Who’s Afraid of China? Pt. 1

Warning: Long post to follow. Also, potential movie spoilers.

If you’ve been watching any kind of media or the news in the past year and a half, you will have no doubt noticed it. Sinophobia—the fear of China. It. Is. Everywhere. Media and entertainment are positively saturated with it.

From the character of Mr. Lau in The Dark Knight and the faceless Asian hordes attacking Brendon Fraser in the latest installment of The Mummy to the American media’s persistantly negative coverage of China in the lead up to the Olympics, we in the Anglo-American world are being bombarded with cues(some subtle, some not so subtle) to see China and its rise as the “bad guy”. Political Journals (which are really a form of popular entertainment themselves) vie with one another on the news rack, each offering competing “solutions” to the “problem of China”. And it doesn’t seem to matter much whether your media is liberal or conservative—China-bashing is something  Americans from all over the political specrum happily unite behind! 

This is a political obsession and my feeling is that it’s not going away. In fact, I think we can expect it intensify over the coming decade.

In this post, I’ll take a look at how China obsession manifests itself, and in subsequent posts I’ll examine just why we are so afraid of China (and whether or not we should be).

Orientalism 101: Repulsion, Attraction, and Power

The paradox of Sinophobia is that it doesn’t simply manifest as straightforward fear, suspicion, or hatred. There is also a corresponding fascinationwith and even attraction to, China and elements of Chinese culture. While some of these media may suggest or even intend, respectful homage, often times they are in fact merely a more subtle form of sinophobia. Despite the supposedly “pro-China” backdrop, often times China or Chinese culture is simply relegated to the status of an object or artifact to be appropriated by Westerners for their own ends. Films like The Forbidden Kingdom exemplify this kind of “softcore orientalist” approach.

To those who haven’t seen The Forbidden Kingdom, the basic plot revolves around a nerdy, white American kid obsessed with old Hong Kong action flicks. He is terrorized by local bullies and is generally considered something of a loser by his white peers. However, he is soon transported to a magical “Forbidden Kingdom”, the setting of which is a pastiche of traditional Chinese folklore (notably Journey to the West, along with various Daoist and Buddhist characters and deities) and old fung-fu films. With the help of Jackie Chan and Let Li and random aphorisms from the Daodejing and the Wumenguan, the utterly forgettable protagonist manages to master kung-fu and his fear. Nerdy American boy manages to save the Forbidden Kingdom, restoring balance to the cosmos, and returns home to vanquish the local bullies (and the possibility of making out with a hot Chinese chick is hinted at in the end). As in the Campbellian monomyth, he is the “master of two worlds.”

We can deconstruct the narrative structure even further: the boy represents the Westerner who is rendered powerless by the spiritually barren materialism of his culture. Therefore he seeks out the “mysteries of the Orient” in order to regain power and salvation. While he finds the mysteries to be as empowering as he hoped, all is not well in the East. Decadence, corruption, imbalance reign in the ”Forbidden Kingdom”. And so the Westerner must take on the role of a Savior, bringing back the Orient’s treasures to the Occident and also revitalizing the East itself. Only the Westerner is capable of doing this, for he alone is the Savior-figure to both East and West.

The problem with this is that it makes “the East” little more than a series of interchangeable props and objects to fulfill the Westerner’s fantasy; in the end it is still the Westerner who holds the power. “The Orient” is nothing more than the object of his desire, something to slake his thirst and solve his problems. It is a commodity, something to be mastered and possesed by the dominent Westerner. Moreover, despite its status as having “wisdom” the East is fundamentally incapable of solving its own problems, and requires the Westerner to save it. Actual colonialism has given way to a sort of colonialism of the mind; but colonialism it still is.

This is a fairly standard narrative in American popular culture, and anyone interested in more than the cursory treatment I’ve given it here should seek out two works by Jane Iwamura , her essay The Oriental Monk in American Popular Culture and the book it inspired, The Oriental Monk Comes West: Asian Religions and the American Popular Imagination. And while it is an old narrative (Imawura dates it back to the very beginning of the film industry), it currently represents the “other side” of Sinophobia by representing what America wants China to be: a passive player and a provider of resources. It is the American political fantasy, played out here as a kung-fu film, although can just as easily imagine as it being played out as the sexual fantasy of the submissive Asian woman being had by the Western male (Whether this sexual fantasy drives the political ambitions, or the political ambitions that drive the sexual fantasy, is an interesting question).

The point is, we are repulsed by China because of its power (and hence depictions of Chinese as villains are increasing) and yet we also desire  power (and hence China is depicted as having power, but a power that only we are capable of wielding). This dialectic of repulsion and attraction plays itself out through the ancient archetypes of the Hero’s Journey and the Quest, but cloaked in the garb of popular entertainment.

While it may seem that I’ve overanalyzed what is essentially a meangineless action film, I would suggest that popular culture is a place where dreams in the collective unconscious can come bubbling to the surface. While I sincerely doubt Rob Minkoff or John Fusco (the director and screenwriter, respectively) intendedfor their film to be the excellent example of softcore orientalism that it is, their conscious intentions are not the point. The cultural unconscious manifests itself irregardless of the intentions of individuals; as I alluded to in this earlier post , making art involves a certain passivity, a certain self-opening. One way of looking at inspiration is to see it as channeling (or being possessed by, in the sense of spirit possession) currents in the collective unconscious, and that’s precisely what I think is at work in The Forbidden Kingdom.

Next: Why is America so afraid, and should America in fact be afraid?

(Image c/o The Economist)

Two Sides of Zen

I have a friend who is a very devout Zen Buddhist. Recently he remarked to me that it seemed to him that there are two basic approaches to Zen—the “hard” approach and the “soft” approach. The soft approach (which is probably what many people think of when they think of Zen) is best exemplified by people like Suzuki Roshi (pictured above in the video) or Seung Sahn or Thich Nhat Hanh. It is exemplified by a sort of gentle but pervasive and thouroughly penetrating wisdom.  The “hard approach” is the sort of approach you were likely to see in the Chan Masters of Old; people like Linji or Yi Jing (the 7th century monk, the not the oracle) or Bodhidharma. The message is the same as that of the others, but it seems somehow sharper from these people. In their hands, the Dharma has teeth.

This isn’t to say one doesn’t find both hard and soft in the same practioner. I think perhaps we catch a glimpse of Shunryu Suzuki’s ”hard” side in the clip above, during the scenes where he is bowing, etc. The joyous humor that seems to radiate from him as he speaks of the bluejay and the utter solemnity of his practice are both present simultaneously. The two sides of Zen are deeply intertwined, like the two “halves” of taiji. Indeed, a Zen Buddhist might admonish me that these two sides are mutually entailing, and hence they are “not two”. They ground and condition each other. Even somebody who is prodominently a “soft” Zen person carries a certain hardness about them*. A contemporary Daoist practioner remarked once that from his perspective Zen Buddhist practice is like Fire, melting away the Metal of delusion and attachment.** There is definitely an edge to Zen, as there is to any sincere spiritual practice. Typically the New Age crowd doesn’t like to acknowledge this edge, and it is this (amongst other things) that seperates them from more serious practioners.

 

 

* And vice versa—it’s also important to remember that from a Zen Buddhist perspective, all teaching (no matter how gruff it may appear!) is motivated by compassion (or in any case should be). It’s also worth noting that Buddhism often makes it a point of altering teaching styles to fit the audience.

** His comment draws on imagery from the wu xing or “five phases”, a traditional framework for understanding change still used in TCM and other Daoist arts today. In the cycle of destruction, fire melts metal.

Philosophical Pharmacopeia

The Greek word pharmacon (φάρμακον; where we get “pharmacy” and its derivatives from) had a dual meaning: depending on how it was used, it could mean either “poison” or “cure”.

This only seems paradoxical when we forget to consider the amount of side effects on a warning label on our modern prescription drugs.

Another interesting fact is that the word pharmakaus (φαρμακος), meaning “scapegoat” is directly derived from the same word. The scapegoat is ostensibly the “poison” that afflicts the body politic, and therefore must be removed like a poison from an individual’s body. Yet because the city is able to unite to expel this common enemy the scapegoat is simultaneously the best thing for the city; common enemies are the glue that hold political entities together. Without a common enemy as a unifier, many a polis would degenerate into warring factions.

Anyway. It occurs to me that if drugs have warning labels, all the more so should ideas come with warning labels. The general rule is that most “brilliant ideas” create just as many problems as they solve.

On that note, here’s the first in what may become a series examining the ingredients and side effects of certain philosophical movements.

From the medicine cabinet of Western Philosophy, I bring you:

Modernity

Active Ingredients: Cartesian rationalism and instrumental reason, liberalism, reductionism, skepticism, humanism, empiricism.

Relieves chronic superstition and political authoritarianism. Provides economic development, democratic government and scientific advancement. Aids in awakening from “dogmatic slumber” , challenging tradition and advancing humanitarian ideals.

Side effects may include any or all of the following: identity loss, breakdown of a “sense of meaning”, breakdown of traditions, epistemic uncertainty, hyper-rationalism, destruction of the natural environment and depletion of resources. May cause nihilism, consumerism, colonialism and nationalism. If you experience more than 2 World Wars in three decades, please stop treatment and contact a doctor immediately. If you find that “all that is solid melting into thin air”, please do not attempt to stage a socialist revolution or operate heavy machinery.

The Ideal of the Artist

Note: This is an old entry, originally posted on my old blog. I’ve ammended it slightly and uploaded it here in lieu of new content (which should be here anytime now).

The Artist, it seems to me, is a master of polarities. By “master of polarities”, I mean she is able to unify the Objective Realm and the Subjective Realm; the World of Potentiality with the World of Actuality; the Passive or Receptive Mode with the Active or Engaged Mode. She joins together the Unseen World and the Visible Word; the Unmanifest with the Manifest. In other words, the Artist is able to unite apparent opposites into a harmonious whole through her very being. Insofar as she spans two worlds, the Artist must also be a master of balance.

What do I mean by all of this jargon? Look at the picture above this entry and you have my answer. To put it more concretely, when the Artist sees the world, he doesn’t just see what is—-he sees what could be. The Artist intuits or envisions possibilities, and possesses the determination and skill to manifest those possibilities in the world. The Artist is one who has continual passage through the Infinite Realm of Possibility—but he does not come back to the Mundane Realm empty handed. In the being of the Artist, idea and reality are made one.

To give an example of this ideal, consider this famous quote from Michaelangelo, renowned sculptor of the Italian Renaissance:

“In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me, shaped and perfect in attitude and action. I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to the other eyes as mine see it.”

Here we can see the polarities at play: Michaelangelo has a subjective vision of a statue, and through his knowledge of objective technique he is able to bring that statue into the world. He sees the potential, and is able to make it actual. Insofar as potentiality is the way by which the future belongs to the present, we might say that the Artist is a visionary, a seer, a clairvoyant—and not coincidentally, the title of the piece above is La Clairvoyance by René Magritte. As the receiver of a vision, the Artist is passive; she observes, or perhaps more accurately, “the Muse speaks” and she merely listens. The Artist does not impose a form upon a lump of dead matter (although it may appear that way to the observer); rather, to the Artist, the lump of matter itself is alive, moving, and teeming with possibility. In seeing this possibility, the Artist’s role is primarily a receptive one. However, insofar as she then sets to work to realize her vision, she is active. In the Artist’s capable hands, the idea doesn’t simply remain a distant, removed, immutable form in some Platonic universe—-it becomes an active, dynamic reality, a living part of this universe.

This may seem to be a very simple process, but I don’t think it is. One must learn how to receive the Divine visions, how to unify one’s attention, how to open a place inside where Inspiration can reveal itself. But it’s more than that. The Artist must also master the skills needed to bring that Inspiration to life—-he must be able to work with the world as well as work with ideas. If he only masters the Subjective Realm, he is a dreamer, a visionary, a theoretician—-but no Artist. If he only masters the Objective Realm, he is a technician, a craftsman, a builder—-but no Artist.

This isn’t to downplay the role of people who only master one of these realms. The world needs visionaries, and it also needs technicians. It’s hard enough mastering just one realm, but the Artist must master both equally well. This is why true Artists are rare.

Although I’ve used the example of Michaelangelo to explain the “Ideal of the Artist”, I should probably conclude by noting again that “Artist” does not only refer to the fine arts. In my view, the highest calling is Ethical Artistry. What do I mean by “ethical artistry”? Artistry where the material is one’s own body, mind and soul, and the piece is one’s life. Actually, for those very few who can manage any level of Ethical Artistry, there are two pieces of “artwork”—one’s self and the world. The self is at once the canvas and the paintbrush. In working on oneself, the Artist is her own “project”, but insofar as working on oneself transforms the world, the Artist simultaneously becomes a tool. At this point, perhaps the distinction between Art and Artist vanishes, and there is simply the unmediated, unrestrainted flow of Creation.

I personally think that we all have the ability to be Ethical Artists, but few of us bother to develop ourselves accordingly. Ethical Artistry is perhaps best summarized by a quote from Mahatma Mohandas Gandhi:

Be the change you want to see in the world.

The Comic as Philosopher

 

I’m a big fan of Canadian comedian Russell Peters and his brand of irreverent, multicultural humor. If you haven’t seen Mr. Peters perform, you absolutely need to see this video and you should also probably watch this video too. You have no idea what you’re missing!

Above, I’ve posted an interview with Peters on “The Riz Khan Show” from Al-Jazeera.  Peters gets introspective about his work, his swift and sudden rise to popularity, and his role as a comedian. There are a number of implications here that go beyond this interview, in particular I think some of the questions and responses serve to highlight the role of comedy in its relation to truth.

The following excerpt, from the beginning of the clip, is especially interesting:

Peters: ..people aren’t getting what they want from the mainstream media, so they seek what they want out on the internet and they found me, and I’ve somewhat become “the people’s champ”, y’know?

Ari: So what aren’t they getting out of the media?

Peters: What aren’t they getting out of the media?

Ari: What aren’t the getting out of the media that they’re getting from you?

Peters: They’re getting the truth from me! They’re getting the things that everyone’s afraid to say on TV and stuff like that…

 
My thesis, which I think is implicit in Peters’ comments, is that comedy provides a necessary outlet for parrhesia, for “telling it like it is”. Comedians are funny only when their humor is relevent, and their humor is relevent only when it is an adequate expression of reality; when it is true. Part of why, say, the Comics Curmudgeon is funny is because he exposes the irrevelency of many newspaper comics (especially “Legacy Era” strips that are from another time and often seem like they’re from another world). The Curmudgeon frequently comments on the fact that these strips and their writers are out of touch with modern life—they are irrelevent, and thus no longer funny (or at least, unintentionally funny; they are humorous only from an ironic perspective).

Peters is wildly popular because he addresses the experience of millions of people in a way that is direct, honest, and true. He addresses our experience in a way that the mainstream media does not (or does in a typically ham-fisted manner). Despite the fact that the press considers itself “the fourth estate”, in the age of youtube, wordpress, etc. it is becoming increasingly irrelevent. And in such an era, it is people like Peters who consitute the real fourth estate, who are able to frame the issues that truly matter to an often neglected public.

(more beneath the cut)

Balloons in Kabul

This picture was taken by the Associated Press and posted on BBC’s “In Pictures” on June 27. It’s from Afghanistan, apparently on the outskirts of Kabul (you can click on it for a slightly larger version; scroll to page 8 on the BBC site).

Although it’s just a news photo, it’s quite striking. There’s an immeasurable beauty in this photograph, aesthetically speaking: the starkness of the landscape behind the walking the figure constrasting with the vivid colors of the balloons. It’s almost like an image out of a dream.

A sense of fragility also permeates this image, especially when one takes into account the political situation in Afghanistan. This man’s life, and indeed the future of the country, are as delicate and tenous as the balloons he is carrying. From this perspective, the man is almost beseiged by his barren surroundings. His forward stance makes it seem like he is beset by a fierce wind, perhaps threatening to scatter these balloons.

And yet in spite of the turmoil, of the obstacles ahead of him and his fellow Afghanis, he presses on, with his life and with his balloons. We don’t know what’s he’s doing with them—is he a balloon seller? Is he taking them to a child’s birthday party? Are they decorations for a wedding?—but either way balloons are symbols of joy. Despite violence and chaos, admist poverty and suffering, this man is bringing a little joy and beauty into people’s lives. It is a fragile joy, perhaps, and certainly a small joy against the vast problems in Afghanistan. But even a few moments of happiness, even the laughter of a child, is worth something. When taken as a whole, these things stand out as small spots of color against a larger, bleaker background—a macrocosm of this image, of the balloons set against the desert—and yet they are there.

Somehow I find this simple fact immensely moving. It speaks to a universal human hope, even in the face of the greatest calamities.

I don’t know what’s become of this man or his balloons, and I probably will never know. But I hope he is doing well and that these balloons made it safely to wherever they were headed.

“Myriad Dimensional Net”

 

 

It’s interesting to me how the terminology we use to describe the internet has changed over the years. Remember  when the word internet was often capitalized “(Internet”) or even hyphenated (”Inter-Net”)?  Or when people actually said things like “World Wide Web”, or “Electronic Mail”, or the now downright campy “Information Super Highway”?

I recently discovered that ”www” is translated into Mandarin Chinese as 万维网 (wan wei wang), which literally means “ten thousand dimensional network” or maybe more figuratively, “multi-dimensional network”.

Although wan wei wang probably doesn’t strike the average Chinese-speaker as being any more interesting than “world wide web” does the average English speaker, I find myself to be rather taken with this particular piece of phono-semantic matching; conjuring up as it does for me an image of some kind of star-gate or even Indra’s bejeweled net in Huayan Buddhism. The internet itself, of course, can be an interesting symbol of interdependence, with interlinked web pages mirroring at least analagously the interconnectivity of processes in the world.

Although the world has always been an interdependent whole, there has been a heightened sense of connectivity in the last century and a half that has only accelerated with the advent of the internet. And I suspect that if anything can guide us through the morass of ecological, political, and social crises looming ahead, it will be an ethic distilled from a growing awareness of our interdependence in the “myriad dimensional net” of existence. Our very survival hinges upon how well we can map this net with our science, how well we can understand it in our hearts, and embody it in our actions.

A New Blog

From the guy who brought you Nunc-Fluens

coming soon…