Stanford: Day 5 (Aaron Swartz: The Weblog)

Yesterday very little happened (except for a show by a stand-up comedian who had obviously stolen his material from this site), so I will dedicate this post to a week’s reflection in response to comments. (I should note that I really appreciate the comments — keep sending me your thoughts. This applies to everything; I hereby solicit all unsolicited advice.)

By far the most common theme in writing my alleged unhappiness and detachment. It seems most commentors think I should lighten up and join the group, while slightly less offer comfort and suggest I will learn to cope, and the rest cheer me on as I am. So it may come as a surprise to most of you that I do not feel detached or unhappy.

True, my situation is objectively quite poor: I practically the entire day sweating, hungry, and running from place to place. I am cut off from most intelligent discussion and forced into inane exercises meant to build a spirit I abhor. I have lost most of my freedom, my comforts, my family, and my friends. I spend my days mostly doing the whims of others and trying to catch my breath instead of accomplishing things of substance. And yet, I can honestly tell you that I remain quite happy and cheerful, perhaps happier than I was at home on average.

I am not entirely sure what explains this. A large part of it is likely my writing in this space. I am frequently taking notes on my surroundings and thinking about how I will write about them. I suspect this gives me something of an ironic detachment that allows me to see the humor in my situation instead of feeling the pain. (For example, normally I’d feel anxious and glum about buying a file cabinet and leaving it outside because I’m too scared to ask for help. But now it’s simply a hilarious act in a drama! Whatever is going to happen to it?) It also gives otherwise meaningless events a purpose — I convince myself to talk to people and do things by saying that I will be able to write about them later.

Another part is likely the combination of California sun, endorphins and exercise, and eating more and better food. (However bad the food is here, my previous daily diet was usually four plain bagels and a bowl of plain pasta with water.) I suspect these simple things have given me physical enjoyment even when I lack comparable mental enjoyment.

In response to this, some will surely suggest that I am leaving out the good stuff that happens to me. (DanC already has: “Let’s hear more about the rest… the good stuff”.) I suppose I am leaving out some things. There is a sort of light but easy cameraderie that comes from being in similar circumstances with hallmates. And people here are usually pretty open and friendly. But it’s not like I’m leaving out incredibly amazing experiences. I mostly write things as I see them, throwing out the merely ordinary experiences. Anyway, if there’s anything I’ve learned from Joss Whedon, it’s that you should never give your audience the happiness they want, no matter how desperately they want it (and I know I did).

As for complaints about detachment, I am not actively trying to be detached. I want to meet people, but it is difficult. I try to make conversation, to get people to tell me about themselves, but I don’t really know what to ask. Most, I suspect, have had pretty normal lives — doing well in school, perhaps the usual outside interests. I cannot ask them about their hobbies or their jobs, because they do not have any. What, exactly, should I do?

People seem to assume that I am like the high school freaks who sit under the bleachers and laugh with each other about the inanity of the good students. But my criticism comes not from detachment but experience — I have not thrown myself into cheers or into fountains, but I have tried my best to follow the acts and suggestions of others to the extent I can without compromising my sense of self (or clothing). One controvertial point was my discussion of dancing:

Inside the party, the clear focus was on the dancing. Teenagers moving their bodies in bizarre and vaguely rhythmic positions in close proximity to one another. I’d seen the practice frequently enough on TV, so on one level I knew what to expect, but on another it was wholly bizarre. It was like watching brownian motion or a complex screensaver, it’s completely meaningless and random but it’s also complicated enough that you don’t look away.

I do not criticize the kids for dancing, act confused about their motives, or otherwise make judgements on them — I simply described what it looked like to me. Yet commenters have acted as if I’d done all these things. In fact, I believe dancing is enjoyable and courageous; talented dancers even provide enjoyment for others. I probably would have joined in if I’d had the courage or inclination.

If there has been a theme this week, it would be cooperation — its uses and abuses. It seems clear to me that despite society’s pressures to compete, cooperation is a deep and natural part of us. This is often a good thing — a group of kids cooperating to dance or go fountain-hopping can be beautiful to watch — but the same tendencies can be abused by those in positions of authority to suppress individuality. Nations can cooperate to go to war even most individuals, if given the authority and information, would likely decide no to.

It is these latter uses that scare me. The mindless patriotism and slogan-shouting that can feel like a Hitler rally. The attempts to pit man against man, for no particular reason. The Orwellian insistence that slavery is freedom. The implication that disobeying orders is unpatriotic, not showing “Roble Love”. I know little about the rise of fascism, but I do know that these things scare me.

I do not begrudge kids their dancing or their fountain-hopping. I do not look down upon their attempts to eke out a living in this society and make friends. I do not try to mope or dwell on sadness. Nor do I stand apart from the others, for I am truly one of them. But I do remain concerned about the way that we are being used, and I will not stop being concerned even if some day it were to make me unhappy and detached. Some things can not be given up without giving up one’s self.

posted September 25, 2004 05:07 PM (Education) (18 comments) #

Stanford: Day 5

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