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There is death in this. Twenge and Campbell are getting at something when they urge people to worry less about their identities and more about their lives. Between life and the self, there is a choice. This is implicit in the idea of an attention economy. The more compulsively we curate the self, the less we live. We may find it helpful to forget ourselves from time to time. We may need, that is, a form of ‘anti-identity’ politics, a resistance to all trends which force one to spend too much time on the self, or on a particularly narrow, depressing and ultimately coercive idea of what a person can be. It would treat all the labour spent on the self as wasted potential. It would cultivate forgetting and disconnection.
Post-democracy was well advanced in most of Europe and North America well before the digital platforms appeared. As the political scientist Colin Crouch defines it, a post-democratic society is one that retains the institutions of mass democracy, but where these have negligible effects on policymaking. It reduces elections to a spectacle of stage-managed debates and poll-driven simulations of ‘voter demand’. Whereas mass democracy means that popular desires and interests have to be taken seriously, post-democracies are in the business of population management. Like cybernetic systems, post-democracies are far less interested in consent than in moderating the behaviour of elements within the system. Like the algorithmic protocols of the digital platforms, they hit below the intellect, working underneath the surface of persuasion, building realities into our everyday experience. It doesn’t negotiate with our wants, it shapes what we are capable of wanting. And, as the Italian anarchist Errico Malatesta once put it, ‘everything depends on what the people are capable of wanting.’
And this is where the story is not just about corporations and technologies. The Twittering Machine may be a horror story, but it is one that involves all of us as users. We are part of the machine, and we find our satisfactions in it, however destructive they may be. And this horror story is only possible in a society that is busily producing horrors. We are only up for addiction to mood-altering devices because our emotions seem to need managing, if not bludgeoning by relentless stimulus. We are only happy to drop into the dead-zone trance because of whatever is disappointing in the world of the living. Twitter toxicity is only endurable because it seems less worse than the alternatives. ‘No addiction’, as Francis Spufford has written, ‘is ever explained by examining the drug. The drug didn’t cause the need. A tour of a brewery won’t explain why somebody became an alcoholic.’
One day he told me his terminal patient, the one with all the classical records, had died.
How many other terminal patients did he have? How many deaths had my hem-onc witnessed? DId he feel like a failure when his patients died? And by that metric, what case isn't a failure, in the end?
What metric is used instead of immortality to judge the success of a hem-onc?
[...] then he broke up with me.
I was very sad, but I enrolled in five classes the next semester nad made a list of goals including run at least twice a week and avoid all time-wasting social engagements.
mood
I grew used to being sick and looking forward to recovering.
Then I grew used to being well again for a short while, knowing I'd be sick again sooner or later.
Then I grew used to having no prognosis at all, because with a mysterious disease, all things are possible.
My existence shrank from an arrow of light pointing into the future forever to a speck of light that was the present moment. I got better at living in that point of light, making the world into that point. I paid close attention to it. I loved it very much.
And then one day, my life was a ray again, and the point was gone.
The philosopher Richard Rorty held that the purpose of philosophy is not to find answers, but to keep the conversation going. In Wallace's writing, the same perspective is visible.
While Rorty is explicitly invoked in the title of a later short story--"Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature," taken from Rorty's 1979 book of the same name--Wallace also referred to Stanley Cavell at least once, and his influence on Wallace's work has gained increasing attention in the recent past. Wallace owned and annotated a number of Cavell's books, and his biographer D. T. Max notes that Wallace studied--briefly and somewhat unedifyingly--under Cavell at Harvard. Adam Kelly has noted the importance of Cavell's ideas on language for Wallace's exploration of sincerity in his work. Of particular relevance to our work here is Cavell's invocation of the role of reader in the process of textual production, and his extrapolation from this question to ask "when is writing done?," implicitly averring the constant reproduction by the reader of the process of interpretation. This question is central to Wallace's idea of the process of communication, and his implicit belief (via Wittgenstein) that good fiction should open rather than close, undermine rather than order. [...]
[...] Scholars have drawn attention to his links with Leibniz and James, with Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard, with Cantor and deMan, as well as with Cavell [...]
While he tended to elide the "American" from his discussion of what it meant to be an American human being, Wallace was explicitly, exhaustingly conscious of writing from an American perspective, and repeatedly articulated his struggles with taking a perspective outside of his own. Lee Konstantinou comprehensively traces Wallace's engagement with media stimulation and the performative cosmopolitanism of a type of educated American, suggesting that Wallace's engagement with informational "discloses some of the most troubling aporia of [his] style. Wallace's inability to represent a genuine cosmopolitanism in ['The Suffering Channel'] is not simply an individual failure but is, for him, an indictment of the very 'view' that he understands himself to be inhabiting". The paralyzing consciousness of mediated perspective, then, positions Wallace as an uncomfortably but inescapably American author. Konstantinou points out, indeed that the critical tendency to read Wallace in light of his American-ness, even his most specifically local texts "[showcase] a longing for the international," but notes that this longing is unmet in "The Suffering Channel," trapped by its own self-focus. Konstantinou astutely notes that Wallace's internationalism is different from the globalism of De Lillo or Pynchon, and emerges from a desire to disrupt the myopic ethnocentricity of late-century America. [...]
citing "The World of David Foster Wallace" in Boundary 2, 40.3 (September 2013)