Author: Brand Smit

WEDNESDAY, 1 OCTOBER 2003

Identity is like an external logo (or collection of badges) that we carry around and display in order to show others who we are. Identity also helps us understand the relationship between us and our environment and everything and everyone that is part of it. What we are, on the other hand, goes much deeper than who we are. I furthermore believe identity is a survival mechanism that our species have developed in the process of evolution, because earlier mechanisms that had the same function as identity today have to a large extent become obsolete.

Each one of us can run down a whole list of things that can convince everyone who wanted to know that I am not Ronald Reagan, and you’re probably not Napoleon Bonaparte. We have names, nationalities, possibly occupations, home phone numbers, cell phone numbers, identity numbers, passport numbers, credit card numbers, addresses, blood types, almae matres, memories of high school, interests, favourite vacation spots, ambitions and dreams … just to name a few. But none of these things, or all of them thrown together, is more than just information about us.

A plant, no matter how deep its roots go into the soil, is not the soil. The plant remains a plant, and the soil remains soil. Our identities may be somewhat similar. The plant needs the soil in order to survive in the garden. We – flesh-and-blood, mentally alert, animated creatures – need identity to survive, in the first place, and beyond that, to function properly in the environment where our lives are being played out. All the elements from which an individual identity is compiled are bigger than just the individual and his or her identity: language, nationality, ancestors, history and so forth. The way an individual extracts – as it were – elements of identity from their environment, is thus, in a sense, similar to a plant that extracts nutrients from the soil in order to survive.

If formulating your true identity is not the end goal, what is? A preliminary response seems to be “place in the world”. No human being can find or define their place in the world without first sorting out who they are in relation to everything around them. Identity is the means to this end.

Why do we want to know where we our “place in the world” is or where we “belong”?

All signs indicate that a tensionless condition is the primary aim of all organisms – including human beings. As we all know, there are more things that cause tension in our lives than we can list in one lifetime. There are things that threaten our physical existence; things that threaten our psychological well-being; the primal fear of disappearing into the nothingness the day we die. Then there’s the cacophony of languages, cultures, subcultures and other differences between us that almost makes one think it must be a miracle that we do not slaughter one another for the sake of our own survival … or rather, that it doesn’t happen more than is already the case. The primary aim of a tensionless condition manifests itself in the desire to feel safe, in the strong urge to protect ourselves.

One relatively effective way to protect ourselves, to feel a little safer, and to feel somewhat better about the possibility of disappearance, is to be around others “like you”. This principle is as old as life itself, and it manifests itself in nationalism, religion, blood is thicker than water, friendships, subcultures, the way wild animals of the same species cluster together, and the barking of dogs in the night.

The need for safety stimulates the need for belonging. In order to develop a sense of belonging we need information about ourselves – hence the search for identity.

The problem is that this “search for identity” is often a lengthy process, and the desire for security – like the reasons to fear for our lives – cannot wait until you’re able to shout your real name from the rooftops.

What on earth can help to make this process less traumatic, to relieve your anxiety if you don’t quite know yet who you are and where you fit in? In other words, what can stifle your anxiety while you are still “looking” for yourself and your place in the world? The answer is as close as the nearest wallet full of bank notes: MONEY.

Why does money – or to have access to more than enough money – make you feel better if you are unsure of your identity? Money reduces the necessity for (well-defined) identity because it satisfies to a significant extent the original need for a sense of personal safety and security. Money buys food, clothing, a roof over your head and doors and gates with latches and locks; money buys the services of a dentist when your teeth ache, help from doctors if something else is wrong, and it buys medicine when you’re sick, and a bed in a good hospital in more severe cases; money buys entertainment, companionship, and in more cases than many will admit, it is also conducive to the development of friendships. To have access to sufficient capital in the long term, is to know that all of the above is available when needed; knowing that all of the above is available when needed, is to feel safe.

Does that mean the richer the guy is, the less he needs to know about himself? Not necessarily. The richer the man, the better the possibility that he will feel his existence, for now, is more entrenched than that of the homeless guy in the sewer. And the better he feels about his chances of survival, the less urgent the need for alternative measures to achieve a sense of security – namely the belief that he belongs somewhere, with someone or a group of people. Appearing outside the comfort and protection of his inner sanctum may reduce his sense of security, which will stimulate the need to show where and how he belongs – that he is [X] in an environment where most people have some understanding of what [X] means. Of course, money will prove to be particularly useful in the acquisition of appropriate (and in many cases pre-packaged) Badges of Identity – widely available on the Internet, from mail order catalogues, or from a choice of conveniently located and gleaming shopping malls.

Whatever the difference between the child of wealth and the children of the rest of society when it comes to identity, nothing changes the fact that, even if you can write a book about your own identity and your personal agenda in this world, it still does not encompass the whole truth about what you are.

In terms of matter, you are so many pounds of meat, so many litres of blood and so many metres of skin. And do you really need scientists to show you to what extent you’re the same as a dog or a baboon?

The question of WHO you are, is as practical as the correct wrench in a workshop: It serves a purpose, and the purpose is a sense of personal security.

WHAT you are, is more difficult to grasp. If we are just so much flesh and blood and skin and bones less or more than our pets, with (most of the time) a brain that is more developed, then even I must consider whether I’m wasting my time doing what I do. Then it makes perfect sense to shamelessly chase after money and grab as much cash as we can for no reason other than the security, entertainment, comfort and convenience it can buy.

So what, one must eventually also ask, if we are only so many pounds of meat and bone more or less than a wild animal, and nothing more? Or is the fact that our brains are so much more developed, so important that similarities in biological composition between humans and other “less developed” life forms really does not matter outside the laboratory?

Another question: How does it affect our ambitions, our view of society, our dreams for the future, our hopes for the next generation, were we to believe that nothing lies beyond our physical existence, if the meaning of life and definitions for good and evil must be found within what we think and feel and experience – individually, and as individuals in community with others who have similar experiences? And how does it change the subject if it would seem – beyond a reasonable doubt – that our more developed brains are an indication that humans are part of something that stretches beyond what includes giraffes and cockroaches and spiders?

______________________

TUESDAY, 30 SEPTEMBER 2003

While walking out of the Carrefour this evening with more cheap VCDs and two boxes of cereal, the idea formed in my head that I am to a great extent an unhappy person. Like everyone I have my better moments, but to be honest, I’ve been miserable since I finished high school (even that phase of my life wasn’t exactly a hedonistic hell ride). It shouldn’t come as too much of a shock for you as reader by now, and it was certainly no secret to myself.

The reason for my continued wretchedness is simple to pin down, since I spend most of my days and nights in deep contemplation looking for causes for just such dilemmas. I find it difficult, even impossible, to commit myself to the mainstream of life (or then, my caricature of the so-called mainstream) within which most of my contemporaries live out their existence.

Why this lack of enthusiasm? Long story short, I believe death is always imminent. And because of the shadows cast by my former beliefs I also believe that when you stand in front of the Gates of Heaven and Hell, you will be asked to explain what you have done with your life.

If you answered that you had a good job and had been an asset to the company, the response will, in my opinion, be that it’s not good enough. If you continue by adding that you were also involved in an intimate relationship, and that your relationship was a beautiful example to other people, the answer might spark a smile, but not much more. The initial reactions might make you nervous, and you might modify your story as a result. You could say that you and your partner had already produced a little descendant, and a second one was on its way. “Congratulations!” the Gatekeeper might say, “But please continue.”

If, on the other hand, so I believe, you were in a position to say, “I wrote a book about the meaning of life, and I felt really miserable most of the time,” you may just have half a chance of a place in paradise.

* * *

Here I am, then, with a bowl of fresh cereal, scribbling more notes about my miserable existence, searching for better answers about the purpose and meaning of my life than the ones I’ve already formulated.

The fact that I vacated the apartment I had lived in for 56 months at exactly 16:39 this afternoon doesn’t fill me with how I imagine an acid trip would feel like. I feel somewhat lost. And the cockroaches in my new headquarters are not conducive to a better mood. The dark green sheet I’ve draped in front of my living room windows also seems to have an unpleasant effect on me – an awareness of intense isolation.

Despite all this, I cling to the belief that a new phase of my life is ahead of me. I am indeed currently considering a transformation of my whole being – a complete metamorphosis. I’m fed up with being miserable. I’m fed up with not “knowing”. I’m tired of floating around like a charred piece of newspaper at a Saturday afternoon braai. I am even getting very dissatisfied with my current financial situation. I’m also tired of cockroaches, damp floors, air pollution, broken washing machines, toilets where the ring and the lid are different, equally nefarious colours, and of bathtubs just big enough to squeeze my big toe in.

I plan to finish this writing project and then to qualify myself as … an accountant. I would be unrecognisable to friend, foe and family. I will wear an expensive suit to the office, and a luxury watch will dangle off my left wrist. On my feet I will sport the best quality shoes – with socks. And I will drive a car, and occupy a new house – without cockroaches, in the right part of town.

Do I plan to sell out? Definitely. I plan to do everything in my power to renounce my current beliefs. I will do my best to cultivate shame for my years of poverty and creative ambitions. I will burn all my notebooks. I will never own a pen again, unless it’s a gold pen gifted to me by a company for years of faithful service. I will work late every night in desperate hope of promotion. I’ll get married and have two children, but I won’t even touch a lawnmower because it will be beneath my new status.

I will be a poster boy for perfect happiness. And I will forget that there was ever a time in my life that I didn’t “know”, or that I tried to “understand”.

At this point, I have to interrupt myself, though. My laundry needs hanging out, and I have to go to the 7-Eleven to buy cockroach traps. And after this latest eruption my notebook is getting dangerously close to its final page. Plus, I definitely need a new pen …

______________________

TUESDAY, 30 SEPTEMBER 2003

So I was thinking, I stayed in Number 15 for 56 months, of course I’m going to feel a little lost now that I no longer belong there. And I don’t really feel as if I belong here … in Benevolent Light. Then I realized I don’t have much of a choice: Eventually I would have to buy my own house or apartment where I will know I belong.

The next thought almost immediately shoved the previous one aside: One cannot place so much value on physical address as your “place in the world”. Why not? As a principle, it can’t be applied universally and across all historical periods of human habitation on this planet!

Our earliest ancestors were unfamiliar with the concept of private property. They constantly moved from one place to the next. Every time the seasons changed or animals moved to greener pastures, they allowed the fire to burn out in their cave, perhaps gave their charcoal drawings on the walls a final glance, made sure all the older people and all the children were on tow, and then they started walking. And each individual member must have had a sense of how and where they belonged, did they not? What would have given them a sense that is more or less similar to the feeling that modern individuals have when they know they are where they “belong”?

The answer lies in relationships, in community with others.

Every time our ancestors tightened their furs and gripped their spears, they travelled in groups. There were husbands and wives, children, brothers and sisters, and maybe even a few cousins. The relationships that each individual had with the other – confirmed by daily contact – gave them a sense that they belonged to something bigger than themselves. What they had was a mobile foundation of membership and belonging.

If, during the current period of my life, I was involved in an intimate relationship, the change of address would have had a significantly less erosive impact on my “sense of belonging”. Why? Because the relationship would have given me a stronger foundation than physical address.

However, location still matters, doesn’t it? Even if I were involved in an intimate relationship with the love of my life, it wouldn’t be the same to live in Moscow than to live in, say, Pretoria or Johannesburg. Where she comes from and where I come from will of course also play a role. If she was a born and bred Muscovite she would certainly have felt more at home in Moscow than me, and I would have felt more at home in … well, any of the places in South Africa where I have fixed my pictures to a bedroom wall.

Environment and physical address do play a role in the extent to which you feel you belong. But I believe that relationships – close, meaningful relationships – play a more significant role, and provide a more solid foundation.

* * *

Relationships are institutions to which you belong. Examples that will illustrate this point include Romeo and Juliet, Spice Girl and Soccer Player, the Pope and the Catholic Church, Brand and his Apartment …

Romeo and Juliet is more than just Romeo, or just Juliet. Being in a relationship gives you a more concrete sense of belonging and identity than being alone. It’s one of the reasons why people feel so lost and vulnerable when a relationship comes to an end; when the institution that made you part of something bigger than just you, crumbles.

Of course, family relationships also provide you with a sense of belonging and identity. Why do I have pictures of my family on my wall? Because the pictures are visible symbols of membership to something bigger than the single me. Friendships also count under this classification. In an intimate relationship with another adult person, however, you experience a more tangible and definitive confirmation of belonging to something larger than just the single you.

The same value that the pictures on my walls provide, can also be found in rings exchanged at a wedding ceremony, photographs carried around in purses and wallets, and various other articles that might not mean anything to someone else, but for the two people who share an intimate partnership, these articles are symbols of their mutual recognition of membership.

To conclude: 1) Relationships – and especially for the adult person, intimate relationships – are institutions to which the individual belongs. 2) These institutions are not limited to a physical location, and are present wherever the person finds him- or herself (if not always in physical terms, certainly in ways that affect how the person feels and thinks). 3) These institutions are larger than the single individual, and contribute strongly to the consciousness that a person has of his or her place in the world.

Finally, I can only speculate what difference it would have made to my life here in Taiwan if “home” was here. Suppose my parents, my two sisters, my brothers-in-law, uncles and aunts, and cousins all resided on this piece of earth, would it still feel like I’m in exile? Would I still have clung so resolutely to the concept of SOUTH AFRICA AS HOME?

Certainly there will be people who will take a different position on this point, who will talk about culture and landscape and climate and things like that. It’s true that I miss the mountains, the sea, the wide open spaces, supermarkets where people speak Zulu and Sotho and Afrikaans, where you can buy biltong and milk tart with the same ease as you can buy bottled kimchi or rice wine in this part of the world. But all these things are salt without savour if you’re missing the main ingredient of meaningful personal relationships in your life.

______________________