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Tag Archives: social media
Many of us are familiar with the definition of a cynic. Disillusioned by “politics as usual,” cynical Americans don’t trust Washington insiders to work for the common good.
This is not how the Ancient Greeks defined the term. According to Robin Hard, translator of Diogenes the Cynic: Sayings and Anecdotes (2012), the word is attributed to a philosopher named Diogenes who lived from approximately 412 to 323 BC. “Cynic” roughly translated means “dog.”
Diogenes gave up his possessions for the life of a beggar to show that true happiness is possible only when humans satisfy their basic needs in simple ways. Material wealth, he argued while shamelessly displaying his half-naked body in public, bankrupts the soul.
The father of the contemporary performance artist, Diogenes strived for the virtuous life, challenging social conventions by shocking citizens out of their stupor. He famously carried a lit lamp through Athens in the middle of the afternoon, looking for (but never finding) a man committed to the truth. In an act of civil disobedience, he walked into the theater as crowds poured out, forging his own path against the herd.
In the final chapter of Signs and Machines: Capitalism and the Production of Subjectivity (2014), Maurizio Lazzarato discusses Michel Foucault’s belief in the revolutionary potential of the original Cynics’ way of life. Foucault valorizes the Ancient Greek principle of parrhesia, or truth-telling. A citizen who stood up in the assembly to speak difficult truths risked his credibility, his very life, in the name of democracy. Cynics risked their lives every day in the streets to save the souls of their misguided brothers and sisters.
What is the status of truth in the era of alternative facts? Conservatives have accused liberals of championing relativism for decades, but when philosophers argue that Truth is socially constructed they aren’t suggesting that nothing is true anymore.
Today a Republican president and his inner circle are flat out lying.
An important story the liberal media refuses to report: Diogenes’ top adviser, Kellyannopoulos of Jersey, spoke to supporters outside the assembly shortly after his death and said that the number of people who attended his funeral was twice the amount of those who mourned the death of Socrates.
“Amazing crowds, tremendous crowds,” she said.
Too bad we don’t have aerial shots—or any shots—of the ceremony.
The Reign of Trump begs for spectacular displays of outrage. I agree with Lazzarato that we need to cultivate new ways of being in the world as economic forces beyond our control condemn more and more global citizens to a sub-human existence.
But how do we overcome cynicism to summon the moral strength of the Cynics? How can we be sure that images of our dissent won’t be co-opted and sold as prepackaged lifestyle choices?
“He will not divide us. He will not divide us.” Actor Shia LaBeouf and his comrades have been chanting this slogan outside the Museum of the Moving Image in Queens since the day Trump took office. They plan to have at least one person repeat the refrain into a webcam all day every day for the next four years. Is this the start of a movement bigger than ourselves? A call to arms for brave truth-tellers to stand up and follow each other on social media?
Will the revolution be live-streamed across all compatible devices?
I admire Lazzarato’s poetic sensibilities, but is romanticizing the archetype of the eccentric street prophet all we have left? Am I entitled only to an esoteric, navel-gazing revolution in my corner of the internet because collective political action is no longer possible? Does holding up clever signs or publishing obscure blogs challenge the constitutionality of Trump’s hastily produced executive orders?
He wasn’t on Facebook but Diogenes had a huge public profile. He’s seen as the first cosmopolitan philosopher, a mystic roaming from city to city in the hustle and bustle of daily life, shouting his worldview at people more interested in Ancient Memes than ethics.
What if Diogenes believed he was really more dog than man?
To “figure out what the hell is going on,” Trump has banned all pagans and pantheists from entering America against the flow of the crowd. Diogenes wasn’t Christian after all.
The president doesn’t really want to be president. He wants to build walls and promote the “bigly-ness” of his brand name. He wants to stir the passions of God-fearing Americans longing for a sense of security that no longer exists. He would rather pout over perceived personal slights than listen to the so-called expertise of five-star generals.
Anointed by the Resentful, Maligned and Dispossessed, the leader of the free world doesn’t believe in the rule of law. He disrespects federal judges on Twitter and insults congressional leaders of his own party (also on Twitter).
Donald J. Trump is the democratically selected winner of the Cynic-in-Chief sweepstakes. Against the common good, he’s the executive seducer of a reality-show circus in which his hubris is the main attraction for a mass of cynics who require more and more spectacle to conceal the truth of their (political) impotence.
In The Perfect Crime Jean Baudrillard references Arthur C. Clarke’s short story “The Nine Billion Names of God” to set up his critique of virtual reality and our desire to actualize the world in its totality.
Clarke’s story centers on a group of Tibetan monks who for centuries have been transcribing with great care the nine billion names of God. Logging the final name, we’re told, will trigger the end of the world.
It’s a tiresome task so the monks call in technicians from IBM. Computers finish the job in a few months.
On page 27 of The Perfect Crime Baudrillard describes man’s fate: “As they walk back down into the valley, the technicians, who did not really believe in the prophecy, are aghast to see the stars going out one by one.”
I believe the monks not only knew their project would end the world but actively wished for it.
The rise of IBM and its solution-focused IT professionals facilitated a quicker exit. Computers relieved the monks of their duties. Ethics and the Middle Way no match for algorithms and HTML.
Computers relieve us all from the burden of being human. Tools for the realization of every fantasy, computers fulfill our secret wish to disappear. Social media posts serving as our collective suicide note.
Smartphones, tablets and laptops communicate for us, but not necessarily on our behalf. “I’ll text you,” we say, as if the text creates you—a “you” we never meet. If the medium is the message, today the message is singular: “Show me your text and I’ll show you mine.”
In the valley of the shadow of tech we are all monks—all “IBMers”—exchanging the pleasure of face-to-face interaction for the stupor of screen-to-screen manipulation.
In 1983 Sophie Calle published Suite venitienne, a “true” account of her adventures following a man named Henri B. for two weeks in Venice. Sophie barely knows Henri. She’s not attracted to him. But she’s fascinated with the idea of tracing his steps. Donning a blond wig, Sophie photographs Henri moving about the city, keeping her distance. Diary entries accompany photos resembling the work of a private investigator.
It’s the pursuit that interests Sophie. There’s no desire for contact; sex would kill the mood. In following a stranger, Sophie disappears. She relinquishes her responsibilities, giving into the ecstasy of the chase. And Henri is, in a way, relieved of the burden of tending to his life all alone. When he finally catches Sophie, he blames her eyes for exposing her. But he’s not upset.
Consider this: Rather than simply striking up a conversation, taking in the sights and then departing (as the book describes), Henri and Sophie rent a room and get down to business. Instead of pure seduction, banal fornication. Perhaps Henri leaves his wife for her. How easy! How predictable! How unhealthy, this constant urge to speak “I love you.”
Or consider this: Sophie encounters Henri at a party, Googles him and unearths every intimate detail of his life. She’s bored or appalled, maybe both. Here’s his Tinder. Here’s his blog. No mystery, no shadow to seduce. Sophie sees right through him. And Henri walks alone.
Today we project our lives upon the world-as-screen. We come to Twitter to be followed, Facebook to be strangers. Constantly watched, obsessively watching—we are objects in mirrors, closer than our profiles appear.
Way back in the twentieth century Sartre famously declared: “Existence precedes essence.” You exist first, Sartre said, then you build a life. You are nothing more—or less—than the choices you make. As a condemned-to-be-free consumer in the Digital Age, I’ve discovered new ways of applying Sartre’s catchphrase.
Facebook precedes friendship
I’m not friends with someone unless we’re on the same page: Facebook. Before Mark Zuckerberg stole from those dopey twins and set the social media world on fire, people connected on a personal level. Facebook eliminates the need for genuine communication. And yet we’re socializing more than ever. Without accepting my friend request you’re just another stranger. Even if we’re twins.
Google precedes memory
Don’t know what I mean? Here let me Google that for you. Eons ago when elders passed down stories via word of mouth, memory played a vital role. Today our myths assume database form, milliseconds from our fingertips. It’s a far cry from oral history. But if you’re at work don’t Google anything with “oral” in it.
Twitter precedes mourning
People used to die in peace, away from cameras and smartphones—and smartphone cameras. Die today as a celebrity and the world will tweet its condolences. There are no private ceremonies anymore. Everyone’s an eloquent eulogist exalting your character in one-hundred-and-forty characters or less.
Instagram precedes eating
Enjoy your chicken enchiladas after capturing the essence of the dish in a shot creatively captioned: “Best lunch ever!”
“The future of the book is the blurb.” –Marshall McLuhan, 1964
The miniaturization of the mind is upon us. There’s always a use for BIGGER, but life these days keeps getting smaller. Twitter is the microchip of language. The economy of words forgoing richness for a poverty of thought. Books blabber. Who has the time? McLuhan must be laughing from beyond the grave. Brevity has become the soul of twit.
Why do newspapers and news stations insist on including a reporter’s Twitter handle? Will I find a follow-up quote regarding a serious piece of journalism or a fun fact about unicorns?
There’s no limit to the number of characters you’ll find on Twitter. Is it entertainment? A citizen-in-the-trenches news source promoting democracy across the globe? A place for celebrities to apologize for racist tweets they “regrettably” posted five minutes ago?
Today I have nothing to look at but an image of myself telling the world how wonderful I am. Humanity gazing at its own navel, an “inny” analogous to our self-absorption.
Twitter is not enlightening, it’s stupefying. Pure noise in a world full of it.