Feb 06, 2007 10:52
I read about this trend in ancient Greece revolving around things called "hypomnemata" which were just notebooks that certain elites kept. The purpose of the notebooks, presumably, was to help order their experiences. Much the same way that people in our age keep diaries to sort out their thoughts and feelings in the day, these people used them to impose structure on their lives. I mean, Foucault says that "writing constitutes a test and something like a touchstone: in bringing to light the movements of thought, it dissipates the inner shadow where the enemy's plots are woven." Except for that last bit, which is a bit too dramatic for me, he has a point. The Greeks used their books for a variety of purposes. Tradesmen and merchants used them for simple record-keeping and inventory control. Philosophers used them to keep track of their selves and the ways in which the self manifests. And students of Plato used them as material records of what they learned, providing them with both an account which they could study later, and a tool for meditation.
I find this fascinating because it represent the first intrusion of portable writing into everyday life. This was an unprecendented opportunity to a society and culture that had previously relied on oral traditions. The codification of thought allowed people to endlessly pore over every aspect of their lives, to compare and contrast their experiences with others, and to identify and investigate the patterns that they saw therein. To 1000-year-old society that had never been exposed to this kind of opportunity for individual introspection, this represented a giant leap forward.
But for us, this kind of personal writing has become entirely commonplace. Our homes, bookstores, libraries, and internets are glutted with the millions of myriad musings of a disaffected people. There's nothing striking or important about how we write about ourselves anymore. It's all come down to inane introspection, but with no real steadfast determination to change what we write about. Diaries, in their own respect, are sometimes exempt from this, because their very purpose is to be a secret record of one's life. Where this goes awry is the fact that diairies are no longer the norm, but rather the exception. Instead, we have a million and one autobiographies that glorify the mistakes and excesses of strangers. We have more blogs than drops in the ocean, and yet not a one seeks to change the status quo. They all exist to contain an individual's narcisstic rantings. Even worse, they don't even attempt to gain a closer understanding of the self, but instead try to create the self than an individual desires. No longer tools of the inquisitive, they have become the refuge of the self-obsessed, the last resort for those who will to be themselves. But in willing to be oneself, we ignore who we are in favour of the reflection that we've created, the reflection where we get to be a poet or an artist or a counterculture guru. Writing is an inevitable distortion of our inner monologue because it offers us the chance to edit and streamline our thought-processes for everyone else to see.
I've come back to this blog due to a chance inspiration by the least likely person. I find the things I write here worthwhile precisely because I see myself falling into the traps outlined above. And to be honest, seeing the trap is the first step in avoiding it. So I will continue to write, and to look for the snares while refusing to be ensnared. I will endeavour to be as faithful to who I am as I can be, while maintaining full awareness of the fact that I am still no more than another in a long line of the millions of myriad musings of a disaffected people.
Still, in Plato's day, for better or worse, the hypomnemata contributed to the formation of a public consciousness, a collective logos that touched all parts of society. I like to think that, in my own miniscule way, I am accomplishing (or at the very least, contributing to) something similar.
On an unrelated note, I see a lot of people around me bemoaning the changes that life is forcing upon them. In a very short time, lives will change. Geography, both human and topographical, will be in upheaval. People will be pulling and being pulled in different directions, and this soap bubble that we're living on now is fated to burst. Speaking honestly, I will miss the opportunities that this lifestyle affords me, both with the people in my life and my lifestyle itself. At the same time, I feel sore and tired by all that has happened in the past, and can't honestly say that I'm not looking forward to what's about to come. There's still some trepidation, but this trend of looking at things as though they are going to end and that's going to be the worst thing ever baffles me. I guess what it comes down to is, I used to fear change, and now I don't. I really wish I knew how that happened.
lexicon,
errata,
media,
philosophy,
meta,
writing,
internet