Subversive language and the role of philosophy
"I am writing a book." This is not as creative, interesting, or impressive as it actually sounds, so in my day-to-day interactions I like to just leave it at that. "I am writing a book." If pressed for details, I'll reveal that it's a Korean history book. The rights to this book will be sold to a Korean businessman, who wants to publish the book in its original English in China. The book will be marketed as a text that one can read to improve their English skills. There is a more intriguing, subversive, political element to it, as well. Since the book itself is about Korean history, Chinese readers will also be subconsciously manipulated into recognizing the independent cultural entity of Korea, simply by reading and (hopefully) understanding the book. So, on second thought, I could say "I am writing propoganda," but I'm not sure that it really works (or sounds as impressive, creative, or interesting).
The process itself has been enlightening. First, my aversion to history that I initially encountered in the multitude of history courses I took in my undergraduate career is manifesting itself once again. Only this time, there is no immediate due date--the deadline is was far-off and I could avoid doing the actual unpleasant historical research. But, sure enough, every time I sit down to do actual research, the familiar feeling of uneasiness kicks in and I'm tempted to get up and go read something else, play a video game, study for the GRE, or any other number of things that seem more important than actually doing historical research.
Secondly--and perhaps more interestingly--I've stumbled upon another one of those moments when I live something that I have learned about before in a philosophy class. This is another one of those cases where a firm grounding in basic philosophical principles makes an experience not just more understandable, but also more enlightening and meaningful and relevant. To those who appreciate philosophy, these are rather commonplace, albeit a tad difficult to convey to another person, especially if that person is not particularly appreciative of philosophy and regards it as a glorified debate over definitions. When these experiences are tangible and apparent, I get excited. Sort of like an understanding of the phenomenon of lightning makes seeing lightning a profoundly more enjoyable and interesting experience, so does having a conceptual grasp of the circumstances surrounding real-life events make them more engaging and somehow more real and special.
I was sitting in the cafe writing my book today, busily scratching barely-legible shorthand notes on looseleaf notebook paper while glancing over chapters of a Korean history book. I've reached the 20th century, the first half of which was marked by an era of Japanese colonialism and oppression. The Japanese impact on Korea in this century is indellible. The Japanese were here. The Japanese were there. The Japanese policies were oppressive. Japanese. Japanese. Japanese. How does one go about shortening this word on notes? "J" is simply to obscure. I have a hard time excluding vowels, even in abbreviations. So I wrote Jap. Jap. Jap. I stopped immediately.
It goes without saying that I was not going to include this shorthand abbreviation in the actual chapter. But here, even in my notes, which are entirely private and not public and will probably never be seen by another person, I felt a pang of guilt and uneasiness as I used Jap to make my note-taking process more efficient, as the word contains racist undertones that I am uncomfortable with. A single, totally innocent shorthand abbreviation gave me significant pause. Thereafter, I oscillated between writing out Japanese and Jap, but never scribbled the latter without some hesitation. It is difficult.
And here we are at Nietzsche. Or Heidegger. Or Saussure. Or, hell, even Plato. Much like profanity, the word itself is not inherently offensive or disturbing (in a fit of rage, I might yell, "go procreate with yourself!" with significantly less effect on those who heard the utterance than if I had used a more colorful term). In Saussure-ian terms, the signifier (Jap, the actual word) was dominating my thought patterns, not the signified (the concept--in this case, the Japanese). And this very simple example just verifies the nature of language, which is a controlling device. It hinders thought by its very existence because it shapes our conception and approach to reality.
Some have argued that language is fundamental to abstract, conceptual understanding of anything outside of its simple existence with regards to our survival. Others have taken other avenues (for example, arguing that English is inherently subversive). While the conceptual aspects interest me, I think the way language can be used to manipulate political thought is even more interesting and more powerful. Linguistic manipulation has blurred the (rather clear) line between communism and socialism, for instance.
Even more interesting is that people operating within this same linguistic sphere can use it to clarify the concepts and subvert the subversions--however, this all must take place within the realm of language. Language must be subverted with language--there is no escaping it. As such, a concept stretched too far, abused and misused too much, may simply take on new meaning. But that old meaning--the meaning that was lost and shuffled out of the vernacular--is not guaranteed to be reassigned to a new word. Communism comes to mind, which is immediately associated with Socialist Russia in most people's minds, while the theoretical (and plausible) economic system has been removed, by and large, from the cultural consciousness. In short, words cannot be "lost"--they may be appropriated, given new meanings, or altered. Concepts, on the other hand, can. On the battlegrounds of language, words are simply the landscape which people can use to their advantage via manipulation--concepts are the casualties.
And thus, the benefits of a broad philosophical approach become evident. By and large, other fields--especially those in the humanities--do not seek to specify language to make way for additional concepts, but simply obfuscate a pre-existing word or concept by associating it with another. In this way, words are appropriated and manipulated to take on new meanings. Philosophy, approached in the right way, clarifies. While the language used to clarify is frequently difficult to understand, the intent is nonetheless noble. "Good" philosophy does not seek to establish basic truths or determine what is "right" and what is "wrong", but searches out the answer to a single, fundamental question: what does it mean when we say X?
I'm fighting the good fight.