We are all at the same time beautifully unique and completely interdependent. Everything that makes up “me” is an external element, so “I” is nothing but the aggregate of things that “I” is not. What, then, is the self? From this arises the Buddhist doctrine of non-self. The individual is like a wave rolling up from the ocean of reality. Certain conditions came together to form the temporary wave. No two waves are the same, yet they are both formed of the same water. The wave has its own life, its own qualities, and its own force; yet eventually the conditions which allowed it to manifest will change and it will disappear back into the ocean. Energy is not lost in this process, it is simply transferred and transformed. So it is with us when we die.
At the same time, each self-aggregate is unique and possesses its own qualities and capacities. I am the result of forces I did not control, and so I may question the role of volition in my existence. Yet, I am capable of thoughts, feelings and experiences that will be unique to me. It is this individual experience that allows for beauty in human existence.
Self is non-existent at the same time it is of ultimate importance. To reach my highest potential I must recognize that “I” does not exist, because self is the aggregate of the external. And yet, to truly respect interdependence, I must celebrate my individuality. It is precisely because I cannot own my achievements that I must achieve, for I am humanity.
Coming back is always a pensive affair. I feel a sense of loss.
Life is fast. We are so comfortable with the blur of speed that when we stop for a moment clear vision seems to us distorted: surprise trips to the emergency room, little betrayals we failed to anticipate, moving on after a struggle, holding a newborn baby, stories that move us to tears, annual events and landmarks that remind us that we are slowly dying. It is in these moments that we feel the force of life’s tow and we want to change ourselves with equal haste: to be a better friend, to find more love, to defeat a bad habit, to do something that people will remember, to be a good person, to really appreciate life.
We’re getting older now. We’re caught in the tide.
When you have nothing you can feel the excitement of possibility. When you have something you clutch and feel the anxiety that precedes loss.
We want so much but are allowed only a sliver.
This is the reformist motto: “Yes, things are bad, but it’s not too late!”
Hope can be transformative, but can also trap us in dialectical struggle.
Something will always be bad, and whatever it is at a given moment is what will receive the attention of the elite. And what is the steady reply? We’ve got to work harder, ride the storm, persevere. But wait, good things are paraded by the elite as well, right? And this inspires complacency. We look at things as better and worse and believe we must strive toward the better. In a local context–where better and worse are value judgments rooted in community dialog–this is true. In a broader context–where better and worse become abstractions–this kind of thinking is paralyzing.
Blind faith in the possibility of perfection keeps us stuck in mediocrity. We need to keep ultimate goals in mind while working on our immediate situations. Abandonism offers this solution: utilize local resources to effect change on a level proportional to our constituency. By circumventing institutional channels we sacrifice the phantom of widespread change for feasible local improvements. This does not mean we ignore the institutions; we still put pressure in the right places to keep the tyrants at bay, but our chief concern is how we can make local improvements.
The importance and feasibility of change are inversely proportional to degrees of separation from the self. The most important and most likely locus of change is yourself. Then your family, your block, neighborhood, city, and region. We suffer the same misperceptions at each degree: make a good thing better, or overhaul it completely. Reformers of self advocate topical change without confronting life issues, and self revolutionaries offer pipedream self help advice.
We must abandon dichotomy. In the filth of crisis lie the minerals needed for growth. Basic Abandonism says this: we do what we can with what we have. No matter the locus of change, we start by asking what do we have?
As soon as we take for granted that there are better and worse ways of doing things, we create a hierarchy that implies perfection at the top. I’ve written that “modern society has a predilection for centralization;” modernity obsesses over perfection by collecting what are perceived as the best ways to do things into what is perceived as the best structure. The result is a “crippling singularity [that] does not reflect the complexity of the human experience.”
This is monolith culture–contrived singularity legitimized by the assumption that the best will rise to the top. This assumption is dangerous because it is self-legitimating and therefore disconnected from experience. If the idea that the best rise to the top is at the top then it is taken for granted as the best idea about how things work. But widespread belief is no indication of validity. Further, we have plenty of evidence in the wrongs of society that the best do not rise to the top. So the main function of this idea is not to actually describe reality, but to legitimize authority.
Those who happen to be in power become those who should be in power.
This is monolith culture. Let’s use celebrity as a concrete example: a relatively small number of entertainment professionals are idolized by a relatively large portion of society. Their positions of power are taken for granted as evidence of their virtue. But, again, this is self-legitimating and therefore disconnected from experience. Popularity is no indication of talent. Celebrities are not the most attractive people, the most talented people or even the most entertaining people. But this idea of the best rising to the top has given birth to the phenomenon of superstardom.
Those who happen to capture our attention becomes those who should capture our attention.
This is monolith culture, and it exists at the cost of the vernacular. We have a corrupt republic instead of community forums. We have Coca-Cola instead of local flavors. We have struggling state schools instead of community education. We have Safeway instead of farmer’s markets. We have police instead of tight-knit neighborhoods.
We have Brad Pitt instead of a local hero.
Last night I dreamed I was back in Chicago. It was dusk and I was walking in the loop. I was supposed to meet up with a group, but I knew they would take a while, so I just started walking. Three blocks passed without notice. I found myself on East Wacker overlooking the purple reflection of the setting sun in the Chicago River. I walked west along the water, and I could feel the city. The towers gave me calm, the rush hour excitement made me still, and that strange purple light put me in awe. I felt solid.
Authoritarian assholes:
