the purpose of this blog is in transition away from a collection of essays I wrote a long time ago toward a professional website.  I’m keeping a couple short posts up for now that are often visited, but they, too, will be removed soon unless I edit their content.

Coming soon: my CV, research interests, current projects, and possibly select lesson plans and exercises.

Regards,
Seth

Boulder! ...I didn't take this photo.

Hello all!

Now that I’ve officially moved out of Maine, I thought I’d update with a life post that chronicles my first day in Boulder, CO.

I flew into Denver in the early afternoon on August 1, boarded the AB skyride, and was on my way to Boulder.  All of this was unremarkable.  As I get off at my stop, however, I misstep on the bus, twisting my already crappy ankle.  Obscenities were uttered.  looks of concern from my fellow travelers were received.  I’m not sure if I actually heard a cracking sound or if the pain was so great my mind added sound effects, but it hurt a great deal.  The last time my ankle hurt worse than this was probably when I got hit by an oil truck and had the ankle shattered.  So I hop off the bus, fighting back tears of pain and frustration, get my luggage from under the bus, and hobble to a park bench where I can sit and assess the damage.

So I take off my shoe and sock and begin cradling my ankle like one might a baby.  It swells.  The pain continues for some time, so I sit and debate whether I should go to the hostel where I’m staying that night or the hospital.  Due to my lack of knowledge of Boulder and not knowing if my insurance would cover x-rays and everything in another state without a referral from my primary care physician, I decide on the hostel, intending to figure out my ankle tomorrow.  I walk (according to google maps) 0.4 miles to the hostel from the bus stop.  that walk (which, again according to google maps, should take less than 10 minutes) takes me 45 minutes, as I am practically hopping half a mile up hill with a backpack, laptop, and a suitcase.

Not until I was within 50 feet of the Hostel did someone offer me assistance, and I felt very angry at this city–at the bus driver who suggested I “take it easy” upon seeing that I had severely injured myself, at the people at the bus stop who wouldn’t look me in the eye for fear that I might ask them for help, at the pedestrians who passed me, going in the same direction as myself, without acknowledging my predicament and offering to lend me a hand, at everyone and everything associated with Boulder.  I was so angry that I declined assistance from the woman who offered me help just as I was getting to the Hostel; as irrational as it may be, I didn’t want to give the city the satisfaction.

Upon getting to the hostel, I check in and head up to my room.  I recruit a young man to lug my suitcase up the two flights of stairs to my room (because, although I was still feeling stubborn and defiant, there was no possible way I could have hopped up to the third floor with a 50 pound suitcase).  Just as I get into bed to better wallow in anger and self-pitty, the city’s sirens start going off.  For a moment I feel like the protagonist in an ancient Greek epic, fighting to achieve some end but ultimately at the mercy of the gods.  I decide that, whatever the sirens signify, I would stop fighting the divine forces I’d apparently angered by moving to Boulder.  Just as I resolved to be killed by a tornado, lightning bolt, flood, or flesh-eating locusts, however, I hear over the loudspeakers that the sirens were simply being tested.  I close my eyes to find my happy-place and (after talking to some friends and family, putting up with a bunch of assholes shooting off fireworks, and accepting that my room was going to stay in the 80s all night) eventually got to sleep.

Things began to turn around the next morning.  I grabbed a cup of coffee and egg & cheese sandwich on my way to campus (still hopping the entire way, but down hill), drop off my suitcase at the poli sci department, and track down a set of crutches to use on campus.  Only then did I feel better about my situation.  the kindness of folks in the department restored my faith in humanity, and I’m on the path to appreciating Boulder.  Who knows when I’ll be off crutches, but at least the department serves as a community that I know is willing to help.

The numerous ways in which one may approach The Algerine Captive served to overwhelm me upon the conclusion of my first reading. There exists, it seems, a blatant Marxist critique of the text, as economic motivations are a perpetually present aspect of the narrative. Simultaneously, the near total absence of women, save for his mother and a passing romantic interest, begs a gendered examination of the presented role (or lack thereof) of men and women in early America. Third, and perhaps the most obvious, is the manner in which the novel deliberately positions the Algerines as inferior Others, using the single commonality presented between the two cultures—slavery—as a tool to argue against its continued presence within the American community. Each of these strategies have a degree of value in efforts to understand the text, but the commonalities between them, centered upon dyadic pairings of abstract ideas—power and weakness, authority and servitude, liberty and slavery—point toward another form of literary criticism which is often ignored or mislabeled (usually as Marxist criticism): anarchist literary criticism.

Approached in this manner, the enslavement of the protagonist does not strip him of his self-direction, but rather marginalizes him in a different manner than his pre-enslavement experience in America. While economic conditions are an important axis upon which this subversion takes place, it remains but one of many. The division of the book into its two volumes at the point of his enslavement serves to position the American community with a mirror image with which it may reflect upon its own form and behavior in relation to the allegedly barbarous Algerines. While I lack the space to reflect upon this observation in a thorough manner, one example may simultaneously serve to legitimize my preliminary observations and point the way to further reflection. In both Volumes of The Algerine Captive, the protagonist is first the victim of, and later the willing participant in, hierarchical structures that require the involvement of all parties, including those who are disadvantaged by the process, in order to function. Slavery serves as the most blatant example of this: early in his enslavement, he is stopped from attacking his master by other slaves, but later, he repeatedly references his desire to please his masters so he may enjoy the privileges that accompany obedience. Before his enslavement, similar observations can be made in regards to his relationship with educational institutions—lording his knowledge and position of authority over his students—as well as his desire to establish himself as a doctor—attempting to reveal his competition to be ‘quacks’ so he may usurp their position within the community.

Within The Federalist Papers, it is immediately visible that the authors depend heavily upon Social Contract theory (Locke’s, particularly) for the justification of inwardly exerted power, as well as the realist position regarding the state’s outward presence in the international community. As early as “Federalist #2”, reference is made to the manner in which “the people must cede to [government] some of their natural rights,” an extremely Lockean manner of justifying state power, and later, in “Federalist #7,” Hamilton states his belief in the need for an “umpire or common judge” to resolve conflicts as they arise (Scigliano 2000: 8, 35). In addition to these Lockean beliefs, one may also repeatedly notice hints to Hobbes, for the authors are ostensibly arguing that the same ‘State of Nature’ that justifies the creation of a state also justifies the expansion of that state as far as it may go (while still making representation in the democratic republic feasible). In short, the newly formed states require a unifying abstraction greater than all of them so as to hinder one region from forcing its will upon its neighbors; the newly formed states require their own Leviathan so as to ensure that the lives of the former colonies are not, using Hobbes’ famous phrase, “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”

While further evidence is certainly present for the above observations—the text is saturated with it—I feel it is more beneficial to set it aside and, for my rereading of the text, focus upon the presentation of the conceptualized-Us within the text. Each paper is addressed to “the People of the State of New York” but, because The Federalist Papers are attempting to argue in support of a larger state body, most references to ‘us’ and ‘we’ are speaking of all the citizens of former colonies. Like the manner in which Jefferson imagines Virginia in Notes, the authors of The Federalist Papers attempt to establish the ‘natural’ unity of the former colonies through establishing borders which unite the “connected, fertile, wide-spreading country” (Scigliano 2000: 8). Also similar to Jefferson’s Notes, The Federalist Papers seek to establish the community through shared identities:

“a people descended from the same ancestors, speaking the same language, professing the same religion, . . . who, by their joint counsels, arms, and efforts, fighting side by side throughout a long and bloody war, have nobly established general liberty and independence,” (Scigliano 2000: 9).

Despite the reasons why the union is ‘natural’, the authors also argue that, if their union is not formalized within a single state, it will inevitably lead to competition and conflict over territory, commerce, the public debt, and so on. Looking beyond this realist belief that “neighboring nations . . . are naturally enemies of each other,” these conflicting positions warrant reflection (Mably, in Scigliano 2000: 33). John Jay (who authored “Federalist #2) and Alexander Hamilton (who authored the majority of The Federalist Papers, including Federalist # 6-8) seem to be of conflicting opinion here, the former arguing that we are one, and the latter arguing that we will only be one through mutual subservience to a single state abstraction. For Hamilton, in other words, the use of ‘we’ is tentative, dependent upon the ratification of the proposed constitution by all states. While not my focus in my initial reading or rereading of The Federalist Papers, further observations regarding the differences in presented belief between the three authors of the text would certainly be relevant and worthy of discussion.

The dramatic break within the text referenced above caused me to pause and reflect upon it after my first read-through. Queries I-XII predominantly focus upon nature, save for Queries IX and X which focus upon Virginia’s military and marine forces, but starting with Query XIII there is a noticeable shift toward the abstractions of the society in question. Rather than nature being the subject of discussion, it becomes the primary object from which the structures of Virginia’s various institutions find justification. In addition to covering the basic laws of Virginia, for example, a considerable chunk of Query XIV is dedicated to an explanation of why former slaves must be excluded from the society and replaced by White settlers if laws of emancipation are passed. While he briefly references prejudice on the part of white citizens and the likely inability of former slaves to move beyond “the injuries they have sustained,” he focuses upon “the real distinctions which nature has made;” African Americans, according to Jefferson, lack the beauty of Whites, are less capable of love and, most importantly, “their existence appears to participate more of sensation than reflection,” (Waldstreicher 2002: 176-177). Interestingly, his comparison of African Americans with Native Americans seems to justify my observation that Jefferson’s position is similar to the ‘kill the Indian, save the man’ mentality one finds later in American history[1].

“[Native Americans] astonish you with strokes of the most sublime oratory; such as prove their reason and sentiment strong, their imagination glowing and elevated. But never yet could I find that a black had uttered a thought above the level of plain narration; never seen even an elementary trait of painting or sculpture.” (Waldstreicher 2002: 177)

Unlike his views of African Americans, there seems to be an acknowledgment of ability from Jefferson regarding Native Americans’ potential. I wouldn’t go so far as to argue that this suggests he would pursue a policy of inclusion, however.

Keeping this observation in mind, my purpose throughout my second reading of Notes was to make sense of Jefferson’s relationship with Native Americans. Beginning by rereading Waldstreicher’s introduction, the rest of the text is finally beginning to fall into place, although I cannot think of a single contribution to the discussion which isn’t covered, either explicitly or implicitly, by Waldstreicher. Jefferson sees many positive traits within Native Americans, but those points of admiration are on an individual level rather than a societal level. It is their lack of homogeneity as a race, in Jefferson’s eyes, which simultaneously allows European Americans to ‘civilize’ them while also stripping them of their decentralized power on the continent. In many ways, this marks the end of Native American history for Jefferson, slowly brought about by the attempts of Native Americans to compete with European Americans as well as the latter’s attempts at socializing the former. Whether taken through trade or violence, European Americans inherit the best of what Native Americans possess, and more than anything, these inherited objects are the land and the legitimacy provided by being ‘native’.

The manner in which Jefferson approaches the discussion in Notes can position the text as disjointed and inaccessible at times. Each Query presents itself as relatively contained from the others, suggesting that there is not an overarching point the author seeks to make, and his lengthy descriptions of natural conditions don’t help make the text a page-turner. While I have read many sections of Notes before, this is the first occasion I have approached the text as a whole. Personally, the most interesting parts of the first half of the text are his arguments against de Buffon (Query VI), his fear of the corruptive influence of foreigners (Query VIII), and his discussion of Native Americans (the latter part of Query VI and Query XI), all of which I had previously read for various Political Theory courses.

This most recent reading of Notes was interesting for its completeness, however, for even the seemingly unimportant discussions of rivers, mountains and climate reveal themselves as relevant in relation to the more interesting (and, if my own experience is like many others’, more read) sections of the text. Although presented as an informative work without a thesis that unites each Query as relevant to one another, I increasingly see Jefferson’s Notes as a narrative that seeks to define not only the experience of early Americans, but also the meaning of America’s newly formed national identities which are more regionally specific (i.e. Virginians) and drastically different from contemporary understandings of the American identity. In particular, Jefferson’s discussion of race and his attempt at rooting it in nature strike me as one of the most consequential elements of the text. Also, although I am not yet prepared to comment upon it in unequivocal terms, Jefferson seems to continually speak of Virginia and the new world in general with a defensiveness of its grandeur, not only seeking to establish that the former colonies are great, but also that these new political bodies are inheritors of the best that the world can offer, be it in nature or in society. This particularly shines through the text towards the end of his argument against de Buffon’s beliefs. After he establishes that the new world is no worse than the old, he speaks of Great Britain’s inevitable decline, declaring that “[h]er philosophy has crossed the Channel, her freedom the Atlantic, and herself seems passing to that awful dissolution, whose issue is not given human foresight to scan.” (Waldstreicher 2002: 127)

One part of the text that continues to confuse me is the manner in which he approaches the issue of Native Americans, which is potentially made more complex by his need to prove de Buffon wrong. He speaks of Native Americans with a degree of respect, (such as his example of their oratory skill) but simultaneously pursues political policy that seeks to destroy them. He also makes a distinction between their ‘natural’ ability and their society, which seems to allude to later American policies regarding Native Americans such as ‘kill the Indian, save the man’. I have struggled with this aspect of Notes for over a year, and although the introduction to the text illuminates the issue a bit more, it remains unclear to me.

According to William James, “the will to believe” is applicable only in specific instances when the hypothetical option is simultaneously living, forced, and momentous—“a genuine option”, in James’ words (McDermott 1977: 718). A living option is one that is not rooted in rational thought, but rather is emotional and subjective to the individual faced with the option in question. As an example, James offers the difference in having to choose between being “’a theosophist or be[ing] a Mohammedan,’” and being “’an agnostic or being a Christian,’”: the former are likely dead options due to the lack of both familiarity and cultural appeal, while the latter are likely to be both familiar and appealing (McDermott 1977: 718). A forced option is dyadic, thereby requiring the individual to make one of two decisions. The options “’love me or hate me’” would therefore be non-forced, for one could remain tepid and non-committal in either direction, but the options ‘believe X or don’t believe X’ are forced, for it is “based on a complete logical disjunction, with no possibility of not choosing,” (McDermott 1977: 718). A momentous option is immediately relevant and irreversible, presented to the individual within conditions that are not likely to be reproduced, such as James’ example of joining an expedition to the north pole (McDermott 1977: 718). Any instance of a hypothetical option that deviates from these three conditions by instead possessing an antithesis of one of the above—a hypothetical option that is dead rather than live, non-forced rather than forced, or trivial rather than momentous—is an instance of when the will to believe cannot be invoked. While these conditions are seemingly clear and definitive, upon closer examination the classifications are problematic and will create inconsistent instances in which various individuals may employ their will to believe. As James’ belief in the divine is his cited purpose for setting down conditions under which one may believe without rational cause, this shall be our object of analysis, and in short order it will suggest a need for revision in James’ proposed conditions.

The most striking of the observable problems, at least initially, is James’ argument that the belief in the divine is momentous. Belief in the divine is not a once in a lifetime opportunity; it lacks immediacy because one has the opportunity to believe in the divine or not believe in the divine a seemingly innumerable number of times in one’s life. If we take another argument of James, that consciousness is ever changing, then belief in the divine can once again be considered momentous, but with its inclusion comes the inclusion of all other beliefs as momentous in a ‘once in a lifetime’ sense of the term, for one’s consciousness lacks fixity and, consequently, is not likely to be reproduced again.

Secondly, while James is fully aware of disparate experiences between individuals that are “for the most part out of sight and irrelevant and unimaginable to one another,” there seems to be an inevitable inconsistency in the application of the will to believe between individuals due to their disparate experiences and, therefore, disparate approaches to the options (McDermott 1977: 197). It is unclear as to whether James would consider this problematic in regards to what he calls his “justification of faith”, but it is, at the very least, problematic for making an argument in support of any sort of universal justification that transcends individual experience. Ignoring the questionable status of believing in a faith as momentous, one can say that one’s belief in a faith can be both live and forced; believing in the divine or not believing in the divine seem plausibly live and are dyadic. Even so, many individuals’ wills to believe are incapable of moving any closer toward a specific religion, for if more than one religion is ‘live’—if they find more than one religion appealing based upon their lived experience—it ceases to be forced and, thus, ceases to be ‘will to believe’-able.

William James, albeit briefly, seems to proffer an explanation that remedies the problems present in his conditions of when one may invoke the will to believe. In short, James argues that belief is not a choice, but rather is something that one simply possesses. One can speak in opposition to one’s own perception of reality, but that does not change one’s perception; “[w]e can say any of these things, but we are absolutely impotent to believe them,” (McDermott 1977: 719). In this sense, a ‘will’ is not required to believe, nor are conditions under which one is permitted to pursue irrational belief, for one can believe (and does believe, whether one realizes it or not) without permission or apology for how one arrives at said beliefs. While this remedies the problems by making them moot, its repercussions upon free will begs consideration, for it may unravel more than it fixes. I am not sure I possess the will to believe in the Jamesian ‘will to believe’; it’s live enough, and it’s certainly forced, but the option seems to lack the momentous immediacy that, according to itself, it needs.

William James’ ‘pure experience’ relates to consciousness in three predominant ways. First, pure experience fleshes out a mediating position between rationalism, which “tends to emphasize universals and make wholes prior to parts in the order of logic,” and empiricism, which “lays the explanatory stress upon the part, the element, the individual, and treats the whole as a collection and the universal as an abstraction,” (McDermott 1977: 195). Second, pure experience is capable of rooting itself between these conjunctive and disjunctive relations because it does not require the application of language or its legitimizing influence over what James calls ‘vicious intellectualism’. Third, pure experience does not require the application of language because it is rooted in individual consciousness rather than the complex interplay of individuals’ various perceptions. Pure experience is therefore what James refers to as “coming-to-be-and-a-passing-away”; it is a continuous, personal experience that is selectively contextual due to the necessities of cognition.

The first aspect of pure experience is its cognitive approach that combines conjunctive and disjunctive relations and, through doing so, manufactures a third relation characterized by an “imperfect intimacy” that “is fair to both the unity and the disconnection” between experienced objects (McDermott 1977: 197). This imperfect intimacy takes a superior position to exclusively conjunctive and disjunctive approaches thanks to its complex imperfection; it does not simply describe relations as ‘this and/ or this’, but rather is better characterized by ‘this with/ near/ next/ like/ from/ towards/ against/ because/ for/ through this’. Because there are so many relational prepositions at one’s disposal for conceptualizing the interaction (or lack thereof) between two experienced objects, one’s understanding of the interaction will remain focused upon only a small part and, therefore, remains imperfect.

Secondly, while one may employ language for the purpose of communicating one’s experience to other societal members, language is not a prerequisite for the legitimacy of one’s pure experience. With the use of language, James identifies several points that could give rise to an even murkier understanding of experienced objects’ imperfect intimacy; according to James, we must “take [a relation] as we feel it, and not . . . confuse ourselves with abstract talk about it, involving words that drive us to invent secondary conceptions in order to neutralize their suggestions” (McDermott 1977: 198). The overemphasis upon language could lead toward what James continually refers to as ‘vicious intellectualism’, for pure experience is personal, not an object meant to be shared communally and integrated into a larger societal experience. One’s pure experience is comprised of a series of lived moments, and thus cannot be fully shared. “My experiences and your experiences are ‘with’ each other in various external ways, but mine pass into mine, and yours pass into yours in a way in which yours and mine never pass into one another,” (McDermott 1977: 198).

Restating the third manner in which pure experience relates to consciousness, the pure experiences of two individuals can be cohabitants in that they can both experience similar events, but every new experience is filtered through each individual’s past experience and, through being so, alters the perceived experiential connection between observed objects. One sees, then, that pure experience is always ‘coming-to-be-and-a-passing-away’, as its roots must remain in an individual due to the imperfections of language. This is in sharp contrast to certain other pragmatic approaches to knowledge and experience, such as Peirce’s, which emphasizes rational, communal experience for the purpose of directing future action. Furthermore, pure experience is imperfect and finite in what can be considered or ‘experienced’ due to the limits of cognition, but is nonetheless a continuous process that ambles through the landscape of time; it never walks everywhere at once, and where it will be next is directly dependent upon where it previously was.

Last updated: 2/16/2011

Peirce rejects intuitive belief, attained without linguistic and experiential context. As justification for this rejection of Cartesian principles, Peirce cites the fact that “metaphysicians . . . all agree that metaphysics has reached a pitch of certainty far beyond that of the physical sciences,” but cannot agree on what that certainty is (Buchler 1955: 229). For this reason, Peirce argues that belief must be constructed communally through rational observation and analysis. Rather than simply stating that diamonds possess hardness, a group of individuals must each acknowledge that diamonds continually scratch glass, thereby displaying hardness. Hardness remains an abstract concept that can only be seen in the interaction between two physical objects, not unlike his metaphysical examples of energy and gravity, which are observable in their effects but not as physical objects. This does not mean the concepts are useless in a pragmatic sense, but rather that one lacks a totality of understanding.

Peirce also rejects the idea that one must start with universal doubt in order for beliefs to approach truth: first, because he believes one cannot begin with universal doubt, and second, because, although one cannot see hardness or know with absolute certainty that the next diamond will scratch glass like all those before it, that doesn’t mean the belief is useless. The belief, after all, does not have to be a certainty in order for it to inform action, so long as one possesses confidence in the convention ‘diamonds are hard’. It is enough to say that one has a good idea that approaches metaphysical truth, and if one happens upon evidence that calls doubt into being, the previously good idea can be reexamined through collective, scientific discourse until the convention is destroyed or stabilized as an employable concept.

One sees that Peirce is rooting his metaphysics in collective, scientific analysis, as opposed to individualistic theologians and other such “practical men” who either assume the total validity of their beliefs or work exclusively towards proving validity of their beliefs (Buchler 1955: 312). Peirce’s scientific process, when applied to metaphysics, forces the agents of this process to perpetually question their “provisional beliefs” in order to more fully approach truth, whatever it may be (Buchler 1955: 312). While this may seem antithetical to metaphysics because the metaphysical concepts must remain provisional and therefore not absolutely known, Peirce presents no doubt that the metaphysical concepts exist within his argument. If they exist, they can be approached, and he presumes they are best approached through the collective reasoning of inquisitive minds.

In a narrow sense, Peirce’s scientific, pragmatic epistemology limits itself to propounding tested facts within the physical sciences, such as a diamond being called hard because it has scratched glass. This method permits positivism in the sense that statements of being are limited exclusively to tested objects, but these facts cannot direct future action regarding similar but untested objects. When applying the scientific method to metaphysics, a positivist approach is not possible. The facts attained through the study of physical sciences may inform the construction of belief in metaphysics, but those facts only label a diamond as hard, not comment on the hardness of diamonds in general or hardness as a concept independent of the diamond and piece of glass. Rather than positively knowing that all diamonds are hard, one can assume they are hard, for, although not all diamonds have been tested, those that have suggest a pattern of hardness. When dealing with the metaphysical, Peirce has no choice but to operate in a post-positivist epistemological mode, building evidence in support of a belief, but never completely fixing it as fact. Although fact in metaphysics is not possible in a scientific framework, it can still approach truth, thus creating a belief that can direct action.

As a pragmatist, Peirce believes that the purpose of thought is to direct future action for best effect. As shown, metaphysics succeeds at directing action far more than physical science, but simultaneously lacks the same precision; one can only observe metaphysical objects in the interplay between physical objects, making the study of the metaphysical (and the search for metaphysical truth) dependent on the prefigurative study of the physical (and the application of physical ‘facts’). Peirce must reconcile the use of post-positivism in metaphysics, for at the root of the epistemology is the belief that we can only approach knowledge, and never completely attain it. He seems aware of this problem, at least to a certain degree, for he claims that all beliefs must be “provisional” to scientists, and constantly evolving and improving closer to truth (Buchler 1955: 312). This perpetual reformation of belief is like continually dividing a number in the hope of reaching zero. No matter how many times one divides the number, one always remains a fraction away from the goal, be it zero or the equally abstract notion of truth. Pragmatism, however, does not require truth; pragmatism requires belief, and post-positivism is fully capable of manufacturing conventions that, although acknowledged to be imperfect, do not have to be doubted.

Post-positivist epistemology does still require a will to believe, both in that the scientific process will allow us to move closer to metaphysical truth, and that this ultimately metaphysical truth holds enough proximity to reality in order to direct action in a pragmatically successful way. This reliance upon a will to believe, however, does not matter in a post-positivist framework, for the epistemological system anticipates it. Peirce is concerned with ‘belief’ more than ‘fact’ translating into ‘truth’, and belief does not need to be precise, even if it would arguably be more beneficial if it was. If we find that the scientific process ends up failing to live up to our goal of identifying facts that allow us to approach truth, it, too, can be abandoned for another method of fixing belief. What should be the allure of post-positivist epistemology to Peirce is that it does not pretend to possess certainty, so if we find that the scientific process isn’t living up to our expectations—if, to use Peirce’s simile, we decide that we chose the wrong bride—divorce is always an option.

If this was all voting was, I’d be fine with it. I have no problem with having a vague understanding of how others within my community feel about certain issues. The problem, however, resides in the use of an imperfect quantitative reflection of sentiment as a justification for heading toward a culturally hegemonic position. The dominant body or idea becomes the standard in such a situation, and all other positions and ideologies become positioned beneath that standard and marginalized in their validity. The numerical superiority of a position stands in for whether the position is ‘right’; the collective discussion of the issue stops being important, for all one must due is garner enough support to have a majority through whatever tactics one has at one’s disposal (which often include slander and lies that, due to their manipulative nature, should have no place in democratic systems). Issues are not discussed in order to collectively approach a mutual understanding that assists in achieving mutual liberty; ideological positions are instead screamed at one another, and we reward the loudest.

Further muddying the already fallacious structure of pre-voting discourse, issues of acceptable behavior which we could debate are often provided to us in packets which we then must vote for through the support of each packet’s representative: the corresponding party. This further contains the discussion in multiple ways. The issues’ attachment to political parties puts any subsequent discussion on a leash, so to speak. One may discuss each individual issue, but ultimately that discussion will lead back to one of the dominant political parties and their positions which, although perhaps similar to one’s own on the given issue, must go beyond ideology into estimations of numerical popularity in order for the party to take power. Think of Obama’s speech at the DNC; it illustrates my point so fucking thoroughly that further remarks are probably not necessary (but I’ll include them just in case).

“We may not agree on abortion, but surely we can agree on reducing the number of unwanted pregnancies in this country.”¹

Who, precisely, is this ‘we’? I think its safe to say that Dems can agree on abortion, and have for some time in fact. Obama is pandering by watering down a fairly traditional stance of the democratic party.

If one examines the rest of that quote from Obama’s speech, one will notice the further diluting of issues to the point of banality. Two sentences later in the same paragraph:

“I know there are differences on same-sex marriage, but surely we can agree that our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters deserve to visit the person they love in the hospital and to live lives free of discrimination.”

How fucking generous. Maybe if homosexuals ask real nice we might let them continue to use the same grocery store as us heterosexuals, too…

My point isn’t that these issues should simply be yielded to and ‘liberal’ policy followed, although I am very much a supporter of the right to choose and gay rights (which if one considers one’s self an anarchist one fucking better²); my point is that the overlapping of such issues into a political party package damages everything—the ideology, the issues, the politics—for each element of the package must make itself so inoffensive that no one could possibly find fault with any part of it. One can no longer pursue gay rights at the ballot because the party isn’t pursuing it. One can no longer support a woman’s right to choose because the party is downplaying that right. One’s options are contained, and one’s desires cannot be realized on the ballot.

It is for the above reasons that the theoretical purpose of voting I proposed at the beginning of this entry—a quantitative reflection of community sentiment—is an improper frame for understanding the act of voting within society. The very fact that these issues are so hotly debated and polarizing within US society reflects the fact that the jury is still out regarding their acceptability. We, as a society, haven’t come to a decision regarding whether abortion is the same as murder, for example, but the very fact that we have not collectively reached that decision is why it cannot be formalized as a deviant act. These issues of acceptable behavior are messy, and if we are to deal with them we must become comfortable with the inherent imprecision of community standards and expectations. This is why, if voting were exclusively used as a way to give us an idea of community sentiment, I would be one of its biggest advocates. Voting’s application, however, transcends such vague awareness of opinion into the realm of hegemonic domination, and once voting sets the standard the state goes to work reinforcing it.