It's a little scary to wrestle with this, but...

Today, we discussed how it is that we classify knowledge. Moving past our starting point, we broadened the discussion into how intelligence, specifically university-certified intelligence, can benefit individuals. Superficially, this seems to be fairly straightforward--of course a university degree is beneficial, requiring years of hard labor to produce a degree from an approved educational institution. This seems innocent enough, but what about the unspoken subtext? Operating within the framework of this course--where all of a sudden nothing makes sense--perhaps the most obvious explanation, the most sensible, is a farce. In other words, is our understanding of knowledge, degrees and achievement fundamentally biased, exclusive and unjust?

In the United States, not everyone can earn a fancy degree framed in an ornate placard featuring cursive calligraphy that very few people can actually read. The collegiate degree, the esteemed diploma, is in itself a status symbol. It represents power, drive and achievement, all honorable qualities. But what about luck?

To succeed in this society, an individual needs more than talent: they need a certain amount of luck, of "I was in the right place at the right time," of "I knew this person who really helped give me a chance." These connections are crucial yet we, the nation of individuals, often don't want to confront this unsettling truth. After all, why would we, the self-made individual, admit that that might is not the case?

Even in something as impersonal and "safe" as a blog post, these words are difficult to write. But lest my point should remain unclear, allow me to spell it out.

I am white. I am male. I am a heterosexual who is over 6 feet tall. My physical appearance is beneficial; I fit easily into the category of red-blooded American male that this country appears to prize. I was born with no abnormalities and with an average degree of aptitude. Both of my parents raised me growing up and I was surrounded by a support network of loving family and friends that pushed me to where I am today. I was born in the United States of America to a middle class family; I knew that college was always in my future. In essence, I won the lottery of life. I have had to do very little, comparably speaking, to achieve what I have achieved, due mostly to factors outside of my control. I'm incredibly lucky, incredibly lucky. The scary thing, though, is to ask myself: how much of my success is due to elements outside of my control?

My culture is telling me one thing--that I have earned what I have achieved and it is due to my tenacity as an individual. My heart might be telling me something different, though.

Again, let me repeat: how much of my success is due to elements outside of my control?

Maybe I don't want to know.

Youthful optimism & the eradication of order as defensive boundary maker. Maybe?

It is very rare for a statement, however general, to apply to all humanity. Any attempt to do so is usually met with harsh criticism, a quick rebuttal or an irrefutable objection. Despite the vast difficulties, philosophers have struggled for centuries to discern those undeniable truths applicable to all. Many intellectuals have proposed a universal truth of love, of justice, of beauty, but are quickly confronted with the subjectivity of their claims. Consequently, philosophy has acquired an air of whimsical futility from critics of this relativism. An inarguable truth, however, is often ignored; that is the truth of classification, or the inherent desire of humanity to classify.

Human beings are, by nature, social creatures. They are born into and shaped by communities dependent upon communication. As John Durham Peters describes in Speaking into the Air: A History of the Idea of Communication, “To understand communication is to understand much more. An apparent answer to the painful divisions between self and other, private and public, and inner thought and outer word... it is a sink into which most of our hopes and fears seem to be poured.” (1) Peters argues understanding communication provides us a unique window into which humanity may be examined. If one’s “hopes and fears” are understood, a person’s unique perspective is discernible. The way one processes information and classifies objects becomes apparent through their communication, which Peters contends is the fundamental avenue to understand human beings. Communication also provides a valuable means to understand our collective longing for structure and order. What happens, though, when these self-imposed boundaries dissolve? 

When presented with a blurring of the lines, where is one to proceed? As history demonstrates, uncertainty leads easily to fear. This, in turn, leads to violence and the propagation of difference as a decisive boundary-maker. Typically, this comes at the expense of the less-powerful group, often with disastrous consequences. Perhaps with a greater awareness of each other’s communicative means, these boundaries need not be erected and need not propagate violence. But then again, maybe this is just wishful thinking. 

References

(1) John Durham Peters, Speaking into the Air: a History of the Idea of Communication, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), 2. 

Collections or Hoarders or Museums (Can we just make up our minds!?)

To begin this post, I'd like to establish a situational framework. After I establish the foundation, I will proceed to subtlety alter the contents. I expect that your reaction will change as I add and alter the variables; if so, my point will become clear.

Basic: Gunther owns books.

Variation 1: Gunther owns many books. (Sounds good, right? Gunther seems very nice; we'd get along, easily.)

Variation 2: Gunther owns many books and instructional manuals. (At this point, Gunther seems like a technician. He seems to keep abreast of his trade and the latest techniques and practices.)

Variation 3: Gunther owns enough books and instructional manuals to fill multiple rooms in his house. (At this point, you may be thinking: "okay, Gunther might own too many books, but there isn't anything necessarily deviant about that.)

Variation 4: Gunther owns enough books and instructional manuals to fill multiple rooms in his house on how to practice human taxidermy. (You're judging, right? Gunther obviously should be considered insane, locked up, committed. He clearly is a threat to society and a horrible influence on the youth of this proud nation.)

So, clearly, Gunther is deviant. He reads thousands of books on human taxidermy--he must be crazy! But, wait:

http://www.bodyworlds.com/en.html

If you follow the above link, you will visit the website of the international exhibition, Body Worlds, curated/founded by Gunther von Hagens. Does your opinion of the Gunther (based on the previous four sentence variations now change?) Why? After all: taxidermy is taxidermy... period. The ethics of human taxidermy should not change from the individual to the organization.

(Here's a link to images of exhibits within Body Worlds: https://www.google.com/search?q=body+worlds&hl=en&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=CKhdUaTLOYas8AS9ooCgAw&ved=0CAoQ_AUoAQ&biw=1501&bih=794)

It seems, however, that the institutional backing of Body Worlds--it is an international museum, after all--provides the exhibition some sense of legitimacy. Why is this so?

Here, we see an example of lines blurred, boundaries crossed and order violated. If an action is corrupt by the individual but not by the institution, then our understanding of collections, hoarders and museums must be reevaluated.

Hoarding has a negative connotation, collections seem neutral and museums are inherently positive. In order to better understand these three, we need to reevaluate our biases and reconsider the way we previously ordered and assigned items into these three categories.

The beginning of a prolonged diatribe on order & chaos

To speak generally, this class has evoked many responses from its participants. Some have been eager to challenge their inclination towards structure--the most basic aspect of their worldview--while others have been a bit hesitant. I'm not here to say that either choice (or any perspective on the continuum in between) is correct or incorrect--that's not my job. I am here, however, to reflect a little on my own progress throughout this course. 

I've changed, to say the least, and this is my attempt to begin to capture some of that change. I intend to do this over several consecutive posts (which I will generate in a so-far uncharacteristic regularity), but before I do so, allow me to briefly explain what could be considered my only real frustration with this course. 

I'm a fairly easy-going person, in general. When it comes to anything academic, however, I'd prefer to have a grasp of the material before making my opinions public. I suppose it's an intense need for some sort of conceptual grasp, backed by extensive textual evidence, to support my position. 

You may be saying: "Wait, Kevin, stop one second. This course wasn't designed to memorize material. It was meant to unravel a thought train, to illustrate an inherently biased perspective " Yes, I understand, and that is the primary impetus for my blogging delay. 

I entered this class knowing that I would change. I expected the way that I process sensory information to change. I expected the way I perceive events to change. I expected the way I understand my surroundings to change. That it did, that it did.

So what is the grand purpose of this short narrative? Basically, I intend to say as follows: I didn't want to blog, I didn't want to espouse my views, until I felt that I had experienced enough of a perspective change to voice them. I wanted to say something truly of substance, something that I knew would be a worthy contribution. Personally, this is the research-based style that I prefer to operate in. It works for me. Sometimes I wish it weren't that way, but it is, and I have to embrace it. And now that I have this newfound perspective, I feel that I am capable of speaking and of being heard. 

I didn't want to talk into the wind, I wanted to talk with it. This is my attempt to do so.