Live the Extravagant Question
Where to start? It has to be with a discussion I just had with a fellow Johnnie....
This evening a friend of mine, Angela Steinrueck, and her 10-month old little girl, Julia, came over to hang. After Annika dropped into Dreamland, Julia crawled around happily while Angela and I talked. First we forayed into what kind of schooling we've done since St. John's (a Great Books College we both attended). I mentioned that for two brief months I was in Northwestern University's master's program in journalism, and how, though I appreciated the short-lived glimpse into the underbelly of journalism, I left in part because I was appalled that there could even be a serious debate among journalists about professional detachment versus intervention.
For instance: a man gets shot in front of you and there is no one around. What do you, as a professional journalist, do? To me, there is absolutely, and should be absolutely, no question (as I re-read this blog, I recognize the irony of this statement...). You drop your pen and paper, or your Treo and laptop, and help the dying man. But serious journalists debate this point. Many believe journalists are not and should not be in involved in making news, only in reporting it. They argue that a journalist would be breaking her ethical and professional journalistic code if she were to intervene. As these debates raged around me in my Business Law class, my inner jaw dropped. This was clearly not the place for me. Anyone who could actually seriously debate whether to help a dying man or leave him dying and diligently report on the event was not company I wanted to keep.
I explained all this to Angela in that tone of voice and with those facial expressions and gestures that you use with someone whom you know agrees with you completely: the assumption of shared disdain, the presumption of communal contempt.
Except that when I was done, Angela said, Well, I can actually see their point. What if you were on a plane, say, and a man had a heart attack? I can see calling for anyone who knows CPR to come help, while I record what is happening.
This is what I love about St. John's. There, we were taught not to take ideas personally. We were able to discuss potentially explosive topics with cool-headedness and emotional detachment, analyzing the validity and cohesivness of ideas and arguments themselves, and not getting caught up in defensiveness or feelings of insult. Good, solid friends could, and often did, hold staunchly opposing views and debate them vigorously, without the hint of conflict or tension. And here, in my living room, was a microcosmic example of that training.
Angela disagreed almost entirely with my premise, one I had stated with such an assumption of agreement that I was quite surprised at her response, both that she disagreed with me at all (because, really, how could anyone?!) but even more so, that she felt perfectly free to vocalize her position and defend it point by point. We got into a rousing discussion (cut short, alas, by the sleepy whimperings of my little girl, Annika) which I'm sure would have lasted much longer had we had the opportunity.
It was good to have a talk like that. Good to be disagreed with. Good to be surprised by someone's position, in such opposition to mine, and delivered, as Angela delivers absolutely everything, with good-natured, yet unwavering conviction. Or rather, good-natured, yet unwavering questioning. I just realized...When Angela disagrees, she often disagrees with a question. As in, Yes, but can't you imagine a situation in which......or, Yes, but couldn't you look at it this way,.....or, Yes, but what if.....
And here, look. I have stumbled onto the perfect first post for this blog: the beauty of the question, and in this case, of the extravagant question, the "atiprazna." The question that defies as much as it welcomes, that opposes while at the same time, invites. What is more powerful than this? Statement pales and weakens in comparison. There is something irresistible about this kind of question. Something amicably subsersive; something innocently covert. The way roots slowly and quietly break open stone. Or the way runnels of water gently penetrate rock.
What was extravagant about Angela's questioning of my position was how unextravagantly she behaved. How simple. How unencumbered. It is an art to question this way. And Angela is very good at it. We all are at St John's.
Things are different in the "real" world. Extravagant questions are inefficient. It's much easier to take a hammer to the stone, or a drill to the rock. But something critical is lost when statements replace questions in our dialogues with each other.
What's lost is intimacy. We tend to think that intimacy comes from agreement: shared principles or values, common likes or dislikes, similar opinions and interests. In fact, true, deep intimacy is generated when individuals approach each other from within the context of sharing the danger of being put in question.
What I am left with tonight is the challenge and reward of continuing this art in the "real" world -- a world populated by a host of extravagant claims, but precious few extravagant questions.
This evening a friend of mine, Angela Steinrueck, and her 10-month old little girl, Julia, came over to hang. After Annika dropped into Dreamland, Julia crawled around happily while Angela and I talked. First we forayed into what kind of schooling we've done since St. John's (a Great Books College we both attended). I mentioned that for two brief months I was in Northwestern University's master's program in journalism, and how, though I appreciated the short-lived glimpse into the underbelly of journalism, I left in part because I was appalled that there could even be a serious debate among journalists about professional detachment versus intervention.
For instance: a man gets shot in front of you and there is no one around. What do you, as a professional journalist, do? To me, there is absolutely, and should be absolutely, no question (as I re-read this blog, I recognize the irony of this statement...). You drop your pen and paper, or your Treo and laptop, and help the dying man. But serious journalists debate this point. Many believe journalists are not and should not be in involved in making news, only in reporting it. They argue that a journalist would be breaking her ethical and professional journalistic code if she were to intervene. As these debates raged around me in my Business Law class, my inner jaw dropped. This was clearly not the place for me. Anyone who could actually seriously debate whether to help a dying man or leave him dying and diligently report on the event was not company I wanted to keep.
I explained all this to Angela in that tone of voice and with those facial expressions and gestures that you use with someone whom you know agrees with you completely: the assumption of shared disdain, the presumption of communal contempt.
Except that when I was done, Angela said, Well, I can actually see their point. What if you were on a plane, say, and a man had a heart attack? I can see calling for anyone who knows CPR to come help, while I record what is happening.
This is what I love about St. John's. There, we were taught not to take ideas personally. We were able to discuss potentially explosive topics with cool-headedness and emotional detachment, analyzing the validity and cohesivness of ideas and arguments themselves, and not getting caught up in defensiveness or feelings of insult. Good, solid friends could, and often did, hold staunchly opposing views and debate them vigorously, without the hint of conflict or tension. And here, in my living room, was a microcosmic example of that training.
Angela disagreed almost entirely with my premise, one I had stated with such an assumption of agreement that I was quite surprised at her response, both that she disagreed with me at all (because, really, how could anyone?!) but even more so, that she felt perfectly free to vocalize her position and defend it point by point. We got into a rousing discussion (cut short, alas, by the sleepy whimperings of my little girl, Annika) which I'm sure would have lasted much longer had we had the opportunity.
It was good to have a talk like that. Good to be disagreed with. Good to be surprised by someone's position, in such opposition to mine, and delivered, as Angela delivers absolutely everything, with good-natured, yet unwavering conviction. Or rather, good-natured, yet unwavering questioning. I just realized...When Angela disagrees, she often disagrees with a question. As in, Yes, but can't you imagine a situation in which......or, Yes, but couldn't you look at it this way,.....or, Yes, but what if.....
And here, look. I have stumbled onto the perfect first post for this blog: the beauty of the question, and in this case, of the extravagant question, the "atiprazna." The question that defies as much as it welcomes, that opposes while at the same time, invites. What is more powerful than this? Statement pales and weakens in comparison. There is something irresistible about this kind of question. Something amicably subsersive; something innocently covert. The way roots slowly and quietly break open stone. Or the way runnels of water gently penetrate rock.
What was extravagant about Angela's questioning of my position was how unextravagantly she behaved. How simple. How unencumbered. It is an art to question this way. And Angela is very good at it. We all are at St John's.
Things are different in the "real" world. Extravagant questions are inefficient. It's much easier to take a hammer to the stone, or a drill to the rock. But something critical is lost when statements replace questions in our dialogues with each other.
What's lost is intimacy. We tend to think that intimacy comes from agreement: shared principles or values, common likes or dislikes, similar opinions and interests. In fact, true, deep intimacy is generated when individuals approach each other from within the context of sharing the danger of being put in question.
What I am left with tonight is the challenge and reward of continuing this art in the "real" world -- a world populated by a host of extravagant claims, but precious few extravagant questions.
posted by Lorna Johnson at 6:22 PM
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