So What’s the Use?

The word "blog" has a flat, amorphous quality to it, and its connotations, in my own mind at any rate, fare just as poorly. There is a hint of narcissism in its atmosphere and a triumphant celebration of the equal validity of all opinions that can render the term noxious to the lungs and painful to the ears. But, even though blogs can be stages for the endless gratification of the self -- for rants, rumors, and vanity--like all other mediums for thought, they do not have to. Roses and weeds both grow in the same soil. And so it is with virtue and vice in the human soul.

Beneath this shallow, surface level dislike of blogs lurked a more alarming discovery that had to be overcome: my distrust and dislike for blogs was rooted in utilitarianism! What was the use of a piece of writing that is too immature to be published? Does the world really need one more essay on what a graduate student thinks about something? Soon we begin asking other questions, like why draw if our work will never earn a place in the Louvre? Or if our pieces never even leave our sketchbook? Why learn music, dance, take philosophy classes, or do anything that will neither bring about tangible benefits or bring us great fame? Why cook a feast when top ramen does the job? This line of reasoning can suck all the pleasure out of our pursuits, and it is why we envy children’s joy in their talentless finger painting, and despise or humor adults (thinking them childish) who indulge in joy over their own talentless creation.

To add a little personal drama to this thought piece, let's consider the situation of a young friend of mine, Joey. Joey is moody, rakishly good looking, and has a Kerouac edge to him. Not surprisingly, Joey wants to write fiction. However, every time he walks into a bookstore (or worse, hops on Amazon) he feels overwhelmed by the vast amount of fiction already available. His dashing streak is humbled. Does the world need one more book? Or is it kind of horrible in a way to contribute to the vast glut? Maybe if you were a genius and had Dickens dusted by age twelve there might be an exception, but what hope is there for the rest of us?

Joseph Pieper, in a pithy little essay entitled "Learning to See Again," addresses this very paranoia. The act of writing, the process of putting pencil to paper and drawing--however crudely--works to develop our understanding of the world, it fosters within us the ability to see! In other words, "seeing" does not simply occur; it is something that we must be trained in. As we seek these things simply for their utility--for fame or success--or quit seeking them because they are not "useful enough," our ability to see the world actually diminishes. Thus, all of these joyful, but seemingly "useless" acts actually achieve something far greater than fame, success, or loads of cash--they are good for their own sake!

More thoughts on this to come...