#toblerone theory of knowledge

[gallusrostromegalus]

If you please; what is your Tolberone theory of knowledge?

My theory, which I thought up a few weeks ago while sick with covid, is that all knowledge is a form of art, and that there are very broadly three basic types of knowledge arts: physical arts, philosophical arts, and scientific arts, and that pretty much all academic, artistic and practical disciplines exist somewhere in that triangle spectrum.

Physical arts are knowledges of how to actually, physically do things. The purest front of physical arts are things like dance and navigation.

Scientific arts are knowledges of things that can be tested and proven. Computer programming and Quilting are both scientific arts: they work, or they don't.

Philosophical Arts are knowledges of things which while not objectively provable, are still very real. History and Being A Good Listener are philosophical arts.

Nearly every discipline of knowledge is some combination of all three. Cooking is largely applied chemistry, a scientific art, but it's also a philosophical art because flavor is extremely cultural and contextual, and a physical art because you have to know how to hold the damn knife and heat when it's done.

The first part of toblerone theory is that, like how each piece has three sides, any given project needs at least one person who has a good grasp of each of the underlying arts involved or it's going to go sideways at best. For example:

Physical and Scientific arts, no philosophy: Jurassic Park. They need someone to point out that, while very possible, it's not necessarily a good idea.

Philosophy and Science, no physical: that dril tweet about the forum debate locked by a mod after 12,000 pages of heated debate. They need someone to drag them away from the keyboard and actually do something.

Philosophy and Physical, no science: that cult in midsommar that put a guy in a bearsuit. Without the ability to engage measurably with the world, they give into fear and behave like reactive animals. Also the "rare chicken steak" phenomenon.

You can have differing ratios of each type- Jurassic Park really only needed two philosophers: one animal behaviorist and an OSHA inspector, and 98% of the issues would have been avoided- but you do need at least ONE of each underlying art to check each other's work.

The second part of toblerone theory is that, like how the toblerone is made of many triangle pieces, there are poles to the triangle spectrum. Practical vs Esoteric arts. Short term and long term arts. High stakes vs for funsies arts.

While you have have different ratios and levels of expertise in each of the arts, you do all need them to be on the same piece of the bar, or they won't take each other seriously. A UN Diplomat and a climate scientist aren't going to take the advice of physical artist my uncle Bobby the plumber re: global warming, but they will take the advice of physical artist my Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer, a world expert in getting shit done.

The same applies for the other end of the spectrum. Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer isn't going to get much milage with the local high school student council and principal Waley when the problem at hand is "what are we going to do for this year's prom theme?"

I gotta go to therapy now, pictures later.

[definegodliness]

Age of reenchantment

About a hundred years ago the term disenchantment was first-time coined, a theory predicting the corrosion and end of superstition, mystification, and religion by virtue of scientific enlightenment. However, on the scale of time, knowledge has always come at curves and dips, and travels onward upward in wavelike motions. After all: the more you learn, the less you know. It's like painting on an ever-expanding canvas, and the paint used to initially outline the bigger picture just won't stick on a couple of crucial areas where we, mankind as a whole, would like to see some detail. Then, the more we use the same paint to continue painting, the more gaps will appear on the canvas.

The more gaps scientists let appear on the canvas, the more dire the need becomes for more lenient out-of-the-box thinkers; philosophers and dreamers, who just slather all kinds of materials on the painting to see if something sticks. These are the new-age magicians, alchemists, and oracles. They slather whatever at their leisure. Yet, in that lies their strength. After all, some of the greatest epiphanies have been sparked upon the middle ground between free and empirical thinking. When both worlds collide we see the universe unfiltered. Then, the ever-expanding canvas in our metaphorical museum makes more sense, and we can all dab around with that brand new paint. What a joyous prospect this is.

However, until this happens once more, I do believe it's safe to say our latest age of disenchantment must come to an end. It is time for an age of brand-new reenchantments! Let's see where that takes us.

I'll lead the way.

We're leaving the ever-expanding museum which contains the ever-expanding canvas which depicts the ever-expanding painting behind us, and find ourselves on the Matterhorn. The Matterhorn? Yes, the Matterhorn, the Swiss Alps' most famous mountain. We're here because I'm doing field research regarding the Holy Triangle, or whatchamacallit. You know, that prism shaped thingy encompassing The One. Colloquially and affectionately called the Toblerone. See, I've found a hidden map on one of the Toblerone’s classic yellow packages, and, I kid you not, it clearly depicts the peak of Mount Matterhorn.

Before we continue, I might have to illustrate my relationship with the Toblerone, which I will do by sharing the tanka I wrote, overcome, and first-time swirling in the overwhelming euphoria of its chocolate gooeyness:

Come the day I die It won't matter if I'll go Surrounded by love Or abandoned and alone I will go out with a smile For I've tasted Toblerone

As you can read, it was a devotional experience. And seeing as we now live in an age of brand-new reenchantments, I decided to do my part and lay my life in the hands of the Toblerone. Embarking on a quest for higher truth, which I was convinced I would find there, at the summit of the Matterhorn.

I came well prepared, having tediously studied the sacred text 'Insanus Est Qui Legit', wherein an author whose name has sadly been lost to time, meticulously describes the preconditions needed for a spiritual revelation. Such, so it appeared to me, is a thing of complete sacrifice and surrender to the suspected higher power, in my case the Toblerone.

So, before my ascension of the Matterhorn, I made sure my body was cleansed of all impure fuel-sources. Fasting, and surviving on my brand new chewy chocolatey savior alone for the greater part of two months.

Lastly, I roughly estimated the energy input needed to reach the Matterhorn's peak, and divided it by the sacred number 9, which is the exact amount of Holy Triangles one can find in the yellow prism shaped box. On set intervals, I would eat one piece of the 9, until I would reach the summit. There, on that snowy peak so far above the world; with milk chocolate, honey, and almond nougat running through my veins, I would undoubtedly receive my revelation. Makes sense, doesn't it? Like I said, I came well prepared.

And as I came so well prepared, the journey went smoothly. So smoothly I even decided to shed my earthen clothes and do the last bit of my ascension butt-naked. I was confident. Warmed by an unearthly glow, welling inside me. And my heart filled with a childlike sense of joy when I looked up and saw the Matterhorn's proud peak mere meters away. The final stretch. The final piece. I grabbed the yellow prism shaped box and solemnly shook it above my left hand's open palm.

Nothing.

I shook it again, this time harder, yet, again, nothing. Panic struck. And I pressed the bottom end of the box hard, clearly feeling the last piece of Toblerone inside. But it would not give way. It was stuck entirely. I shouted for help, but none could hear me. I was alone on the top of the world. My energy reserves almost entirely depleted. The unearthly glow I had felt made way for a vicious attack of the cold. A thousand daggers stabbed my skin. My breath halted. My blood froze. And I knew I would soon die, there, naked, at the top of the Matterhorn. I faltered. The shivering stopped. And upon my consciousness plucked the sweet temptation of the deathly sleep. My eyelids felt heavy.

In this, what was my death struggle, I experienced one last peculiar rush of hot blood coursing through my veins. And though experts would say it was a sugar rush, I will claim it was the lightning bolt of divine intervention that struck me. In any case, my faith in the Toblerone then doubled. 

Moaning and groaning I used my stiff and numb fingers to frantically shake its yellow prism shaped box. The last Toblerone. The unearthly glow. My only hope. Then, in my darkest hour, right before I gave in to total despair, the world spiraled into a blur, and echoing through the mountain chain, resonating through my brain, I heard the soothing singing voice of Sir Paul McCartney:

When I find myself in times of trouble Miley Cyrus comes to me Speaking words of wisdom

"Let it be."

Another voice. Not echoing, but soft and crystal clear. I mustered all my strength to raise my upper body, and turned my head toward its angelical sound. Peeping through my eyelashes, I saw the brightest of lights. A flashing and sparkling orb of shimmering white and shining silver hoveringly approached me. And from within the blinding orb stepped a female figure, wearing naught but a cloak of the most vivid royal blue. 

Gracefully, she placed one bare foot in front of the other toward me. Never sinking in the snow. Ever closer. Then, the light dimmed and I could make out her face. Her smile was comforting. And I stretched both my arms out to her in helpless surrender. She approached. The Virgin Miley. 

Was I saved? 

Was she a mere apparition? 

No, I felt so as she straddled me, placing herself on my hip bones, right above my pelvis. So sharing her body's warmth. 

Then, she gently took my freezing hands in hers, and forthwith all the pain, sorrow, and fear left my body. I turned mellow and limp. Letting the box of Toblerone slide out of my once clutching fingers. 

Again, that comforting smile. The Virgin Miley seemed pleased, caressing my forehead. I felt safe. At peace, yet simultaneously overwhelmed by the sensation of an ever growing glowing originating from within my chest. Words fall short and I can only describe my emotional experience at that time as the birthing of the deepest rooted love. It was grand. It was unconditional. And I felt it so deeply I found myself wondering: is this what the ecclesiastics called agape love?

However, though grand it was, the sentiment swiftly fleeted when The Virgin Miley took my yellow prism-shaped box, and placed it beside me in the snow. Then, all I could think of was that last piece of Toblerone, still stuck at the bottom of its prism shaped package. It was at the very moment of my thinking that I heard that soft and soothing voice resound again:

"Let it be."

"No. Miley. I will not let it be.” 

I snapped at her. Clutching the box again and frantically trying to shake it empty.

The Virgin Miley shook her head, looking at me with an expression that exposed both a slight disgruntlement, yet far more devastatingly, her deep disappointment. A pang of shame washed over me, flustering my cheeks, and in a stammering mutter I begged her forgiveness. Once more, she shook her head, but in doing so her face turned kind again. Then, in a slow gesticulation, she placed her index finger on my lips.

"Shhh... it's all right. You do not understand. Yet you are only human. You gaze at the world through a magnifying lens, and all that evades the marginal boundaries of its focus eludes you."

She repositioned herself upon me, grabbing my face with both her hands and bringing hers within whispering distance.

"There is much I could teach you, if you'd let me."

I nodded. In awe. Rendered voiceless. The Virgin Miley grinned self-assuredly, apparently satisfied by my permission, and I felt the warmth of her svelte hand flowing down my throat, and further down, until she placed it on my chest, directly above my heart. And as she as such repositioned herself again, I all of the sudden felt a vehemently pulsating incandescence traveling throughout the whole of my body. My every atom, titillating. Pulsating. Bursting. By her virtue, I felt swaddled in what I can only suppose was the universe's purest energy.

She sighed. Yet even in that slightest escaping of air from her lips, the Matterhorn trembled. Her eyes locked with mine and all else around me started to fade to a whirring blur. Those eyes. For a moment they were all that existed. Blue fire. The highest truths flared from them and I could not look away as her thoughts invaded my brain. Her voice resounded without her moving her lips. So near, yet at the same time so very distant, as if her message had traveled throughout the all-time to finally fulfill the purpose of meeting my ears. Here, on top of the Matterhorn, Miley Cyrus came to me, speaking words of wisdom:

"You wanted to usher in an age of brand new reenchantment, but unlike the philosophers and dreamers you identify with; you, in your vain quest for glory, have failed to remain an out-of-the-box thinker.” 

She paused for a second, making sure I comprehended the error of my ways, then continued: 

“Now, let me show you all there is to know when you drop your lens of truth and just... see."

With that last word, The Virgin Miley used her entire weight to roughly bolt down upon me, clutching my shoulders and tightly pressing her limbs and body against mine, wrapping us both in her velvety royal blue cloak at the same time.

"We are one entity now."

And so, I felt the very building blocks of my corporeality dissipate and my consciousness expand to exist far from the bounds of earthen and fleshly temporality. From the very core of our connected being swelled that very same flashing and sparkling orb of shimmering white and shining silver I had seen upon her initial arrival. Soon, I was wholly consumed by light. Blinded, but only for a short while. And when I regained my vision The Virgin Miley and I shot through space in a pulsingly radiating conjoined astral projection. Going against the known flow of time and space in what seemed to be an infinite rising in expansion. 

I watched the birth of our time, the Big Bang in the omnipresent void. Yet as we rose and rose in ascension and expansion, the dark of nothingness swiftly turned to a nightly sky illumined with spattering fireworks, some so grand they reduced our own Big Bang to the 'piff' of a cheap childproof firecracker. And I know we could have gone on and on, ever further, but in hindsight I recognize the only matter of importance in this joint endeavor was the annulling of my every conception of measurable space. Of time's linear flow. Of perceivable and cognizant colored existence. My mind was blasted completely open. This, once more, pleased The Virgin Miley.

"Let me show you all there is to learn, experience, and behold when you take the universe's back door."

Again, a jolt. Like a sudden thud. As if someone had suddenly slammed on the brakes of a speeding car. It indicated the reversal of our astral travel, we were now heading in the exact opposite direction. Collapsing into ourselves. Shrinking. Infinitely shrinking. Past the size of atoms and subatomic particles, of protons and neutrons and quarks, even smaller. The slightest speck of stardust could burn with the power of a million suns, and all around us life was abundant. Life, that would always be invisible to our human senses and limited tools of perception. The Virgin Miley had dipped me into her pool of infinite wisdom. And I wept tears of joy, of bliss, and intellectual euphoria.

She picked up the pace. One last trick to blow my mind from here into ever-after. The black hole. Where the relatively vast and infinitely small coexisted, simultaneously being much larger and far smaller than the other, both affected, and unaffected by time, which flow had turned chaotic. All that existed, existed always, and at the same time it might as well have never existed. 

All flashed me by in the electrification of infinite knowledge, not sparking within my brain, but washing over the whole of me in ever accelerating undulating waves of electromagnetic heat. It was pure ecstasy. Sheer elation. And as I finally ejaculated inside The Virgin Miley's butt-hole, I let out a violent roar. Losing consciousness immediately after. All was dark, yet in the dreamlike state I found myself in, I heard her giggle. Crystal tinkles. Then, I heard her voice rapidly fade in one last message. Softly echoing.

"Think outside of the box, Mark."

My eyes burst open. I was back on the Matterhorn, lying naked in the snow, the prism shaped box held firmly to my chest. Blast. I had been so preoccupied with the conventional ways of obtaining my prize, solely utilizing the predestined path to its acquisition as designed and described by the manufacturer on the package, that I had turned completely oblivious to the easy solution. 'Think outside of the box, Mark.' I thought. 'See things from the other side.' 

With that I turned the prism shaped box around, and opened its bottom side. The last piece of Toblerone let go of its lodged position, and promptly fell into my opened hand. I looked at it for a moment. That Holy Triangle. All the madness it had brought into being. I chuckled. Then, turning solemn, I placed it in the snow before my feet. Mere meters under the Matterhorn’s peak. One lonely piece. The last of the Toblerone. I no longer had need for it.

Lucky for me the Swiss Mountain Rescue operation then came to save me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have lived to tell this story. 

--- 4-1-2020, M.A. Tempels ©

[dairy-of-fucking-isolation]

midnight vampire

She was standing by the bus stop, checking the time for the next replacement bus service. The dread of over an hour bus journey after the 10h shift wasn't a pleasant thought. 

Vampire silhouette of a tall, young guy was looking in her direction. He tried so many scenarios in his head how to spark the conversation.

‘Are you going to Brockley too?’ he finally said. She turned around with a surprised look, as she didn’t know her destination was written on her face. 

‘Yep’ she said quietly, unsure if it’s good or not to start talking to a vampire. His black hair was dropping on his forehead gently and his smile was encouraging. He didn’t seem that dangerous. 

Before she could make any firm decisions about what to think about him, she was already boarding the bus which just pulled over. Of course he found a seat right next to her. 

‘ Do you mind if I will sit over here?’ he asked. She didn’t have much choice apart from just a half nod and a silent agreement. 

I guess there are different types of vampires. This one was a very talkative one and with a quite polite manner.  He knew that she likes Leonard Cohen, so he started his waterfall of questions about favourite songs and poems and how long she loves Cohen and why. She found herself engaging more in this conversation, slowly forgetting about the pain in her back and legs after standing for a whole day. ‘ At least time will pass quicker’ she thought, while the bus was turning around bridges in central London heading towards the south. Every bus stop was like a constant hiccup and heads of all passengers were doing a little, synchronised back and forth dance. 

He was full of energy and was gesticulating broadly. His voice was quite loud, and started grabbing a bit of attention on the bus. She didn’t mind as much and was surprised that she liked his fangs, and that crazy look in his eyes more and more. There was something electric in his deathly danger. It wasn’t just a typical bad boy behaviour. He knew all topics she was fascinated about and she didn’t mind it could be just a trick to get her in. 

‘As long as I’m on the bus, I’m safe. Everyone knows that vampires never attack in public’ she thought. Now, he was talking about his love for David Lynch, his movies, his aurora, his genius. They were exchanging lists of favourite scenes from Mulholland Drive and interpretation theories. Laughing and talking over each other, accidental leg to leg touch. ‘Shit!’ she thought. 

‘ I can’t fancy him! This is the way they find their victims’. 

He was just looking at her with this gaze of disgusting adoration, so not allowed when planning to bite into her neck. He started to like her more than necessary in order to suck her blood. He didn’t connect that well with a human woman in centuries and it was almost annoying to feel all these feelings. ‘ Too bad. She still needs to die’ he thought. 

The bus started to circle closer and closer to her destination, when she realised it won’t actually stop at the stop she was hoping for. She was staring at Google maps on her phone trying to figure out the best way to get home safely. He said ‘looks like we’re neighbours. I can walk you home’. She thought ‘ great. What a fucking polite vampire’. After balancing her two very bad looking options: getting her neck exposed in the darkness to a vampire she was chatting to for the last hour versus going into a total unknown in a very doggy neighborhood - she decided to say ‘yes’ to him. 

Temperature of their conversation dropped as soon they left the bus and reality of the dark streets of south London was trying to high five her worst suspicions. ‘I’m totally fucked’ she thought. ‘So do you live here long?’ she said to him trying to pick up the pace of her walk. 

‘ Long enough’ he replied in a very vampire manner, as who the hell knows how old was he in reality. ‘Do you want some chocolate?’ He asked. 

‘What? Now? Do you have some?’  

‘ Not on me, but at my place. It’s just here’ he said. 

It was pretty damn dark to see her exact face expression, but from a distance it looked like a cocktail of terrified and curious. ‘ Please don’t ask me to come inside’ she thought. 

‘ Would you like to join me?’ he asked.

‘ No, don’t worry I will just wait over here’ she replied, as there was nothing else for her to do.

He left the door open to his flat, you couldn’t see too much apart from some stairs leading to the first floor? What else could it be? He came back as swiftly as he disappeared holding a bar of Toblerone. ‘He is well weird’ she thought when he approached her triumphantly. 

They started walking and eating chocolate and slowly coming back to their previous circle of topics. It was literally no one around and an empty playground was getting bigger on the horizon. ‘Wow! Look at this! Looks like it was taken from a Lynch movie!’ he said, being extra excited about the creepiness of the playground. ‘ and they found her body, with half bitten neck still rocking gently on a swing’ she thought.  ‘Ha right’ she said, trying to laugh out her fear.

There wasn’t anywhere for her to escape and judging by his broad shoulders even her basic knowledge of martial arts won’t be useful enough. 

He reached into his pocket, she obviously thought it was a knife, but then she got confused why it would be a knife as a vampire doesn’t need it at all. 

Instead, he gave her one of his headphones and played a track he knew she loved. She started smiling and feeling a bit more safe, the warmth of a familiar and very much known track made her get rid of the armour of fear. ‘I just need to keep on melting her fright, and she will be all mine’ he thought. Gently, he took her hand and invited her to dance. Headphones did fall over from their ears, but carelessly they didn’t stop dancing. Sound on or sound off didn’t really matter. She started to feel this fuzzy warmness which always successfully destroys women’s awareness of reality. She just needed some validation. ‘A little kiss from a vampire won’t kill anyone, would it?’ she thought.

And then it happened. He leaned in, lips touched and … magic totally didn’t happen, as he was kissing her with so much saliva a dog could drown in it. ‘What the actual fuck’ she thought. 

She was expecting something way better from someone who supposedly should have centuries of experience. Suddenly, his touch began to bother her a lot. It felt clumsy and like a teenage boy making out for the very first time. She realised the necessary plot of action in order to rescue herself. 

‘Mmmm….’ she moaned right into his ear. ‘This feels so good’ she said. She invited him to sit down on the swings in the playground. Keeping it close, but distant enough from more oversalived kisses. Their hands touched gently, and she almost felt a pure disgust. It felt clammy and cold like a weird salmon in a tesco fridge. ‘ It’s like I know you forever’ she said. ‘So rare to have that kind of instant connection, don’t you think?’.

He liked her a lot, but suddenly red flags of clinginess started to appear. ‘ Clingy blood tastes like an old shoe. This is not good. Not good’ he thought. 

‘Shall we keep on walking to your place? It’s getting a bit late’ he said. He grabbed her hand and almost winced knowing that this entire hunting escapade, planned in such details is  turning into a waste of time. ‘She’s very hot, and fun, but way too keen. I can’t handle it again. It took me 307 years to clean my insides from Anastasia’ he thought. 

Weirdly, pretty much out of nowhere a helicopter started circling above them. Firstly they thought that maybe another stabbing happened nearby and they happily got on walking a bit quicker. ‘ It’s following us’ she said, completely lost which feeling should dominate in this surreal scenario of Sunday night. Every corner they took, every street they turned into, a majestic and slightly terrifying sound of mechanical wings was following them. ‘This is now really turning into a David Lynch movie’ he said, without a will to impress her anymore. It just was what it was. They kept on holding their hands regardless of mutual disgust. 

Finally they arrived outside her place. Helicopter was still circling around, right next to a full moon. ‘ For fuck sake, why this memorable moment has to be wasted on this vampire’ she thought. She sat down on a brick fence in the front of her house. He was standing there tall looking at her. Desperation blood was all gone from her face, she was just herself in the moonlight. He kissed her again and this time it felt as it should. ‘ this is so much better’ she thought. And then he bit her neck not gently like every decent vampire would. 

Blood was dripping all over the bricks and pavement. The helicopter found another scene to light up and moved on. He walked away in the opposite direction.  

The end

[procrastinatingfeminist]

Oooh fascinating.

If you please; what is your Tolberone theory of knowledge?

My theory, which I thought up a few weeks ago while sick with covid, is that all knowledge is a form of art, and that there are very broadly three basic types of knowledge arts: physical arts, philosophical arts, and scientific arts, and that pretty much all academic, artistic and practical disciplines exist somewhere in that triangle spectrum.

Physical arts are knowledges of how to actually, physically do things. The purest front of physical arts are things like dance and navigation.

Scientific arts are knowledges of things that can be tested and proven. Computer programming and Quilting are both scientific arts: they work, or they don't.

Philosophical Arts are knowledges of things which while not objectively provable, are still very real. History and Being A Good Listener are philosophical arts.

Nearly every discipline of knowledge is some combination of all three. Cooking is largely applied chemistry, a scientific art, but it's also a philosophical art because flavor is extremely cultural and contextual, and a physical art because you have to know how to hold the damn knife and heat when it's done.

The first part of toblerone theory is that, like how each piece has three sides, any given project needs at least one person who has a good grasp of each of the underlying arts involved or it's going to go sideways at best. For example:

Physical and Scientific arts, no philosophy: Jurassic Park. They need someone to point out that, while very possible, it's not necessarily a good idea.

Philosophy and Science, no physical: that dril tweet about the forum debate locked by a mod after 12,000 pages of heated debate. They need someone to drag them away from the keyboard and actually do something.

Philosophy and Physical, no science: that cult in midsommar that put a guy in a bearsuit. Without the ability to engage measurably with the world, they give into fear and behave like reactive animals. Also the "rare chicken steak" phenomenon.

You can have differing ratios of each type- Jurassic Park really only needed two philosophers: one animal behaviorist and an OSHA inspector, and 98% of the issues would have been avoided- but you do need at least ONE of each underlying art to check each other's work.

The second part of toblerone theory is that, like how the toblerone is made of many triangle pieces, there are poles to the triangle spectrum. Practical vs Esoteric arts. Short term and long term arts. High stakes vs for funsies arts.

While you have have different ratios and levels of expertise in each of the arts, you do all need them to be on the same piece of the bar, or they won't take each other seriously. A UN Diplomat and a climate scientist aren't going to take the advice of physical artist my uncle Bobby the plumber re: global warming, but they will take the advice of physical artist my Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer, a world expert in getting shit done.

The same applies for the other end of the spectrum. Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer isn't going to get much milage with the local high school student council and principal Waley when the problem at hand is "what are we going to do for this year's prom theme?"

I gotta go to therapy now, pictures later.

[culmaer]

techne, episteme and sophia

If you please; what is your Tolberone theory of knowledge?

My theory, which I thought up a few weeks ago while sick with covid, is that all knowledge is a form of art, and that there are very broadly three basic types of knowledge arts: physical arts, philosophical arts, and scientific arts, and that pretty much all academic, artistic and practical disciplines exist somewhere in that triangle spectrum.

Physical arts are knowledges of how to actually, physically do things. The purest front of physical arts are things like dance and navigation.

Scientific arts are knowledges of things that can be tested and proven. Computer programming and Quilting are both scientific arts: they work, or they don't.

Philosophical Arts are knowledges of things which while not objectively provable, are still very real. History and Being A Good Listener are philosophical arts.

Nearly every discipline of knowledge is some combination of all three. Cooking is largely applied chemistry, a scientific art, but it's also a philosophical art because flavor is extremely cultural and contextual, and a physical art because you have to know how to hold the damn knife and heat when it's done.

The first part of toblerone theory is that, like how each piece has three sides, any given project needs at least one person who has a good grasp of each of the underlying arts involved or it's going to go sideways at best. For example:

Physical and Scientific arts, no philosophy: Jurassic Park. They need someone to point out that, while very possible, it's not necessarily a good idea.

Philosophy and Science, no physical: that dril tweet about the forum debate locked by a mod after 12,000 pages of heated debate. They need someone to drag them away from the keyboard and actually do something.

Philosophy and Physical, no science: that cult in midsommar that put a guy in a bearsuit. Without the ability to engage measurably with the world, they give into fear and behave like reactive animals. Also the "rare chicken steak" phenomenon.

You can have differing ratios of each type- Jurassic Park really only needed two philosophers: one animal behaviorist and an OSHA inspector, and 98% of the issues would have been avoided- but you do need at least ONE of each underlying art to check each other's work.

The second part of toblerone theory is that, like how the toblerone is made of many triangle pieces, there are poles to the triangle spectrum. Practical vs Esoteric arts. Short term and long term arts. High stakes vs for funsies arts.

While you have have different ratios and levels of expertise in each of the arts, you do all need them to be on the same piece of the bar, or they won't take each other seriously. A UN Diplomat and a climate scientist aren't going to take the advice of physical artist my uncle Bobby the plumber re: global warming, but they will take the advice of physical artist my Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer, a world expert in getting shit done.

The same applies for the other end of the spectrum. Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer isn't going to get much milage with the local high school student council and principal Waley when the problem at hand is "what are we going to do for this year's prom theme?"

I gotta go to therapy now, pictures later.