Rational Philosophy

Last night I watched Being John Malkovich with my family. I’d seen it when it first came out about seven years ago, but remembered very few of the specifics. As he typically does, Charlie Kaufman uses the forum of his screenplay to tease up some interesting philosophical insights and dilemmas.

Early on in the movie Craig Wright (played by John Cusack), miserable and unemployed, bemoans the curse of consciousness to his wife’s chimpanzee. Without consciousness, he says, we wouldn’t feel pain and suffering; consciousness brings just one solace — the joy of doing one’s work; when we’re denied that, what do we have? (Later on in the movie, Kaufman wryly pokes fun at Wright’s self-indulgence by showing a scene in which the chimpanzee recalls the emotional pain and trauma of being captured with his parents in the jungle, after failing to save them.)

As with all traits and capabilities of living things, consciousness evolved because it provided an advantage to survival. As I explore in considerable detail in LIFE!, consciousness allows us to manipulate abstract concepts to our advantage (and to our disadvantage, of course, when we don’t fully follow through on our rational convictions!) Without trying to read too much into Kaufman’s intentions in writing his script, Being John Malkovich presents us with the interesting question — “what is self?”

Craig discovers a portal that can transport people inside John Malkovich’s head, seeing what Malkovich sees, feeling what Malkovich feels. Later in the movie, Craig — a puppeteer — manages to wrest control of Malkovich, living through his body and mind, ousting Malkovich and relegating Malkovich’s “self” to position of passive, subconscious (and incredibly frustrated) observation.

What is the self? Can it be modified? Is it definable? Are we what we think or what we do?

Kaufman neatly points to the perspective that our sense of self is a concept that arises out of consciousness. We have a sense of ourselves through our perception of ourselves. If we stop for a moment and imagine living without conscious reflection we can glimpse the feeling of “no self.” Before the onset of consciousness the concept of self wasn’t relevant.

Our sense of self then must be a combination of many things — our awareness of physical sensations, our mental processes both conscious and subconscious, our awareness and reflection upon our actions in the world, and our perception of our being in relation to the being of others. So although we feel that we are who we are, that some unchanging aspect of ourselves defines us, this can’t be true.

Most of the time we alter, adapt and adjust in small ways, reaffirming the sense that some core ’self’ exists that must be unassailably “us.” This serves us by providing a solid ground for our personality and sense of self, for our ego. Without this sense of a solid foundation, we would flounder or sink. But it also limits us. When we’re too stuck on the idea that our self is fixed and unchanging, we start to use it as a crutch to avoid stretching ourselves or working hard to adjust destructive habits or unwanted modes of behavior. If we refuse to believe that we can change ourselves, we remain static and stuck with the selves we have.

When I was a teenager and started drinking, I used alcohol as a way to avoid my self, to get out of my self, to try to be more engaged and engaging than I thought that I was when sober. This abuse became habitual. Right up until eight or nine years ago I regularly drank too much, often to the point of throwing up and passing out. By that point I hated this aspect of myself. I wanted to try to understand it and, if possible, change it. I had a young daughter and I felt ashamed and embarrassed for her to live with me like that. I went to see a therapist for the first time in my life (something that in the past I hadn’t believed in). Over the course of the next several years I was able to come to terms with the things that I felt so uncomfortable about that I wanted to drink them away. I now have a different self, a modified self.

I won’t give away the ending of ‘Being John Malkovich.’ I highly recommend it (and Kaufman’s other movies) for those who like to think as they watch.

Does art (any kind of art — painting, sculpture, literature, music…) serve a purpose? And if so, what is that purpose? Why do we create art? And must the judgment of art be entirely subjective?

On Sunday, I visited the Brooklyn Book Festival. One of the booths housed The Aesthetic Realism Foundation. (I misread the sign at first and thought it said Atheistic Realism — this brought me up short. But even after I’d read it correctly I stayed to ask what Aesthetic Realism is.) Aesthetic Realism proposes that we can better understand our lives through the application of aesthetic principles. The booth staffer gave the example of the aesthetic practice of balancing heavy and light — being aware of the need for this balance in life can come through an understanding of its balance in art.

To me, this approach seems fascinating and insightful (and very worthy of the foundation’s efforts — for instance, they are hosting a forum on the social and personal value of Rock ‘n Roll, how cool is that?), but completely backwards philosophically; wherefrom do aesthetic principles derive if not from life?

When we ask whether art serves a purpose we ask a conceptual question. Can we relate art to a concept or set of concepts, and do these concepts give us insight into art’s possible purpose?

The answer to the first part of this question seems obvious if we think about who creates art — primarily people (and some particularly intelligent animals — larger primates and elephants). Since art requires the abstraction of ideas or impulses, it requires a conceptual process (whether subconscious or conscious). Without the product of the artistic process, which is not itself but what it represents, we have no art, therefore art relates to a set of concepts.

And herein, I believe, we have the answer to the second part of our question: The concept to which art consistently relates is abstraction! (This would still apply to representational art, in which the artist abstracts the idea or impulse of what he or she observes and transfers it to the medium of their choosing in a representational manner.)

And we also now have a clue as to a possible purpose of art. If art rests on the concept of abstraction of an idea or impulse. The artistic urge is the urge to abstract an idea or impulse. What is to be gained by acting on this urge?

Does the artist gain anything from acting on the urge? Do others gain anything from the result of the abstraction?

If we again go back to the concepts we can delve further into the concept of abstraction. Abstraction is the recreation of certain elements in another form. Abstraction is a form of reduction or refocusing. It draws out and emphasizes some aspects of the original idea or impulse.

We can say that the product of the artistic process aims to communicate this refocusing. It communicates the artist’s particular point of view on the idea or impulse. And these ideas or impulses similarly become concepts or representations themselves as they are abstracted.

If it is successful, art helps us better understand the world around us and ourselves. The more successful it is at aiding this understanding, the more valuable it is.

Hence, we have a dilemma. Art that is derivative and of little deep value in helping us better understand life’s complexities may still have mass appeal (most pop music). Whereas art that delves deeply and profoundly into complex matters may have very limited appeal.

Does the value multiply out over the number of people affected? Can an equation be drawn this simply?

More for later!

I just went to CNN.com to check out the leading news stories of the day. CNN’s top story focuses on volunteers who collect the dead in Baghdad. Britney Spears‘ MTV awards performance (specifically, its apparent lousiness) tops the popular story list.

Which story tugged at my deepest human feelings? And which story did I read?

The introductory description of volunteers collecting the dead in Baghdad forced me to dwell on the consequences and aftermath of the violence there in a new and painful way. The thought of the unremitting task of cleaning up dead bodies allowed me to imagine, however palely, how it would feel to live in such terrible circumstances. But I then clicked through to the Britney Spears story…

Upon reflection, the two stories may have more in common than it first seems. The violence in Baghdad and elsewhere in Iraq, whether we think the US presence there is justified or not, derives from people’s inability to see through their apparent differences, it rests on the ego of believing that we have something up on someone else. And our fascination with Britney Spears’ spiraling decline rests on a similar instinct to separate ourselves from others, to enjoy their calamities because it makes us feel better about ourselves at their expense.

Another reported event at the MTV awards — Kid Rock and Tommy Lee (both Pamela Anderson exes) going at it. And a related story: Popular performers insisting on songwriting credit to boost their perception as artists in the public’s eye, and to boost their bank accounts, even when they have little or no input to the songs they sing.

I am not part of the government administration, nor do I commit acts of sectarian violence. And I haven’t fought fist to face with another person since I was a child. But I realized anew today that I am guilty of separating myself from others, of holding myself out as different or in some way better. Whereas rationally I know that I am not separate. That all of us are part of the collective human swell. Rationally, I know that my ego misleads me because the ego has served us well in surviving as a species. Rationally, I know that I should remain aware of this and prevent myself from acting out of prejudice and pride.