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Couples are boring, everyone knows it.
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Kalevi Kull's graduation address
Tartu
June 18, 2013
Dear friends, graduates, academic colleagues, ladies and gentlemen!
It is a bit paradoxical what is going on here, isn’t it?
Isn’t it paradoxical, that what you’ve done every day in the university — the permanent work of learning, of acquiring knowledge, of solving problems in order to understand, of sensefulness — ends up here with something that does not carry in itself any knowledge or analytic description of something in the world.
The study ends up just with a sign of the study. The event here is just a symbol.
However, Juri Lotman had this to say about symbols:
“we have seen how the symbol serves as a condensed programme for the creative process. The subsequent development of a plot [ — your further life, dear graduates] is merely the unfolding of a symbol’s hidden possibilities. A symbol is a profound coding mechanism, a special kind of ‘textual gene’. [...] One and the same primary symbol can be developed into different plots, and the actual process of this development is irreversible and unpredictable [...].”
Jesper Hoffmeyer has added: “I more and more see ‘signs’ as glimpses — they come, they exert their effects and they become extinct in the very process of acting.”
The grand process of culture lives its life from millennia to millennia, it is both the same and changing from one era to the next. Sometimes it goes through great changes, like the turn from the era of progress, or modernity, to the era of perfection, or after-modernity — as it happens in these decades.
Progress is based on the drive of non-understanding, whereas perfection, on the contrary, is itself the process of understanding.
Each of us, as a young intellect, grows through the stages that resemble the development of culture itself.
Science is always simultaneously both old and young, in flower and in bud, in fruit and in embryo.
Dear graduates, non-understanding, with the whole era of modernity, is done for now. You’ve stepped into the era of perfection.
“What has no end, has no meaning”, says Lotman.
Life in the university is happy not only because it is wonderful to become smarter, but also because (paradoxically) its end — today — is happy.
Isn’t it wonderful to live in the understanding of what it is to live and to understand?
Vivat, crescat floreat alma mater.
Thank you. Congratulations. Palju õnne. Tänan.
http://www.artandesignews.com/nautilus-giant-seashell-house/
A western diamondback rattlesnake (Earth Unplugged - BBC Earth)
Montana Salvoni (2012)
While great improvements in habitat design have brought more comfort to animals on display in zoos worldwide, the focus of most renovations has been to enhance the spatial, visual, auditory, and sometimes chemical resemblance of the exhibit to its occupant’s…
Hahahahahahahahah look at how this ridiculous hipster has to write the word mainstream as, “mainstream” bahahahahahahahaha what a ridiculous fucking hipster
stimulating semiosis: animal interpretation in environmental enrichment
Montana Salvoni (2012)
While great improvements in habitat design have brought more comfort to animals on display in zoos worldwide, the focus of most renovations has been to enhance the spatial, visual, auditory, and sometimes chemical resemblance of the exhibit to its occupant’s natural habitat. Efforts focused the physical imitation of wild habitats have neglected the importance of dynamism—opportunities to confront and interpret unexpected stimuli and situations—that is as much a part of many animals’ adaptive environments as the trees and rock and birds. Even in the now “mainstream” field of environmental enrichment, efforts focus on static elements of animal habitats or one-time alterations to routines (Ben-Ari 2001: 173). These admirable endeavors still fail to offer sustained stimulation of individual animals’ interpretive abilities, and thus the persistent problem of “boredom” remains unsolved. Recently, efforts have begun to remedy such oversights, and a few zoos have already implemented a broad range of changes which attempt to respect and provide for the semiosic as well as biological needs of their animal residents. But such progressive attitudes toward animals as interpreting subjects with a genuine need for novelty and variation remains the exception, while researchers and keepers alike continue to express inexplicable surprise upon discovery of captive animals’ preference for novelty and challenge.
Enrichment
“Until the 70's and 80's, most zoos housed animals in bare, barred cages and ignored the crushing boredom that caused big-brained animals like primates, big cats and elephants to twitch, bob their heads or groom obsessively, or sit motionless, seemingly defeated.” (Stewart 2002)
Luckily, for most captive animals this is no longer an acceptable lifestyle. Zoos around the world are coming more to resemble condensed samples of the most diverse habitats on earth, catering to the unique needs of their animal inhabitants, rather than displaying animals in circus-like amusement-parks focused on human entertainment. Along with a prominent revolution in physical habitat design, researchers are starting to incorporate elements of animals’ wild environments which provide less tangible benefits to promote well-being (Stewart 2002). Kathy Carlstead provides Hawaiian honeycreepers at the Honolulu Zoo with flowers and live insects. The results have been, apparently, surprising:
Despite the plentiful supply of nectar available from a feeder in their cage, the birds seem to enjoy extracting nectar from the flowers. And instead of just eating their usual daily bowl of fly larvae, the birds hunt down and catch fruit flies that Carlstead raises for them. (Ben-Ari 2001: 172)
Carlstead’s experiment resulted in the goal of all environmental enrichment programs: “[the birds’] behavior became very diverse” (Kathy Carlstead, qtd. in Ben-Ari 2001: 174). What is more surprising than the honeycreepers’ apparent preference for an engaging and challenging activity is the researchers’ surprise at this response. The tone of amazement to be found in similar reports indicates assumptions about animal capacities that, despite recent innovations and improvements in captive habitats, still prevents their keepers from fully meeting the needs of animals for whom “physiological and psychological welfare may be inextricably linked” (Van Metter et al. 2008: 8). While mainstream life-sciences may just now be coming to embrace the reality of animal psychology and subjectivity, it is a topic that zoosemiotics has addressed for decades. When Elia Ben-Ari states “the importance of providing animals with an ever-changing or rotating array of stimuli and behavioral opportunities” (Ben-Ari 2001: 174), she is attending to the interpretive capacity of animals that zoosemiotics has insisted on since its inception.
Discussions within environmental enrichment research of the importance of novelty highlights the most specifically semiotic aspect of captive animals’ comprehensive needs. The importance of variation among stimulus objects, feeding methods, and in daily routines, indicates something that Aleksi Turovski, and before him Heine Hediger, knew almost instinctively: animals have a psychological need to interpret the world around them (Hediger 1968; Turovski 2000). In Turovski’s words, “all forms of animal life are united semiotically by the need for impression” (Turovski 2000: 384). For captive animals, opportunities to respond to novel and unexpected stimuli provide for what might be termed an animal’s semiosic needs. Creating a “natural” environment in captivity is the ostensible goal at most zoos, but this requires more than the construction of an elaborate, static stage on which an animal can be expected to perform “species appropriate behaviors” (Van Metter et al. 2008: 7). A wild environment is dynamic, and presents its living inhabitants with conditions at once habitual and, to varying degrees, unpredictable. Animals have adapted to survive and flourish in environments where actions are not pre-determined by an unchanging routine of occurrences. They are not born into their habitats with a set of pre-programmed responses to unvarying and predictable stimuli, intolerant or unaware of everything outside the range of their familiarity. If this were true, captivity itself would be untenable. Studies of captive animals’ responses to environmental enrichment demonstrate that they are not only capable of interpreting novel stimuli and incorporating them into their perceptive and behavioral repertoires, but that they need to do so in order to exhibit the signs of physiological and psychological well-being (Ben-Ari 2001; Van Metter et al. 2008; Carlstead 1991; Vargas and Anderson 1999; Shepherdson et al. 1998).
The Novel and the Natural
An important question provoked by environmental enrichment research is whether “novel” outweighs “natural” in determining the benefit of stimuli and activity to captive animals. Debates about what extent zoos should take the imperative of “natural” to are heated, especially when it is a question of “letting nature take its course” that leads to the preventable death of an animal or its young (see, for instance, Madrid 2011; and Purvis 2008). As in other areas of semiotic research, zoosemiotics offers a possible approach to such problems in which the question of what is natural versus what is unnatural is eclipsed by its focus on the animal as an interpreter of its environment. By analyzing environmental enrichment programs from the perspective of the interpretive opportunities they provide for individual animals, rather than making value judgments based on the naturalness of a distinctly artificial environment, such efforts can be judged according to their efficacy and ethical responsibility toward the animals they are meant to benefit.
“[T]he methods and reasons for implementing enrichment, as well as assessments of its effectiveness, may be as varied as the animal subjects of enrichment studies themselves” (Van Metter et al. 2008: 7), however, they generally include efforts that can be categorized according to the element of the captive habitat that they are intended to augment. Below are presented three examples of enrichment, each focusing on a different aspect of the captive environment: in the first, enrichment involves increased types or amounts of stimuli to which species are particularly receptive, based on their species-specific perceptive capacities; second, examples of experimental feeding methods aim to encourage species-appropriate behaviors and reduce stereotypy; and third, activities that are designed to relieve boredom and expose animals to a wider range of inter-specific interaction. The focus of this overview will not be on the “naturalness” or species-appropriateness of the enrichment, though the latter is an important factor in designing enrichment programs, but rather on the interpretive opportunities provided by specific enrichment and how animal responses to them highlight previously neglected semiosic needs.
Stimuli ∙ The flowers and live fruit flies that Kathy Carlstead provides for honeycreepers is one of many examples of enrichment that introduces stimuli found in a species’ wild environment to their captive habitats. Other instances of this particular type of enrichment involve the highly successful introduction of prey-animal scents, especially blood and feces, to carnivore habitats (Van Metter et al. 2008; Carlstead 1991; Vargas and Anderson 1999), which encourages hunting behaviors that may be further augmented by feeding methods (see below). Stimulating a predator with the scent of prey is fairly straightforward and unsurprising, but similar excitement has been produced by smells that would never occur naturally in an animal’s wild environment:
Everyone knows that cats love catnip—but cats are also drawn to cumin, nutmeg, and other spices. “I’ve seen jaguars rolling in nutmeg to the point that they were more yellow than black…I saw the same jaguar get all drooly about cumin.” (Jill Mellen, qtd. in Ben-Ari 2001: 174)
In this example, the question of naturalness seems obviously secondary to the animal’s apparent engagement with—even enjoyment of—the spice smells. A similar conclusion has been drawn in regard to primates at the Philadelphia Zoo, who were given “busy boxes” designed as toys for human infants but which proved equally interesting to red-bellied tamarins. Despite not occurring in animals’ wild environments, the introduction of these stimuli did not provoke fear or other negative responses but rather curiosity, engagement, and a reduction in stereotypical behaviors and lethargy (Ben-Ari 2001: 176). Similar positive effects have been observed after the introduction of other “unnatural” stimulus objects, like beer kegs and cardboard boxes, to lion, tiger, and bear habitats (Van Metter et al. 2008; Stewart 2002; Carlstead 1991). Key to the success of this and, as we will see, all kinds of enrichment, is variation and novelty:
…after a while the animals were no longer engaged by the toys. But… “if you put something different in the animal’s cage they get interested in that too.” (Renner, qtd. in Ben-Ari 2001: 176)
These environmental enrichment experiments, and others like them, demonstrate that stimuli found in an animal’s wild environment is neither the only appropriate, nor even the most beneficial, addition to their captive habitats. Novelty and variation appear to be equally important, for an animal will eventually become habituated, or bored with a stimulus, just as we would expect a human to. This supports Turovski’s insistence that animals have a semiosic need for impression—opportunities to interpret novel and varied stimuli and situations. Animals need not only to be embedded comfortably in their traditional environments, but to be given the opportunity to actively interact with them by responding to new and unexpected stimuli.
Feeding ∙ In a survey of sixty-seven zoos, 83% reported feeding their bears only once per day, usually depositing the food in a pile in the animal’s holding area. Similar methods are the norm for most zoo animals, but feeding activities offer some of the most obvious opportunities to enrich animal environments and stimulate complex and varied behaviors. At many zoos, this has led to the introduction of live food that carnivores may stalk and catch, like black-footed ferrets who hunt live hamsters at mealtime (Vargas and Anderson 1999: 263). Some species eating habits are likely to be off-putting to zoo visitors, and so researchers and keepers have introduced alternative activities that simulate the experience of wild feeding without the risk of offending those who “get all bent out of shape by a tiger eating a carcass, even though its natural in the wild” (Lattis, qtd. in Stewart 2002). Tigers at the Bronx Zoo engage in simulated hunting, in which “the animals hunt for the sources of dung and blood smells and pull on balls attached to powerful springs, to mimic the experience of dragging freshly killed prey” (Stewart 2002). Again, the positive response of tigers to this abstract hunt indicates their ability to incorporate novel stimuli and behaviors into their routines, and to respond positively to objects and situations that may (to their human keepers) mimic nature, but which are certainly not “natural”.
Emphasizing the necessity of novelty is Carlstead, Seidensticker, and Baldwin’s comparative study of feeding methods. In the habitats of three captive bears of different species, the researchers experimented with three novel varieties of feeding methods and analyzed the influences of each method on the bears’ activity. Their findings indicated a striking reduction in stereotypy only in correlation to the feeding method in which food is scattered and hidden around the bears’ exhibits, encouraging foraging behavior (Carlstead et al., 1991: 14). Altering the feeding structure to include multiple daily feedings, as well as installing a mechanical feeding device operating at irregular intervals “recognizes the high motivation of bears to feed, but for the bear these means of acquiring food are not behavior-contingent” (Carlstead et al., 1991: 13). This study again highlights the importance of providing interpretive opportunities for captive animals, for while the other experimental feeding methods provided one-time novelty, the effectiveness of the method that initiates foraging in the bears stimulates a complex interaction with the environment:
Foraging behavior is strongly controlled by the stimuli in an animal’s environment. While searching for food there is an interdependency between the stimuli an animal encounters in its environment and the behavior and the consequences of its behavior. (Carlstead et al., 1991: 13)
This stimulus-behavior feedback, in which bears are observed to modify their behavior in response to changes in environmental stimuli, provides precisely that kind of interpretive opportunity which satisfies what Turovski referred to as the semiotic need for impression. For the bears in this study, searching for food in hidden places not only reduces the prevalence of stress indicators, but also presents opportunities for food objects and hiding places to be tailored to the unique foraging abilities of different bear species. The great effectiveness of this feeding technique in reducing undesirable stereotypic behaviors speaks to the importance of meeting the semiosic as well as physiological needs of animals, and it is a clear indication that there is more to the significance of feeding than nutrition.
Activity ∙ For animals in captivity, opportunities and motivation for physical activity may be seriously reduced compared to their wild counterparts. In order to address this, zoos may incorporate multiple levels and different types of spaces in their habitats to encourage movement and exploration (Van Metter et al. 2008; Ben-Ari 2001; Carlstead et al. 1991), others take animals for walks around the facilities and even rotate the location of their exhibits periodically (Nolan 2011: 1271), and some zoos have implemented complex exercise regimens as part of general enrichment programs (Yeates 2008: 1). The effects of specially designed exercise regimens have not been widely studied, but improvements in the physical health of animals engaging in such programs has been observed by keepers and researchers (Yeates 2008: 6; Ben-Ari 2001: 174). This type of enrichment leads directly to the question of training as an appropriate stimulating activity for captive animals, which often provokes a negative response from both animal-rights activists (who, to be fair, generally disapprove of zoos in the first place) (see Animal Rights Uncompromised, n.d.; Ember, n.d.; and Panaman 2008) as well as those who insist on a naturalistic approach to animal captivity (Carlstead et al. 1991: 13). Too often, it is assumed that there is no distinction between training, which can provide engaging stimulation for captive animals and enhances their bonds with handlers and researchers, and performance, which exploits animals’ abilities for human amusement. When the question is not one of human entertainment, but of animal enrichment and quality of life, the discussion takes on a more nuanced tone. “Although perhaps more controversial than other approaches, training can also provide opportunities for enrichment” (Ben-Ari 2001: 174). Though comparative research on trained and un-trained captive animals is lacking, professionals have noted a difference in some species, among which trained individuals “seem much more attuned to their environment and are more active” than their untrained counterparts, even when living in the same facility (Ben-Ari 2001: 174).
Training is doubtlessly among the most stimulating inter-specific semiotic interaction captive animals may engage in, and the novel scenarios animals find themselves in can offer a uniquely complex series of interpretive opportunities (Ben-Ari 2001: 174). Heine Hediger stressed the importance of training, not only for the safety and engagement of the animals, but for the invaluable insights that it offers trainers and researchers into the minds of captive animals (Hediger 1968). The goal for many zoos today, as the Central Park Zoo’s animal curator puts it, is to “get inside animals’ brains” (Dr. Don Moore, qtd. in Stewart 2002), not only to satisfy human curiosity but in order to make their captive lives more rich, comfortable, and rewarding (Stewart 2002; Ben-Ari 2001: 177). Training presents an opportunity for communication between captive animals and humans that may not occur regularly in wild environments, but which should not be discarded as a form of enrichment so long as it respects animals unique needs and is intended to improve their lives, both in the short term and as a result of greater human understanding of their perceptions and behaviors.
Prospects for Zoosemiotics
Resistance to conclusions about animals’ semiosic needs is evident even in the literature on environmental enrichment. In their paper that analyzes the effects of stimulus objects on captive lions and tigers, Van Metter, Harriger, and Bolen make the enigmatic statement that, “If enrichment is to improve psychological well-being via the reduction of ethological needs…then its positive effects must continue even when the animal is not exposed to the enrichment item” (Van Metter et al. 2008: 14). It is as though they expect the one-time exposure to a novel stimulus to flip some switch in the animal’s brain that forever improves its mental health. Their conclusion, “that on-going enrichment may be necessary to maintain behavioral gains,” seems at once stingy and obvious. But it does underscore the significance of a dynamic environment rather than one that only resembles nature physically, and the researchers recommend a range of stimuli to further enrich the big cats’ environments—from food-stuffs that fully engage carnivore jaws and teeth, to multi-level habitats and “opportunities for olfactory stimulation with both familiar and novel scents” (Van Metter et al. 2008: 15, italics mine).
Providing captive animals with species-appropriate physical habitats is extremely important to their comfort and well-being, and renovations to static elements of artificial environments have made a dramatic difference in the experience of both the animals and their human visitors (Stewart 2002). Environmental enrichment programs aim to build on the success of such renovations to address the persistent problem of boredom, which manifests itself in lethargy, stereotypical behaviors, and sometimes physiological detriments to animals’ well-being (Van Metter et al. 2008: 8; Ben-Ari 2001: 173; Carlstead et al. 1991: 3). What environmental enrichment research demonstrates, more than almost anything else, is the need animals have to be exposed to novel and varied stimuli in order to exercise their full range of capacities, which includes interpretive abilities:
“I don’t think you can sit back any longer and say that animals are going to be content or in a state of good well-being if you just supply their basic needs—their food and a clean, healthy environment,” Shepherdson says. “It’s absolutely clear…that animals need more than that.” (Shepherdson qtd. in Ben-Ari 2001: 173)
The something more that they need was anticipated by Heine Hediger, whose writings had a decisive influence on zoo biology as well as zoosemiotics. With the development of environmental enrichment programs that aim “to improve the psychological and physiological well-being of captive animals by providing environmental stimuli that help meet the animals’ behavioral and psychological needs” (Ben-Ari 2001: 172), there is a great opportunity for these two fields that claim Hediger as a founding father to come together and share knowledge and methods for investigation. The semiosic capacity of animals has been the subject of zoosemiotics proper since Thomas Sebeok founded the study in the 1960s, but it has remained a fringe topic even in fields where those capacities are most on display to human observers. The research being done in zoosemiotics already could be of great value to the discourse of environmental enrichment, both in its focus on animal communication and Umwelt, and in the broader ethical and philosophical questions surrounding zoos and captivity in general (see, for instance, Mäekivi et al., Forthcoming). Zoos themselves offer a unique opportunity to observe and engage with a huge number of different species, and are thus a great potential laboratory for zoosemiotic research itself. Developments in environmental enrichment, and the growing push to institutionalize and mandate it in accredited zoos (Ben-Ari 2001: 175) has created an occasion for zoosemiotics to contribute to a highly visible area of research, while also taking advantage of the close observation and, perhaps, experimentation opportunities at hand in the zoo environment.
It is unfortunate that various ideological and practical obstacles have kept the living conditions of captive animals fairly dismal for most of human history, but changes in attitudes and assumptions about animal’s minds are slowly generating improvements. Greater understanding and respect for the semiotic capabilities and needs of animals creates opportunities for zoo animals to live richer lives, and for zoosemiotics to contribute more visibly to both public and academic discourse about animals.
Works Cited
"Animal Rights Uncompromised: Zoos." www.peta.org. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Web. 20 Apr. 2012. <http://www.peta.org/about/why-peta/zoos.aspx>.
Ben-Ari, Elia T. "What's New at the Zoo?" BioScience 51.3 (2001): 172-77. Print.
Carlstead, Kathy, John Seidensticker, and Robert Baldwin. "Environmental Enrichment for Zoo Bears." Zoo Biology 10.1 (1991): 3-16. Print.
Cloete, Carin, Onnica Mogogane, and Mankwe Sebati. "A Change in Perspective: Providing Enrichment for Hamadryas Baboons." The Shape of Enrichment 17.3 (2008): 1-3. Print.
Embar, Wanda. "Zoos." Animal Cruelty - Zoos. Vegan Peace. Web. 20 Apr. 2012. <http://www.veganpeace.com/animal_cruelty/zoos.htm>.
Hediger, Heini. The Psychology and Behaviour of Animals in Zoos and Circuses,. New York: Dover Publications, 1968. Print.
Madrid, Cienna. "Cash Cows." The Stranger. Index Newspapers, May 2011. Web. 15 Apr. 2012. <http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/cash_cows/Content?oid=8078780>.
Mäekivi, Nelly, Silver Rattasepp, and Kadri Tüür. "Posthumanism and Human-Animal Relations: The Cases of Zoos and Fishing." Forthcoming 2013.
Nolan, R. Scott. "Designing Zoo Habitats That Promote Animal Well-being." Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association 239.10 (2011): 1266-286. Print.
Panaman, Roger. "How to Do Animal Rights - Zoos." How to Do Animal Rights. Animalethics.org, Apr. 2008. Web. 20 Apr. 2012. <http://www.animalethics.org.uk/zoos.html>.
Purvis, Andrew. "Germany's Polar Bear Cub Quandary." Time. Time, 09 Jan. 2008. Web. 24 Apr. 2012. <http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1701828,00.html>.
Shepherdson, David J., Jill D. Mellen, and Michael Hutchins. Second Nature: Environmental Enrichment for Captive Animals. Washington: Smithsonian Institution, 1998. Print.
Steward, Barbara. "Recall of the Wild; Fighting Boredom, Zoos Play to the Inmates' Instincts." The New York Times. The New York Times, 6 Apr. 2002. Web. 10 Apr. 2012. <http://www.nytimes.com/2002/04/06/nyregion/recall-of-the-wild-fighting-boredom-zoos-play-to-the- inmates-instincts.html?pagewanted=all>.
Turovski, Aleksei. "The Semiotics of Animal Freedom: A Zoologist’s Attempt to Perceive the Semiotic Aim of H. Hediger." Sign Systems Studies 28 (2000): 380-87. Print.
Van Metter, J.E., M. Dana Harriger, and Rosina H. Bolen. "Environmental Enrichment Utilizing Stimulus Objects for African Lions (Panthera Leo Leo) and Sumatran Tigers (Panthera Tigris Sumatrae)." Bios 79.1 (2008): 7-16. Print.
Vargas, Astrid, and Stanley H. Anderson. "Effects of Experience and Cage Enrichment on Predatory Skills of Black- Footed Ferrets (Mustela Nigripes)." American Society of Mammalogists 80.1 (1999): 263-69. Print.
Carlstead is currently undertaking research into the cortical steroid levels of animal provided with enrichment to ensure that this is indeed the case (Ben-Ari 2001: 176).
CAVEAT LECTOR
Having established the grounds of Lotman’s characterization of the mythological text in contemporary myth theory, we can move on to the question that is central to this thesis: what are the features that we should expect to find in a text constructed according to the principles of the mythological? Another way of phasing this is to ask how the general principles of mythological text structure are manifest in a particular text of this type. In this section I will outline the specific features that should be evident in the mythological text. It is important to bear in mind that, as with the discrete-continuous continuum discussed in the first chapter, I do not intend to suggest that a text of either “pure” type—in this case, the mythological or plot text—exists or could be described as such. As Lotman stressed in his own discussion of text typology, these extreme poles are purely ideal. In describing the characteristics of a text which make its mythological organizational principles evident, I mean to demonstrate that these features are to be found in greater concentration and with more frequency in texts which have more in common with mythological organization than with plot-structure. I do not wish to suggest that texts characterized in this way—regardless of their concentration of mythological features—can in anyway be substantively or functionally identified with myth as such. Rather, such texts manifest principles which are easily overlooked and tend to provoke frustration or confusion in receivers accustomed to texts which obey linear-discrete organizational principles. It is my hope that by outlining the characteristics of these mechanisms I can offer an appropriate model according to which texts of the mythological persuasion may be more effectively and profoundly understood.
"Defense of student papers. 21 May 1974. A late, late evening."
The ‘Greek Thing’: the evocation of untranslatability in Roberto Calasso’s "The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony"
M. Salvoni (January 2012)
In The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony, Roberto Calasso introduces mythological objects (characters, gestures, things) in his story-telling narrative which he re-interprets in terms of references to non-mythological texts. Because the features and function of myth differ so greatly from the characteristics of the philosophical, etymological, historical, and other kinds of texts which interpret them, it is appropriate to consider this a translation from the language of mythology into the language of non-mythology. According to Juri Lotman, the complex relationships between translatable and untranslatable elements of incommensurable systems generate the conditions for meaning generation. Because of the vast distance between mythological and non-mythological languages, there is a large degree of mutual untranslatability as well as a great potential for the generation of new meanings. Calasso’s book is an effort to translate the untranslatable which succeeds in its primary task of modeling the distant and unfamiliar world of mythology in language comprehensible to modern western culture, while resisting the tendency to make direct equivalences between the two incommensurable systems. Calasso effects this by bringing together mythical and non-mythical elements into tropic relationships, rendering at once their semantic equivalences and the untranslatable aspects which make the juxtaposition meaningful.
[A]n accurate translation presupposes that mutually equivalent relationships have already been established between the units of the two systems, as a result of which one system can be represented in the other…However, when we are dealing with discreet and non-discrete texts, translation is in principle impossible.[1]
Juri Lotman has commented in various works on the problems and deficiencies inherent in translating mythology, a fundamentally non-discrete text that operates according to mechanisms foreign to non-mythological consciousness, into the linear-discrete language of modern plot-texts[2]. An “accurate” translation of mythology is impossible because mutually equivalent relationships have not, and perhaps cannot, be established between the two systems. As Lotman writes, “The equivalent to the discrete and precisely demarcated semantic unit of one text is, in the other, a kind of semantic blur with indistinct boundaries and gradual shadings into other meanings…Given these factors, we are faced with a situation where translation is impossible.”[3] But attempts at such impossible translations of the untranslatable are not only the most valuable but also the most tempting, and constitute “one of the most important features of any creative thinking.”[4] The results are imprecise, approximate equivalences which “provoke new semantic connections and give rise to texts that are in principle new ones.” [5]
The features that distinguish Calasso’s book from the multitudes of “novelistic pseudo-myths”[6] typical of contemporary mythological-translations-into-narrative, and also separates it from the reductive explanations asserted by some myth theorists, can be modeled in terms of Lotman’s notion of untranslatability as a condition for meaning generation. In his narrative, Calasso “translates” certain mythological objects into historical, anthropological, aesthetic, and other languages, but not in the manner of explanations which reduce a complex mythological identity to a corresponding “fact” of non-mythological culture. Rather, in the manner of a trope, Calasso brings together “A pair of mutually non-juxtaposable signifying elements”[7] and establishes a relationship of adequacy between them. What is significant in Calasso’s approach is that he identifies and highlights the untranslatable aspect of the mythological element of the trope, often letting it rest significantly at the end of an illustration or even referring it back to the corpus of mythology as inexplicable outside of it.
A section discussing the Spartan “lawgiver” Lycurgus as documented by ancient historians ends enigmatically:
We have very little information about Lycurgus. But we do know what his name means: “he who carries out the works (or celebrates the orgies) of the wolf.”[8]
The narrative immediately moves on to Spartan marriage customs, leaving this concluding statement conspicuously ambiguous. It is a typical instance of the way Calasso creates the conditions for meaning generation by bringing to incommensurable things into semantic association—but without creating a definition-like identity between them. The historical Lycurgus is brought together with the mythic, wolf-Lycurgus, and this highlights the untranslatability between the language of history and the language of myth. “We have very little information” suggests the historical reality of the man Lycurgus, but no historical actions can be fully explained as “the works (or…orgies) of the wolf. The meaning of his name resides fully in the language of the mythological Lycurgus, and does not translate into the language of history.
Calasso explores the persistent translation of myth into various languages of description, bringing together incompatible descriptions in the manner of a trope. By presenting paradoxical situations, Calasso illuminates the fundamental untranslatability of non-discrete myth into discrete languages of description and demonstrates the translation of the untranslatable, the results of which for Lotman are “most valuable”[9]. His way of bringing together the incompatible historical and mythic qualities of Lycurgus, and foregrounding their incommensurability rather than attempting to resolve it, results in “creating not a simple semantic shift, but a semantic situation that is in principle new and paradoxical.”[10]
The reduction of myths to explanations of how the world works and came to be is perhaps the most generally accepted description of their organizing, regulatory function. This demonstrates the assumption by modern western culture that myths have a primitive referential, explicating role in pre-scientific societies. By limiting the meaning of myth to primitive explanations of phenomena, and asserting myth’s fundamental incompatibility with and replacement by science, their potential to generate new meanings is stifled. Establishment of “a mutually equivalent correspondence…instead of a semantic oscillation,”[11] that is to say that the fixing of a single meaning for a myth, fully translatable into a language of description and explanation, refuses its untranslatable content. Myths, like worn-out tropes, become a part of the “neutral store”[12] of language that no longer has the power to render the untranslatable, to evoke the foreignness of the unknown as much by what it successfully translates as what it does not.
In Calasso’s book, myth’s untranslatable aspect is restored to it by the author’s insistence on the fundamentally polysemic nature of myths. Calasso insists that there is no single correct interpretation of a myth, and by presenting varied interpretations of a single myth he not only resists the fixation of singular, stable meanings but also indicates the untranslatable element of myth that no interpretation of its meaning can render fully. An illustration of Calasso’s polysemous rendering of myth begins on page 209, where the myth of Kore is translated into the philosophical language of Socrates:
…Kore was looking at a narcissus. She was looking at the act of looking. She was about to pluck it. And, at that very moment, she was herself plucked away by the invisible toward the invisible. Kore doesn’t just mean “girl” but “pupil” too. And the pupil, as Socrates says to Alcibiades, “is the finest part of the eye,” not just because it is “the part which sees” but because it is the place where another person looking will find “the image of himself looking”. And if, as Socrates claims, the Delphic maxim “Know thyself” can be understood only if translated as “Look at thyself,” then the pupil becomes the sole means of self-knowledge. Kore looked at the yellow “prodigy” of the narcissus. But what is it that makes this yellow flower, used at once for the garlands of Eros and of the dead, so marvelous? What sets it apart from the violets, the crocuses, and the hyacinths that made the meadow near Henna so colorful? Narcissus is also the name of a young man who lost himself looking at himself.[13]
By repeating certain words in significant succession, Calasso indicates his intention to scrutinize and, ultimately, change their meaning. This is the basic function of tropes. The close repetition of the words “looking”, “pluck”, “invisible”, “pupil”, detaches them from the narrative, from their function of object description, and marks them as significant. It semioticizes them, indicating, or generating, their potential, as signifying elements, to have multiple meanings. This prepares the narrative of Kore’s abduction for the translation from mythological to philosophical language by abstracting signifying elements from the objects of the story, liberating concepts from their mythological context to be translated into the language of Socrates. The story becomes a metaphor for self knowledge. But Calasso does not stop at this insightful translation.
Kore’s act of looking at the narcissus is repeated again, as though the narrative were prepared to pick up where it left off before Socrates’ interruption. Instead, Calasso poses questions which refer to the narcissus, an object in the story that has not been subject to abstraction and semioticization. “What makes this yellow flower…so marvelous? What sets it apart…?” The answer refers back to the mythological context, to the myth of Narcissus, that Calasso brings into the context of Kore’s story as the second term in a new trope. The two different myths are brought together in a way that suggests a link between them, something about each story that is illuminated in light of the other, but Calasso doesn’t tell us what that is. As in the Lycurgus example above, the sentence about Narcissus ends the paragraph and the section. Narcissus is only mentioned, his story is not narrated—not translated from the non-discrete language of myth to the discrete language of the written text—and appears in the trope as an element with a great degree of untranslatability. By continuing his interpretation after making the connection to self-knowledge, Calasso indicates that in the translation from mythological to philosophical language something is left behind. His rendering of that something as an untold story, present in the narrative only as a name, is an attempt to translate the untranslatable while realizing its impossibility.
Calasso’s discussion of Greek identity is self-conscious of this untranslatability as well:
They were a group of small states, enemies for the most part, or halfhearted friends. But they felt they had something in common to defend : tò Hellēnikón, the “Greek thing.” They didn’t bother to define it, because they knew perfectly well what it was…a certain sparseness of expression, as though among athletes who compete in physical speed and beauty, and in nothing else…Perhaps this explains why, unlike the barbarians, even the imperial barbarians, the Greeks would go around naked. And there was something else the Greeks, and only the Greeks, were interested in: an empty space, sun-drenched and dusty, where they could exchange goods and words. A market, a square.[14]
Here Calasso performs an act of evocative metonymy: he makes an approximate equivalence between the self-identity of classical Greece and the icons of that culture most familiar to the modern west. Spareness of expression, athletic competition, tasteful nudity, and the space of the agora are such well known examples of classical Greek culture that they verge on the cliché. But the tropic balance between translatable and untranslatable lies in Calasso’s comment that, whatever tò Hellēnikón was, the Greeks themselves “didn’t bother to define it”. This foregrounds the artificiality of our concept of “classical Greece”, distant as we are from it, even as the narrative relies on that artificial notion for explication. That the Greeks themselves “knew perfectly well what it was” suggests the immanence of the “Greek thing”, its inexpressibility outside of a certain context to which we have limited access.
It is also significant that Calasso does not use the word agora himself, but rather evokes its image with a pictorial description: “an empty space, sun-drenched and dusty…A market, a square.” He leaves it up to the reader to grasp the allusion, abstracting from the concept “agora” some of its characteristics which acquire significance by being the specific features Calasso chooses to represent what he does not name directly. It is these abstracted features, and not “agora” as a holistic entity, which is brought into the metonymy described above. By not naming the agora, but instead relying on abstracted features of it, Calasso indicates that this feature of the untranslatable “Greek thing” has itself an untranslatable quality, not reducible to his, or perhaps any, language of description.
In a passage concerning the transfer of power from Dionysus to Apollo, Calasso identifies another kind of untranslatability in myth:
What we see on the stage is the struggle between Dionysus and the hero Theseus, but, in the darkness behind, Apollo and Dionysus have struck up a pact…power passed from the secret twists of the labyrinth to the frontal evidence of the acropolis. And all of this came about courtesy of Theseus, because the stories had to tell of other things: of young girls being sacrificed, of love affairs, duels, desertions, suicides. The human melodrama with its songs and chatter must cover up for the silent substance of the divine pact.[15]
Calasso says that the human melodrama—the stories we have come to identify as mythology—must “cover up”, or translate imperfectly, perhaps deceitfully, the “silent substance of the divine pact”. This silent substance is that aspect of the mythological which is untranslatable even into the language of mythology, and it indicates the fact that myth is a model, translating into its own language things which it can never fully represent. There is a layer of its substance, like the deeply mysterious and monumental shift from one ideology to another, that remains inaccessible, and that must be translated, imperfectly, into the language of “human melodrama”.
Because of mythology’s distance from modern culture, it is our tendency to approach a mythological text as though it were already “meaningful”; that is to say, we read a myth and assume that the words and the stories they create don’t just signify the objects and events they describe, but rather that they have a meaning beyond that, that myths exist for the sake of interpretation. The tendency is to interpret myths as text with a single stable meaning: the meaning of the myth of Persephone—her abduction and captivity by Hades, and periodic return to the surface of the earth—is its congruence with the cycle of seasons and the planting and harvest of grain. This interpretation, while remaining in a sense true to the non-discrete character of mythological texts, glosses over the effects of their translation into a linear-discrete form and disregards the profound influence of a language of description upon them. It is only by highlighting the fact of this translation itself, that is by foregrounding the untranslatable elements of mythology which are inexpressible in linear-discrete texts, that Calasso’s book can do more than simply provide an illegitimate and superficial translation of mythology into simple plot-narrative or reductive “explanations”. The polysemy that Calasso grants to myths is complemented by his evocation of their untranslatable aspect. That his interpretations take the forms of tropic collisions of incommensurable elements follows from the untranslatability which he evokes, despite the impossibility of translating it into the language of the book. The result of this is an illegitimate, approximate juxtaposition, but as Lotman insisted, the creativity of this endeavor generates a new and paradoxical situation in which undetermined meanings are potentially infinite.
References:
1. Calasso, Roberto. The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony. New York: Knopf, 1993. Print.
2. Lotman, Juri M. Universe of the Mind: A Semiotic Theory of Culture. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1990. Print.
3. Lotman, Juri M., and B. A. Uspensky. "Myth — Name — Culture." Semiotica 22.3-4 (1978): 211-34. Print.
4. Lotman, Juri M. "The Origin of Plot in the Light of Typology." Poetics Today 1.1/2 (1979): 161-84. Print.
[1] Juri Lotman, Universe of the Mind, p. 36
[2] See especially his essays The Problem of Plot in the Light of Typology and, with Uspenski, Myth—Name—Culture
[3] Lotman, p. 37
[4] Lotman, 37
[5] Lotman, 37
[6] Juri Lotman, The Problem of Plot in the Light of Typology
[7] Lotman, 37
[8] Calasso, 261
[9] Lotman, 37
[10] Lotman, 41
[11] Lotman, 42
[12] Lotman, 44
[13] Calasso, 209
[14] Calasso, 245
[15] Calasso, 187
I am the walrus:
locality as a principle for co-management
Montana Salvoni
Introduction
The divergent aims and world-views that have led to tension, distrust, and open conflict between conservationists and indigenous peoples have been recognized as problematic for at least a decade. This unfortunate and potentially avoidable situation puts at odds the two groups most willing and able to preserve sensitive ecological environments from destruction. Recently, successful co-management programs have reported on the methods and organization of cooperative efforts which bring together government agencies with traditional and indigenous communities to protect, observe, and predict the health of complex environmental relationships. While these reports demonstrate the benefits to both biological diversity protection and indigenous/traditional community preservation, what they lack is a coherent and explicit framework that applies to the diverse co-management strategies in action now and which can be implemented in the design of future efforts. This is a large and complex task beyond the scope of the current paper, but as a productive starting point Timo Maran’s paper Ecosemiotic Basis of Locality can offer a useful vocabulary and the beginnings of a conceptual framework within which the principles of co-management can be elaborated and developed. The literature on current co-management projects demonstrates that locality is a common but inexact term used to describe the relationship of indigenous and traditional peoples with their native environment. By examining locality from an ecosemiotic perspective, Maran’s paper gives insight into the processes by which locality is established and developed as a relationship of mutual conditionality between an environment and its inhabitants that alters both over time. This can provide not only an explanation of why a people’s locality generates unique knowledge and understanding of their environment, but it may also suggest ways for traditional cultures to retain their local identities while contributing to global conservation efforts. Using the Eskimo Walrus Commission-U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service co-management agreement as a case study, the applicability of the ecosemiotic basis of locality to a specific co-management project will be examined and its potential for future development within the co-management paradigm will be discussed.
adventure time