You need to read this – my review is mere foreplay. This book slams together so many interesting ideas that it sparkles. I’ve already recommended it to five people in my real life, and that even before I’d finished reading it.
I haven’t been in the office for the last couple of days, but I emailed someone I work with today to tell him that he needed to read this. He is very keen on Peirce’s work, and I told him this was basically Peirce meets Marx meets Goffman. Three of my favourite theorists – but I could just as easily have also included Barthes, Simmell, or Levi-Strauss.
The sub-title is a reference to Veblen’s The Theory of the Leisure Class, a book I would also recommend. In that, Veblen coined the phrase ‘conspicuous consumption’ – basically saying that being rich means that you can do things to show of how well off you are that have virtually no other meaning than as an act of display. What might seem a little odd, you know, given MacCannell has referenced Veblen so obviously in the title of this, is that he hardly mentions him again.
So, what’s this all about? Marx felt that one of the major problems with capitalism was that it is premised on the alienation of labour. That is, Adam Smith in his Wealth of Nations discusses how the division of labour enabled truly remarkable increases in the quantity of products that could be produced, but he also pointed out that the division of labour also required people to preform very simple tasks over and over again. He said that doing this for a long enough time makes the worker “as stupid and ignorant as it is possible for a human creature to become”. For Marx, such work didn’t just make you stupid, it also meant that you could take no pride (or even interest) in your own work. That is, you became alienated from your own labour, and since Marx believed that labour was, in fact, the pathway to becoming fully human, this alienation from labour stopped us from becoming truly human.
The bit to focus on here is the idea that for much of our lives, while we are working in what other authors have referred to as Bullshit Jobs (yet another book I would recommend highly), is the idea that we can derived virtually zero interest or meaning from the work we do. But we humans are, if nothing else, meaning making machines. So, doing without meaning in our lives isn’t really much of an option.
If we are not able to gain meaning from our work, then we need to find some other aspect of our lives to get meaning from. In a world that is becoming increasingly secular (and I would argue that even ‘Christianity’ – particularly the amusing new forms that look more like rock concerts and that have Gods who want you to be rich – have also become increasingly ‘secular’) we gain meaning from somewhere else. And MacCannell says that elsewhere is ‘tourism’. Well, actually, from tourism or revolution (two ideas he believes are opposite sides of a coin, in some senses).
That tourism is the key meaning in our lives might seem a bit of a jump – but it is a stunningly interesting one. Unlike Veblen’s idea that conspicuous consumption is something limited to the very rich and was a way for them to display their wealth – display is still very important here, but it has become much ‘more democratic’ in the sense that almost everyone today is a tourist at some point of their lives. When I typed ‘how big is the tourism industry’ into Google just now, I found out it is ‘one of the world’s largest industries’ and generated $7.6 trillion in 2014. Tourism is big, it is certainly not limited to the super rich.
But what is it that we are touring to see? Often it is an almost unconscious search for meaning. The author spends quite a bit of time considering what makes something ‘a sight’ or a landmark. Sometimes it will be an entire city – like Paris – other times it will be much less defined – like somewhere on the open road lost on Route 66. Or the meaning of a sight might need to be defined by some other signifier before we would even recognise it as a sight at all – the example given here is a place where Bonnie and Clyde had been in a shoot-out (which today, unsurprisingly, looks like just about anywhere else), or he mentions a young boy looking at a rock brought back from the moon and saying it’s pretty cool, but really it also looks a lot like a normal, everyday rock.
In his Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, Goffman takes Shakespeare perhaps a little too literally in his ‘all the world’s a stage’ idea. He says that we have distinctly different personas according to whether we are in an area that could be defined as front stage or in one that is more back stage – that is, if you work in a restaurant, you will be all smiles and customer service while walking between the tables and pouring the wine, but you are likely to be quite different while you are in the kitchen or on your break. Goffman goes a little in the opposite direct to what MacCannell does here, in that he says that one of the problems for some women is that they have to have their customer service face on both at work and at home, that is, that they never get a time when they can let their mask slip – given their husbands expect much the same persona.
MacCannell suggests that much modern tourism is based on fake authentic experiences. In the restaurant example, this would be where you can constantly see into the kitchen from the tables. This doesn’t really do away with the back stage, any more than it provides a ‘real’ glimpse into the back stage – it just converts what had been back stage to front stage. This book suggests that so much of modern tourism is about just that – a kind of mock or perhaps partial or quasi presentation of ‘the real’ that is never quite that. We think we are seeing true and gaining a glimpse of real ‘meaning’ – but it is a cleaned-up version of the real.
In a world where we are denied meaning from our labour, we seek meaning in our travels. We have ‘bucket lists’ and we crave ‘experiences’. My eldest daughter is just back from walking the Camino. I enjoy vicariously travelling with her on Facebook, she’s one of my favourite people in the world and I learn so much from her – she has a remarkable eye for things I wouldn’t otherwise see. One of the things she said when she got home was that the oddest part of the experience was how few Spaniards she saw. She was surrounded by people from across Europe and North America and many of them were seeking some sort of epiphany – and presumably, some of them even experienced that too, possibly for no additional cost. But the Spaniards were rarely anywhere to be seen – often at work during the day and given all the walking, my daughter was sleeping early at night. The book talks of this too – since the places we live in are often also ‘tourist sites’. Except, often even when you are standing beside a group of tourists it isn’t totally clear that you are really ‘in the same space’ as they are in. The rush of most tourist experiences turns cities into virtual theme parks, but that theme park is overlayed across the city that those who live there barely notice or interact with. Even while they are literally collocated.
One of the things this book does to your brain while you are reading it is that it forces you to flick through the tourist events and locations and places you have been to yourself. What was it that made me go to the National Gallery in London? Or to 84 Charing Cross Road? Or to Baker Street Station? Or the Globe? What a bizarre set of pilgrimages. What was I expecting to learn or see or be once I’d gone to those spaces? And I kept thinking about the idea that there must be endless tourists who come to Melbourne, but that about the only time I really notice them is when I’m walking into the reading room at the State Library and they are blocking the doorway so they can take a photograph of the dome.
The more I read this book, the more I couldn’t help thinking of cinema and television as kinds of tourist worlds – where we go to escape the boredom of our day-to-day existence. I’m writing a chapter in a book with a friend at work that uses Westworld to help explain Marx. I’m trying to push the idea that even though the robots’ revolt (I’ve never actually watched an episode of the show, so, that is proving a little unusual in using it to discuss something else) that Marx wouldn’t see that as really comparable to the revolution he was considering. And that is for much the same reason tourism is a complex and contradictory form of escape from our alienated world of labour. Few of us can live our entire lives as tourists, even if we wanted to, and even if we did, it wouldn’t be clear that would be enough to put meaning back into our lives.
I borrowed this book from the library at work – but I’d barely gotten halfway through before I realised I needed to own a copy, and so I bought a second-hand copy off an online book site. In parts you might find this quite a difficult read – but persist with it – it will reward whatever efforts you make.