“In journeys at sea that took place before radio or radar or satellites or sonar, (ship) logs were an indispensable source for recording what actually happened.… As you read a log, you have the curious sense of moving backward in time as you move forward in pages—the opposite of a book. As you piece together a narrative that was never intended as one, it seems—and is—more truthful. Logs, in this sense, were a form of human self-correction. They amended for hindsight, for the ways in which human beings order and tidy and construct the story of their lives as they look back on them. Logs require a letting-go of narrative because they do not allow for a knowledge of the ending. So they have plot as well as dramatic irony—the reader will know the ending before the writer did. Anyone who has blogged his thoughts for an extended time will recognize this world.”
Andrew Sullivan’s recent manifesto on blogging powerfully illustrates the potential of this medium to capture the intersection of collective and personal history. As he writes later in the article, “you end up writing about yourself, since you are a relatively fixed point in this constant interaction with the ideas and facts of the exterior world.” While Sullivan is clearly onto the unique contribution of a blog, I wonder if he is also capturing one of its biggest weaknesses. The way we view the world, shaped by our ‘relatively fixed point’, provides the color and texture in the way it allows us to capture and create meaning. At the same time, while this perspective is important and inescapable, it can also be sufficiently limiting.
This process of interpretation is effectively encapsulated in the above shot of the Chicago Skyline through the reflection of the Millennium Park Bean. A blog at its best provides a vision of things and a take on this vision that allows it’s readers to see the world with fresh eyes. At its worst, the writer takes his/her perspective as ultimate and objective, which can result in a self-centered reflection of both the writer and the world he/she sees… a caricature of reality acting as objective history.
So how does one circumvent the downfalls of subjectivity without losing the beauty and truth captured in personal history? How does one minimize the potential distortion without striving for the unreachable and undesirable interpretation-free and meaning-free timeline?
One way to move in this direction is to add a multitude of voices. Unfortunately, the research in social psychology and sociology rightly correct this shallow assumption that a crowd is always the right answer. In fact, the groups we create tend to either initially lack diversity, or crowd it out over time. Even more unfortunately, the end result of this homogeneity is not just a lack of voices, but also an amplification and hardening of the majority view.
This leaves the writer in a conundrum. Limiting voices limits perspectives. Adding voices can yield diversity, but often without any benefit (hearing without listening, conversation without convictions). And when these convictions do remain, it is often because we begin preaching only when we are sure the choir is listening and nodding along in agreement.
What I propose with this project is an attempt to bring together a group of people with different backgrounds, who are united by some larger cause that can capture each of our individual imaginations. What I think can unite us is an interest in active engagement in the problems of the world, and consequently the solutions which we might be able to offer. My dream in this project is the building together of a place where individuals can refine their own ideas in writing, and consequently learn to more actively and effectively engage a world where people start from a diverse set of assumptions and end up reaching disparate conclusions. In sum, I see a project where, although a clearly tangible outcome will be writing, the ultimate end is that this writing and conversation will provide a better foundation for each of us to engage with and act in the unique part of the world we occupy.
To return to Sullivan, “As you piece together a narrative that was never intended as one, it seems—and is—more truthful. Logs, in this sense, were a form of human self-correction. They amended for hindsight, for the ways in which human beings order and tidy and construct the story of their lives as they look back on them.” In so much these stories guide our action and interpretation, I hope this medium can provide opportunities for the construction of personal narratives that are shaped by our attempt to blend and build from among the unique reflections of the world we each bring.
