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Group Theory and Traditional Morality

Olson works under the assumption that latency in large groups is primarily a result of free-riding, which involves the individual’s realization that the contribution that he/she makes is so miniscule that latency on his/her part would have no tangible effect on whether or not the optimal collective good is reached. Latent members realize that they can reap the benefits that the collective good brings without actively contributing. Thus, even if there is a common interest, voluntary action on the part of all the members of a group cannot be expected (Olson, 48). Also, larger groups tend to be more impersonal, so the individual fails to humanize others in the group. Thus, the individual has less motivation to abandon individual interests and work toward the group interest.

However, I would argue that there are other causes of “non-action,” or lack of contribution that Olson fails to take into account. Historically, especially in Ancient China, there existed this notion of morality that caused the individual to question the actions that were intended to be carried out in order to ensure the that the collective good was reached. The collective good itself does not violate the group member’s principles – however, the actions that could potentially be taken in order to achieve that collective good may present a moral dilemma for some individuals in the group. This is important because when a group shares a common sense of morality (especially a morality that is deeply rooted in tradition), coercion may not serve as a strong enough motivator to mobilize the group. Perhaps, in this case, it would be more important to change the course of actions that are taken to achieve this common good and pursue a path that is “morally acceptable” to the majority of the group members.

China’s Eastern Zhou period showcased the ways in which moral issues may lead to latency. During this time in Chinese history, certain moral restrictions tempered warfare. Leaders refused to break the rules of battle, even if it meant finding another way to defend their people. For example, in 638 B.C.E, the military force of the state of Song was small compared to that of a neighboring state. Despite their distinct military disadvantage, the soldiers of the Song refused to attack while the enemy was crossing a river (Ebrey, 23). Bound by Confucian principles of benevolence, dignity and respect, the soldiers would never “inflict a second wound, (. . .) capture those with gray hair, or (. . .) obstruct those in a narrow pass” (Ebrey, 23). The group members refused to engage in action that would further their group and individual interest solely because their morality dictated that they allow the enemy a measure of dignity. In doing so, they showed that their traditional morality was more important than protecting their group interest and defending their state.

This is a type of group behavior that Olson failed to include in his model. Predicting the behavior of the individual is difficult because the model that humans are purely self-interested beings does not always hold when morality is taken into account. Even if it impossible to pinpoint or even define the moral principles of every individual in a group, it may be possible to create a more accurate model by taking cultural context into account. Studying the behavioral patterns, customs, and belief systems of specific cultures may be one aspect of determining how to best approach the possibility of morals playing a role in collective action problems. Through a study of Confucian tradition, it may have been possible to predict that the soldiers would ultimately choose not to act in their own interest because of their roots in traditional morality. Such “moral latency” might perhaps be solved by altering the course of action through which the optimal collective good may be reached.

Works Cited

Ebrey, Patricia B, Anne Walthall, and James B. Palais. Pre-modern East Asia: to 1800: A Cultural, Social, and Political History. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2009. Print.

Olson, Mancur. The Logic of Collective Action: Public Goods and the Theory of Groups. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1977. Print.

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A Discussion of the Natural State of Human Empathy

           Human nature is the basis for so many political debates because it is, in essence, one of the major assumptions that most political theorists must build on, and pessimism and optimism about the natural constitution of humans can lead to a wide range of drastically different models for political thought. Among all of the authors that we have read this semester, there seems to be a general consensus that there is always a source of human error. The question lies in whether or not that source of error is inherent in humans from the moment they enter the world.

A concept that I always seem to gravitate toward when it comes to the discussion of human nature is empathy. Is empathy toward others innate to humans, or is it purely a learned characteristic? Can humans be relied upon to empathize with strangers because their natural inclination is toward empathy, or will they become utterly indifferent when there are no pre-developed emotional ties? To what extent can government institutions rely on human empathy to aid in the process of solving collective action problems? Where does human empathy play into crime and punishment? The list of inquiries goes on, and this demonstrates that so many freedoms are allowed or restricted based on the natural or unnatural capacity of humans to care about the struggles of others and recognize some kind of universal humanity. The idea that humans have the natural ability to recognize that the lives and emotions of other people are just as vivid and complex as their own would have a significant impact on the ways in which governments seek to control human behavior, possibly allowing for more individual freedoms. Conversely, the idea that empathy is a purely learned characteristic (which some may never learn), makes for government institutions that restrict behavior and must otherwise incentivize those who wish to solve collective action problems.

This binary of fundamentally empathetic vs. fundamentally unempathetic can be seen in some form in the works we examined this semester[1] (although most do not sit solidly on one side or the other). Of all of the works this semester, Ecotopia has, by far, the most optimistic views regarding human empathy, although these views encounter some clear issues when it comes to race. Mill, too, takes a measuredly optimistic approach when it comes to the issue of human nature, especially in regards to the equality of the natures of men and women and the empathy that it would take to carry out his vision. Mill, Rousseau, Plato, and Solinger all seem inclined to believe that humans are fundamentally unempathetic. Or, that even if humans are fundamentally empathetic, there may be other factors that have a powerful ability to hinder or erase this empathy.

Solinger does not make any direct claims about the fundamental nature of humans, but she does create an argument that implicitly suggests that even if humans are fundamentally empathetic, this empathy is nowhere to be found in the political arena that surrounds women’s reproductive autonomy. Solinger begins with a critique of the left’s use of the language of “choice” and claims that this language has led to the construction of abortion as a “consumer choice” (which is only available to those who can afford it) rather than a human right (7). The fault of the left, in this scenario, is a fundamentally unempathetic understanding of poor women and the ways in which poverty may render them choiceless. However, the lack of empathy toward poor women does not stop at the language of choice. On the other side of the political spectrum, poor women are viewed through a lens of dehumanizing condescension and suspicion, which enduring symbols like the “welfare queen” only serve to perpetuate (Solinger, 139). This depiction of poor women as fundamentally irresponsible schemers feeds into the narrative that motherhood should be a “class privilege” because poor women are “bad choice-makers” (Solinger, 189). This narrative, again, restricts the autonomy of poor women based on a fundamentally inaccurate assessment of their motivations, and a distinct misunderstanding of what it actually means to be poor in America. Solinger also points out that in the case of adoption, the struggles of birthmothers who were not afforded the choice to keep their child are often ignored. It is through a lack of empathy that the stories of birthmothers who unwillingly relinquished their children are erased from the adoption narrative. One birthmother who experienced this phenomenon commented that she was seen “not as a mother, but as the producer of a valuable product” (Solinger, 73). As a whole, the underlying message of Solinger’s work is that the misunderstanding of the experiences and motivations of poor women is fundamentally an empathy problem (or, to state it more appropriately, a lack-of-empathy problem). The widespread lack of understanding and dehumanization that poor women must overcome could be the result of an absence of empathy in the composition of human nature.

Rousseau also does not see empathy as innate to humans, and depicts the natural man as a self-centered creature who lives a solitary life during which he never thinks beyond his basic needs, which Rousseau defines as food, sleep, and sex. Rousseau contends that there is peace in this natural state became man does not have to rely on other men for that which they are not willing to give (105). There is no empathy here – no human connection. Rousseau does note that “one animal never passes unmoved by the carcass of another animal of the same species,” but attributes this to pity rather than empathy (106). This is because, in Rousseau’s state of nature, empathy can only arise and true bonds can only be established in the time allowed by satedness, which the natural man does not possess (119). Therefore, natural man in his rawest state does not know empathy.  

J. S. Mill’s On the Subjection of Women examines about the ways in which the “natural” tendencies of one subset of people to establish unjustified authority over another is not actually natural at all, and although Mill does not speak directly on empathy, his vision for the equality of the sexes would require a kind of universal empathy – a universal recognition and understanding of the struggles of a subset of people who are just as intelligent, and just as human, as their oppressors. However, Mill’s critique of the characteristics that are considered to be inherent to the nature of women is based on the suggestion that these characteristics are not inherent at all. In fact, he directly addresses the male notion that women are naturally more inclined to be empathetic. He rejects the ideas that women “are not capable of resisting their personal partialities” and that “their judgement in grave affairs is warped by their sympathies and antipathies” (Mill, 193). Mill argues that this capacity for empathy, like all other male conceptions of the fundamentally “different” nature of women, is a mere product of the social spheres in which women must operate, not a component of their fundamental nature. Mill makes the argument that much of what is considered “human nature” is a product of experience. Thus, Mill might conceptualize empathy as a learned behavior rather than a component of human nature.

Olson’s The Logic of Collective Action argues that even when a collective interest is identified and a group is formed, its members cannot be completely relied upon in terms of empathy for the other members in the group. Olson notes that “(i)f the state […] cannot finance its most basic and vital activities without resorting to compulsion, it would seem that large private organizations might also have difficulty in getting the individuals in the groups whose interests they attempt to advance to make the necessary contributions voluntarily” (13). So, in a nutshell, even when groups work in the interest of their members, voluntary action on the part of any of the members cannot be relied upon. He argues that the larger the group, the less productive it will be in working toward the public good, and one of the reasons that voluntary action cannot be relied upon within a large group is because the larger the group, the more impersonal it becomes. Mill thus implies that humans do not have the natural capacity to feel empathy for other members of the group, despite the fact that they are working toward the same interest. Not only that – his claims are based on the idea that humans are fundamentally self-interested, and will only contribute to the public good if it serves their personal ends. This can be seen in the case of large groups – the larger the group, the less any one person in the group benefits from the collective effort, which could be one factor in explaining why participation the rate in large groups is lower than that of small groups. Also, the larger the group, the easier it becomes to freeride unnoticed (43). Thus, according to Olson, an innate, fundamental empathy cannot be relied upon to motivate an individual in the case of collective action. Self-interest is the main underlying motivator.

Ecotopia is about what is essentially a large collective action problem, but takes a completely different approach than Olson. Callenbach’s utopia is a place where it is a universally accepted norm to consider the interest of the collective and act accordingly. Because of their empathy and concern for the quality of the lives of other people, the characters willingly sacrifice their own convenience and for a larger environmental cause – since there are no cars in Ecotopia, the residents uncomplainingly use a public transportation system (12). They are also responsible about their own waste disposal – Weston claims that during his time there the Ecotopians, “without exception, dispose(d) of all metal, glass, or paper and plastic refuse in the correct bin” (8). In Ecotopia, the residents readily rattle off statistics about “social costs,” which they seem to actually care about (20). The validity of these “social costs” is not only universally accepted, but also universally acted upon in the interest of creating a what Ecotopians call a “stable state” – a state which reduces its waste output and creates enough clean energy that it can “endure indefinitely” (22). What sets Ecotopia apart from today’s world in terms of empathy is that everyone seems to have a vested emotional interest in the collective, which implies an innate tendency toward empathy.

Empathy, in my view, is not just a purely instinctual response, but an informed emotional response that most people experience on a spectrum, and very few, perhaps, don’t experience at all. However, I believe that it is certainly plausible that the foundations of this informed emotional response can be found in human nature. Confucian philosopher Mengzi, when constructing a basis for his claims, concluded that compassion is innate in all humans. He takes the stance that the nature of humans is to possess a heart that is “not unfeeling toward others,” and demonstrates this idea with the famous “child about to fall into a well” story (Ivanhoe, Norden, 129). He proposes a scenario in which an onlooker sees a child about to fall tumble into a nearby well, and argues that all people in this situation would rush to save the child because of a natural feeling of alarm and compassion, “not because one (seeks) to get in good with the child’s parents, not because one want(s) fame among neighbors and friends, and not because one dislikes the sound of the child’s cries” (Ivanhoe, Norden, 129). Mengzi cites this scenario as proof that humans possess a “sprout of compassion” that must be nourished within the family in order to grow (Ivanhoe, Norden, 130).

           I think that the well story shows the basis for empathy, and that is the innate recognition that death and suffering are just as real and vivid in the experiences of others as they are in one’s own life. However, this gut reaction only seems to occur when the suffering (or potential suffering) of others is quite obviously apparent. I would argue that the emotional connection brought about by true empathy (which is a connection and understanding that appears in situations that do not necessarily involve suffering) must be informed – that the kind of “adrenaline rush” that someone experiences when they see another person in danger is only an instinctual response, not empathy in terms of deep understanding and sympathy. However, I think Mengzi has an important point – that humans most likely have a natural tendency toward a kind of “instinctual compassion” in situations where it may aid in the struggle for survival.

           However, there may be situations in which empathy is not advantageous for survival purposes. In fact, in a military setting, soldiers are encouraged to (and may naturally) dehumanize their opponents in the interest of living to see another day. In fact, I would argue that even though humans do have a natural “sprout of compassion,” it could be readily suppressed by another natural urge: the inclination to prioritize oneself above others. Here, the clash between natural compassion and natural self-interest occurs – and I think that the fundamental difference between the two is that even though, as Mengzi would say, a “sprout” of compassion exists within each person, empathy requires knowledge about others. This is why it is impossible to extend the same amount of empathy to everyone in the world as one feels for one’s family and close friends.

Empathy, since it is a combination of innate compassion and learning to think about others within a certain framework, requires a bit of heavy lifting – first, the recognition of others as complex beings; second, the recognition that one should attempt to build an understanding of others; and thirdly, learning how to understand others in the spheres in which they operate, which might be vastly different from one’s own sphere. By this logic, it makes sense that for empathy to exist in the world at all, it must be a part of human nature in some capacity because it requires a little bit of compassion in the first place to recognize that others are worth understanding.

Perhaps one of the reasons why so many people view humans as fundamentally self-interested rather than fundamentally empathetic is because ultimately, it is much more difficult to decide, “I am going to put in the effort to learn how to think about other people as complex human beings just like myself” than to remain comfortably within a self-absorbed, self-serving bubble. Compassion is natural. Cultivation of that compassion and transforming it into empathy is a learning process that requires time, effort and purpose. Therefore, there are definite restrictions on a person’s capacity for empathy because there is simply not enough time over the course of one human life to complexly examine the existence of every other human on the Earth. And even if a person makes a concerted effort to empathize with another person, it is debatable that one person could ever fully understand another, let alone the billions of people that inhabit the Earth at any given moment.

I experienced the “empathy as a learning experience” phenomenon quite personally in high school. I was overcome with the anxiety that every word that came out of my mouth would be a means by which I would be critically assessed by my peers. I felt that by speaking and showing any sign of vulnerability, I would make myself a target for those whose self-esteem depended on zeroing in on the weaknesses of others and dragging them down. It was like a very sad and unfunny version of Mean Girls. However, little did I know, my refusal to speak more than three consecutive words each school day meant that my peers could not learn about me, and therefore could not empathize with me.

Ultimately, although I may have avoided being bullied for the weirdo that I actually was at the moment, I became a blank, unfeeling canvas on which my peers could project their own (ill-founded) assumptions. I later realized that my dehumanization was largely my fault because I had not given my peers the chance to empathize with me and cultivate their own natural compassion. My own experiences as a quiet and miserable high schooler show (in a quite personal way) that empathy requires learning – my peers did not naturally understand that I was just as human as them, and to gain their empathy, I would have had to show them verbally that I too, experienced hope, fear, resentment, happiness, and the entire spectrum of human emotions just as vividly as they did.

It should be noted, however, that there are some cases, strictly outside of the teenage experience, where empathy has no utility or can even be counterproductive. As Mill points out, empathy has the potential to be wildly impractical and sometimes, in the case of collective action problems, it doesn’t matter if some people have empathy because their efforts would be so insignificant as to have absolutely no impact at all on the good of the collective. Therefore, these empathetic contributors would (hypothetically) sacrifice aspects of their own wellbeing for a “higher moral purpose” that actually does not hold any benefit for anyone. Thus, for survival purposes or even practicality purposes, it might sometimes make sense for humans to work purely within their own interests. This is not to say, however, that humans should completely abandon their efforts to cultivate their innate “sprout” of compassion (and since to say any more would venturing too far into normative claim territory, I will stop here).

           The point is, to say that humans are innately self-interested but not innately empathetic or vice versa is missing the fact that the behavior of humans is so complex and sometimes unpredictable that it is impossible that human nature follows one simple narrative. This idea that humans lack a basis on which to build empathy and that humans are and will always be ruled by their own self-interest is not only far too simplistic to be accurate, but can also be immensely harmful because it provides an emotional springboard for politicians who rely on fear-based rhetoric and a cynical view of human nature to enact policy decisions based on fear rather than fact.

           Thus, I think that it is much more useful and accurate to think of human nature as a constant game of tug-of-war between natural inclinations, such as both natural compassion and natural selfishness. Some natural inclinations may also require more cultivation than others. Although compassion may be an innate characteristic of all human beings, people are not born with a complex understanding of other humans. Babies, for the sake of their own survival, are probably the most fundamentally selfish beings on the Earth. The cultivation of compassion requires effort and a will to abandon a worldview that is limited to mere tunnel vision. The effort that empathy requires explains why so many people everywhere tend to view others in terms of overarching generalizations and simple dichotomies. Dehumanization occurs not because humans lack natural empathy, but because it is easier to succumb to narratives that suit one’s own natural self-interest rather than to willingly propagate empathy in ways that might require thought and effort.

Human nature as a “tug-of-war” implies that the fundamental makeup of humans is malleable – perhaps it is up to culture, socialization, societal structure, and ultimately, the popular political philosophy of the day to determine which components of human nature will appear in which settings. The vast majority of the authors that we read leaned toward the position that humans are fundamentally unempathetic, but it might be interesting to consider how not only political institutions, but also human behavior might change if a less cynical viewpoint on the human capacity for empathy was universally adopted. Regardless of whether or not human behavior can change based on beliefs about human nature, I think that the debate surrounding the nature of human empathy will continue to have political relevance in the foreseeable future. 

Bibliography

Callenbach, Ernest. Ecotopia. Bantam, 1990.

Ivanhoe, Philip J., and Van Norden Bryan William. “Readings in Classical Chinese Philosophy.” Readings In Classical Chinese Philosophy, Hackett Publishing, 2007.

Mill, John Stuart. On Liberty. Penguin Books, 2010.

Olson, Mancur. The Logic of Collective Action: Public Goods and the Theory of Groups. Harvard University Press, 1965.

Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. Social Contract and the First and Second Discourses. Yale University Press, 2008.

Solinger, Rickie. Beggars and Choosers: How the Politics of Choice Shapes Adoption, Abortion, and Welfare in the United States. Paw Prints, 2008.

[1] With the exception of Plato Republic, which I found to be more concerned about the nature of truth and the fundamental ignorance of humankind rather than any kind of human emotion. Since I believe that emotion and empathy are inseparable, I found it really difficult to construct an argument for this one.

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On the Restricted Choice of Chinese Birthmothers

           Beggars and Choosers deconstructs the language of choice, autonomy and power and the ways in which the discourse surrounding women’s reproductive lives works to dehumanize, scorn, and belittle. According to Solinger, the language of choice becomes a burden that most often falls on the shoulders of the choiceless women of society – those who lack the resources to make such expensive, yet essential choices. She leaves the readers with the claim that for the suffering of “choice” to be alleviated, reproductive autonomy must be a guaranteed right (Solinger, 224). However, because she is working primarily within a Western framework, she fails to consider societies that lean toward a more collectivist orientation – societies in which individual autonomy is more readily restricted on behalf of the good of the whole. It is important to deconstruct the issues that women may face and the ways in which their choices are restricted within the framework of collectivism. In the case of China, for example, Solinger might consider the unique experience of Chinese women in terms of legislation that is used to restrict their choices, and the ways in which this legislation is justified in utilitarian terms by the government-instituted narrative. The Chinese case is unique because it showcases an idea that Solinger failed to address: that the collectivist mindset may pose an insurmountable barrier to the realization of full reproductive autonomy.

           China’s one-child policy is one of the most prominent and notorious examples of top-down, state-instituted control over women’s reproductive lives. The policy is, without a doubt, a political and ethical minefield that (arguably) would not survive one day in the United States. The narratives that surround this one-child policy indicate that it was instituted to ensure economic stability for future generations, although the exact scientific reasoning behind the policy has been hidden from public view (Greenhalgh, 851). The ethics of the utilitarian effort to foster the most economic stability for the most amount of people through controlling women’s reproductive autonomy must be carefully considered in this case.

           Chinese women (especially rural women) have undoubtedly suffered tremendously from the institution of the one-child policy. However, outcry was limited because the Chinese government perpetuated a discourse that provided two options for consideration: one-child policy or no one-child policy. The Chinese image of statehood and the image of a good Chinese citizen are both products of thousands of years of tradition, and the idea that, in order to be a good citizen, one must subordinate one’s personal interests to further those of the collective is an essential aspect of the Chinese conception of the relationship between citizen and nation (Greenhalgh, 870). This is why many Chinese women hesitate to criticize the one-child policy; they face the risk that, in advocating for their own autonomy, they may be perceived as selfish and distinctly unpatriotic. Instead, many Chinese women feed into state-sponsored narratives that may hold some truth, like, for instance, the narrative that women enjoy greater autonomy when they are freed from the limitations of constant childbearing (Greenhalgh, 870).

           To make any significant claims about women’s autonomy, it is important to consider those who work within different social frameworks, and Solinger, who was working within the framework of individualism, did not take into account the ways in which individual autonomy is imagined within a collectivist framework. China’s one-child policy and the willing adoption of state-sponsored narratives shows that the collectivist mindset poses significant challenges to the realization of women’s full reproductive autonomy that should not be overlooked.

Works Cited

Greenhalgh, Susan. “Fresh Winds in Beijing: Chinese Feminists Speak Out on the One-Child Policy and Womens Lives.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, vol. 26, no. 3, 2001, pp. 847–886., doi:10.1086/495630.

Solinger, Rickie. Beggars and Choosers How the Politics of Choice Shapes Adoption, Abortion, and Welfare in the United States. Hill and Wang, 2001.

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On the Relevance of Confucianism in the Family Lives of Modern Urban Chinese Youth

Introduction

China has undergone significant changes since the dawn of the new millennium, and the new generation of Chinese youth face a radically different world from that of their parents. China’s millennials, especially those who live in metropolitan areas, are caught in the midst of rapid globalization, ever-growing consumerism, and a flood of new media (some of which is international) (De Kloet, 23). An increasingly globalized world indicates an increased exposure to foreign social customs and doctrines; however, it could be argued that Confucianism is still the principal driving force behind the family life, education, and media consumption of Chinese youth. The idea that a wide-scale “rebellion” of Chinese youth will occur because of the generational gap in which Confucian values (including filial piety) are abandoned is as much a westernized myth as it is a poor conceptualization of the long-held traditions and values that shape the lives of metropolitan Chinese millennials.

The dependence on defining youth within the confines of a single, simplistic narrative is not unique to western discourses surrounding youth culture. Observations of the choices, actions, and attitudes of young people lead to their placement in one of two categories: youth who operate in spaces outside of the expected norms are “youth in rebellion,” while those who conform to tradition and the expectations of the older generations are “youth as hope for the future” (De Kloet, Fung, 2). Defining an entire subset of the population in terms of the simple binary of resistance vs. compliance limits the potential for a conversation that reflects the true complexities of the human experience. Chinese youth, unsurprisingly, do not fit within the confines of either narrative, so in order to gain a more complex understanding of their lives, it is important to understand the spaces in which they operate, and the ideological framework that shapes these spaces.

Shaping the Confucian Framework

The social spaces in which today’s Chinese youth operate are steeped in tradition that dates back over a thousand years – namely, tradition that is rooted Confucian collectivism. Although the practices and beliefs surrounding Confucian ideology have changed throughout the centuries, and although it has been the subject of much controversy and criticism, the basic tenants of Confucianism still define the interactions that transpire in the private sphere. Confucian philosophy is based on two central presumptions about human nature: that humans are naturally inclined to pursue social relationships, and that they also possess an innate goodness that is necessary to sufficiently cultivate those relationships (Nadeau, 32, 33). The innate state of human nature is certainly relevant for the discussion of Confucian classics, but philosophers like Confucius, Mengzi, and Xunzi were heavily focused on not only what humans initially are, but also what they have the potential to become. Although there is debate concerning how best to cultivate social relationships, the consensus among Confucians is that self-cultivation goes hand-in-hand with the careful, measured maintenance of social harmony. Ren, the innate goodness that allows for such cultivation, is an exceedingly difficult not only to translate but also to conceptualize. This is particularly problematic because ren is the centerpiece of Confucian thought and, to Confucius, the essence of human life and interaction, without which humans would be reduced to “mere animals” (Zhang, 57). It has been translated as “benevolence,” “co-humanity,” or in the case of Mengzi, a “sprout of compassion” (Nadeau, 33). Dr. Qiangfan Zhang argues that these translations are insufficient, and redefines ren as “the core of Chinese humanism, which takes for granted that everyone is endowed with the capacity for humanity and justice” (Zhang, 55). The concept of ren is essential because the expectation of the cultivation of innate goodness and Confucian scholars’ general optimism about the basic state of human nature both heavily inform the idea that in order for society to reach its full potential, each individual must imagine themselves as an active participant in a wide web of give-and-take relationships.

This “web” of relationships is constructed on the basis of duty and hierarchical authority. Hierarchy, in this case, can be thought of as a means of creating priorities - it implies that some relationships should be allocated greater time, effort, and attention than others, and that the “lower” person in a specific relationship should place greater emphasis on their duties in that relationship than the person of higher rank (Nadeau, 41). The sharp differentiation between relationships sets specific guidelines for the ways in which these relationships should be carried out, thus contributing to the establishment of li (ritual) and ultimately, the Confucian goal of social harmony. In the parent-child relationship, the parent’s duty to the child is en, or kindness, and the child’s duty to the parent is filial piety, or xiao. In this case, filial piety is not merely strict obedience – it is respect and deference toward an authority figure (which sometimes takes the form of obedience) (Nadeau, 42).

The Confucian familial structures are one of the surviving elements of Confucian tradition in China because the idea that family is the main source of individual cultivation and fulfillment is still strong, and certainly reinforced by a general distrust of Western individualism (Nadeau, 53). The emphasis on ancestry makes the home a “sacred space” where harmony must prevail, and the family structure is upheld by the long-held notion that familial relationships – especially those between parents and children – form the basic means by which the social harmony of the collective is maintained.

 Historical Establishment of Confucian Social Roles

The source of the modern-day relevance and longevity of Confucianism may perhaps be understood in the context of its historical establishment (with the caveat that the ways in which Confucianism was conceptualized and practiced in the dynastic era varied tremendously from its modern-day application, and that the changes that led to this development cannot be understood in a linear model where point “A” leads directly to point “B”). With that being said, it should be recognized that even before Confucius, there was a word for filial piety and a sense that virtue within the family had value. This indicates that The Analects was most likely both the product of a pre-existing ideology and the means by which that ideology was eventually perpetuated (Ebrey, 54). Long after Kongzi had died, Confucianism became the official state doctrine of the Han Dynasty. This marked the “official” beginning of the integral role that Confucianism played not only in China, but also in East Asia as a whole. However, Confucianism was not promoted purely for the sake of moral enrichment – the Han Emperor recognized that social harmony had the potential to enhance the stability of the state, and thus, Confucianism became a powerful political tool (Moore, 3). However, the top-down mode of indoctrination does not necessarily explain how Confucianism came to harness such longevity and emotional appeal. Dr. Patricia Ebrey, American historian and Professor at Washington University, in an attempt to explain what she calls the “high degree of uniformity” in the traditional ideals and practices that dominated Chinese family life, argues that the instillation of Confucian values was both a top-down and local effort (Ebrey, 49). The fact that these ideas took hold and spread at the local level indicates that Confucian values and practices were, by-and-large, internalized voluntarily on personal level, and built on a foundation of values that may have already been present. In any case, the fact that Confucianism was spread without the imposition of forced conversions on commoners may have contributed to the deep Confucian roots that form the foundation of Chinese family life to this day.

The Manifestation of Filial Piety in the Context of Postmodernity

The turn of the century saw the beginning of a new era in Chinese history: modernity had run its course, and, with a rush of incoming technological advancement, postmodernity took its place. Chung-Ying Cheng, Professor of the University of Hawaii at Manoa, takes a rather pessimistic view of the postmodern era, insisting that the widespread integration of technology means that one either uses science and technology for one’s own ends, or allows oneself to fall victim to the onslaught of media. The postmodern age, in his eyes, is the clash of technology with freedoms and societal structures that had previously been taken for granted, and the only way to resolve this clash is to refer to the Confucian classics (1). However, it could be posited that postmodernity, in this case, means reconciliation between the obligations that are created by technology, and the long-held obligations within the family. In some cases (especially in the case of education), this “onslaught” of technological advances may allow youth to more efficiently carry out their filial duties. As discussed earlier, technology and foreign media influence appear to have little to no sway in altering the basic ideological framework that shapes the lives of China’s millennials, so the claim that the technological advances of the postmodern era have the power to unhinge or dismantle the Confucian social “web” of morality seems rather far-fetched.

The familial structure, in fact, has not only remained very much intact, but also remains that hallmark of the modern Confucian cultural practice. It should be noted that this system is primarily patriarchal, with the father generally providing the “model of obedience” and pre-established gender roles setting the foundation for the vast majority of interactions between the sexes (Yuen, 484). The pressure to exhibit filial piety is closely intertwined with the expectation of both academic and economic success. Filial devotion manifests itself in a number of ways; Chinese law requires that youth care for their elderly parents, and interestingly enough, the crime rate spikes just before the Chinese New Year, which is when filial youth are expected to bring gifts to their parents (Moore, 149). Chinese parents often take an active role in planning and determining the future of their children – often to a degree that would be considered intrusive to western youth. However, the purpose of parents urging their children to pursue a certain path could fall under the category of en because it shows that the parents are trying to construct the best possible future for their children (Moore, 148).

Confucianism also forms the basis for the series of social interactions that take place between parents and their children, as well as the ways in which these actions are interpreted. The contrast between Confucian collectivism and Western individualism could perhaps best be seen in terms of how youth choose to handle conflicts with their parents. When describing a dispute with their parents, Chinese youth describe a “win-lose” kind of scenario, which might also involve what they refer to as a “cold war.” This “cold war” is essentially a period where both sides avoid confrontation until one side decides to “surrender” or “lose.” Disputes within the Confucian framework are resolved at a fixed point in time, during which one side acquiesces and there is a mutual forgiveness. Western parent-child conflicts, by contrast, are much more likely to fade away or “die a natural death” as a result of the passage of time and changing circumstances (Moore, 144). Essentially, in the Chinese parent-child interaction, there is a higher likelihood that one side will “give in” in order to maintain Confucian social harmony, whereas in the western mindset, it is much more important to maintain individual autonomy, and to acquiesce would be the equivalent to sacrificing one’s own autonomy. Thus, in the western framework, conflicts between parents and their children are often left unresolved.

Confucian philosophy is not only relevant within the private sphere, but can also serve as a mediator in cases that require a clash between the private and public spheres. Or, at the very least, serve as a mode by which to address cases in which the line between private family matters and rightful government intervention is blurred. For example, Confucianism serves a definite role in the debate concerning whether or not one should cover up for a family member if that family member has committed a crime. To whom does a person owe a stronger obligation: their family member, or the justice system? Even if one wishes to turn one’s own family member over to the police, is this violation of Confucian duty worth the maintenance of justice? Moreover, is this true justice? Despite the argument that Confucianism is “outdated” and “incompatible with modern rule of law,” Confucian ethics undoubtedly play a role in mediating the power dynamic that exists between private and public spheres (Tseng, 48). The idea that the family should hold precedence over government institutions and limit the government’s power to require compulsory disclosure of criminal information is based on the Confucian idea that covering up for family members is a virtue, regardless of the crime committed (Tseng, 48). In this sense, Confucianism defends the ethical side of the argument: that the natural benevolence that one has toward one’s family members should not be infringed upon by a rule-of-law scenario.

Confucianism and Education

           The Chinese education system is both strict and rigorous, and operates, in part, on the expectation that students will study to fulfill their filial obligations. This mentality plays a significant role in the motivation of Chinese youth, although it may not be the most important factor (Yuen, 484). Heavy emphasis is placed on examinations, memorization, and respect for teachers and other students (Moore, 143). In this context, some parents are heavily dissatisfied with the institutionalized Chinese education system, which places heavy emphasis on test scores. In Shanghai, there has emerged a movement by middle class mothers who have established a kind of homeschool for their children called “Meng Mu Tang.” This small group of parents established what could be considered a small, private academy that places emphasis on Confucian classics and allows children greater autonomy in terms of what they choose to study and which skills they choose to develop (Sheng, 346). In 2006, “Meng Mu Tang” was denounced by educational authorities in Shanghai as an illegal operation that violated the compulsory education laws. Even so, the homeschooling movement showcases not only the devotion of Chinese mothers to their children, but also the importance that is still placed on Confucian philosophical thought. The homeschooling movement is as much for the purpose of freeing children from a system in which they could not thrive as it is for the promotion of Confucian ideals. As dissatisfaction with the education system grows, it is likely that private school may be a feasible option for young Chinese in the future. As writer Wen Lianghui observed, “these days, there are so many choices and different ways of doing things. There is no standard way anymore” (Tatlow, 3).

Confucian Revival and its Implications for Youth

Despite the prevalence of consumerism and media, there remains general disdain for western individualism. The collectivist model resists changes in social structure because to abandon one’s duty is not only “betraying” one’s kin and sacrificing the good of the whole, but also distinctly “un-Chinese.” Confucianism is so deeply ingrained the in the Chinese identity that many young Chinese describe it as the “spiritual air” that they breathe, a steady force of “cultural gravity,” or a “permanent nicotine patch stuck on the body” (Moore, 132). The discussion of youth and Confucianism thus becomes primarily an issue of how this Confucian identity is reconciled with the outside forces that come along with the age of new media.

Robert L. Moore claims that Chinese youth, in the light of the new age of digital media, have taken an interest in imitating foreigners – but only on the surface level. Western T.V. shows, music, and fashion trends are popular and widely emulated – Beijing clubs feature musical performances that “rival those one might find in major Western cities” (Moore, 130). Chinese youth even participate in mosh pits much like those found at western rock concerts, but Moore claims that in the midst of it all, the youth still exude “an air of benevolence” (129). Although this claim seems rather far-fetched, it may speak to a larger truth: even though young Chinese participate in what could be thought of as surface-level western trends, there still remains a fundamental adherence to Confucian-style norms (Moore, 130). This general rejection of western ideologies may be a contributing factor in the growing popularity of Korean T.V. shows, which combine a dramatic form of entertainment similar to western dramas but are also constructed through a distinctly Eastern lens. The popularity of the Korean television series Running Man has been attributed to its intentionally apolitical nature (De Kloet, 23). Qu Yuan, Chinese University student, commented that “American dramas also show the same kind of lifestyle. We know that South Korea and America have similar political systems and economies. But it’s easier to accept that lifestyle from South Koreans because they are culturally closer to us. We feel we can live like them in a few years.” Other students added, “American dramas are too modern,” and “we like American culture, but we can’t accept it directly” (Onishi, 3). The gravitation toward Korean media indicates that the media consumption of Chinese youth is still deeply rooted in the Confucian collectivist model.

                                  Breaking from Tradition: The Exceptions                                                                                    

The anomalies – those who break from their filial expectations, do so for a variety of different reasons—both willingly and unwillingly. Those who unwillingly break from the mold are most often compelled to do so because of the economic restrictions that came along with the one-child policy. A single child who feels obligated to provide for his or her parents as they grow older is caught in a difficult situation: in many cases, the child must work to have the funds to care for his/her parents, but this infringes on the time that he/she can spend with them. This causes a dilemma because both material and emotional care are generally expected of a filial son or daughter. Some youth from the one-child generation are choosing to send their parents to nursing homes so that they can pursue their careers or protect their privacy (Span, 3).

Others must choose between their career ambitions in the city and parents who live in the country. Chen Xuena, who works for a public relations company in Beijing, laments the fact that she cannot spend more time with her parents, saying that “once you get used to the opportunities and culture of Beijing, it’s hard to leave” (Jacobs, 3). Zhang Yang, a Beijing-based fruit vendor, has had a similar experience. “Business here is good,” he says, “but I feel guilty for not being with my parents” (Jacobs, 2).

There are, however, those who willingly challenge social norms. Some young people do express a degree of resentment toward Confucianism, which they see as a means by which they are unjustly exploited. This small but outspoken minority could be likened to the emerging movement of young Americans who reject capitalism as a means of exploitation (Moore, 132). Whether or not this rejection of Confucian norms is a result of media exposure to alternate models is unclear.

Conclusions

Despite the few exceptions (many of whom are reluctant exceptions), Chinese youth and their perception of their own personal relationship cannot, and should not, be discussed within the framework of outright rebellion. Change in the perception and practice of Confucian ideals, especially those that dominate family life, will not occur in a radical fashion simply because there exists a general perception that Confucianism and Chinese national and personal identity are inseparable – that to abandon certain cultural practices like filial piety would deeply undermine the basis on which society operates (Moore, 152). The links that Confucianism creates between the individual, the family, the collective, and the nation were initially employed as a means of maintaining unity, but today, it seems this unity perpetuates itself through a cycle of expectations that begin in the family. The ways in which family members foster their innate benevolence and carry out their expected social roles have changed throughout the centuries. However, the deep ties to Confucianism that family life has instilled in the generation of postmodern Chinese youth show that the spaces in which these young people operate remain closely tied to an enduring cultural tradition.

Bibliography

Cheng, Chung-Ying. “Developing Confucian Onto-Ethics in A Postmodern World/Age.” Journal of Chinese Philosophy. Hoboken: Blackwell Publishing Limited. 2016, 1-17.

De Kloet, Jeroen, Anthony Fung. Youth Cultures in China. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2017.

Ebrey, Patricia. “The Chinese Family and the Spread of Confucian Values.” Chap. 1 in The East Asian Region: Confucian Heritage and Its Modern Adaptation. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014. 45-83.

Jacobs, Andrew and Adam Century. “As China Ages, Beijing Turns to Morality Tales to Spur Filial Devotion.” New York Times. (New York, NY). Sept. 5, 2012.

Moore, Robert L. “Like The Air We Breathe: Confucianism and Chinese Youth.” Ed. Kenneth J. Hammond, Jeffrey L. Richey. The Sage Returns: Confucian Revival in Contemporary China. Albany: SUNY Press, 2015. 129-153.

Nadeau, Randall Laird. Asian Religions: A Cultural Perspective. Malden: John Wiley and Sons, 2014.

Onishi, Norimitsu. “China’s Youth Look to Seoul for Inspiration.” New York Times. (New York, NY). Jan. 2, 2006.

Sheng, Xiaoming. “Confucian Work and Homeschooling: A Case Study of Homeschooling in Shanghai.” (Cambridge: The University of Cambridge), 2013. 344-357.

Span, Paula. “In China, a More Western Approach to Elder Care.” New York Times. (New York, NY). July 27, 2011.

Tatlow, Didi K. “Gingerly, Chinese Parents Embrace the Value of Fun.” New York Times. (New York, NY). Jan. 25, 2011.

Tatlow, Didi K. “Nationalistic and Chasing the Chinese Dream.” New York Times. (New York, NY). Jan. 12, 2011.

Tseng, Wei-Chieh. “Struggle for the Right to Cover Up For Family Members: The Significance and Value of the Confucian Thought ‘Cover Up for Family Members” in Modern Society.”

Yuen, A.H.K., Jae Hyung Park, Lu Chen, Miaoting Cheng. “Digital Equity in Cultural Context: Exploring the Influence of Confucian Heritage Culture on Hong Kong Families.” (New York: Springer Publishing). 2017. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11423-017-9515-4. 481-498;

Zhang, Qianfan. "Humanity or Benevolence? The Interpretation of Confucian Ren and Its Modern Implications." Edited by Kam-por Yu. Human Dignity in Classical Chinese Philosophy, 2016, 53-71. Accessed September 30, 2017. doi:10.1057/978-1-349-70920-5_3.ties,

[jiaens-castle]

An Autobiography Through the Lens of Language

           I love the written word. Writing holds a kind of solace for me – it is a highly individualized, yet highly social experience. I love that I can enter the conversation from the solitude of my dorm room, or from the quietest corners of Hillman library. Writing holds a kind of perfectionism that can only be achieved through multiple drafts, from multiple critical eyes. Writing has allowed my personal perfectionism to blossom into a mode of expression. My journey with language has been, thus far, highly non-verbal, and very much a way of escaping and creating. It is a way of expressing overflowing emotion on private blogs about the latest political events, or the fact that I have been extremely sick for two weeks, or the fact that people in the library are being far too loud. Writing is how I tell my story, even if it is though seemingly meaningless fragments that float aimlessly through cyberspace.

My relationship with writing began years ago, and it all started with a ton of reading. When I think about language, I inevitably think back to the sticky summers of my childhood. My brightest memories took place in my favorite room in the house – the sunroom, where I soaked up story after story, each with as much enthusiasm as the last. My patience for learning and my sense of wonder were almost as boundless as the universe I was experiencing for the first time. If wonder were a commodity, 5-year-old me would have been a millionaire. Language was my way of experiencing the world outside of that sunroom. My mind wandered through the Amazon, around the Eiffel Tower, out into the endless expanse of space. Thoughts, hopes, and overflowing emotion could all be held in the palm of my hand. It was a good feeling – a feeling of control and solace.

           Away from that sunroom, my language has its darker days. Throughout elementary school and even in middle school, I hardly spoke, especially not to people I didn’t know. This issue seemed to stem from a distinct lack of self-awareness. I had no idea that my quiet nature was anything other than the norm, and I failed to see the possible consequences of forgoing social interaction. So, when my peers began developing friendships and social skills that had the potential to aid them throughout high school and beyond, I was watching the world go by with my nose in a book. It was in these years that my eloquence took a serious hit; I was so quiet that my verbal communication skills never seemed to develop until much later down the road. By the time I became aware of this problem, it was too late. Anxiety about my own social incompetence was already a seemingly unshakeable part of my life.

           However, as my social life wilted, my creative life blossomed. I read endlessly, and I wrote because it brought me joy and helped me to form my own voice. But, all good things must come to an end, and the period of my life in which writing and reading were joyous activities ended all too soon. Fast-forward to my high school years. A standard dose of teenage misery entered my life from stage right and completely stole the show. I would go as far as to say that I felt like a downtrodden beast – jaded, tired, and unable to imagine a life outside of those dull gray walls. Perhaps Lerner was right in some respects – the entire place reeked of insecurity. The language that the other students used was the language of resentment, effectively destroying the self-esteem of their peers in an attempt to build up their own (62). My friends and I never really entered the crossfire. We were just observers, complacent in our misery.

           Like most high schoolers, I wanted so many things that I didn’t have, even in terms of language. I wanted to be bilingual, I wanted more time to read, but most of all, I wanted freedom – the freedom that had been slipping away from me throughout my high school experience. I saw high school as a place where creativity and learning for fun both went to die. Looking back, there might have been a grain of truth in this concept. Forced creativity became stifled creativity, and the fatigue of adolescence took its toll on me. The more I was encouraged to be creative, the more I resisted. As my self-esteem plummeted, so did my faith in the idea that I could create something valuable, or that writing and art were worth time that could be spent on empty media.

           The way in which I was taught also contributed to the extinction of my creative spirit. In the new technological world, or perhaps just in my high school, there seemed to be a push toward the formulaic, the concrete. This emphasis on science and technology also bled into the territory I had come to call home: the humanities. It seemed that there was always a formula that was imposed – there was a formula for all the workings of the political system, a formula for the optimal essay – even a formula for art. As education funds dwindled and the teachers looked for an objective way to grade creative work, barriers were unintentionally constructed. Within this system, I often felt like I was writing the same essay repeatedly; all of my essays seemed to materialize as the same five paragraphs of monotonous garbage. This was possibly a symptom of unimaginative prompts, but I was convinced that it was just one facet of a bigger problem.

           Or, perhaps I was the problem. Maybe I didn’t do a thorough enough job of channeling my inner demons into creative work like Ms. Alison Bechdel. “The Ordinary Devoted Mother” resonated with me because Bechdel captured the struggle of the artist; it can be heart-wrenching to pour one’s own personal struggles into an artistic work because it requires dwelling on that struggle for far too long (100). Instead, my high school self engaged in often meaningless media like TV shows and YouTube videos, never fully coming to terms with the fact that I needed to create something that might fill the void.

           Throughout my high school struggle, it was almost as if my language had switched roles. My verbal eloquence improved dramatically as I began to come out of my shell, but my creativity on paper was stifled. My 10-year-old self would be disappointed with my high school self and her lack of creative endeavors.

           My language journey does not stop there, I suppose. Perhaps language can do more for me than just act as a mode of catharsis or even reflection. I have been tasked with finding a new way to reignite my imagination and experience the world in a different way – and I think I know exactly how. One of the positive experiences I had in high school was exposure to different cultural mindsets through means of the internet. Since language is tied so intimately with culture, I think that I need to go through some extreme form of culture shock. I should give myself over to a completely novel experience, a completely new language, or a completely different cultural mindset. Whether this will occur in a country abroad or in the familiar rooms of the Cathedral, I have no idea. For me, college is not only a place to let teenage misery fade into a distant memory, but also, a place where I can find inspiration and run with it. Perhaps by the end of my college career, I will have developed my writing and speaking skills to the point where I can articulate important ideas about history, politics, and the world. Language, for me, could become not only a mode of creative expression, but also a mode of sparking change.

Literature Cited

Bechdel, Allison. “The Ordinary Devoted Mother.” Ways of Reading: An Anthology for Writers, 10th Edition. Edited by David Bartholomae, Anthony Petrosky, Stacey White. 2014, pp. 73-108.

Lerner, Ben. “Contest of Words.” Harper’s Magazine, October 2012, pp. 60-66.

[jiaens-castle]

Internet Celebrities and Beautiful Lives That Are Beautiful Lies

Dear Sarah,

           When I was your age, I was looking for anything and everything outside of my high school experience that could guide me, and perhaps provide some measure of escape from life in suburban Pennsylvania. As you know, I was an avid consumer of social media and foreign T.V. shows, and I am sure that you can relate. At this moment in time, I know that you are looking toward the future and that certain social media forces are shaping the way in which you conceptualize that future. However, I hope that you are careful about the type of media that you choose to consume.

Some media profoundly impacted my life in a positive way. I remember coaxing you into watching the TV Show Our Era of Freedom (more commonly translated as In a Good Way). It was cheesy, it was a little dated, but it captured something about the nature of being young that really resonated with me. I saw a part of myself in all the characters, and the coming-of-age themes created a kind of nostalgia. There were some lines that I think may have shaped my subconscious and contributed to my college decision. 

Suddenly, I too, realized that I was tired of staring at cows in York county and wanted to pursue my education in a city setting. Our parents had no idea where this idea came from, and I did not have the heart to tell them that it arose from a cheesy Taiwanese T.V. series. Ultimately, I must say that this show did not lead me astray – I have never regretted my college decision thus far.

But there can be come media that is just misleading, and can result in a great deal of self-doubt. YouTube, with its sensationalized personalities and intentionally addictive algorithm, is a potentially dangerous rabbit-hole, especially for young teen girls. I’m sure that, as a prospective college student, you have been secretly marathoning those YouTube videos that are entitled something along the lines of “10 Things I Wish I Knew Before My Freshman Year of College,” or “5 Mistakes Every College Freshman Makes,” and I also know that you are smart enough to realize that they are a massive waste of time, as are many of the videos on YouTube. These videos usually contain such obvious, mundane advice that it might be more productive to just read a poorly-written Wikihow article and then move on with life. You are going to have experiences in the next few years that nothing can prepare you for – let alone a young, clueless college student on YouTube. If I were you, I would be wary of giving too much authority to these YouTubers, and media in general, which was a mistake I definitely made in high school. Also, do not, under any circumstances, look up to people (including YouTubers) who do not deserve your admiration. Idolization is a part of youth, but it a certain level, it is obscenely overrated.

When I was about your age, I fell slowly but steadily into the depths of Jenn Im’s YouTube channel, clothesencounters. At that point in my life, I was hoping that my days of celebrity idolatry were coming to a close, but alas, Jenn had a kind of ethereal charisma that pulled me in. I think what fascinated me most about her was that she seemed utterly immune to and even above social conventions. At that point in my life, I was so lost, and desperately looking for a means of liking myself. I was focused on the idea that I could shape myself into something more than I was by altering habits and my physical appearance, and Jenn served as not only a fashion icon, but also a lifestyle icon. Her style was dark, bold, unapologetic, and largely thrifted.

 During her college days at U.C. Davis, she was notorious for wearing 5-inch heels, spiked hellraisers, and chunky flatforms around campus. She drank her coffee black (no cream, no sugar, as she repeatedly pointed out), smoked weed (like every other college student in California), and drank hard liquor. Her music taste ranged from old hippie bands, to local grunge, to the underground bops that can only be found in the depths of SoundCloud. Once, she wore strappy heels with socks while crowd surfing at an Andrew W.K. concert.

I watched as her style progressed. Dark and rugged, then bright and hardcore, then sporty and clean, then feminine and refined. But, like all of the people I looked up to, her flaws began to surface. First of all, every other video was sponsored. To me, this was not entirely her fault. I think that perhaps it spoke to a larger problem in society in which young, talented content creators could not make enough money to support themselves without catering to the interests of corporate America. It still kind of made me cringe because it seemed like the sponsorships encroached on the quality of her content.

As her popularity skyrocketed, it became apparent that she had fallen prey to a “me” society. Her life revolved around stuff - and designer stuff at that. It just disappointed me that she could’ve done so much with the power that she had - she could’ve mobilized her audience to become actively involved with charities. She could’ve created a small business to promote smaller content creators who deserved recognition for their work. She could’ve even started her own charity. But nope. Her savings were going into that new bomber jacket that she just had to have, even though she already owned enough of them to wear a different one every day of the week. It was just a little sad to see someone I looked up to take a nosedive as soon as she came across some wealth. She is a living example that the end of the day, you can’t build your life on stuff.

Sarah, I think you understand that glorifying the lives of other people makes you feel terrible about yourself and your own life. It’s a way to look in the mirror and feel disgusting, and it’s a way to become unappreciative of all of the fortune that surrounds you. When Jenn became my idol, I was convinced that success meant material things.

What baffles me, though, is that she is somewhat self-aware. In her video, My Secrets, she admits to having saved countless pictures on her computer of the girls she wanted to become. She reflects on the fact that after deleting this folder of pictures, she has never been happier.

And yet, the people who watch her channel are mostly young teenage girls who probably feel more and more inferior by the day. She may only be an internet celebrity, but it is her job to promote the vanity that seems to come along with celebrity life.

Idolization is almost a form of brainwashing – the idol can do no wrong, they are a perfect human who has a perfect life. They are on another plane and embody a status that can never be reached by “normal” mortals like you and I. Idols are the glistening, manufactured product of Hollywood. But they can also be found on every corner of the internet. They have flawless Instagram feeds, their daily vlogs look fun and interesting, their diets are clean and consistent.

           Sometimes it is hard to stop and contextualize this phenomenon – to realize that this is all an illusion. They have bad hair days, they have days when they can eat an entire tub of Ben & Jerry’s, and they have moments in their lives that they wish they could forget. And, quite frankly, most fashion gurus are obnoxiously self-centered people. It seems strange to me that some find it necessary to record and glorify the mundane details of their lives to intentionally cultivate an air of superiority. It is even more strange to me that I had been caught in the illusion while knowing that it is completely useless to compare their perfect, manufactured film to my bloopers reel.

           When you go off to college, and even throughout your senior year, I hope that you are wise about the media that you choose to consume. I hope you know what kind of media makes you happy, and what kind of media should be avoided like the plague. I hope that you can derive value and self-worth from experiences in your own life, not just through the world of the internet. At the end of the day, your Instagram feed should not dictate whether or not you feel that your life is valuable. Your role models should be the people who hold the same values as you, not the people who make you think that you aren’t good enough.

Your Sis,

Megan

P.S. If you ever need life advice (especially advice about college), all you have to do is watch Our Era of Freedom.

[jiaens-castle]

Echo Chambers and Politics of Ignorance

In light of recent political events, I think that it is time to have a serious conversation about the state of political discourse in the United States. There are a wide variety of issues to discuss at this point: the overwhelming media bias, the blatantly inaccurate news that seeps from every corner of the internet, the misinformed and easily manipulated politicians, – I could go on. However, I would like to focus in on the ideological echo chambers that are created in the age of the internet, and the role that language plays in their creation. It seems that a certain ideological agenda is always being pressed – whether that be in a University setting, on major social media sites, or even in the trashiest of clickbait articles that litter Facebook and Twitter1. It is easy to fall in line with one side of the ideological spectrum, then proceed to consume media that caters to one specific worldview. Politically charged narratives are fed to mindlessly receptive audiences that spit them back out with vigor, and critical thinking is lost somewhere in the partisan crossfire. It seems that so much of the voter base in this country wants to avoid the uncomfortable cognitive dissonance that accompanies hearing valid opinions from across the political aisle. David Foster Wallace elaborates on this point when he describes what he calls the “Democratic Spirit.” In his words, “A Democratic Spirit’s constituent rigor and humility and self-honesty are, in fact, so hard to maintain on certain issues that it’s almost irresistibly tempting to fall in with some established dogmatic camp and to follow that camp’s line on the issue and to let your position harden within the camp and become inflexible and to believe that other camps are either evil or insane and to spend all your time and energy trying to shout over them” (391).  We are all just shouting in our own little echo chambers, and everyone in that echo chamber is nodding and shouting too, but in the outside world, none of this shouting is heard because no one wants to listen. It is uncomfortable to be the listener and not the shouter. Even major politicians have unknowingly admitted to falling into this trap. When Speaker of the House Paul Ryan told reporters that he gets his news primarily from Fox and the Drudge Report, I wanted to throw a dictionary at his head2. However, throwing dictionaries is probably not the best way to solve this echo-chamber problem. Perhaps it would be best to start by deconstructing the dangerous worldviews that this “echo-chamber” effect creates, and the role that language plays in complicating this mess.

Dangerous Binaries and Oversimplification

           One of the main problems in American politics today is that there are so many different echo chambers, and all of them seem to be speaking a different language. There are those who speak and consume the language of fear – fear of immigrants, fear of a tyrannical government, fear of minority movements, fear of the “gay agenda.” There are those who speak the language of outrage – outraged at those who were born with privilege, outraged at those who take a moderate, measured stance on social issues, outraged at those who disagree with them in any capacity.

The echo chambers, in their promotion of a specific worldview, tend to oversimplify issues, and this oversimplification has the potential to create dangerous binaries. For example, the election was framed as good vs. evil on the liberal side, and I, unknowingly caught up in the liberal echo chamber, began to believe that “good” would win over “evil” in an almost Harry Potter-esque fashion. It was almost as if everyone in the voting population had fallen down the rabbit hole of some insensitive binary, whether that be the “good” vs. “evil,” the “weak” vs. the “powerful,” “us” vs. “them,” “east” vs. “west,” and on, and on. The problem with these binaries is that they are so easily constructed and reinforced but increasingly difficult to recognize and correct. Overcoming these narratives requires a shift in discourse, and this shift in discourse requires the wide dissemination of facts instead of opinion-fueled propaganda. On the individual level, it requires critical thinking – not to mention a specific type of maturity that one must possess to question one’s own opinions. In other words, when it comes to understanding the world (including the world’s people and politics), we, as humans, must collectively let go of our egos and admit that most of the time, we are at least somewhat wrong. When one admits to the possibility of being wrong, it is just another way to keep the dialogue surrounding race, identity, and socioeconomic conditions going, which is necessary if progress is to be made in politics.

On the Importance of the Education System (and Perhaps SWE)

Democracy only works well if we, the voting masses, are informed – and perhaps one way to battle the epidemic of misinformation and bias is to let go of divisive language and name-calling. This is where it becomes clear that the one rational, measured voice amongst this chaotic cacophony may be the voices of scholarly elites. It may be time for a complete societal shift – one in which the voices that are the loudest are the voices of well-read, knowledgeable individuals. After all, as David Foster Wallace might argue, it is usually the intellectual elites who are speaking the language of facts and critical analysis. We, as a society, need to look more toward education to guide us. What is the point of scholarly research if it is only consumed by those who are already informed? This “preaching to the choir” effect must be remedied. The knowledge that has been trapped in the circles of elites must be disseminated into the voting population. However, the real challenge here is that the work of the elites must be translated into a language that the average citizen can understand or, on the flipside, the average citizen must be able to comprehend and give authority to the language of elites. Here, I can begin to see the logic behind Wallace’s argument that coaxing and prodding the masses to read the dictionary might (in a metaphorical sense) be more productive than throwing a dictionary at the opposition’s head. We need to be able to comprehend what people from other “echo chambers” have to say, or at least understand the complexity of the political world enough to know that it cannot and should not be run by someone who has had little to no political experience and has no prior record of regarding factual information with the respect that it deserves. The only way to have an open, well-informed dialogue might be to adopt some form of “standard written English” that everyone can understand, regardless of their cultural3 upbringing.

Clueing the general population in to what the elites have to say would be particularly difficult because it seems that sometimes, even the elites cannot agree – the world of the sociologists appears to be a world of abstraction and debate which may not necessarily enthrall the average citizen. This is where Appiah comes in. I find Appiah’s work somewhat humorous because it embodies a phenomenon that I have seen quite a bit in my academic career. His critiques reflect so much of what it means to write about the human experience. Practically all research that seeks to trace some social phenomenon could be critiqued, simply with the sociologist’s favorite argument: “this work does not quite capture the complexity of the human existence as seen through my perspective.” Thus, a new voice carries on a conversation that can never end with even a fraction of finality. In my limited experience, reading scholarly works about the social fabric of society, identity politics, and racial issues is almost equivalent to watching these scholarly elites sword-fight (in an unintentionally comedic manner) with a multi-faceted, ever-changing beast. Regardless of the time they employ or the techniques they use to create a perfect theory that accounts for the overwhelming multitude of social experiences that are currently developing in the world, it is ultimately a losing battle. There is no way to translate the entirety of human consciousness into scholarly work, and therefore, it must be an ongoing dialogue. This is not to say that it is pointless to follow along with this dialogue. Tuning in to scholarly debates may lead to a more acute understanding of the complexity that characterizes culture. For instance, how can the public fully comprehend Appiah’s argument that there is not just one African American culture in America, or that different cultural identities do not develop independently of one another (52, 56)? Talking about racial issues in an informed manner is so essential because it ultimately humanizes the “racialized subjects” that are portrayed by the mainstream media. Understanding other people on a human level may not just work to heal party lines -- it may also save thousands, if not millions, of lives. It is only too easy to sit in these echo chambers and completely dehumanize the opposition, whether that be in the American political sphere, or abroad. It is so, so dangerous that the rhetoric in these echo chambers may be used to portray a message that ultimately results in the quantification of the value of human lives.

It is my firm belief that everyone has the potential to cultivate a well-informed outlook on the world and its politics. For this to be accomplished, there must be a radical alteration of the mode by which these dangerous echo chambers are constructed. Here we are, in an era in which factual inaccuracies are the main sensation, in which the lines between fact and fiction are deliberately blurred. Oftentimes, the media is the main culprit. The media in this country has assumed far too much authority in the realm of political discourse. It is time for the media to ensure that the voices that chime in on policy are informed. The citizen can also play a role in the solution to the echo chamber problem by acknowledging it and avoiding blatantly biased news sources. Or, as an alternate mode of avoiding mindless indoctrination, one can also read from numerous media sources that each assume a different position on the political spectrum. In the end, the only way to address this problem is to ask the citizens of this country to listen to voices that have thought critically about political issues, or to approach all media sources with a critical eye. If we are to learn one thing from the election of Donald Trump, it is that it is time that the voters in this country learn to think critically, choose their voices of authority carefully, and use their knowledge to create a calm, well-informed environment for political discourse.

End Notes

1.      Buzzfeed. I’m referring to Buzzfeed, which is notorious for its blatantly biased media dissemination.

2.      At the risk of sounding hypocritical, I would argue that even under normal circumstances, the thought of lugging a dictionary in Paul Ryan’s direction is not particularly unappealing.

3.      I have a certain amount of disdain for the word “culture,” especially because it has very little meaning, and often serves as a means of writing off certain social phenomena as “just a part of culture.” It is yet another way of perpetuating misunderstanding because it completely disregards the individual experience and reiterates the person’s status as a “cultural other.”

Works Cited

           Appiah, Kwame Anthony. “Racial Identities.” Ways of Reading: An Anthology for Writers, 10th Edition. Edited by David Bartholomae, Anthony Petrosky, Stacey White. 2014, pp. 42-71.

           Wallace, David Foster. “Authority and American Usage.” Ways of Reading: An Anthology for Writers, 10th Edition. Edited by David Bartholomae, Anthony Petrosky, Stacey White. 2014, pp. 398-419.

[jiaens-castle]

Do Muslim Women Need Saving? – An Analysis of the Salvation Narrative

The mysterious figure of the so-called “Third World Woman” has played a prominent role in western media coverage in recent years. Politicians and media outlets alike have done much to shape the discourse surrounding women in the Middle East, and to this day, the idea that somehow, Middle Eastern women must be “saved” is not uncommon in the West. This narrative of “saving” has been used to suit a variety of agendas; it could be seen as a way to channel fear, justify military action, create a concrete enemy, or build a charitable image for politicians and celebrities. The salvation narrative also works to construct a worldview that, arguably, perpetuates the misunderstanding and condescension that so often characterize Western discourse surrounding the Middle East. According to the salvation narrative, Middle Eastern women must be saved from the conditions caused by them, the Middle Easterners, who are different from and inferior to us, the Westerners. Thus, the complexity of the oppressive social structures in the Middle East and the humanity of Middle Easterners are both lost in the midst of a highly politicized debate.

           It could be argued that the narrative of salvation is part of a larger phenomenon that Edward Said would call “Orientalism.” Said’s discussion of Orientalism is crucial to understanding how the “us” vs. “them” narrative has become a substantial force in the west. He loosely defines Orientalism as “a way of coming to terms with the Orient that is based on the Orient’s special place in the European Western experience” (1978: 1). As he further elaborates on the phenomenon, it becomes clear that Orientalist discourse is what draws the distinct line between “us” and “them” by conceptualizing Eastern culture as fundamentally different from and inferior to Western culture. So, arguably, the narrative that Middle Eastern women must be saved plays directly into Orientalist discourse by conceptualizing the Middle Eastern women and their oppressors as “Others” who can be controlled by the West’s charitable power. According to Said, to fully understand how this discourse works, it must be acknowledged that there is no such thing as pure knowledge. All knowledge could be considered at least somewhat political because all knowledge must be siphoned through a person’s unique perspective. Objectivity cannot possibly exist inside the human mind. For example, although it is a fact that in Jordan, “it is possible for rapists to escape criminal prosecution if they marry their victims,” a person’s reaction to this fact is, Said would argue, not purely objective (Warrick 2005: 320). Facts that are often taken out of context could be used to support a multitude of political narratives – including, but not limited to – the narrative that Middle Eastern rape victims need “saving” from Middle Eastern men. The fact that pure knowledge cannot exist, Said argues, is what makes it possible for discourse to create distorted realities that are constructed through human interpretation. The pre-conceived notions that are held by members of a society can be seen as products of discourse – and therefore, this pre-conceived notion that the East is fundamentally inferior to the West is just one of the products of the discourse surrounding the Middle East. The narrative of “saving” is also a part of this discourse – the discourse that paints the East as “The Other.”

The ways in which this Orientalist discourse comes into play may seem innocent enough. The narrative of “saving,” can appear benevolent in the eyes of the public, which makes it a powerful tool for celebrities and politicians. However, it seems that often, when there is a discussion about “saving” or “helping” a specific group of people in a specific region, there is an element of dehumanization involved which creates “the Other.” In 2008, author John Green posted a video on his YouTube channel which criticized the advertising tactics of charities that raise money to fund children’s education in Bangladesh. Green makes the claim that the advertising, which capitalizes on the shock value of images of hungry children to guilt the American public into making donations, creates the image of a “them” that is fundamentally separate from “us.” It’s a similar concept to the salvation narrative surrounding Middle Eastern women. We, the Enlightened ones, need to help them, the incompetent ones. But Green, as eloquently as usual, points out that “there is no them. There are only facets of us” (2011). In other words, the erasure of the humanity of the impoverished children in Bangladesh, or in this case, the humanity of Middle Easterners, is fundamentally counterproductive when it comes to creating an accurate worldview and a narrative that does not erase the humanity of the victim.

The dehumanization involved in the “us” vs. “them” dichotomy serves to create a monolithic image of the “Third World Woman” as someone who is not only alien, but also helpless and incompetent. Chandra Talpade Mohanty defines the “Third Word Woman” as “a homogeneous, ‘powerless’ group often located as implicit victims of particular socio-economic systems” (1984: p. 338). She argues that western feminists (like Laura Bush, for example) define Middle Eastern women “primarily in terms of their object status” by creating an imaginative geography that separates the “oppressed” Eastern woman from the “liberated” Western woman (1984: p. 338). Lila Abu-Lughod explains this dichotomy best when she says that it separates “West vs. East, us vs. Muslims, cultures in which First Ladies give speeches versus others where women shuffle around silently in burqas” (2002: p. 784).  The images that this discourse creates such as “the veiled woman, the powerful mother, the chaste virgin, the obedient wife, etc.” only contribute to the construction of the monolithic “Other” and make it difficult for feminists to voice legitimate concerns about the patriarchal structures in the Middle East (Mohanty 1984: p. 352). As Abu-Lughod puts it, “to launch feminist critiques in the context of continuing Western hegemony is to risk playing into the hands of Orientalist discourse” (2001: p. 107) Nadine Naber faces the same dilemma, and fears that “washing [her] dirty laundry in public” will be unproductive at best and harmful at worst, because there is a chance that the issues that she raises will contribute to the “us” vs. “them” narrative and ultimately perpetuate the violence that this narrative is used to justify (2011: p. 87).

           An example of the violence that the salvation doctrine is used to justify is the U.S. intervention in Afghanistan following the 9/11 attacks. After the fear and hysteria caused by the 9/11 attacks, the Bush administration claimed that military intervention was essential to liberate the women from the oppressive regime of the Taliban. In doing so, a concrete enemy was constructed, or as Abu-Lughod puts it, the Taliban and the terrorists that had carried out the 9/11 attacks were lumped into “a kind of hyphenated monster identity: the-Taliban-and-the-terrorists” (2002: p. 784). The construction of the Taliban as the ultimate enemy and the ultimate “Other” from whom these women need to be saved served to make military action a seemingly justifiable option in the eyes of the American public.

But there is one essential element missing from the Bush administration’s salvation narrative. According to Maya Mikdashi, “[g]ender is not the study of what is evident, it is an analysis of how what is evident came to be” (2012: 1). In other words, if one wants to look at the politics of gender in the Middle East, historical context must be taken into account. One of the many glaring problems with the salvation narrative is that aside from dehumanizing the victim and perpetuating Orientalist discourse, it completely ignores the historical structures that created the socioeconomic conditions from which these women supposedly need to be “saved.” For example, somehow the narrative does not include the fact that as much as 75% of U.S. aid went to extreme and conservative Islamic groups during the Cold War. The logic employed by the U.S.in this case was apparently that “fanatics fight better.” It also ignores the fact that this aid helped make the Afghanistan-Pakistan region “the largest producer of heroin, as well as a sizeable marketplace for illicit arms” (Hirschkind & Mahbood, 2002: p. 343). The militarization of Afghan society using U.S. aid has arguably led to the rise of the Taliban and created the conditions from which Laura Bush insists that Afghan women must be “saved.” In effect, the narrative of saving erases the U.S.’s responsibility for the rise of extremist groups in the Middle East.

Another problem with the salvation narrative is that perpetuates a fundamental misunderstanding about the role of Islam in Middle Eastern women’s lives by blaming the religion for the problems that women face. Western feminism’s discourse surrounding the veil exposes one of the key weaknesses of the salvation narrative. It assumes that the veil is somehow a symbol of weakness and submission – a tool used by men to control “their women.” Abu-Lughod sheds light on the misinterpretation of the veil in her classic piece “Do Muslim Women Really Need Saving?” She notes that instead of seeing the burqa as a means of restricting women, many [see] it as a liberating invention because it enable[s] women to move out of segregated living spaces while still observing the basic moral requirements of separating and protecting women from unrelated men.” In other words, it creates a kind of “mobile home” for women (2002: p. 784). She also makes the point that the western feminist movements which encourage women to “throw off the veil” as a sign of liberation are pointless because the veil is considered so conventional in some Muslim communities that “most women give little thought to its meaning” (2002: p. 785). The misinterpretation of the veil as a tool for misogynistic men is just one the issues that come along with Western feminism applying Western cultural standards when looking at Middle Eastern cultures.

The salvation narrative has been created to serve a distinctly western political agenda that justifies military action and completely disregards historical context. This narrative perpetuates the “us” vs. “them” dichotomy by imagining Middle Easterners as mysterious (and often deplorable) “Others” while glorifying the “liberation” that the West has to offer. It also works to silence the U.S.’s role in the rise of the Taliban, and perhaps most importantly, it works to silence Middle Eastern activists who have a more comprehensive understanding of Middle Eastern women and the action that could be taken to improve their lives.

Works Cited

Abu-Lughod, L. (2001). "Orientalism” and Middle East Feminist Studies. Feminist    Studies, 27(1), 101-113.

Abu-Lughod, L. (2002) Do Muslim Women Really Need Saving? Anthropological Reflections on Cultural Relativism and Its Others. Ethics Forum: September 11 and Ethnographic Responsbility, 104(3), 788-790.

Green, J. [vlogbrothers]. (2008, April 8). Nerdfighting in Bangladesh. [Video file]. Retrieved from https://youtu.be/PEtIR0xHDfk

Hirschkind, C., Mahmood, S. (2002) Feminism, the Taliban, and the Politics of Counter-Insurgency. Anthropological Quarterly, 75(2), 339-353.

Mikdashi, M. (2012). How Not to Study Gender in the Middle East. Jadaliyya.

Mohanty, C. T. (1984) Under Western Eyes: Feminist Scholarship and Colonial Discourses. 333-358

Naber, N. (2011). Decolonizing Culture: Beyond Orientalist and Anti-Orientalist Feminisms in Arab and Arab American Feminisms (pp. 78-90). Syracuse, New York: Syracuse University Press

Said, E. W. (1978). Orientalism. New York: Pantheon Books.

Warrick, C. (2005). The Vanishing Victim: Criminal Law and Gender in Jordan. Law & Society Review, 39(2), 315-348.

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Reflection

I remember being so proud of this piece because it was my first time translating heavy, highly theoretical readings into human terms while also (kind of?) incorporating my own analysis. One of the critiques my professor provided is that my argument could have been more nuanced at some points, which, looking back, I can definitely understand. In fact, I recently critiqued someone else’s paper on the exact same thing (oops). It’s a starting point, and I feel like since I made it through this class relatively unscathed and a marginally better writer, I can conquer any sort of heavy reading that comes my way.

[jiaens-castle]

Preface

I won’t admit it publicly (and sometimes, even to myself), but I love writing. It’s cathartic, and it’s the only way I can express my ideas with the eloquence and precision of an unhindered perfectionist. 

With that being said, I hope that everything I post on here serves as evidence of my own imperfection, as well as the imperfection of the human experience.

Word documents are so easily lost, but tumblr sticks around -- it is, after all, the internet’s eternal pest. I’ve been on here for years, mindlessly reblogging pink sunsets and the occasional quote about romance that my mind somehow connects to my largely fabricated love life. 

I will no longer be a victim of this mindless digital wandering. 

Here’s to thoughtfulness.

Here’s to reflection.

Here’s to being wrong.

Here’s to shouting an idea into the void in hopes that someone out there has also retired from reblogging pink sunsets.

-- M.L.S.