November 13, 2008
Fiction vs. fact. It’s kind of disappointing that when it comes to art, there’s no guarantee of authenticity. Realistically, the only genuine and absolute authenticity you can hope for inheres in the quality of the writing, not its adherence to “what really happened.” I hate to agree with the people I’ve been deriding all these years, but at some level all experience is entirely subjective, and thus there is no way to determine absolutely what reality is. We can agree, though, as a majority, on the power of certain texts, and their relationship with categorical history becomes unimportant as a result.
How much of the Bible is based on what happened at the beginning of the Christian era, and how much of it is simply a story, adapted from earlier myths and rendered compelling through the universal power of narrative? The answer is probably that it has elements of actual events and elements of myth, but whatever the answer to those questions—as fascinating and tempting as they are—the really important thing about the Bible is that it has moved people to do things, terrible and wonderful, for the ensuing millennia.
So what’s my point? Only that what matters when it comes to truth is not as easy to pin down as it should be. Where I definitively part company from the post-structuralists and post-modernists is the assertion that since truth is a moving target, we should disregard it as meaningless. Whatever truth is, it is something. I see that statement for what it is, but I still stand by it. We need truth, and truth exists, it’s just not easy to define, and we can’t do so in any final way.-skinnyfat
December 27, 2007
The language to describe greatness is dead.
That is, no one in today’s intellectual vanguard is capable of telling us about exceptional people because that would imply a lack of greatness on the part of all the unexceptional ones. Well I’m unexceptional, and I’ll tell you, I’d love to have someone genuinely great to look up to, to be in awe of, to be scared by, to be revolted by sometimes, but mainly to be drawn to. We’re all so wishy-washy.
A few years ago they did a survey of high school kids somewhere and asked them what makes someone “cool.” Their response? The number one thing that makes someone cool is “niceness.” I’m sorry, but that’s not right. I think I’m nice. Most of my friends are nice, and certainly so is my family, and I’m pleased about that.
But we’re entirely uncool, because we don’t challenge anyone to rethink, we don’t force our personality on the world, or tell other people that they need to pay attention to us, or ignore other people entirely in service of something we can’t help believing in.
Politeness. Political correctness. Such closely related terms. The polis is not where we should be putting all our faith. We need people who discriminate, who attack, who stand taller than everybody else. We don’t need to believe in these people, or to like them, but we need them around so we have something to measure ourselves against.
Without contrarians and assholes, how do we know if we’re actually nice and good? We can’t tell unless we can point to someone and say, “that’s a bad man.”
And really, once we can do that, doesn’t some secret part of each of us respond to that, and admire that? To a charismatic asshole each heart returns an echo.
-skinnyfat
January 12, 2007
We can never lose our sense of humour. Being earnest is only possible, and
only useful, through a filter of unabashed irony, cynicism, and self-hate.
This is the principle that built the English people, and surely we can
translate some of it into our North American lives. There is an important
balance to be struck between our “honestly, I completely acknowledge that
every feeling and thought and idea that everyone has is up for consideration
and I realize that we all have to love one another in order for the world to
get better” and the English’s “stop being a div, ‘ave a pint, and fuck off.”
Unfortunately, while I’d like to believe that the stoicism of the latter
statement is closer to my own outlook (and while it’s a caricature of
lower-class thinking, it could be applied in gentler language across the
spectrum I think), I must confess that I find myself regressing to the
former way of thinking all too often. I feel, I think, I’m glad you told me
that, let’s express our emotions, because they are important.
And they are, I don’t think anyone can deny that. Our emotions are the
reason we’re in excessive debt, the reason we keep crawling back to the
people who cause us the greatest harm, the reason we continue getting up in
the morning and going to the same shithole of a workplace, and also the
reason that any of this is bearable and has meaning to us. Our thoughts are
what should guide us, while our emotions are what do. But to therefore give
place to emotions while avoiding thought, is to ignore the nature of emotion
itself. Real, useful emotion grows out of ignoring how we “feel,” of trying
to serve something other than our heart’s deepest desire. If your heart’s
deepest desire is to discover your heart’s deepest desire, you’ve got a
problem: you’re stuck in a loop with no concrete reference points. You
won’t be able to orient yourself with regards to any part of your inner life
if you don’t first focus on your outer life. The terrible fear of emotion
that is a staple of English life, and some might say the basis of their
national character, signifies both a compulsive desire not to examine one’s
motives, and also a clever solution to the misery of human existence.
If the world is a vale of tears (and it is, on better days), then we’d do
well to just get on with living in it. The more you scrape away at the
surface of things, the deeper you delve into your own feelings and your
emotional motivations, the more you will realize—if you are clever—that
there is no possible positive outcome to such an exploration. They say that
ignorance is bliss, and I’m sure the man that coined that phrase was a
depressive who committed suicide. Looking at the world and thinking about
it is okay—it distracts you, if you’re doing it right, from the desperate
night-sweats and the rapidly increasing approach of your own mortality. But
looking at yourself and trying to pick apart why you keep doing the same
stupid things to yourself again and again, and to work out what would
fulfill you and make you happy, is a lot like trying to nail a piece of shit
to the wall. It keeps changing shape, it’s not solid enough to hold onto,
and by the time you realize that even if you’d succeeded all you’d have is a
piece of shit on a wall anyway, you look like a crazy person and you feel
very ashamed of yourself for all the wasted time.
In short, your life is a miserable waste of time. You can tell me, and
yourself, that that is a ridiculous and defeatist statement, but when you’re
alone later, try this experiment. Think about the best legacy you could
leave behind you when you die. What is it? Fame and fortune? A scientific
discovery that will save the lives of millions (prove it to me and I’ll
invest)? A loving family who will carry on your memory? Those are all very
nice. Now accept that you will be dead just the same. And in order to
achieve any of those things to a satisfying degree, you will have worked
exceptionally hard for most of the days you actually spent alive. Subtract
the time you spent asleep, the time you spent at work, the time you spent
miserable about some perceived mistake or sadness (like not being
“fulfilled”), and only retain the total time you’ve spent blissful and
content. If you had a good childhood, include only the time you remember
well.
What did you come up with? One day? You have had a good life. Die happy
with yourself. It was a good day. Twelve hours? Not so bad. If the
religious zealots are right, and you’ve picked the right bunch of bizarre
rituals to observe, maybe you’ll get to relive those hours throughout
eternity. Less time? Don’t feel bad. You’re average. I attempted this
experiment myself, but then had a strong urge to eat rat poison. And
therein lies my point: there’s nothing much to be gained from an actual
examination of your emotions, and chasing the happiness you’ve experienced
leads inevitably to misery. Instead, let’s all work hard, get half-drunk at
night, and try and avoid taking anything more seriously than we absolutely
have to. If you don’t think about it, it’s not so bad.
-skinnyfat