I should admit, at the outset, I do
not often purposely stop myself from finishing a book. Most of the
things I read I attempt to tackle in a single sprint, like a
poorly-disciplined jogger. Those things that prove to be too long or
too difficult I resentfully relinquish, often exhausted and
occasionally too uninterested to re-tackle. However, I have chosen
not to finish Cat's Cradle
for a different reason: a particular theme that appears to be not
only central to all the narratives we have seen in CPLIT 165 thus
far, but one that I predict will be present in every other form of
story we tackle in the upcoming months. I would hazard to guess that
some form of cognitive dissonance will creep into every facet of our
syllabus.
In
psychology, the theory of cognitive dissonance refers to a very
specific concept. Our minds are capable of holding many different
thoughts, feelings, values, and opinions on various objects of our
cognition. In some cases, we can even develop contrary thoughts on a
single object. When this happens, a natural tension of the mind
begins to build, brought on by two opposing concepts butting heads.
Say, for example, I find a classmate very physically attractive, but
her/his behavior or opinions repulsive. If my attraction and my
repulsion are equally strong, I have a case of cognitive dissonance,
a sense of mental tension between my two opposing thought processes.
This sort of cognitive process seems to be inherent in most fictional
literature, and is of principle importance in works concerned with
truth and falsity as in “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” and
Cat's Cradle.
In
an ideal story, all parts of the narrative are equally important;
they all work to establish the same cohesive tale. For the reader,
however, the resolution of any story is the most objectively
rewarding. It is where the catharsis
is found, where disparate story lines are drawn into a single thread,
and where the central tenets of the particular story are most likely
to be found. And yet it seems, time after time, that the resolution
always comes at the very end of the book! It seems, in literature,
there is no such thing as dessert before dinner. As good little
readers, of course, we know we must eat our veggies first; without
the introduction and the rising action, the resolution is never as
rewarding. As we read, then, we are subjected to two opposing
cognitions. One tells us that what we really want is at the end of
the book. Why read through the middle bits? Why tolerate deliberate
ignorance of the conclusion? In short, we have the urge to know
how the story ends. The second
tells us that the ending will be powerful only if we read and
understand the parts that come before it. In a way, this is an urge
to delay the ending for as long as necessary.
This, along with regular tension within the story, is what creates a
sense of personal emotional investment for the reader (or watcher,
for that matter).
In
“An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge”, a sense of narrative
cognitive dissonance is very immediate, almost purposefully abrasive.
In a literal sense, the story ends once Payne is hung, but the
continuation of the narrative sets up an immediate dissonance – the
unlikeliness of Payne's escape versus the mere existence of a
continuing narrative. We should be skeptical of his survival and the
details the narrator provides, but the very fact that there are still
words left to read suggests to us that Payne has actually survived
somehow. This tension,
which grows as the details of his escape become more unbelievable, is
eventually resolved by the disappearance of one of our cognitions -
We are shown that the continuance of the narrative was just Payne's
last fantasy, played out in his head - and our cognitive dissonance
vanishes in regards to the narrative.
Cat's
Cradle, up to this point, reads
more like an investigation into cognitive dissonance than an
application of it. The Bokononist quote “All of the true things I
am about to tell you are shameless lies” (5) is practically a cognitive
dissonance in of itself. It may be true that Vonnegut is trying to
question the value or existence of absolute truth using Bokononism,
but I find it much more plausible that he is actually examining the
possible acceptance of cognitive dissonances through this “false”
religion. Jonah's warning, “Anyone unable to understand how a
useful religion can be founded on lies will not understand this book
either”(6) seems to suggest a radically different approach to handling
opposing concepts of truth or falsity. Perhaps the best way to
resolve cognitive dissonances is to accept whichever thought is most
useful at the time, whether it be a truth or a lie. A similar concept
is approached in George Orwell's 1984,
which is named “Doublethink”- the ability to believe one
cognition whole-heartily, and then to believe the opposite with just
as much conviction, as circumstances change.
I
look forward to watching my own dissonances develop as I near the end
of the book, but for now, I will let the tension linger.
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