People tell me I'm transparent...

I don't think they mean I'm invisible, but once you hear it enough, you have to wonder.

So I've been thinking about transparency. What is it to be see-through? We pay a lot of lip-service to transparency as a good quality in our organizations, like governments because we like to think that if we can see everything we'll be... safer? happier? better informed? what?

What do we mean when we say something is transparent? Depending on the context, I think it alludes to the ease with which we can perceive the inner workings of a process or system; that is to say, the insides of a transparent thing are visible. For some reason people equate seeing with understanding. It may have something to do with epistemology and etymology (insofar as language forms the very way we think): the French voir "to see" is the root verb for both avoir "to be" and savoir "to know", and while we speak English for the mostpart in North America, our ideas about governance and democracy - not to mention psychology - are heavily influenced by French thinkers. But I digress....

I generally don't like the assertion that I, personally, am transparent: it has an air of derision about it and I don't think anyone likes to feel invisible. It's more than that, I guess. It implies that my motives are  simple and obvious, that I lack mystery or depth, that I'm overly candid. Which is strange, because those should all be really great qualities... or would be in a culture that values sincerity.

Is it fair to assume that the standards to which we hold our institutions should follow from those to which we hold one another? We want others to be honest and forthright, but criticize those qualities as poor strategy or carelessness for matters that may have consequences of personal cost.

Somewhere in the middle of all this is the practice of discretion. The idea that we can and should choose when to be transparent, however, undermines the integrity of sincerity as a social mode, does it not? I'm not suggesting we should wear our hearts on our sleeves at all times, but I am wondering why, as a rule, we don't.

What would happen if we did?

It's not the same as advertising our deepest emotions or making a spectacle of our inner monologue, exactly; what I'm curious about is what would happen to us if we acted and spoke without the blades of sarcasm? Would we eventually shuck off the armour of cynicism we wear around our family, friends and coworkers?

I'm speaking of this as a hypothetical way of being. Having tried from time to time to engage the people in my life from a place of utter sincerity, I've found that it's often met with confusion or discomfort; and what you get in return - because the way we approach the world is, inevitably, our expectation of its response - is wounded pride, a deflated ego, and nothing to do on a Friday night.

I'm including what I believe to be the only score from Chicago worth hearing (John C. Reilly - Mr Cellophane) as a musical accompaniment to the trouble with transparency. Enjoy.


Please post a comment with you thoughts, sarcastic or sincere (just tell us which it is).