Why do we study? It sounds like a general existential inquiry of the nonsensical kind, granted, but what really is the end goal of studying…well, anything?
Let me lay out a slab of feminism on the board for a second. It is a cut just like every other cut of philosophy, with its goals and a type of person who fits the mold in practicing towards those goals. That would be, in many circles but not all, the promotion of women among men to equal status and consideration. But why study it, if it is mostly concerned with putting philosophy into practice? Lucie Irigaray, quoted by Judith Butler, explains the process of “‘reopening’ the figures of philosophical discourse”:
“Interrogate the conditions under which systematicity itself is possible: what the coherence of the discursive utterance conceals of the conditions under which it is produced, whatever it may say about these conditions in discourse. For example the ‘matter’ from which the speaking subject draws nourishment in order to produce itself, to reproduce itself” (Butler 3).
Butler, Judith. “Bodies that Matter.” Bodies that Matter. New York: Routledge, 1993. 3-27
Her description of this “matter” as heavily reliant on scenography leads me to believe that we can consider that matter as the posthuman rhetorical study, and the “speaker” as the representation of discourse in a pragmatic or practical situation that furthers the philosophy. The speaker exists completely apart from the matter, yet the matter cannot exist without the speaker (quite ironic, being called “matter”).
So why study feminism? Does studying it, nourishing and developing the philosophy, do anything for it as “matter?” I do not think so.
The “speaker” that must act to further any philosophical matter is an entirely humanist event. Butler responds to Irigaray by considering the female body, and ponders, “If everything is discourse, what happens to the body?…Does anything matter in or for post-structuralism?” (Butler 4). In reality, the body and discourse are not the same, by virtue of the former being post-human, and the latter being humanist. Discourse can be used by the body, naturally, but it cannot exist without the body. The body, committing action in the material world, forms the discourse, and proceeds towards the goal regardless of the depth of that discourse.
The same can be said of feminism; as the world ages, feminism’s goal becomes closer, regardless of discourse. As much as people like to harp on how terrible these times are, every year is considerably better for humanity as a whole. Maturity is a byproduct of aging.
“I sometimes wondered whether what I was actually examining was a tragic narrative—one that ended not with the emancipation to which Anthony and Willard aspired but with women relegated to the passenger seats of automobiles, which overtook bicycles in popularity in the first years of the twentieth century” (Hallenbeck 12).
Hallenbeck, Sarah. “Toward a Posthuman Perspective: Feminist Rhetorical Methodologies and Everyday Practices.” Advances in the History of Rhetoric. 15:1, 2012. 9-27. Downloaded from http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/15362426.2012.657044
This is but one tasting sample of many cases, in which external factors impeded or progressed the post-human discourse, the study. Feminism received a blow, according to feminism, despite the conveniences this gave women then and especially now.
This is the nature of study, or “matter.” When I ask why we study, I am not questioning the general feeling or the philosophy behind a movement or group. I am questioning the actual impact of academic scrutiny, when, in fact, the scrutiny is strictly post-human. Study renders the groups of people into numbers, into recipes that are filled up with a specific number of ingredients, set apart from the external forces that record their development. It does not affect those results hardly at all, unless dulled down for nonacademic entertainment.
Events, on the other hand, the “speaker,” are entirely humanist. Not only that, but the events that move them are entirely out of post-humanist academia’s control; they can only provide a brief snapshot, to record the under-cooked meat before it’s put back in the oven. The success of the bicycle did not come about because of feminist study or a desire to advance the feminist good, but practical value and emotional fulfillment.
“Everywhere I found narratives of women who felt transformed by their experiences aboard the bicycle—women who suddenly saw themselves as capable of feats they had not imagined and who acted on their newfound confidence…In addition, these tragic and heroic narratives of women’s rhetorical action tended to place the woman rhetor against her world rather than within it. ” (Hallenbeck 12).
Hallenbeck, Sarah. “Toward a Posthuman Perspective: Feminist Rhetorical Methodologies and Everyday Practices.” Advances in the History of Rhetoric. 15:1, 2012. 9-27. Downloaded from http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/15362426.2012.65704
Rhetorical action and literal action are, of course, different, and largely different effects. Cars rose to prominence, first because of social class and appearance (still technically emotional fulfillment), and later because of practical value that superseded the bicycle. They were a literal boon to all of American society, yet considered the downfall of the bicycle as a vehicle (hoit-ho) for female empowerment. It is a contradicting view, but only the positive half is seriously considered by a pragmatic, literal human.
But this does not change the order of things; the study of the bicycle craze for feminism did not further feminism, since the car put an end to that. Rather, it was the value those bicycles gave to a woman’s desires that gave them their rhetorical power. Consequently, women did not stop riding bicycles when cars came around, but the feminist study moved on, chalking it up as a loss. The post-humanist and the humanist resolutions, at the end of this event, differed.
Despite dealing in post-human terms, study always comes from humanist intent. That’s how it survives the next earth-shaking event or cultural deconstruction; the creators have crafted their theories to adapt. A proper allegory would be the adaption of Crake’s Children during a storm:
“He wonders how Crake’s Children are getting along, back at the shore. Too bad for Crake if the living results of all his theories are whirled away into the sky or swept out to sea on a big wave. But that won’t happen: in case of high seas, the breakwaters formed by fallen rubble will protect them. As for the twisters, they’ve weathered one of those before. They’ll retreat into the central cavern in the jumble of concrete blocks they call their thunder home and wait it out” (Atwood 236).
Atwood, Margaret Eleanor. Oryx and Crake. Anchor Books, 2004.
The theorists know that their theories will be dashed by the rising tide, so they’ve specifically given them the ability to float. That is why apparent contradictions come later, that is why factions of a certain philosophy arise, and that is why the study itself will never reach its end goal. The study must always continue, must become self-sustaining, for the sake of itself. Not born from chance is that part of its post-humanist nature.
Every philosophy, feminism included, finds its main goal furthered, not by intensive study in a post-human realm, but by major events made real by people with a more personal, humanist motivation. The study always comes after, and is deconstructed by the next major event that comes along for that particular philosophy. It cannot be helped, after all; not even humanity can predict or control the humanist events that force progress or digress. It is the nature of an unpredictable world made up of unpredictable individuals.
My initial question was never over the existence of study, you see, only one of its value. It has simply been my experience that the more times you pull a steak out of the oven to inspect it, the longer it takes to cook. That is all.
Morning's Early Dark 