|
Interrogations
By
Ophelia Benson
An
eclectic, literary challenge to everyday thinking.
Number
Twelve: Mere
A
single word, even a mere monosyllable, can often convey more than
seems possible. Yes or no, for example.
'Mere'
is one. If we call something mere, that can be a mechanism for making
ourselves feel puffed up: more important, special, significant,
valuable; for providing ourselves with an opportunity to feel superior.
What I do is not mere, what I do is interesting, complex, profound,
subtle, sophisticated. What those other people over there do is
mere.
This
is a highly unattractive maneuver. We've all seen people do it (and
sneered or flinched or frowned, and probably felt superior), we've
all done it ourselves. Sometimes we catch ourselves, and laugh and
(if there are witnesses) acknowledge and mock the fault; sometimes
we don't. Jane Austen's novels are packed with characters whose
entire lives are centered on saying mere, and often for the worst
possible reasons. Thorstein Veblen wrote a well-known book about
people using money and the spending of it to say mere. The idea
of saying mere is well entrenched in economics and sociology, in
thoughts about positional goods, status, keeping up with someone
or other. Much advertising and consumption and hence much of the
economy is based on saying mere. People who drive BMWs get to think
mere of all the poor drones driving Hondas and Fords. People who
drive SUVs the size of a small house get to think mere of everyone
driving one merely the size of a shed.
But
however invidious and repellent it can be, and however people misattribute
mereness, the idea behind it can be a useful motivator too. If we
think some things are mere and we want the things that are not mere,
we're always at liberty to decide for ourselves which things are
mere. The self-congratulation and self-puffing-up may be only a
minor, manageable side effect.
We
can decide for instance that money and position themselves are the
very things that are mere. We don't care about that dross, that
mess of pottage, we're after bigger game. We look higher. Making
the world a better place, making discoveries, conveying discoveries
to others, creating beauty. Mere is a flexible word, and it is always
possible for the people driving small old battered cars, not to
mention the people walking or biking or taking the bus, to call
the people in SUVs mere, too. Mere money-mad philistines, for example,
mere polluters, wasters of resources, menaces to pedestrian safety,
blots on the landscape, mere deluded materialists who can't think
of any better way to spend their money or any more genuinely impressive
way to show off. They are the mere ones, and we seekers of higher
things look down on them.
So
these nasty little power-moves, these sortings and arrangings and
rankings, these decisions about position and hierarchy and worth
and status - however invidious they are, they can be useful, too.
From the point of view of economists, manufacturers, shopkeepers,
of course, they're highly useful in keeping things ticking over.
But they can be useful from a slightly less grubby, worm's eye view,
as well. They are in fact probably inseparable from making the kinds
of choices one has to make in order to live a good life, do the
right thing, be a decent person. It is difficult if not flat impossible
to separate the desirable, the indispensable activity of critical
thinking, judgment, evaluation, from the traps of self-congratulation,
self-admiration, feelings of superiority. We have to make decisions
all the time about morality, ethics, aesthetics, accuracy, truth,
justice, fairness, utility. It's hard to make such decisions without
thinking we are right; it's hard to think we are right without thinking
people who don't agree are wrong; it's hard not to think people
who have it wrong are mere. It's this very quandary that leads so
many people to see judgment as an invidious activity and avoid it
as much as possible, but that system breaks down as soon as choices
that really matter have to be made.
It's
interesting that a word, concept, way of thinking, attitude, stance
can be so equivocal, so double-edged. So necessary and fundamental
for most of our actions and decisions and choices, and the source
of reform, learning, invention, creation, discovery, forward motion;
and also the source of much of our worst behavior, and of resentments
and heart-burnings and rage, quarrels and brawls and estrangements,
even murders and wars and genocides.
Wanting
to escape the condition of being mere can inspire heroism, self-sacrifice,
technical breakthroughs, research; equally it can motivate one-eyed
money-grubbing and all the lying, cheating, customer-tricking and
worker-exploiting that can go with that. Adolf Eichmann wanted not
to be a mere salesman, a mere bureaucrat, a mere minor Party functionary;
he was elated to have such a big, important job, and that's why
he facilitated the killing of millions of Jews. Tiny, petty desires
not to be mere can set in motion cataclysmic effects.
Well,
there is no help for it. Like so much else in human life, there
is no good or final answer, all we can do is keep negotiating, navigating
between the two until our lifeless hand falls from the wheel, trying
to judge and decide and choose well without humilating other people,
trying to have goals and desires and lives we can respect without
being preening condescending prats. It's never a mere doddle.
Ophelia
Benson is editor of Butterflies and Wheels - .
.
Interrogations
will next be updated early May 2003
Previous
Interrogations
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
Join
Our Café mailing list
To
receive *very* short messages, letting you know when the Café
has been updated, just fill in your email address below - and press
submit.
[If
you wish to unsubscribe from the mailing list, simply fill in your
subscriber email address, select "Unsubscribe", and press Submit.]
|