When considering the postmodern, it is important to keep in mind that it focuses on the effects of an idea, not the inherent truth (or lack of it) of the idea. A potent example of this is the concept of race. Scientifically speaking, there is no such thing as "race". There is no genetic evidence for the categorization of people into racial groups. In fact, if you compare the DNA of a two white Swedes and a black Rwandan, it is more likely that each Swede will have more DNA in common with the Rwandan than they do with each other. This is because most human genetic variation can be traced back to African ancestors, so the gene pool in central Africa is far more diverse than, for example, Sweden. In rough theory then, you could recreate Swedes from Rwandans, but not vice versa. Race is an entirely arbitrary category, with no scientific or biological foundation, and yet it is an important factor in America today. Twenty-five percent of black males in the U.S. are incarcerated – not because of some biological inferiority, but because of a constructed social reality. For generations, the dominant power structure has (and continues to) view blacks as inherently inferior, and this belief, while completely false, has had very real, very tangible ramifications for millions of Americans. Individuals (and even larger systems) do not act upon what the truth is, but on what they believe the truth to be.
Obviously, there is some foundation of reality. No matter how completely one believes that one can fly a plane through a mountain, the plane will crash. Such a belief does not affect the physical outcome, but it does affect the actions of the pilot. If the pilot really believes he can fly through the mountain, he will try – despite all the evidence to the contrary. This is what the postmodern emphasizes – that events do not always make sense or proceed in a logical manner.
Within this framework, faith in logic breaks down. Well-reasoned arguments cannot be trusted, since it is known that humans will believe things whether there is evidence for them or not. Thus, within realm of the postmodern, the ability to convince and to argue moves away from a reliance on logic to a reliance on stylistic form. Arguments become less about sound reasoning and more about presenting the argument in an appealing light (TV commercials, anyone?). Therefore, I present my pro-postmodern argument within the traditional, reasoned – and explicitly modern – framework of the systematic essay. You, as the reader, are familiar with this form, and a part of you wants to legitimate what I am saying just because I am presenting my argument in a reasoned form. You may ultimately reject my argument, but I have already convinced you that it is worth considering – all with power of form.
Such an emphasis on form is, admittedly, both liberating and restricting. It is liberating in the sense that it allows the exploration of certain subjects -- such as emotion and spirituality – that are beyond the reach of science. A novel is now as legitimate and as practical as a research paper; in fact, they are now one and the same. Form is restricting, however, for the same reason it is liberating. Allowing for multiple interpretations means that the certainty necessary for scientific and technological advance is lost. Thus, there are distinct benefits for the embrace of both the modern and the postmodern.
And yet, once one becomes aware that there is a choice between the two, the very act of choosing acknowledges that the individual is actively creating and interpreting their own reality – which can only be done in the realm of the postmodern.
So strangely, once you acknowledge the postmodern, even if only to argue against it, you are forced embrace it.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
A Brief Defense of the Postmodern, Part One
Let me preface this by noting that I do understand that there is no set definition of "postmodern" or "postmodernity" -- though, for the uninitiated, it important to note that the former usually refers to a system of knowing and/or scholarship, etc, while the latter refers to a distinct historical period that may or may not have already come and gone. My intent, however, is not to offer any solid definition upon which my communication is grounded. Instead, I wish to expound on some vague principles. But if the reader must be grounded in some sense, a suitably unrestricting clarification would be that I approach the postmodern as a general way of thinking that is a distinct reaction to the claims of the modern. The tension between the postmodern and the modern must not be forgotten or ignored, as this nebulous tension is the very Archimedean point from which the postmodern is oriented.
I was raised in moderately conservative evangelical Christian circles, and as such I am very familiar with many standard arguments decrying the evil of postmodernity. Chief among these complaints was that the postmodern supposedly claims that there is no absolute truth -- which, as gleeful thinkers pointed out, is an absolute statement within itself, and therefore self-contradicting and a fallacy. They are, of course, completely correct in their reasoning. However, such a standard refutation unfortunately falls victim to the utilization of a straw man argument, and as such fails to look at the true nature of postmodern claims.
The postmodern does not deny absolute truth. Such a denial is clearly folly. What the postmodern does deny is the idea that truth is always the most influential aspect of human existence. The postmodern realizes that there is absolute, immutable truth, but it also realizes that truth is always interpreted. It therefore looks not to absolutes as the origins of human thought and action, but to the systems of interpretation. In other words, the postmodern recognizes that a mountain is not just important because it is a mountain, but because you interpret the actual physical mass to be a mountain.
Consider this example: Gravity is inescapable. It affects nearly every aspect of human life. The very fact that we are held down to the earth has dramatically influenced human history -- humanity has certainly not built cities floating in the sky! And yet, one man, Sir Isaac Newton, is credited with the "discovery" of gravity. Newton did not invent gravity, nor did he fully explain it. He did not grasp it in its entirety, but still he set his incomplete understanding of this force, this immutable truth, into words. This one man's "discovery" -- interpretation -- opened the way for innumerable scientific advances, and in a very tangible sense helped define technological advances up to the present.
The postmodern does not deny absolute truth any more than it denies gravity. But it posits that truth alone is the not a complete explanation; interpretation of truth must always be considered.
I was raised in moderately conservative evangelical Christian circles, and as such I am very familiar with many standard arguments decrying the evil of postmodernity. Chief among these complaints was that the postmodern supposedly claims that there is no absolute truth -- which, as gleeful thinkers pointed out, is an absolute statement within itself, and therefore self-contradicting and a fallacy. They are, of course, completely correct in their reasoning. However, such a standard refutation unfortunately falls victim to the utilization of a straw man argument, and as such fails to look at the true nature of postmodern claims.
The postmodern does not deny absolute truth. Such a denial is clearly folly. What the postmodern does deny is the idea that truth is always the most influential aspect of human existence. The postmodern realizes that there is absolute, immutable truth, but it also realizes that truth is always interpreted. It therefore looks not to absolutes as the origins of human thought and action, but to the systems of interpretation. In other words, the postmodern recognizes that a mountain is not just important because it is a mountain, but because you interpret the actual physical mass to be a mountain.
Consider this example: Gravity is inescapable. It affects nearly every aspect of human life. The very fact that we are held down to the earth has dramatically influenced human history -- humanity has certainly not built cities floating in the sky! And yet, one man, Sir Isaac Newton, is credited with the "discovery" of gravity. Newton did not invent gravity, nor did he fully explain it. He did not grasp it in its entirety, but still he set his incomplete understanding of this force, this immutable truth, into words. This one man's "discovery" -- interpretation -- opened the way for innumerable scientific advances, and in a very tangible sense helped define technological advances up to the present.
The postmodern does not deny absolute truth any more than it denies gravity. But it posits that truth alone is the not a complete explanation; interpretation of truth must always be considered.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Of Thought
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.
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.
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.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Of Windows and Words
The studios in my building are rented out in three varieties: Deluxe, Regular, and Economy. Obviously, the Deluxe is the most expensive of the studios, the Regular is of a more moderate price tag, and the Economy is -- relatively speaking -- cheap. From these three descriptions, one might assume that this pricing scale is reasonable and appropriate in its correspondence with the quality of the rooms. And within a certain rationale, it is. The Deluxe studios are located in the corners of the building and therefore possess two windows instead of the standard one. The Regular studios do not directly face another building and instead are buffered from this invasion of urban privacy by one of four streets. The Economy studios, however, have the misfortune of facing the dilapidated Deli & Market that shares the block with my building. Veritable tenements, indeed.
My studio is of the "Economy" variety, but I am fortunate enough to be facing the heart of the city, towards the waterfront. My window is a frame for the buildings -- a snapshot of the skyline. The high rises have invisible skeletons at this time in the evening, and are nothing more than a collective glow, like giant cheese graters illuminated from within. On the tallest of these structures, little red eyes peek from the top corners, fading in and out, yawn-like. They are the protectors, the warning to the heavens, and yet they do not dismiss their ceremonial duties of illuminating my window and entertaining my eyes. This is as close as humanity can come to imitating the beauty of the natural world, and it's all contained within my window -- for a lesser price than other windows.
Clearly, price is not always an adequate indicator of value. But what then is the relationship between value and price? Does one possess meaning and the other lack it, or are they both confined to the realm of the arbitrary?
This price-value quandary is chiefly a dilemma of symbols -- in essence, a linguistics problem. To examine the same issue from another angle, think of the word "tree". Obviously, no two trees are identical. Equally obvious is the fact that it would be extremely difficult to give each individual tree its own specialized word with which it can be referenced. Instead, we have the word "tree", which, far from specifying an exact object, merely points to a very general and abstract category -- an arbitrary construction that does not physically exist. There is no such thing as a "tree".
It might be suggested that if numbers were utilized, it would be theoretically possible to "name" every tree in the world, by assigning each tree a distinct value. This hypothesis is flawed, however, since it bases its assertion on the word "tree" -- the very word to be avoided! Why should one only name trees? Trees are made up of bark and twigs and many other parts. Why assume that bark and twigs should be collected together in the category of tree, even if you are replacing "tree" with a unique number? The track is circular. Even in our most clever attempts to utilize infinity to circumvent language, we are bound to our starting point: Words.
It is no different with the pricing of my room. How does one go about determining the price of a room? You could assign a number to certain criteria, i.e. the number of windows and the direction they face, but why limit yourself to those criteria? Why not measure the distance from the studio door to the stairs? Or why not account for the effect of wind chill on different sides of the building? Why not count the specks of dust on the window sill and figure that into the price of the studio? As with the tree, there is no level of categorization that is more meaningful than another. Price, like language, is just another attempt to sort the universe into arbitrary divisions. Both price and language are symbols.
And symbols are what separate humanity from infinity.
"Out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them. And whatever Adam called each living creature, that was its name." Genesis 2:19
My studio is of the "Economy" variety, but I am fortunate enough to be facing the heart of the city, towards the waterfront. My window is a frame for the buildings -- a snapshot of the skyline. The high rises have invisible skeletons at this time in the evening, and are nothing more than a collective glow, like giant cheese graters illuminated from within. On the tallest of these structures, little red eyes peek from the top corners, fading in and out, yawn-like. They are the protectors, the warning to the heavens, and yet they do not dismiss their ceremonial duties of illuminating my window and entertaining my eyes. This is as close as humanity can come to imitating the beauty of the natural world, and it's all contained within my window -- for a lesser price than other windows.
Clearly, price is not always an adequate indicator of value. But what then is the relationship between value and price? Does one possess meaning and the other lack it, or are they both confined to the realm of the arbitrary?
This price-value quandary is chiefly a dilemma of symbols -- in essence, a linguistics problem. To examine the same issue from another angle, think of the word "tree". Obviously, no two trees are identical. Equally obvious is the fact that it would be extremely difficult to give each individual tree its own specialized word with which it can be referenced. Instead, we have the word "tree", which, far from specifying an exact object, merely points to a very general and abstract category -- an arbitrary construction that does not physically exist. There is no such thing as a "tree".
It might be suggested that if numbers were utilized, it would be theoretically possible to "name" every tree in the world, by assigning each tree a distinct value. This hypothesis is flawed, however, since it bases its assertion on the word "tree" -- the very word to be avoided! Why should one only name trees? Trees are made up of bark and twigs and many other parts. Why assume that bark and twigs should be collected together in the category of tree, even if you are replacing "tree" with a unique number? The track is circular. Even in our most clever attempts to utilize infinity to circumvent language, we are bound to our starting point: Words.
It is no different with the pricing of my room. How does one go about determining the price of a room? You could assign a number to certain criteria, i.e. the number of windows and the direction they face, but why limit yourself to those criteria? Why not measure the distance from the studio door to the stairs? Or why not account for the effect of wind chill on different sides of the building? Why not count the specks of dust on the window sill and figure that into the price of the studio? As with the tree, there is no level of categorization that is more meaningful than another. Price, like language, is just another attempt to sort the universe into arbitrary divisions. Both price and language are symbols.
And symbols are what separate humanity from infinity.
"Out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them. And whatever Adam called each living creature, that was its name." Genesis 2:19
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
A Thought Experiment
Imagine you want to buy a car. You go to a dealership and the dealer offers you a choice between two cars. The cars are identical in almost every way – make, model, year, mileage, price. There is, however, one exception. Car A has a maximum speed of 40 mph, while Car B can go up to 120 mph.
-Which car do you choose?
-Car B, of course.
-Why?
-Because it's better.
-How so?
-It can go faster.
-Why does that make the car better?
-In today's road environment, there are many situations where it is necessary to drive faster than 40 mph. It is a necessity to go faster than 40 mph.
But why should it be a necessity? For the majority of humanity's existence, no one has had the ability to travel faster than 40 mph, let alone need to travel at such speed. It was not until travel at such a speed was realized to be feasible that it became necessary to do so. And here is the underlying principle: In a progress-based society, the moment a technological advancement is birthed is the same moment that the said technological advancement becomes a necessity. You do not argue with the ability to travel faster than 40 mph. Now, obviously this phenomenon, when specifically applied to vehicle speeds, has been limited by the state in the form of speed limits. But government intervention does not void the effect of a "progress" and technologically oriented society; to the contrary, it reinforces it. For example, it may be illegal to drive faster than a certain speed, but it is also equally illegal to drive slower than a certain speed. There is no other option; technology has eliminated the choices.
Take, for example, the atomic bomb. It was not necessary to have a weapon that could destroy cities until the weapon was invented. Now, it is seen in the best personal interest of every country to have nuclear weapons, not necessarily because the country intends to use them, but "just in case". Why build something you do not wish to use? But that is the control of technological advancement: There is no other option.
Technological advancement and progress become the masters of society – even daily life. To live in a world that values efficiency and speed is to be enslaved.
-Which car do you choose?
-Car B, of course.
-Why?
-Because it's better.
-How so?
-It can go faster.
-Why does that make the car better?
-In today's road environment, there are many situations where it is necessary to drive faster than 40 mph. It is a necessity to go faster than 40 mph.
But why should it be a necessity? For the majority of humanity's existence, no one has had the ability to travel faster than 40 mph, let alone need to travel at such speed. It was not until travel at such a speed was realized to be feasible that it became necessary to do so. And here is the underlying principle: In a progress-based society, the moment a technological advancement is birthed is the same moment that the said technological advancement becomes a necessity. You do not argue with the ability to travel faster than 40 mph. Now, obviously this phenomenon, when specifically applied to vehicle speeds, has been limited by the state in the form of speed limits. But government intervention does not void the effect of a "progress" and technologically oriented society; to the contrary, it reinforces it. For example, it may be illegal to drive faster than a certain speed, but it is also equally illegal to drive slower than a certain speed. There is no other option; technology has eliminated the choices.
Take, for example, the atomic bomb. It was not necessary to have a weapon that could destroy cities until the weapon was invented. Now, it is seen in the best personal interest of every country to have nuclear weapons, not necessarily because the country intends to use them, but "just in case". Why build something you do not wish to use? But that is the control of technological advancement: There is no other option.
Technological advancement and progress become the masters of society – even daily life. To live in a world that values efficiency and speed is to be enslaved.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Don't worry...
It's okay to be unimportant. To live from day to day, with no more visible an impact than a trimmed lawn and a dumpster at the corner of your driveway. It's okay to be, in the cosmic scheme of things, meaningless. It's alright if the only positive things your life seems to produce are smiles when you volunteer at the soup kitchen. The strokes on the canvas don't have to be thick, bold, and daring. A few will paint such grand things, but the rest of us will be impressionists: small, indecisive flicks of kindness tied together in an overarching theme of life that we cannot see until we stand back and gaze on the whole. It's okay not to see the big picture in your mind's eye, not to pursue it with flair. We fear a lack of meaning, but in doing so we limit the true grandeur of our own lives. Who can tell what impact a kind word may have? Who can say what a moment of silence can add to a conversation? Life screams for idealism in all its seasons, but in our pursuit of miracle cures fit to remedy the world's ailments, let us not forget the magic of living. Let us not confuse the means and the ends, for in our modern age the two have often -- and evilly -- merged as one. As Gandhi said, "There is no way to peace. Peace is the way."
It is in the simplicity of wholesome living that we will save the world.
It is in the simplicity of wholesome living that we will save the world.
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