Regarding Cultural Appropriation

Just what is cultural appropriation?  Is it always inappropriate?  It seems to be a term used in condemning certain conduct or people.

Well, you see what I've done of course.  Above is a photo of certain people of Asian descent (Chinese, in fact) playing cellos.  The cello is a Western musical instrument, most typically played with other instruments in Western classical music, as a part of an orchestra, quartet or quintet, though Bach's works for solo cello are sublime.  By playing a Western musical instrument and, most likely, Western classical music, do they engage in cultural appropriation?

One searches for a definition.  I do at least.  Here's one, from the Cambridge Dictionary Online.  Cultural appropriation is "the act of taking or using things from a culture that is not your own, especially without showing that you understand or respect that culture."  Now let's consult Cambridge's great rival institution.  According to Oxford Reference Online, cultural appropriation is "a term used to describe the taking over of cultural forms, themes or practices by one cultural group by another.  It is in general used to describe Western appropriations of non-Western or non-white forms, and carries connotations of exploitation and dominance."

The Cambridge Dictionary's definition allows that cultural appropriation may be engaged in by anyone, of any culture.  The folks at Oxford view it as less universal.  It is something generally practiced by Western or white people and, as practiced by them, connotes exploitation or dominance.  I wonder.  Does what Western or white people do necessarily connote exploitation or dominance, or is cultural appropriation something which has such a connotation when engaged in by Western or white people?  It would not, presumably, in the rare instances when engaged in by non-Western or non-white people ("generally" doesn't mean "always").

It's unclear to me why Oxford Reference refers to "taking over" as I doubt anyone, even Westerners or whites, can "take over" another culture's forms, themes or practices.  Use them, certainly, even exploit them.  Perhaps this is the result of a difference between American and British English, but those of one culture, as far as I'm aware, continue to use its forms, themes and practices even if they are used by others.  Cultural appropriation doesn't connote exclusive use.

I doubt very much that those who culturally appropriate X dominate X in the sense that they become the primary or premier actors in that area.  They may indeed be inept at it. Yo-Yo Ma, though, is an outstanding cellist, his Chinese descent notwithstanding.  Assuming he engages in cultural appropriation by being such an accomplished musician playing a Western instrument, does he dominate that which he appropriates?  Is it possible that his mastery of the cello means that by playing it he doesn't practice cultural appropriation?  Is skill a factor in determining whether it takes place?

The late George Harrison played the sitar.  He learned how to do so from Ravi Shankar, a master of the instrument.  Harrison played sitar on several Beatles songs.  Was that cultural appropriation?  Was it so by virtue of the fact that money was made from his use of it, or was the mere use of it sufficient to constitute cultural appropriation?

Perhaps cultural appropriation in music is not so easily ascertained.  What about literature?  Did Mark Twain engage in cultural appropriation when he wrote, and made money by writing, Huckleberry Finn?  That book has long been described as racist, but is it cultural appropriation?  Does the mere depiction of someone of another culture or race constitute cultural appropriation in a book or painting, or does it result when an author or painter purports to describe what is felt or done by someone of a different culture?

Exploitation is one thing, as is mockery.  But is learning of another culture, admiring it, listening to its music or language and act of appropriation?  Is trying to play its music or instruments something that should not be done?

Is thinking about another culture appropriation?  Perhaps it can be, depending on how we think of it.  Does the use of logic, the scientific method constitute cultural appropriation of what has been, according to some, a Western way of looking at things, doing things?

To each his own?  Then we can dispute what our cultures are, as well as whether they're being appropriated. 

Rage, God and the Other Hitchens

The "Other Hitchens" as some may have guessed is Peter Hitchens, the brother of the late and more notorious Christopher Hitchens.  Peter is, or was, a journalist by trade, and although I hesitate to say it having brothers of my own, is probably known to most of us as Christopher's brother.  This may be unjust; frankly, I don't know.

I recently read Peter Hitchens' book The Rage Against God subtitled, I think, "How atheism led me to faith" (I'm not sure, as no helpful if irritating colon appears between the "God" and the "How" on the cover of the book; which indeed wouldn't make much sense).

Peter like his brother writes quite well.  Unlike his brother, he believes in God.  He believes in Christianity in fact, which means to me--necessarily though in many cases without acknowledgement and even in denial--that he believes in a certain God, said to be the only one in being, though Father, Son and Holy Spirit).

The painting, or more properly altarpiece, shown above is The Last Judgment by Rogier van der Weyden, a work of the 15th century.  The book is a kind of account of Peter's youth, his lapse into atheism, and his return to the faith of his fathers, combined with as assault upon atheism and its adherents, including his brother, and the arguments they make against religion and particularly their attitude toward it and the religious.  If I understand him correctly, this painting made such a profound impression upon him that it was essential to his rejection of atheism and embracing of Christianity.

I should say first that I think that Christopher Hitchens, whose writings I mostly admire, Richard Dawkins and others of the "new atheists" are excessive and extreme in their criticism of religion and the religious.  So to a certain extent I sympathize with complaints made by Peter Hitchens in this book.  But for various reasons I think it fails in its effort to persuade (as I think he tries to do) that Christianity is necessary to civilization, morality, and most everything we fallen creatures do, think or say.

I think it's clear that Christianity, not religion in general or belief in a deity, is what is being defended and propounded.  This is because Christianity is the only religion he mentions except to the extent he refers to other religions (primarily Islam and Judaism) as examples of the the efforts made by atheist countries or societies such as the USSR and (Christian support of it notwithstanding) Nazi Germany.  This is part of his claim that such societies purposefully persecute religions because of a hatred of God and because religion is based on the belief that what is good and right exists outside of humanity and indeed outside of the universe.  Totalitarian governments do not want anyone to believe such things, according to him, because they persuade people to think there is something greater than the State, something by which the State is to be judged.

Also, Christianity in its Anglican form in the 1950s is what he looks back upon most fondly.  Its current version is not at all to his taste.  The first portion of the book is an indulgence in nostalgia, in fact.   The author longs for the days when England ruled the waves, and the sun never set on it empire.  It's unclear to me whether he believes that the acceptance of Christianity by England assured her success and dominion and its rejection caused its decline, but one does get that impression.

Those halcyon days having passed, and with them all glory, grandeur, poetry, courtesy, gallantry, honesty, the author perforce became an atheist.  There were a number of reasons for this decline, and Christianity played its part in it, by buying into liberal views on sex, on multiculturalism, on relativism, on egalitarianism, etc. 

Then came the day he saw the work of art pictured above.  He saw in the naked figures at the bottom of the work people who he says looked just like people he knew.  Their nakedness apparently helped foster this impression.  This was not because they were naked, but because they weren't wearing any of the peculiar clothes worn by people of that time.  As a result they could not be dismissed as different.  Most effective, though, was the fact that they were in terror of the Last Judgment, some even shown as vomiting in fear.  

It seems fear was a motivating factor in Peter Hitchens return to the faith.  Fear of judgment, presumably, and eternal damnation due to conduct contrary to the laws of God.  Fear certainly can motivate intensely.  However, being told to believe in God or else doesn't seem to persuade unless one is already in extremis as it were.  Also, it hardly seems to be a particularly Christian method of persuasion.  "Believe or burn in hell forever" isn't something one can picture Jesus saying, though some of his followers were apt to make this threat on his behalf.

If fear played a part in making him believe, I honor his honesty in admitting as much.  But he argues also that in the absence of belief in God, horrible things are done.  Witness the USSR and Nazi Germany.  This also seems one of his arguments in favor of having a religion.

It is at least something he thinks atheists like his late brother should acknowledge if they were fair, and gave religion its due.  Even cynics and likely non-believers like Napoleon (not his example, but mine) recognized it was necessary for the "common people" to believe in religion for the sake of order.  Thus his deal with the Catholic Church.

This may be an argument to the effect that religion has its uses, but again is not one which inspires belief in Christianity or any other institutional religion.  What is it that he believes inspired him, or should inspire others, to believe?

Here I confess I begin to lose him.  The Soviet Union and Nazi Germany were horrible.  Were they horrible because they persecuted religion and sought to eliminate it, or for other reasons?  Maybe there was more than one cause.  If there was, can we claim as he seems to that it was their eradication of religion--Christianity in particular--that made them become evil?  Does it makes sense to contend that if they had tolerated religions--Christianity in particular--they wouldn't have been evil?  Or only evil sometimes, as Tsarist Russian was, as he seems to admit?

Whether he does so intentionally or unintentionally, he seems to maintain that Christianity alone can give us what we need to be moral and to have a just and true civilization.  A part of this is his assertion that it is necessary to have a standard of what is good and true beyond what humans can conceive in order for us to know what is good or true.  A part is his claim that only Christianity, with its injunction that we love one another, that can bring us close to God, to do his will.  The Christian demand that we love one another is superior to, for example, the Golden Rule.

He chides his brother for saying it is unrealistic to demand that we love one another as we love ourselves or are children.  He claims we show this love in dying to save others as in war, or to save a child in danger.  Well, certainly such selfless acts have been done, but despite the rhetoric employed these days not everyone is or can be heroic.  We are not heroes everyday.  Typically, we favor our children for example over those of our neighbors or total strangers.  It is unclear to me that we always love each other, and clear that we do not, and not having done so for ages suggests we aren't likely to  do so no matter how many gods command us to.

But in the end, and finally, I am again astonished by the arrogance of the Christian apologist.  For all the good points and respectable arguments he makes, other religions are hardly mentioned as guides to living life morally.  And no consideration is given to the fact that humansurvived, somehow, for ages before Jesus lived and even for a longer period before Christianity became what it is today, and in that time developed laws and theories of ethics and the good state, and good life, without belief in Christianity and even without belief in a personal, transcendent deity, that Christianity borrowed from assiduously.

I don't understand the rage against God or the religious felt by some atheists, but neither do I understand how such people as Peter Hitchens contend that the only choice to be made is to be atheist or to be Christian.

Invincible Irrationality

I'm not much of a fan of Nietzsche.  I've come to refer to him, perhaps unkindly, as Frantic Freddie.  I quote him nonetheless, and in doing so include thereby a picture of him wearing a mustache not quite as foreboding as the one we see him with in other photographs, and in caricatures, looking somewhat demented.

He has something of a point in this particular quote, at least.  I ask myself how the irrationality of a thing would be an argument against its existence, I confess, but it can be maintained easily enough that it is a condition of ours, at least.  Not necessarily what we lawyers like to call a condition precedent, perhaps, but a condition at least to the extent a characteristic can be one.

It was Aristotle I believe who wrote that we humans are rational animals, meaning that we are capable of reason.  The Stoics thought that capacity was what made us, in small part at least,  participants in the divine intelligence of the universe.  Reason was long honored with the highest place in the history of human thought, and then replaced (or supplanted) by faith when reason was thought to be inadequate, only to reappear during the Renaissance and then explode during the Enlightenment.  Since then it has been dying a slow death; slow, because the achievements of the methods of science cannot be denied entirely, but dying nonetheless because it seems not to satisfy what we want, because what we want now is to be irrational.

That seems obvious enough given the fact that apparently thousands if not millions of people not merely accept that the world is flat (according to CNN) but wish others to do so as well.  This belief requires that a good deal of what seems obvious be ignored or explained away, and this is done with fascinating ease by the conviction that the government or someone or other having great power and influence wants us to believe otherwise and so fake a landing on the moon, the apparent curvature of the Earth, and much, much more.  Thus do we cycle back into ignorance.

There is currently an obsession with conspiracy.  To an extent this is understandable, as there can be little question that our politics is corrupt as are our politicians.  We've grown accustomed to deceit and combinations entered into to benefit the interests of a small and perhaps shrinking group of people who care about nothing but themselves, ultimately.  We see this every day.  We see it most clearly in the impeachment hearings, courtesy of someone who is intent on self-gratification and his minions.  But we see the appeal of the irrational in the response to the hearings as well.  It is assumed that others share the same proclivity for self-gratification and so do what they do to advance their own interests by thwarting efforts by others to do so.  There is a presumption of selfishness that must be overcome, but, curiously, it cannot be rebutted because selfishness is the rule, the standard by which all is judged.

It isn't rational for Republicans, for example, to not merely protect but encourage an executive who seeks merely to satisfy his own concerns.  A Democrat may soon be in the same place, and do the same things, and Republicans will then be faced with the same arguments supporting such conduct they used to support it when it benefited them.  It's hard to believe any rational person would be so short sighted.

But it isn't just in our politics that we see this invocation of the irrational, but everywhere.  The more that science, or statistics, or reason, or the learned recommend certain actions or support certain conclusions, the more those actions and conclusions are thought to be fake, or deceitful, or to result from some wrongful motive.  Thus the return of the flat earth theory.

When the inclination is to disbelieve what is credible and supported by the best available evidence, there is a serious problem.  It's a problem which will become increasingly significant as the attitude is encouraged and fostered, as is being done now.  Soon enough the irrational will become invincible, impervious to reason, impervious to argument, impervious perhaps to fate itself.  We'll slide into chaos and self-destruct, unthinking.

Stoicism and Religion II

In the last post, I concluded that Stoicism isn't a religion, but could be religious, at least in a sense.  But is that truly the case?

I think that strictly speaking it can be if we use "religious" according to its dictionary definition as set forth in Merriam-Webster online.  A Stoic certainly can be devoted to a deity or underlying reality (the vague "Divine Fire" or "Divine Reason").  We can and do say that someone who believes in God is religious.  But the "God" commonly referred to when we say that word isn't an immanent "God" of the kind we find referred to by the ancient Stoics or other pantheists, nor is it the "god of the philosophers" we see referred to often enough even by those ostensibly devoted to institutional religions.

Who and why the reference is made is interesting, however, and indicates that the meaning of "God" is dependent on that who and that why.  Christian apologists, theologians and philosophers throughout history have managed to maintain that the "god of the philosophers" or something very much like that "god" is, in fact, the Christian God.  When they do that I think they necessarily must disregard Jesus as he is depicted in the Gospels, though (despite the Gospel of John's use of the word "logos" which must then, perforce, be made flesh and walk among us--something it's rather hard to imagine logos doing).  Nor is it possible to claim that the Christian God as he is actually worshiped in Christian churches is the god of the philosophers, if the ceremony of worship is considered.

And so I wonder whether it is entirely honest, if it is disingenuous in other words, to claim that Jesus is the god of the philosophers as is attempted from time to time.   Maybe those who do that are like some of the ancient philosophers who claimed that people should engage in the traditional worship of the gods despite the fact that the myths pertaining to them were silly at best.

If worship as ceremony, or ritual, is required for one to be religious, however, it would seem that a Stoic would not be religious.  Western history would seem to establish that worship is communal, something that groups of believers participated in generally at regular times and in a particular manner.  That was the case as far as I'm aware in pre-Christian and Christian times.  The ancient mysteries involved ceremony and invocation in group settings; sometimes large groups as in the case of the Eleusinian mysteries, sometimes in very small groups (the temples or caves in which devotees of Mithras would meet suggest 20 to 50 men would participate in worship).  Pagan worship involved parades and feasting and rituals of various kinds.  Christian worship certainly is communal, though one hears of hermits and folk who lived on pillars and other ascetic extremes, but these are rarities, and meant to be.

I find it hard to picture Stoics gathering for any similar purpose.  For that matter, I find it hard to imagine what they would do.  I personally am adverse to religious gatherings and ceremonies of any kind, though I've noted before my sentimental fondness for the old Catholic ritual.  This is one of the reasons I avoid not only Catholic but other Christian, and even Unitarian gatherings (from what I hear, Unitarians are similar to Christian church gatherings, with singing and reading from I'm not sure who--perhaps the New England Transcendentalists).  The only current non-pagan form of worship I can think of that might be tolerable would be Quaker, where it seems nothing is required beyond silent contemplation unless someone gets the urge to testify--which I like to think would be infrequent.  As for the so-called modern pagans, I suspect that Wiccans, Druids etc. do whatever they do in groups and that some sort of ceremony and liturgy is involved.

Are there any forms of worship engaged in by Stoics, or pantheists, or panentheists?  If so I don't know.  And this makes me wonder whether worship of such a kind can be, and also wonder whether it is possible for them to be considered religious.

Stoicism and Religion

I find myself wondering, now and then, whether Stoicism can be considered a religion, and for that matter whether it should be considered religious.  The answers I encounter when I read those who have addressed the question--those I've become aware of, I should say--are generally to the effect that it can be religious, but is not a religion.

This makes sense if "religion" is defined as a an organized system of beliefs, ceremonies and worship of a superhuman being or beings, i.e. something in the nature of the institutionalized religions with which we're familiar, and "religious" as relating to a devotion to an ultimate reality or deity (I take these definitions, roughly, from Merriam-Webster online).  Despite its growing popularity, Stoicism as far as I know has not become institutionalized or organized to such an extent, and certainly ancient Stoicism, at least, accepted and was devoted to an ultimate reality or deity, that being the Divine Reason.  That deity may even have been worshiped in a sense.  I think of the Hymn of Cleanthes.

In fact, some ancient Stoics seem even to have thought of the deity as personal, as having certain human characteristics and being concerned with humans as individuals.  One sees this tendency sometimes in Epictetus and Seneca.  The early Christian Fathers were fond of Seneca, and could only be so if they saw in his writings some reference to a personal God--though one must be careful in coming to such a conclusion, as the early Christians, like later Christians, would assimilate pagan philosophy in various ways when it suited their purpose to do so.

It seems clear enough that Stoicism need not be a religion, nor need it be religious.  Indeed, it may not even be a philosophy, in the ancient sense of wisdom and choosing the way in which to live.  We know that the wisdom of Stoicism is fundamental to modern psychological therapy such as CBT.

Well and good.  But I confess to feeling a bit disturbed when I see Stoicism used by, and associated with, the worlds of business and the military.  I've no doubt that Stoic techniques can have their uses in those worlds, but the great Stoics of the past were not interested in Stoicism as a path by which success in business could be obtained, or as useful in the development of good soldiers.  I think it's quite clear that the Stoics would consider success in business and in war as being the result of an undue concern with matters and things outside our control, regarding which we should be indifferent at most.

Whether it is or is not necessarily a religion or religious, should it be one or the other?  I think we humans have had and have now more than enough in the way of organized religions.  It isn't clear to me that they've done us much good, overall, and it is clear to me that they've been responsible for a great deal of harm.  Once organized as a religion, I think even Stoicism would lose much of what makes it wise and beneficial.

I do think it should be religious, though, for reasons I hope to explain.  This may be nothing more than an indication of personal preference or desire.

Let me say, first, that I use "religious" here much as it is defined by Merriam-Webster as noted above.  If Stoicism posits the existence of a Divine Reason that is the intelligence or generative influence infusing the universe, and if this spirit is immanent in nature, then I think a "religious" feeling results.  How is it possible to contemplate the vastness of the universe and all it consists of with anything but a sense of awe, and with reverence?  And if acting in accordance with Nature consists of being in accord with the universe, it would seem that by devoting ourselves to Nature is a devotion to the divine that's immanent in the universe.

It may be that in thinking or feeling this way I'm in a minority, because I haven't been able to find any author who sees this as essential to Stoicism, or deals with the religious aspects of Stoicism to any significant extent.  I understand Ricardo Salles addresses this somewhat in his work, but his book on it is so expensive I've haven't had much of an inclination to buy it.

One sees the Stoics referred to as pantheists, or the Stoic view of the universe as panentheistic, but these reference are made in passing, and left unexplored, as if there is nothing more to be said.  For that matter, one sees "modern paganism" called pantheistic, even by its adherents, but those who think of themselves as Wiccan, or Druids or Heathens seem ignorant of Stoicism and ancient philosophy generally.

Surely there's a religious kind of Stoicism in evidence somewhere?  Prepare ye the way of the Divine Reason!

O Tempora, O Mores! Redux--Politics.

Well, there it is.  Article II, Section 4 of the Constitution of God's favorite country, the United States of America. And, mirabile dictu, this not altogether clear, but succinct, language of that remarkable document comes to the fore once again in relation to someone holding the office of president of this divinely favored land.

I say it is a wonder that it has done so given the especially degraded nature of our politics and the craven nature of our politicians.  Even for an "impeachment inquiry" to commence is remarkable at this stage.  I suppose nobody could have expected someone even as self-regarding as the president would so blatantly, and stupidly, ignore the implications of the Mueller report and seek the support of a foreign government in an election in such a blithe manner.  But ignore it he did and so he has given heart to those who think his presence in the oval office a calamity, and caused alarm among his venal and submissive supporters.

And so begins a new phase of the farce.  Not even Aristophanes could have imagined this administration, and the advent of a diva president.  Still, narcissism, ignorance and other attributes so spectacularly on display likely are not treason, bribery, or "high crimes and misdemeanors" and so it would be unreasonable to expect that the president will be impeached merely for being himself.  What, then do they mean?

Treason and bribery are somewhat known; at least enough for most to dimly perceive when they seem to be taking place (although our Supreme Court has managed to conclude that bribery, at least when politicians and those who seek to influence them are involved,must be especially blatant).  But what in God's name are "high crimes and misdemeanors?"  Very few presidents have been impeached, but it seems that perjury is one of those things where they are concerned.  But other civil officers of the U.S. have been impeached (mostly federal judges) and what record there is suggests that high crimes and misdemeanors need not be crimes or misdemeanors, technically speaking, and may include abuse of office or malfeasance which do not necessarily amount to criminal conduct.

So it won't be necessary that the president be found by the House of Representatives to have committed a crime, presumably.  Yet it seems that not only the president's lackies--there is no other word which may be used as he cannot tolerate anyone around him who isn't servile--but also his enemies think that a serious crime must be established.  How else explain the view that an American  president seeking the assistance of foreign governments to harm Americans does nothing wrong?

It will be in any case be necessary that there be a trial by the Senate, and the Senators, or at least a majority of them, can be counted on to do only what is useful to them. As it seems that a majority of Senators are content to let the president do anything at all, short (perhaps) of murder or stealing money from them or their supporters, it's likely that if he is impeached by the House he will be acquitted, if that's the word, by the Senate.

Still, it promises to be quite a show, even though the actors are mostly dull, ponderous, sanctimonious, self-righteous, posturing blowhards incapable of wit.  We would be better served if members of the British Parliament were involved--they at least know how to speak and would not falter when called upon to utter long, complicated words as may be expected in such proceedings, and even to think on their feet.  Absent a teleprompter and a team of writers, it's anybody's guess what our politicians will blurt out at any given moment.

That it has come to this at last may, just may, indicate that there remains some self-respect and dignity in our politics and politicians, and some few, at least, who will when prompted behave as if they have principles and are unwilling to sanction the grosser efforts of the president and his supporters to feather their own nests.

There are disturbing times, when there is no honor even among thieves, and even less among those who purport to govern us.

There's Something About 1619

The thought of agreeing with Newt Gingrich about anything is one I find disagreeable.  For that matter, the sorry state of conservatism in these dark days is such that I'm disturbed whenever any of its current, usually self-appointed, spokesmen or women begin to hector us.

But being an honest and honorable sort, generally speaking, I find there is something wrong with what is being described as "The 1619 Project" delivered unto us by the New York Times and others.

What I find wrong with it isn't necessarily what the appropriately named Newt and other such pundits of the right find wrong with it, however.

One thing I find wrong with it is the language which appears, like all else on the Internet, unbidden in response to our clicks.  The Project, we're told, "aims to reframe the country's history, understanding 1619 as our true founding, and placing the consequences of slavery and the contributions of black Americans at the very center of the story we tell ourselves about who we are."

The wording strikes me as curious.  First, there is the juxtaposition of the words "our true founding" and "the story we tell ourselves about who we are."  The first phrase purports to refer to something that is true.  The second phrase refers to something which would generally be perceived as something which isn't true or at least not wholly true--a story which we, for reasons undescribed, tell ourselves.

The second phrase is more attuned to what I've encountered when reading more modern works of history.  They have an apologetic tone to them.  The authors seem to feel hesitant and even somewhat ashamed when they come to conclusions, and take pains to let the reader know that they're very aware of the fact that nothing, really, can be known or concluded about the past or indeed about anything, because we and our sources are all culturally, socially, and in any case universally so bent and twisted and turned that we are incapable of knowing what is true, there being no way to judge our truth as being superior to anyone else's.  I suspect you know the drill.

The first phrase, though, actually says that, in fact, our true founding was in 1619, and not at any other time.  It's a very bold, clear, absolute statement.  It is so absolute that it invites a challenge.

Putting any particular challenge aside for the moment, I can't help but wonder if the author or authors of this blurb wish to pay homage to the culture of uncertainty which infuses so much of our intellectual musings these day, but also want to make a point which might be thought far too certain, but for surpassingly good reason; i.e., to open our eyes to what the United States really is, and so change the story we tell ourselves presumably for the better.

Since so many of us have lately taken to making other broad, absolute statements regarding our nation--that it is Christian, that it is not one that should welcome people of a particular kind but instead should keep them out, that at least according to one local politician has in it cities which should remain as "white" as possible--one can sympathize with efforts to show otherwise.  But absolute statements of any kind are dangerous and making them does a disservice to us all when those statements are made in a public forum and have political purposes.

Is it even possible to establish that a nation was founded at a particular time?  Well, one can probably establish, to a reasonable degree of certainty (how I love this legal phrase) that the nation known as the United States exists or existed at time X and didn't exist at time Y.  One can also say with the same degree of certainty that it didn't exist in 1619, and didn't exist 100 years later.

So, clearly whatever the authors are saying, or at least wish to say, is that "our true founding" is something different from the establishment of the existence of the nation called the United States.   But what, then, is it?  How were "we" founded in 1619?

"We" apparently were founded when 20 or so enslaved Africans arrived in what is now Virginia in 1619.  This seems to be perceived by the Projectors (as it were) as the beginnings of slavery--where?  Well, it would have to be somewhere where slavery had not already begun and been in existence, presumably.  But slavery of Africans and of indigenous peoples had been in effect in the Americas for quite some time.  The Africans brought to Virginia in 1619 were removed from a Portuguese slave ship.  The Portuguese and the Spanish had been enslaving Africans and bringing them to their colonies in South America, the Caribbean, and Mexico and Central America for a great many years.  Since the Spanish held sway over parts of what is now the United States for years before 1619, it is very likely that slaves had been in use in parts of what is now Florida and Louisiana before "our true founding."

If this is true (there's that word again), though, and slavery had in fact existed in what is now the United States before 1619, does the slavery that was in existence before 1619 somehow mean less, in terms of "our founding" than the slavery which came into existence in Virginia in 1619, albeit only 20 or so slaves were purchased at that time?  Why?

I'm inclined to speculate that the slavery which existed before the arrival of those taken from the Portuguese by an English privateer (pirate, I would say) is not important to the Projectors because, well, that was Portuguese and Spanish slavery.  What's really important, so important as to be the basis of "our true founding" is the slavery that was fostered by specifically the English and, later, English colonists and citizens of the United States who were of English or British descent.  Anglos, I suppose they may be called.  For the purposes of the Projectors, they were the real slaveholders as far as "our true founding" is concerned.  They are, in other words, responsible for "our" slavery, our slave nation.

That would seem to be the point, and I think it a political one.  Who would care about Spanish and Portuguese slavery at this Project, or its legacy and influence?  The point does not seem to be that slavery is awful, and slaveholders contemptible, in any circumstances.  "Our" slavery is what's important.  "Our" tainted legacy is to be emphasized.  Not that of others.

The influence of slavery on the United States is unquestionably profound.  It would be foolish to think otherwise, perhaps even delusional.  It's a horrible legacy. To define that legacy, to describe that influence on the United States now, is perfectly legitimate, and even necessary and essential to an understanding of our nation.

But I think it foolish to claim that "our true founding" took place at a particular time when a particular event took place.  We should know better by now to attribute great and complicated nations, cultures and societies, and even more simple things, to a single cause.  The 1619 Project undermines itself by making such a claim.

Justice and the Law

I'm an admirer of Patrick O'Brian's great series of historical novels set during the time of the Napoleonic wars, featuring as their heroes Captain Jack Aubrey and Dr. Stephen Maturin, members of the Royal Navy.  One of the novels caused me some pain when I read it, due to its depiction of lawyers, judges and the law.  Fans will know I refer to The Reverse of the Medal, in which Aubrey is treated very poorly by the legal system of the time due to the machinations of his various enemies.  I refer specifically to that portion of the novel in which the sophisticated Maturin tries to convince his not very sophisticated friend that he should not expect a just outcome, given the nature of the system and those who are a part of it.

Readers, if not fans, of this blog know that I'm a lawyer and have been one for a long time.  It's not easy for even a jaded practitioner like me to watch, as it were, as the beloved characters in a beloved series of novels by a beloved author excoriate the profession in which I've labored for most of my life.  I don't think an author necessarily believes what his/her characters seem to believe or say they believe, even when those beliefs are stated so definitively, but can't help but feel a bit downcast when I read, and sadly re-read, that passage of the book.

Lawyers and judges are condemned by Maturin for being devoted to the law uber alles, so to speak.  Edward Gibbon is cited as someone who shares this view, and a anecdote involving the great historian is also cited.  Gibbon supposedly challenged a lawyer to acknowledge his client was guilty, only to be told by the lawyer that he could not know whether that was the case until the judge determined his client's guilt.  Gibbon thought this to be a "miserable" example of sophistry, or used words to that effect.  As I interpret the passage, it criticizes lawyers as disregarding justice and morality, and substituting the law in their place.  Thus lawyers do not care about what is right or what is wrong, and do not strive to achieve what is right instead of what is wrong.

It strikes me, however, that it is Gibbon and others who think like him who make a fundamental error in judgment, not lawyers.  Lawyers understand that the law is not what is just, or right, or moral.  Those who criticize the law for being unjust don't understand what the law is, and foolishly--naively--believe that it is what it is not.  But, nonetheless, the law is the law.

To address Gibbon's example:  "Guilt" in the law is not necessarily "guilt" as commonly understood.  In the American system, someone is guilty of a crime if that guilt is established beyond a reasonable doubt.  It happens that those who commit a crime sometimes can't or aren't shown to be guilty of that crime because, for various reasons, proof beyond a reasonable doubt isn't shown, or the jury believes it hasn't been established.  So it's quite correct to say that one doesn't know whether a defendant is guilty in the law until found to be guilty, even if it's true that they did something wrong and committed a crime.

Happily, I don't practice criminal law.  I don't doubt, though, that defense attorneys sometimes know that their clients committed a crime.  Because a lawyer would know that it's quite possible that someone who commits a crime may be acquitted (even if the glove does fit) a lawyer may decline to represent a defendant because he/she feels it would be wrong to do so.  Or they may choose to do so regardless because in our system all are entitled to a defense, and to be treated as innocent until proven guilty.

That, good or bad, is the law.  One might say that the law is what it is for good, sound policy reasons; that it is preferable that such a strong burden of proof is imposed on the state so that it is difficult to prove someone committed a crime even when they did, as the innocent are thereby protected.  One might say otherwise.  Then one is making a judgment about the law, whether it is good or bad.  But one isn't saying that the law defines what is good or bad, or should do so.  That's a critical error.

I think one of the first duties of a lawyer who litigates, who represents a client in the court system, is to explain to a client that what is just, what is right, may result but need not result in a courtroom.   O. W. Holmes is said to have spoken these words to a young lawyer who appeared before him in court:  "This is a court of law, young man, not a court of justice."  The judge could not have given sounder advise to a novice lawyer.

The law is a vast system developed over time to regulate our affairs.  It may sometimes be consistent with morality, it may sometimes be perverted by it or by a particular view of it, as in the case of Prohibition.  But it's not intended to be a system of morality, and we don't respect it for being such a system.  We respect it because it's the law, and it would be foolish to ignore it.

Lawyers and judges are a part of the system.  They know how it works.  They fulfill a particular purpose, and have a particular function.  They may perform that function well or poorly, they may practice morally or may not.  They may be condemned for being immoral, certainly, but only those who confuse morality and the law will maintain that they act immorally by practicing law, and should not do so unless they wish to claim that the entire system of law is immoral, and are prepared to defend that claim.  

I suspect that most won't make that claim, or if they make it won't be able to defend it.  

Acropolis Now

Above is a picture I took of Athens, on a full moon night last month.  You can see the Acropolis in the distance.  You can see moonlight on the sea.  I'm rather fond of the picture, taken with a cell phone in the early morning.

I've been away from the blog for some time.  I've lacked the energy, perhaps, but also the interest.  It's difficult to be interested in these times, though they're no doubt interesting to some, and will be interesting to historians of the future.  I nearly wrote "if there is a future."

I'm being over dramatic, of course.  There will be a future.  We go on and on, and are none the better for it if I am any judge. There is something remarkable about us.  We don't change but we survive.  We don't adapt, we don't learn, we simply still are here, and will be here until our unchanging nature exhausts the world.

I've now been to many places.  I've walked where Cicero, Cato, Augustus and Caesar walked when I visited the Roman Forum.  More recently, I walked where Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Diogenes and Zeno walked when I visited the Agora of Athens. It's unfortunate to live in this time, when there are no people comparable to those who went before.  Is anyone now living who can be described as great, or noble, or heroic?  Is there anyone who will be worth remembering or studying when this time is past?

If the Pythia was still sitting on her tripod at Delphi, which I was also fortunate enough to visit, perhaps she could answer such questions.  I suspect she could and even would, but in no clear manner, as it seems was her practice in ancient times.  She could also be quiet droll, as Croesus learned.  Any answer would do, comforting or not.  Delphi's magic is long gone but we still strive to learn the future in ways not all that different from consulting oracles.

In this disturbing, dull and shabby age, it's particularly pleasurable, to me at least, to see the ruins of the ancient world.  As unremarkable as we are, the achievements of the ancients were remarkable.  I cannot imagine how the Parthenon and the other structures were built on the Rock, as it was called by one of our guides.  Nor can I imagine how the great temples were built in the mountains at Delphi, or how it was that so many traveled so far and so slowly to reach the oracle.  Were they actually better than we are now, in many ways?  Perhaps we do change then....for the worst.

Moralists and the religious enjoy declaring that we become decadent over time.  I don't think we're more decadent than those who lived in the past, though.  I think that we're merely more stupid than they were.  How else explain how a prosperous people and nation have come to be ignorant, bigoted,  petty and cruel?  A certain degree of dullness is required.  The bovine are self-satisfied, fearful of change, content with what is, resentful of what is not, is different.

Well, let's carry on.  Stoicism is not a philosophy of the status quo, as some have said.  It is a philosophy, instead, which grants us a measure of peace and serenity when the status quo is deplorable.

The Pathos of the Apologist

I read yesterday a book, apparently a classic of Christian Apologetics, entitled Your God is too Small:  A Guide for Believers and Skeptics, by J.B. Phillips.  It is an easy read.  It leads me to ponder the pathos of the apologist.  It seems to me that apologists, especially those who defend religion or, more generally, the belief in God, always disappoint when sincere.

It's better to disappoint than induce contempt or, at best, amusement.  Dr. Strangelove was delightfully amusing in his defense of his plan to use mines to protect the rich and powerful from the Doomsday Machine and repopulate the world, or at least the American part of it.  The religious apologist in defense of religion is never, never amusing.  In my experience, though, the religious apologist is sad.

A lawyer is familiar enough with special pleading.  In a sense, it is what lawyers do.  So, I think I know it when I see it.  I see it in Phillips' book, alas, and have seen it in the books of others like C.S. Lewis and Chesterton.  I moves me to wonder why such books are written.

Phillips, in what I think is a fairly perfunctory fashion, first describes and criticizes views of God which he feels are "too small" and therefore out of place in the modern world (the book was written in 1952).  He does so by the way of acknowledging, also I think in a perfunctory fashion, the problems with views held by certain, and it seems too many, Christians.   God viewed as "resident policeman" for example.  God as a revered, but very old and therefore old fashioned, gentleman.  These and other views he claims very naturally lead modern men and women to think Christianity to be out of touch with modern reality, and especially the discoveries of modern science.

He also maintains, however, that those who think of the God of the immense universe as necessarily detached from we humans and our concerns also view God as "too small."   According to Phillips, that's because we think God incapable of having a personal interest in us, something we shouldn't do of the Supreme Being.  He claims those who think God impersonal think of God merely as a great and powerful human, a kind of "managing director" too busy with other matters to pay attention to us as he naturally does by virtue of what he really is, a Father.

Well, I don't think that works.  I think it fairly evident that those who think God impersonal, at least in comparison with the exceedingly personal God of Christianity don't feel God is incapable of loving us in the manner we humans understand love because God is too busy.  Instead, I think that they do so because such a God isn't human.
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Be that as it may, having decried various views of God, even some Christian views, as "too small" Phillips then proceeds to tell us why only Christianity provides the means by which we escape the view of God as "too small."

He does so in a way I find interesting.  To a certain extent, he uses C.S. Lewis' idea that Jesus must have been God because he said he was God.  The argument is something like this:  Jesus was not a lunatic; only a lunatic would say he was God if he wasn't God; Jesus said he was God; therefore, Jesus was God.

The logic of it aside, a problem with this view is that the only evidence Jesus said he was God appears in a Gospel written decades after his death, while the other Gospel's do not claim he said he was God.  It's extremely likely that if he said he was God, this would be mentioned in the other Gospels.  The fact it isn't makes one wonder if he ever said what the Gospel of John claims.  In any case, one can't simply assume he ever said such a thing.  It's not a very solid foundation for an argument.

In writing this Phillips is merely repeating the argument of Lewis, though.  Most striking is his argument that (and now I paraphrase) if you really believe Jesus is God, you'll accept that he is God; you'll even know he's God in the sense that it will make perfect sense to you that he's God, and, well, that's as good as it gets when it comes to showing God exists.

There's other stuff in the book as well.  That the God of the universe had to become human in order to show us the way, etc., and this reconciles the impersonal God with the personal God.  Where do we get our conceptions of Beauty, Truth, Goodness than from God (well, I would say more than likely from interacting with the rest of the world and others than from somewhere or some being existing outside of time and space--whatever than means).  I confess I grew impatient.

Again, why bother?  I can understand that a believer would grow frustrated and angry at the assaults of the angry non-believers.  I suppose it's natural to defend what you believe in.  But I very much doubt that apologists convince anyone, and think that apologetics is simply "preaching to the choir."  If the arguments I've seen are representative, they aren't persuasive.  So, to believers and non-believers I say--believe, or don't believe, and be content, but most of all be silent.  That's my guide to believers and skeptics.

The Good, the Bad and the Grubby

It's Spring at last here in the northern portions of God's favorite country, and in this time of rebirth what is called the Mueller Report has been born and must be borne, if only in its redacted form.

I have not read it.  I read legal opinions, pleadings, reports even, being a lawyer, almost every day, and to read all of this particular report would be far too much like work.  Some day I might, but I make no promises.  I've read a bit of it, though, and of course have read and heard about it persistently since it was thrust upon us.   We cannot escape the pontificating of the politicians and pundits, nor can we avoid the bleating of their enthralled and increasingly misinformed audiences.

The reaction of the tiresome inhabitant of the White House, his cronies and followers is unsurprising.  What else would it be?  Coarse jubilation, misstatement, misunderstanding and misrepresentation.  It's likely that none of them understand just what collusion is or that collusion is not a legal term or act.  It's likely also that collusion, the intentional, combined effort and intent to deceive for an illicit (not necessarily illegal) purpose took place and takes place daily in politics.  That does not mean the law has been broken, though.  It merely means that corruption exists and even thrives.

As for obstruction, judging from the language of the federal statutory law (I haven't read the case law), it would seem to me clear that attempted obstruction is against the law as much as actual obstruction, so I'm inclined to say the law was broken.  I'm not all that surprised, though, that an indictment of a sitting president wasn't sought by the Special Counsel.  Someone in his place might well avoid that decision and leave it to the DOJ or the Congress.  The Attorney General has proved to be something of a toady.  God only knows what the Congress will do.

What can be called "good" or "bad" in such a situation?  The result of the report is not "good" I think, but it was never intended to be "good" or "bad."  It's a report of the results of an investigation into the conduct of certain people.  The investigation was to determine the extent to which Russia sought to influence the last presidential election and whether any U.S. citizens participated in that effort.  That Russia did seek to influence it is clear, as is the fact that its efforts in this regard were extensive.  Just how much it influenced the election isn't clear, but it's likely it had some impact.  It was concluded there was not enough evidence to establish the existence of a criminal conspiracy, although it was concluded that the president's campaign was happy to use whatever those efforts were to its advantage.

The president's fragile ego is such that he cannot accept that the efforts of the Russians took place, let alone that it worked in favor of his election.  But as far as we know his election is the first to follow a serious, well-planned effort by a foreign power--traditionally an enemy--to assure the election of a particular candidate, in this case himself.  It's quite a distinction.

Legal considerations aside, no person that was the subject of the investigation comes out looking good, and to me at least many of them come out looking bad.  Most of all, though, they come out looking grubby.  A dictionary will tell us that "grubby" is defined as "dirty, grimy; worthy of contempt; base."

None of this seems to matter, though, to some of us; maybe most of us.  Perhaps we have come to expect our leaders to be grubby, and tolerate their grubbiness provided they say what we want them to say, do what we want them to do.  Perhaps we've grown so tired of the hypocrisy that characterizes politics that we find the openly grubby refreshing.  Perhaps we've become grubby ourselves, or have accepted grubby ideals, grubby dreams.

April is the cruelest month, according to T.S. Eliot.  There are grubs aplenty.  Grubs of one kind in low places, grubs of another kind in high places.

Diogenes the Dog

As the seemingly endless season of farce we call the presidential election begins, I think of Diogenes the Cynic.  I suppose I also think of Aristophanes, as he wrote farces aplenty and so would recognize one when he sees it, though he might, for a moment, be puzzled at the numbing length of this one in particular.  But Diogenes comes to mind primarily simply because he knew what a farce human life was then and mocked it incessantly, mocking even that high priest of the farce, Plato.

They say Diogenes walked about Athens with a lantern, looking for an honest man.  I've also read that he said he was looking for a human.  If that's so, I think he knew what Plato and others thought we were--truly homo sapiens, or that we could and should be wise--and set about looking for what such people thought we were in their foolishness, and of course found no such thing.

A farce our lives were, certainly, but just as certainly still are if we are what we seem to be; the same creatures we were in the time of Diogenes and no doubt were even before then.  It's hard to defend us and if we were put on trial I doubt we could find a lawyer willing to appear at our side...unless his/her doubtlessly high fee was prepaid, always a wise precaution when presented with a losing case.  We haven't changed.

We remain as greedy, superstitious, stupid, gullible, fearful and hateful as we ever were, as we always have been I suspect.  We may not sacrifice to the gods as we did, we may not worship the bones of saints as much, we may not en masse rely on chants and various plants to live healthy lives to the extent we have, we may not ignore the consequences of our actions quite as much as we did once upon a time, but we do it still to a significant degree, and there's no reason to think we'll stop until we've either eliminated ourselves or reduced ourselves to the point where we may start the same process all over again on an Earth less threatened by us than it is now.

There are many stories about Diogenes.  It's said he lived in a barrel, masturbated openly, ridiculed Plato and other worthies, flaunted conventions of all kinds, remarked that in the home of a rich man there's no place to spit but in his face.  Looking about him today he would still see no humans using even the most powerful flashlight available, let alone an honest man.  He would see the same he saw each day of his life and know now if he did not know then that we're unchangeable, and merely better equipped now than we were then to sate ourselves or wreck havoc depending on our moods and means.

The Earth is still no place for the man who called himself a citizen of the world.  In fact, especially here in this country, we are less and less inclined to think of ourselves as similar to any other people or as united in interest with them; certainly not equal to them, but altogether better than others, unique, the favored of God.  Just as the ancient Greeks believed they were, but sadly we're unable to produce men like Diogenes as they did.

What Comes After Disgust?

This has become a pressing question, for me.  Not with respect to life in general, I hurry to say.  I suffer no existential crisis.  How could I, being an aspiring Stoic?  Not for me the despair and nihilism felt by some.  In the broad sense, what is, is, whether I accept it or not, and it happens I accept it.  But enough about me.

What prompts the question is the state of our nation.  More particularly, the state of our nation's politics and politicians.  More and more, day by day, sometimes hour by hour or minute by minute, it and they inspire nothing but disgust in me; loathing, even, that most extreme form of disgust.  To be clear, I refer not only to the scatter-brained oaf inhabiting the White House and those who facilitate his caperings (and there are many Republicans, alas) but all those who participate in the corruption that overwhelms our governors and government.

I'll speak plainly.  Politicians are by their nature liars.  Perhaps it's more correct to say that politicians must be liars.  In order to be a politician, one must dispense with honesty and honor as it's necessary to please those who have the wherewithal to maintain one's status as a politician, regardless of what they believe, think or do.  The fortunate politician may accept the same beliefs, thoughts and acts, but in order to be successful at politics must placate more and more people, again regardless of what they believe, think or do.  The politician has committed to the sale of his/her soul, assuming they have such a thing.

The U.S. is too often compared with ancient Rome, generally to late Republican Rome.  That's an unfair comparison--to ancient Rome.  Rome even as the Republic decayed produced men of honor and even genius--Cicero and Cato, for example.  Who do we have to compare with them?  We're fortunate if our politicians are able to speak coherently, let alone speak the truth.  The Roman Republic was an oligarchy, of course, but in what sense are we better?  Juvenal (I think) wrote that all things were possible in Rome if one has money, and that is the same here and now.  But money is all that we honor and respect.  It's no longer a tool, it's an end in itself.  Our politicians aren't oligarchs, they're clients, in the Roman sense, and are bought and sold like slaves.

Assume, then, that politicians will lie when it suits them.  What reason is there to believe anything they say?  What reason is there to believe they will do anything if they say they will?  One can make estimates as best one can based on the undoubted fact that they will do, as often as possible, what it is in their interest to do as politicians.  So, they may be predictable as self-interested liars are, but though predictable remain, entirely, dishonorable and disgusting.  A government of shills, of whores, in fact, though whores at least provide a service many think is desirable.

Accept that our politics and politicians inspire disgust.  What, if anything, is next for them and for us?
Do we simply resign ourselves to disgust?  Do we tell ourselves that we will abide with what is disgusting provided we are left alone with our disgust?  Is cynicism (small "c") our default position?  That's one option, certainly.  But disgust can become anger and anger can become violent.  What is disgusting can become too disgusting if left unchecked.  Ultimately, we will become one of the disgusting or one of the disgusted.

Homage to Hunter S. Thompson

I've only noticed recently, while reading Hey Rube,  the extent to which his work resembles that of another old favorite, H.L. Mencken.  I wonder somewhat why that's true.  I suppose it's because some of what he (Thompson) wrote was too full of references to drugs, and although Mencken certainly drank and would poke fun at the Prohibition law, I've read a great deal of him and have yet to find any extended comment on that peculiar thirteen year period in which the Volstead Act so greatly enhanced the lives of bootleggers and organized crime figures.

Otherwise, it seems to me that they wrote, and thought, much the same.  The writing of both men was flamboyant in some senses, and yet could be succinct and sharp.  Their personalities were different, Mencken being more or less conservative in his lifestyle, though drolly so, and Thompson being anything but that.  But they were both iconoclasts, suspicious of authority, impatient with stupidity, and contemptuous of politics and politicians.

Just what drove Thompson to take his own life I cannot say.  From what I read, he may have found himself surprised and overwhelmed by the fact he was aging and no longer capable of doing and enjoying what he used to do and enjoy, at least in some significant sense.

Thompson didn't write a great deal in his later years, but I'm enjoying reading his ruthless assessment of the Bush-Gore election and its principals, and of American politics in the early years of this century.  I can't help but think that he would have roused himself to comment as mercilessly on the politics and circumstances of this our time, and suspect he would have been even less restrained now than he was throughout his career, though restraint was never a part of his character.  He called America "The Kingdom of Fear" while he was alive, before our current encounter with and it seems acceptance of that combination of greed, fear, hatred, arrogance and ignorance which serves as the politics and culture of this sad time.  What would he call America now?

He would call it something, and it would be something bad.  Nasty, I would think, even as our nation has become nasty in a particularly vile way.  It is impossible to respect someone or some group of people who are spiteful, especially where the spite is encouraged and manipulated by the well-heeled; when, in other words, the spite is at the direction of the rich.  Their only purpose is generally to line their own pockets and/or those of their friends.

If there's one thing we could count on, it is that Thompson  wouldn't merely criticize, he would horsewhip those who rule us and seek nothing more than to retain their rule over those they dupe, in writing.  And it seems to me that there are none now willing or able to do such a thing.  Perhaps that's what must be done if one is to be noticed.

Most important of all, though, is that the criticism be not merely scathing but intelligent.  We live in a world where almost everyone has or can easily enough obtain an audience of like-minded associates, and many believe that they don't need intelligence, or wit, or knowledge to ponitificate.  Most any can make use of the World Wide Web or social media to say something, and they will do so, however ineptly, and will be listened to at least by some.  Mere spouting of ideas, such as they are, would make little impression among all the noise.  Faux outrage and anger are so common as to make no impression on those who listen to talk radio.

It would take something special to be noticed, and what is more special today than the ability to write or speak clearly and well?  Thompson could have done this.  I'm not sure anyone else can.

The Death of Objective Reality Has Been Greatly Exaggerated

Those of us who take the time to at least scan the news sources available will have learned that objective reality has been thrown into doubt.  Those who scan more thoroughly will have learned, also, that it has supposedly been thrown into doubt by an experiment made upon photons, based on a thought experiment created by a physicist named Wigner, and called "Wigner's Friend."  Well, someone who is not Wigner and someone who is not Wigner's friend (and presumably others) decided to depart from the world of thought and thereby managed to cast doubt upon objective reality.  Or did they??

I'm quite ignorant of quantum physics and I suspect many others, including some of those who wrote the articles which proclaim that there is no objective reality on which we may rely, or fondly believe exists, due to this experiment.  Nonetheless, I suspect that right now, at least, there isn't much to worry about.

Clearly, much depends on what we mean by "objective reality."  If it consists of the (observation?) of the behavior of photons under the circumstances of the experiment, that is one thing.  If, instead, what is called "objective reality" is the world in which we strive, and fail, and succeed, and build, and design, and work, and play, and eat, and drink, and take vacations, and watch the caperings of our fellows and those others that we encounter day by day and hour by hour, that is another.

What little I know of quantum physics is that it is almost mystifyingly different from the "macro" world in various respects.  So for me, at least, it comes as no surprise that in this particular experiment, the someone who isn't Wigner and the someone who isn't Wigner's friend "observed" different things about the photons in question; even "irreconcilable" differences (on which many a divorce is based).  Things certainly are wacky among those photons, and we've apparently recognized that for quite some time.  Why assume that what takes place among photons will alter in any significant sense the reality in which we live?  It certainly hasn't done so until now.

However, life goes on, as it has for many, many years.  And, unless you're wedded to the conception of "objective reality" as being immutable, eternal and absolute, you've come to recognize that we poor creatures live in a world of probability, and make judgments and decisions based on generally, if not absolutely, reliable "facts" about who or what we interact with, successfully.  We can predict what will take place in most cases, "to a reasonable degree of (insert word like "engineering" or "medical" as we lawyers must have it) probability."  And you've also come to know that we manage to get things done although our knowledge is not absolute.  It's to be hoped that you've even come to recognize that you are a part of objective reality, not something distinct from it, and that because of that it isn't something separate and distinct from you, but that you're included in it.  Reality is objective enough.

It may be that we humans, having evolved in a "macro" world, lack what's needed to fully understand the quantum world.  Perhaps we simply don't yet know enough about the quantum world to explain the outcome of this experiment.  Perhaps there are multiple, alternate universes.

"The universe is change."  So said Marcus Aurelius, long ago.  Maybe this experiment will change the world in some way yet unknown.  But I doubt it will fundamentally change the reality in which we live unless we somehow undermine that reality, or someone or something else does.  Until then, reality will remain objective enough., for and with us.

The Sublimely Silly

The discouraging state of our politics has led me to ignore this blog for a bit, but I feel inspired, in a way, by a book I've been reading.  It's by Richard Wolin and is entitled The Seduction of Unreason (yes, the title is elongated by use of a colon as are so many other titles of so many other books, but this annoys me so I refuse to include the explanation which is apparently required, by some).  The book reviews the astounding group of intellectuals living in continental Europe in the 20th century who admired fascism.

I've expressed dissatisfaction with various Continental philosophers and intellectuals in the past, so I confess that a book like this is bound to appeal to me as it is bound to enrage others.  The Enlightenment had its faults, no doubt, but it is staggering to review the lengths to which those who came to loath it were willing to go to deride it not only in their writings but in their lives.

Somehow, the wise came to believe not that reason and science could be, and was, misunderstood and misused.  That would seem to be clear enough to those having common sense.  Instead, they came to believe that reason and science were wrong, or perverse.  The revolt against the Enlightenment, or the Counter-Enlightenment as it's called in this work, was a revolt, it seems to me, against thinking.  Against intelligence.  Against problem-solving.  Against studying a situation, weighing options, and making an informed decision.

And so the intellectuals of Europe came to promulgate the view that it was not only appropriate but necessary that human beings stop thinking.  Only by doing so could we truly live.  We should let our emotions run rampant, war against one another, return to what the wise apparently felt we were in pagan times.  I'm not sure why it was thought that we were spectacularly irrational in pre-Christian times, though one can understand that Christianity could be perceived as stunting us.  Perhaps intellectuals of the time thought all pagans were followers of Dionysus as portrayed by Nietzsche in his wildest dreams; all Dionysus and no Apollo.  Or were all warriors.  Perhaps they thought all were ecstatic initiates of the mystery religions, or what they thought were the mystery religions at the time.

Perhaps they forgot, or chose to ignore, the very rational philosophers of antiquity.

For whatever reason, they did and said some very silly things.  Some even practiced animal sacrifice, and dreamed even of sacrificing humans.  They became mystics.  They thought in fact that mysticism is what we truly want, especially when acting en masse.  Thus the appeal of such as Hitler in their eyes.  They believed, I think, that people wanted to be told what to do by some seemingly super-human leader who personified the mythic characteristics or particular races and nations.

It was an amazing rejection of thought, an acceptance and glorification of thoughtlessness.  Critical thinking was discouraged, even condemned.

Some of this is still with us today, of course.  And though I may exaggerate, what are we to make of the learned who so completely abandoned rational discourse and analysis as to render them inhuman and immoral?  It seems to me a kind of betrayal, a surrender of our heritage resulting from an ignorance of our ancient past in the West, and the embrace of a barbarism already overcome.

Worse, it renders judgment impossible and undesirable.  Absolved of the responsibility to judge correctly, we're not accountable for what we decide to do.  I can't help but wonder how anyone with a sense of self-respect could accept a view of human existence which is so childish; which makes children of us all.

Absence of Honor

I find that the word "honor" is difficult to define.  A review of dictionary definitions will establish that it has various meanings depending, of course, on its use in a sentence.  It may be used as a noun or a verb.  But even limiting definition to the use of the word as a noun doesn't promote much in the way of clarity. Here, I mean by it a quality; a personal quality.  A quality which clearly is not possessed by any prominent person in our sad age.  I hope it's possessed by some of us nonetheless.

H.L. Mencken wrote that honor is simply the morality of the superior man.  Mencken had a tendency to speak of men (and people in general I would think) as superior or inferior.  Certainly certain of us are superior in certain respects from others, but I'm not inclined to follow The Sage of Baltimore in making such a classification.  More specifically, he also wrote something to the effect that the difference between a moral man and an honorable one is that the honorable man will regret a discreditable act even when it works and he is not caught.  This doesn't say much for the honor of the moral man, which I suppose was Mencken's point.

Mencken's honorable man possesses something akin to what I try to refer to as "honor" in this post.  It is an expectation one has of oneself, not of others.  That expectation is that I, or you, will act honorably at all costs.  In other words, that I, or you, will do certain things, and not do other things, regardless of the circumstances, not primarily because it is moral to do or not to do a certain thing, but primarily out of self-respect or self-regard.  Because we have honor or a sense of honor, we would lose respect for ourselves if we do something dishonorable or fail to do something honorable.  We would hold ourselves in contempt, regardless of whether others do so.

I feel some discomfort with this definition as it seems to resemble what some have purported to be saying when referring to someone as a "gentleman" (as opposed to a "bounder" I suppose, or a "cad").
And I'm afraid the knight of chivalry comes to mind as well, prating about his "sacred honor."  In addition, "honor" is often used in reference to the military, e.g. "Duty, Honor, Country."  Also, God help me, I can't help of thinking of the Star Trek character Worf (sp?) gravely saying of someone that "he has no honor."

Even so, "honor" as I speak of it here is adherence to a code of conduct for its own sake and for one's own sake.  Synonyms would be "integrity" and "dignity" and in the Roman sense gravitas.  Naturally, the code of conduct must be worthy of honor (here used as a verb), but curiously, it seems to me, we tend to admire those whose honor compels them to act or not act in a particular way even when the code they adhere to is unworthy.  We all know the phrase "honor among thieves."  What makes a thief honorable would be adherence to the thief's code, for its own sake and for his/her own sake.

Try to think of any prominent public figure who is a person of honor in that sense; who has honor or is honorable.  I know of nobody I would consider honorable, but know of many I think are without honor.  Of particular note are our politicians.  They're craven, venal, duplicitous, and seem to compete with each other in being dishonorable.  There is it seems no limit to what they are willing to do to retain their positions and better them if possible.  They're anything but honorable, and sometimes boast of being dishonorable.  Among them, dishonorable conduct appears to be admirable.

The absence of honor in our time may be attributable to lack of a moral code; lack of a real moral code one would have to say, as it's the case with our politicians, especially those of the right, that they persistently claim to be good Christians--a laughable conceit given their behavior.  Pharisees they may be, but nothing more.  Or it may be do to something more surprising, or at least I think so.

I think that as a rule, self-respect is not a concern among us, and especially for those of us that are public figures for one reason or another.  It isn't merely that we're indifferent to what others think of us, it's that we don't much care what we do except at a superficial level.  Expedience is what concerns us, and if what we do is expedient that is all that matters.  That what is expedient may be dishonorable is not an issue.

Like Werner von Braun in the Tom Lehrer song, our allegiance is ruled by expedience.  It makes our age a very petty, very sleazy time, very grubby time, remarkable in that sense but no other.  It's no surprise then that our leaders are variously petty, sleazy and grubby.

There are Monsters, and then there are Monsters

Now and then, and in any case too often, I find myself drawn to discussions, of a sort, concerning Heidegger in a philosophy forum I frequent.  I don't think I can say I'm irresistibly drawn to such discussions, as I've managed to avoid some of them.  In this particular case someone asked for assistance in understanding a paragraph from Being and Time.  I found the paragraph so obscurely written, so crammed with what seemed to be jargon, that I succumbed to the unworthy desire to mock it.  This led one helpful poster to provide what I think must be called a translation...a surprising one to me as it seemed only vaguely related to the topic apparently being addressed in the paragraph in question.  Having helped me, though, the poster then scolded me, saying that I should learn the meaning of the vocabulary used by Heidegger if I wished to criticize him.

I personally think that a person should not have to learn the meaning of special words in order to read and understand a philosopher's work, or that of anyone else for that matter.   I think philosophical and most other points can be made without recourse to arcane language.  There should be no code one is required to discover (the "Heidegger Code"?) before the meaning is revealed.  Be that as it may, though, this post is inspired by a statement made by another poster after the word "Nazi" was brought up (I wasn't the first to do so).  That statement was to the effect that in assessing (with admiration, it apparently goes without saying)  Heidegger's philosophy we shouldn't get "bogged down" in the fact the man was an absolute monster.

This statement interests me, and not just because it acknowledges Heidegger was a monster.  Most of his apologists admit, as they must, that he was a member of the Nazi party.  Most know of the speeches he made in support of National Socialism and Hitler.  Most know, or should know, that he was a party member until the end of the war, that he never criticized the Nazis, or Hitler; that he never mentioned the Holocaust; that he never expressed regret for being a member of the party.  It's no longer possible to maintain he was not an anti-Semite after the publication of the Black Notebooks and his letters to his brother.  It's increasingly difficult for an apologist to maintain, reasonably, that Heidegger was not an enthusiastic Nazi, though some try to do so still.

So, instead, one hears from apologists that it doesn't matter.

I find the statement interesting because it speaks to the title of this post.  When we say someone is a monster, what do we mean?  Does someone who is a monster cease being a monster in some circumstances?  If Heidegger (or someone else considered a monster) was a monster, was he a monster when "doing" philosophy (or something else considered worthwhile)?  Does/should it matter if a monster does something worthwhile--does/should it make the person less of a monster?  Or, is a monster still a monster when doing something admirable, but that fact does not reduce the merit of what was done?  If that's the case, do we admire the monster or what the monster did?

The picture at the beginning of this post is an illustration used in the 1831 edition of Mary Shelly's Frankenstein.  It doesn't depict the monster as most of us know him.  Men, women, children can be monsters, but they need not be evidently a monster, a monster by appearance.

Do we, can we, say of someone "he/she is a monster, but a great philosopher/artist"?  When it comes to art, I don't think we usually distinguish between the creator and the created in any definite or significant sense when we understand that the act of creation was intended, and admire what was created, nor do I think it reasonable to do so.  We admire an artist who creates a great work of art because he/she creates it.  Nobody but the artist could so; the work of art is essentially a product of the artist as a person.  It isn't the work of just a part of the artist, i.e. the good part.

Nor do I think we make such a distinction in the case of a philosopher whose philosophy we admire.  If we admire Heidegger's philosophy, we admire Heidegger as well, for the same reason as we admire the artist.  Only Heidegger could write his philosophy, and Heidegger is a person.  But, we can't intelligibly say that we admire Heidegger the philosopher, not Heidegger the Nazi, as they're the same person.  Heidegger intended to be a Nazi and intended to write philosophy.

Say that's the case.  Can we nonetheless say the work of art/philosophical work can be considered apart from the artist/philosopher?  Can we say the fact Heidegger was a Nazi isn't important to his philosophy, or that we cannot or need not get "bogged down" in the fact he was a Nazi in reading or assessing his philosophy?  Well, I don't think we can deny or explain away the fact that if we admire Heidegger's work, we admire what the Nazi did and thought; we admire the Nazi's philosophy.  That Nazi sure was a hell of a philosopher.

Some have argued that Heidegger's philosophy encouraged or justified, or led to, Nazism.  What I've read of him indicates to me that he believed in the superiority and special destiny of the German language and people and did so for quasi-mystical, quasi-philosophical reasons, and this oddness is found in Nazism and other "isms" based in German romanticism.  But as to his ontology, his metaphysics, I will probably never know.  I'm not keen to learn, or discover, or decipher the Heidegger Code.