A Question of Balance

“Justice in the life and conduct of the State is possible only as first it resides in the hearts and souls of the citizens.”

-Plato

            I am a citizen of the floating world.  Our world is becoming lighter and “floatier” each day.  This concept is enchanting, yet dangerous.  As Plato describes above, believing in a larger entity that promulgates ideology must be founded on the ethical principles of its citizens.  To be a citizen in a floating world means eschewing traps, binaries, pitfalls of stereotype, to be considerate of those around you, and ultimately means you believe you can change.  All of the books we read this semester spoke to these themes, yet two of them, Kazuo Ishiguro’s An Artist of the Floating World, and Salman Rushdie’s East, West, conveyed these prerequisites for “floating world” citizenship most clearly to me.

            For the last five years, I have worked at CAVE (Chico State’s largest volunteer organization).  When I entered college, I hated community service; I had always been forced to do something I did not want to do, even if its aims were earnest and guileless.  Much the same as Kazuo’s main character Ono in his novel, I learned from retrospect that I could learn to like something I previously had not.  Ono is an artist-turned-propagandist for the Japanese war effort during World War II.  By the end of the novel, he is a somewhat defeated man, yet learns from hindsight that we sometimes fail to grasp the beauties of the “other”.  Ono himself begins to change his mind about the new “American” way that proliferated soon after the end of the war: “Our nation…has now another chance to make a better go of things.  One can only wish these young people well” (206).  While it is too late for Ono to make a difference as he had during the war, he demonstrates that an old dog can learn new tricks.  His hesitation and contempt for Western ideals wrought his ruin, but yet brought so much hope to his own younger progeny.

            We do live in a time of great hope and despair.  The more participative we are, however, the more likely we are to make a difference.  Further, choosing to participate in a meaningful way means we are more likely to make a positive difference.  That same element of Hestia vs. Icarus rings true: where we travel we should bring some of our home, and when we return home we should bring our travels in too. 

People have pointed to America’s love of “things” as a shepherd of greed and avarice.  While the acquisition of “things” does not necessarily equate to happiness, being a citizen of the world means knowing what “things” carry the most value; further, one must ask the question if the “thing” that is valued is indeed a “thing” at all: it may be a memory, belief, or even a single word.  We buy our loved ones presents to show our love, instead of learning to show our love through the creation of positive experience and building a solid foundation of mutual love and understanding.  Salman Rushdie speaks to this anti-materialism in his short story “At the Auction of the Ruby Slippers.”  The main character pines after his estranged love, Gale.  Gale is particularly moved by a Martian’s renditions of songs that speak to going home from “The Wizard of Oz.”  The protagonist then hatches the scheme to buy Dorothy’s ruby red slippers as a way to win back Gale, rather than really understanding what it is particularly that moves Gale to tears.  He endures immense psychological pain during the day of the auction: “Today, however, I am bidding—perhaps literally—for myself” (101).  He ends up losing the auction, but again, learning his lesson he decides that “things” create fictions, and “fictions…are dangerous” (102).  Ultimately, Rushdie is a purist.  He tries to attach as little meaning to words as possible, yet does not deny their significance. 

As a citizen must be of the floating world, he/she must constantly assess his/her actions and words so as to be respectful, yet curious.  The floating citizen’s mind must be flexible and avoid binaries, as described in Robert Burton’s handbook Artists of the Floating World.  “Words are carriers of cultural meaning” (132), is an appropriate quotation when analyzing Burton’s first prerequisite of the citizenship of the floating world: “to be a citizen of the floating world is to make ethical choices when framing our understanding of the world…” (121).  Both Rushdie and Ono blurred the line of being ethical in pursuing their various works, but both do epitomize the dangers and disdain that being a citizen of the floating world breeds.

Being a citizen of the floating world takes great caution.  There are a variety of aspects one must balance: wary choice of language, respect, and a bit of adventure, all while remaining grounded in one’s home.  Ishiguro and Rushdie taught me the beauties of “other” or “subaltern” viewpoints.  We must constantly float, because life stuck on the ground is dull; we must constantly stay down to earth, because life constantly flying is chaotic.  As with anything in life, it all comes to a question of balance…