June 2013

The Superstition of Those Afraid of the Water

By in nietzsche, writing No Comments

When I think of Leon Wieseltier, I usually picture him with Brian Leiter’s spitballs dotting the side of his face and neck, and though his relationship with Isaiah Berlin makes me wish I could be favorably disposed toward him, this sort of thing makes it tough:

I don’t call myself a journalist and I can’t call myself a professor, so the only professional term to which I answer happily is “intellectual.” And I think it is a very honourable term and I am happy with it. The Springsteen thing was written against a kind of journalistic complaisance. And to be wicked. I think that it is very important to give people an example of irreverence. We live in a culture of worthless praise.

It seems that in an age of blogging and online journalism everything is either solipsistic back-patting or pure vitriol.

Or it’s talk radio. And I have to say that there is not one blog, out of the eight million that must exist, that I read. The thing about blogging is that it is either someone’s first thoughts—which we know by definition are never their best thoughts—so that’s not interesting, or as time goes by they simply repeat themselves. Moreover there isn’t a lot you can say about anything consequential in 300 words. I write the back page of the magazine and I always wish it was three times as long as it is.

“I don’t read any of those modern-day penny dreadfuls. Now stand back as I proceed to tell you all about them.” Snort. For a fellow who’s so concerned about scientism infringing on the humanities’ jurisdiction, he doesn’t seem to have any problem dictating the form “serious” writing must take to meet his standards. However, as I’m sure he’s consolingly heard a few times in his life, length isn’t everything.

(Hey, didn’t you hear him say it’s important to give people an example of irreverence? I mean, if he’s already got all these haughty preconceptions about blogging, I might as well play to type.)

Personally, I prefer as with poetry, so too with prose: study your subject silently, choose your angle carefully, and then illuminate it with a flash of insight, a striking turn of phrase. Or, as a fellow who knew a thing or two about expressing profound thoughts in aphoristic form put it:

For I approach deep problems like cold baths: quickly into them and quickly out again. That one does not get to the depths that way, not deep enough down, is the superstition of those afraid of the water, the enemies of cold water; they speak without experience. The freezing cold makes one swift.

And to ask this incidentally: does a matter necessarily remain misunderstood and unfathomed merely because it has been touched only in flight, glanced at, in a flash? Is it absolutely imperative that one settles down on it? That one has brooded over it as over an egg? Diu noctuque incubando, as Newton said of himself? At least there are truths that are singularly shy and ticklish and cannot be caught except suddenly — that must be surprised or left alone.

There certainly are plenty of blogs that are nothing but tribal vitriol and status competition, but unlike Twitter, there are no inherent constraints on the form a blog takes. It can be anything from an online diary to a space for long-form essays, and like the essay, its adaptable, mongrel nature likely bodes well for its longevity.

Felonious Bunk

By in books, crime and punishment 2 Comments

Kottke:

In a book called Three Felonies A Day, Boston civil rights lawyer Harvey Silverglate says that everyone in the US commits felonies everyday and if the government takes a dislike to you for any reason, they’ll dig in and find a felony you’re guilty of.

That looks very interesting, in a pants-shitting sort of way, of course. Additionally, it looks like it might be useful as a definitive response to the “If you’re not doing anything wrong, what do you have to hide?” types.

All Them Books I Didn’t Read, They Just Sat There on My Shelf Looking Much Smarter Than Me (X)

By in books, montaigne, so many books, so little time No Comments

Two more additions to the stack. This is just a fun-sized edition of ATBIDR…, you might say.

That tour guide last year tried to tell me that William Penn was the first to create genuine freedom of worship in the colonies. The jacket copy of Barry’s book says, however:

For four hundred years, Americans have wrestled with and fought over two concepts that define the nature of the nation: the proper relation between church and state and between a free individual and the state. These debates began with the extraordinary thought and struggles of Roger Williams, who had an unparalleled understanding of the conflict between a government that justified itself by “reason of state”-i.e. national security-and its perceived “will of God” and the “ancient rights and liberties” of individuals.

This is a story of power, set against Puritan America and the English Civil War. Williams’s interactions with King James, Francis Bacon, Oliver Cromwell, and his mentor Edward Coke set his course, but his fundamental ideas came to fruition in America, as Williams, though a Puritan, collided with John Winthrop’s vision of his “City upon a Hill.”

Acclaimed historian John M. Barry explores the development of these fundamental ideas through the story of the man who was the first to link religious freedom to individual liberty, and who created in America the first government and society on earth informed by those beliefs. The story is essential to the continuing debate over how we define the role of religion and political power in modern American life.

I haven’t really read much about Williams since my school days, so that should be interesting. As for John Gray, whose book I’m already half-finished with and enjoying as usual, I thought this interview with Nick Talbot was one of the better ones I’ve seen of his, with Talbot’s questions actually adding to the quality:

I was surprised to see you so often characterised as a conservative thinker – you certainly don’t hold any positions that characterise, say, the “paleo-conservative” American right. (You have identified strains of utopianism in free market neo-liberalism and liberal interventionism and your embrace of James Lovelock’s Gaia theory is anathema to most on the right.) Is your conservatism more in the mould of David Hume, perhaps? A sceptical caution over the human tendency to see patterns where there are none.

JG: I’m not sure it makes much sense to talk of conservatism these days. Certainly I share the view, often held by conservatives in the past, that there is such a thing as human nature, that it’s relatively constant and in some ways inherently flawed. (Thinking this way is one reason why I’m not a post-modernist.) It was this type of conservatism that the painter Francis Bacon had in mind when he said he always voted for the right because it made the best of a bad job. The poet T.E. Hulme said something very similar. But that kind of conservatism scarcely exists any more: Today conservative thinking oscillates between neo-con progressivism – a species of inverted Marxism – and paleo-conservative reaction, which amounts to not much more than a collection of ugly prejudices (racism, homophobia, misogyny). Both these versions of “conservatism” seem to me hostile to the conservation of civilised life. The genuine scepticism of David Hume is much preferable to anything that passes as conservative today.

At the same time I doubt if Hume’s rationalistic Enlightenment variety of scepticism is enough – for one thing, he had the good fortune to live before the age of militant political faiths and modern fundamentalism. Montaigne is a better guide, possibly the best, to living in a time of modern wars of faith.

…You argue that popular music’s trite language of self-realisation owes much to the Romantic movement’s emphasis on originality, but I see it as a logical result of the culture of individualism perpetuated by the New Right; instead of thinking how they can contribute to their community, young people have been encouraged to indulge egoistic fantasies. Is there any hope for encouraging a communitarian ethos in young people?

JG: I wonder if communitarianism means anything any more – think of Cameron’s big society. The prevailing individualism runs much deeper than anything owed to the New Right. Maybe we’re in a time akin to those in which the Buddha and Epicurus lived – in which it’s up to each individual, along with those they care about, to live as well as they can. To be sure, political and other types of collective action may be necessary to defend civilised values. But I don’t think any collective project can or should be viewed as providing meaning in life.

Hume, Montaigne, Buddha and Epicurus. Now there’s a dinner party to fantasize about hosting.

Mind-Monkey in the Middle

By in atheism, extraordinary popular delusions, foolosophy, psychology, religion No Comments

Galen Guengerich:

I describe myself as speaking for the majority in the middle: People between the atheists on the one hand and the fundamentalists on the other—people who value individual freedom when it comes to what we believe and how we live, yet reject the traditional views of God, scripture, the creeds, and all that. But I’m not convinced that individuals are the be-all and end-all, either, or that transcendence plays no role in life, as the atheists insist.

I think what we’re trying to do, what I’m trying to do, is speak for that group of people—not just Unitarian Universalists, but people from all points along the religious/non-religious spectrum who are trying to figure out how to balance what is rightly individual in our lives and in our culture with what is necessarily a communal undertaking. I think both ends of the spectrum err in one way or the other: the atheists by being radically individualist and spiritually isolationist; the fundamentalists by being radically collective and leaving no real room for individual belief. It’s a hard balance to find.

In the not-too-distant past, I might have made a predictable snarky remark along the lines of the classic XKCD panel. But honestly, I don’t even care all that much about the ostensible subjects here of religion vs. atheism, individuality vs. collectivism. Now, when I read things like this, I’m interested in the cognitive bias which seems far more fundamental of an issue — namely, the Goldilocks tendency to place oneself directly in the reasonable, moderate center of an issue, beset by extremists on either side. I’d be willing to bet most atheists and fundamentalists would fail to recognize themselves in this characterization. They all likely see themselves as maintaining a healthy balance between self and community, with perfectly logical reasons for drawing the lines where they do. It’s only those crazy people over there who have it all wrong, obviously. Name any issue, and you’ll find the same dynamics.

One of the first things we heard in philosophy class was Socrates’ assertion that people are incapable of choosing what they truly believe to be the wrong choice. Ferzample, even if you perform horrible, depraved actions with a gun to your head, it’s because you feel that the greater good of preserving your life at any cost takes precedence over violating ethical standards you would otherwise uphold. Along those lines, I wonder if it’s possible for most people to view themselves as societal outliers, as exceptions to the norm, without suffering either depression or delusions of grandeur as a result. Psychologically, we seem to need to envision ourselves at the median of whichever social context we find ourselves in.

All of Those So Proud Won’t Improve Upon It

By in books, bring me the head of nicholas carr, extraordinary popular delusions, literature as moral fiber supplement No Comments

Annie Murphy Paul:

Recent research in cognitive science, psychology and neuroscience has demonstrated that deep reading—slow, immersive, rich in sensory detail and emotional and moral complexity—is a distinctive experience, different in kind from the mere decoding of words. Although deep reading does not, strictly speaking, require a conventional book, the built-in limits of the printed page are uniquely conducive to the deep reading experience. A book’s lack of hyperlinks, for example, frees the reader from making decisions—Should I click on this link or not?—allowing her to remain fully immersed in the narrative.

That immersion is supported by the way the brain handles language rich in detail, allusion and metaphor: by creating a mental representation that draws on the same brain regions that would be active if the scene were unfolding in real life. The emotional situations and moral dilemmas that are the stuff of literature are also vigorous exercise for the brain, propelling us inside the heads of fictional characters and even, studies suggest, increasing our real-life capacity for empathy.

Sigh. You know, having been an enthusiastic reader since childhood, I’m almost ideally suited to be favorably disposed toward this message. Wouldn’t my ego just love to believe that my ability to concentrate intently on printed material made me wiser, deeper, more authentic? Luckily, I retain enough objective perspective to realize what a load of happy horseshit that would be. It’s just one skill set out of many, and by no means the most important. (Ironically, it’s hard to escape the impression that, for all the talk of empathy, advocates for the progressive benefits of literature seem to find it difficult to sympathetically imagine that a life lacking in sustained, focused concentration and reading for pleasure could still be fulfilling.)

Don’t get me wrong — I’m perfectly content with reading being my main hobby, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. But it’s not like reaching a certain level of knowledge or experience or empathetic wisdom elevates you above the storm and stress of everyday life, allowing you to always feel serene or in control. Complexity is not a uniformly “positive” thing. Your problems and obstacles likewise increase in complexity as well.

And if being able to vicariously experience such vivid emotions and moral complexity makes us “better” people, wouldn’t it follow, then, that the creators who envisioned such situations to begin with would be better as well? If reading great literature is such a net positive, shouldn’t the writing of it indicate an exquisitely developed moral perspective? To just go ahead and put too fine a point upon it, are we to understand that great writers are rarely, if ever, shitty excuses for everyday human beings?

Cocaine Runnin’ Around My Brain

By in drugs, jests japes jokes jollies, like cocaine, ohferfucksake No Comments

America, I’m here today because I love and care about you. This is why, after the latest episode, I want to urge you to seek treatment for your addiction to moronic pop-science stories about how everything from chocolate to the Internet, make-up sex and fatty foods is “like cocaine”. There are only so many facile comparisons your brain can handle, and I don’t want to find you dead of an overdose.

Occam’s Restaurant

By in bonsai minimalism, calvin and hobbes, foolosophy, santutthi No Comments

David Cain:

With an increasing number of options in almost every aspect of life, we presume that our results in each of those areas should be getting better and better, because with each new possibility it becomes more likely that one of them suits us perfectly. Our expectations for perfection and total satisfaction are too high.

As freedom of choice grows, the perfect career, the perfect partner, the perfect schedule or the perfect salad dressing seem more likely to happen. Perhaps they are, but psychologically we’re less likely to be pleased with whatever we do choose, because our satisfaction with what we have shrinks as the number of things we don’t have — or could have — grows.

…The options at mealtime are a microcosm of the lifestyle options available to the ordinary, free Western citizen. We have never been freer to live how we want to live, which is wonderful and empowering but simultaneously taxing and intimidating. I want to take advantage of the freedoms provided by the incredible time we live in without getting paralyzed by too many options and endless unmade decisions.

Speaking of food, it was in his kitchen that Mark Sandman devised the minimalist aesthetic he later made famous in Morphine’s music:

These were simple, common-sense ideas. And Mark liked simple. He once told me that if people really wanted to know about his musical aesthetic, they’d be better off asking him about his cooking techniques. “I’ve applied a lot of that to my music. For example, for years I made myself a red sauce for pasta with oregano, some thyme, some basil, black pepper, salt, some of this, some of that. I thought that’s how you were supposed to make it. Then one day I didn’t put anything in. I just forgot. And it was the best sauce I ever made. That moment right there taught me a lot.”

I agree philosophically, but that’s probably because I’m congenitally disposed toward simplicity anyway. My mental switchboard gets overloaded too quickly for me to indulge in endless customization.

Do or Do Not. There is No “Should”

By in foolosophy, nihilism No Comments

Bunny Lebowski: Uli doesn’t care about anything. He’s a nihilist.
The Dude: Ah, that must be exhausting.

Simon Critchley:

Sometimes I think John Gray is the great Schopenhauerian European Buddhist of our age. What he offers is a gloriously pessimistic cultural analysis, which rightly reduces to rubble the false idols of the cave of liberal humanism. Counter to the upbeat progressivist evangelical atheism of the last decade, Gray provides a powerful argument in favor of human wickedness that’s still consistent with Darwinian naturalism. It leads to passive nihilism: an extremely tempting worldview, even if I think the temptation must ultimately be refused.

The passive nihilist looks at the world with a highly cultivated detachment and finds it meaningless. Rather than trying to act in the world, which is pointless, the passive nihilist withdraws to a safe contemplative distance and cultivates his acute aesthetic sensibility by pursuing the pleasures of poetry, peregrine-watching, or perhaps botany, as was the case with the aged Rousseau (“Botany is the ideal study for the idle, unoccupied solitary,” Jean-Jacques said). Lest it be forgotten, John Stuart Mill also ended up a botanist.

In a world that is rushing to destroy itself through capitalist exploitation or military crusades — two arms of the same Homo rapiens — the passive nihilist resigns himself to a small island where the mystery of existence can be seen for what it is without distilling it into a meaning. The passive nihilist learns to see, to strip away the deadening horror of habitual, human life and inhale the void that lies behind our words.

No, no, no. Acting in the world is not “pointless”. You can’t help but act. Just because an action doesn’t have inherent meaning, or ultimate meaning, doesn’t mean it has absolutely no meaning. As I keep saying, nihilism is the flip side of universalism, an inverted attempt to keep believing in one rule that is true at all times for all people everywhere.

Put it this way: the question is not “Should I act?” or “Should I not act?” The question is, what do you mean by “should”?

Far From the Madding Crowd’s Ignoble Strife

By in art, conspicuous crusading, foolosophy, technology, unintended consequences No Comments

Astra Taylor:

Zuckerman, however, is not a knee-jerk naysayer about all things digital. The director of the MIT Center for Civic Media and cofounder of the international bloggers’ website Global Voices, he is extremely enthusiastic about the potential of using technology to connect people across cultures. He wants the Internet to be an empathy machine. The difference between him and the full-throated apostles of cyber-utopianism is that he does not believe that the online world is foreordained to fulfill this purpose, nor does he naively assume that the outcomes of cross-cultural connections will always be desirable.

Gregory Currie:

Everything depends in the end on whether we can find direct, causal evidence: we need to show that exposure to literature itself makes some sort of positive difference to the people we end up being. That will take a lot of careful and insightful psychological research (try designing an experiment to test the effects of reading “War and Peace,” for example). Meanwhile, most of us will probably soldier on with a positive view of the improving effects of literature, supported by nothing more than an airy bed of sentiment.

The archetypal image of the sage is one of serenity and an almost-otherworldly lack of concern for the mundane obsessions of everyday life. In other words, the accumulation of knowledge and experience, rather than simply being a super-sum of positive integers, tends to produce a state of being that would seem very much at odds with the sort of simplistic, progressive partisan vision of “better” or “nicer” citizens. Knowledge is a double-edged blade that can be used for the same values and desires people have always had; increasingly complex experience isn’t likely to express itself in platitudes.

I Tried to Think of Something Deep to Say, But My Well is Dippin’ Dry Today

By in identity, santutthi, work, writing 6 Comments

Pulling extra shifts is nice for the bigger paychecks, but I swear, I feel mentally flabby when I have to go a few days without having time to read and write. As Mark Sandman once wailed, don’t they know that I’ve got other plans? Well, truth be told, I have been able to spend a few hours here and there on the web, but I’ve come away with nothing to show for my efforts but familiarity with the latest fútbol transfer market rumors, the latest evidence of irredeemable shitheelery from certain FTB bloggers, and the usual digital detritus, none of which is conducive to my practice.

You lovely people don’t come here for that sort of frippery, do you? Of course not; you come here to delight in my prose stylings, and who could blame you for refusing to settle for less. But while I recover from this busy week and prepare for the upcoming one, I will offer, in lieu of my own writing this fine day, some writing about writing which I’ve read and appreciated: Manjula Martin considering the ways in which a dreaded “day job” keeps writing from disappearing up its own Platonic ideal, and Freddie Dee Bee taking a hammer and chisel to your whole identity as a writer to see if anything is left once he’s done.

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