Dear Sam

Goldfish and turtles get flushed down drains, hamsters get placed outside. Goldfish and turtles come back to us? Sewer-monsters:

 

Hamsters come back? Feral beasts, ala David Foster Wallace’s future in Infinite Jest:
 

 

A few weeks ago, I put my hamster, Sam (originally named Tullis, then named Martin, then named Sam)--named after the Sam in Brazil:

 

and the Sam in Moon:

 

--out to pasture, so to speak, i.e., I took him and his Tupperware palace and set them outside, back behind my apartment. I didn’t exactly feel very good about it at the time, and don’t exactly feel good about it now, but probably not for the reasons you think.

Here’s the story I’ve been telling myself for the past few weeks: Sam’d been fighting frantically all morning, the Day Of, to escape from his Tupperware palace, reaching new levels of what smacked an awful lot like desperation. (At one point, I watched Sam climb to the top of this cardboard cylinder, the highest point in the palace grounds, which I’d never seen him do before, and then fall into the thing--and it’s thick and there’s no way he could’ve gotten out of it if I hadn’t been there.) Sam had also been on what seemed a lot like a death-march (think of that scene in Night by Elie Wiesel, but without any Nazis pointing any guns at anybody) for the previous day and a half, in which Sam not only didn’t appear to ever stop running on his little treadmill, the treadmill which I’d gotten him a few weeks prior, but also seemed to be intentionally trying to concuss himself on the thing (with each revolution, Sam would smack his little head on this little bar that holds his little treadmill in place: SAD!).

Back on the Day Of, I had just gotten done eating breakfast, having had witnessed Sam’s desperate activities while I ate my morning cereal and read my morning fiction, when I finally broke. I told myself, “There’s no way I can watch this sh*t for another two plus years!” I then proceeded to address Sam, “You really want to be free that bad? Fine, let’s go, buddy-boy!” And so I went out back behind my apartment, to my mockery of a yard, to look for a new place to put Sam’s Tupperware palace; a more free place for my buddy, Sam. There, I found the neighbor’s cat, Triton--

 

--who’s apparently capable of peering into my soul and accessing my deepest and darkest thoughts, waiting for me; so, I waited until Triton seemed to have gone away before taking Sam and his Tupperware palace and setting them up outside in such a way that Sam would have access to freedom, food, and a little protection from cats, like Triton.

Later on the Day Of, I went to check up on Sam and couldn’t find him. And I felt pretty bad, and still do, but not because I’d probably just sacrificed Sam to a cruel death in the claws of nature/Triton. No, not because of what I did, but because of how/why I did it; because my “Sam wants to be free; I can’t possibly make Sam’s situation any better; I can’t watch Sam’s struggle for another two plus years!” may have been an example of what the German critical-theorist Theodor Adorno--

 

--called “the ideological misuse of ones own existence.”

Somewhere in Minima Moralia, Adorno advises us, “To deny oneself the ideological misuse of one’s own existence, and for the rest to conduct oneself in private as modestly, unobtrusively and unpretentiously as is required, no longer by good upbringing, but by the shame of still having air to breathe in hell”. Now, skipping over the possibility that Adorno thinks we’re all living in hell and that the deepest/hottest part of hell is Southern California--

 

--that’s right, So-Cal (Adorno spent some time there during WW 2), what does it mean “to deny oneself the ideological misuse of one’s own existence”? Well, first off, the phrase “ideological misuse” seems to imply that there are right and wrong ways to use ideology, right? Right. But then, what the hell’s ideology?

Back when I initially read Minima Moralia, I had little/no idea what Adorno meant by the word ideology. What I did know was that I thought that what he said sounded scary/cool and probably meant something important, i.e., equally scary/cool. I read Adorno’s History and Freedom lectures this past year. There he clearly defines what he means by ideology as any claim about existence to the effect of “Such and Such is the case” (I can’t find the citation). Why is any such claim ideological? Because it creates a relationship between an idea--Such-and-Such--and a logic--a system of meaning (a network of actions, behaviors, and habits, ala language)--in which, if it’s lived by, the logic continually reinforces the apparent truth of the idea, which, so strengthened, serves to continue to justify the logic, ad infinitum. That’s ideology, in a nut shell.

Here’s an example of what I’m talking about. Take the claim, “We’re all going to die.” It’s got an idea (death) and a logic (it’s inevitable, we’re all gonn’a kick it someday, so...), which, once they’ve been put together, and if they’re actually lived by, will form a couple that perpetually reinforce each other. One example, and there are many, of what it means to actually live this ideology is Keith Richards:

 

Keith Richards probably tells himself/thinks (or probably told himself/thought, when he was younger), “We’re all going to die, so, we might as well do whatever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want to! LONG LIVE Her Majesty, THE QUEEN!!!” (or something like that). Such a claim/thought has got an idea (death) and a logic (it’s inevitable, so, f*ck it!) that, together, serve to reinforce the apparent truth of the idea--K-Rich should’ve died decades ago, and if he had, his idea would’ve been proven true--as well as the sense of the logic--there’s a man who really lived, right? Right...

For Adorno, ideology is any claim about Such-and-Such being the case insofar as any/all such claims create a combination between an idea and a logic that, if actually lived by, will make that idea seem more true, which in turn will serve to reinforce the apparent sense of the logic, which will in turn, ad infinitum. Make sense? If not...

That’s right, sh*t. If you’re having trouble understanding what I mean, here are some more popular examples of ideology, claims like “Life isn’t fair,” “All men are created equal,” “All you need is love,” “That’s just The Game,” “Economy’s in the crapper,” or “It’s important to get an education.” Each such claim, insofar as it is actually lived by (regardless of whether or not you, in particular, actually agree with it), creates a relationship between an idea and a logic that will continually serve to reinforce the apparent truth of both. That’s ideology, in a nut shell.       
         If you don’t yet have a decent hold on what I think Adorno means by ideology, then see the above picture of what may/may not be a human turd (it does look a little oily, though, doesn’t it?). If you do have a decent hold, which is my hope, then what’s the difference between a right and wrong use of ideology? Here’s my best guess, and it’s basically something I don’t have the time/knowledge to support with Adorno’s text itself, and so may be something that I’m totally making up on the spot: The wrong use of ideology, i.e., an ideological misuse of one’s own existence, is any ideology which seeks to efface the role the subject, i.e. the person actually making and/or living by the ideological claim, plays in its apparent truth and sense; the right use of ideology, conversely, is one which does not efface the role we play in creating and reinforcing its truth/sense. For example, if I’m Omar--

 

--from HBO’s The Wire, and I say “It’s all in The Game” or “The Game’s the Game” or “The Game’s being played, and it’s either play or be played,” or some variation thereon, and do not acknowledge and own my own role in perpetuating The Game, then I’m guilty of an ideological misuse of my own existence. If, on the other hand, I’m Omar and I say something like “Yeah, The Game’s The Game... But it most-definitely can’t be played without yours truly...,” then I’m not guilty of the wrong use of ideology. So what’s the difference? Well, when we abuse or misuse ideology, we speak/think/act as if we’re powerless and passive non-agents, and wind up unconsciously reinforcing the apparent truth of situations--ideas and logics in living-motion--that we claim to be able to do nothing about; when we use ideology rightly or properly, we speak/think/act as if we’re powerful and active agents, becoming capable of consciously reinforcing (or not) the apparent truth of situations that we’re knowingly complicit in and about which we think we can do something. This, to me, seems like the difference between the right and wrong uses of ideology. If you have a better/different understanding, please let me know, I’m mostly ears...
   

Let’s see whether or not I was guilty of an improper use of ideology, which was what I suspected and why I felt bad back on the Day Of my putting Sam out to pasture, so to speak. Back on the Day Of, I made a number of claims, thought a number of things, and acted accordingly. First, I told myself that Sam was desperate, wanted to escape, wanted to be free. Second, I told myself that I’d already given him everything he could possibly want, like the treadmill that he was trying to kill himself on and the ball that enabled him to roam around my apartment freely, -ish. Third, I told myself I couldn’t bear to watch Sam be desperate for at least two more years (which is about the average life-span of a hamster).

Let’s start with the first claim: Sam wanted to be free. Does making such a claim turn me into a passive non-agent, setting up a dynamic in which I unconsciously reinforce the apparent truth of the situation? Not necessarily. It’s ideology, sure, but I’d be the first to admit that it’s definitely my perspective on Sam that makes such a claim appear to be true. What about the second, that I’d already given Sam everything he could possibly want? This seems to be the sort of claim that conceals a number of things, things that I could’ve done if I’d wanted to make Sam’s life better, things like getting him a bigger Tupperware palace, getting him more toys, perhaps buying him a companion (supposedly Russian Dwarf hamsters, like Sam, really enjoy company, at least that’s what the gal at the pet store told me...), etc., i.e., things which I actually didn’t want to do. Smells like an ideological misuse of my own existence, perhaps... What about the third claim? That there’s no way I’d be able to stomach Sam’s desperation for the rest of his life. This claim doesn’t seem like the sort of claim that hides my ability to do something about it or that blindly reinforces itself, so...

My misuse of ideology, if it occurred, occurred/occurs within the second claim, where I know damn well that I didn’t do all I could possibly do to make Sam’s life one that he didn’t want to escape from, but where I told myself otherwise, hence why I felt bad. That’s it, that’s why I felt bad, that’s why I feel bad: I was guilty of a misuse of ideology. So, what’s the truth that my misuse of ideology covered over? Like any such abuse, it involved the abdication of my complicity in the situation: Had I wanted to do otherwise, I could have. But I didn’t actually want to do anything more for Sam than I’d already done. Why not? Well, I wasn’t about to give Sam a bigger home in my already cramped apartment, or companions to play with, or any such thing. Sam was and will remain an equal parts cruel and brilliant white-elephant present (thanks for Sam, Tullis) that I tried to make the best of/for, but for which I just couldn’t go past a certain point, which I’d apparently reached on the Day Of...

Now, if you’re reading this and want to reproach me for the actions I took back on the Day Of, reproach me for the following: There is and there will always be a limit to my goodness, a limit which I occasionally try and/or get pushed to move (thanks again, Tullis), but which seems to remain nonetheless. If this last little admission is not an ideological claim, maybe even my own personal ideological claim par excellance, a claim vulnerable to extreme right and wrong uses, I claim which I both do and do not feel bad for making in the past, present and future, I don’t know what is... Again, if you want to reproach me, reproach me for this.

And Sam,
Watching you leave the confines of your Tupperware palace for the first time, watching you explore my back yard for the few moments that I could bear it, knowing full well that you were probably going to be subjected to a cruel death in the claws of Triton/Nature as soon as I left you, well...