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Confessions of an Ironic Structuralist

Confessions of an Ironic Structuralist

Last updated on: December 5, 2019 at 6:26 pm by Chase Padusniak

Confessions of an Ironic Structuralist 2019-12-05T18:26:03-04:00 Chase Padusniak

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This may all sound very abstract, but it has pragmatic dimensions. If you, for whatever reason, decide you hate “hipsters” (not that that term means much anymore, if it ever did), and you see a guy with a beard, a beanie, a flannel shirt, and a PBR backpack sitting atop a fixie, you’re going to make lot of assumptions. Many Wes Anderson fans think of themselves as “quirky.” Many of them love May and relished Daria when they were younger. If you find out someone likes one, and presents other obvious signs, you can infer they like the rest. Dudes who wear tweed, smoke pipes, and have beards tend to like Lewis and Tolkien. This all can become very practical very fast; each of us does this sort of sorting every day. When you develop it as a kind of critical skill, however, it can overtake you; you can become something of a structuralist or poststructuralist in your very relationships. The worst part: it’s effective! People who use the term “Bernie Bro” do typically have a certain politics and set of cultural concerns. Dudes who listen to Chapo Trap House really do dissent from many Left-Liberal orthodoxies. The pull is strong when the method works.

You judge books; you judge them by their covers. Everything becomes oh so predictable.

The internet and its ironies exacerbate this process. Many pieces exist decrying how the internet separates us rather than bringing us together. That is probably, on the whole, true. But what I mean is more contextual: I am a PhD student at a secular university; I am also Catholic. This means towing two often distinct lines; it means playing up this part of my identity here and that part there. It also inflates the ever-present narcissism of small differences. This extends to internet interactions quite quickly. Ironic codes of belonging sneak in. I had originally striven for a Simone-Weil like openness in the face of difference, a kind of constant and abiding respect for the other; now I could barely stand a word or two on Twitter without giving in to my worst (or at least worse) instincts.

A brief example might help to illustrate things: my fiancée and I play World of Warcraft Classic, a video game in which you team up with other people to accomplish various goals. One night we grouped with a gregarious woman and a quieter one. As time went on, it seemed like maybe the more vocal of the two and I had a lot to disagree about (over the course of an hour she’d said a lot that lil ole structuralist me could’ve made many inferences about). Because we were united in purpose, however, and because I couldn’t see her physically, I had already warmed to her by the time any of this became clear. And so, I didn’t run away; I stayed put and had a good time.

This is not some post about how we, divided Americans, need to overcome our differences and become one nation under God again. I’m not much sold on the American project, nor do I think my previous openness could really be perfected until tempered with understanding cynicism. I still wish to aspire to Simone Weil’s openness, to the welcoming and humble spirit showcased by Christ. I want to turn the other cheek.

But you can only love your enemy if you know who your enemies are. And, while I may not yet have it all figured out, I can now say I try to locate people’s needs, desires, and wants in the excess that makes them human; I sing with Hopkins the ballad of the tortured soul. I also sit and listen:

Soul, self; come, poor Jackself, I do advise
You, jaded, let be; call off thoughts awhile
Elsewhere; leave comfort root-room; let joy size
At God knows when to God knows what; whose smile
‘s not wrung, see you; unforeseen times rather — as skies
Betweenpie mountains — lights a lovely mile.
(“My own heart let me more have pity on”)

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