Subjectivity is a big word for “sense of ourselves.” The way we think of ourselves, when we think of ourselves, is generally as a subject. That is, we generally see ourselves as a rational, conscious, emotional, and individual self. We can think, we can feel (our own feelings, and sometimes those of others), we have free will and control our own destiny, and we are unique and distinct from all others. It is this last point that is generally emphasized when (in the West) we discuss subjectivity: we are individuals, we are separate; we are not objects controlled by others, but rather subjects in control of our selves and our world.
An important point to make is that though it seems like people have always thought of themselves this way, and that everyone in the world thinks this way, subjectivity is more or less an invention, a social or cultural construction. In the chapter selection from How We Became Posthuman, Katherine Hayles makes this very point, describing the history of the liberal subject, developed in the works of philosophers like John Locke; this way of viewing ourselves stems from that time, and is the basis of both modern democracy and capitalism (also known as liberal economics).
To give us some context, and to see how subjectivity is a social/cultural construction, you should know that for Locke, African slaves were not and could never be subjects; they were objects that could be bought and sold (in fact, Locke profited from the slave trade). For Locke, middle class white people were subjects, and model humans; slaves and workers (and for a long time women) were objects, barely human, under the control of subjects. At one point in history all of this was thought to be perfectly natural. Now of course we see how limited, unjust, and unnatural it is. That is because times have changed, and with the attitudes of people.
So history can show us that the sense of ourselves, though it might seem natural and eternal, is the product of social and cultural forces. Working in digital literature (both creating and consuming it) also shows us this. Our sense of self changes when we involve ourselves, physically and mentally, with electronic technology. Mostly this occurs because to be on a computer means to be in what Katherine Hayles calls a “distributed cognitive environment”: our very thinking is mediated by machines. This occurs when it is just me and a computer; but it is even more significant when we are on an electronic network: in that case, our very thinking is mediated by several machines. I will be more specific about how digital technology affects our sense of self, our subjectivity.
1. Immersive subjectivity. One way we lose a sense of ourselves as distinct and separate selves is when we immerse ourselves in a virtual world, such as in a MOO. This is usually done by, once again, allowing machines (computers) to mediate our thinking. There are many other ways in which immersion is a dispersal of self. We have a sense of self in the virtual world, to go along with a usually different sense of self outside that world, in this case the self that is sitting in a chair typing into a keyboard. At a very basic level, when we are immersed and not immersed at the same time we are split selves, which many find a disorienting experience. It can also be a positive, playful experience, as immersion encourages us to create imaginative versions of ourselves in virtual worlds, which may correspond closely with our “real” version of ourselves, but usually are something, or someone, quite different. We don’t necessarily need machines to create this sense of immersion, but machines such as computers certainly enhance the effect and expand the division between “virtual” and “real” self, creating a profoundly divided subjectivity, as we commonly understand that term.
2. Networked subjectivity. As already mentioned, virtual immersion encourages us to create new and different versions of ourselves. In our networked, Web 2.0 world this capability is potentially expanded exponentially. That is, with our various profiles on various social networking sites, we have many different versions of ourselves floating about in cyberspace. We may call these different versions avatars, and they represent, collectively, a splintered self or subjectivity. For me, this works even at the level of login names and passwords. I have one login name that is based on a nickname I had when I was involved in Latin American advocacy activism (“Josa”); I have another one (used with this blog) that is based on a nickname that I had in high school but since grad school has taken on a new resonance, since I am now a scholar and critic of British Romanticism (“Lord Byrne,” a pun on my own name and that of a prominent Romantic poet, Lord Byron). For me, these two login names represent two different aspects of my personality, two different senses of my self, a divided subjectivity. It is also a “distributed” subjectivity, not only in that machines mediate each of these “avatars,” but also because I am projecting different aspects of myself over a network, appearing as an almost ghostly apparition in different digital sites.
3. Technological subjectivity. This is when our sense of self is divided between a psychological self and a mechanical self—that is, when we are cyborgs, human-machine hybrids. Talk to anyone who has a prosthesis such as an artificial limb, a pacemaker, or a hearing aid, and I’m quite certain they will speak of an initial sense of alienation between their mechanical and “real” selves, a divided subjectivity. Eventually the mechanical self and the “real” self become integrated, in which case they become unconflicted cyborgs. But there are a lot of conflicted cyborgs out there, who never get used to the idea. This includes most of us who are cyborgs in a more general sense, who use technology to such a degree that we develop a distinct machine-mediated sense of self, to go along with our “normal” sense of self, outside of the digital realm. (I discuss this in more detail in my lecture notes blog entry on the cyborg.) But I will note here that some scholars and critics of digital literature think that cyborg subjectivity is more than a matter of just having a mechanical device in our bodies; for these, immersive subjectivity and networked subjectivity are also technological, or cyborg, subjectivity, in that they involve the mediation of machines. I think that cyborg subjectivity incorporates these other kinds of subjectivities, but takes it to another whole level, which is why I discuss it as a separate category.
At the very least, we can say that digital technology challenges our sense of a separate, fully-in-control individual self. Being part of a digital world means creating different versions of ourselves, for different situations; it also means that machines will, in some way, be part of the way we project and display these different selves, and the way others receive them. When we think about it (and many of us avoid thinking about it, frightened by the implications), our sense of a unified self is threatened, and we are often made anxious by what we might consider a schizoid, split-apart self. Others find this new distributed subjectivity exciting, and look forward to becoming post-human—but this kind of technological cheer-leading might be yet another way of avoiding the implications of what it means when our age-old way of looking at ourselves seems to be crumbling. Whether frightening or exhilarating, this new subjectivity is certainly something that students in a liberal-arts institution should examine.
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