One of the first things that they teach in anthropology 101 is the difference between shame and guilt based cultures. Shame is associated with the older cultures, generally called "traditional," and is based on outward expressions of social approval. Guilt, on the other hand, is associated with more civilized (urban) literate cultures, where social control is maintained by inward surveillance, or what we call the "conscience." The latter is far more effective and even totalitarian, as the self as we understand it is there at all times to critisize. We might have sex with a taboo person in a shame culture and go on to enjoy our good luck, as we have not been caught, but in the guilt culture, we are caught by our own self-knowledge. Given that all cultures set nearly impossible ideals for people to follow, it is only natural that in guilt-based societies, we tend to see ourselves as frauds, sinners, or inadequate. In short, we tend towards self-hatred.
Although there has been much argument about it, some anthropologists believe that cultures can also be divided by "diachronic" and "synchronic," the former being those based on change, the latter on continuity. It doesn't take much effort to find that the diachronic is associated with guilt, and the synchronic with shame, nor much thinking to understand why: if we are satisfied with ourselves, and given prestige for openly displaying traditional cultural behavior, why would we want to change? But if we are mulling over our inadequacies and are tortured by our sins, we would move mountains to change the outward to heal the inward.
The ramifications for this theory are vast; for instance, it would explain the West's singular breakthroughs in technology that enabled it to virtually conquer the world - and its current determination to end its hegemony through self-destructive behavior and de-constructive thought; for as inadequate people, we must try to advance to prove ourselves, and as sinful people, we must self-flagellate and bring ourselves down. It helps explain the contentiousness in our own nation, which is essentially between the urban and rural or less urban populations, and also the question raised in this blog again and again: are we truly evolving, or only changing as we fall away from the spiritual and towards dissolution?
All food for future thought, but here I would like to continue with the notion found in the last essay, "Nova Scotia," (with an excellent comment by Cal): what is it about solitude that can be so attractive? We are, after all, social by nature, and yet solitude becomes a greater and greater goal, at least in our country, as we age. We can say we wish to clear up our thoughts, to get out of the hustle and bustle for awhile, to relax, but I have found it to be much more. For one, in solitude the thoughts become less socially directed and more personal - leading to the ultimate questions about death and meaning. And, two, in becoming less about the social, the sense of self-disapproval begins to evaporate, for even guilt-based personal surveillance relies on transgressions against others, or the social standard. Personally, I have found that in solitude I become simply a being, no more or less, and in that is great comfort, a comfort that the chronically urban among us might never know.
But there is more to this one point than that. In Cal's comment, he mentions the chronicle of a man who lived alone for a year on an island in Alaska. I have read many books on long-term isolation, and the results are nearly always spectacular: either the person has an epiphany of some kind of faith, where he realizes his greater (supra-social) self, or he falls apart or permanently recedes into an empty chamber where he no longer is capable of social, and perhaps even self, contact. As far as I know, the results are never casual. Being alone is always significant, and being alone for long periods is always a game-changer.
But why? It is, I think, because we define ourselves by the rules of our society, both outwardly and inwardly, regardless of the type of society we come from. Some achieve an epiphany when removed from social stimuli, either through luck or through temperament or through faith; they find in themselves something greater than the flat self that has been formed for them. But some cannot get past the feeling that the social is the ONLY self, and that its death, or passing away, is their extinction. Thus the Desert Fathers of early Christianity, including Paul, went into seclusion for years at a time, kept alive almost by faith alone, to learn of the greater self. And thus, I believe, must everyone to achieve wisdom, either through actual physical seclusion or regular periods of quiet contemplation.
Ultimately, our fear of death is not that of pain, but of dropping off into the blackness, alone. We are afraid of being without our social backdrop, even if it makes us miserable. And our biggest hope is that there is something friendly there to help us through - either Jesus or our relatives or something or someone of comfort to hold our hand; although some confront this by instead making themselves believe that there is absolutely nothing "on the other side" and therefor we are not truly left alone - only left to the not-there, as we were before we were born.
But in this the game is exposed: for whether our societies endure for thousands of years, like earlier hunters and gatherers, or end after a few centuries, as progressive America might, we are all left to ourselves in the end. None of it matters then; what matters is what is beyond or behind it all, for that is the doorstop on which we will all be dropped. And I think it is only in solitude that we can at least come to that realization - that what we are is so much more than what we have come to accept. Just what that is can only be realized personally, at the very root of our depth. FK
Although there has been much argument about it, some anthropologists believe that cultures can also be divided by "diachronic" and "synchronic," the former being those based on change, the latter on continuity. It doesn't take much effort to find that the diachronic is associated with guilt, and the synchronic with shame, nor much thinking to understand why: if we are satisfied with ourselves, and given prestige for openly displaying traditional cultural behavior, why would we want to change? But if we are mulling over our inadequacies and are tortured by our sins, we would move mountains to change the outward to heal the inward.
The ramifications for this theory are vast; for instance, it would explain the West's singular breakthroughs in technology that enabled it to virtually conquer the world - and its current determination to end its hegemony through self-destructive behavior and de-constructive thought; for as inadequate people, we must try to advance to prove ourselves, and as sinful people, we must self-flagellate and bring ourselves down. It helps explain the contentiousness in our own nation, which is essentially between the urban and rural or less urban populations, and also the question raised in this blog again and again: are we truly evolving, or only changing as we fall away from the spiritual and towards dissolution?
All food for future thought, but here I would like to continue with the notion found in the last essay, "Nova Scotia," (with an excellent comment by Cal): what is it about solitude that can be so attractive? We are, after all, social by nature, and yet solitude becomes a greater and greater goal, at least in our country, as we age. We can say we wish to clear up our thoughts, to get out of the hustle and bustle for awhile, to relax, but I have found it to be much more. For one, in solitude the thoughts become less socially directed and more personal - leading to the ultimate questions about death and meaning. And, two, in becoming less about the social, the sense of self-disapproval begins to evaporate, for even guilt-based personal surveillance relies on transgressions against others, or the social standard. Personally, I have found that in solitude I become simply a being, no more or less, and in that is great comfort, a comfort that the chronically urban among us might never know.
But there is more to this one point than that. In Cal's comment, he mentions the chronicle of a man who lived alone for a year on an island in Alaska. I have read many books on long-term isolation, and the results are nearly always spectacular: either the person has an epiphany of some kind of faith, where he realizes his greater (supra-social) self, or he falls apart or permanently recedes into an empty chamber where he no longer is capable of social, and perhaps even self, contact. As far as I know, the results are never casual. Being alone is always significant, and being alone for long periods is always a game-changer.
But why? It is, I think, because we define ourselves by the rules of our society, both outwardly and inwardly, regardless of the type of society we come from. Some achieve an epiphany when removed from social stimuli, either through luck or through temperament or through faith; they find in themselves something greater than the flat self that has been formed for them. But some cannot get past the feeling that the social is the ONLY self, and that its death, or passing away, is their extinction. Thus the Desert Fathers of early Christianity, including Paul, went into seclusion for years at a time, kept alive almost by faith alone, to learn of the greater self. And thus, I believe, must everyone to achieve wisdom, either through actual physical seclusion or regular periods of quiet contemplation.
Ultimately, our fear of death is not that of pain, but of dropping off into the blackness, alone. We are afraid of being without our social backdrop, even if it makes us miserable. And our biggest hope is that there is something friendly there to help us through - either Jesus or our relatives or something or someone of comfort to hold our hand; although some confront this by instead making themselves believe that there is absolutely nothing "on the other side" and therefor we are not truly left alone - only left to the not-there, as we were before we were born.
But in this the game is exposed: for whether our societies endure for thousands of years, like earlier hunters and gatherers, or end after a few centuries, as progressive America might, we are all left to ourselves in the end. None of it matters then; what matters is what is beyond or behind it all, for that is the doorstop on which we will all be dropped. And I think it is only in solitude that we can at least come to that realization - that what we are is so much more than what we have come to accept. Just what that is can only be realized personally, at the very root of our depth. FK
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