The Value of Imaginative Thinking

This is where it gets more difficult; if this were a book, I’d have to work everything out beforehand, but it isn’t, it’s a blog, so the characteristics are different. Anyway, I’m not getting b(l)ogged down in that.

Two questions: (i) What is the value of Imaginative Thinking? (henceforth, IT) and, (ii), Do we (should we?) value Imaginative Thinking?

(i) In discussing IT, is the case that that one starts to attribute certain qualities or attributes to IT in order to establish value? This would seem to defeat the purpose; it would suggest that, unless this particular pattern and trajectory is revealed/followed, then what X is engaged in is not IT. Two things are striking here: firstly, this would follow the usual “negative definition” notion, in that, we start by identifying what IT isn’t in order to have an idea of what it is. Secondly, what this kind of argument does is essentially say “Unless your IT does/includes X, Y and Z, then it is not IT”, so what I’m doing is defining what IT is…which contradicts itself. IT is necessarily a different kind of thing for each human person. There are no necessary and sufficient conditions that one can point to in order to say “Yes, this is IT”. What I’m trying to do here is suggest that IT is inclusive rather than exclusive. Put another way, IT bears a direct relation to the the unique personality of the human person. This, however, seems to give too wide – too inclusive – a field. It leaves us with nothing to discuss: each human person can define their thinking as IT without fear of contradiction. Therefore, we need to go back a step to ideas of the human: are there essential characteristics of being human? It is here that we can make progress.

Compare two general notions of moral thinking. On the one hand, we have Western Philosophy, based on Plato and Aristotle. The “starting point” here seems to be that our moral behaviour must be guided/instructed by rules (in order for it to count as “moral behaviour”). The assumption is made that the human person is ‘naturally’ selfish, self-centred, with no sense of connection to community, therefore, must be forced into developing such a sense. This, generally, facilitates a rather cynical perspective on what it means to be human.

On the other hand, we have the Chinese view, what I’d call the Confucian view (although my understanding of this may be wrong – my understanding is self-read). This is the idea that human persons are good, have a sense of their connectedness with community, and that their moral behaviour is guided by their desire to find opportunities to express this good. This is to say that moral behaviour is that behaviour which provides a sense of good, defined as connection with our community.

Now, whilst I realise this is probably a simplistic reading, it does illustrate the fundamental difference between the two: the Western approach posits the idea of rules to ensure “good behaviour”, whereas the Chinese does not. Put another way, the latter does not start from a position of dis/mistrust (which, interestingly, is something built into business practice).

Where does this attitude come from? Why is it so entrenched in Western society that people argue that it is ‘natural’, part of “human nature”? Well, we might begin by looking at the structure of our narratives; myths, legends and folktales for example. These revolve around the idea of single, central character who is, in some sense, opposed by others. Narratives often begin with an act of deception or betrayal. Narratives are designed as warnings, particularly for women – of the sort “Do as you’re told or things will go badly for you”. This is, of course, when young men are not being warned of the deceptive ‘nature’ of women. In the standard format, we accompany the ‘hero’ on their journey, to their moment of triumph against others. Conflicts arise for a variety of reasons: spite; vendettas; revenge; economic gain; perceived slurs. From myth, legend and folktale, we learn the structure of narrative, a structure we then build into the stories we tell others, and into the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves. Thus, from an early age conflict with others is an expectation, a foregone conclusion of living as part of a community.

Capitalism formalises this into an ideology – admittedly with a few additions. However, this is fundamentally the “business model” on which capitalism trades. Unity and co-operation are not ‘natural’, the individual must strive against these to ‘succeed’.

What’s fascinating is that we are prepared to dismiss myths, legends and folktales as products of superstition, devised to explain events – quite often natural phenomena – that occurred before science was sufficiently developed. Anthropologists will link ideas and events in previous ‘civilisations’ in order to explain this or that myth or legend. They examine the structures and sociopolitical dynamics that gave rise to X, Y or Z.

This is what Machiavelli does in regard to religion and its ideological position in supporting aristocratic rule (an idea which is later refined by Marx). He (correctly) identifies the notion of a ‘God’ as being absurd, but an extremely useful sleight of hand in maintaining rulers’ power: There is an ‘entity’, unseen and lacking any physical evidence of existence, that can know all you think, and see all your actions, that will then sit in judgement on you (the ways of this judgement, and its punishments, being remarkably human in their execution).

What is puzzling is why this kind of analysis is not applied to the role of narrative in capitalist ideology: the veneration of the individual, the positing of competition as being ‘natural’, conflict with others as being part of “human nature”. Is it because this indoctrination begins at such an early age that we cannot see it for what it is?