1. The other day, my brother's ipod was stolen out of his backpack when he forgot it for an hour in the bathroom of a bubble tea shop. I'm not sure what there is to say about this, I'm sure an easy route is to talk about depraved human nature, but I don't believe in that (or think it's very interesting, unless it's in a Cormac McCarthy novel, perhaps, which isnt the same animal). What's interesting to me is how the theft was anonymous, and yet I almost certainly saw the face of the person who stole it, and I wonder if they knew who they were taking it from, and if they saw my sister in law bring the bag out.
2. Quite often I hear advertisements or various media criticized because of the ways in which they objectify women, or turn women into objects. Maybe I just don't understand the ways in which the word is being used, but I don't think this is a very strong or illuminating criticism, because nothing can be represented without objectification, including the self. On here, I cannot represent myself or even use 'I' without turning myself into an object to be utilized and analyzed, where a part stands in for the whole.
But, that isn't to say the concerns about how women are represented are unfounded. However, I do think that some of the other criticisms are not backed very well. For instance, lets say that an advertisement is criticized because of the way that it not only turns women into objects but turns them into sex objects, or how representations sexualize women, or split the body from an inner self. But this seems like a projection of the response of the viewer to the image, rather than something that is inherent in the representation. Things are only sexual if they are perceived to be sexual. The criticism is a projection of the feelings of the viewer onto the object, rather than something in the object/image that is discovered and revealed.
In the same way, images are essentialized by the viewer/critic rather than the images being essentialist in themselves. For instance, I might criticize an image for how it turns women into sex objects. My claim is that the image itself projects a way that all women should be viewed, or a gaze that should be assumed when turned towards women. But once again this seems like a projection of the viewer rather than something inherent, when I say that an advertisement is making claims about all women, I am the one who is making that woman (or women) stand in for all women in all cultures. And that, to me, is sometimes scarier than the image itself, because then I am complicit, and even if I reject the totalizing/sexualized image, I replace it with a different essentialization, which I think is not very much improvement, if any.
That isn't to say that there are not real problems in advertising, or music, or videos or video games, only that many of the criticisms are not very self conscious about the methods of their criticism (and of course, I'm not talking about professional critics, just pop criticism that I hear from the people around me).
Anyway, I'm just using the issue of women and advertisement as an example, but it really bleeds into a lot of identity criticism.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
decay
From Darwin's Plots by Gillian Beer:
"These examples show one of the difficulties on the path of evolutionary theory. It is a theory which does not privilege the present, which sees it as a moving instant in an endless process of change. Yet it has persistently been recast to make it seem that all the past has been yearning towards the present moment and is satisfied now" (11).
While I don't question her arguments in regards to biology, it seems that this does not necessarily transfer into other realms. The church constantly behaves as if the early church was the best model we have for what Christianity should be, and that the early Christians had better theology. Summarily, we try to discover what it was that they believed so that we can believe likewise, and sometimes it seems as if the arguments over what Paul did or did not mean when he said what he said wouldn't even be important unless we believe that what Paul and the early church believed is what we should follow. Similarly, that the early church best understood Jesus and what he meant in his teachings, and how we are to follow him. Are there any good or compelling reasons to believe that? Especially when the gospel accounts so consistently emphasize how much Jesus' followers didn't understand. That alone seems to be encouragement to press forward, rather than backwards, to discover new ways of meaning rather than trying to replicate old ways of meaning.
I think, also, that this quest for origins is accompanied by the idea that the world is consistently getting worse (more sinful), that there was a time (even in our own or our parents' own lives!) when things were better, more pure, and people really, genuinely followed god. We have to return, then, to the better time of before, we have to have revivals to bring back to life something that used to be alive.
I'm all about survival of the fittest, or maybe just of what Neruda writes, "Let us be weary of what kills, / and of what doesn't want to die." Extinction and death are important parts of life, and revival just means killing the new life. Let's be scared of anything that doesn't change.
In other news, in the library today I discovered an Un-American Activities in Washington State Report from 1948. It was transcript of various hearings of "Un-Americans," which translates to commies. I was proud of the English professor who refused to testify, and instead quoted Shakespeare and Plotinus at his interrogators.
"These examples show one of the difficulties on the path of evolutionary theory. It is a theory which does not privilege the present, which sees it as a moving instant in an endless process of change. Yet it has persistently been recast to make it seem that all the past has been yearning towards the present moment and is satisfied now" (11).
While I don't question her arguments in regards to biology, it seems that this does not necessarily transfer into other realms. The church constantly behaves as if the early church was the best model we have for what Christianity should be, and that the early Christians had better theology. Summarily, we try to discover what it was that they believed so that we can believe likewise, and sometimes it seems as if the arguments over what Paul did or did not mean when he said what he said wouldn't even be important unless we believe that what Paul and the early church believed is what we should follow. Similarly, that the early church best understood Jesus and what he meant in his teachings, and how we are to follow him. Are there any good or compelling reasons to believe that? Especially when the gospel accounts so consistently emphasize how much Jesus' followers didn't understand. That alone seems to be encouragement to press forward, rather than backwards, to discover new ways of meaning rather than trying to replicate old ways of meaning.
I think, also, that this quest for origins is accompanied by the idea that the world is consistently getting worse (more sinful), that there was a time (even in our own or our parents' own lives!) when things were better, more pure, and people really, genuinely followed god. We have to return, then, to the better time of before, we have to have revivals to bring back to life something that used to be alive.
I'm all about survival of the fittest, or maybe just of what Neruda writes, "Let us be weary of what kills, / and of what doesn't want to die." Extinction and death are important parts of life, and revival just means killing the new life. Let's be scared of anything that doesn't change.
In other news, in the library today I discovered an Un-American Activities in Washington State Report from 1948. It was transcript of various hearings of "Un-Americans," which translates to commies. I was proud of the English professor who refused to testify, and instead quoted Shakespeare and Plotinus at his interrogators.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
some things used to be different
Recently, I read about various debates in Victorian biblical hermeneutics. One of the questions (that I think is still being debated today) is whether or not the bible can/should be interpreted as all other literature and writing is interpreted. 1) I hold pretty strongly that the bible being 'scripture' doesn't free it from the problems (and peculiarities) of all other writing. 2) No one reads literature as a set of moral lessons or instructions. Discourse and ideologies are examined, but narrative is not reduced (at least in literature studies) to attempts to discover how I should eat or who I should sleep with or live with (but of course writing has these political/ideological/moral conversations). But even if such lessons are prescribed, this doesn't transfer into prescription for how to live my life.
Attempting to turn writing into instructions, morals, ideologies to follow is disrespectful of text and author, and transforms the text into propaganda, or uses it for the purpose of propaganda. Similarly, trying to find an emergent discourse or lesson out of a text (what does the story of David and Bathsheba teach us? what does "The Bible" say about faith and deeds, etc) is really blinding. The bible is not the location of a single or coherent theology, it is many theologies. The bible is not the location of one coherent or systematic truth. What interests me more at the moment is thinking of the bible in terms of dialogue: each book with the others, with itself, with its readers, with other literature that has appropriated the bible and biblical narratives. And trying to find "lessons" in the bible is the source of the problem, it flattens the entire bible and the many voices found within.
Also. I've been thinking about history lately. I read an article on transatlantic literature in the nineteenth century last week, and one of the arguments being made was that the American writers in that time period were very concerned with the issue of history, precisely because their country was new and in this sense they had a chip on their shoulder compared to their european counterparts. What I see there, then, is deliberate rejection of ignorance of history in early US history. I don't know how widespread this was, but it is easy for me to see how this might have evolved into the current America (or American church). BUT, let's not talk about cause and effect, because that can be easily rejected, because I simply don't have evidence.
Instead, I'll say that I wish the church in America had more of a sense of and appreciation for history, especially hermeneutical history, for which interpretations that seem to be traditional and orthodox (the infallibility of the bible? "literal" creation story? etc.) are either new species of interpretation or were moot questions historically. Even more of an understanding of modernity, and conceptions of truth that were developed in modernity (perhaps post-modernity would not seem threatening to people if they understood that much of what is being rejected is not something that has been passed on from the beginning of the church or civilization or time, what is being rejected is a species of belief that is still relatively young, if powerful. But no one wants to study history: it's terrifying to learn that the present is not the same as the past, and is not always better.
And history is boring of course.
Attempting to turn writing into instructions, morals, ideologies to follow is disrespectful of text and author, and transforms the text into propaganda, or uses it for the purpose of propaganda. Similarly, trying to find an emergent discourse or lesson out of a text (what does the story of David and Bathsheba teach us? what does "The Bible" say about faith and deeds, etc) is really blinding. The bible is not the location of a single or coherent theology, it is many theologies. The bible is not the location of one coherent or systematic truth. What interests me more at the moment is thinking of the bible in terms of dialogue: each book with the others, with itself, with its readers, with other literature that has appropriated the bible and biblical narratives. And trying to find "lessons" in the bible is the source of the problem, it flattens the entire bible and the many voices found within.
Also. I've been thinking about history lately. I read an article on transatlantic literature in the nineteenth century last week, and one of the arguments being made was that the American writers in that time period were very concerned with the issue of history, precisely because their country was new and in this sense they had a chip on their shoulder compared to their european counterparts. What I see there, then, is deliberate rejection of ignorance of history in early US history. I don't know how widespread this was, but it is easy for me to see how this might have evolved into the current America (or American church). BUT, let's not talk about cause and effect, because that can be easily rejected, because I simply don't have evidence.
Instead, I'll say that I wish the church in America had more of a sense of and appreciation for history, especially hermeneutical history, for which interpretations that seem to be traditional and orthodox (the infallibility of the bible? "literal" creation story? etc.) are either new species of interpretation or were moot questions historically. Even more of an understanding of modernity, and conceptions of truth that were developed in modernity (perhaps post-modernity would not seem threatening to people if they understood that much of what is being rejected is not something that has been passed on from the beginning of the church or civilization or time, what is being rejected is a species of belief that is still relatively young, if powerful. But no one wants to study history: it's terrifying to learn that the present is not the same as the past, and is not always better.
And history is boring of course.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
various
The imagery in most worship music is boring. This is because most Christians worship the Bible, and not God, and do not see a difference between representations of God and God himself. Consequently, imagery in worship music becomes rehashes of the Bible rather than anything creative or new (how many worship songs reference rising "on eagles wings"?). And, for the bible-worshippers, it might actually be considered a good thing, because to come up with something new is a violation of the idea that truth is timeless and so anything new is false. Fortunately, the writers of the bible did not see things this way, since they were constantly creating new imagery (while being intertextual and referencing previous imagery). Or, songs rehash other worship songs (how many songs have referenced Amazing Grace, for instance). Creativity is not spitting out verses from the bible. That's a not very articulate rant, but it's been on my mind for some time.
Here's a thought about facts: inasmuch as facts exist (and I'm not sure they do), facts in and of themselves are meaningless. Meaning is external to the fact (for instance, if we take it as fact that Jesus died, there is no meaning in that, we must examine the implications/interpretation of the fact to arrive at meaning). Meaning is always external rather than intrinsic and internal.
I was looking the other day at a portrait photo, and thinking about how creepy portrait photos are. I'm thinking of photos of a single person against a blank backdrop, and how the blank backdrop totally strips the event of any sort of narrative or history, and how much more I like photos that are set somewhere. Perhaps this is why I dislike flower and plant photography, too, because the close up could be of any flower anywhere, and there is nothing happening.
Here's a thought about facts: inasmuch as facts exist (and I'm not sure they do), facts in and of themselves are meaningless. Meaning is external to the fact (for instance, if we take it as fact that Jesus died, there is no meaning in that, we must examine the implications/interpretation of the fact to arrive at meaning). Meaning is always external rather than intrinsic and internal.
I was looking the other day at a portrait photo, and thinking about how creepy portrait photos are. I'm thinking of photos of a single person against a blank backdrop, and how the blank backdrop totally strips the event of any sort of narrative or history, and how much more I like photos that are set somewhere. Perhaps this is why I dislike flower and plant photography, too, because the close up could be of any flower anywhere, and there is nothing happening.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
audience
I have been thinking lately about how important audience is me. Not necessarily thinking of a specific audience for x or y, but in imagining or finding the existence of an audience. Here's what I mean:
Lately I've realized how central an imaginary audience is to my sense of humor. Most of the jokes I make and strange things I do are not for the people I'm around, but for an outside observe, whether real or imagined. So most people just feel confused by my humor, whereas an audience would find what I do to be much funnier, and what I think I do that is funny is funny to me when I imagine an audience watching. This is something I'm discovering rather than something I've been aware of or conscious of.
Similarly, with writing. I've heard creative writers given the advice to write as if no one would read what they wrote, write for themselves. I function in totally the opposite direction. My work only gains quality if I assume or imagine that at some point, some one will read what I'm writing. My writing takes on clarity, focus, and creativity, whereas without an audience it would be sloppy and self-indulgent.
Similarly, with music and performance. I can never bring myself during practice to perform as well as I do during the real thing. For instance, in my Shakespeare class last week I had a performance in front of the class, and did better during the actual performance than during any of the practices. With music, I sing better and play more creatively in front of an audience than during practice.
And I think this is why I don't enjoy "theatre" more, even though on an every day basis I'm constantly acting, throwing up masks and tricking people. With theatre, the artifice is too apparent. If I'm going to be acting, it has to be for real.
Lately I've realized how central an imaginary audience is to my sense of humor. Most of the jokes I make and strange things I do are not for the people I'm around, but for an outside observe, whether real or imagined. So most people just feel confused by my humor, whereas an audience would find what I do to be much funnier, and what I think I do that is funny is funny to me when I imagine an audience watching. This is something I'm discovering rather than something I've been aware of or conscious of.
Similarly, with writing. I've heard creative writers given the advice to write as if no one would read what they wrote, write for themselves. I function in totally the opposite direction. My work only gains quality if I assume or imagine that at some point, some one will read what I'm writing. My writing takes on clarity, focus, and creativity, whereas without an audience it would be sloppy and self-indulgent.
Similarly, with music and performance. I can never bring myself during practice to perform as well as I do during the real thing. For instance, in my Shakespeare class last week I had a performance in front of the class, and did better during the actual performance than during any of the practices. With music, I sing better and play more creatively in front of an audience than during practice.
And I think this is why I don't enjoy "theatre" more, even though on an every day basis I'm constantly acting, throwing up masks and tricking people. With theatre, the artifice is too apparent. If I'm going to be acting, it has to be for real.
Monday, May 25, 2009
tradition
Many people, when they're stressed or unsure, adhere to tradition. I've noticed in the last year that I am the opposite, that when I really need to find a way to relax myself, I break with tradition and habit of what I've done before. No better or worse, just the way it is.
Over the last year, though, I've become even more deliberately at odds with tradition, especially tradition and origin as a source of authority. In part, this is why Derrida's arguments on the futility of trying to find origins for words (as a source of authority) is very appealing to me. This has become especially frustrating to me in trying to play music with people this year. I generally don't think it's a relevant question to appeal to the way we've played songs before as the way we should play them. Or, the way they were written or recorded by previous artists.
In this sense, I don't think of any part of a song as stable, or something that must necessarily be kept. I don't care about maintaining the melody, or the chords, or the words, or the mood, or the tempo. Likewise, when I'm playing music by myself, I rarely play a song the same way twice, so that I'm not creating a new authoritative version even for myself. More interesting to me than tradition is the creative impulses people are feeling at a given moment, and the context that the song is being played in, rather than anything absolute about the song. Of course, I can appreciate those sorts of tradition questions just for the sake of efficiency, or trying to remember a specific part so that people aren't confused, but not for anything more. Anyway, that's just how I work best.
In the end, I just feel embarrassed doing the same thing twice.
Over the last year, though, I've become even more deliberately at odds with tradition, especially tradition and origin as a source of authority. In part, this is why Derrida's arguments on the futility of trying to find origins for words (as a source of authority) is very appealing to me. This has become especially frustrating to me in trying to play music with people this year. I generally don't think it's a relevant question to appeal to the way we've played songs before as the way we should play them. Or, the way they were written or recorded by previous artists.
In this sense, I don't think of any part of a song as stable, or something that must necessarily be kept. I don't care about maintaining the melody, or the chords, or the words, or the mood, or the tempo. Likewise, when I'm playing music by myself, I rarely play a song the same way twice, so that I'm not creating a new authoritative version even for myself. More interesting to me than tradition is the creative impulses people are feeling at a given moment, and the context that the song is being played in, rather than anything absolute about the song. Of course, I can appreciate those sorts of tradition questions just for the sake of efficiency, or trying to remember a specific part so that people aren't confused, but not for anything more. Anyway, that's just how I work best.
In the end, I just feel embarrassed doing the same thing twice.
Monday, May 18, 2009
humanism
Up until recently, humanism has been very appealing to me. There seems to be something wholesome and true about the notion of human value, about equality of humanity, about inherent worth in humanity that has appealed to me. Further, the idea of a human condition or experience has been appealing to me, especially thinking of Jesus as entering experiencing the human condition (and by human condition I don't mean "sinful human nature.") While this human condition or nature often means sinful to people, it hasn't meant this to me for some time. I've seen people as basically good, and I liked that.
But there are certain problems to humanism that I do think are worth considering. For instance, humanism has the capacity to conflate and disrespect human experience and suffering. It assumes a oneness in humanity that means I have the capacity, on some level, to empathize and understand your suffering, and you mine, and of a oneness throughout time. In other words, it confuses people with one another and makes their problems the same. Humanism in this way acts as a metatheory or metanarrative that subordinates individual narratives into one human experience. And I do think that's a significant problem.
To break this down even farther: humanism is variously loving and non loving, respectful and non respectful of humans. Right now, I don't know what to do with metan-theories or meta-narratives, or essentializing claims, and this means I don't know what to do with humanism. Although, to be honest, "humanism" is probably just a red herring. I don't actually care about "humanism," I care about how I am to see, know, and understand myself, the people around me, and the world.
But there are certain problems to humanism that I do think are worth considering. For instance, humanism has the capacity to conflate and disrespect human experience and suffering. It assumes a oneness in humanity that means I have the capacity, on some level, to empathize and understand your suffering, and you mine, and of a oneness throughout time. In other words, it confuses people with one another and makes their problems the same. Humanism in this way acts as a metatheory or metanarrative that subordinates individual narratives into one human experience. And I do think that's a significant problem.
To break this down even farther: humanism is variously loving and non loving, respectful and non respectful of humans. Right now, I don't know what to do with metan-theories or meta-narratives, or essentializing claims, and this means I don't know what to do with humanism. Although, to be honest, "humanism" is probably just a red herring. I don't actually care about "humanism," I care about how I am to see, know, and understand myself, the people around me, and the world.
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