Perhaps you’ve already seen this term paper assignment, from Kurt Vonnegut, that’s posted at Slate? It’s worth reading, on the one hand, because it’s a simple reminder of how clever and lovely a paper assignment can actually be. I know I forget that, sometimes, and lose myself in the practical (and uninspiring) instructions I give my students. But I’m linking to it here because one particular passage captured my attention. Vonnegut writes:
As for your term papers, I should like them to be both cynical and religious. I want you to adore the Universe, to be easily delighted, but to be prompt as well with impatience with those artists who offend your own deep notions of what the Universe is or should be. “This above all …”
There’s been ample discussion, on this blog, over the past several days about issues of “tone” and “discourse” in theological (and theoretical) conversation. There’s been talk of how to mitigate forms of rhetorical violence, about the relative value of anger, about the role of graciousness, the need to amplify hospitality. This is a good discussion, I think. These are good questions: how do we talk to each other across great (or minute) distances? How do we have a conversation? There’s no formula, and so we all weigh in with our two cents. Or ten dollars, as the case may be. I’m all for graciousness, and hospitality. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not sour. I like harmony. But it really gets me when these terms are raised up as pious ideals, at the expense of critical attention… or even, perhaps, cynicism. I like the way Vonnegut places religiosity (which he seems to be reading as a kind of awe, wonder, “delight in the universe”) in a necessary relation with cynicism. I’m totally on board with that. I’m guessing that most of us, who read this blog, don’t need to be sold on the necessity of a faith whose fitness is improved with doubt. But what about a sense of religiosity that’s fringed with cynicism? Can these be variations on a similar sort of theme?
Saturday, December 1, 2012 at 6:07 pm
I have probably been guilty of making the permissibility of sarcasm and harsh rhetoric a moral crusade of its own, because I have a tendency to view the issue through the lens of my upbringing in a toxically passive-aggressive branch of evangelical Christianity. For me, every attempt to rein in my “tone” reactivates those old instincts from back when people really were attempting to emotionally bully me into submission by using niceness as a proxy in the war to shut down my ideas or my questions. Not everyone is doing that, though — just like not everyone who is nice and friendly has an agenda! (Getting over my suspicion of friendliness took until the last few years. These things make a big impact.)
Teaching in a discussion-centered school has taught me a lot about conversation dynamics and about how an intervention directed at one student can set the tone for everyone — so that it can be really hard to get an over-dominant student to quiet down without making everyone feel tense and unwilling to contribute, for instance. I’ve always been really confused by the fact that, for example, a woman would read something like my rant against Tony Baker and worry that I would do the same thing to her — the whole point was to show solidarity with women, so why would I then turn around and attack a woman? But I suppose there are some people for whom sarcasm and harsh rhetoric is so far from their comfort zone that they just instinctively don’t make that distinction. The disturbance is happening and it makes them feel so anxious and uncomfortable that they just want to avoid the situation altogether.
That being said, though, I think there is and has to be room for anger and harshness, because it’s one way of expressing that something really matters to you. I have a lot to learn about showing greater sensitivity and restraint — but I can’t help but think that people who reject such rhetoric tout court as totally impermissible no matter the circumstances need to meet me halfway here. And I think that started to happen toward the end of Brandy’s last discussion thread, which I really appreciated.
Saturday, December 1, 2012 at 6:28 pm
Reblogged this on nanorhizomes and commented:
One thing that always strikes me is that whenever there’s talk about the modes of discourse outside what’s already established as the norm of theoretical talk, those modes stay outside, as the object of discourse, “out there”, and never penetrate that discourse itself. Though it may seem an obvious remark, doesn’t it show that we are still staying on the safe side, like with all this fascination with the Other as an alien, primitive person exploited in the reservation or in the zoo. How does one incorporate things like that into the discourse itself? And again, that very question is formulated within the coordinates of the “theoretical” mode of talk. We can then “play out” those modes of discourse according to our theoretical sketches but are those still the same phenomena that we were so fascinated about? Or just beasts caught within the confines of the zoo? I’m thinking we can’t break the unbreakable barriers between incompatible types of talk, we can only invent new things. Like what Vonnegut did – is that still a paper assignment? Or a letter? But maybe we, Vonnegut included, are just forcing it to the old coordinates (well, the academic institution forces us in fact), while it is something entirely, or at least partially, new?
Saturday, December 1, 2012 at 6:55 pm
I think one of the things that contributes to the miscommunication and frustration about blog discourse is this operating assumptions that most participants supposedly share with other individuals on the theo-blogosphere. Given the participants that regularly contribute to AUFS, most readers are probably going to be left-leaning individuals. Hence, whenever X draws negative conclusions from Y’s position, Y gets offended because there is this assumption that everyone has the same sociopolitical commitments: anti-racism, anti-patriarchy, anti-homophobia, anti-US imperialism, etc). Even if X claims that Y’s beliefs might have negative implications, Y interprets X’s statements as being “uncharitable”. I’m not sure why there’s this baseline assumption that we all agree but I think it’s creating a lot of these problems. Anger and rage threaten to destabilize the group’s identity and people react as if the other person has broken some social norm to never question the other’s commitment to these cherished ethical positions.
I suppose charity and niceness might be mandatory if everyone here actually had a similar vision and diagnosis of the problem although I still think that sometimes ideas are more important than relationships. [Isn't this the struggle that all the Protestant churches in America are currently facing? Which should be the church's priority: Justice/Righteousness or Unity?]. But, considering that many individuals in this discussion believe that orthodox Christianity is good whereas others see orthodox Christianity to be part of the problem, I doubt we can safely assume that we’re all in the same boat.
Sunday, December 2, 2012 at 1:59 pm
Tony’s wrap-up post shows some of the dangers behind making “charity” and “civility” an overriding concern — important conversations that need to happen are sometimes going to be difficult, and when your views need changing, it’s sometimes going to hurt and feel like an attack. Much better, then, to hew to the path of charity and stick with people who already basically agree with you and know that your heart is in the right place.
Monday, December 3, 2012 at 1:35 pm
@ cavesoundmeister: I think I agree with you… that we can’t really break the sound barrier between different sorts of discourses. But I’m not entirely sure I get what you’re referring to as the “already established norm” that theoretical speak tends to fall into it. In what way would you say that Vonnegut is falling back into that? Do you think that the “already established norm” should be faulted for trying too hard to break the sound barriers between discourses? Or not trying hard enough?
I suppose, at the end of the day, I like what Vonnegut’s getting at not only because it does seem to speak to a certain necessary harshness, or cynicism. But I also like the fact that he doesn’t consider this cynicism as anathema to awe or reverence. In fact, these things are necessarily coupled for him… as, perhaps, we might argue that faith and doubt should be.
I’ve never been a participant in any form of structured, organized, religious tradition. I’ve only looked in on these things from the outside. But I’ve often felt a similar sense of unease, even at the fringes of these structures, that you describe Adam. That is to say, I always get my shackles up when I sense that I’m nearing some enterprise where I’m no longer allowed to be contrarian, for the sake of social harmony, etc… This isn’t because I lack feelings of awe or reverence. I’m just wary of the potential effects of selling my skepticism at a cheap price.