The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
—Walt Whitman
Previous installments in this series:
- Remembering the Future — Part I: Introduction
- Remembering the Future — Part II: The Future Will Come
- Remembering the Future — Part II: The Future Will Come (cont.)
As we know from studies in physics, the state of a given system at any time—past, present, or future—can be predicted accurately by the system’s immediately preceding state. No further historical knowledge is needed. This predictive capacity relies on the principle of causality, assumed to be a fundamental feature of nature. Some philosophers refer to causality as, “the principle of sufficient reason”—a term attributed to the German polymath Gottfried Wilhelm Leibnitz.
Anecdotally, the principle of sufficient reason raises one of the most profound questions in philosophy: the question of determinism. The reason it is profound is this: if we assume an unbroken chain of causality linking all events with prior causes, then there appears to be no possibility of free will. I may discuss determinism in a future post, but for the time being I’ll proceed under (and concede the problematic nature of) the assumption that we, human beings, may shape the future by making freely chosen actions in the present.
We may fairly—and naively—wonder what we can choose to do in the present to usher in a better future. Alas, when most people consider such questions, they tend to skip over (or take from others as given) defining precisely what makes some futures better than others. “Better” implies a value judgment—in philosophical terms, a normative judgment. For better or worse (ha!), all value judgments are subjective. Any given future may be considered as good, bad, better, best, or worst, when viewed from different perspectives.
Given the above, and in remembering that the future is shaped by the present, a good place to start (that is, before choosing what to do in the present) is to decide—each of us according to our own values—what we consider to be a better future. One way to do so is by putting together a code of ethics. A code of ethics is a list detailing one’s moral principles. It is perfectly fair to keep your code of ethics to yourself, or perhaps to make public only some portions of it if you hope to influence others to adopt some of the principles you hold. (For example, I chose to post my photographic statement of ethics on my website, and I invite you to consider it.)
Writing down your code of ethics has these benefits: it helps you identify inconsistencies and contradictions that may exist in your moral framework, and it may help you consider your justifications for your beliefs and identify areas that may be resting on shaky assumptions or axioms and perhaps worth re-examining. (This is the approach Nietzsche referred to as, “philosophizing with a hammer.”)
Once you are satisfied you have solid and defensible set of moral principles to guide your life and your work by—and assuming you are diligent in adhering to them—you may fairly say that your choices are conducive to a better (by your definition) future. Also, if you choose to make at least some of your moral principles public, where they kay sway others to adopt them, then your contribution to a better future may be multiplied.
Another way in which we as artists may work to bring about a better future is by committing to be creative (i.e., original, innovative, rather than repetitive or closely-derivative) and self-expressive in our work. It’s not hard to make the case that if you want to make an artistic, photographic contribution to the future, you should do something beyond just repeating what has already been done by others.
Too many times, I’ve heard photographers rationalizing making more cover versions of the same styles, locations, subjects, even exact compositions of images already done before (sometimes literally millions of times), quipping, “everything has already been photographed.” I don’t think this is true. In fact, I don’t think this has ever been true or ever will be true. If it were true, it would mean that human creativity has come to an end. I’ve been immersed in photography for many years. I have seen and continue to see countless photographs almost every day. And, almost every day, when I take the time to survey the pages and feeds of creative photographers, I see things I have never seen before.
Self-expression is defined as the expression of one’s own personality and individual traits, which each of us has—even though in this world of technology-enforced, intensified, conformity-inducing socializing, some may become reluctant to nurture and accept their individual differences. This is doubly unfortunate.
One reason is that conformity denies the future things that perhaps only you may contribute to it. As Martha Graham put it, “There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it.”
But the second is considerably more unfortunate: it denies you spending your own future in the most meaningful way available to you: as your true, authentic self. It is one thing (and in some cases, a prudent thing) to present a mask to the world, but it is another thing to convince yourself that the mask is you. Of all the ways open to you to unmask yourself, self-expressive art is among the safest, most accessible, and most satisfying. This is true if only because art is by nature ambiguous and you may hold onto your mask while still allowing your true self to express itself, for your own edification.
The more you strive to express your own unique self—who you are, what you are feeling and thinking, your inner experiences—the more likely you are to create and to contribute something to the future that would not even exist if it was not for you. But you must make the choice to resist the temptation to copy others and to conform with others, and to resist the seductive ease of making photographs just by following directions and formulas. No doubt, such photographs may be very beautiful and popular, perhaps even lucrative, but they are not creative or expressive. They add very little to the world and to the future. If you wish to leave a meaningful photographic legacy for the future, challenge yourself to do things that others haven’t already done. Find it in yourself to believe, as Diane Arbus put it, that “there are things nobody would see if I did not photograph them.”
Continue to Remembering the Future — Part III: The Future is Shaped by the Present (cont.)
