The essence of power is the ability to influence or control. In the realm of our personal, individual identities, it is debatable whether or not we reign with unchallenged power. Study Posthumanism, and it becomes plausible that individual identity is an amalgamation in which the collective consciousness, the reality dictated by society, holds most of the power.
For all our talk on identity, however, this would mean that we have no solid identity, but that it is in constant motion at every second or thought that we entertain, with every encounter we have with a fellow citizen, with every word we absorb in or out of context. It is similar to Jenny Edbauer’s description of cities as rhetorical systems, before she further complicates it with Syverson’s field of distribution.
“Though cities are indeed sites (or can even be described in terms of borders, boundaries, and containers), Amin and Thrift suggest that these sites… are sustained by the amalgam of processes, which can be described in ecological terms of varying intensities of encounters and interactions – much like a weather system” (Edbauer 12).
Edbauer, Jenny. “Unframing Models of Public Distribution: From Rhetorical Situation to Rhetorical Ecologies.” Rhetoric Society Quarterly. 35:4 (Fall 2005), 5-24
It is the process of movement within the city that keeps the city afloat, especially imports and exports that pass through to keep the workers alive, happy, and motivated to keep the city running. Such is the form of identity; while true the mind cannot perform without proper engagement with the other minds / cities / society around it, it is how those external factors nourish the internal ones that determine its function. The city is different at any given moment because the state of its citizens (ideas) are acting differently at any given moment, and the goods passing in and out (rhetorical action) vary in intensity and nature at any given moment. And, just like a real city, all of these things can either wear down or build up that mind, and impact its engagement with the cities around it that make up its (somewhat personal) United States of Reality. If the processes were to stop function, if it became static, then that mind is no longer a rhetorical being.
However, there’s a monkey wrench in the details that prevents absolute harmony of the details to become a singular identity that remains consistent at any given time. Let me offer an anecdote. I was having a discussion with someone the other day on a topic they disagreed with immensely. These were not static identities, standing firm in their ideology as one might believe at first glance, because that would have to discount the mysterious human factor that makes the complete definition of oneself impossible: “feeling.” Her feeling went through three separate, yet conjoined, processes, which I could chart well enough based on the fact that they involved me. The first, she did not expect me in particular to hold a certain viewpoint, which altered her position to be slightly more hostile out of disappointment and denial. The second was the strength of her own opinions that have been influenced by external events portrayed in the media and on campus. The third was her frustration that my argument made as much sense as hers, which she felt as a personal threat on her identity. These had nothing to do with the topic at hand, but how her identity changed from the disruption feeling had on behavior, an instantaneous series of ripples at different parts of the pond that became more and more active and formed a new identity with each stone tossed. And, consequently, changed the relationship between our two cities in the process, though for better or worse is difficult to say in this age. The only thing that is certain is that we both involved ourselves in mutual rhetorical practice, and were different people at every step.
“Practice includes what the human operator consciously knows but also involves the operator’s body, its senses, and, as we shall see, many other elements not typically associated with what we account for in practice” (Boyle 28).
Boyle, Casey. “Rhetorical Ecologies of Posthuman Practice.” Rhetoric as a Posthuman Practice. Columbus, OH: The Ohio State University Press, 2018. 27-59
I fervently believe that abstract instinct, “feeling,” which determines mood and behavior and interest all on an unexpected whim, is one of the most significant factors in rhetorical practice. It is the body’s last defense in protecting its city, asserting that the individual still holds power over the mind, not the collective nor any other outside city. Feeling is, then, an entirely humanist quality; our mind’s immune system.
“Before setting out, Crake had stuck a needle in Jimmy’s arm – an all-purpose, short-term vaccine he’d cooked himself. The pleeblands, he said, were a giant Petri dish: a lot of guck and contagious plasm got spread around there. If you grew up surrounded by it you were more or less immune” (Atwood 287).
Atwood, Margaret Eleanor. Oryx and Crake. Anchor Books, 2004.
I will end with this small observation, though, having read the book, we know it is Crake’s vaccines that are more important in the grand scheme of things. But, applying it to my theory on feelings and power, and considering Jimmy has never been to the pleeblands up to this point, there is a predicament to cut up and let stew for a while.
Jimmy accepts Crake’s assessment of a place outside his own (a city, perhaps), as well as his solution to its problems in the vaccine. It is to prevent Jimmy becoming part of the collective of the pleeblands, infected as they all were. So Jimmy takes the vaccine, and determines to remain his own uninfected individual self. However, by doing so, he becomes Crake’s collective instead. Either way, his individuality in this situation is lost, which gives me cause to ponder if “feeling” might be something other than our last-minute struggle for individuality, our mind’s immune system. Instead, feelings might serve as society’s vaccine on our minds, to distract us with the satisfaction that our cities are functioning independently without letting on that we’ve already been invaded, and unconsciously stripped of our power.
Morning's Early Dark 