The Organism of Modernity
“The great epiphanic work actually can put us in contact with the sources it taps. It can realize the contact. The philosopher or critic tinkers around and shapes images through which he or another might one day do so. The artist is like the race-car driver, and we are the mechanics in the pit; except that in this case, the mechanics usually have four thumbs, and they have only a hazy grasp of the wiring, much less than the drivers have. The point of this analogy is that we delude ourselves if we think that philosophical or critical language for these matters is somehow more hard-edged and more free from personal index than that of poets or novelists. The subject doesn’t permit language which escapes personal resonance.”
- Charles Taylor, Sources of the Self (512)
In his book, Sources of the Self: The Making of the Modern Identity, Charles Taylor takes his reader on a journey through an evolution of the self; within the context of Western history. The evolving self is primarily depicted in relationship to the good - to a background of moral sources. Ultimately, Taylor concludes that a moderner is faced with a plurality of sources, and is thus, to some extent, always in tension with multiple goods. Through my art work and theoretical explanation, I explore this pluralism further. However, keeping in mind the value of personal resonance, I also include an Eastern narrative in this process of retrieving moral sources. Rather than a “philosopher of the center” or “philosopher of the periphery (Dussel, 1996),” I aim to investigate the evolution of modern self through the lens of a philosopher of the in-between. So let’s begin this journey of uncovering the self in-between.
On a blank canvas, through expressive motion, I released my creative imagination in the form of acrylic paint. This beginning symbolizes the period of Romanticism, in which expressivism was tremendously valued. Taylor writes, “If our access to nature is through an inner voice or impulse, then we can only fully know this nature through articulating what we find within us. This connects to another crucial feature of this new philosophy of nature, the idea that its realization in each of us is also a form of expression (374).” Thus, reflecting nature through my inner nature, I expressed: passion, freedom, sentimentality, chaos, and love on the canvas. Finally, this piece also represents a symbol. During the Romantic period, the symbol was a language to decipher a reality that was invisible. And through expressivism, the symbol aided in the manifestation of “something” previously hidden.
Expressivism and the belief in nature as an inner source enabled radical individuation during this period. However, subjectivism did not magically appear from the depths of Romanticism. It owes much of this attribute to the Enlightenment. So, I began planting objects onto the paint; as a way of symbolizing the disengaged instrumental reason which embraced the Enlightenment. “The stance of radical disengagement” says Taylor, “could be presented as a more uncompromising fulfilment of self-responsible reason. The focus on utility alone promised a more single-minded pursuit of happiness. And disengaged reason was meant to sweep away the obstacles to a universal and impartial promotion of well-being (323).” Thus, the tools represent a self that’s beginning to perceive the world instrumentally, and as a result, disengaging from nature.
As science slowly began to replace religion, egoism was understood to be defeated. The Enlightenment liberated civilization from the imprisonment of the self, and instead, created the freedom to pursue the universal good. With the influence of Kant, morality was defined in terms of rationality: “The moral law is what comes from within; it can no longer be defined by an external order. But it is not defined by the impulse of nature in me either, but only by the nature of reasoning, by, one might say, the procedures of practical reasoning, which demand that one act by general principles (364).” And thus, scientific rationality gave way to a disenchanted world.
In contrast to the expressive and fluid experience of the paint, placing the objects onto the canvas required a lot more precision and deliberation. Only after the fact did I realize that the way in which I created the piece (the process) also reflected the two periods: playfulness characterizing Romanticism, and measurement representing the Enlightenment. Although the rivalry between them is strong, they do share some similarities: “Both are internalizations. Both try to place the sources within. Both therefore show their Rousseaunian heritage and make freedom a central good. And because they do, both render themselves vulnerable to the critique of the other (385).” Furthermore, I added coins and fallen leaves to represent a similarity that they both share. For Romanticism, the coins symbolize nationalism, which originated from expressivism. While for the Enlightenment, the coins denote instrumental reason. The leaves portray the role of nature for both; except it is seen as a source for the Romantics, and a push towards rationality for the Enlightenment. Essentially, there is a tension that is being held between the two, and it is what constitutes modernity. As Taylor states, “a modern who recognizes both these powers is constitutionally in tension (390).” The more I meditated on this paradox, the more I felt it within myself. However, as someone who only recently moved to the West, a fragmented psyche was beginning to surface.
As a result, I drew a circle around this prominent tension, because in Enrique Dussel’s terms, it represented the eurocentric portion of myself. It was the center, and not the periphery because it portrayed who I was quite clearly. The subjectivism of Romanticism and the Enlightenment is an aspect of myself that I consider to be quite loud. Thus, without hesitation, I gave it a central role. However, as Dussel notes, “The center-philosophies and the peripheral-philosophies are the two faces of philosophy in modernity, and the counter-discourse (as much in the center as in the periphery) is a bequest from all the philosophers of the world, and not only from European ones (1996).” Dussel is right in claiming that ultimately there is no clear distinction between the center and periphery, because through Alexander the Great’s conquests, the hellenistic fusion was born. However, despite this understanding, there still seems to be a distinction in place. So I will honor the center-philosophies and peripheral-philosophies for what they are.
To depict the peripheral cultures, I used fabrics from Singapore, Japan, and India - each of which represent my background. Initially, I had planned to portray all the peripheral cultures in the periphery of the canvas, but due to a lack of space in the periphery, I decided to cut the Singaporean fabric into small pieces and stick them around the center. Thus, the form pushed the function into a certain direction. In some sense, this pivotal emergence is aligned with Coleridge’s notion of translucence, as Taylor describes: “In a perfect work of art, the “matter” - the language of a poem or the material of a sculpture - should be entirely taken up in the manifestation; and reciprocally, what is manifested ought to be available only in the symbol, and not merely pointed to as an independent object whose nature could be defined in some other medium (379).” So, by sticking the fabric around the center, I realized that my nationality (Singapore) was holding my eurocentric identity. Singapore is a fairly new country, only 55-years-old, and therefore it is built on the values of modernity. Taylor writes, “A nation in order to have an identity requires and develops a certain picture of its history, genesis, development - its suffering and its achievements. These stories envelop us and form our pictures of ourselves and our past, more than we are usually aware. This is one extremely important way in which expressivism has shaped our world (416).” Thus, aspects of Romanticism have contributed to making Singapore into an independent state. Additionally, Singapore is also known for its outstanding capacity of transforming itself from a third-world country to a first-world country; an ideal of progress that the Enlightenment would have embraced. Therefore, my country, embedded in its historical narrative, holds the vision of these two eurocentric traits.
And that is why I stuck a “Made in Singapore” tag on the circle. As it will always remind me that I wouldn’t have had these eurocentric traits in the first place, if it weren’t for my Singaporean nationality. The nucleus can’t survive without the membrane.
The father of Singapore, Lee Kwan Yew, only instated traditional Asian values into the country after it attained some level of economic status. Thereafter, the prime minister adopted Confucian ethics, in order to create a value system that was based on filial piety. In The Analects, Confucius writes, “A young person who is filial and respectful of his elders rarely becomes the kind of person who is inclined to defy his superiors, and there has never been a case of one who is disinclined to defy his superiors stirring up rebellion. The gentleman applies himself to the roots. ‘Once the roots are firmly established, the Way will grow.’ Might we not say that filial piety and respect for elders constitute the root of Goodness? (Ivanhoe & Norden, 2003)” Through the influence of Confucius, Lee Kwan Yew emphasized the role of the family in society, to help facilitate the overall wealth of the nation: “We were fortunate we had this cultural backdrop, the belief in thrift, hard work, filial piety and loyalty in the extended family (Teon, 2016).” While he did admire Confucian philosophy, a constriction on material reality is also what led him to adopt these values: “There is not enough room in little Singapore to build everyone an apartment. We must reverse the trend [of the modern nuclear family], for when filial piety is neglected, the survival chain is weakened and a civilized way of life is coarsened (Campbell, 1982).” Thus, similarly to how the material reality of my canvas made me pivot and give rise to a new understanding of my identity, so did the reality of physical space make Lee Kwan Yew adopt a new philosophical outlook. Ultimately, filial piety is one of my moral sources. And so, when I am told by a Westerner that I am privileged to be financially dependent on my family, I actually see it as a deeply embedded moral source. In many families across Asia, this is not considered a privilege, it’s considered to be the standard way of life. My parents take care of me until I am able to provide for myself, and when they get older I take care of them.
I have Indian blood running through my veins, I speak two Indian dialects, and I have extended family in India; so it’s my heritage. However, I’ve never lived in India, and haven’t spent much time there, so I consider it to be in my periphery. As for Japan, I was raised there most of my childhood, and speak the language. That being said, I am still considered an ‘alien’ in the eyes of a Japanese, so it’s also a peripheral identity. The idea of using fabrics from my different cultures was inspired by Mahatma Gandhi. Through his philosophy of non-violence and the renunciation of foreign produced clothing, he managed to lead India into liberation. Gandhi writes: “[Home-spun cloth] to me is the symbol of the unity of Indian humanity, of its economic freedom and equality, and therefore, ultimately, in the poetic expression of Jawaharlal Nehru, “the livery of India’s freedom (Fischer, 1962).” Thus, the fabrics that I utilized represent reason, sentimentality, and freedom. And my purpose for this was to show how material reality can shape the spiritual dimension.
Although Japan does not share a similar history with India, it has found the role of the divine in objects as well. The Japanese aesthetic philosophy of wabi-sabi “is a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete (Koren, 1994).” Born out of the traditional tea culture in Japan, it embraces a worldview of a rustic aesthetic. However, what’s a little mysterious about wabi-sabi is that there is no real definition of what it really means. As Leonard Koren states in his book Wabi-Sabi: For Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers, ““Those who know don’t say; those who say don’t know.” On a pragmatic level this precept is designed to reduce the misinterpretation of easily misunderstood concepts. As a consequence, a clear, expository definition of wabi-sabi has, for all intents and purposes, been studiously avoided [...] wabi-sabi is not easily reducible to formulas or catch phrases without destroying its essence (1994).” Thus, unlike Taylor, who emphasized the importance of articulation, wabi-sabi thrives on the idea of inarticulation. As a moral source, its goodness can only be realized through direct contact with an aesthetic reality.
From my Indian heritage, two moral sources lurke in the periphery: non-violence and renunciation. And from my Japanese upbringing, my periphery has inherited a moral background of sublime suffering. I now have a full picture of my moral framework: it is one of multiple sources. From the eurocentric roots of the Enlightenment and Romanticism, to the membrane which is my Singaporean nationality, and finally to the peripheral cultures of India and Japan. These multiple sources can evoke a sense of confusion at times, as Taylor elucidates: “Modern moral culture is one of multiple sources; it can be schematized as a space in which one can move in three directions...The fact that the directions are multiple contributes to our sense of uncertainty. This is part of the reason why almost everyone is tentative today, why virtually no one can have the rooted confidence in their outlook that we see (317).”
My initial vision was to use a large chunk of both Indian and Japanese fabrics, and stick them onto each side of the canvas. I wanted the peripheral portion to be covered entirely by these two cultures. However, something did not feel right. There was a sense of heaviness that was being evoked; which I did not intend on portraying. Thus, I decided to cut the fabric into pieces and stick them randomly onto their respective sides. Fortunately, I was satisfied with this image. And it occurred to me that this symbolized an aspect of my life, wherein my identity is always open to other cultures. As a being who is in a constant state of becoming, I cannot close my borders to anything or anyone. So yet again, spirit has been molded by the shape of matter. There is something about giving and leaving space. The painting definitely has more room to breathe because of that, but on a psychical level it’s pointing to something deeper.
While having multiple moral sources can create uncertainty, a clear distinction of moral sources between the center and periphery may also cause one to feel disillusioned about the role of morality. But like the epiphanies of modernity, moral sources can also emerge in-between distinct sources. On the role of epiphanies, Taylor writes, “From the Symbolists on, there has been a poetry which makes something appear by juxtaposing images or, even harder to explain, by juxtaposing words. The epiphany comes from between the words or images, as it were, from the force field they set up between them, and not through a central referent which they describe while transmuting (465).” Additionally, Taylor states that the epiphanies are now indirect, and rather than an epiphanies of being, we have epiphanies of interspaces. Thus, to be modern, and to be in contact with multiple sources, means to understand ourselves through philosophies of the in-between.
Rather than interpreting my moral sources as the center and periphery, I can now begin to understand what lies between them. In between my Singaporean membrane and European nucleus lies a version of filial piety that gives way for independence alongside caregiving. In between my Indian periphery and Eurocentrism, lingers the goods of restorative justice and sustainability. And in between my Japanese periphery and eurocentrism, emerges an appreciation for simplicity. As Taylor suggests, we should not “narrow our sympathy,” and let the one-sidedness of a good turn us away from it entirely. Ultimately, a moderner is faced with a multiplicity of goods, and is thus invited to hold everything in tension. Realizing this epiphany can bring us in contact with, and help us recover moral sources that have been buried. “The epiphany” says Taylor, “is our achieving contact with something, where this contact either fosters and/or itself constitutes a spiritually significant fulfillment or wholeness (425).” Thus, through negative capability, one can realize the epiphany of a paradoxical moral background and foster an integral constellation of one’s self.
Lastly, I used watercolors to create a fluid effect that characterizes the in-betweenness of the modern self. As Zygmunt Bauman, in his book Liquid Modernity said, “Forms of modern life may differ in quite a few respects - but what unites them all is precisely their fragility, temporariness, vulnerability and inclination to constant change. To ‘be modern’ means to modernize - compulsively, obsessively; not so much just ‘to be’ let alone to keep its identity intact, but forever ‘becoming’, avoiding completion, staying underdefined. Each new structure which replaces the previous one as soon as it is declared old-fashioned and past its use-by-date is only another momentary settlement - acknowledged as temporary and ‘until further notice.’ Being always, at any stage and at all times, ‘post-something’ is also an undetachable feature of modernity. As time flows on, ‘modernity’ changes its forms in the manner of the legendary Proteus...What was to the point, ‘liquid modernity’, is the growing conviction that change is the only permanence, and uncertainty the only certain. A hundred years ago ‘to be modern’ meant to chase ‘the final state of perfection’ - now it means an infinity of improvement, with no ‘final state’ in sight and none desired (1999).” Thus, this aquatic locomotion enables the moderner to swim in an ocean of plurality, all while holding birthing tensions of the in-between. Ultimately, the in-between represents the process of becoming.
Like Taylor, my attempt with this project was to retrieve and “uncover buried goods through rearticulation - and thereby to make these sources again empower, to bring the air back again into the half-collapsed lungs of the spirit (520).” However, my aim was also to show the paradoxical framework that lingers in all our backgrounds. Through which, both, articulation and inarticulation can aid in the epiphanic work of uncovering goods. To witness the resolution of the tension between the philosophers of the center and the philosophers of the periphery, requires one to hold the paradox and emerge as the philosopher of the in-between. This is what I call the Organism of Modernity.
References
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