It is impossible to act outside the realm of ideas. In fact, it is impossible to be outside the realm of ideas. We say that someone acts without thinking; this is possible. But even the most thoughtless and absentminded action operates within the scope of cognition. We may not understand why the action was performed, but we necessarily understand that it was performed. If we can think about something, even at a most abstract level, it operates within the realm of ideas due to the very fact we can think about it.
Ideas, then, are the ultimate threshold. To abstract is to reach the boundaries of human experience, perhaps even existence. This is what science can never – and scientists only recently – understand: Ideas, no matter their origin or integrity or dignity, are the source of all human activity.
When a certain thought is first brought into being by an individual, it cannot be undone. What they have birthed cannot be killed. It is impossible to imagine that the thing does not exist anymore, because to imagine such a thing requires that you think about not thinking the thought. The absence of an idea necessitates its existence. Ideas are immortal.
And since they are immortal, all existent ideas have the possibility of influencing any particular action. They may not be a direct influence, but their very existence exerts a certain influence – in essence, because they do not directly influence, they gain an alternative power. Because there could be multiple motives for a crime, we must consider them all before finding the correct one, but the very act of considering has already altered our interpretation of the case. Because there is more than one brand of automobile, we must – if only in the back of our minds – consider the differences between a Ford and a Toyota, even if the automobile we want to focus upon is a Ford.
The academic in the ivory tower (and his brother, the mystic on the mountaintop) may not seem utilitarian. The angry cognition of a frustrated five-year old may not seem important. But any pursuit of knowledge, any exploration of ideas, any voyage into thought has real-world consequences. There is no such thing as isolation. In the great avalanche of cause and effect, ideas are always the trigger.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Of Deceit
What is art?
Fundamentally, art is -- as it has been said -- a lie. Art is deceit. When we look upon some painting, whether it be of the cubist or trompe-l'oeil school, we do not really believe that the painting is what it portrays. We do not mistake a photograph of a car for an actual car, or the Mona Lisa for an actual woman. The Mona Lisa is a representation of the woman -- a representation of something real. It is this aspect of representation that makes art necessarily dishonest.
This dishonesty, however, is not limited to traditional "art". Representations of any sort fall into this category. From the Mona Lisa to totem poles to grocery lists to Hamlet to "Smells Like Teen Spirit" to a conversation between friends... All are symbols. All are attempts to express. (We call those expressions that are particularly skillful beautiful, but that is a much more subjective field of inquiry.)
Still, representation's intrinsic nature of deceit imbues it with a special characteristic: The deceit can be utilized for communication. In essence, one can "mean" one thing by "saying" another. We know representations are not actually the things they depict, but in many ways the lie of art is the closest we can come to much of reality. By acknowledging the limits of the lie, we can tell stories that never actually took place, yet, when heard, still raise important questions and dilemmas that we would encounter had the story been from our own lives.
We can dance the throes of grief.
We can write the fate of nations.
We can paint the face of God.
Fundamentally, art is -- as it has been said -- a lie. Art is deceit. When we look upon some painting, whether it be of the cubist or trompe-l'oeil school, we do not really believe that the painting is what it portrays. We do not mistake a photograph of a car for an actual car, or the Mona Lisa for an actual woman. The Mona Lisa is a representation of the woman -- a representation of something real. It is this aspect of representation that makes art necessarily dishonest.
This dishonesty, however, is not limited to traditional "art". Representations of any sort fall into this category. From the Mona Lisa to totem poles to grocery lists to Hamlet to "Smells Like Teen Spirit" to a conversation between friends... All are symbols. All are attempts to express. (We call those expressions that are particularly skillful beautiful, but that is a much more subjective field of inquiry.)
Still, representation's intrinsic nature of deceit imbues it with a special characteristic: The deceit can be utilized for communication. In essence, one can "mean" one thing by "saying" another. We know representations are not actually the things they depict, but in many ways the lie of art is the closest we can come to much of reality. By acknowledging the limits of the lie, we can tell stories that never actually took place, yet, when heard, still raise important questions and dilemmas that we would encounter had the story been from our own lives.
We can dance the throes of grief.
We can write the fate of nations.
We can paint the face of God.
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