[begin transmission]
I've never been called a guardian angel before.
What a foreign feeling.
[end transmission]
20190827
20190813
------- The Thematic Elements of Modern Art -------
Uncertainty around this time had infected nearly everything; nature, God, man, the future, reason--it was simply a matter of time that uncertainty would come to contaminate the arts. Artists began to question just what is it that makes art, art? As stated before, pre-Modern art concerned itself with representing the beauty and splendor of the natural and mythological worlds in as high fidelity as possible. The early Modern artists challenged this notion in two ways: one, by showcasing things that weren't beautiful or awe-inspiring. In fact, many of them chose to illustrate things that begot despair, provoked anxiety, and inspired confusion. Two, the form of the disconcerting subject matter should be just as despairing, anxious, and confusing to match. The piece that unequivocally captures these two departures from traditional art is Edvard Munch's The Scream. Here a quite alien-looking man holds his head in exasperation, presumably screaming at some unseen horror. The liberal use of curves and swirls, the extreme perspective of the riverbed, and a nauseating, dirty color palette suggests that the very structure of reality is coming undone and devolving into chaos. The world isn't as orderly and beautiful as pre-Modern art would have you believe; the Greek pantheon of Gods are not exerting their wills playfully and mankind is not caught in the epic, heroic transaction. The Christian God isn't carefully monitoring His creation from the glory of His kingdom, among the cherubs and archangels. No, instead, man is left to fend for his own, in a universe whose processes aren't due to the will of some supernatural being(s), but of cruel happenstance or unknown, uncaring, deterministic calculation. Reality and the struggle that mankind faces therein is not heroic, ennobling, or comprehensible, but rather pitiable, frightening, and confusing. Reality isn't providential, let alone unified and sensible.
In Picasso's Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, women and notions of feminine beauty are turned on their heads as these five nude, Spanish prostitutes are depicted with broad, masculine features. Two of them are even sporting African mask-inspired faces, indicating a touch of brutishness and incivility. Even more unsettling is how all five of them are gazing at the viewer (the one popping a squat, thanks to the abandoned perspective of cubism, is seemingly mimicking Regan from The Exorcist) in a cold, judgmental manner. "Use me then get the hell out." is the idea I get. These are prostitutes, long thought through rosy, romantic sentiment to be compassionate entertainers and sources of sensual pleasure for weary, love-forlorn men. However, Picasso manages to dispel all softness and romanticism from this institution of comfort, not only by his neglect of curves for angles and straight lines, but by demonstrating the contemptuous attitudes of these working girls. In some sense he's illustrating a truer, but far uglier reality. That prostitute you paid for? She's doesn't find you charming. To her, you're only a job. Just as you've reduced her to a means of pleasure, she's reduced you to a means of income. And so it goes, the oft-cited modern theme of people commoditizing each other, with every interaction being a logical transaction, resulting in loneliness and alienation.
Another popular piece of Modern art is Salvador Dalí's The Persistence of Memory. In this classic piece, a bleak, empty, but unquestionably naturalistic is depicted. Ignoring all of the weird stuff happening in this painting for a minute, it's somewhat apparent that the scene is rendered in a style that is akin to pre-Modern works. The sky looks realistic enough, mountains in the distance look decent, there's a nice barren tree, the crowns on the watches look meticulously crafted and realistic, but while on the watches..."what the actual f*ck? They're melting. That's not normal. And what the hell is that thing on the ground? A log? A goose? A person?". The genius of Dalí's work lies in the juxtaposition of a realistic style, but the inclusion of nonsensical, bizarre content. This creative style is reflective of Freudian psychoanalysis that began to take off in the late 19th to early 20th century. This was a discipline that took a person and their psychology--which Enlightenment-style thinking would have you believe as being ostensibly intelligible, rationality-based and clear--and revealed the counter-intuitive, irrational, and instinctual-based machinery that actually constituted that particular psychology. All of these elements are mirrored in Dalí's work, giving one the sense that, much like mankind, the landscape being portrayed seems almost conceivable, almost sensible, but that there is more depth when analyzed a little closer. When examined under a microscope, things are stranger than first appearances might indicate, with reason providing little in the way of guidance.
------- The Reductive Aspect of Modern Art -------
Uncertainty around this time had infected nearly everything; nature, God, man, the future, reason--it was simply a matter of time that uncertainty would come to contaminate the arts. Artists began to question just what is it that makes art, art? As stated before, pre-Modern art concerned itself with representing the beauty and splendor of the natural and mythological worlds in as high fidelity as possible. The early Modern artists challenged this notion in two ways: one, by showcasing things that weren't beautiful or awe-inspiring. In fact, many of them chose to illustrate things that begot despair, provoked anxiety, and inspired confusion. Two, the form of the disconcerting subject matter should be just as despairing, anxious, and confusing to match. The piece that unequivocally captures these two departures from traditional art is Edvard Munch's The Scream. Here a quite alien-looking man holds his head in exasperation, presumably screaming at some unseen horror. The liberal use of curves and swirls, the extreme perspective of the riverbed, and a nauseating, dirty color palette suggests that the very structure of reality is coming undone and devolving into chaos. The world isn't as orderly and beautiful as pre-Modern art would have you believe; the Greek pantheon of Gods are not exerting their wills playfully and mankind is not caught in the epic, heroic transaction. The Christian God isn't carefully monitoring His creation from the glory of His kingdom, among the cherubs and archangels. No, instead, man is left to fend for his own, in a universe whose processes aren't due to the will of some supernatural being(s), but of cruel happenstance or unknown, uncaring, deterministic calculation. Reality and the struggle that mankind faces therein is not heroic, ennobling, or comprehensible, but rather pitiable, frightening, and confusing. Reality isn't providential, let alone unified and sensible.
 |
| The Scream by Edvard Munch. |
In Picasso's Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, women and notions of feminine beauty are turned on their heads as these five nude, Spanish prostitutes are depicted with broad, masculine features. Two of them are even sporting African mask-inspired faces, indicating a touch of brutishness and incivility. Even more unsettling is how all five of them are gazing at the viewer (the one popping a squat, thanks to the abandoned perspective of cubism, is seemingly mimicking Regan from The Exorcist) in a cold, judgmental manner. "Use me then get the hell out." is the idea I get. These are prostitutes, long thought through rosy, romantic sentiment to be compassionate entertainers and sources of sensual pleasure for weary, love-forlorn men. However, Picasso manages to dispel all softness and romanticism from this institution of comfort, not only by his neglect of curves for angles and straight lines, but by demonstrating the contemptuous attitudes of these working girls. In some sense he's illustrating a truer, but far uglier reality. That prostitute you paid for? She's doesn't find you charming. To her, you're only a job. Just as you've reduced her to a means of pleasure, she's reduced you to a means of income. And so it goes, the oft-cited modern theme of people commoditizing each other, with every interaction being a logical transaction, resulting in loneliness and alienation.
 |
| Les Demoiselles d'Avignon by Pablo Picasso. |
Another popular piece of Modern art is Salvador Dalí's The Persistence of Memory. In this classic piece, a bleak, empty, but unquestionably naturalistic is depicted. Ignoring all of the weird stuff happening in this painting for a minute, it's somewhat apparent that the scene is rendered in a style that is akin to pre-Modern works. The sky looks realistic enough, mountains in the distance look decent, there's a nice barren tree, the crowns on the watches look meticulously crafted and realistic, but while on the watches..."what the actual f*ck? They're melting. That's not normal. And what the hell is that thing on the ground? A log? A goose? A person?". The genius of Dalí's work lies in the juxtaposition of a realistic style, but the inclusion of nonsensical, bizarre content. This creative style is reflective of Freudian psychoanalysis that began to take off in the late 19th to early 20th century. This was a discipline that took a person and their psychology--which Enlightenment-style thinking would have you believe as being ostensibly intelligible, rationality-based and clear--and revealed the counter-intuitive, irrational, and instinctual-based machinery that actually constituted that particular psychology. All of these elements are mirrored in Dalí's work, giving one the sense that, much like mankind, the landscape being portrayed seems almost conceivable, almost sensible, but that there is more depth when analyzed a little closer. When examined under a microscope, things are stranger than first appearances might indicate, with reason providing little in the way of guidance.
 |
| The Persistence of Memory by Salvador Dalí. |
------- The Reductive Aspect of Modern Art -------
A common criticism I've heard regarding Modern art is that it is too pretentious, given what it is. The colloquialism that you might've heard once or twice before is something along the lines of "This is art? It looks like something a four year old could've made!". Such sentiments are generally reserved for pieces that are reductive or deconstructionist in style. While I think the motivation and questions associated with the pursuit of this style are far more interesting than the products of the style themselves, this development is still very salient in any discussion concerning Modern art. As I've said before, the time period was characteristically turbulent, with so many foundations being challenged and the zeitgeist of skepticism in the air. Consequentially, artists wanted to know what made art, art. What is the essence of art? What made it unique from other media or representations such as literature, film, music, etc? So, following an analytic attitude characteristic of Enlightenment-style thinking, they took an elimination-based approach to determine the essence of art. If one could paint something while withholding some kind of attribute, and still have the completed work considered art, then in theory one should be able to methodically withhold additional attributes and slowly converge onto some fundamental axiom of what art is. Thus, Modern art isn't merely defined and confined to what is actually on the canvas, but it is also defined by what is actually not on the canvas. In this development, art is not only defined by presence, but also by absence.
The first stages of this reductionist trend were implemented by some of the aforementioned painters, particularly that of Picasso and Dalí. Their works contrasted with the works of pre-Modern art in the manner that they typically depicted things that are not connected to reality, or have zero human significance whatsoever. The first reduction is essentially content-focused. Okay, so instead of painting naturalistic scenes of bowls of fruit, or dummy thicc Greek goddesses, we turn to painting surreal bowls of fruit and dummy thicc Greek goddesses in a fractured perspective. Absence of connection to the external, real world, check. Either way, it's clearly still art.
Now then, the second development of this reductionist trend was to eliminate the third dimension. Art was traditionally an attempt to capture a three dimensional scene onto a two dimensional plane. But is that representation of a three dimensional scene essentially necessary? Apparently not, as Barnett Newman's Black Fire I shows us that a two dimensional representation on a two dimensional plane can still be considered art. It's perhaps even a 'purer' form of art, since representation of a third dimension isn't exclusive to just painting, but of sculpture. To take this elimination strategy even further, Morris Louis's technique, as shown in Alpha Phi, involved thinning down his paint in order to eliminate texture: a nuanced indicator of the third dimension. Absence of the third dimension, check.
 |
| Black Fire I by Barnett Newman. |
 |
| Alpha Phi by Morris Louis. |
With the third dimension eliminated, what else can we remove? Why not composition? Pre-Modern art typically had masterful composition, with subjects and surroundings meticulously placed to give the sensation of space, form, motion, balance, contrast, unity, and emphasis. The 'drip technique' developed by Jackson Pollock effectively removed all thoughtful consideration and intention from artistic composition, by randomly splattering paint on the canvas using forceful limb movements. Implementation of this technique is most clearly seen in his No. 5 piece. So it's right about here where people begin to think that Modern art is something stemming from the mind and motor expertise of a child, hence it isn't art. To this, personally, I disagree. There is much beauty and order to be found through stochastic processes (population coding done by groups of neurons, for example, can reveal stimulus information, emerging through the chaotic, background neuronal noise), though it's a type of beauty that is not immediately obvious. It's more emergent in nature. In any case, absence of composition, check.
 |
| No. 5 by Jackson Pollock. |
The fourth development of the reductionist trend included the elimination of color and color differentiation. Pre-Modern works usually showcased a wide swathe of colors, demanding great technical skill in faithfully reproducing the near-infinite hues of human skin, capturing the iridescence of the ocean under a midday sun, or illustrating the extent of battle damage sustained on a Roman legate's cape. So, forgoing complex color sets, hues, saturations, luminosities, Modern artists elected to take up simple color swatches. Red Yellow Blue White by Ellsworth Kelly is a good example of this stylistic development, with Kasimir Malevich's White on White the outcome of taking the development to it's extreme conclusion. That is, the complete absence of color; check.
 |
| Red Yellow Blue White by Ellsworth Kelly. |
 |
| White on White by Kasimir Malevich. |
Onto the fifth development. This is where things start to get fairly contentious and debatable, as with the works that removed realist content, dimension, composition, and color, one can still make a case for its 'artiness' with relative ease. With this development, the aesthetic, stylistic quality of art is stripped away; art isn't something you see, but something you 'think'. It becomes conceptual, rather than perceptual. A good example of this would be Robert Rauschenberg's Erased de Kooning Drawing. As the name would imply, the work is merely a near-blank piece of paper, which used to feature an illustration by artist Willem de Kooning, only Rauschenberg erased it. It was Rauschenberg's intention to see if art could be generated from erasure; if a creation could emerge out of an act of destruction. While the answer is ultimately up to subjective interpretation, it sets precedence for the twin notions that art does not necessarily need traditional skills in order to be considered art, and that art doesn't have to be visual. These two notions in my estimation account for a lot of the (delightfully) 'distasteful' essence that became hallmark of Modern art. Absence of aesthetics, check.
 |
| Erased de Kooning Drawing by Robert Rauschenberg. |
Perhaps removing the 'special' nature of the subject of works of art would reveal something about the truth of art? This was the main thrust of the sixth development, and is perfectly captured by Andy Warhol's Campbell's Soup Cans. You know the one. A series of paintings featuring 32, ordinary, everyday cans of Campbell's soup. The extensive catalog of Campbell's flavors all neatly lined in a 4x8 array, with some kind of underlying social commentary on the mass-produced and cheap culture of capitalism. Quite iconic and known by virtually anyone remotely familiar with Americana. But, of all works that could be considered in-line with this development, I have to say that my favorite is Marcel Duchamp's Fountain. Sure, it's not a painting, but it's still an important contribution to Modern art. Simply put, it is a ready-made, mass-produced, store-bought urinal. The genius of this is that Duchamp himself was an accomplished artist, well-trained and versed in classical technique. He knew of the exactitude and finesse art required, knew that it was revered because of these features and high skill ceiling. Yet he presented a urinal he didn't even make himself for exhibition at the Grand Central Palace in New York. Duchamp's intention here was to demonstrate that the artist is not some excellent creator, the creative process isn't ennobling, nor are the creations themselves special. Cynically, it's all just a bunch of junk that you can piss on. Duchamp's work here is arguably the early 20th century progenitor of your modern day shitpost. Best of all, art critics initially applauded and hailed Duchamp as a great artist, admiring the aesthetic beauty of his 'creation', never doubting if the work truly is art. Effectively, the point here was entirely missed: the objective was to determine why, exactly, this urinal wasn't art. Unfortunately, that question remains unresolved throughout the history of Modern art and remains unresolved to this very day. At any rate, absence of the 'special' status of the artistic subject? Check.
 |
| Cambell's Soup Cans by Andy Warhol. |
 |
| Fountain by Marcel Duchamp. |
[end transmission 2/3]
20190809
[begin transmission 1/3]
This is going to appear as such a meme post, but to hell with it. Inspiration strikes unexpectedly.
What could a nonsensical anime from Winter 2018 and an art/philosophy movement from the late 1900s have in common?
That is, what qualities could Pop Team Epic (by Bkub Okawa) and postmodernist art and philosophy possibly share?
Okay, that was hard to write with a straight face, but bear with me. This will make sense soon, I promise.
Oddly enough, it was reading the translated OP lyrics that caught my attention. A few samples:
"An idea, lurking in the familiar scenery. You’re always under surveillance."
Hmm. Michel Foucault's reference to the panopticon in Discipline and Punish, comes to mind.
"An unconcious bias. No one knows its reason for being."
"Repeating. Spirographs inside your head. A geometric pattern of creation and destruction."
"It’s an everchanging mandala. Break even your memories into crumbles."
"Repeating. Spirographs inside your head. A geometric pattern of creation and destruction."
"It’s an everchanging mandala. Break even your memories into crumbles."
Lacanian psychoanalysis, with an explicit example of The Symbolic.
"Break it into tiny pieces and swap it out~. If it was born from nothing, then go back to nothing! All of it!"
"I want to change the design – gotta break it so you can see."
Faintly reminiscent of Jacques Derrida and Jean-François Lyotard's structuralist criticisms.
"I want to change the design – gotta break it so you can see."
Faintly reminiscent of Jacques Derrida and Jean-François Lyotard's structuralist criticisms.
Surprised by the amount of postmodernist themes potentially referenced in the OP, I thought for a while of how many of them are actually realized in Pop Team Epic. Could Pop Team Epic actually be a postmodernist masterpiece? Could this explain the polarizing, hate-it-or-love-it nature of the show? By my analysis, yes, PTE is in fact a postmodernist masterpiece in an artistic sense. As such, it violates a lot of our expectations when it comes to art, both visual and literary. It is because of this very reason that I think people have come to despise its nonsensical nature while others have come to adore it.
------- Let's talk about visual art in general for a second -------
I'll be the first to admit it; visual art isn't my domain of expertise. Although I have visited my fair share of galleries, installations, museums, and art walks, by no means am I a leading authority on the matter. Most of these excursions resulted in me trying to appreciate the aesthetic appeal of the piece, the artistic technique necessary to create the piece, or the intended message/profile of the artist of the work. Efforts towards this last objective are greatly augmented by the inclusion of a glass of wine or strong spirit; I highly recommend it. Aside from being a casual admirer of visual art, I'm also no historian or scholar when it comes to the domain either. My knowledge of the niceties between Baroque and Rococo is fairly limited, and I honestly couldn't tell you the difference between Expressionism and Impressionism (well, now I could, since I'd just looked each of them up).
However, for the purposes of this examination, none of that knowledge is strictly requisite. As far as I'm aware, the end of the 19th century saw a fairly dramatic break with traditional forms of art. I'm going to go ahead and label all of the art pre-1880s that fits this traditional style as 'pre-Modern' art. If my rough, base, and careless treatment of these works bothers you at this point, I feel it appropriate to remind you that I'm writing about an anime that has been colloquially described as "one giant shitpost". So get over it. Pre-Modern art, for the most part, deals with nature, the supernatural, myths, conquest, religious themes...all of which has some kind of human significance. In almost all instances, great technical skill was needed on the part of the artist to capture texture, lighting/shadows, perspective, composition, and color, in order to depict these concepts as brilliantly and realistically as possible. Some examples of this type of art would include The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli, or Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich.
It is said that pre-Modern art is capable of stirring up the intellect and passions of the observer. That its sheer grandeur and beauty is hair-raising. Personally, I never felt overwhelmingly moved by any pre-Modern piece. There's something to be said about historical context here, that perhaps it was awe-inspiring to the people that lived at the time since the themes were relatively new then, more relevant to them, and/or they had never been visually represented before. Contrast to our time period where these themes have long since been done to death, most of us live a life free from mortal danger/strife (so our appreciation for beauty in normalcy is severely diminished), and we possess technology that constantly bombards us with visual stimuli to such an extent that even the novel becomes passé within a week's time. Despite this, I can say that I still have an appreciation for these works, since the themes presented are timeless and considered universal to some extent. I can look at Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog and feel the conflicting emotions that an uncertain future, with its vast array of possibilities, may bring.
Yet the type of art that rouses my intellect and stirs my emotions the most is what came after the 1880s, after pre-Modern art. This is known as the advent of 'Modern' art. If pre-Modern art was universal, dignified, beautiful, coherent, and inspiring, Modern art is limited, undignified, ugly, irrational, and pessimistic. With good reason too; at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th nearly everything appeared to be heading towards absolute chaos. What were typically considered traditional institutions, such as religion, were either under heavy attack by Enlightenment-style thinking or completely dismantled. Religion--with it's faith-based answers to the world, the nature of man, and meaning/purpose--had been ravaged by scientific accounts that highlighted the cold, empty, meaningless nature of the universe and mankind's wretchedness against that overwhelming void. New doctrines such as Marxism promised that the revolution would come soon and utopia was on its way; needless to say, that prophecy was never fulfilled, leaving proponents disappointed and disillusioned (Marxist anxiety produces exceptional Modern art). Hell, skeptical epistemologies (thanks, Kant) made people doubt their sensory and cognitive facilities, leading to a rejection of rational thinking. There's a reason why the German traditions of idealism and irrationalism gained traction during this time period.
[end transmission 1/3]
However, for the purposes of this examination, none of that knowledge is strictly requisite. As far as I'm aware, the end of the 19th century saw a fairly dramatic break with traditional forms of art. I'm going to go ahead and label all of the art pre-1880s that fits this traditional style as 'pre-Modern' art. If my rough, base, and careless treatment of these works bothers you at this point, I feel it appropriate to remind you that I'm writing about an anime that has been colloquially described as "one giant shitpost". So get over it. Pre-Modern art, for the most part, deals with nature, the supernatural, myths, conquest, religious themes...all of which has some kind of human significance. In almost all instances, great technical skill was needed on the part of the artist to capture texture, lighting/shadows, perspective, composition, and color, in order to depict these concepts as brilliantly and realistically as possible. Some examples of this type of art would include The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli, or Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich.
 |
| The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli. |
 |
| Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich. |
It is said that pre-Modern art is capable of stirring up the intellect and passions of the observer. That its sheer grandeur and beauty is hair-raising. Personally, I never felt overwhelmingly moved by any pre-Modern piece. There's something to be said about historical context here, that perhaps it was awe-inspiring to the people that lived at the time since the themes were relatively new then, more relevant to them, and/or they had never been visually represented before. Contrast to our time period where these themes have long since been done to death, most of us live a life free from mortal danger/strife (so our appreciation for beauty in normalcy is severely diminished), and we possess technology that constantly bombards us with visual stimuli to such an extent that even the novel becomes passé within a week's time. Despite this, I can say that I still have an appreciation for these works, since the themes presented are timeless and considered universal to some extent. I can look at Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog and feel the conflicting emotions that an uncertain future, with its vast array of possibilities, may bring.
Yet the type of art that rouses my intellect and stirs my emotions the most is what came after the 1880s, after pre-Modern art. This is known as the advent of 'Modern' art. If pre-Modern art was universal, dignified, beautiful, coherent, and inspiring, Modern art is limited, undignified, ugly, irrational, and pessimistic. With good reason too; at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th nearly everything appeared to be heading towards absolute chaos. What were typically considered traditional institutions, such as religion, were either under heavy attack by Enlightenment-style thinking or completely dismantled. Religion--with it's faith-based answers to the world, the nature of man, and meaning/purpose--had been ravaged by scientific accounts that highlighted the cold, empty, meaningless nature of the universe and mankind's wretchedness against that overwhelming void. New doctrines such as Marxism promised that the revolution would come soon and utopia was on its way; needless to say, that prophecy was never fulfilled, leaving proponents disappointed and disillusioned (Marxist anxiety produces exceptional Modern art). Hell, skeptical epistemologies (thanks, Kant) made people doubt their sensory and cognitive facilities, leading to a rejection of rational thinking. There's a reason why the German traditions of idealism and irrationalism gained traction during this time period.
[end transmission 1/3]
20190729
[begin transmission]
How foolish is it to think that you can get away with going against reality, unscathed?
Do you honestly think you can obscure the truth, the state of reality in itself, in perpetuity?
It's a Herculean task and is entirely unsustainable for extended periods of time; you're guaranteed to fail.
What is to be said of the person that derives meaning from that fool's errand?
[end transmission]
20190709
There is so much suffering in the world, how could there possibly exist a benevolent God?
Why would he create a reality so unforgiving and horrible for his precious creation to endure?
If he did create this reality, wouldn't that make him malevolent given how terrible it all is?
Or perhaps he is impotent; benevolent but unable to improve reality. In which case why regard him as God at all?
I was reminded fairly recently about several objections I had on moral grounds when it came to the existence of God. I used to hold these beliefs during my younger years, when I was of a more atheistic persuasion; they were born out of an over-commitment to scientific discipline and lack of understanding/appreciation for philosophy, theology, and history. I knew very well that this moral argument against the existence of God was weak, yet I relied on it as an excuse to express my dissatisfaction with my life at the time and fling some vitriol towards my more religious contemporaries whenever they spouted such nonsense as "It is all within God's plan." in response to tragedy and misfortune.
Revisiting this argument came about via a re-watch of a favorite anime of mine, Welcome to the NHK. In short, the series revolves around the NEET (Not in Education, Employment, or Training) protagonist Satou, and the challenges he faces as the naive Misaki and Incel-esque Yamazaki help him overcome his hikikimori ways and regain control of his life. It's a wonderful mixture of drama and comedy, accentuated with just the right amount of raunch and a killer soundtrack to boot. I highly recommend it. But what I appreciate the most about the series is how it periodically cuts through the silliness and day-to-day trifles with some very poignant, grander themes. These themes are often juxtaposed against the light-heartedness of previous scenes and accompanied by a dreamy/jazzy or somber/bluesy guitar track, it's all done masterfully enough to give this android chills. One such scene involved the character Misaki, sitting in the park with Satou for their nightly counseling session, musing about the nature of God shortly after burying her recently-deceased stray cat. From her notebook, Misaki presents a pie chart to Satou, commenting that a mere 10% of life is actually filled with happiness and joy with the remainder being filled with suffering and despair. She then goes on to point out that people believe God created this world, which includes that suffering and despair; this leads her to conclude that God must be evil. Why else would he allow such terrible things to befall people if he weren't?
To further contextualize the scene, Misaki had already endured a bout of misfortune before her cat died; earlier in the episode she witnessed Satou--whom she holds romantic feelings for--walking arm-in-arm with an old love interest of his. On first impressions this event seems to inspire heartbreak in Misaki, but there's quite a bit more to the devastation beyond an initial, cursory glance. If examined with a Hegelian notion of God in mind (God as the highest ideal one personally holds), you can clearly see that this is the instance in which Misaki becomes entirely disillusioned with God. One thing that is to be understood about Misaki is that she, quite recklessly in her naivete, identifies as a savior of sorts. Throughout the series it is heavily suggested (and eventually outright said) that she sees Satou as someone that's even more wretched than her, and thus she could possibly save him. True to the Nightingale-effect, she comes to fall in love with Satou and conflates the goal of his rehabilitation with earning his romantic favor. Since these two goals become one and the same in her mind, seeing Satou with another woman not only inspires the typical feelings of inadequacy in a romantic sense, but also suggests that she is not the one to save Satou. Since she cannot save Satou and fulfill her role as savior, she is effectively being betrayed by her highest ideal, her Hegelian God. Afterall, someone was introduced into her life that was more pathetic than herself, someone that she could save, and now their salvation is being delegated towards someone else apparently more capable. Resentment is only natural, and it is easy to see why she'd come to the conclusion that God is evil.
As it turns out, the scene before the counseling session--the burial of the stray cat--was simultaneously an event that lends further credence to the notion that God is evil AND a clever metaphor for Misaki's perceived loss of Satou (since he is a stray in a certain sense). Honestly, I adore the amount of subtext and thematic elements in this series. Misaki's character is designed in such a manner that it perfectly illustrates the danger born from innocence, good intentions, and naivete; trying to make claim on someone else's life by haphazardly taking on their problems. It's such a hefty amount of responsibility that I don't think is given enough appreciation or thought by prospective good Samaritans. But that's besides the theme currently in discussion...
Right, so Misaki's resentment towards God reminded me of my own similar resentment during my adolescence. Let's address Misaki's first assertion directly, life is disproportionately filled with suffering. I don't think anyone who's given the proposition some serious thought would disagree with it in the slightest. It seems self-evident to me that most of life is, in-fact filled with hardship and is all-too sparsely punctuated with small moments of joy and happiness. This is exactly why I don't think that anyone should assign happiness as an achievable life goal, not anyone that is sound of mind at least. It simply is never going to occur for an appreciable, sustainable length of time because it isn't within the realm of possibilities. That isn't to say that you shouldn't enjoy happy moments when they come; by all means, you should treasure those rare occasions and appreciate them when they do occur. Though, to make it your expressed mission in life, to be happy, certainly seems to me to be a fool's errand. One should be courageous and live, despite knowing full well that the majority of their life will be difficult and rife with conflict. Everyday, people manage to get up out of bed implicitly knowing this, and are able to act in the world. Some are even able to excel. To me, it's nothing short of a miracle and illustrative of a form of mundane heroism that exists in daily life.
Now for Misaki's second assertion, God created reality; that's something we're going to have to take for granted for the purpose of discussion. Else, what else would there be to discuss? Honestly, with the several ways one could conceptualize God, it shouldn't pose too much of a problem. For the sake of making things not too hopelessly complex, we'll go with the traditional conceptualization of God as a supreme, interested being that created the world, the universe, humans, reality, everything.
Misaki's third assertion--since God created a reality that is filled with nothing but suffering, from a human standpoint he must necessarily be evil--is the most contentious point here. The common counter to this assertion is that, the reason why suffering exists in the world isn't because God is evil; no, God is still benevolent, omnipotent, and perfect. Rather, it is because humans are endowed with free will by God. As such they may make decisions and engage in behaviors that are harmful to themselves and others. Human action is what accounts for suffering, not the action or inaction of God. This counter-argument is largely credited to Saint Augustine, a notable Christian theologian of the 4-5th century. By far one of my favorites of Christian theologians/philosophers, since it is to him that we can credit a sort of unification of Aristotelian ideas and Christian thought, which later gave rise to the progress of the Enlightenment.
When I first encountered this counter-argument, I should disclose, I thought it was such a cop-out. Pah. Free will. Dumb move from an all-knowing, all-powerful being to create humans with free will, if you ask me. Why not just leave them without the damn ability and reality could be perfect, reality could be free from suffering? Hell, why not do one better and give humans free will, but also have them intrinsically virtuous and well-behaved at all times?
...Then I read the Garden of Eden story years later, broaching it with an open mind and gave the ancient tale the proper amount of thought it deserves. As I elaborated before in Post ID 20190414, man used to exist by God's side; he used to be perfect. But this version of man was not humanity as we know it, this version of man could do no wrong, and was perfectly innocent as he was naive. Man was more akin to the animals, not capable of sin or profound suffering; essentially living in an ignorant and animalistic paradise. To suggest that humanity would be better off without free will is effectively suggesting the humanity cease being human, period. It'd rob them of the very thing that made them special, the thing that made them so unique and precious: their rationality. Even the most atheistic, materialistic, and scientifically-minded among us could appreciate the fact that rationality is what makes humans unique. What could be a greater display of rationality, than a conscious, self-aware agent carefully weighing the pros and cons of a situation, making predictions/estimations, entertaining the abstract and theoretical, then freely choosing between options? Every choice, every exercise of free will, exists within the cognitive framework of rationality.
However, once we acquired our rationality (and by extension our free will), we also acquired the capacity to do harm, to behave sub-optimally, to be very, very ungodly. Thus the notion of morality is born: in order for there to be moral behavior, there necessarily has to be the ability to choose. As an aside, this is the reason why we wouldn't be so quick to condemn someone that was forced to commit some kind of transgression under coercion; they were functionally stripped of the ability to freely choose, to exercise their free will. Similarly, the reason why we don't (or shouldn't) consider cats evil for killing backyard sparrows (despite waiting until you're around to eviscerate them, the little psychopaths); they are not choosing but acting on instinct. But returning to the point, morality emerges out of the imperfection of humanity; afterall, as Simone de Beauvoir said, "One does not offer an ethic to a God". A being that exists, that cannot sin, does not need morality. But humanity exists, humanity possesses the capacity to sin, and so they require morality and an ethics to guide their behavior so that they may be virtuous. It is precisely for this reason why God did not create man with free will but also innate virtuosity; to be virtuous, one has to necessarily be capable of sin, yet behave otherwise. Virtue loses all meaning if there is no sin to contrast against. Since the capacity to sin comes part and parcel with free will, to say that a being can possess free will AND be innately virtuous is utter nonsense.
Theological considerations out of the way, we're now free to discuss why--in the face of adversity-- people are quick to ascribe malevolence to God, such as in Misaki's case. In my estimation, this tendency is fueled by the reluctance of individuals to acknowledge the role that they played in their own undoing, and the degree to which their misery is self-inflicted. In many circumstances I can appreciate that it can be quite hard to see just where people go wrong; take for instance the death of a loved one due to a terminal illness. For the sake of example, we'll go with late-stage terminal cancer. Now, I don't think anyone would make the case that the person suffering the loss, or the person inflicted with the cancer bears all of the responsibility for the death. Truly there is some random or unseen element to matters of life and death that are beyond our control. However, the fact remains that there is a degree of choice and thus control to be had there, by both the person suffering the loss and the inflicted themselves. To the inflicted, there were in all likelihood lifestyle factors that contributed to their condition. Perhaps they didn't exercise as much as they should have, maybe they smoked, or they cut corners in the way of PPE when it comes to handling carcinogens at the work place. There can easily be hundreds of contributing factors that have lead to the decline in their health. It is by now no secret that I think taking care of oneself is virtuous behavior, as I often mention the importance of being well-fed, well-read, and well-bred. To neglect oneself in a physical, intellectual, or spiritual capacity is to sin against oneself.
Now, onto the side of the bereaved. If the death of their loved one is making them feel resentful rather than sad over the loss, then I'd wager there's a good chance that it is misdirected fury being aimed towards God or reality itself, when it's actually meant for themselves or another aspect in their life within their locus of control. There is an implicit knowledge that they haven't been behaving as well as they should have. Perhaps they neglected this relative and are now upset with themselves for not spending as much time with them as they could have. Perhaps they didn't treat them well, by causing them undue financial burden because they were reluctant to hold onto stable, secure employment. Again, there are numerous ways by which we sin against ourselves and others that can lead to our undoing. The tragic part of it all is that often times these factors can go unrealized and unacknowledged. But even then, that is a failure on the part of the individual and not something to blame on God or reality.
I think this is what makes taking personal responsibility, even to an extreme degree, so effective. It enables you to deal with that tragic part of life--not just the ordinary type of suffering due to known factors, but the suffering to due to unrealized personal faults--because even if you fail (and you will fail) at the very least you fail knowing that you performed your due diligence and gave it your best efforts in earnest. Moreover, the life you live as a consequence of this mindset could only be rich and full of vigor. That extends also to the people around you as well, that aspect cannot be understated enough. By trying to be the absolute optimal person that you can be, by fostering a mindset that opens up several avenues for self-growth, you're going to have a better, more positive impact on those closest to you. Contrast this to the mindset of playing the victim, or trying to externalize blame on an actor outside of yourself. These attitudes are useless in the manner that they rob you of the opportunity of self-examination and potential remedying of any shortcomings, which would lead to personal growth. At worst you'd end up detracting from your own life and that of those around you, and possibly be ineffectual and neutral at best.
I will admit, it is a severely difficult injunction, to demand from yourself the adoption of responsibility for things that may, at first glance, seem out of your control. You'd quickly come to the conclusion that the work required is absolutely crushing, which is why most tend to shy away from it. It's much easier to blame external circumstances, absolving yourself of any responsibility that seems too hefty to take on. I'd like to try and attempt to be tolerant by saying that this manner of living is perfectly fine, but it isn't. I'm not coming at this in any objective, moralistic sense (though I can make that case and I do see it that way; hinted at above in the preceding paragraphs) but even analyzing it from a subjective point of view it becomes obvious it isn't fine. Struggling with self-image issues isn't fine. Not being able to hold a crappy part-time job isn't fine. Requiring inordinate amounts of attention all the time isn't fine. You, suffering because you are less than your self-prescribed ideal IS NOT FINE. No one enduring the throes of their own personal suffering and comes to the thought "Oh, this is okay. I think I'll willingly stay at this point in my life.". You should want to get out, and the only person that can do that for you is you. It isn't the responsibility of your significant other, your family, your friends, your therapist, your co-workers, or online strangers to solve your problems for you; that mantle is entirely yours to adopt.
[end transmission]
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