Islands in the Stream of Consciousness

Let me first give credit to the person who coined the phrase used as the title to this post, Jim Reich.  He was a good friend, now dead. It combines the title of Hemingway's Islands in the Stream and a literary technique well known and practiced with some frequency in the first half of the twentieth century and even now.  Knowing him as I did, I don't think he was referring to the Dolly Parton/Kenny Rodgers duet.

Stream of Consciousness is a literary device, but the phrase, or something like it, was used by the psychologist-philosopher William James in this Principles of Psychology to describe states of consciousness, or thoughts or ideas, as being a process, a flow, rather than isolated and distinct from one another.  Efforts were made by certain authors to replicate this flow in their poetry and novels.  Famous practitioners were James Joyce, William Faulkner, Jack Kerouac, Virginia Woolf and others.

I doubt that the literary technique is or can be anything like the process or flow conceived of by James, however.  The fact that it's employed for a purpose--that it is indeed a technique, a contrivance--renders this impossible.  What James and others (like John Dewey) point out is that typically our states of mind or consciousness are non-reflective.  In other words, we don't constantly think; we don't consider means and ends, we don't anticipate events or consequences.  In fact, we seldom do.  We think when we have to do so, or are induced to think by encountering a situation we find problematic or dissatisfying in some sense.  Then, we seek to resolve it.  For the most part, we merely feel, or react thoughtlessly, as a "habit" to use Dewey's terminology.

Stream of consciousness writing is deliberate, and requires thought.  Through thinking, the practitioners of Stream of Consciousness writing attempt to imitate that which isn't thought.

It doesn't work.  If you read examples of it you may find on the internet, I think you'll agree with me.  What you'll see, I believe, is an effort to express thoughts or feelings in an unconventional manner, sometimes disjointed, sometimes juxtaposition is unexpected, sometimes surprising but not as a stream or flow.  In fact, the thoughts, feelings, ideas presented using the Stream of Consciousness technique are staccato.

How could they not be?  It's a limitation imposed by language itself, I think.  Even shorn of such words as pronouns, the description of walking in the woods would be something like:  Walking, exercise, wood smell, sunny, feeling fit, warm, getting tired, etc.  The description is necessarily made up of separate items, independent of one another.

Words, books, poetry, fiction and non-fiction prose aren't part of James' stream of consciousness, because they're read.  A book or books might be when we merely see or encounter them, but reading and understanding them are not. 

It's true that they may serve to evoke a feeling, however.  But that feeling, having been evoked by the effort of reading and comprehending, isn't part of the stream.  Like reading itself, like thinking, like acting for a purpose, they can be thought of as islands in the stream of consciousness as my old friend put it.  They break up the stream, they divert it, for a time.  Then, we get back to simply existing.

Because writing supposed to reflect a Stream of Consciousness clearly does no such thing (or so I think) I wonder whether such writing was more a fad than anything else.  Perhaps Gertrude Stein was reading James on psychology on day and was struck by the idea, and passed it on to her acolytes, who passed it on in turn.  E.E. Cummings is said to be a poet who used the technique.  If so, his poems always strike me as disjointed, deliberately so--staccato, in fact--and perhaps that can be said to prove my point.  His poems have impact, but they can hardly be said to flow.  They don't flow, they jerk from point to point.  It seems odd to me that any writer would think that they were accurately portraying the way our consciousness works using this device.

Ultimately, perhaps, reading prompts us to decide what kind of island in the Stream of Consciousness writing we want to live on or explore, for a time.  The part of the writer is to make the island worth exploring.  What is worth exploring will vary from person to person and time to time, of course, but that's the way of real islands as well.

 

Nation Building, Nation Leaving

 

Not for nothing has Afghanistan been called "the graveyard of empires."  It's seen several come and go, and it's unclear that any of them left it changed in any significant or enduring respect.  This isn't to say that it has been unchanged since the time of Alexander the Great, when he and the army his father Phillip built wandered and conquered there.  But it is to say that what has changed in Afghanistan would very likely have changed regardless of efforts made to control and dominate it by foreign powers.

Our Glorious Union was there in force for twenty years.  Let's not debate whether our Great Republic is an empire, properly speaking.  Let's not debate the soundness of the reasons for our entry, though that's certainly something which can be debated.  Of more importance at this time (I think) are what took place after we intervened in that country's history, and the manner of our departure.

I can't think of an instance where a foreign power has conquered a nation and successfully built another, different nation in its place.  The concept of "nation building" strikes me as essentially hubristic.  It's a task so colossal, and therefore so expensive, that it's hard to believe any would attempt it.  Ancient Rome managed to conquer and have imperium of vast territory occupied by different nations for centuries, but even when "Romanizing" its provinces, it never sought to drastically alter the religion and culture of those conquered, except in the case of Judea.  Judea was a special case, though.  It revolted twice, and its distinctness, otherwise tolerated by Rome due to the fact its uniqueness was ancient, became dangerous.  Also, the emperor who presided over the second revolt of its people, Hadrian, was misguided in thinking he could change it into something it simply could not be.

It's likely that Hadrian may have thought not merely that the response to the second revolt should be brutal and thoroughly so, as it certainly was.  He may have thought, as an avid Hellenophile, that suppression of Judaism and forceful imposition of Graeco-Roman culture and religion was in the best interest of its people.

It doesn't seem to be the case that we entered Afghanistan to engage in nation building.  But the mission must have changed, somehow.  Our leaders evidently thought it was in the best interests of the people of Afghanistan that its society, culture and religion be changed, not merely that its people be controlled and rendered quiescent.  The latter was generally the strategy of Rome.  Let them be orderly, peaceful, and tax-paying, respectful of the genius of Rome and its emperors; then all will be well no matter what gods they worship or what their customs may be.  It's possible that order may have been achieved, and violence, at least against the U.S., limited if not eradicated.  But I think it's always been highly unlikely that Afghanistan would become anything like America or Europe in its customs, or in its religion or system of law, or in the freedoms and rights granted its people, though that may well be in the best interests of its people.

When that's unlikely or impossible, the wisdom of "nation building" must be questioned, and the costs especially in terms of lives lost or destroyed that result from such an ill-fated effort recognized, and it should be avoided.  Some people are very different from us and some don't even want to be like us.  They can't be made to be like us.  This should be a truth easy enough to accept.  But it seems we don't, or can't accept it.

In any case, it seems that if we're inclined to accept it, we do so far too late, and when we do we strive to extricate ourselves from the mess created precipitately.  We want to "cut our losses" as soon as we can.  The thought is to remove Americans as quickly as possible, regardless of consequences.  The result is chaos.  Such is the fate of those who purport to create a Western style democracy in Afghanistan, perhaps.  

The speed with which the Taliban was able to "take back their country" to use a phrase we've heard before was apparently surprising.  Also surprising, we hear, was the manner in which the army we tried to create to replace us, eventually, took flight from them.  Perhaps it was our intent to help those who helped us, putting their lives at risk, by evacuating them as well as ourselves.  One would hope so.  One would hope we still manage to save all the people we can.  But we won't save all who helped us or wished for a change, and their fate becomes the legacy of our twenty years there, to little purpose though the cost was great.  What did those who died in service to their country there die for?  We ask the same question regarding those who died in Vietnam. 

A helicopter perched on the top of the U.S. embassy in Saigon, a line of people trying to climb into it.  That photograph taken in 1975 during the Fall of Saigon is a famous one, and has been dug up for display alongside photos taken much more recently in Kabul.  The evacuation of Saigon was called "Operation Frequent Wind."  One wonders who came up with the name, and what was intended by it.  Better than "Breaking Wind" I suppose.  What will the evacuation of Kabul be called?  Something like "Frantic Departure" probably won't be selected.  

The United States should not be an empire.  It acts as if it is one from time to time.  In the Mexican War, in the Spanish-American War, in taking the Philippines.  There clearly are moral reasons for not being imperial.  But I also think that we're too inclined not only to enrich ourselves and our friends, but  also  to impose not merely order but what we think and believe on others, our culture and society, on others.  That may be impossible and is certainly impractical.  We're not Romans, that's to say.

Courage, Athletics and Mental Health

Another Olympics has come and gone.  Controversy of some kind seems to have become part of the experience of the games, and in the case of this one that controversy, at least here in God's Favorite Country, involves the decision of one participant to decline from participating in certain events.  But it appears that it's the reasons she gave for her decision that some find offensive rather than the decision itself.

I speculate that the self-appointed guardians of morality we hear from regarding this decision would have been silent if a physical injury or condition was involved (at least in ancient Rome, Censors were magistrates appointed not by themselves, but by others).  Perhaps I give them too much credit, but I like to think they wouldn't have gotten quite so excited if a broken leg was given as a reason.  But alas, not physical, but emotional and what are called "mental" issues were invoked, and this aroused the Censors of this age.

There's no question that successful athletes have been considered heroes or heroic for a very long time.  Those who aren't successful generally are ignored at best, mocked at worst.  That those who applaud these heroes or mock those who lose are generally themselves entirely lacking as athletes of any kind presents some interesting questions, but those questions will have to be the subjects of another post.

It strikes me that the view that athletes are to struggle on regardless of pain or injury is in some sense romantic, or a kind of expression of perceived masculine virtues--a sort of comparison along the lines of that parodied in SNL's Quien es Mas Macho.  I think this may be due, in part, to the tendency to think of sport as a sort of war.  Our British cousins are famous, or infamous, for claiming that team sports constitute outstanding preparation for war, and perhaps that has something to do with it.  There was a time when it was claimed that battles fought in war were won on the Playing Fields of Eton.  Those playing fields and others, though, were played in by the rich and aristocratic, and it's doubtful that they alone, or their schooldays, were responsible for any victory.    

There seems to be a difference between our glorification of team sports and the view of athletic heroism held in ancient times by the Greeks and Romans.  Individual achievement was glorified in the past, and as far as I'm aware, athletics were not deemed preparation for war in ancient times.  War was something fairly common then.  Training for war was a part of life for all citizens. It wasn't necessary to pretend to be at war as those of us who have not been at war enjoy doing now.

The case of Simone Biles is an interesting one.  She was, in fact, very successful before Tokyo.  There can be no question that she is lacking in ability, or that she doesn't have what it takes to be a great athlete.  One wonders how many medals are required to establish her qualifications, or to demonstrate she isn't "weak."  She had nothing left to prove and could have sat out these Olympics, I believe, without shame.

Nonetheless, her admission of doubts regarding her chances of success have been characterized as weakness; unworthiness, in fact.  Indeed, they've been claimed to be characteristic of our society.  Or, perhaps it's fairer to say that the reaction of some to her case is considered by others to indicate our nation and society are decadent or decayed.

It's apparent that some of our pundits are irritated that her admission of doubts is being praised by others, and particularly because the praise includes claims she is showing bravery and strength.  There is apparently nothing to be praised or honored in honesty in such a case, although given the negative reaction of the more reactionary among us, it may be said a certain bravery was required to make the admission.  Praising it or honoring it is said to encourage failure and lack of effort.  

The tendency of pundits and media to overstate, and especially to generalize, is clear.  It's what those paid to express outrage and emotion, to stir up interest and controversy, do--indeed, what they live for, and as such it's one of the many burdens we must carry throughout our lives given the fact that opinions are now ubiquitous regardless of their merit.  So, the praise given may well be excessive, as is the disfavor expressed.

But it's curious how inclined we are to ascribe qualities like courage, bravery, weakness, vacillation to others, especially when it comes to sports figures.  It's painfully clear that most of us are incapable of being professional athletes or those who perform at the higher levels.  Why then be critical of those of them who decide that it isn't worth their physical or mental health to continue to compete?  Why should they think it's worth their own harm to entertain us or indulge our voyeuristic or vicarious needs?

If it's appropriate to speak of the decadence or decay of our society, one would think that the fact we look to sports for examples of courage or moral strength would be a more compelling example of our degeneracy.  Is it only in athletics that we think those qualities obtain, or should be manifested?  Is their greatest expression pretending not to be concerned about mental or physical health?