled me with an equal sense of dread. I, too, was an unwilling part of that something, and so, along with my own birth and the gratitude for what had continued after, an unknowable yet persistent fear of my impending absence was instilled in me. The thought that my meager history would be annihilated as soon as my fleeting time, scarcely granted in this ever-expanding universe, ran out—it was this vast reverence towards such an extreme infinity and the pessimism towards a finite life, which, endlessly chasing their own tails, kept the younger me awake through many nights.
It was not that I had the audacity to dream of immortality. From a young age, I had heard of the tales of Xu Fu徐福, who, at the command of Emperor Qin Shi Huang秦始皇帝, boldly promised to bring back the elixir of life, but failed even in his last stronghold—which happened to be my own homeland—and spent his last years in fear without the cure for eternal life. So I had no need to add another tale of failed heroism to this place where all possibilities had already been denied.
Since I needed some form of comfort to soothe my anxiety, I attempted to embrace the absence, or even further, the very nothingness itself. The value zero in the Arabic numeral ‘0’ was rarely considered a proper number for a while. Since numbers were largely equated with counts, in some sense, it was an obvious affair. 0 existed solely as a separator in the numeric system, and only later did it acquire its various roles: 0 as nothingness (無), 0 as equilibrium, 0 as the origin of coordinates, 0 as default, 0 as empty space, and 0 as a number itself[1].
The sole comfort granted to my extension—barely occupying a corner of the infinite space where boundaries were unimaginable—was the 0 as nothingness, which, however, excluded the possibility of the creation that I vaguely hoped for. The 0 I had sought after, as the foundation of all being, the precedent of all things and where absence fails to exist, turned out to be the 0 as emptiness (虛). Over time, my form will eventually become as infinitesimal as air that it will no longer be perceptible; despite all, the belief in emptiness—that it disperses into the vast whole, the very foundation of all—brought me a strange sense of liberation and excitement.
.
From where it all began, there was a single, minuscule dot. This dot, which I marked with the sharp tip of a pencil in childhood and regarded as the smallest unit of existence, was long used in India as a symbol for 0.That fragile being, a dot like that of a puerile desire to signify the moment of departure originated from nothingness, which bears the image of the 0 as we know today: one with an infinite, circular boundary surrounding an empty space; also which, at the same time, breaks free from the shadow of nothingness.
Even as my being detaches from my body and disperses throughout the Whole, I begin to doubt whether the minimal unit, as a justifiable part of my being, might be even finer than this miniscule dot, perhaps finer than the air they spoke of. What endures all the possible fragmentation; what is the fundamental essence of all being; what embodies oneness and unity has no extension beyond itself—they called it the Monad and gave it the number 1.
The Monads, as the fundamental units constituting nature, cannot be created or annihilated through natural processes. Since monads have no parts, they cannot be broken down into smaller parts to vanish, nor can they be created by the aggregation of parts. Monads can only be created from nothingness through divine creation, and only be annihilated back into nothingness through divine dissolution. Moreover, they are not gradually created or annihilated; they are created and annihilated all at once[2].
Leibniz attributed divinity to this smallest unit, which cannot be created and annihilated in the principles of nature, and referred to it as a perpetual living mirror of the universe[3]. He argued that each Monad, while having its own particularities, contains within itself, as in a microcosm, an entire principle of the universe. The various anatomical components of the body, namely cells, form a complex of countless subordinate monads. However, the subjective monad that constitutes my identity and consciousness is one and only. In other words, each of us is our own universe.
What should be noted here is the closedness of the monad. Leibniz uses the metaphor, “The monads have no windows, through which anything could come in or go out[4],” to explain that if monads were influenced by anything external, they could no longer be considered complete and independent entities. As this would contradict his concept of substance, each monad is not intersubjective and is alone complete.
If that is so, is my universe truly complete?
..
My universe, in its so-called completeness, is constantly reaching out to other universes, touching and feeling their being. Beyond any doubts or beliefs about any being other than myself, my manifestation and their corresponding responses serve not only as proof of their being but also as an echo, as a reminder of my own being. In each moment, a trace is left on one another. Between the memory, as solidified layers of each moment, and the remembrance of its absence, something faintly arises—that is undoubtedly emotion, as well as the way each universe attests the other, and the evidence of that bond.
However, this emotion is more than a mere reflection of a fleeting moment of mutual accord. It is another being created at the intersection of my being and theirs. In other words, it is our universe, where we are surely creating something together in our interactions, and thereby adding to each other.
According to Leibniz, this interaction is constantly changing and moving according to a pre-established harmony[5], and thus it would be no more than a phenomenon. He referred to the state in which these various interactions are represented and transferred to one another as perception, and the movement as an internal principle that causes the transition from one perception to another as appetition[6]. Leibniz’s appetition has no particular subject or goal, but is simply a fundamental impulse to initiate change, as well as an inner drive toward completeness or harmony of the Whole.
However, beyond our appetition, we have anticipations. The anticipation that the transformation resulting from appetition will fulfill our current appetition tranquilizes our current appetition with a faith in the promised future. The chain of appetitions and anticipations in us simultaneously illuminates our lack and the possibility of fulfillment, as well as the present and the future.
These appetites and anticipations extend beyond personal experience and, through perception, manifest as emotion in our interactions with others. Depending on the encountered other and how my appetition and anticipation align with theirs, emotion is created as a unique universe between us at each moment. This multitude of emotional universes make us laugh, and also cry, bridging the gap between us. Amidst all the countless variety of emotions, we give names to define only a selective few.
The emotions that share a principle with us have both universality and individuality. Though each is unique, by way of naming, they demand an emotional concordance from others in the name of empathy. Distinct yet alike, we sway between the particular and the universal, pushing and pulling against each other over sameness and difference.
As such, we look towards, away, and back.
—
One is whole, and through Two, reaches the completeness of Three. The Two, which mediates and arbitrates between One and Three, inherently signifies opposition and division. However, because they progress toward wholeness through opposition and denial of phenomena, they ultimately denote creation. So long as the other exists, we inevitably live through countless cycles of division and unity in our relations.
In the 5th century BCE, Greek philosophers referred to the principle of the Two or Otherness as the Dyad. They believed that the Two rebelled against unity, deviated from the sacred Monad, and symbolized an irreverent departure from the Whole and the Primordial Good.
One can also note that the Indo-European root for two implies a sense of badness. Both the Greek prefix dys-(as in dyspepsia) and Latin dis-(as in dishonorable) derive from duo[7]. Furthermore, in words like dubious and doubt, as in the German Zweifel, reveal a sense of existential denial or disbelief, since doubt can possibly signify a split in the mind.
Because to doubt is to split the mind into two.
The basic principle of the Dyad is duality and polarity. The tension between two poles manifests as oppositions, contrasts, and differences in all natural and human affairs. While the Dyad appears to contradict unity, the paradox lies in the fact that the opposing poles remember their origin, and together as one, pull each other back to the origin, eventually forming the basis of all creative processes[8].
The ultimate integration of division and polarity becomes possible through a return to the One or a dialectical movement towards the Three, which, however, only offers us direction and remains within the bounds of finite human life. We, lingering in the position of the Two—caught between the unreachable One and Three—may indeed seem fated to tragedy. However, within this tension between poles, the history of differentiation and development begins, and creation unfolds. In this process, we can glimpse the possibility of hope.
At last, the Dyad’s most defining attribute emerges: boldness. As we separate from the original oneness, boldness and courage are granted to us, but they come with their share of turmoil and suffering. My once complete universe, upon encountering another, dares to fragment, stirring within me a profound longing and an aching sense of incompleteness.
If the longing to find the missing half, as described by Aristophanes, is the essence of human desire, then what exactly are we searching for? In the end, as we escape the Two, do we long to become One, like Janus—forever tethered, yet unable to truly face one another? *
trans. Donghoon Gang and Yeshin Lee
[1]
Newton Press, Newton Highlight: The Physics of Nothingness and Being, Seoul: iNewton Co., 2017, p.6.
[2]
Seongu Yun, Leibniz: The Monadology, Seoul: Institute of Philosophy, Seoul National University, 2004, p.54.
[3]
Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, The Monadology, trans. Robert Latta, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1898, §56.
[4]
Ibid., §7.
[5]
A detailed discussion of Leibniz's pre-established harmony can be found in The Principles of Nature and Grace Based on Reason, §§3, 15.
[6]
Woojin Han, A Study on Movement and Interaction of Monads, Seoul: PHILOSOPHICAL FORUM, 25(0), 1997, pp.133-157.
[7]
Woojin Han, A Study on Movement and Interaction of Monads, Seoul: PHILOSOPHICAL FORUM, 25(0), 1997, pp.133-157.
[8]
Michael S. Schneider, A Beginner's Guide to Constructing the Universe: Mathematical Archetypes of Nature, Art, and Science, New York: Harper Perennial, 1995, p.24
*
The last chapter of this text, '—,' has been revised and expanded in the preface of Donghoon Gang's solo exhibition, attacca, titled The Dyad: From Dot to Line.