A disastrous day, saved by Deconstructionism
'How to live happier'; the French philosophy edition.
There we were, salt in our hair and panic in the air. Bright red blood pooled on the floor of the little white boat as we rose and dipped on waves that were a little wilder than expected.
Cut ahead one snapped anchor line, two sunburns and several tense conversations and it’s fair to say the day became something of a comedy of errors, perfectly illustrating just how large the gap between dreams and reality can be.
Hours later, we both uploaded pictures to Instagram, separately yet within minutes of each other. His showed me taking his photo, smiling in front of a glassy teal ocean and brutally blue sky. Mine, taken later that day, featured pastel blue emergency room curtains and a joke about falling off boat ramps.
Both images are as ‘real’ as each other and yet the meaning of the first transforms after seeing the second. Context, some would call it.
The urge is strong to turn this anecdote into a hackneyed reminder that “Instagram isn’t real life!” and if you feel bad about the constant parade of halcyon snaps, don’t worry, other people’s lives are just as crappy as yours sometimes….
And yes, this is true. Yet, what interested me more was the step before this; the way we label one picture as ‘good’ and the other as ‘bad’ so quickly and confidently it’s easy to forget they are just that. Labels.
It seemed so painfully obvious that rough waves, steep learning curves, broken anchors and foiled plans are ‘bad’, it was easy to forget that these events aren’t objectively anything.
Or, to paraphrase Hamlet; nothing is good nor bad but thinking makes it so.
The above is a quote by Shakespeare but was most famously introduced as a concept by the postmodern philosopher Jacques Derrida.
Coined as ‘Deconstructionism’, the French thinker encapsulated the idea in the phrase; ‘Ill n’y a pas de hors-texte’, or “there is nothing outside of the text”.
In other words, nothing exists outside context. For Derrida, everything must be interpreted (or translated) in order to be experienced. And this interpretation is inevitably influenced by a reader’s history, character, environment and community.
While the original line refers to analysing literary works, I’ve found the concept equally helpful in examining what beloved research professor Brene Brown calls “the stories I tell myself” about life.
See, Derrida saw the way humans tended to think according to false dichotomies. Things must be “this” or “that”, “good” or “bad” and because we make these judgements instantly (and often unconsciously), we can miss the fact that this process of interpretation even takes place.
Put another way, we label experiences, people or objects so fast, it seems like it was always there.
Deconstructionism instead challenged people to acknowledge that a text or circumstance doesn’t come with pre-written narratives, meanings or labels but that we add them.
To push this to an extreme, Deconstructionism would suggest there is no such thing as a mug.
Sure, we can look at a hollow china vessel and label it as a mug, but the object itself isn’t inherently that thing.
However, just because something is an interpretation, it can still be true and suitable. If I construe the above object as a cup and use it to drink coffee, yes, it’s an interpretation, but it’s probably a good one.
The issue is that discerning what a ‘good’ interpretation is becomes awfully difficult when faced with something as dynamic and complex as an experience.
What at first can seem clearly undesirable (a failed exam, fiery argument, missed flight, wild waves), could, upon further reflection, be revealed as something that is neither good nor bad but a third, more nuanced thing.
It could be unexpected, challenging, educational or mysterious. Intense, overwhelming, uncomfortable or humbling, or any other feeling that may not be pleasurable or easy but could still be deeply worthwhile or satisfying.
Since becoming aware of my own proclivity towards dichotomy, it’s surprising to see how often it occurs. Dozens of instances accumulate daily; times when I immediately regret or resist something unexpected or uncomfortable without stopping to ask whether there’s another way to interpret it, or quality to find in it.
As someone who loves feeling in control, it’s no surprise that this paradigm offers such deep satisfaction. Decconstructionism recovers a sense of agency when we would otherwise feel like victims to life’s little detours. Instead, we get to choose whether to see something as more than black or white.
Easy to say, harder in practice; partly because our caveman brains are hardwired to see all potential risks as BAD and partly because it can run opposite to how we’re taught to achieve the good life:
‘Good’ experiences (or at least, the ones we collectively define as good) — ‘bad’ experiences = happiness.
It should be repeated that some interpretations are good and true: Harmful or toxic situations should be avoided, not plastered over with positivity.
The challenge, rather, is to see what milder, everyday mishaps and regrets can change shape if given a second look. Whether the things we automatically tag as ‘bad’, may hold a little more colour and a lot more value if we don’t try to shut them down and push them away but instead, act like a writer rather than a reader of the stories we tell ourselves.
So, that’s what I’ve been thinking. Writing into the void can be weird, so, if you’re a fan of the sporadic ramblings, hit the button below and share them with a friend.
Sarah