The Things Themselves
In parts I and II, I described at length the nature of technology, technological devices, and how they provide commodities without encumbering us. I want to now look at the nature of things as a contrast to devices. Because I use the term “thing” in a special sense, we need to start by defining what a thing is.
Martin Heidegger undertakes an etymological analysis of the word “thing” to illuminate its meaning and significance for modern man living in a technological culture. He writes that that an earthen jug is not merely an object for holding water or wine, but instead is a thing that is revealing of the world.
“The jug presences as a thing. The jug is the jug as a thing. But how does the jug presence? The thing things. Thinging gathers. Appropriating the fourfold, it gathers the fourfold’s stay, it while, into something that stays for awhile: into this thing, that thing. The jug’s essential nature, its presencing, so experienced and thought of in these terms, is what we call thing (Heidegger 174)”
Thus, what Heidegger shows here is that in the thing is a myriad of relationships—the clay from the earth, the water from a stream which fell as rain from the sky.
Philosopher Albert Borgmann builds on Heidegger’s notion of things, and writes that they reveal not only the abstract “one fold fourfold” of “Earth, sky, divinities, and mortals,” but very real and tangible engagements with our immediate world. He writes in Technology and the Character of Contemporary Life,
“A thing, in the sense I want to use the world here, is inseparable from its context, namely, its world, and from our commerce with the thing and its world, namely, engagement. The experience of a thing is always and also a bodily and social engagement with the thing’s world (Borgmann 41).”
Therefore, in Borgmann’s notion of things, the things do not just reveal the “onefold fourfold,” but are actually revealing of “manifold relationships,” that is that our encounter of things involves bodily and social engagements. If we take as Borgmann does the example of the fireplace, we see its many physical and familial engagements. As Borgmann puts it,
“In calling forth a manifold engagement, a thing necessarily provides more than one commodity. Thus a stove used to furnish more than mere warmth. It was a focus, a hearth, a place that gathered the work and leisure of a family and gave the house a center. Its coldness marked the morning, and the spreading of its warmth the beginning of the day. It assigned to the different family members tasks that defined their place in the household. The mother built the fire, the children kept the firebox filled, and the father cut the fire wood. It provided for the entire family a regular and bodily engagement with the rhythm of the seasons (Borgmann 42)…”
Borgmann expands Heidegger’s notion of a thing, and in doing so, shows how things can be an integral and revealing part of our lives. The example above shows the thing’s ability to not only disclose the change of seasons, but to engage us bodily in various duties, and engage us in familial or communitarian sense by helping create a roll and duty for us. Therefore, what we see above all else in Borgmann’s notion of things is an interweaving of means and ends, and an engagement with the world, as opposed to the disburdened commodities made available via modern technology.
I have showed what is meant by the term “thing,” and how they gather and presence a world. I want to now though look at what it means to have an intimate relationship with things, for this will form the core of our reform of technology. David Strong --my friend and teacher from Rocky Mountain College-- explores the nature of our relationships with things at great length, and brings to the forefront their richness and vitality in what he has termed correlational coexistence. He writes,
“Our very being is tied to things in a relationship I call correlational coexistence…Things, allowed their fullness, take into account a world of considerations. Means and ends are interwoven in them, and so too are nature and culture, shared and personal experience…So seen, the depth of things correlates to the complexity of the world. Things are rich in their capacity to reciprocate each and every tie to the world (Strong 68-69).”
Strong’s thinking therefore appears to be very similar to Borgmann’s in that he emphasizes the means/ends split of technological devices and the interweaving of means and ends in things. However, David makes an important contribution to the discourse on things by showing how the relationship between people and things is profoundly reflective—things and humans grow in importance in accordance with each other. He further writes that,
“As people feel, think, act and develop in relation to things, the things themselves are also disclosed in their manifold depths. So, both what people are capable of and what things are capable of are simultaneously disclosed in this relation. Since both human beings and things emerge into being at the same time in this process, and since there is no conflict between the two but actually the two require each other, this symmetrical relationship is a correlational coexistence. By responding to things in their full dimensions, I too emerge in the fullness of my dimensions. If I lack the power to be equal to them, neither do things emerge into the fullness of what they can be. If things are not allowed to be, neither am I allowed to be. If I sever my bonds with things by dominating them, I too am diminished. Realizing that human beings and things require and can harmonize with one another is the basis for a respectful and harmonious relationship with our surroundings (Strong 70)”
David’s contribution is in how he illuminates our relationships with things. Whereas Borgmann sees the importance of things as how they interweave means and ends, Strong sees how absolutely integral to our sense of self things are. The self and the thing come into being not independent of each other, but are fully disclosed only when they “arrive on the scene” together. When we equal a thing, we become more, and in putting forth our efforts, the thing comes into its own. In this resonant relationship between people and things that Strong calls correlational coexistence is the core of a reform of the technological narrative. From these relationships we can derive a narrative that expresses our connectivity to a world independent of purely positivist means, and give a fuller expression of the importance of wilderness, community, and the things that challenge and form our sense of self. This way of thinking and being in the world of rich engagements is couched in a correlational narrative.”.
Reforming the Technological Narrative:
Narrative and Values in a World of Things
The discourse over the preservation of wilderness, community, and self that is conducted from the point of view of a correlational narrative by its nature avoids the irony and superficial posturing of the technological narrative. Whereas the technological narrative is concerned chiefly with expressing the significance of things in terms of quantifiable standards such as economic expediency, cost analysis, or inputs and outputs, the correlational narrative is couched in experiential knowledge, and is articulated by showing the importance of things. So, as the technological narrative relies on the “apodictic discourse” which argues, the correlational narrative is a “deictic discourse” which shows. However, it is important to note that to adopt a correlational narrative is not to deny the importance or place of empirical knowledge such as we find in the sciences, but it does mean we must realize that it is limited in what it can disclose to us. I am reminded of a story by John Steinbeck which illuminates this distinction quite elegantly in recounting a scientific expedition on the Sea of Cortez to study the Mexican sierra fish. He writes in The Log from the Sea of Cortez,
“But if the sierra strikes hard so that our hands our burned, if the fish sounds and nearly escapes and finally comes in over the rail, his color pulsing and his tail beating the air, a whole new relational externality has come into being—an entity which is more than the sum of the fish plus the fisherman. The only way to count the spines of the Sierra unaffected by this second relational reality is to sit in a laboratory, open an evil smelling jar, remove a stiff colorless fish from formaldehyde solution, count the spines and write the truth “D.XVII 15-IX.” There you have recorded a reality which cannot be assailed—probably the least important reality concerning the fish or yourself (Steinbeck 2).”
Removing the lifeless fish from the jar of formaldehyde no doubt reveals a fact about that particular fish (the number of spines it has), but it does not and cannot reveal the truth of the thing: its context and resonance withing a larger biotic community; the context of the fisherman and the experience of landing the fish while drifting on the Sea of Cortez. There is an entire reality that lies outside the mere facts about the fish, but which is subordinated by a purely positivist approach.
“Our very being is tied to things in a relationship I call correlational coexistence…Things, allowed their fullness, take into account a world of considerations. Means and ends are interwoven in them, and so too are nature and culture, shared and personal experience…So seen, the depth of things correlates to the complexity of the world. Things are rich in their capacity to reciprocate each and every tie to the world (Strong 68-69).”
Strong’s thinking therefore appears to be very similar to Borgmann’s in that he emphasizes the means/ends split of technological devices and the interweaving of means and ends in things. However, David makes an important contribution to the discourse on things by showing how the relationship between people and things is profoundly reflective—things and humans grow in importance in accordance with each other. He further writes that,
“As people feel, think, act and develop in relation to things, the things themselves are also disclosed in their manifold depths. So, both what people are capable of and what things are capable of are simultaneously disclosed in this relation. Since both human beings and things emerge into being at the same time in this process, and since there is no conflict between the two but actually the two require each other, this symmetrical relationship is a correlational coexistence. By responding to things in their full dimensions, I too emerge in the fullness of my dimensions. If I lack the power to be equal to them, neither do things emerge into the fullness of what they can be. If things are not allowed to be, neither am I allowed to be. If I sever my bonds with things by dominating them, I too am diminished. Realizing that human beings and things require and can harmonize with one another is the basis for a respectful and harmonious relationship with our surroundings (Strong 70)”
David’s contribution is in how he illuminates our relationships with things. Whereas Borgmann sees the importance of things as how they interweave means and ends, Strong sees how absolutely integral to our sense of self things are. The self and the thing come into being not independent of each other, but are fully disclosed only when they “arrive on the scene” together. When we equal a thing, we become more, and in putting forth our efforts, the thing comes into its own. In this resonant relationship between people and things that Strong calls correlational coexistence is the core of a reform of the technological narrative. From these relationships we can derive a narrative that expresses our connectivity to a world independent of purely positivist means, and give a fuller expression of the importance of wilderness, community, and the things that challenge and form our sense of self. This way of thinking and being in the world of rich engagements is couched in a correlational narrative.”.
Reforming the Technological Narrative:
Narrative and Values in a World of Things
The discourse over the preservation of wilderness, community, and self that is conducted from the point of view of a correlational narrative by its nature avoids the irony and superficial posturing of the technological narrative. Whereas the technological narrative is concerned chiefly with expressing the significance of things in terms of quantifiable standards such as economic expediency, cost analysis, or inputs and outputs, the correlational narrative is couched in experiential knowledge, and is articulated by showing the importance of things. So, as the technological narrative relies on the “apodictic discourse” which argues, the correlational narrative is a “deictic discourse” which shows. However, it is important to note that to adopt a correlational narrative is not to deny the importance or place of empirical knowledge such as we find in the sciences, but it does mean we must realize that it is limited in what it can disclose to us. I am reminded of a story by John Steinbeck which illuminates this distinction quite elegantly in recounting a scientific expedition on the Sea of Cortez to study the Mexican sierra fish. He writes in The Log from the Sea of Cortez,
“But if the sierra strikes hard so that our hands our burned, if the fish sounds and nearly escapes and finally comes in over the rail, his color pulsing and his tail beating the air, a whole new relational externality has come into being—an entity which is more than the sum of the fish plus the fisherman. The only way to count the spines of the Sierra unaffected by this second relational reality is to sit in a laboratory, open an evil smelling jar, remove a stiff colorless fish from formaldehyde solution, count the spines and write the truth “D.XVII 15-IX.” There you have recorded a reality which cannot be assailed—probably the least important reality concerning the fish or yourself (Steinbeck 2).”
Removing the lifeless fish from the jar of formaldehyde no doubt reveals a fact about that particular fish (the number of spines it has), but it does not and cannot reveal the truth of the thing: its context and resonance withing a larger biotic community; the context of the fisherman and the experience of landing the fish while drifting on the Sea of Cortez. There is an entire reality that lies outside the mere facts about the fish, but which is subordinated by a purely positivist approach.
Steinbeck’s observation is mirrored by writer Barry Lopez. Lopez frequently accompanies scientific researchers into the field, and writes that in his conversation with these researches he has discovered that,
"The animals they scrutinize may draw them back into an older, more intimate and less rational association with the local landscape. In this frame of mind, they may privately begin to question the methodology of Western science, especially its purported objectivity and its troublesome lack of heart. It may seem to them incapable of addressing questions they intuit are crucial (Lopez 199)."
This is a very good start. If, as a culture we can acknowledge that our methods have failed to account for so many crucial things by their “troublesome lack of heart,” such as our relationship to wilderness and its inhabitants, then we can begin to tell new stories which guide public policy with the same power as scientific data. But to begin this move, we need a new generation of storytellers who can see their own personal experiences in wild places and tie it inextricably to our cultural values, or give us cause to adopt values we have hitherto ignored. If we do finally admit that the truths vital to our happiness are diminished by scientific discourse, then a critical role opens up for other academic disciplines with greater disclosive powers.
Thought of in such disclosive terms, philosophy takes on a new and crucial role under the correlational narrative. For whereas Descartes saw philosophy as a means to forward scientific knowledge and the domination of nature, philosophy under the correlational narrative is a philosophy in the service of things. Philosophy of this sort is evocative of things, and possesses a profound disclosive power. The philosophy of Henry Bugbee beautifully articulates this idea. He writes,
“…my philosophy took shape mainly on foot. It was truly peripatetic, engendered not merely while walking, but through walking that was essentially a meditation of the place. And the balance in which I weighed the ideas I was studying was always that established in the experience of walking in the place. I weighed everything by the measure of the silent presence of things, clarified in the racing clouds, clarified by the cry of hawks, solidified in the presence of rocks, spelled syllable by syllable in waters of manifold voice, and consolidated in the act of taking steps, each step a meditation steeped in reality (Bugbee 139).”
As Bugbee walked, all that he studied, and all the empirical knowledge that reading and lectures imparted to him made sense in light of the things around him. The things themselves disclosed to him what the things he had read and thoughts he had really meant. We see in Bugbee the sort of change in narrative to which I am pointing. In his reflections, we find a philosophy richly evocative of a place, and that elegantly conveys the power of “the silent presence of things.”
The key to adopting a correlational narrative is in realizing our unease with the dominance of technological devices. Martin Heidegger writes,
“The terrifying is unsettling; it places everything outside its own nature. What is it that unsettles and thus terrifies? It shows itself and hides itself in the way in which everything presences, namely, in the fact that despite all conquest of distances the nearness of things remains absent (Heidegger 166).”
Heidegger is speaking of modern technology; not just the ability to “snuff out all life on Earth,” but also the fact that for all our technological advances, and the supposed happiness that goes with it, something is missing—the nearness of meaningful things. Borgmann echoes this sentiment when he writes that the thought of the further dominance of technology is “fraught with misgivings and sorrows, and in these sentiments a genuine alternative quietly asserts itself,” and “a real conversation” can begin over what should be at the center of the good life (Borgmann, CPD 115).”
Technology has its place, as does the empirical knowledge of science, but our unease grows when we think that science and technology under the paradigm of the technological narrative have become the sole possessors of truth to the exclusion of experiential knowledge and correlational narrative. From this unease, we can begin to articulate a new story to live by. Consider the poet’s orientation:
“When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figure, were ranged in columns
before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add,
divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured
with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars. (Whitman 340)”
Unease becomes the salvation. Empiricism counts, but ultimately makes us “tired and sick” with its strangling hold on truth, how we may measure value, and what we may regard as meaningful. Conversely, the correlational narrative settles our unease, ties us to our place, and encourages us to “[look] up in perfect silence at the stars.” The correlational narrative encourages us to turn off the television and rediscover the things at the center of the good life.
Work’s Cited
Borgmann, Albert. Crossing the Postmodern Divide.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992
Borgmann, Albert. Technology and the Character of Contemporary Life: A Philosophical
Inquiry. Chicago, The University of Chicago Press, 1984
Heidegger, Martin. Poetry, Language, Thought.
New York: Harper and Row, 1975
Lopez, Barry. Crossing Open Ground
New York: Vintage Books, 1988
Steinbeck, John. The Log from the Sea of Cortez.
New York: Viking Press, 1971
Strong, David. Crazy Mountains: Learning From Wilderness to Weigh Technology.
Albany: The State University of New York Press, 1995
Whitman, Walt. Leaves of Grass.
New York: The Modern Library, 1993
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