Truth: An Existentialist Rant

I suppose this post will be little more than an extension of my previous post. Previously I had said that the truth sometimes just sucks because it doesn't always, if ever, hold that mystical element we value in the meaning we construct for our lives and the things in our lives. But I found a quote from Jorge Luis Borges that I believe sums up, more or less, what I was trying to get at:

"...Reality has not the slightest obligation to be interesting.... reality may get along without that obligation, but hypotheses may not."
~Death and the Compass

And I suppose that's what the truth really boils down to: it isn't obligated to be interesting, and perhaps that is why the truth doesn't always seem as meaningful as we would like. The fact of the matter is that more often than not the truth seems to lack any sort of meaning for us, which is always unsettling.

Think of truth and its concern for our search for meaning as Lovecraft's monsters and horrid alien civilizations: they could easily exterminate us all without even breaking a sweat, but we are like an ant mount in Africa: it's too much effort for something that doesn't concern it. That is what really makes Lovecraft's monsters so terrifying: they don't actually care about the human race. I mean, if we get in their way, sure, they'll destroy us, but it isn't really worth the effort. We are not the center of the world. We really don't matter in the grand scheme of things. Such is the the case with the truth: it isn't obligated to fascinate us and fulfill those hollow searches of ours for meaning in our lives. Mostly because nothing really has any meaning in the first place. We construct the meaning in things to make ourselves feel better, which is more or less the basic principles of existentialist philosophy.

Nothing has any real inherent meaning unto itself. We might imagine that the Pyramids of Giza were quite meaningful to the Egyptians, and we will speculate on what the shape of the pyramid meant to the Egyptians. Some have speculated that they represented mountains that were a sort of gateway to the heavens, or that they mimic the shape of the top of an obelisk - an obelisk being a sort of petrified ray of the sun - and as such represented a ray of sunlight. But this is only what the pyramid meant to the Egyptians. They completely made that up. In reality - that is non-obligated reality to be interesting - the pyramid is a meaningless shape. The shape of a pyramid is nothing more than a solid with a square base and four triangular faces with eight edges and five vertices. It is meaningless unto itself. We are the ones who construct the meaning and apply it to completely meaningless things.

But that's the trick: we construct meaning for truth to be as interesting as possible to make up for how completely meaningless the truth actually is. The truth doesn't have to be meaningful. Our hypotheses and explanations for the truth, however, do have to be meaningful.

This is what I think Julia Sweeney was getting at when she said, "The truth is a poor competitor in the market place of ideas." Ideas have to interesting and meaningful. The truth doesn't give a shit about what is meaningful or interesting to us.

Reality is a lot like the Pyramids of Giza, really: it's just a great big heap of meaningless stuff that we constantly try to attach some interesting explanation to.

Truth: A Poor Competitor in the Marketplace of Ideas

It isn't uncommon for me to reread parts of the Bible. There is a great variety of stories and teachings in that book. Want a story about war? Rape? Decapitation? Zombies? The apocalypse? Genocide? Read the Bible. Want a love poem? Read Song of Solomon. Want a lesson on why everything in futile and pointless? Read Ecclesiastes. But for me I was recently drawn to rereading the writings of the Prophets (e.g. Daniel, Isaiah, Ezekiel, Amos, Micah, et cetera). I don't know why. I suppose I thought the Prophets held some superpower and I do not, or they can magically see farther than I can, and I just had to know! Well I never found that secret something, but I did find myself particularly disturbed that in nearly all the writings of the Prophets it is said that God decides to leave the Jewish people forever. In Isaiah he just up and leaves the Temple. The same for Ezekiel (I mean they did kill another god, Tammuz, in the Temple). In Amos God just tells Amos that the Jewish people better get their shit straight, because He's not looking after them anymore.

All I could think was: why? I thought they were His chosen people. Call it Synchronicity. Call it fate. Call it pure chance. Call it what you will. But a week later I found myself perusing some used books and Spinoza's Theologico-Political Treatise literally fell off the shelf, and I thought: why not? I picked it up off the floor and bought the book, and started to read it, and what do you know? Spinoza talks about this very subject! But Spinoza's reasoning isn't exactly the great mystical answer I was looking for, even though his reasoning is by far very convincing. Essentially Spinoza says that God never favored the Jews more than he favored any other nation, but for a temporary length of time he helped them out and gave them direct guidance. With other nations God would just send an angel to assist (as implied in Exodus 33:2-4), rather than His own awesomeness. Spinoza, admittedly, has very sound reasoning concerning God, His relationship to the Jewish people, His covenant with them, and His ultimate departure. But I found Spinoza's answer to not be the grand, awesome answer I was hoping for.

In a way, I suppose this is the way it is for many things... that is that the truth (or at least the best answer) sometimes, if not oftentimes, really sucks. I can recall a few relationships in the past where the girl asked why do I love her? My answer: I don't; I just do. One girlfriend demanded of me a logical and rational answer as to why I liked her. Really? "Logical" and "rational" explanation for affection? It's like asking why 2+2=4? Because it equals 4. Sure Bertrand Russell spend three hundred pages trying to prove 1+1=2, but even Godel turned that one on its head. In reality, affection is sort of silly for how much we hype it up to be something awesome. Relationships are little more than an exchange of goods and services based on incentives. We maintain friendships because this particular friend makes us laugh, or this friend never asks for gas money and always wants to hang out, and this friend is essentially a convenient scapegoat, and this one is my own personal therapist, this one lets me borrow his movies, et cetera. That being little more than what friendship really is, friendship doesn't sound so awesome anymore. What's more is that intimate relationships are little more than friendships with sex. And what about love? It's little more than a chemical and hormonal reaction that creates a bond between two sexual partners to increase the likelihood of the survival of each other, their offspring, and hopefully their species (I would say homosexual love is little more than the same as heterosexual, except for the offspring part). Love doesn't sound so grand and mystical anymore, now does it?

Pets are little more than animals with Stockholm Syndrome. Prayer is talking to yourself. Meditation is trying to not think. Yoga is holding bodily positions to get high. Life is an accident. And you are an insignificant speck of carbon and water on a tiny little planet orbiting around a small, insignificant, yellow star that's swirling around a collapsed star that destroys other stars, all floating amongst many other stars and galaxies in an endlessly expanding universe that has no divine or grand purpose for existing. Everything is meaningless. Even you are meaningless.

I know, I know, I sound like a warm ray of sunshine right now. But the truth is this: the truth sucks. Oftentimes the truth doesn't seem to hold any meaning at all. Objective reality is kind of lame. We can find some wonder and amazement in it, but it still seems to fall short. I mean a circle is so simple and elegant, but pi is irrational and chaotic. Sure, it's cool that you can find your telephone number somewhere in pi, or your zip code, or your mother's birthday, and probably the super-secret nuclear access codes somewhere in that infinitely long and irrational number. But why is the circle simple but pi is not? Because that's the way it is. Circles are simple and pi is irrational. Order and chaos (whatever that's suppose to mean). There is no natural meaning to it.

I'm reminded of the talk given by Julia Sweeney, Letting Go of God, in which she gives her confessions and stories of growing up Catholic, wanting to be a nun, losing faith, trying to hold on to God, trying other religions, and ultimately renouncing her belief in God. Her story is emotional (both joyous and sad) and hilarious. But in particular what I found compelling about her talk is her conclusion and closing remarks. One remark that I enjoyed was how she wished that she could build a temple to her experiences and transitions in life, like others had done with temples to their gods. There was one remark that has long resonated with me more than anything:

"Let's face it, the truth is poor competitor in the marketplace of ideas."

Damn right. Even though Julia Sweeney no longer believes in God or the stories of the Bible, she comes to accept them later in life. Before she lost her faith she found the stories to be appalling (which they are) and disturbing, and many times completely unbelievable. After losing her faith she found a sort of peace and ultimately recognized that there was a comfort some people find in fantasy, because many times objective reality is a hard thing to swallow. That's because it is.

The truth is out there, but you're probably not going to like it. I'm starting to suspect that this is Mulder's problem.

The Divided Self

The problem of evil has been on my mind considerable lately, so this will be my topic for my first post in a long time. Generally the problem of evil centers around God, and why a benevolent deity would allow there to be evil. The problem usually goes as such: if there is evil, then God doesn't know about it, rendering Him not omniscient; if evil exists and God does know about it, then God can't do anything about it, making God not omnipotent; finally, if there is evil and God knows about and can do something about, then He doesn't care or doesn't want to, which leaves God's benevolence open to question. A number of philosophers have toyed with idea, such as Plato, Saint Augustine, Hume, et cetera, but their discussion always centers around God. What I am concerned with is not evil and good concerning God, but rather concerning people. In my experience and thoughts, and even in myself, I find that evil and good concerning people is rather like a divided self. I suppose the best way to express this idea is a line from Apocalypse Now! (1997 director's cut) with the French plantation. The French woman tells Captain Willard: "There are two of you: one that kills and one that loves."

So what do I mean by divided self? The aspects of the human self, mind, soul... whatever you want to call it, has long been considered to be constituted of parts. The Egyptians had nine aspects of the soul. Freud broke the unconscious mind into three parts (Id, Ego, and Superego). Jung divided up the unconscious mind into a pantheon of archetypal psychic entities, many of which mingle with others. Aristotle said the soul was divided into two parts (rational and irrational). So forth and so forth. Julian Jaynes even discusses a theoretical second mind within our own conscious minds, a thought experiment he called the "bicameral mind." In many ways there are, indeed, two minds: the conscious and the unconscious, and both can interact together or independently of each other.

So why wouldn't we have a dualistic nature concerning ourselves with being good or wicked? Perhaps some fictitious examples might suffice to express it better. Take for instance my favorite monster: Frankenstein's monster. He is made of all bad parts, give the brain of a criminal, and I suppose ultimately designed to be evil and wicked. But Frankenstein's monster only wants to be good. But all his acts of kindness and goodwill ultimately end in destruction and ruin. How is it that a monster made of all bad parts could try to be good? Similarly, there is Stitch from Lilo & Stitch, who is quite the same monster as Frankenstein's. Stitch wants to be part of a family, try to be good to them, and defend them from aliens, but he always ruins everything. Is it possible for one aspect of ourselves to be wicked and another good? Can anyone ultimately be evil, but want to be good (like Alex from Clockwork Orange... or was he ever really good or wanted to be good?), or vice versa?

Perhaps an even more perplexing example is 3:10 to Yuma (2007). Ben Wade is an evil man: he steals, murders, robs, and is completely unjust. Escorting Wade to prison is Dan Evans, who is a good man and is doing this deed to make money for his family. There are a number of moments concerning aspects of what makes a man wicked in this film. For instance, Dan's son tries to tell Ben Wade that he's not wholly evil and that there's a person in him somewhere. Or another moment when Ben Wade says, "Even bad boys love their mothers." But the scene that best demonstrates the divide of good and evil in this film is the ending scene: Wade, who is conscious of his own wicked nature, agrees to go to Yuma Prison so Dan can get the money for his family. He does it because he knows Dan is a good and just man and deserves it. How?! How can an evil someone know what good is? So he murders his own men because they killed a good man.

This is, more or less, my point: how? I suppose it's something undefinable or misunderstood by us. While I recognize that that is a bit of a cop-out, the answer concerning the divided nature of the self between good and evil is beyond me; much like the problem of evil concerning God has long eluded philosophers. I can't imagine this problem of evil is any different. Perhaps it's biological: the animal instinct in us battles with the human side of us. Perhaps it is a gift and curse from God. Maybe it's just who we are and what we do; it's neither good nor wicked, but just the manner of being human. Maybe it's the body that's corrupt and the soul that fights for virtue. Maybe the soul is helpless to the body and can only observe the drama of justice and wickedness exhibited by the whims of the body. Who knows. All I know is that it has been on my mind, and I can only seem to understand it through a few films I am fond of.

"There are two of you: one that kills and one the loves."

The Mask Part 8: Good and Bad

The Mask:
Introduction: Masks and Masking
Part 1: The Metaphor
Part 2: The Mask that Fits
Part 3: Ontology
Part 4: Masquerade of the Gods
Part 5: Mask of Sanity
Part 6: The Material Mask

Part 7: Revealing and Concealing

It occurred to me the other evening while enjoying my New Years Eve celebration that I have completely forgotten to discuss the most iconic set of masks in human history: the classic image of comedy and tragedy, the mask that laughs and the one that frowns. To the Greeks there were three types of plays: tragedy, comedy, and satire. Aristotle felt that all Greeks should attend theater as a civic duty, but should primarily go to see tragedies, occasionally see comedies, and rarely, if ever see satires. Ignoring satire (what most Greeks considered to be a very barbaric play type, as the word comes from satyr), we will look at how tragedy and comedy reinforce the concepts of the mask as fuzzy logic, and ultimately lead up to the question of whether or not the mask is a good or a bad thing.

There are only a handful of examples of ancient Greek masks, all of which are on pottery. No actual masks survive. The earliest example of tragedy and comedy masks come from ancient Rome, in particular a theater in Ostia, in which three (two comedy and one tragedy) are carved on blocks of stone, and a mosaic at Hadrian's Villa in Tivoli. Comedy and tragedies are reflections of each other, companions, if you will, in the dynamic of human nature and civic life. As Aristotle deems a proper citizen should do, everyone should attend theater as a civic duty. This wasn't just entertainment, theater also illustrated life lessons, important philosophies, ideology of what it is to be a Greek, illustrations of civic life, as well as accompanied by public service announcements. The theater originally evolved from sacrificial rites, particularly around the mystery cult of Dionysus. The word "tragedy" comes from tragos, meaning "goat," and ode, meaning "song." It is the sacrificial goat, which is torn apart like Dionysus was, but also related to the satyr, which was a sort of barbaric goat-man. To witness a tragedy, to see human suffering, was a catharsis of sorts. It is much like the Romans found relief by witnessing the horrors of the Colosseum, and we do today by watching horrors of world events unfold in the news and petty human suffering in reality television (panem circensesque - bread and circuses).

The theater illustrated something about ourselves, and these were done via the masks worn by actors. There was something divine about the theater, the masks, actors, and plays. The term deus ex machina, Latin meaning "the gods out of the machine," or in Greek apo mekhanes theos, comes from Greek theater. The gods we brought on stage via a crane that would lower them onto the stage, as if from the heavens, and fly them around. While its literal translation is "god from the machine," the more proper translations of the Greek suggests that it means "the god of our making." Like Latin (i.e. face - facere, actor - agere/actor), in Greek many words have multiple meanings that are not reflected well in our common derivatives of these words. Mekhane (machine, crane) is related to poiesis (poetry, to make, fabrication) and techne (craft). To Heidegger these words were all related to the idea of revealing and yielding truth. Techne was a revealing, by technique or production we are not just making something, the thing is revealing itself to us through our making. The word legein, or logos (logic, truth) is rooted in apophainesthai, "to bring forth into appearance." The Greek word for revealing is aletheia, has only one close Latin equivalent, veritas (truth). Is it any wonder that Heidegger talks extensively about these things when he discusses the essence of technology and our relationship to it?

Enough with the etymology. The point is that to the Greeks there was a correspondence between the theater, the gods, the actors, masks, and making these things. The masks and the actors were, in a sense, the gods. They didn't just pretend to be the gods on stage, they were the gods, embodiment of the divinity when they wore the masks and acted on stage. Jung makes a similar point about this when we spent years researching primitive African tribes. In Man and His Symbols Jung illustrates that a man wearing a lion mask doesn't think he's pretending to be a lion, he believes he is a lion.

This brings us back to our fuzzy logic: there is the mask as an object, and what the mask does. Since I began this study it has been about understanding the essence of the mask, and in the last post I concluded that the essence of the mask isn't about the mask as an idea - that is the mask as an object or a metaphor, or what the mask conceals or reveals - its essence is that it conceals and reveals. It is about what the mask does, not what it is. The mask is a face (facere) that is made to reveal truth (aletheia, veritas) by concealing. So now for the biggest question of them all: is the mask good or bad?

The last post illustrated that it isn't really respectful at all the wonder of the mask to fit it into such binary terms like good and bad. But this is where fuzzy logic can help us once again if we were to try (a sort of contradiction unto itself to use fuzzy logic and categorization of binary terms simultaneously). So let's ask a different question: which is better, comedy or tragedy? Aristotle thought tragedy was far superior to comedy, at least as far as what survives of Poetics (Aristotle does say that he will discuss more on comedy in Poetics, but never does, and has often been concluded that the portion on comedy was lost). But Aristophanes felt comedy told more about human life and nature than tragedy. It has been an age old question as to whether Jesus Christ laughed or not. This is one thing that separates the monastic orders of the Benedictines and the Franciscans (that and the poverty of Christ), the former believing laughter is close to sin and makes a mockery of all things, the latter believing there is truth in laughter. But what did the Greeks feel about these two play types? Besides comedies being usually depicted in a poor part of town or out at a villa (out in the country at a farm), and tragedies usually took place in a palace or town center, there is one other difference that should be obvious. In tragedies everyone dies at the end. In comedies everyone gets married. To the Greeks there was little difference between marriage and death (just ask Spartan men, or Athenian warriors or philosophers).

Such a paradox should enlighten us on the duality of comedy and tragedy, good and bad. Watching a tragedy was cathartic, a means of salvation (i.e. health and sanity). So watching a comedy was like laughing at tragedy; death and fun. They were two ways of finding the same thing: catharsis through death, and laughter in marriage. We must keep in mind we are dealing with some fairly primitive cultures here, no matter how advanced they were. We have a hard time letting go of our modern Western ideals, which relies heavily on categorization and binary answers. But unlike Eastern cults, which rely heavily on paradox, neither-either, both-nor, the Greeks went further and used both binary categorization and paradox simultaneously (probably the biggest paradox of them all). What mattered to the Epicureans was not what is true, but what is truth. Big difference there.

So what about good and bad? Well there is three parts to good and bad. There is good, there is good bad, and bad bad. Good is simply a good thing. Good bad is a bad thing that clearly presents itself as a bad thing, which is a good thing because it in no way tries to conceal its bad nature. A bad bad is a bad thing that tries to masquerade as a good thing, when it is not, which is a bad thing. (Corinthians II 11:14: "And no marvel, for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light" a bad bad).  It's very elementary, but that's what makes it sort of hard to wrap yourself around. A mask that clearly manifests itself as a mask is a good thing (a good bad). It's only when the mask tries to present itself as a true face and not a mask is when we have a bad bad. This the truth of the mask in the Epicurean sense of the truth. The mask cannot be good because it isn't the true face of the actor. Nonetheless it is a good thing because it isn't trying to be good. 

This is how the actor can be the actor and the god at the same time by wearing a mask. The actor is not a god, but the actor is a god by not trying be a god when he/she wears a mask. The actor is the idea of the god when wearing a mask, but still an actor. It isn't about what is true, but what is truth. That it is an actor wearing a mask is true, but that is not as important as the truth that the actor wears a mask. In a way this has been our other primary question: which is more important, the mask or the actor? Is the person who walks into his/her boss's office more important than how that person presents his/herself to their boss in the image of the company? If you walk into an interview dress in raggedy blue jeans, a Judas Priest shirt on, with double-0 gauge nose ring, and dirty hair, is that superior to dressing in a fine suit? Though this person may like wearing old blue jeans, listening to heavy metal, and tattoos and piercings, and this person may be a good person and extraordinarily qualified for the position, nonetheless their mask is not appropriate to the stage. What is true is inferior to what is truth. The suit is a mask, but it is a good bad, regardless of who the actor is in this setting. The mask is a good thing because it isn't try to be good, instead it is clearly saying, "I am a mask! I am a lie!" I am a lie is the paradox that constitutes the mask. It is what it is because it isn't what it's supposed to be. It is a face because it is a mask, but it is a mask because it isn't a face.

This concludes my little mask series. I would like to reiterate some things as a summation and conclusion. The mask is a metaphor for our faces, and faces are tangible notions that we can attach to abstract ideas. The mask expresses (signifier) those things that cannot express themselves due to their abstract nature (signified). This being so, the mask is not our face, but it is a reflection, an imprint of our faces. What is concealed by the mask is revealed by it being able to fit our faces. It is not the truth, but it reflects the truth. This is how the mask reveals by concealing, and conceals by revealing. It is "the lie that tells the truth." The truth is expressed by a lie, because the truth cannot express itself on its own terms. The mask being a tangible concept for abstract notions is how we engage certain ideas such as dreams, gods, fear, and ourselves. The self is probably one of the most abstract ideas we have ever created, and the way we approach ourselves is by identities that we define for ourselves. The mask is a means to approach ourselves, discover and define ourselves. It always leads back to us. To engage the mask is also to engage what supposedly lies behind it, which is always some idea we are not privileged to witness. Because we cannot access this idea behind the mask, we are really searching for the essence of the masks a person wears; which ones, when and where, how do they use it, et cetera. Because of this the essence of the mask (persona) has little to do with the mask itself or what is behind it, but rather the actions done by and with the mask. It is more important to understand that the mask conceals and reveals, rather than what it is concealing or revealing. The importance lies in the difference between the authenticity of ideas and that of action. If we are not privileged to the ideas, then we must face the actions of masking to gain the truth. There is a wonderful quote from Nietzsche I think is fitting for the conclusion of the mask, identity, the essence of it, and how it defines:

"All great things must first wear terrifying and monstrous masks in order to inscribe themselves on the hearts of humanity."

Michelangelo Buonarroti's death mask:

The Mask Part 7: Revealing and Concealing

The Mask:
Introduction: Masks and Masking
Part 1: The Metaphor
Part 2: The Mask that Fits
Part 3: Ontology
Part 4: Masquerade of the Gods
Part 5: Mask of Sanity
Part 6: The Material Mask

I had initially intended to use more examples to plumb further the nature of mask, such as Batman and the villains he fights, MirrorMask and the mirror and the abyss, Nietzsche and some of the things he had to say, drawing and photography (art), et cetera. But upon further reflection I feel that they only reinforce ideas we have already covered, and therefore add nothing new to this exploration. I might perhaps toss some examples from those in to reinforce some other ideas we will get into, but nothing that will be looked at in depth. I really would like to wrap this little study up, so I only have in mind this post and one other. For this post we will revisit Michelangelo's New Sacristy in the Medici Chapel of San Lorenzo in Florence. What is of concern here is the two statues on Giuliano de Medici's tomb of Day and Night. We will focus on how Thomas Mann thought of Day and Night, and how the two are identical masks, but with opposing qualities.

Let's ask a silly question: does night mask the day? or does the day mask the night? Better yet, which masks and unmasks the other? Is one a mask and the other not? Seems like another chicken-and-the-egg question, but if we consider both as masks for the other something new is revealed. The day, revealing the radiance and warmth of the sun, does in fact masks the glittering brilliance of the nightly stars. On the other hand the night conceals the sun and reveals the shimmering stars and the face of the moon. Night and day are not masks for each other, but merely a process of masking. This introduces us to what is known as "fuzzy logic."

Fuzzy logic is a philosophy that involves things not having binary answers: yes and no, right and wrong, hot and cold. Fuzzy logic involves answers like both and neither, less or more, maybe and probably, et cetera. Sometimes is can be either and neither at the same time given the problem. The idea is that sometimes things are not always one or the other, but somewhere in between. Zedeh, one of the pioneers of fuzzy logic, used temperature as an example. He would ask his kids if it was cold or hot, but sometimes it was somewhere in between. Sometimes it's less hot than cold, or more cold than hot, but it wasn't exactly hot or cold. In our case the day is not the mask, nor is night, but rather both are the mask of each other.

Thomas Mann, in his Joseph and His Brothers, says that day is the liar, while night reveals what things truly are. While I doubt Mann truly felt this way, in that I doubt he believed that the day was the liar and night was not, especially given what he discusses about solar cults of Egypt in Part 3 and 4, nonetheless he does give insight into which quality of things are revealed or concealed at night or during the day. Mann says that the day distracts us with details and differences between things, which the night reveals that they are the same thing. He describes this when he discusses Jacob's marriage to Rachel, which was deceived by replacing Rachel with Leah in the dark bedroom. Because it is night and there are no candles in the room Jacob cannot tell the difference between Leah or Rachel. He compares this Biblical tale to Osiris's accidental affair with his brother's wife, Nephthys. It was night and Osiris was chasing his wife, Isis, in order to have sex with her. But Osiris accidentally caught Set's wife, Nephthys, and had sex with her, and she thought Osiris was Set. (By the way, Osiris, Set, Nephthys, and Isis are all brothers and sisters, but whatever). According to Mann the day distracts us with the difference between this man and that man, or this woman and that woman. Night reveals that they are the same. Night conceals what the day distracts us with and reveals that this woman is no different from that woman, Isis is no different from Nephthys, Rachel is no different from Leah. They are all women. Day is sort of like missing the forest for the trees: there is this tree and that tree, but ultimately they are trees and they make up forests.

I hope I'm not entirely misrepresenting Mann's opinion of night and day. Mann felt that night reveals by concealing the day. In a sense, the mask reveals by concealing, and the day conceals by revealing. By concealing the differences we see during the day between this person and that person another quality is revealed. This is what masks do: they reveal by concealing, and conceal by revealing. It is misguided to think of the mask as a concealer of truth. That's a binary conclusion to give something as powerful and wonderful as the mask. No, rather the mask abides to fuzzy logic: it reveals and conceals, and it does one by doing the other; it is both and neither simultaneously.

Is it any wonder then that Master Buonarroti depicts both Night and Day masked and unmasked? Night's face is refined and polished, but also has a mask. Day does not have a mask, but his face is unfinished, obscured, and never fulled revealed from the stone he was carved from. Michelangelo learned from his sculpting master, Bertoldo, that the figure was in the stone, waiting, sleeping, and needing to be released. Day is masked, but has not mask. Night has a mask, but is unmasked. One reveals what the other conceals.

In fact the entire New Sacristy is flooded with images of masks. Giuliano de Medici has a cuirass, much like Augustus Caesar Prima Porta, which fits him perfectly, and has masks on the ends of the straps that hold the cuirass on his body, a grotesque mask on the front and another on the back of the cuirass. Lorenzo de Medici has a lion mask upon his head, and a grotesque mask carved upon the end of the stone block under his elbow. The egg and dart molding that runs along the walls has grotesque masks in place of the eggs. George Hersey interpreted this replacement of the eggs (a symbol of female fertility and power) with grotesque masks was a sacrificial statement; that the eggs are broken/sacrificed to reveal what lays within, as if the eggs broke and are dripping a face/yoke, just like the Doric Order's triglyph is a femur bone broken into the three pieces that drip the guttae (the marrow). I'm not so sure about the sacrificial interpretation, but I would agree that the eggs (masks) are broken to reveal grotesques (another mask).

I suppose the same relationship of revealing is concealing and vice versa exists in the difference between drawing and photography. I believe it was Paul Clave (I'm not sure if I have his last name correct) who said that all art was a process of concealing, except photography, which can only reveal. Photography is like the mirror, in that it can only reveal what it is presented with. When we draw or paint or sculpt we are not always being honest. We might alter the proportions, exaggerate the light and shadow, omit or add to the models we use, et cetera. I suppose this is why Michelangelo always felt that sculpture was superior to painting. Painting is a matter of creating illusions of space, form, perspective, and light - a masking (lie) of features that are not true on a flat surface. Sculpture, on the other hand, is honest to space and form and light. It is a revealing. This is perhaps why Micky often left many figures unfinished, as if they were not completely revealed from the rock. They are part of a series called "Prisoners" for Pope Julius II's tomb. Michelangelo is revealing something by not fully revealing their forms. If sculpture is an unveiling, then what is revealed if revealing is concealing? To leave the Prisoners concealed Michelangelo is revealing. What exactly is being revealed I am not totally sure of (I've never spent a significant amount of time with the Prisoners), but I imagine in a way he was saying something about masking; the same sort of masking and unmasking is played with for the egg and dart modeling for the New Sacristy: the egg/mask is revealing another mask.

In summation the mask and the face are not necessarily important, because sometimes all we have are masks. This is really the nature, the essence (esse) of the mask: it isn't about what the mask reveals or conceals, rather it is that the mask reveals and conceals. It matters little that we put a smile on our faces when we are actually upset. What matters is that we are hiding an emotion by revealing a different one (signified verses signifier). It doesn't matter if the night masks the day, or the opposite. What matters is that they mask one another, concealing and revealing different aspects of reality depending on the mask. The mask almost does not matter anymore, but rather that we are masking is what matters. I think this could be summarized best from Batman Begins: "It's not who you are underneath but what you do that defines you." In other words: it's not what's under the mask, but what the mask does that defines the actor and the mask.

The Mask Part 6: The Material Mask

The Mask:
Introduction: Masks and Masking
Part 1: The Metaphor
Part 2: The Mask that Fits
Part 3: Ontology
Part 4: Masquerade of the Gods
Part 5: Mask of Sanity

In continuation of my little mask series it would be fitting to now discuss one of my favorite films that I to talk about a lot (and analyze... and for that matter, to watch): Fight Club. Given that my last post centered around American Psycho, it is fitting to now discuss Fight Club because I have always felt it is a corollary to American Psycho. Both are social critiques that focus on materialism and identity, and I consider both to be some of the greatest social critiques of the 21st Century (Fight Club I would just rank as the single greatest social critique for this century). Where American Psycho is a satire on the yuppie lifestyle and materialism, Fight Club is a straightforward protest against materialism. While materialism is the primary subject for both films, the materialistic lifestyle is a product (a masking) for a loss of identity - the unknowing of self. American Psycho is clearly a satire given its rather comical ending, its anti-climatic conclusion that is just as hollow and pointless as Patrick Bateman himself. In the ending monologue Patrick Bateman says, "But even after admitting this there is no catharsis; my punishment continues to elude me, and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. No new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing." Bateman is an example of masking, only material masks covering a hollow core. This is the disease of materialism that fun is being poked at here. But the Narrator of Fight Club clearly has a different issue with the materialistic mask. Bateman has no intent of revealing or finding what lies beneath the mask. The Narrator, on the other hand, is searching for something deeper than his clever apartment and wardrobe.

I should go ahead and clarify here that the mask is not just a material thing, which should be clear from all that has been discussed about masks thus far, but here we will focus on the mask of materialism. The material mask is your job, how much money you have in the bank, the car you drive, the contents of your wallet, your fucking khakis. These are all things that we think define us, but they don't. Rather we define them. This should be evident when Tyler says, "The things you own end up owning you." It used to be that the things we owned, the things we made, the things we used and cared for, those things that would be with us for the rest of our lives were reflections of ourselves. Take Abe Lincoln's ax for example, which was also his father's, and his father's before him. The ax had the head replaced twice, and the handle replaced thrice. And yet it is still Lincoln's ax. While no single part of the ax is the original ax, it is nonetheless the same ax (ignoring Theseus's Ship paradox). The material ax is of no concern here, only that the ax reflected the men who owned and cared for it. The ax is a reflection of Lincoln, his father, and his father's father. Unlike Bateman's stainless steel ax used to hack up Paul Allen, the ax had purpose and was cared for. Lincoln owned that ax. Bateman did not own his. When we are no longer the masters of our stuff those things no longer reflect us (unless it's a literal reflection, like Bateman's face reflected on the metal of the ax), but rather we are a reflection of those things. It is clear that we are slaves to those things which are only there for a shallow image of materialistic success and wealth.

This is a wicked turn for the nature of the mask: suddenly we ourselves can become a mask for things we thought would define us. This was Bateman's problem: the things he thought defined him ended up being defined by him. This was the Narrator's search, the reason he invented Tyler Durden, the reason he created Fight Club: he needed to lose this material mask in order to define himself. This is something I have discussed elsewhere in this blog, but it would be useful to reiterate those ideas again through the framework of the mask.

The Narrator's quest is ultimately to hit "bottom." Rock bottom is a spiritual place, not material. As Tyler tell him: "Hitting bottom isn't a weekend retreat. It's not some goddamn seminar." The Narrator thinks because he gave up the condo life, gave up all his flaming worldly possession and moved into a dilapidated house in the toxic waste part of town that he has hit bottom. But as Tyler says: "Sticking feathers up your butt does not make chicken." There is a difference between material rock bottom and spiritual rock bottom. Here we have another perfect mask that concerns the problem of identity and personal definition: "sticking feathers up your butt." Just because your image appears to be a chicken does not make you a chicken, nor does appearing to be destitute make you free from the enslavement of materialism. We are not defined by our image nor by what we own. Tyler's message is to let those things go, to hit bottom in order to find ourselves. This is what Fight Club provided.

Fight Club was about finding freedom. Letting go, and "losing all hope was freedom." The Narrator initially finds freedom when he cries against Bob's giant breasts ("the kind you think of God's as big"). Upon crying, once he let go he saw his own sobbing face marked like a smiley face on Bob's shirt (a face made from his own face). But he suddenly became addicted to these support groups. This is wear Tyler begins to work his way into the Narrator's life, setting the groundwork for Fight Club and Project Mayhem. The support groups became just as meaningless to the Narrator as his stuff: he was not being defined by the groups, but rather he defined them. Marla showed him this, because "her lie reflected my lie." The mask is a reflection of ourselves. Marla is a reflection of what the Narrator needs to define himself ("I would ask: what kind of dinning set defines me as a person?"). He was reflected in the group (the mask), but the mask did not reflect in him. What's the point of a mask that doesn't show the world something about ourselves? What is the purpose of a mask that we have to answer to and not the other way around?

Tyler is one of the chief mask of the film for Marla. Marla is the expression the Narrator wants to present to the world. Tyler is the Narrator's mask (face - facere) that he made to reflect what he aspired to being like ("I didn't create some loser alter ego to make myself feel better"). Tyler says, "You were looking for a way to change your life. You could not do this on your own. All the ways you wish you could be, that's me. I look like you want to look. I fuck like you want to fuck. I am smart, capable, and most importantly I am free in all the ways that you are not." It is impossible to express an emotion (signified) without a mask (signifier). Tyler is the signifier for Marla, the signified. Marla is already at bottom or almost there ("I'll say this about Marla, at least she's trying to hit bottom"), and Tyler is the means to hit bottom, to find freedom from the material mask. The support groups were a freedom to, if I may use Eric Fromm's terms. Tyler is freedom from. Fight Club was initially freedom from, but it soon became something to identify with, so it evolved into Project Mayhem. Fight Club became freedom to Project Mayhem, which provided the freedom from materialistic enslavement.

There is two other important masks in Fight Club that concerns the material mask: the condom and the dress. After one of Tyler and Marla's sexcapades Marla approaches the Narrator and says, "The condom is the glass slipper of our generation. You slip one on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, and then throw it away; the condom I mean, not the stranger." Immediately following this Marla gives another example of the exact same material mask: "I got this dress at a thrift store for one dollar... It's a bridesmaid's dress. Someone loved it intensely for one day, and then tossed it. Like a Christmas tree, so special, then BAM! it's on the side of the road. Tinsel still clinging to it. Like a sex crime victim. Underwear inside out. Bound with electrical tape." Narrator: "Well then it suits you" (the mask that fits, but is not her own). Marla: "You can borrow it sometime." Both the condom and the dress are material things that cover and fit perfectly. The condom is meant to fit anyone, just like the glass slipper was only meant to fit Cinderella. But rather than having Prince Charming, the perfect person, the condom allows anyone to be a prince, and then it's tossed. So special. Just like Miss Singer's bridesmaid's dress and a Christmas tree: one special night, then it's tossed.

This is the nature of the material mask. It defines nothing. The material mask defines us no more than a condom makes a man Prince Charming (wearing an identity that is not your own, like Augustus wearing the trophy cuirass). This is the point of Fight Club: to lose these material masks, to forget the condom, forget the dress, Christmas tree, DKNY wardrobe, string bean stripe patterned furniture, coffee tables in the shape of a yin-yang; to hit bottom to discover what these masks distract us from finding. When a man fights ("how much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight?") he engages in primitive activities, fight or flight, there in the darkest of all places where instinct takes hold, there is where he hits bottom and finds freedom from material things (Fight Club makes it a point not to concern itself with women, which is left to Marla). What's the point of all our stuff in the hunter-gatherer sense? The question concerning what we find when we hit bottom is another matter. Supposedly it is at bottom that the men find themselves, discover their supposed identity, and how they define themselves. At the very least hitting bottom provides the solid ground upon which to rebuild our identities, to make the masks that truly define us. These can't be masks we purchased. We have to make them (facere, agere). Our masks have to reflect us, like Lincoln's ax. Tyler says: "You will wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life." He is describing a post-apocalyptic world where we make and fix our own stuff, hunt our food, build our houses, et cetera. These will be things we make (facere), things we wear, and not things that wear us.

Since I've discussed Fight Club before, I have written before that in hitting bottom we define ourselves. I would like to amend that, as I highly doubt that hitting bottom has anything to do with definition of identity; that is at bottom we find who we truly are. Rather I think, now, that hitting bottom gives us the foundation upon which we build a more authentic identity, or at least a less superficial and materialistic identity; because what is an authentic identity if all identity is masks and cross dressing? What is "authenticity" anyway? In our study of the mask it seems more fitting that in hitting bottom we make (facere) our identities/masks rather than finding them.

Now for an art example. Master Buonarroti did a sketch once entitled The Dream, which depicts an angel giving divine inspiration to a male inclined against a globe (often interpreted as melancholy, but also the world). In the background are depictions of a number of contorting figures representing sins, mostly the seven deadly sins with the exception of pride. The nude is sitting upon a box filled with masks. This is the only work by Michelangelo I know of in which masks are not depicted upon a face, except for Saint Bart's skin, but rather laying around.  These masks have been interpreted as worldly deceits, distractions from more noble work and aspirations. So in a sense they are like our material mask, the most useless mask of them all, the one mask that tells nothing about ourselves. They are not on a face because they define nothing, reflect nothing but their own distraction. They are not necessary, and therefore discarded like a condom or a Christmas tree. What is particularly interesting is that the most prominent mask, the one in the center, has a flat nose and a forked, boxy beard, which is in the likeness of Michelangelo himself. This would be our second example of Master Buonarroti depicting his self portrait on a mask that was not attached to a face; the other being the skin of Saint Bartholomew. It is not entirely understood as to why Micky made his self portrait on this material mask, perhaps he was speaking to his own childish, conceited nature, his own sins he was trying to overcome in order to receive divine inspiration for more noble work.

Whatever the reason, whatever the path, the point of the mask is help us define ourselves, to know ourselves, and to express what we have found out about ourselves and show it to the world theater. The material mask is the most dangerous mask because it does not define us, except by showing to the world that we are naught but a hollow core. Discarding the material mask, to hit bottom, to overcome our worldly concerns, to be better than our sins and shortcomings is the way to making the masks that truly define us. It isn't about authenticity, to show our true faces, but to show what we think we are under the masking.

The Mask Part 5: The Mask of Sanity

Thus far we have been exploring the mask as a metaphor, the mask as the lie that reflects the truth, as the essence of being, and as the face of abstractions. Now it's time to plumb further the depths of the mask in the light of other things I like to discuss; that is I would like to still use the mask as a means to tie together the diversity of things I enjoy writing about. Today I would like to use American Psycho, in particular the idea of the mask of sanity. This will be a further exploration of the difference between the signified and the signifier, the emotion and the expression of the emotion, the intent and the act, and the arbitrary nature of how the signifier represents the signified. This will further our study on culture and identity.

The film American Psycho is flooded with imagery and references to masks, some of which allude to materialism, others to personal image (a spawn of materialism), others to aspects of human nature, and still others to societal normatives (what ought to be done, as opposed to norms which are imperatives of what is to be done). The beginning of the movie gives a number of examples of masks and masking that are worth looking at. As Patrick Bateman introduces himself and his morning routine he is largely concerned with the appearance of his face. When he wakes up, if his face is feeling a little "puffy" he puts on an ice pack while he does his stomach crunches. Then later he uses an aftershave with little or no alcohol because "alcohol dries your face out, and makes you look older." (This could correspond to our discussion of Augustus Caesar Prima Porta statue, in which he is depicted a young, healthy, and perfect man). Then Bateman applies an herb mint facial mask, which he leaves on for fifteen minutes. As he is peeling this mask from his face his inner monologue says, "There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me; only an entity; something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable, I simply am not there."

So far this quote should be nothing new to us. It corroborates the idea of the mask as a tangible face (facere) for abstractions, the face itself as a mask ("flesh gripping yours"), the idea (signified) of something beneath the mask that we are not privileged to, and the possibility of nothing beneath the mask. This latter part, "I simply am not there," brings us back to the question of whether there is a true face under all our personas, or if there is only masking, layers of masks that only conceal a hollow core. These are expanded upon later when Bateman is at the salon getting a massage, manicure, and a tan (not to mention in this scene he has his eyes covered while tanning): "I have all the characteristics of a human being: blood, flesh, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except greed and disgust. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. My nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip."

Why is sanity a mask? Is sanity actually a mask? Most certainly it is, because we have now come to one key element of our exploration of the mask: it is arbitrary in its definition and presentation; that is the signifiers are always arbitrary. It's back to the difference between the idea of tree or "tree-ness" and the word tree. Why the word tree? Does it hold something magical about the idea of "tree-ness"? Could we not just as easily have used the word feather to describe the idea of "tree"? Most certainly. If I suddenly tell you that anytime I use the word feather I am talking about a tree, you will understand from thenceforth what I have now arbitrarily established "tree-ness" with feathers: Feathers are usually tall, and there are two types: conifers and deciduous. Feathers are usually green because of chloropyll, which assists chloroplast in the the photosynthesis process of turning water and sunlight into starches and sugars. Feathers are part of the plant kingdom, and some feathers are amongst the largest organisms on planet earth.

Do you see how easily and arbitrarily I changed tree to feather? And by common agreement on the use of words and their meanings you can still understand what I was talking about. This is how the signifier is arbitrary in its role of defining and communicating the idea that it represents. Thus is the same with Bateman's mask of sanity. Sanity is arbitrary by definition (much like the self is arbitrary by definition, "some kind of abstraction... something illusory"). It is a cultural normative that society has come to a common agreement on what sanity means, and we reinforce the idea of sanity so that it can maintain its definition of what is sane.

To illustrate again how arbitrary cultural normatives (what ought to be done) are, I will use an example from the film Alice In Wonderland (2010). Alice is told that wearing knickers is not proper, and she questions her mother about what is proper. "What if it was agreed that proper was wearing a codfish on your head?" Note Alice's use of "if it was agreed that proper was..." All ideas of sanity, proper, and normal are established by agreement among a given culture's population majority. If the majority suddenly decided that it was normal to be raised in a dysfunctional family, then those who grow up in a functional family are now abnormal (it should be of some consequence that something like 60% of American families are classified as dysfunctional, therefore dysfunctional is normal, and normal is abnormal). This is the nature of sanity. We constantly wear a visage of sanity when we go outside and confront the world everyday. We have a consciousness programmed into us all that keeps us in check to make sure we continue to act as "functioning" members of society. This mask of sanity prevents us from murdering, raping, stealing, throwing feces at strangers, or urinating in public. Of course this mask of sanity is necessary for society to continue to exist and propagate, but what the mask of sanity actually looks like (metaphorically of course) is arbitrarily decided by common agreement amongst the majority for the sake of civil living.

This argument for the mask of sanity/proper/normality is the same argument made by Judith Butler in her paper "Imitation and Gender Insubordination." Butler argues that gender roles and sexuality are all imitation, arbitrarily defined attributes of what it is to be a woman, a man, heterosexual, homosexual, or transsexual. She calls this imitation "cross dressing." Essentially her argument is that the way we define what it is to be a homosexual or heterosexual is all cross dressing, i.e. we arbitrarily establish what homosexual or heterosexual or transgender is, then we wear (like a mask) what we have established, and then constantly reinforce those sexuality parameters in order to maintain them. I am no more a heterosexual male than I am a lesbian, because society has set its standards of what it thinks the normal manner in which a lesbian or a heterosexual male should behave, dress, talk, and present themselves. As a heterosexual male I am constantly reinforced these normatives by advertisements, my peers, my family, books, movies, et cetera. I am told I should either have a beard or shave, use masculine deodorants and hygiene produces, eat steak and bacon, lift weights, drive a truck or sports car, watch sports, read the paper, wear suits and ties, et cetera. Women are told to be thin, eat fine chocolates, wear dresses and makeup, use feminine hygiene products, have girls nights, et cetera. A homosexual male should speak femininely, wear tight clothes, have a sense of fashion, go shoe shopping with women. So forth and so forth. But how are any of these things masculine, feminine, homosexual, heterosexual, or transgender?

They're not; not in any way, shape, or form. The behavior and manner of a homosexual is no more homosexual than a mask is a face. This  is why Butler calls it cross dressing: they are not our own, but we wear them anyway; just as a cross dressing male wears women's clothes even though he is not a woman. But what makes them women's clothes? Because we are told only women should wear them? Why can't men wear them? Women like to wear their male significant other's clothes from time to time, why not men too? Because we have arbitrarily decided men don't do that. Just like Caesar Augustus's cuirass: it is a trophy (as indicated on the back of the cuirass), but it is not his even though it perfectly fits him. It is the same for cross dressing: women's clothes are not for men, but men can still fit in them, and they can fit him perfectly.

There is only one period of time in which Michelangelo felt that humans did not wear masks, and did not wear things that weren't theirs: before the expulsion from Paradise. Michelangelo was often criticized as to why he would paint nude figures on the Sistine ceiling, why he would paint something vulgar like the corrupt, nude body of man. He always claimed that he was trying to depict man and woman as God had originally made them: naked, noble, and without fear or awe. In other words: perfect. This is evident in the portion of the ceiling known as The Expulsion. On the left side is the naked, but noble, Adam and Eve being tempted by the serpent. On the right Adam and Eve are being expelled by the Cherubim. While Adam's naked body is still exposed, Eve is huddled over to cover her breasts. They are no longer noble, but rather old looking, tired, beaten, and Eve looks like an old hag. It seems as if Michelangelo is trying to say that in Paradise we did not wear masks, and that we made the masks once expelled; in other words, we made the masks of sanity and normality once expelled. Essentially, we are no longer what God had originally intended us to be, so now we must wear clothes and shield our true forms. Michelangelo also believed we learned sin from ourselves, and as a consequence had to establish a difference between right and wrong, good and bad, sane and insane, proper and improper, normal and abnormal in order to keep ourselves in check. This is God's Covenant with the Jews, and Christ's promise to Christians. Again these all lead back to knowing what, if anything, is behind our own masks; a way back to ourselves (something we will come to again).

This question of right and wrong, good and bad will be brought up again when we look into whether or not a mask is a good or a bad thing. But for now we will suffice with a conclusion and leave that for another time. In summation: we wear our sanity, a wear our sexuality, our gender, our emotions, and so forth, but they are not our own, but rather something arbitrary and illusory. What is "sane" is defined without cause. So I suppose once someone is no longer in agreement with society and its arbitrary standards, then that person's mask of sanity begins to slip. Perhaps Adam and Eve's ignorance and bliss were only masks that, once they were peeled off by the serpent - the serpent who promised to open their eyes, so that they may "know good and evil" and be like God himself - they lost their innocence, just as Bartholomew lost his skin. Perhaps innocence is only a mask that we lose as we grow up, and then we have to start to make new masks to pretend/act as if we still are innocent.