On Seeing

In his “Learning How to See Again” from the collection of essays entitled Only the Lover Sings: Art and Contemplation, 20^th century Catholic philosopher Josef Pieper makes the ominous observation that “Man’s [sic] ability to see is in decline.” It is important to note that when Pieper talks about “seeing,” he does not refer to the physiological act of vision. Instead, he means “the spiritual capacity to perceive the visible reality as it truly is.” In the end, Pieper concludes, “the average person of our time loses the ability to see because there is too much to see,” this overabundance of stimuli totaling up to a phenomena the author calls “visual noise” (30).

When I consider Pieper’s idea of “visual noise,” I am reminded of a man interviewed in the graffiti documentary Bomb It. The interviewee, who I believe is/was a resident of Buenos Aires, comments on the plethora of high-tech visual stimuli (the majority of it corporate advertising) he is bombarded with on a daily basis. The man almost desperately relays to the audience his disgust at the words and images constantly forced into his line of sight, visuals he “didn’t ask to see.” In an interesting commentary on the effects of visual rhetoric, the man compares his unintentional prolonged sexual arousal at the sight of a female swimsuit model advertising perfume to a type of harassment or abuse. He is not in a relationship with this two-dimensional woman, and yet because she has forced her scantily clad self on him in the form of a 50-foot billboard, he cannot stop thinking about her for the rest of his afternoon. She has forced her way into his unconscious mind without his permission. He finds himself thinking about her body instead of his work. He has become deafened by an instance of too much “visual noise,” to the point that he can no longer hear himself think.

Pieper thinks “visual noise” has much greater political and psychological implications than unwanted erections caused by bikinied sirens hawking Chanel fragrances. He sees our global economy’s reliance on 24/7 hyper-marketing, and our global culture’s love jones for constant sensual stimulation, as the potential downfall of critical thinking at large and individuality in particular. He states “at stake here is this: How can man [sic] be saved from becoming a totally passive consumer of mass-produced goods and a subservient follower beholden to every slogan the managers may proclaim?” (33). In short, if human beings are constantly being told what to think and feel and do and buy (by external powers/institutions/conglomerates etc.), at what point will they give up the language and images produced in their own minds and simply go along with what they’re being told/given? Are we in danger of relinquishing our very wills to the Powers that Be, simply because an external voice convinces us that it is easier to be spoken for than to speak for ourselves?

I am not a doomsday believer. I cringe at the bumper stickers on the backs of pickup trucks in my hometown that warn viewers: “Don’t Believe the Liberal Media.” I don’t, for the most part, believe that human beings are being brainwashed into mindless automatons that open their wallets the moment a corporate commercial tells them to. All this being said, I would be lying if I said I’m not concerned for the critical-thinking faculties of members of my generation (including myself). In a technologically-stylized world that offers more and more opportunities for individuals (specifically young individuals) to gain access to information, it seems that it has become cooler and cooler for people to be uneducated and mis/un-informed (I direct the reader’s attention to current pop culture icons, and to these icons’ fascination with doing nothing and desiring nothing more than being who they are [which is often a person living blissfully within their own ignorance]).

            Pieper offers two solutions to global critical-thinking’s demise (thank goodness). The first, as one might stereotypically expect from a Catholic philosopher, comes in the form of abstinence. The world is cranking out hot air bent on robbing us of our individuality? We would do well to simply turn off our televisions, computers, radios (do people still listen to radio?), put down our unreliable newspapers and gossipy magazines, etc. If the world is drowning in “visual noise,” one way to float is to close our eyes.

            While limiting the intake of hyper-language/advertising is a great start to regaining one’s sense of self-language (see no evil, hear no evil, etc.), it is a negative solution to a positive problem (it tells us not to do something [consume] with hopes that what’s being done to us [forceful hyper-produced visuals/messages] will ultimately subside. It’s a passive solution that provides its practitioner with little ground to stand on (see no evil, hear no evil doesn’t make evil go away. In fact, it shows evil we will not do anything to retaliate when it attacks our minds/hearts/bodies. It shows evil who we hope not to be [consumers], rather than who we are/want to be.)

            I prefer Pieper’s second solution: “To be active oneself in artistic creation, producing shapes and forms for the eye to see” (35). If words are being forced on us and pushing us towards intellectual/emotional/spiritual complacency, it is not enough to close our eyes. We must combat the onslaught of language with language of our own. In a world focused on our consumption, we must create not only to show that we will not be mindless consumers, but also to regain our vision (in Pieper’s sense of the word) of what the world is and can be, of who we are and can be.

            Consumers see the world as it is given to them by external producers. They have no faculties to see it otherwise. They take what they are given and use it to make sense of their reality. This receptive-centric behavior can go well until the consumer decides she wants to be free, that is, until she decides her given reality is no longer working for her; then there is no hope for her because she has nothing to assist her in her liberation. She is forced to see the world as her captors tell her to see it. If she wants to “see” for herself again, she has to reclaim her own vision.

            But how does artistic creation lead to reclaimed vision? To answer this, it is necessary to quote Pieper at length:

“Before you can express anything in tangible form, you first need eyes to see. The mere attempt, therefore, to create an artistic form compels the artist to take a fresh look at the visible reality; it requires authentic and personal observation. Long before a creation is completed, the artist has gained for himself [sic] another and more intimate achievement: a deeper and more receptive vision, a more intense awareness, a sharper and more discerning understanding, a more patient openness for all things quiet and inconspicuous, an eye for things previously overlooked. In short: the artist will be able to perceive with new eyes the abundant wealth of all visible reality, and, thus challenged, additionally acquires the inner capacity to absorb into his mind such an exceedingly rich harvest. The capacity to see increases” (35).

           

If one wants to “see” reality (the world, her/his-self, etc.) one must not rely solely on the observations, and the subsequent recounting, of others. One must look for oneself. But it is difficult for one to focus on one’s own vision when other ways of seeing bombard her. In creating, the artist must look harder and truer at the things that are around her and inside her. In this harder and truer looking, the artist “sees” more clearly. And this new vision is not valuable in and of itself. It is only advantageous when it is used to help the artist navigate the treacherous landscapes of reality, where she will encounter (and hopefully help to heal) the poor-sighted brothers and sisters who live there.