Honorable “Local Aesthetics,”
first of all, please forgive me for placing you within quotation marks. You have every right to be puzzled and disappointed, for after all that you have long received, there now appears an entity that doubts you. How startled would you be if I were to say that, in truth, this doubt has existed for quite some time?
Allow me, then, to introduce myself. My name is Literature. That is why earlier I spoke of an entity—a unity that is born, that truly exists; a term meant to distinguish it from (mere) persons or anything bound by the conditions of life and death, presence and absence. Still, let us replace the word entity with text, because a text immediately envelops an entity within a system—and, of course, with content.
So yes, the text of Literature, that is how I am known—just as we speak of other texts: the text of Religion, the text of Philosophy, the text of Science, and so on. And indeed, you and I often encounter one another. Yet there is something within you that I cannot accept, and so our encounters pass without greeting. How could there be a greeting when, in truth, we are strangers to one another?
Let us return to that doubt. I must say, it strikes me as peculiar that the word aesthetics should be joined with the word local. Aesthetics, as we understand it, concerns nothing other than emotion and thought in their relation to beauty. It stands apart from moral, social, political, economic considerations, and whatever else might reduce it to belonging to one domain and not another. Local, by contrast, concerns itself precisely with measures—considerations of the extent to which something comes into being through, and is bound by, something else. And it is in this contradiction that the problem first takes shape.
Honorable “Local Aesthetics,”
I find myself in agreement with part—indeed, one side—of you, namely aesthetics. Before I explain why, however, allow me to elaborate further on who I am, on my own identity.
I must say that I am profoundly different—indeed, diametrically opposed—to other texts. Where the entire apparatus of other texts operates within a frame of reference aimed at becoming present, all of my mechanisms are burdened with the question of how to become absent. To your modern ear, accustomed to utility and practicality, becoming absent may sound strange. Yet for me, who am not positioned as one who gives—for in truth I am only an enabler—becoming absent is a necessity.
Becoming absent here clearly does not mean zero, nothingness, or emptiness. Rather, as with any apparatus, it is simply a distinctive mode of operation, a consequence of what is called placing the reader as subject. Only by becoming absent can I position the reader in such a way that they are filled with themselves—with their world and their way of seeing. It is at this level, at this stage, that I agree with aesthetics and even enter into alliance with it, while at the same time finding myself unable to accept the local.
Because of its capacity to stand within any text whatsoever, aesthetics renders me given to the subject, regardless of that subject’s background. The local, on the other hand, by virtue of its rigid nature as a thing, concerns itself solely with giving—something that, for one reason or another, a subject may well reject. For does not every subject, in essence, possess its own cosmology, its own universe of meaning?
Within me, aesthetics is certainly not the only element at work. For this givenness, since I am a literary entity, I operate through the character of language—metaphorical and figurative—which makes semantic communication possible. It is a form of communication in which I am no more than a medium through which the subject may accentuate and “discover” themselves. It must be quickly emphasized, however, that in order to communicate and to accommodate the subject’s accentuation, I must continually grow into an entity that, if not intelligent, is at least well-informed.
Honorable “Local Aesthetics,”
to awaken and to give—these, it seems to me, are the two simple key words that explain why we do not greet one another. The necessity of giving within your notion of the local will inevitably turn aesthetics into aestheticization: a condition in which the local precedes culture. If the local is likened to an Ethnic text, then it will, unavoidably, transform ethnicity into ethnocentrism. How could I awaken the subject if I—the text of Literature—am a closure?
Put simply, every text whose frame of reference is becoming present always emphasizes its own point of view. If we insist on greeting one another, and I accept your local text—or any text at all—this is what happens: my measure changes, my sense of good and bad changes, my nature changes. In other words, I vanish, because my identity no longer exists. This must be made clear: do we wish to give birth to Literature, or to kill it? Let us be honest—if we do not truly intend Literature, why do we write Literature at all?
Honorable “Local Aesthetics,”
I must also say that this case does not occur only between you and me. Similar tensions arise between me and various other texts. From the very beginning, when language was positioned as one of the nation’s entities of “struggle,” other texts quite naturally emerged to seize hold of me. And afterward—look at me, the text of Literature—I would only be considered meaningful if I could: raise and convey social problems; explicitly take the side of the people and serve the people; function as a guide, a moral compass for everyday behavior; resist pressure and the authority of power; and so on, and so forth. Faced with all this, what can I say except that I have been turned into an instrument for other interests?
Interests—yes, this is the core of the problem. Everything would remain ordinary, entirely acceptable, if all texts stood on equal footing with one another. The situation becomes distorted, even abnormal, when one text—by virtue of its function—intervenes in another. It must be said quickly that no text can ever stand entirely on its own. There will always be a level at which one text relates to another. And when that happens, the necessity is this: the arrogance of a text—let us call it that—must be lowered. Put plainly, a text may use (or need) another text only insofar as that other text operates within the measure or characteristics of the text being used (or needed).
No more and no less, this is also what should happen with me. In order to give birth to, to construct what is called “a complete world,” any text may well enter my body (I have already mentioned the necessity of being well-informed, have I not?). Yet in order to enter, it must be precisely this way: the other text must dissolve, become fluid, fade away, so that what remains visible and present is still me—the text of Literature.
Honorable “Local Aesthetics,”
I believe that by now, you know me. That is enough. Whether after this we remain strangers to one another is entirely up to you. For now you know how easy it is to greet me—to enter my body. To do so, it is enough to dissolve, to become fluid, to fade away.
Or, to put it plainly: abolish the arrogance of your localness. []
Respectfully yours,
The Text of Literature
*This essay was previously presented by its author at the 4th Indonesian Short Story Congress, held in Pekanbaru, Riau, 26–30 November 2005, and was published in Suara Merdeka, 8 January 2006.
