Being a Cynic

I've been accused (once again) of being a cynic. This being Valentine's Day, I couldn't help but make some observations about commercialism rampant and the fact that much of the gift giving (and receiving) is hype. A play on the emotions for commercial profit, of course these comments (and more - I must admit I was having fun insulting the trinkets and the fluff and the flowers and the sweets) drew some flak from those who were laden with the bounties of Valentine's Day.
"You're a cynic!""You're just sore that you didn't get anything for Valentine's Day!" (Done with much waving of fuzzy flowers in my face)"You're mean!"
If you told me "Happy Valentine's Day" and I said "I don't believe in Valentine's Day", where does that leave the conversation? Is it not an attempt, and invitation to examine the social conventions that mark this Feb the 14th? Is any occassion "beyond" the marking of convention? So being called a cynic in my face, I will explore that mode of existence:
Little known fact I suppose, by people that call others "cynical", as if it were a term of derision - the Cynics were an important philosophical school of Ancient Greece. Diogenes (320 BC), a key philosopher of this school, believed that stoic simplicity was crucial in battling the luxuries that he found his frivolous age enamoured with. He not only held a disregard for luxury but had a disregard for convention as well. Traditional laws and social organisations he felt, were props which man could do without. He sought to show that man could live free from these externalities. Crates, a pupil of Diogenes', made it his mission to castigate vice and pretense. He wrote satires which exposed the philosophical pretenses of other treatises. All in all, a cynical view seeks to expose in order to get at truth.
I've never pegged myself a cynic. It's too awesome and unpopular a role. To dare to speak your mind in the face of overwhelming opposition is both admirable and scary. But when confronted with blatant injustices, imbalances or just plain silliness of our existence, surely some kind of utterance, in the name of approaching truth, must be made. I understand the attraction of redeeming illusions, having lived under many in my time, but at least let those illusions you cling to be redeeming.
I also think my criticism (rather than cynicism) is often directed at situations or figures of authority. I tend to believe the best of the underdog but am always highly suspicious of persons in positions of power. Which is perhaps why, as a teacher, I've abnegated much of the power and authority that the role should possess. My cynicism, in a sense, bites back. But that in part, is living as you believe.
But cynicism is selective isn't it? The wonderful thing about attitudes is that we choose rather arbitrarily to apply them, with force or for enjoyment's sake. It isn't a creed but a tremendous critical resource that can be called up to maintain your sense of individuality. It is precisely the arbitrary application of any critque, the angularity of thought perhaps, that strives towards the preservation of the self.
So there's no crusading on the part of this cynic (if you insist on calling him that) and I'm sure that there are many people out there who are much more cynical than I am, about a host of things that I believe naively in (such as the belief that ppl really love to write GP essays!).
So if you said "Happy Valentine's Day", I'd still tell you that I don't believe in it - an invitation of course for further conversation ...

Reading / Re-reading

If hunger didn't explain things properly maybe thirst would. The bloated stomach lay clumsily above his belt, a permanent fixture that drew the gaze of every person that came near. The uncomfortable buttons drew the uneven ends of the shirt to an awkward juncture, where the checks met uneasily. He yawned in time with his growling stomach, eager to produce the rhythmic sensation that would repeat itself from body through voice into language. Sucking the air in with the force of a gulp, he listened for the moment when his ears would stop to buzz as he swallowed the gasp and stifled another yawn. Perhaps it was the whisper of hearing his own crackling voice that drew him to experiment with sounds that weren't intelligible. Saliva builds when you don't speak and this began to slosh around in his mouth. He fingered the creases which competed with the prints on his shirt and caved in suddenly, his head hitting the computer screen.

"Once in idleness was my beginning" Lawrence Durrell

The Problems of being Modern

Is one that pits theoretical inaction and the need to DO something to change the predicament the modernist finds himself in. Of course the assumption of predicament is itself questionable as the thought hardly crosses the minds of most individuals. But caught up in the realities of day to day living, trapped in this recession (that's not what they're calling it yet are they) the dense realities of navigating through these huge systems and structures that are products of modernity loom large. It isn't merely a pragmatic mind that learns to deal with these realities. A mind with a highly theoretical bent unavoidably delves into the minutae of everyday life precisely because it is unable to extricate itself from the imaginary chasm between theory and life. The systems and structures of modernity ensure that this is so. We are plunged into its forest of symbolism, without even realising that our world of realities is largely symbolic.
Chinese New Year? Yes. A world of symbolism surely and much of it traditional. But consider the Ang Bao-Hong Bao-Red Packet. A symbol of luck and fortune. But what does it contain? Another symbol - currency. So does the auspiciousness of the red the weight of the symbolism or does the money inside do that? If they both do, do they compete to undermine the symbolic power of the other? Is currency symbolic in a different way here - not merely referring to the power to buy but also pointing towards luck prosperity and fortune? And what if you received notes in a foreign currency? I used to get Hong Baos in Ringget (symbolic tensions come into play in the rhetorical turbulence of these times - symbols of prosperity are intensely nationalistic) and would have to execute an exchange of currencies in my attempt to step away from the multiple symbols and transform my takings into usable cash. Another symbolic transaction. And what of the purely symbolic Hong Bao then - the empty Hong Bao. I've been using the symbolic Hong Bao as an excuse:

"If I gave you a Hong Bao and you only found $2 in it, you would know that I am cheap. But if I never gave you a Hong Bao, there would always be the nagging "what if ..." lingering in your mind ..."

And so value (both monetary and judgement on me) is deferred. And so Derrida meets the bad joke.

But what if I didn't pause to bother about these replications of theory in life? What if I mouthed new year geetings, handed out red packets and waited one year just to do it all over again? Theory is intensely relevant - the above demonstrates our complicity in a highly dislocated sense of tradition and community - but its absence is always appreciated, never missed.

Cultural criticism doesn't need to assert its relevance in an intensely modern age. It makes lucid the nature of the entanglements that we often hardly respond to, entanglements that we sullenly term tradition and culture.