Fire and Knowledge

I have a confession to make. I have an addiction. I have had it for as long as I remember. You see, I am addicted to style. That is, style over substance. Form over content. I am obsessed with aesthetics over essence. This addiction has proven hard to break—in fact, I fear that it will never be completely broken. It resists reformation like the worst of fiends.

As I said, this has been haunting me since my memory begins. Life is a barrage of images seeking for my attention. They have confronted me from every front, and I have been undone. Television, video games, billboards, web sites, product packaging—there has been no rest. Even during middle school my addiction was plain. It is illustrated well by a Calvin & Hobbes comic: Calvin is confident that he will receive a good grade on a book report because of his professional looking clear plastic binder. I used to laugh at it because it was funny. Now I laugh at it because I see myself, and it is pathetic.

Calvin: Thank you. Before I begin, I’d like everyone to notice that my report is in a professional, clear plastic binder.
Teacher: That’s very nice. Go ahead.
Calvin: When a report looks like this, you know it’ll get an “A.” That’s a tip, kids. Write it down.

Of course Calvin ends up receiving a failing grade, and receiving no credit for his professional-looking binder. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the same experience, and somehow passed most of my classes.

Here is an example of what I mean: when I begin writing an article on the computer, I select a new serif font for the body—no Times New Roman for me, thank you—and select a classy sans-serif font for the headings. My footnotes must be just right. My indentations must be just so. It is quite pathetic really. When I have something “presentable” done, I take a step back and look at it and I think to myself—“now there’s an article!” Perhaps if I spent as much time revising my content, I wouldn’t be the only one reading this. While I am certainly grateful for my college education (although I didn’t quite finish it), I am not thankful that my classmates and I were marked off more for not conforming to our style guide than for writing a poorly-researched and poorly-written essay.

But of course, it’s not just essays. My addiction isn’t happy to stop there. Websites must look good. I have even been known to recommend templates to others, so help me God. The content can come later. And that is quite sad, since the best websites have a merging of style and content. As Francis Schaeffer put it, “For those art works which are truly great, there is a correlation between the style and the content. The greatest art fits together the vehicle that is being used and the message that is being said.”

The best art is a beautiful compliment of style and content. That is why it is impossible to create good writing when the main focus is on style. The content must come first, and must be done excellently. Then, after the content is completed, a complimentary style can be adorned.

And that is what I want to do. When I am creating art, I need to keep a balanced focus on the style and content. When I am writing an essay, I need to focus completely on the content, and not worry about the style until later. To combat my tendency to focus on style, I am currently handwriting all my first drafts. This allows me to focus solely on the content and leave the style for later. With websites, I need to understand the content and what the message is—then, it can be presented through a proper medium and style.

Perhaps my addiction will never be broken. But I will fight it.