Say what you will about his white-suited schtick, Tom Wolfe wore it well. As he’s elaborated many times, the whites were his in-plain-sight camouflage — his hunter’s orange — the costume of a man who makes no attempt to fit in.
The alabaster suit screamed, “Hello! I’m here with you! But I am not one of you!” As an outsider, he could ask any question, big or small. There was no pressure to nod along, feigning understanding. It allowed him to stay aloof, removed, thoughts aloft, hovering just off the radar of whatever clique he’s critiquing.
And he was happy to stab his pen at most anyone. College Kids, Black Panthers, Test Pilots, Titans of Wall Street. Each an emergent sub-species, an evolutionary oddity, an ever-molting phase of Homo Americanus. For Wolfe, all were fair game, curiosities to be caught and cataloged, tagged and bagged, pinned to his Upper East Side specimen board. Just another trophy, cased above Central Park.
In his last book, The Kingdom Of Speech (book-lite really, more of a hard-bound essay, slightly shy of 200 pages despite well-spaced text and ample footnotations) he peers into the ongoing discussion of a great big question:
Did speech evolve, or was it made?
In other words, is speech — the “great distinctive” that allows man to form thoughts, plan ahead, and cooperate on a planet-dominating level — an in-born ability that evolved along with our out-sized craniums and opposable thumbs? Or, is speech an early invention — an artifact, as they say in the trade — another first tool, like loin-cloths and rock-hammers?
It’s a debate worth munching on. It’s also a window into the academic tension between ivory-towered theorists and field-bound researchers. On this one, Wolfe feels free to scathe a few names — namely Darwin and Chomsky — letting it be known where his loyalties lie. Yes, as you might have guessed, his sympathies rest with those who are are willing to shoe-leather for a living, unafraid to get out and scuff up the spats, as required.
The hero of the book is a guy name Daniel Everett, a missionary-turned-academic who spent most of his life getting down with the Pirahã, a little-contacted tribe from the Amazon. It’s interesting and illuminating stuff, well-researched and yes, most properly footnoted.
But as it turns out, the entire origins-of-language debate is really just a setup for a bigger target:
The Theory of Everything.
Theories of Everything are everywhere you turn these days. And they drive me nuts. You’ve certainly run into a few: books, news sources, individuals that always circle back to some first principle, some reductionist pole-star upon which all discussion must revolve.
Such theories are comforting, reassuring things. Like a religious practice, they ground both mind and ego, and steam-roll the painful cognitive dissonance that comes with conflicting information. Unfortunately, by claiming to be always right, Theories of Everything are always at least a little bit wrong.
Therefore, when pressed, the Theoreticians of Everything have to take on a rather expansive view in order to make their propositions work, adding loopholes and work-arounds to make all facts fit.
Take, for instance, Adam Smith’s Invisible Hand of Self-Interest. Certainly, on the surface this explains why and how most people do what they do. But what to make of charity work and repeated self-sabotage? Well, if we read Smith more deeply we find that he was keen on “enlightened” self-interest, a feel-good prescription that would see the creation of a just and generous society as being to the ultimate advantage of all citizens (and yes, it would possibly rescue a few ne’er-do-wells along the way.) All well and good, but one must admit that it makes a crystal-clear theory fuzzy fast.
John Calvin’s concept of Total Depravity is another example I’ve spent some time dodging. It’s the essential starting point for Reformed Theology, underpinning his five-point plan for humanity’s redemption. Sure, it’s easy to chalk-up all bad behavior to a species-wide fall from glory, but insisting on the “total” bit of Total Depravity means one must constantly — often cynically — explain away any number of counter examples: magnanimous actions, moments of self-sacrifice, and a million random acts of kindness.
I’m deeply concerned that our current debate on race is taking on a Theory of Everything of its own. The new thinking is that every action — every power structure — is essentially racist or anti-racist. These useful (and overdue) observations on the pervasive, virulent nature of systemic racism and white privilege are taking on a new orthodoxy, and are fast becoming a cultural cage from which there is no escape, a minefield with no safe path towards transcendence. Let me be clear: Is is very good that we are examining the cancerous prejudices that infected our past and now corrupt the present, and it is essential that we consider the racial (not necessarily racist) implications of new policies. But race is surely only one aspect of what makes a man a man. The complex nature of daily life is never simply black & white — in any sense of the phrase.
And then there’s Evolution.
Wolfe has no trouble with the basic theory of the Survival of the Fittest, nor has he qualms with the idea of one species giving rise to another over the eons. But he’s not so keen on the temptation to apply this biological insight to all other areas of thinking, of using Evolution as a lazy way to explain everything the fleshy herd of humanity has managed to do since slouching off the savanna.
This is not to say that Theories of Everything are not useful tools, illuminating scopes by which we can more clearly see the connections between disparate fields and cultures. But it’s good to try on a new set of specs from time to time.
As the adage goes, “if your only tool is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.” If we stay too attached, too enamored with our latest “ah-ha!” moment, we miss the big picture. Your lens then becomes limiting. Your ocular-enhancing contraption turns blinding.
So, my advice? Be like Tom Wolfe on occasion. Put on a weird suit and meet somebody new. Get out and explore. What you find just might surprise you.
