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I’ve been reading about what   Miller calls: “Lifeboat Theory,” in his book Searching for God Knows What.  Lifeboat theory is derived from an experience he had in school when a teacher dabbling in the area of “Values Assignment,” presses the theoretical situation of a group of people in a lifeboat at sea.  The group comes to realize that if they wish to survive the ordeal, they must throw one person overboard.  Who will it be: the lawyer, the school teacher, the stay-at-home mom, perhaps a disabled child?  Apparently, in our place and time in history, it is prevalent that we know who “matters” most, or at least, who “matters” least.

 

From the experience, Miller comes to draw his own conclusions about society placement of value in general.  In later chapters, he revisits this idea by way of reviving a philosophical query that many individuals may remember from his or her time in a Philosophy 101 credit.

 

“Imagine,” we are prompted, “if we could interact with an alien from another planet.  We can assume, surely for the sake of argument grounded in solid belief in a universal law and metaphysical reality, that this being shares what we might refer to as: “morality.”  That is to say that he, she, or it could agree on the value of life, piety, goodness, etc.  However, the thing that separates this being is that he, she, or it has not been socialized in the same manner in which the people of earth have been socialized.  In a simple way of putting things, the alien would share the best parts of being human, but not be influenced by culture.

 

Indeed, what would this alien have to say about us?  About everything?  Miller proposes that the alien would say that people are primarily concerned with…comparing themselves to other people.  For support if his argument, he must look no further than the cache of reality television that is broadcast nightly on various networks.  Every event, whether the most mundane activity or something purely fabricated, becomes a utensil to compare people to other people.  Everyone is ranked and filed neatly at the end of each episode and we in turn have something to talk or be upset about at the water cooler the next morning.  If the viewers are lucky there is some kind of prize at the final closing.  Most times, participants are content to prostitute their own dignity for the sake of having the proverbial fifteen minutes of fame.

 

It would be quite easy to revive another conventional philosophy question by asking if art reflects society or society reflects art.  Though I find it troubling to label reality television “art,” I find it equally troubling to realize that no matter if art is fueling society or vice versa, there is relation between the two.  Consequently, reality television, whether it is causing a problem or reflecting it, can be explicably linked to world as sliver of truth

 

Miller’s “Lifeboat Theory,” is easiest seen in the western world through our cultural emphasis on career.  If you don’t believe me go to an educational conglomerate website and submit an email and phone number.  Just be prepared for a barrage of phone calls and email spam that pitch promises to you about the position changes, promotional advancement, salary increase, or anything other zen-like solutions if you would only sign up for classes and find the power break free of all that holds by harnessing the power of you career.

Still don’t believe me?  Try another experiment.  The next time you go to a wedding reception or social gathering in which you are a genuine stranger to the attending majority, introduce yourself to someone and attempt to spark up a conversation without bringing up your job.  Best of luck to you in this endeavor.  As I once told a friend, claiming one’s career as an identity is a beautiful recipe for disaster, but it still our chosen mode of operation.  If Miller’s “Lifeboat Theory” is real, then those continual “so what do you do?” introductory conversations will be the dialogue of the “lifeboat,” to which he refers.

 

In the 1998 box office release Fight Club, Edward Norton plays a character seated on a plane next to Tyler Dur

ten played by Brad Pitt.  Norton’s character suffers from insomnia brought on by his repetitive and lonely existence centered around career.  His job requires he travel continually to assess company automobile malfunctions and determine, mathematically not ethically, if there will be a recall.  While having another air born “single serving” meal he meets Tyler, a character that later serves as a symbol for Norton’s enlightenment and release from conventional life deeply marooned in American consumerism.

 

“So what do you do?”  Norton asks Pitt.

“Why, so you can pretend to care?”

“That’s fine,” Norton replies with an awkward laugh.

“You have quiet desperation in your laugh.”

Norton, stumped but this conversation is at a loss for words.  The next bit seems equally strange.

“Soap,” Pitt says, “I make and I sell soap,” as he hands him a small business card.

 

The cleansing begins.  Norton’s character begins his quest towards truth, Tyler his guide to how he moves towards enlightenment.  Every step a dismissal of what Miller would refer to as “The Lifeboat.”  Is it coincidence the conversation began with: “So what do you do?”

 

Chris McCandless might offer similar wisdom using different words.  After graduating college he assumed the life of a voluntary vagabond to roam the country in search of meaning and experience that would help him: “suck the marrow out of life,” as Thoroeu put it.  Even after his tragic death near the self-admitted “end” of his trek, people still read about him or attempt to unravel his mystery through Into the Wild, a well-read book later adapted to film. 

 

As Chris wanders through his journey, people continually ask him what his career is or will be.  “A career,” he responds “is a twentieth century invention and I don’t want one, thank you very much.”

Few escape the emphasis on career.  Most of us accept the jockeying for position for the best seat in the lifeboat.  It is the safest way to do business on a lifeboat really.  Our career seems to be our meal ticket in that sense, no wonder it so quickly encapsulates what we perceive as our identity and the identity of others.  We all sit across from each other in a tiny boat adrift and lost in a massive sea, staring at each other thinking we are the better.  And if we can’t be the most important, at least we can prove we are not the least.  Just don’t let me be thrown overboard.