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You Have Not Been Paying Attention

March 20, 2007

In a (simply phenomenal) previously unpublished essay appearing in the Guardian, Susan Sontag “makes a passionate case for the moral superiority of the novel in a mass-media age.”

This is truly essential reading.

In storytelling as practiced by the novelist, there is always – as I have argued – an ethical component. This ethical component is not the truth, as opposed to the falsity of the chronicle. It is the model of completeness, of felt intensity, of enlightenment supplied by the story, and its resolution – which is the opposite of the model of obtuseness, of non-understanding, of passive dismay, and the consequent numbing of feeling, offered by our media-disseminated glut of unending stories.

Television gives us, in an extremely debased and untruthful form, a truth that the novelist is obliged to suppress in the interest of the ethical model of understanding peculiar to the enterprise of fiction: namely, that the characteristic feature of our universe is that many things are happening at the same time. (“Time exists in order that it doesn’t happen all at once … space exists so that it doesn’t all happen to you.”)

To tell a story is to say: this is the important story. It is to reduce the spread and simultaneity of everything to something linear, a path.

To be a moral human being is to pay, be obliged to pay, certain kinds of attention.

When we make moral judgments, we are not just saying that this is better than that. Even more fundamentally, we are saying that this is more important than that. It is to order the overwhelming spread and simultaneity of everything, at the price of ignoring or turning our backs on most of what is happening in the world.

The nature of moral judgments depends on our capacity for paying attention – a capacity that, inevitably, has its limits but whose limits can be stretched. But perhaps the beginning of wisdom, and humility, is to acknowledge, and bow one’s head, before the thought, the devastating thought, of the simultaneity of everything, and the incapacity of our moral understanding – which is also the understanding of the novelist – to take this in.

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2 comments

  1. It’s possible that I’m too dense to understand that chick. And, yet, I find myself nodding.


  2. You may be interested in this Sontag’s “Literature is Freedom,” which is the last thing she published and covers similar themes
    http://winterhouse.com/editions/Pages/sontag.html

    and my post on it:
    http://chekhovsmistress.com/index.php/budparr/article/literature_is_freedom_by_susan_sontag/



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