A Clean Well-Lighted Life

Hemingway is at his best, I think, in his short stories.  The same may be said of Stephen Crane.  In novels, they tend to wander; in their short stories, they make a single point, and that point is sometimes profound.

Someone once said to me that Hemingway is a Stoic author.  This was said in connection with his Old Man and the Sea, but I have some problems making that connection.  I doubt a Stoic would become all that involved in landing a fish, however great the fish might be, and while a Stoic might love nature I think a Stoic would find no pleasure, and surely no grandeur, in killing one of its creatures.  Papa took pleasure in killing many, apparently.  One wonders if he took pleasure in killing himself.

Someone once said to me that Hemingway was bipolar (a guide at his former Key West home).  That may be.  It seems to have run in the family, like alcoholism.  If he was, it would make sense that this would inform his work.

I've always liked A Clean Well-Lighted Place.  Age and a few near-death experiences have given me a different perspective of it, though, which I noted while reading it again the other day.  I was pleased, first, that I didn't feel the same disappointment in rereading him that I felt in rereading Mark Twain.  Perhaps I would have if I read something less precise, though; something like For Whom the Bell Tolls.

Though I flatter myself that I don't yet qualify as an old man, I feel a kind of sympathy with the old man in the story.  I believe I have a better understanding of why he found it hard to sleep.  I suspect he found it hard to sleep because it is hard to sleep, as one grows older; or rather, it is hard to stay asleep.  There are physical reasons for this, of course.  But I think the older one gets the more one has to be distracted, even tricked, into sleeping.  Thus it becomes necessary to read or watch TV for a time, once one is awake, to fall asleep again.  And, it can be useful sometimes to drink, as the old man does.  When one grows old one has more time to drink as well as to think.  So the old man annoys one of the waiters at the cafe.

The older of the waiters admires the old man as he drinks well--neatly and with dignity.  This is important.  When you drink, you shouldn't drink sloppily, noisily, stupidly.  You should do it well, as you struggle to do other things well, like walk away from your drink when it comes time to do so, as does the old man.

The older waiter understands the old man and respects his effort to do what he does well, even if it is merely drinking brandy.  He also understands the fact that it is necessary that where one drinks is important, when you're old.  The place should certainly be clean, I believe.  A mess is self-indulgent.  It is the result of being sloppy and unthinking in your ways.  It indicates you have no respect for yourself, or for others in the case of a bar or tavern.

I don't think it must be well-lighted, though, but it may be that the light is needed to establish the place is clean, and it's more important that it be clean.  I suppose the place may be dimly lit but still well-lighted, though, in some respects.

"Our Nada who art in Nada...."  The story is the story of two men who have no illusions, who perhaps have no hopes, but this does not overwhelm them.  There are things that they can do, that they can enjoy, and they can do them well, regardless of the fact that there may well be Nada.  In doing them well they show respect for themselves and the universe.  Perhaps there was something of the Stoic in Hemingway after all.  It is more the Stoicism of Marcus Aurelius than that of Epictetus, however.

The Idiocy of Selfishness

It will be recalled that Ayn Rand, who was apparently so insecure as to be unsatisfied with the name with which she was born but was otherwise exceedingly self-involved, wrote a book of essays which she decided to call The Virtue of Selfishness after the assasination of President Kennedy (she had another title in mind before he was murdered--she was planning to castigate him as a fascist).  Having first redefined "selfishness" in the most self-serving manner to fit with her thesis (quite appropriately, of course) she proclaimed it the source of all good.

Obfuscation can sometimes be pleasing, but there are limits to it which even a lawyer like myself must acknowledge, and this bit of sophistry on the part of Rand has always struck me as particularly sad.  But I think it even sadder that selfishness seems to be the source of much we think and do.

Now I must struggle to be clear, here.  To a certain extent, we must always be self-regarding.  That is our nature.  We are for example very concerned to continue to live, and thus much of what we think and do is devoted to doing so.  This is unremarkable.

But our self-absorbtion can be mystifying when it is considered that the place we hold in the universe is incredibly small.  Consider the vastness of the universe, and then consider that we indulge in such fantasies as a creator of that universe who is vitally concerned with our well-being and success; indeed, who even has much the same goals and desires as we do (if not the same form)--who even became one of us for our salvation.  And astonishingly, when we are compelled to conclude based on the evidence that we are not the reason for all things, and have no purpose on which the rest of the universe depends, we despair or are miserable, and believe our lives are worthless.  Apparently, our self-love is such that we believe either the universe is all about us or it serves no purpose whatsoever.

There is something comic about our pretensions, and you would think that would cause us to reconsider our wants and needs in the context of the rest of the world, and the others who inhabit it, before we die and are forgotten.  But we seem incapable of doing such a thing. 

Much is said today about our sense of entitlement, but it strikes me that none of us understand that this sense is the basis not only for the demand for jobs or benefits but also for claims that we have certain rights and liberties that cannot be violated, and that others should act in a manner or think in a fashion we deem appropriate.  The self-righteous are full of self-regard.  We have more to fear from the Pharisee than the beggar.

A realistic appraisal of our limitations and acceptance of our unimportance in the grand scheme of things can be sobering, and we have need for the sober in these times.  Neither the giddy nor the weepy are of much use to anyone but, possibly, themselves.

Our Peculiar Politics

I congratulate myself on having, once more, managed to avoid watching the "debate" of the Republican contenders for the presidency of this nation.  Though I acknowledge that the number of the debates has been extraordinary, and that it is normally the case that the more knowledge of candidates we have the better we are able to choose among them, I don't have the fortitude to observe these characters much longer, particularly when they are engaged in the hard work of thinking, or appearing to think, on their feet.

The preposterous Gingrich, the (latest) incoherent Governor of Texas. the shrill Bachmann, the plastic Romney--none of them impress me; quite the contrary.  Ron Paul seems genuine enough in his narrow beliefs, but his cruelty and apparent fanaticism in naming his son after a cult-leader gives one pause.  Our government has been so incompetent that the idea its power should be limited makes a good deal of sense, but the fact we are afflicted with an increasing number of gluttons and hoarders in a time when resources are limited and growing fewer seems to make regulation of the greedy a necessity, at least where they are so incapable of being sensible and exercising control over their own conduct.

But observing the grotesque ritual of running for president, or any political office, must lead any reasonable person to wonder why anyone does so, and to conclude that no admirable person would.  This is particularly the case with respect to the office of the presidency.  How could any person of intelligence, honor and principle submit to such an experience while harboring a desire and more than irrational expectation of achieving the goal?  The extent to which one's personal life and foibles are exposed, the deals one would have to make, the hypocrisy one would have to so willingly embrace, the money one would have to so assiduously make and what one would have to do to make it, would make any person worthy or respect, let alone of any intellect, decline the increasingly dubious honor.

It can be argued--quite legitimately, I think--that no rational person would want to be President of the United States.  A certain kind and degree of insanity has become a prerequisite.  Megalomania, at the least, should be acknowledged to be a condition of election.  One must have messianic delusions of grandeur to submit to the trauma of the electoral process in these times and to expect that one will emerge from it with any self-respect and with the ability to achieve what one had at one time planned to achieve but has no doubt promised not to achieve if given the opportunity.  Of course, those who have no plans, no principles, no ideas, but run merely to enjoy the experience of defrauding the citizens of the United States for their own benefit or the benefit of their paymasters would be equally suited to run for office and even be elected.

Because we have arranged our affairs in such a fashion as to assure that only lunatics or the fraudulent will have the opportunity to govern us, it would seem to make the most sense to direct our efforts towards the election of the less dangerous of the lunatics or frauds running for election.  My best guess at this time is that either Romney or the incumbent is the least insane of those from which we will have to choose the next commander-on-chief, though both clearly can and will say one thing and do another.  Both of these gentlemen seem willing to do and say most anything that will assure their election and continuance in office and at the same time will make it as certain as possible that the status quo will be maintained.  These are hardly desirable goals, but may be the best we can do right now.  Perhaps this will at least give us the chance of reforming ourselves to the point where we can reform the political system we have allowed to exist.

Schubert and Mindfulness

I was listening again to Schubert's Quintet in C, which has always had a profound effect on me, and which may especially have one now given recent events.  His Death and the Maiden does so as well.  I respond in the same fashion to Beethoven's later string quartets.  There is something about them that supersedes our lives, perhaps even transcends them.  They take us out of the mundane, ever so briefly.  It is an effect which for me usually accompanies great chamber music of a sober, somber character.  Symphonies are too cluttered; they lack the simplicity required to evoke reflection.  Such works give one an appreciation of existence on something of a cosmic scale, albeit it is an appreciation one obtains not through reason but through something else which seems more significant than a mere feeling.

The works of Schubert I've mentioned were composed shortly before his very early death, which may have been due to syphilis, that bane of many artists of the 19th century (or perhaps it was the mercury with which it was treated).  That's what you get for being human though you have a divine talent; there is a kind of irony attached to such a death of such a person.  It must be admitted there is something about human nature which encourages dualism.

What I find impressive about Schubert, who I think represents the last gasp, as it were, of classical music before it succumbed like so much else to  Romanticism, is that he managed to excel at "lighter" music, particularly lieder, and can even sometimes be said to be sentimental, but at the same time was capable to composing music of real majesty.  This could not have been easy.  And yet it would seem to be natural enough for one who feels things with immediacy.  Someone who has the focus or mindfulness to accept and understand what is transpiring now may be best able to portray that moment.  Some moments we are happy, some we are not.

That focus is something I lack, except perhaps when called on to criticize or create an argument.  My mind is too chaotic until it is required not to be.  Perhaps this is what Dewey meant when he wrote that we only truly think when confronted with problems.  Otherwise there is no need to think, and necessity is of course the mother of invention.

Regrettably, we are at our best when we think.  This is sad as we do not think often enough.  Thinking is hard.  It is far easier not to think, but instead to drift along.

Is there some inconsistency here, though?  If we should be mindful of the present moment, does that not require that we give up thinking?  When we are mindful, focused on what is transpiring now, do we cease thinking?  There would seem to be no problem being addressed.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say no "problem" as typically defined.  Because there is a problem of a kind that presents itself, and that we seek to solve, and that is the problem of living in a tranquil, rational manner.

Living in such a manner would appear to require a certain detachment from considerations which distract us from what is being experienced, i.e. from what we call "worries."  I wonder if this is a kind of detachment which can be obtained by artists more easily than others.  It wouldn't seem to necessitate a complete detachment; nirvana is not necessarily desirable for an artist, I would think, as for an artist there is something to be created and it would seem creation is an act which requires a certain involvement and even desire.

Complete detachment may be an attribute of the wholly self-sufficient, of a god or God.  This makes me wonder whether the wholly self-sufficient can be a God we would be inclined to worship.  Regardless, though, we are social animals, and there is necessarily a limit to which we can be detached.

Intelligent appreciation of the moment would seem to be a reasonable goal; it may even be achievable, with practice.  Now I only have to determine what it consists of, and hope I can do so shortly.

Memento Mori

These are the words we are told were whispered in the ears of Romans granted a triumph as they rode their chariots to the Capitol.  "Remember you are mortal," they were advised.  One would think the reminder would be unnecessary, but clearly it is not, as we take pains to remind ourselves of this fact, now and then, if not at the moment we achieve glory or are glorified.
I've been reminded of this twice in the last three years, rather forcefully, and so am inclined to opine on my mortality; but I find myself very much at a loss to say anything that has not already been said by someone over the tens if not hundreds of thousands of years we have pondered our fate.  It makes one wonder whether death is in a sense banal, but it cannot be, as it cannot be said to be boring, no matter that it is obvious.  But what can be asserted intelligently beyond the fact that we die, which is to say at the least that we no longer exist as we have existed?

Marcus Aurelius apparently believed that we either dissolve into the atoms the ancients felt made up the universe, or are absorbed into the Divine Reason.  Others have believed otherwise; it seems there is no end to the alternatives available to our imagination if to nothing else.  We may simply cease to be.  We may go to heaven or to hell.  We may transmigrate, reincarnate.  We may continue to exist is some other universe. 

We are vitally concerned regarding our fate, yet there is clearly nothing unique about it.  All livings things change, age and die; at least those living things of which we are aware.  Perhaps there will come a time when we may avoid this fate, perhaps that time will never come.  We consider ourselves unique because we are aware of our fate--we know we will die, while other livings things do not (we are presumptuous if nothing else).  This has caused the more self-loving among us to dramatically despair, usually in rather florid, self-pitying essays, poems and novels.  But this reaction seems less than useful, even futile and silly.  It is rather like loudly protesting the fact that we continually urinate.

What can we usefully do in response to the fact that we will die?  This would appear to be the only intelligent inquiry that can be made if our concern is regarding how we are to live rather than to speculate about what might happen when we cease living; something we cannot determine much as we may want to. 

Unsurprisingly, this is a question which has been addressed.  We have not always been melodramatic, self-regarding romantics or mere believers in a paradise awaiting us in some other realm.  Wise men and women have considered the issue, and have come to make inferences which are sensible.

"Live every moment as if it were your last moment" or words similar to them have been said and written time and again.  This is advice many have given though they have believed very different things regarding what may or may not happen after we have lived.  This is good advice because it relates to what is in our control.  That we will die is something we clearly cannot control.  Our concern should be how we live, i.e. with things we can do or not do.

Should we then "eat, drink and be merry"--words we have also heard said over our history?  Well, there is certainly nothing wrong with eating, drinking or being merry.  But it's doubtful we can be merry all the time.  We can relish the times we are merry, certainly.  However, there are times in our interaction with the universe and others in it when we are confronted with problems, fears, dangers and things which decidedly are not the stuff of merriment, and we must face them as well. 

We can act in accordance with nature, as the Stoics taught.  We are intelligent creatures, social creatures, made up of the stuff which makes up the universe of which we are a part.  We can act reasonably and do so by doing the best we can with what is in our control.  We can try to do this at every moment, and when we die do so knowing this this has been our goal in life, and be content. 

On Having a Heart Attack

This has been something of a surprise.  While exercising the other day, I began to feel ill.  Substantially ill, in fact.  My chest began to feel tight, I experienced nausea, I broke into a cold sweat, nothing like the "hot" sweat which usually accompanies my workout.  I had the good sense to stop, and sat down, hoping that what seemed to be happening was not.  After I time, I began to feel better, and wobbled off to my car.  I hoped to make it home, there to "get better", but it was not to be.  I ended up pulling to the side of the road and croaking over my cell phone to my wife, who fortunately realized I was having problems and came and took me to a relatively nearby hospital.

Heart attacks, I will have you know, can hurt.  They can hurt a great deal.  I made this known as I was poked and prodded by various medical personnel.  Morphine was applied.  I found it most disappointing.  Nitroglycerin was taken.  Aspirin was chewed.  It was decided I should be transported to another hospital, and so I was bundled into an ambulance and had a most uncomfortable ride during which I gently noted I was feeling even more pain.  I was rewarded with another dose of morphine, which I will confess was less disappointing than the first.   Thereafter I was bundled out of the ambulance and into what I think was an operating room, where I had a case of the shakes.   But at that point I was given a very admirable anesthetic, and floated about contentedly while a wire was inserted into my wrist and eventually into an artery which had been blocked and was opened.  A balloon and stent have now been added to the parts which make up the whole of my body.  Now I'm in a hospital bed and am watched by several different machines and persons.  I can look forward to several different medications, rehab and a profoundly uninteresting diet.  However, I can also feel fortunate to be alive, and be grateful that I didn't have to undergo serious surgery.

The thought that one may soon die, when it has a reasonable basis, can be most sobering.  My admirable doctor genially informed me that I had beaten the "widow maker."  I doubt I can take much credit for this victory.  I think I can say, though, that the very real concern I felt was reasonably well masked, by pain if nothing else.  I did not (vocally) express fear or plead for my life.  I did not ask anyone to give my love and last respects to my family, though I thought of doing so.  I did my best to take what I was experiencing as a good Stoic would, recognizing that there were things beyond my control, willing to accept my fate, and struggling to calm myself in the face of pain and fear.

But fear and pain were present; there can be no doubt about it.  And I felt a great sense of regret.  I even prayed, in a fashion, that I would make it through.  I couldn't remember any of the Hymn of Cleanthes, and no comforting words of Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus or Seneca occurred to me.  I thought of counting breaths, or doing something which would divert my attention from the pain  and fear.  I ended up reciting the "Our Father" for a time.  I've always thought it a lovely, simple prayer, and I knew it well, which was somehow very important at the time.

I'm still struggling to accept the fact I've had a heart attack.  It is certainly an interesting experience.  So is the realization that one might die.  I've often wondered how I would face death, and now at least have a better idea of how I may do so.  I know for certain that I would regret dying, which is to say I would regret no longer living, but am uncertain if I know much else.  Still, that in itself is something important, and useful, to know.

Dulce et decorum est...?

These are words of Horace, called an "old lie" by Wilfred Owen, a poet who knew war all too well. 

It's that time of the year when we ponder the fate and nature of those who have waged war, and are in a position to do so.  It seems fitting in an odd sort of way that November 11th is singled out for this purpose, the day on which the combat stage of what was once called the Great War ended.  That war it seems is no longer quite so "great" as we humans managed to engage in an even "greater" war within in a short time thereafter, and have been engaged in one war or another ever since, whether we call it such or not.

I am fascinated in some ways by the First World War.  It's a fascination with what I think is the extraordinarily terrible and stupid manner in which it was fought, at least on its western front.  That's not to say that other wars, ancient or modern, were not terrible and stupid.  William Tecumseh Sherman is credited with the assertion that "War is all hell" and is said to have been the first to have executed "total war" by marching his troops through the Confederacy, devastating every thing and person in their path.  That assertion is apparently accepted by most, but I wonder if most of us appreciate the significance of the word "all" in that statement.  I think Sherman meant to note that everything about war is hell, even those aspects of it we tend to glorify.

I think WWI was remarkable in its brutality and the manner in which it was waged.  The deadlock on the western front resulted in trench warfare, the use of artillery to such an extent it's likely it would have horrified even Napoleon, and such novelties as mining opposing trenches, i.e. digging under them and placing under them stupendous amounts of explosives, which when set off actually vaporized many of those above.  Tactics came to consist of hurling men at entrenched positions in the face of fire from machine guns and rifles.  The fate of soldiers in the last hours of that war strikes me as particularly tragic.  Commanders knew when the cease fire was to take place to the very minute, and some of them continued to send their men to death to the very end.  I find it difficult to conceive of anything so peculiarly cruel and futile.

I find myself wondering what a Stoic should think of war.  I confess I can't remember reading anything by Stoics such as Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius or Seneca addressing the subject in any detail.  Of course the Emperor was actively engaged in war while writing what we call his Meditations; we may infer, then, that he was willing to wage war in some circumstances.  I think we can conclude that Cicero felt it was justified in some cases as well.  The book Stoic Warriors by Nancy Sherman seems to claim that the Stoic philosophy is favored by our modern warriors.  I can see that certain aspects of Stoicism would be attractive to a soldier, but am not certain Stoicism can be said to be the path of a soldier.

I think we can at the least maintain that a Stoic would not engage in a war of aggression.  A Stoic would not be interested in obtaining territory, resources, slaves, or harming others due to hate or racism, nor would a Stoic feel it necessary that others live or think in particular ways and seek to compel them to do so.  The view that we should for the most part be indifferent to things which are not in our control would seem to render the notion of war irrelevant.  This is not even to mention the Stoic belief that we are equally citizens of the world (universe, I suppose) and united by the fact that we share in the Divine Reason.

Then there are the "Stoic martyrs" who refused to bow to the will of certain of the emperors and sought to do what they felt right in the face of death or banishment.  This is not an attitude one would think would be deemed useful to a soldier.  However, it's clear that Stoicism fosters a sense of duty, and in particular public duty.

If the nation of which the Stoic is a citizen is attacked, what would a Stoic do?  I think whether it was justly attacked would play some part in any decision.  But although we are to be indifferent to things beyond our control, I don't think a Stoic would refrain from defending others from harm, or stand idle while their lives and rights are threatened.

On the Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter

Well, it was written by someone, in any case, and it seems it could have been the man known to us as Petronius Arbiter.  Most of us may know that man as a result of his portrayal in the novel Quo Vadis if not through Tacitus.  The sophisticated, cynical (in the modern usage) "arbiter of elegance" in the court of Nero, a voluptuary who nonetheless was a very able governor and consul, a kind of later Sulla who did not exercise significant military or political authority but seemingly had the ability and gravitas to do so when needed.

The Satyricon is a fascinating work, and I think may be said to be a work of genius, the first of its kind, a predecessor perhaps of the work of Rabelais and Cervantes, the first picaresque novel or work of fiction.  I remember trying to read it years ago.  I write "trying" because it was not an easy book to find, and because its many naughty bits (as they would say on Monty Python) were rendered in Latin interruptions to the English of the translations that I found.  I thought this most annoying.  Now, of course, the work is available in translation with all those bits on display.  I cannot say with certainty how I would have reacted to them had they been available in the halcyon days of my adolescence, but they are by today's standards at least relatively tame.  One might only find the rampant bisexuality evident in the characters to be surprising in these times. 

Sex certainly is a preoccupation of those characters portrayed in the book, as is food.  The feast of Trimalchio may be deemed a digression, but if so it is fantastic one.  I have to wonder whether the author's description of the incredible dishes served up at the feast was based on actual dinners he had attended simply exaggerated for effect or his own imaginative creations.  Some say Trimalchio is intended to be Nero, some say he is a satirical rendering of the vulgar, wealthy freedman patricians came to loathe in those times.

From what we read in Martial and Juvenal, a great deal of importance was ascribed to appearing at the dinners of the wealthy and powerful in ancient Rome.  I'm not certain whether this was due to the culinary delights available or the significance of being seen at such events.  I suppose both were factors.  Perhaps Trimalchio's feast mocks those events and those who attended them and thought them important.

The characters of the work are, of course, irredeemably shallow and materialistic, which may be expected in a work of satire (and we certainly find such characters in Juvenal).  The Satyricon has among other things been looked upon by the Christian successors of the Empire as evidence of its decadence, and the unholiness of all things Pagan as a consequence.  It is debatable whether such satires are more a testament to the morals of their creators than the prevalence of what they hold up for contempt.

Admirer and emulator of the Stoics that I am or try to be, though, I have a sneaking fondness and regard for the work and for its reputed author, Petronius.  I feel as though there is a kind of resemblance between Petronius and another of Nero's mentors, Seneca.  Both men may have seen Nero for what he was, and felt contempt for the times in which they lived and the morals of those they lived among.  But they played along, for a time, for one reason or another.  Perhaps Seneca felt that he could exercise a degree of benign control over Nero and events; perhaps Petronius felt there was nothing to be done but make the best of things while deploring them.  Perhaps both felt themselves superior to those about them, but caught up in a kind of play in which they were compelled to play their parts.  Seneca consoled himself by writing wise counsel on how to live in the Stoic manner; Petronius mocked those who lived as they did at the time. 

Both died nobly, though, I think, when Nero felt they could no longer be tolerated.  Some might say they should have departed from life earlier, finding it to be intolerable.  It's hard to condemn a man for wanting to live, however.  Living as best one can in terrible times is admirable in its own way.

O tempora! O mores! Part III

Is it a necessary part of growing older that we shake our heads over the times in which we live and those we live among, particularly those who are younger than we are?  I saw an old acquaintance yesterday, and he shared with me his concern regarding these times and our morals, specifically the morals of the often referred to younger generation.

Those concerns were what you would expect them to be, I would think, and seem to be those concerns which have concerned older people regarding younger people for some time, if not throughout the history of our very concerned species.  The young just out of school don't want to work as needed, but just as they like.  They don't believe they have anything more to learn.  They lack discipline and drive.  They are lost.  Their minds are filled with sex and violence by those who manufacture our entertainment and video games.  They don't believe in anything.

Eventually though, it seems they turn into older people who then have similar concerns regarding their children or those who come after them.

Perhaps this is a kind of Jungian race-memory that is activated when we reach a particular age.  Or perhaps we merely are given to complain about youth as our youth slips away, slowly but ever so surely.

It is likely, however, that there is more to be concerned about in these times, which are necessarily ours because they cannot be anyone else's.  There are less jobs available than there were, it seems, so fewer of us will have the opportunity to focus on them to the exclusion of other things.  There are more people, and less resources, than there were.  We are dissatisfied.  Things fall apart, the center cannot hold, mere anarchy, etc.  We've heard that all before as well, haven't we?

Yes.  But it may be that there is more reason to feel that way in our times, because there are more of us, and less of everything else, and it seems that this will become more and more the case.

Something should be done and remarkably it appears we have begun to actually believe something should be done.  As that is the case, it is possible we may even do something, sometime, about it.  But it isn't clear anyone knows what to do, and in fact it seems clear that those we consider our leaders or those who consider themselves our leaders don't know what to do, or are inclined to do nothing which has not been tried in the past.  Here in this Glorious Republic, it's true that our leaders or those who want to be our leaders want to do more of what has been tried in the past, perhaps even much more of what has been tried in the past, but this is not a comforting thought. 

It's probable that we will find ourselves obliged to radically change the manner in which we live by the course of events, as we are never inclined to change our habits or the way we conduct our lives willingly.  But it would make a great deal more sense to adjust ourselves to account for what will soon be a very different world than to allow ourselves to be adjusted forcibly and in what will be an unpleasant manner.

How should we adjust ourselves?  We must acknowledge limitations, and learn to live within them.  Self-control is something we must learn, and that is not something we are inclined to, as we are given to indulge ourselves if we can.  But our opportunities to do so will become fewer and fewer, and the consequences of doing so will become progressively more dire.

Of course, my inclination is to assert that a Stoic point of view is something that we would all benefit from.  We would be well advised to treat certain things as indifferent as those things will become scarce.  We would be well advised to accept that there are things beyond our control and that we should not concern ourselves with them, but rather do the best we can with what we have, what we can control.  We should understand that among the things in our control is our desire for self-indulgence and lust for things, money and power.  Most of all we should learn to respect others and not seek to control or harm them, but let them live their lives in dignity and reasonable comfort.   

If we don't things may fall apart, sooner rather than later.

Death and the Laden

It's more than likely that few will mourn the death of the many-named dictator of Libya, but it seems there are those who regret the manner of his death, if not his death.

I find this puzzling, as those who express concern or outrage on this issue include, it seems to me, many who actively sought his death, and seem to welcome it if not rejoice in it.  It is one of our peculiarities to seek the death of some person and trouble ourselves over the manner of that death.  Kill him, by all means, but do it nicely, we seem to say.

I wonder if this is in part due to a feeling of guilt.  There is no question that what is called the West has been actively trying to kill him for some time now; NATO directly, and these United States "indirectly" at least.  Since our President proclaimed the happy doctrine that waging war does not consist of merely raining bombs and missiles upon people, but requires that we be present on their territory in numbers shooting at them as well, it appears that we may do quite a few things indirectly in the future if we or our President is so inclined.

It would have been much more palatable had he been killed by one of those bombs or missiles, or by one of the aptly titled drones.  We would have been spared the pain of watching him being taunted and manhandled and it seems shot in the head.  I think it must be said that there is something disturbing in the practice of seeking to kill and then shaking our heads in dismay that the killing was not well done, something which renders us uneasy--something unworthy.

That said, it also seems we must acknowledge that there is something unworthy about killing someone, anyone, in a manner which degrades that person, not to mention that person's killers.  Lynchings are not admirable.  One can understand that hatred is earned in some cases, and it seems that the deceased in this case did many things which necessarily caused him to be wildly hated, and this suffices to explain, if not justify, the manner of his death.  What could have been expected if he was captured in these circumstances?  Did we think he would be solemnly and peaceably escorted to a safe place to await a dignified trial?

A reasonable person (we lawyers love to refer to this person) should have anticipated that it could and perhaps would come to this.  So, I'm inclined to feel a certain contempt for those who, supporting his death, noisily declaim that it was wrongly done.  At the same time I can't help but feel a certain regret.  We humans have since ancient times felt that the dead are to be treated with a certain respect, and have in the past at least feared the consequences to us if we did not grant them that respect.  That respect has in some cases at least been deemed appropriately given to a person facing his last moments.  Then again, we have also turned executions into circuses.  They could be a kind of holiday or show not all that long ago.

We are quite willing to be killers, it seems, but would prefer to be gentlemanly killers if at all possible, at least in certain cases.  It's not a very satisfying conclusion in any sense, but may be the only one possible, the only one which fits the facts.

Arms and the Men

I've never had any desire to own or otherwise possess a gun.  I'm not sure why that's the case.  I've fired away at assorted inanimate targets using a handgun or a rifle on occasions in the past.  I was unimpressed by the experience, but perhaps would have liked it had I been better at the doubtless worthy goal of putting holes in cans and bottles.  I've never hunted, as I don't feel any desire to kill animals, especially while in the company of the drunk or hungover who are carrying firearms while wandering about the woods or sitting in a stand waiting for something to move.

Perhaps this is an attitude which separates me from or biases me against those of my countrymen who trumpet the virtues of firearms, or at least their possession, and who consider it a right if not a need to have at least one near at all times.  But the most recent killings by gun-wielding and rather pathetic, hateful examples of the human race make me wonder about the wisdom of expounding this right or indulging this need.

I suppose it is arguable that had someone been present in the salon which was recently made a shooting gallery, a glock concealed on his person, he could have leaped up and done away with the shooter.  I suppose it is possible that had such a person been openly brandishing a weapon it may have deterred the shooter.  But I doubt it, because it appears the killer didn't care much about anything but killing at the time.  My guess, which is admittedly only a guess as I've happily never been involved in a firefight, is that if a number of people have guns and begin firing them while in the same place, the likelihood is that more people will be shot or killed than would be the case if there was only one shooter.

I've never been convinced by the argument that the right to bear arms would somehow preclude the government from prohibiting me from exercising my rights.  I tend to think the government can dispose of me whenever it is so inclined and could do so even if I was armed to the teeth.  It will always be better armed than I can be, and could if it thought it necessary dispatch me with a drone, I suppose, at any moment.

My concern is that those who proclaim the existence of a right to bear arms, regardless of the consequences of having them rather freely available, are among those who would tend to minimize the responsibility which should accompany the exercise of any right.  In other words, they would have the characteristics which I think are common among those who believe in absolutes and who, worse yet, believe themselves qualified to discern and impose absolutes.  I think one of those characteristics is to defer and discourage thought when it comes to the absolute in question.

In a state of this Glorious Republic which recently adopted a law allowing its citizens and others to carry concealed weapons (a law adopted now by all states but one), there has been an outcry by the oddly named National Rifle Association (I've always thought of an association of rifles when I hear that name) and others over the fact that the attorney general of that state has issued rules requiring that those exercising this happy privilege (sorry, "right") must first have undergone four hours of training in the use of the weapon they may carry concealed on their persons.  The basis of the complaint seems to be that by issuing these rules, the attorney general has exceeded his authority.  The attorney general is in other words imposing restrictions on the right, which should be unfettered.

I would think the more reasonable course would be to consider whether such a requirement makes sense.  Should someone carrying a weapon know how to use it?  If not, why not?  If so, how do we determine whether that is the case?  Just what kind of training is needed for such a purpose?  How do we assure the training is given and received?

In determining whether it makes sense, and in determining how any limitation of a right would be reasonable, it is necessary to think and consider the consequences of actions taken.   Those who tend to cherish absolutes, though, are not inclined to consider or impose limitations or contemplate consequences; these are irrelevant if not wrongful in the case of an absolute.

Regrettably, those who cherish absolutes of one kind or another tend to think absolutely, as well.  If they believe they have an absolute right to bear arms, they probably believe they have other absolute rights.  And they probably believe that other people wrong them when they place limits on those absolute rights or appear to do so, and that they have the right to protect those absolute rights by punishing the wrongdoer or preventing him from restricting their absolute right, by any means necessary.

This is not a rant against anyone possessing weapons.  I personally would prefer swords, if we must be allowed to carry weapons of any kind.  They are much more personal, and their use requires real skill and courage.  Fewer people would likely be harmed or killed should anyone find themselves having a need to harm or kill other people; something which seems to happen with some frequency.  It is a criticism, however, of the tendency to eschew the intelligent consideration of consequences and assessment of responsibilities when claimed rights are at issue.

The Appeal of Santayana

I'm given to speculate regarding just what it is that attracts me to this philosopher, this man who was, I think, more than a philosopher--a kind of Renaissance Man to the extent someone who lived most of his life in the 20th Century can be considered such.  Not "just" a philosopher, but a noted poet and novelist.  I wonder sometimes if there is something of the old Catholic in him which speaks to the old Catholic in me, or something of the Latin in him that speaks to the Latin in me.

He writes so well and in such a fashion I think it's sometimes difficult to think of him as writing philosophy.  He doesn't seem to write of things as a philosopher would, though it is clear that he is engaged in a most piercing analysis of the subject matter he addresses.  Perhaps that in itself is the basis for his appeal.  He seems both rigorous and artful, even artistic, in his approach to things.

In certain ways it seems that his concerns and assertions are contradictory, but I think this is part of a universalism which perhaps may be said to have characterized Catholicism at one point, paganism as well, at one point; that can even be said to have been pretended to by Rome, or dreamt of by it's more noble exponents, like Virgil, who wrote of the skill of the Roman being that of ruling the various and dissimilar nations in peace.  He respects and acknowledges the place of ritual, ceremony, art, mysticism in human life, but he also subjects them to analysis--and thereby elucidates their flaws and limitations--even while honoring them and although he seems to believe that they are necessary aspects of the way we live.  He does the same, I think, to science and philosophy.  He is a proponent of reason but speaks of its limitations as well, and accepts them.

As should be apparent, I find it hard to think of him without thinking of Wallace Stevens' poem about him, To an Old Philosopher in Rome.  In that poem we see glimpses of the Catholic and the Roman, sometimes as day to day appearances and perhaps sometimes more than that.  "Total grandeur of total edifice, Chosen by an inquisitor of structures, For himself...."  It amazes me that such a man should have been so completely devoted to naturalism and yet devoted to those characteristics of humanity and those works of humanity which evoke seemingly the desire if not the claim that there is something more, something greater, than nature.  One feels as if he noted and painstakingly studied what it is to be human in all respects, without bias and even coldly and with no illusions, and yet at the same time appreciative of a certain grandeur or at least the capacity for grandeur.

There is something of the stoic in him, I think, that comes with the acknowledgement of limitations and even to a certain extent the inevitability if not appropriateness of those limitations.  Something of the pragmatist as well, though it seems a very individual pragmatism, more like Peirce than James or Dewey.  Dewey's philosophy was a very social philosophy, and Santayana does not strike me as a social thinker.

But there's something else as well, and I think that something may well be the better, or at least the singular, part of him  I'm finding it very hard to define let alone describe just what that is, though I suspect that if I ever do so I'll have discovered what it is that makes him such a unique and--to me at least--fascinating figure.

Law and Disorder

It's difficult to comment intelligently regarding the curious case of Amanda Knox based solely on what one has read or heard in the media.  The Italian justice system itself seem most curious to an American lawyer, but the case seems peculiar also given the sensational way it has been treated, seemingly by everyone.

It may be the Italians are particularly disturbed by the result and the publicity given the result due to the fact that their system of justice is evidently the target of their own Prime Minister and his supporters.  Their complaints that their system is being unfairly compared to the American system is to a certain extent understandable.  Our system has its own problems, and we have had our share of sensational trials as well.  The comparison of this case to that of O.J. Simpson is inevitable; I'm a bit surprised that Casey Anthony has not yet been mentioned in the media, but perhaps it has been by someone, somewhere, and I'm not aware of it.  The contention that the wealthy benefit more from the law is hardly new, though. 

However, if it is indeed the case the impartial, court-appointed experts (as opposed to experts retained by the state or defendant) found the evidence to be fundamentally unsound, it seems the outcome here is quite understandable.  It isn't clear on what grounds the decision on appeal can be criticized on any legitimate basis.  It doesn't give the victim's family what we have come to call "closure"; it fails to explain some things about the crime; it seems to indicate the police handled the investigation incompetently; it makes the prosecutor appear to be something of a fool.  Regardless, though, it seems to establish that there is inadequate evidence to support conviction.  "Not guilty" does not mean "innocent" of course, but it does (or should) mean not incarcerated.

That should be all that matters, that should be all that is meant, but it is not.  It is being portrayed as much more, even as a clash between two cultures, and may be an indication of the extent to which the United States and its citizens have become hated by the rest of the world for various reasons, not the least of which is its (and their) tendency to throw its (and their) weight around.

I'm inclined to think that Italian males have a view of the female which is somewhat weird.  They are notorious for goosing unsuspecting women on the streets and whistling and commenting, generally making nuisances of themselves in a loutish manner whenever a good looking woman appears.  They seem to think that this is to be expected from them as males, in which case it may be maintained their view of the male is somewhat weird, as well.  A fascinated emphasis on sex seems to have driven certain aspects of the investigation and the prosecution; lurid references to the defendant and her sexuality have abounded to an extent which seems extreme.  This emphasis and conduct seem to me to cast doubt on the way the matter was handled by the police and prosecution; it makes them appear incredible and indeed irrational--the appeal was not to the nature of the evidence but to some kind of fantastic perception of what may have happened.

It strikes me that in certain cases at least, the more attention is given to a trial (and this necessarily means media attention) the less likely it is to result in a fair and reasoned decision.  This raises issues concerning the role of the media and the public in the administration of the justice system.  A democratic system requires that the media and public have access.  But there clearly are instances when they become so directly involved in a trial that all perspective and commitment to ascertaining the truth is lost, by all--lawyers, judges and jurors.  In other words, there are instances when the rights of the media and public conflict with and prejudice not just the rights of the state, but the rights of defendants.  In criminal cases, the rights of the defendant should be paramount, at least under the American system.

Perhaps defendants should have more of a say in the extent to which the media can actively participate in and possibly prejudice a trial.  Perhaps not merely jurors, but lawyers and judges, should be sequestered as much as possible from exposure to the media as well as prevented from making appeals to the media.  I don't know what to propose, but I think that there is a propensity to make a circus of a trial and that this propensity becomes more and more of a problem in these days, when commentary and reaction are instantaneous.

Sacco, Vanzetti and Dewey

Reading Dewey's Characters and Events (his so-called "popular" essays, for journals like The New Republic) continues to fascinate me.  One sees in them a wit that is not evident in his philosophical works.  His understated response to Bertrand Russell's rather simple-minded comments about pragmatism being a natural result of American commercialism is devastating, I think.  Also, and far more interesting, is that one sees how a professional philosopher considered the events which crowded Dewey's long life.  He witnessed a great deal of history.

Being a lawyer, I particularly enjoyed reading an article he wrote commenting on the report of the Lowell committee concerning the trial of Sacco and Vanzetti.  As most know, these Italian immigrants had been convicted of murder in the course of an armed robbery.  They were proud radicals and acknowledged this, and were prosecuted during one of the "Red scares" which popped up now and then in those times (the 1920s) and later in the history of this Glorious Republic.  The trial and subsequent appeals were matters of some controversy at the time and many of the famous players of that world weighed in on one side or the other.  Whether they were guilty is apparently still a matter of controversy among historians, or so I glean from a quick Web search.  Governor Dukakis more or less apologized for their execution by the State of Massachusetts some time before his ill-fated campaign for the presidency.  I recall watching a movie about the matter in the days of my increasingly distant youth, when I lived in the Boston area.

Appeals having been exhausted, they were scheduled for execution when Dukakis' predecessor as governor sought to assuage public outrage by appointing a committee made up of the renowned President of Harvard, Lowell, the President of MIT and, rather curiously, a probate judge, ostensibly to report to him on their views of the propriety of the execution.  The committee did an investigation and submitted a report, which can be read on the Internet by those interested.

Dewey addressed the report in one of his articles of the time, and seemingly tears it to pieces, very thoroughly and systematically.  Starting from the premise that the committee's function must be considered extra-judicial, as judicial review had been exhausted and a governor has no judicial authority in our legal system, he demonstrates remorselessly that when so considered the committee was a failure, and its report not only inadequate but even gratuitous.

Having read the report, I have some sympathy for the committee members, because if the report is accurate regarding the issues they were intended to address, those issues seem to be legal ones, or such as to give the impression they were to be addressed from a legal perspective.  Surprisingly, one of the questions they were to answer for the governor was whether they believed that Sacco and Vanzetti were guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.  I'm not sure how anyone could make such a determination without being a member of the jury and witness to the trial itself, but the committee after reviewing the trial transcript and interviewing various and sundry concluded that they were.

The committee's report does, in fact, read as though its members felt they were engaged in a kind of judicial review, as it's conclusions seem based overwhelming on a determination whether there was adequate evidence to overturn the jury's verdict, or hold a new trial, something the appellate courts had already ruled on.  In the law, appellate courts accord a great deal of deference to a jury's verdict.  The testimony of new witnesses and new evidence brought up after the trial is dismissed as being "cumulative", i.e. similar to exculpatory evidence which was admitted at trial.  The presiding judge was apparently one of those judges lawyers dread, a loudmouth who made his contempt for the defendants and his conviction of their guilt well known, though he apparently did so for the most part out of the courtroom.  The committee acknowledges his conduct was contrary to judicial decorum, but decided the fact he had himself judged guilt did not come across in the trial proceedings.  The committee acknowledges that the prosecutor made much of the defendants radical background and that this could have worked to prejudice the jury, but evidently thought the defendants had "opened the door" to such questioning by their own statements.  The members of the committee seemed reassured by the very unsurprising fact the jurors they interviewed felt they had made the appropriate decision.

So, if the governor was looking for something that would have advised him regarding the propriety of the executions that was not, in effect, a legal analysis of the prior proceedings, he did not get it from the committee.

The committee itself has been attacked as being made up of three Boston Brahmans would could be expected to be in favor of execution merely due to the fact that a couple of Italian immigrant anarchists were involved.  That may have been the case, and the defendants may well have been unjustly convicted.

For purposes of this blog post, though, I find two things interesting.  The first is that when clemency is being considered, it would certainly seem appropriate to consider whether there had been a fair trial, but that need not be the only consideration, and as that is ultimately a legal issue it is questionable to what extent that can be determined after appeals have been exhausted.  It is in any case unlikely that when a matter has been considered through the Supreme Court, a committee made up of two academics and a probate judge will find that the reviewing courts made errors of law.

The second is that there was a time when professional philosophers contributed to "popular" journals regarding significant social and political issues, and did so I think intelligently.  I don't do all the reading I should, but I don't think this takes place today in any significant sense, at least in this country.  I wonder why it does not, and wish it did.  Perhaps philosophers are commenting on political and social issues somewhere in cyberspace, though.  If so, I wish they had more of an audience.

Lesser Expectations

Lately I've been wondering, albeit as a mere dilettante, about the path of philosophy.  We hear much of the distinction between Continental and Analytic philosophy, or Continental and Anglo-American philosophy, and whether they may coexist, or whether one or the other strain is dead or dying, or will become or is predominant.

I will say upfront that to the extent I know philosophy-or at least read it-what I know (or read) would be considered Anglo-American.  My reading has been in the Analytic and Pragmatic traditions for the most part.  My fondness for Stoicism is I suppose an exception, but even there I'm fond of the later Stoics, and they were notoriously unconcerned with metaphysics and epistemology, their focus being almost exclusively with ethics.  It happens that my feeling is ethics and politics should be the greatest concern of philosophy and philosophers in these times.

I think the tendency of Anglo-American philosophy has been to critique the pretensions of traditional philosophy, to the extent it was devoted to ascertaining such things as the True, the Real, the Good (note the capital letters).  Among other things, it has noted that our use or misuse of language has lead us to involve ourselves in futile speculations, or that our search for certainty or absolutes is misguided.  Grand, systematic thinking has been eschewed.  Continental philosophy, or what I know of it, still seems to engage in a search for those words which begin in capital letters, or devotes itself to pondering ways to search for those words which are not as subject to critique by analytic methods.  Alternatively, it may simply despair, and bemoan the meaninglessness of life.

My guess is that philosophy will lead us no closer to knowing the True, the Real, the Good than it has done in the past, which I think is as much to say that it will lead us nowhere it has not already lead us, which is to a very dead end.  I doubt we're any smarter than we have been over the past 2500 or so years, and feel that no matter how hard we think we won't come up with something nobody has thought of in the past.  There are limits to what philosophical analysis can achieve.

This is no reason to abandon philosophical analysis, though.  It may mean that philosophical pursuits will not be as grandiose, as titanic, as otherworldly--as pretentious--as they have been in the past, however.  And I think that's all to the good.

I think it's to the good because it may lead us to focus finally not on what is True, or Real or Good, but on what our intelligence can actually address, i.e. our lives, and the lives of others, and the world of which we are a part.  I don't think this has been much of a concern for philosophers in the past, except as an extension of their unfounded conclusions regarding the True, Real or Good.  Philosophers have speculated regarding the fundamentals of reality, as if there were such things, and having come to certain conclusions laboriously impose them on us, deducing how we should live, think and act, to the extent they concern themselves with us at all.

Aristophanes rightly entitled his farcical spoof of philosophy The Clouds.  Philosophy should come down from them, and focus on the "ordinary day to day life" it has spurned in the past, with some few noteworthy exceptions.  It could use some serious thought, and it will be possible to arrive at solutions which are necessarily provisional as there are no absolutes, but those solutions will become more and more effective as they are tested in real life.

Karl Popper and his Enemies

My first introduction to Popper was in college.  I read Objective Knowledge during a course on philosophy of science.  Only later--much later--did I learn that he had strong, and controversial, views on social and political issues and a contempt for totalitarianism, and that he felt totalitarianism had its basis in the thought of certain philosophers, among them and perhaps most especially Plato and Hegel.  This belief is expressed in his book The Open Society and its Enemies which I've only recently begun to read.

It's a belief I've shared, rather haphazardly, for some time.  I've always been dissatisfied with Plato.  Perhaps this is the result of having been compelled to read The Republic as a freshman, and then having to spend time discussing it in what seemed at the time annoying detail.  It was, I think, my first academic experience in college.  Some professor or group of professors had come up with the idea that all freshman should be required to read certain books as part of a course called "Freshman Studies" and The Republic was one of them.  I loathed it, and carefully avoided taking the course in ancient philosophy which was part of the philosophical curriculum as a consequence.  I suspect that this course was imposed on the philosophy department of the college I attended.  Its members were not fond of philosophy which was not Anglo-American.

I was irritated by the "dialogue" style employed by Plato, generally.  I later read others of them, and my opinion didn't change.  They were stilted and contrived; necessarily, I suppose, but it seemed a most cumbersome and tiresome manner of expression.  Oddly, I don't feel as irritated when I encounter this artifice in other writers, such as Cicero, though I don't like it much regardless of the author. 

But what was most disturbing to me was the nature of the society envisioned by Plato, which struck me immediately as repressive, and the presumption and arrogance which seemed involved in its formulation.  It was unapologetically elitist, and seemed to have its basis in a world-view founded on a curious kind of deductive reasoning the premises of which were in a sense other-worldly and self-justifying.  It seemed to have nothing to do with the real world, in fact.  Nonetheless, it purported to be based on what was truly real, and good, and of course true.

Popper argues that Plato's metaphysics ultimately requires him to be a totalitarian.  He's quite critical of him as a result, but his distaste for Plato is nothing compared with his distaste for Hegel.  Plato he sees as a great genius, and it seems he feels his totalitarianism is explicable given the times and circumstances; not admirable, but understandable.  Hegel he considers a "charlatan" and worse, and he doesn't hesitate to say so.

He portrays Hegel as an agent (even a venal toady) of Prussian authoritarianism, and he lashes into his philosophy, portraying it as a deliberate perversion of Kant slanted to justify the Prussian, and indeed any other, status quo.  The present state--political and otherwise--being the best expression of the Absolute Spirit, or Idea, or whatever, it is necessarily worthy of support, and is indeed the current embodiment of Reason and Freedom, etc., no matter just how repressive it may be.  Autocracy is a matter of historical necessity.  Well, you get the drift.

I've always found it difficult to read Hegel, but he strikes me as the fountainhead of German romanticism and mysticism one sees ever since, with Fichte and most lately Heidegger.  One knows of his influence on Marx and his followers as well, of course.  I haven't read far enough yet, but I suspect Popper will argue that Hegel's approach to philosophy was eventually used to justify communism and fascism, especially the Nazi version.

As I understand him, Popper feels that totalitarianism, like the philosophies of those thinkers he criticizes, has its basis in an essentially anti-scientific and irrational point of view, though it strives to cloak itself in science, as it were, and historical necessity.  This strikes a chord, I must admit.  But I think it is also the case that totalitarian thinkers are also in a sense religious in an institutional sense, or perhaps more properly have personalities similar to those of religious zealots.

There is an awful self-righteousness involved in repression of all kinds; a sureness, an arrogance.  And a belief in and desire for certainty, in all things.

Nothing New under the Sun: Dewey's Popular Essays

I'm reading Characters and Events, a collection of John Dewey's articles written for magazines such as The New Republic, and am struck by two things.  First, he writes much better in these "popular" essays than he does in his philosophical works, which I must admit is a relief--and also interesting in its own right.  Second, that much of what he wrote many decades ago is sadly familiar.  Very sadly, in fact.

He writes, for example, of the influence of fundamentalism in American society, and how the conflict of religion and science in the United States is a subject of wonder and amusement in Europe.  In Dewey's time, of course, the greatest conflict was over Darwin's theory of evolution.

He writes also of concerns over the vast number of immigrants entering the nation through Ellis Island, and how they are to be assimilated into American society.  Apparently, General Woods and others were proposing that this be achieved through a system of universal conscription.  All would be assimilated through military service, though there was, at the time, no war to be fought.  A war would be provided soon enough, of course.  Dewey was concerned about American society becoming militarized along the European model, and not unsurprisingly felt that if assimilation was to be achieved, or imposed, through the federal government it would be better achieved through a system of national education.

We haven't come very far, it seems.  We have the same concerns now, and are debating the same debates.  So little have we learned, apparently, that the players may as well be the same.  We may as well have William Jennings Bryan thundering away portentously.  As for General Woods, I haven't heard much about universal conscription as the cure for the "disease" of immigration, but perhaps that is because our military is already rather busy at this time; busy enough not to take on the additional burden of assimilation.

Our system of national education hasn't done much to to alleviate such concerns.  Dewey might be inclined to blame this on the fact that our system remains in many respects localized.  Our school districts are locally controlled, with school boards being selected through local elections.  So we have some boards in some states insisting that schools teach what is deemed appropriate by local electors, and certain local electors, or those actually interested in voting for members of school boards in some cases, continue to have doubts as their ancestors had doubts regarding evolution, and perhaps immigrants as well.

What accounts for this?  Why is it that we are, apparently, incapable of learning, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say inclined to conduct ourselves as we have always conducted ourselves regardless of what is learned?

We may simply be creatures of habit and routine so entirely that we will not think intelligently unless compelled to do so.  We feel compelled to do so when we perceive there will be an immediate benefit to us, or when the failure to do so will result in a direct harm.  When we are relatively content, we prefer not to think at all, thinking being difficult.

There is a problem, though, and that is that thinking is so difficult we resort to it only when other options have been exhausted.  If we are seriously discontent, we may prefer to act without thinking if it seems that by acting we will achieve what might be achieved by thinking.

If we are creatures of habit, one wonders if it would be possible to develop a habit of thinking.  I think this is one of the things Dewey sought to propose in his works on education.  But thinking often demonstrates that habits are bad, and perhaps we would rather maintain those habits we have than develop new ones.

O tempora! O mores! Part II

We humans seem inclined to bemoan the depravity of our times at all times.  We revel in the evil we perceive in our fellows, and enjoy doing so as we do so many things, in groups.  Cicero took advantage of this tendency to great effect in one of his orations against Catalina.  And like Cicero we generally indulge in this somewhat Pharisaical practice with a purpose in mind.  It may be simply to assure ourselves we are better than most others.  It may be to urge change, usually in conduct, sometimes in thought.  It is when the powerful, or the zealous, engage in this inclination that we should be concerned.

There seems to be nothing extraordinarily perverse about these times to prompt prophecies of doom.  Nor was this the case in the past.  The Roman Empire is the quintessential exemplar of depravity in the Christian West--that is to say the Empire before it became politically Christian.  This was to be expected, as the growing Church found it expedient to portray pagan civilization as evil, and itself as the antidote to that evil.  Combine this with the tendency of the Romans themselves to look back in admiration on their stern, virtuous ancestors, supposed to have been simple, patriotic, pious and grave, and their wonderful talent for spiteful, prurient gossip and malicious invective as seen in Suetonius, Martial and Juvenal to name a few, and you have a civilization seemingly wallowing in decadence, which Hollywood and its customers delight in to this day.

However there was a great resurgence of interest in the moral and spiritual in the first centuries of the Empire, and not merely due to Christianity.   It can be seen in the later Stoics and in the mystery cults, and in the interest in figures like Appollonius of Tyana, who was often compared to Jesus (and has even been claimed to have been Jesus) to the fury of the Church Fathers.  Those times may be said to be one of the "Great Awakenings" of religious fervor our history indicates takes place every now and then.

Of course depravity is bad, decadence is bad.  And we certainly can see examples of them in our times.  But there is no reason to think their levels are greater today than they have been in the past.  Nor is there any reason to think that the means unsuccessfully employed in the past to eradicate them will be successful in doing so now.  In other words, neither religion nor government will do anything to curb our excesses if they act as they have in the past, and in attempting to do so they will merely succeed in oppressing us all.  So, do we simply go on as we have?

It isn't that we have become more depraved.  The problem lies in that there are more of us than ever and our numbers are growing, and we have fewer resources.  Our times, our morals, are more of a concern than in the past for these reasons, and we have good reason for concern.

We must learn how to control ourselves, unfortunately, and I confess I see no way to bring that about that can be imposed on us without our full cooperation.  If that won't be forthcoming, we have to find some way to balance our liberty with our need to survive, and it is to be hoped survive in such a fashion that we may flourish.

We have to impose limits on ourselves.  We can't live our lives as though we are participants in a Randian wet-dream of selfishness in a world of dwindling resources.  These limits shouldn't be religious; they shouldn't be on our thoughts or on our conduct unless our conduct causes direct harm to others.  But, unless we find a way to exercise self-restraint, these limits may of necessity have to be imposed on the quantity of what we may possess and consume.

To impose limits on ourselves we likely have to change the way we think.   How do we change the way we think, as a people?  Through the education system?

These are grim considerations for any lover of liberty.  How do we achieve this without legislating morality, something which always has adverse results? 

Can we control ourselves, or must we be forced to do so?

Mere Responsibility

We who are privileged to be United Statesians will soon be exposed once more to the grotesqueries which accompany a presidential election, and already there is forming a rogues gallery of pretenders to what we continue to insist is not a throne.  As we have a Democratic president who intends to run for reelection, we are being spared a procession of the ridiculously ambitious of that party, but we must tolerate those of the Republican variety.  There may be one or two others not affiliated with the ruling oligarchy who will participate in the farce, but either a Democrat or a Republican will be chosen, of course, if that is indeed the word.

Sanctimony is particularly prevalent in our politics (an alliteration, forsooth) these days, though it has of course always been a factor.  Now, though, it appears to be expected, and is even anticipated.  As the powerful among us are still largely white and Protestant (not for long, I think) there is a vague feeling among some that we have been profligate and are now suffering, justly, for our depravities; suffering being almost always just.  WASPS tend to get excited when they feel this way, and are likely to do things like legislate morality.  Catholics are so used to being told what to do by authority figures that such an idea seems to them entirely natural.  As I think morality can never be effectively imposed by law, I feel a certain concern.

We are also being told we are in financial trouble so often that we have even come to believe it, and feel that there is something that needs to be done, but disagree regarding just what that might be.  But, most feel that we spend too much, and this is likely correct.  So, most feel we must spend less.  The questions then become--what should what money we have be spent on, and where do we get more money?

I tend to agree that we have handled our financial affairs stupidly.  For my part, I think that the current crisis primarily results from the fact that we spend far too much of our money in efforts to impose our military power throughout the world, and generally seem to do so unwisely.  We do other silly things with our money as well, of course, and as we have come to consider government to be the means by which virtually everything must be done it follows that government will spend and spend whatever money there may be.  Combine these tendencies with our inexplicable urge to glorify and cosset the assorted gluttons and hoarders we call the very wealthy, and we have a real problem.  So, I welcome any effort to require the government and the citizens of this great land to be more responsible.

 But there is a danger present, I think, and that danger is that those who purport to lead us and we sometimes foolishly allow to do so will conclude that something more than responsible conduct is required.  They may conclude that we must actively seek the assistance of the God they worship, or at least be compelled to act in such a fashion that the God they worship will find acceptable, which generally means what they find acceptable, which generally means an attempt to legislate morality.

There are too many at large in this country who seem unaware of the fact that great and admirable ethical systems and codes of conduct were developed and actually adhered to long before the traditional religions which prevail today ever sought to impose themselves on the world.  Some of these systems had their basis in the idea of a divine force immanent in the universe, or divinities of some kind, and some did not.  In fact, the institutional religions of our time to the extent they advocate particular kinds of conduct which may be called moral "borrowed" liberally from those systems though they generally don't care to acknowledge their debt to them.  Those systems differ from these religions, though, in that they don't involve the need to engage in various religious rites nor do they impose constraints on conduct which have nothing to do with living responsibly, but which happen to be sanctioned by certain holy books or words said to have been spoken by someone claimed to be holy, somewhere, sometime, usually long ago.

There are ways to be responsible, and moral, without requiring that others behave in accordance with our sense of what is appropriate.  Indeed, requiring that others behave in a particular manner, unless it is in a manner which does not cause harm to others, would seem clearly irresponsible. 

Responsible government may be limited government, and a responsible citizenry may be one which seeks limited government.  The problem with those who currently claim to seek limited government, however, is that it is not at all clear that is what they truly seek.  They seem to desire social and cultural change as much as those they claim to oppose.  They seem to have the same confidence in the righteousness of their desires as do those they oppose.  I think it is inevitable that they will use the power of government to impose their desires if they obtain the power to do so.

Charged with the Grandeur of God: Some Preliminary Thoughts

These words appear in a sentence I've always admired, in a poem I've always liked.  "The world is charged with the grandeur of God."  Hopkins' reference here is presumably electricity, the only characteristic of the real world through which he could make his point; there is a charge running through the world, a force which as Dylan Thomas wrote (meaning something different, one would think) drives through the green fuse of the universe, which is caused by God's grandeur or perhaps is God's grandeur.  It "flames out" at us, "like shining from shook foil"--these are magnificent words.  Magnificent words for a magnificent idea.

Though he was a Catholic, there are times when I suspect based on his poetry that Hopkins was a pantheist or had pantheist leanings, and I wonder sometimes whether intelligent believers in God must necessarily be pantheists if any kind of believer at all.  We can say we believe in a transcendent God, but we cannot know of what we speak when we do so.  Too often the transcendent God we refer to seems to have disturbingly human characteristics, or at least characteristics which are all too present in the universe God supposedly transcends.  So we are left with asserting God transcends the universe because he created it, an assertion which seems at best unsatisfying.

Ascribing human characteristics to God seems to impose limits which immediately strike one as absurd.  We know the universe to be almost unimaginably vast, and that we exist on one planet in one solar system that is an almost unimaginably tiny part of the universe.  It seems a laughable conceit to think of God as merely a kind of super-human.  The Church was right to fear the death of the Earth-centered view of the cosmos.

A super-human may inspire fear and dread, may even inspire love, as that is a fundamentally human emotion.  But the universe itself rightly inspires awe and wonder; it has grandeur, and may be said to be charged with grandeur.  Why long for something more, why insist the God must be more than that grandeur, particularly when one does not know and can't even begin to say what that "more" must be?

I'm content to follow the Stoics in this as well in other things; a God immanent in the universe is good enough for me, so to speak. 

Of course, an immanent God is one that need not be proved to exist in the sense that the universe need not be proved to exist (except, of course, to such as those unfortunates who purport to believe it necessary to prove the existence of the universe, other minds, themselves, etc.).  However, it can legitimately be argued that if an immanent God is "merely" the universe, why insist there is a God in the first place?  Why isn't the universe "just" the universe?  Where does God come into the picture?

If you are someone like me, you find yourself inclined to reply God is the grandeur Hopkins refers to in his poem.  That is nothing like a proof of course, and I think the honest believer, not to say the reasonable believer, must acknowledge that there is no proof.  Vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas.  Seeking to prove God's existence as one would prove the Earth is roughly a sphere, or that light travels at a certain speed, is essentially a vain exercise.  At best one can be persuaded, or may suspect, or feel. 

Perhaps that grandeur has always been there, or perhaps Peirce's "guess at the riddle" was a good one, and what started out, if it started at some point, as chaos has become progressively more organized and rational and will continue to do so.  I wonder whether it matters.  The universe is what it is even as we are what we are, and we are parts of a universe charged with grandeur, and as parts of the universe we share in its grandeur.

This is a kind of mysticism, but it is what may be called an informed mysticism.  It has its basis in what we can observe and test and experience; it does not pretend to manufacture a transcendent entity nor is it conditioned on anthropomorphism in the blatant sense needed to support the idea of a personal God.  It allows for a certain kind of communion, though not of the kind relied on by Christianity and its various predecessors which it would rather not acknowledge, and even a kind of existence after death.  I suppose it may be said to provide comfort of a sort, and we are creatures in need of comfort.  Our needs always take precedence over our reason, and this way of looking at God may merely be less objectionable to atheists than others. 

Ultimately, though, the issue of God is one that cannot usefully be debated (note the qualification).  It's like taste in that respect.  Nonetheless, we speak of good taste and poor taste, and I think there are senses is which certain ideas of God may be said to be preferable to others.  Here is one version.

Homage to Marcus Aurelius Antoninus

One finds him lauded often enough by people worthy of respect that it should not matter, and it certainly would not matter to a true Stoic, but I find myself disturbed and baffled by those who denigrate Marcus Aurelius.

I've noted before those Christian apologists, Chesterton and Lewis, who with others seem to have found him to be "unmanly."  It has always amused me that that they in particular, and Christian thinkers in general, should assert that "manliness" is somehow significant in philosophy or religion.

Chesterton with his fond recollections of his nanny and his charming reliance on the enlightening effects of fairy tales cannot be said to be manly in any impressive sense; his doubtless glad times in his nursery linger uncomfortably about his writings.  Lewis, who at times seems to be deliberately as well as predominantly gullible in his thoughts, is not exactly a paragon of stern fortitude (one might say Roman fortitude) in the face of the facts which he strove to ignore in his "arguments" regarding Christ's divinity.  And the Christian ethic as it appears in the gospels is not overwhelmingly "manly" either, I would say, as that word is commonly understood--the Stoic sage and the Stoic ethics seem far more "manly" than Christ and the Christian ethics, even though Christian ethics is based so much on Stoicism.  I suspect Chesterton, Lewis, and others had in mind the largely mythic figure of the Christian knight (as described to them by their nannys or Thomas Malory, perhaps) when they thought of manliness and Christianity, but the relation of the knight of history to Christianity is at best tenuous.

But there are also those who criticize the emperor as being "self-consciously good" (e.g.Gore Vidal speaking through Priscus in his wonderful novel Julian).  Sometimes his Meditations are criticized as being lacking in style.  Sometimes, he is criticized because his Meditations betray uncertainty.

I think his critics forget that what he wrote was not meant for reading by any but himself.  He wasn't propounding anything, as philosophers who write for others do.  Naturally, therefore, what he wrote is unpolished, and there is no real argument.  He wasn't trying to convince or impress anyone.  Perhaps more significant in this respect is the fact that he wrote his thoughts in those rare moments when he was not being an emperor--an emperor on campaign in a military camp ("Among the Quadi").  It's likely he was exhausted and worn down by his duties and responsibilities when he took up his pen.

He was not an idle man, indulging in philosophy as one would indulge in luxury.  There's no question he was an industrious and hard working ruler.  He angered the crowds at the games because he insisted on working during them.  His reign was filled with disturbances; wars, rebellion, plague typified his principate, and he spent most of his time as emperor engaged in campaigns against barbarians, which is appropriate enough given the title imperator is a military title, but the fact is that many Roman emperors never had to be military men in any significant sense.

It's not surprising that the Meditations often seem sad.  Sadness was to be expected, I think.  Nor is it surprising under the circumstances that they sometimes express doubt regarding the existence of Providence.  But he clearly states that regardless of whether there is a benign purpose guiding the universe or all is "atoms and chance" as he puts it, it's necessary to continue with one's task and do the best one can.  Although I'm not very fond of the word, as I think it's been overused and misused, I can think of nothing more "manly" than such an attitude.

He made mistakes.  He may justly be criticized for failing to follow the example of his immediate predecessors in office and adopting a good man to follow him as emperor.  Because he didn't, the empire was compelled to endure Commodus.  The Christians were persecuted during his rule, and one wonders why he could not bring himself to address that problem in another matter.  Although he despised the gladiatorial contests and the games, he tolerated them and sanctioned them through his attendance.  He was no Stoic sage.

I suppose he couldn't be, though, and be an emperor of Rome, or even be a good emperor.  For the times, he was indeed good.  In his Meditations we see what he felt and thought while ruling the Roman world.  It can be sad and even grim reading, at times.  We see him struggling to be good, and urging himself to be good, in a cruel world.  It's not so different now.  But I think if any current ruler wrote his/her thoughts at the end of the day, without knowing they would be read by others, and these were somehow disclosed to the world at large, they would seem puny, petty, venal creatures indeed when compared to Marcus Aurelius Antoninus.

Some Thoughts Regarding Thought Experiments

I think we can acknowledge that experiments, and the experimental method, have been of great benefit to humanity.  Most of us have a basic understanding of what experiments comprise.  Experiments typically address things; there is a physical subject matter (however complicated or indefinite) involved in the process.  There is a problem to be resolved, or a question to be answered through the experiment.  There is a hypothesis, and its validity or invalidity is established, wholly or partly, through the experiment.  Certain steps are taken, certain results are observed.

"Thought experiments" as I understand them are imaginary exercises, engaged in purportedly to investigate things which are not imaginary.  I'm not sure where the phrase comes from or when it first came into use.  It smacks of jargon, though, so I suspect we began to use it in the late 19th century or sometime in the 20th century.  This would seem to make sense as it was in that period that the non-scientific disciplines, and those who were not scientists, began to emulate the scientific or experimental method.  That method had been so successful that those in the humanities and in professions such as the law sought to share in that success, or at least appear to have the same claim to veracity.

I find the phrase puzzling, though.  Imaginary exercises and devices seem quite unrelated to experiments and the experimental method.  I don't see how an imaginary device can be considered remotely similar to an experiment, as commonly understood.  "Thought experiments" seems almost an oxymoron. 

It's clear enough that thoughts always accompany experiments.  But the subject matter of experiments are not imaginary, and in order to accomplish an experiment certain acts are required, acts which take place in "real life."  The use of the phrase, and the claim that one is engaged in a "thought experiment" therefore seem to be in the nature of a pretense, i.e. it is pretentious to claim one is carrying out a "thought experiment."  One is pretending to apply the experimental or scientific methods, to be scientific, to be a scientist.  However, what is actually taking place is an excursion into "Imagination Land" (not the one in South Park, though).  There is nothing wrong with taking such a trip; we do so often, and such trips can be beneficial.  But it would seem less pretentious, and certainly more honest, to simply say that we are considering in our imaginations something which is not the case, in the effort to learn something regarding what is the case.

Clearly those who perform actual experiments use their imaginations and speculate.  They may wonder, for example, whether a certain act or element will resolve a problem, or a certain explanation will adequately address a question.  However, they then proceed to do something.  They do not merely imagine and speculate; they do more than think.  They subject their speculation to the test of the experiment, and determine thereby whether the speculation usefully meets the test.

There is no experiment available to test "thought experiments" however.  The imagining does not end, unless it is abandoned.  It may be abandoned for a reason; for example, those doing the imagining may come to the conclusion that the thought experiment is so hypothetical, so remote from the real, so convoluted as to be silly or incredible.  But the hypothesis being bandied about in "Imagination Land" cannot be tested in the sense that a hypothesis can be tested, or a course of action or judgment regarding real life can be tested by application to real life problems and questions.

Some of the less incredible "thought experiments" may be useful in the sense that they get us thinking.  But I think it is foolish to believe they are of any more than minimal use in understanding the universe, ourselves or others.  The best way to address and resolve the problems we encounter in life is by addressing them in real life, not exclusively in the imagination.

There is a limit to the extent imagining things can effect the way in which we react to things that actually happen.  For one thing, as a general rule, our imaginations are lacking.  We usually find a way to leave something "real" out of our imaginary scenarios; they are not compelling because they are so clearly unreal.  For another, imaginary problems and situations simply do not induce the kind of thinking and acting we do when we encounter actual problems.  Particularly in emergency situations we do things unthinkingly, and no amount of philosophical imaginary training will provide us with any guidance. 

We should not put much faith in, or grant much credence to the "results" of, "thought experiments."  They have no outcome, and where there is no outcome nothing is achieved.

Deus Vult!

It seems the United States is not the exclusive residence of the violently pretentious, fanatic and self-righteous who live among us these days.  Certainly Europe has had its share of such killers in the past, some of them true paragons of the type; but one has come to expect that their domicile of choice for the present is this Great Republic.  That there is at least one of these creatures in Norway seems somehow surprising.

One can only feel grateful that the Norwegian court presiding over him has not so far been inclined to give him the opportunity to "explain" his conduct and why he feels he is not a criminal.  He has already done this in detail courtesy of the Internet, it seems, and it is doubtful he has anything more enlightening, let alone intelligent, to say at this time. 

I don't know the situation in Norway or greater Scandinavia, or in Europe for that matter, adequately for me to comment on the extent to which "multiculturalism" (whatever that may mean) predominates in those places.  I know there have been those European politicians who have commented that it is a failure, and that nationalism is evidently once more a factor in European politics, at least accordingly to the ostensibly concerned media.  Let us assume that it does predominate.  If it does, that is obviously no reason to kill people, and only the fanatic could believe otherwise.

Preposterous fantasies involving militant Christian religious orders which expired long ago, or the reference to a crusade of some kind, or the employment of a modern version of "blood and soil", are what we may expect from the European (and American) fanatic.  These are people who are convinced that how they live, what they do and what they think are right and proper, and that while those who agree with them may be tolerable, for the most part, those who do not are certainly intolerable in the sense that they cannot be allowed to live among them.  Provided they live elsewhere, they may be allowed to exist, but once they encroach upon us, they presumptively threaten us, and must be dealt with, firmly.  This kind of fanaticism is the result of twisted self-righteousness fed by mystical or religious beliefs, i.e. the irrational in us.

That said, we should note that it is apparently true that there are those who feel threatened by what some who are inclined to grandiose rhetoric would no doubt call "otherness", this being simply the unsurprising fact that people from different nations, of different cultures and religions, act and think differently than "we" do.  Also, we should note that there are those who feel that the street they live on need not and should not be Sesame Street, and that there are many who feel that way, some of whom are eager to do something about it.

If they do something about it through the use of the guns we are so fond of here in the Land of the Free, or explosives, or generally through the use of violence, that is one thing.  If they do so through nonviolent means, using established law and the political system, that may be another.

I for one believe that if I decided to move to and live in a foreign country, it would be the height of silly self-regard for me to believe that the government of that country, and its people, should accommodate me in every respect.  I would not think that they should treat my language as an official language, for example, or provide me with translations of legal document and signs.  I would not think they should alter their laws to conform to my beliefs regarding what the laws should be.  I would not expect them to treat me any differently than they would treat any other citizen of that country, however; in other words, I believe they should neither discriminate in my favor or to my detriment.  To the extent "multiculturalism" provides otherwise, I think it is problematic.

I think that those who long for a global government and those who fear it are equally deluded.  We are tribal creatures, and will be tribal until such time as we learn to know and control ourselves and understand and appreciate that we cannot know and control everyone else, and it is not clear to me that we will ever achieve that level of wisdom.