The Full Life - Part 1

What does it mean for one to have had a full life? The general consensus is that one must have gone through many of the landmark stages of life and must have several accomplishments to zer roster or, in a more general sense, must have had an exemplary behavior.

A small parenthesis: I have discovered the urban slang term "zer", which can be used as a gender-neutral possessive, and intend to make use of its practicality. End of parenthesis.

Well then, for one who hasn't accomplished much, is the implication that zer life hasn't been full? Should we include in that category the childless, the celibates, the suicides, the little people, the faceless workers, the beggars and, well, pretty much all the unknowns?

What constitutes a full life? Objectively, we must submit our lives to the judgment of others, no matter how personally opinionated we might be. Even the most marginal among us must ultimately answer for how they lived their life.

But what standards should we apply in judging a life? What is the measure of a full life? The easy answer is that we are subject to the moral values of our society or culture. And that's the problematic part.

Morality is subjective - in fact, we should talk about moralities and not morality. Such systems are products of power relations and dominating ideologies. At best, we can hope for tolerance among different moralities but not a truly objective baseline.

Well then, if not achievements or "morality", then what?

To be done with semantics, let us accept the plurality of moralities (i.e. their unreliability) and substitute it for the singularity of ethics. A moral person knows the right thing, an ethical one does it, and that is the more objective path.

Another parenthesis: Knowledge is subjective. My favorite Descartes quote goes "Of all things, good sense is the most fairly distributed: everyone thinks he is so well supplied with it that even those who are the hardest to satisfy in every other respect never desire more of it than they already have" - is it only me or does someone else see the cynicism in here? End of second parenthesis.

One way to look at ethics is as a set of rules and skills designed specifically to allow us not only to respect others, but also to understand them and, therefore, judge them objectively in an interactive setting. That is the basis for a healthy dialog.

But dialog is around us every day without us being aware of that. We are interacting with each other without at all times as part of the species. So without a spoken dialog, what ethical standards govern us and make our lives full?

In Solzhenitsyn's novel, the character Ivan Denisovich Shukhov was sentenced to 10 years in a Soviet prison camp (interestingly enough - or not - we never know why).

Throughout the day, Ivan observes several moralities around him, including his own and realizes the basic necessity of life is the same for everyone, only there are ways to deal with this necessity and come out the best from it: both personally fulfilled and having contributed to the general good.

To be continued in Part 2 since I have digressed somewhat.

The Dangling Conversation

Hell is the other, I've already mentioned that, and by that measure, I am hell to another.

There is no escaping that.

I had talked earlier about writing the other. In order to do justice to the other, more than empathy is required; in fact, one must become the other and bear the burden of the other's existence, with all that that entails in terms of emotions, aspirations, concerns, insecurities, etc.

But writing the other is the lesser hell, it seems, if only because it is a matter of choice and not of necessity; whereas when one is in the presence of the other, the concept takes on whole new dimension. Choice is not an issue anymore, one suddenly finds oneself confronted to the other, subject to reactions and - more emphatically - the being and existence of the other.

And there is no putting down the pen or shutting off one's thoughts here. It is a crash into each other in the full sense of the word - not a clash, which would imply some sort of excuse, intention or other variable, but a crash: it just happens.

Animals may fight to establish dominance, plants may choke each other in a restricted environment, but in the end, it all unemotionally plays towards attaining balance in the bigger design.

On the other hand, we, as sentient beings, are unable to let things take their natural course. For one, being conscious that we are conscious, we are also conscious that others are conscious (contrived though it may sound, it makes sense), giving rise to a number of inter-relational complications.

Furthermore, tools (read: technology or, more intricately so, wealth to buy technology) have given us the means to question the natural order. In the presence of others, the crash is unavoidable. At best, one can hope to get over it or, in more extreme cases, avoid others altogether.

This avoidance can take on many shapes, from total and utter submission to the other, to a full breakup or, more sadly, non-communication.

Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

From "The Dangling Conversation", lyrics by Paul Simon

Hmmm

The first time I noticed my shadow, it suddenly stopped in its tracks and ran ahead of me.

It grew to a ridiculous size, dwarfing all in its path, then shrank back to a tiny spot almost invisible, then grew again. It plastered itself over every building in sight, striking foolish poses and multiplying randomly in a wallpaper pattern. For a moment it walked backwards in my opposite direction, then seemed to settle back in place. That's when it started waving its arms wildly and stepping up and down in a grotesque fashion.

I felt betrayed, I was afraid. I tried to run away as fast as I could but it didn't help; my shadow stuck like gum under my shoes.

That's when I reached the water. My shadow danced childishly around me as if mocking me. Fool! I will drown you and that will be the end of you.

I didn't hesitate, I threw myself in. The water was cold and heavy on my body. Too late I remembered I can't swim. I struggled with water filling my lungs, not able to shout even.

Then, a warm feeling came over me as someone grabbed my arm. I looked up to see the grim face of my shadow pulling me out.

I was saved.

Political Correctness: the New Metaphor

How many writers/readers today pause to truly think of political correctness in terms of linguistics and not politics?

Very few, or else there would be many more writings on the subject. Proponents of political INcorrectness, though engaged in a commendable social enterprise, are in fact lacking a truly artistic form. Their counter-revolution seems more like conservative revisionism when analyzed from a linguistic angle as they call for "truer" language - which is only true to one's simple socio-linguistic constructs and limited experience.

In a time where the traditional metaphor has all but "been let go" after having fallen under constant fire from literary "dispensers of objective analytical interpretation", subsisting only among a few "aligners of verse both rhyme and non-rhyme" nostalgic for the psychedelic influence of the sixties and seventies, it is all too refreshing to find that literary device reemerging under political correctness.

Yes, political correctness is the new metaphor for the 21st century. The very term insists on itself: isn't "political correctness" a politically correct way of saying "hypocrisy" for the New Left who first promoted the concept? Shining examples such as "freedom fighters" (insurgents), "oppressed minorities" (non-whites), "decision crossroads" (SNAFU), etc. are now an integral part of daily discourse for the "linguistically and socially advantaged class". Yesterday's "captains of finance" and "office sharks" are today's "venture capitalists" and "competitive coworkers".

To the literally aware, a politically correct term is a master product of creativity demanding huge cognitive and imaginative efforts from one to come up with "horizontally challenged" (fat), "delayed success" (failure) and their likes. It is virtually a literary challenge to come up with politically correct replacement terms every time an existing one is deemed offensive.

A personal favorite of mine which I have loosely adapted from an obscure turn-of-the-century (20th) novel is "having an atrophied social sense" (selfish).

And the best part is that political correctness is still in full bloom. There are those who consider surviving metaphors to be degrading and low-brow (see "bird" and "fox" for woman), who would rather replace them with politically correct terms.

Whereas before, metaphors were used to express emotions, political correctness is called upon to hide those emotions, following a similar mental process more in touch with the times' zeitgeist as we become more and more a technocracy based on economic profit.

On a closing (though far from conclusive) note (in fact, it would only serve to confuse the issue even further), consider Shakespeare's words: "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet".

Writer's Block - When You Can't Simply Write

Of course, it all depends on what you're setting up to write in the first place.

For argument's sake, I'll limit myself to personal writing.

I feel I have to open a parenthesis here to clarify that any non-academic writing is kind of personal or, at the very least, contains some personal elements, unless it is pure (and therefore very bad) fiction/romance - think King or Steele, although even these two have their (many) readers; but then, what it comes down to is they're entertainers. End of parenthesis.

So why the block? Because of the "others" (hell is others, wrote Sartre). Sure you can write about personal experiences but there is a thin line between personal and anal-umbilical writing. Too often the Western notion of individualism or personality is misunderstood as "unique" or, among more misguidedly "aware 'individuals'" as "free from external constraints". It only takes that little additional analytical approach to admit that an "individual" exists only in relation to and because of others. The existence of the others is a condition sine qua non for the existence of the one - a step further beyond the Cartesian imperative.

So whenever one writes about one's self, one needs to make felt the presence of others in order to be present oneself.

Back to the block. I've posted a picture on this block of a t-shirt with the mention "Writer's Block: When Your Imaginary Friends Won't Talk to You"; that should easily apply to pure fiction.

However, when it comes to personal writing, it is not imaginary friends but real ones that one comes to call upon for creating the "others", ergo the "one". The problem with these friends is not their silence but, on the contrary, their verbosity: they simply won't shut up. Human relations have become so superficial or relegated to "relations with electronic/online personae" that it becomes harder to define those relations and the "others" on which they are built. By a conscious effort to do justice to those "others" so as to define them more accurately (and thus be able to define oneself in relationship to them), one unlocks a whole new dimension not usually taken into account in the day-to-day. That is when many of the "others" who make us who we are start acquiring a voice of their own - sometimes for the first time in our shared lives.

Opening this Pandora's box results in a whole spectrum of new psychological and psychosocial considerations. From this perspective, the "others" overwhelm one, shedding the light on the wrong one has done them and on one's own selfish narrow views. How often one takes the "others" for granted or does not holds prejudices against them. The realization of one's shortcomings should be guilt-inducing enough but the issue doesn't end there. One's "characters" (based on the "others" one knows) now appear in all their glory and come back with a vengeance to become one's tormentors. The free flow of writing automatically stops to allow for an examination of one's conscience and a whole new reassessment of one's notions and conceptions of the "others". Empathy with those "others" becomes a double-edged sword here and a reconciliation is necessary before taking any one step further.

Then again, if those "others" happen to be too deeply rooted in one's perception of them as inherently evil or stupid, the issue is voided. The problem then is that once more one will have fallen in the trap of self-indulgence and retreated into one's oyster shell. The "others" are not simply black or white and therein lies the whole reason why they are "hell" to one.