The Dangers of Free Expression

Ah, the halcyon days of the House Un-American Activities Committee ("HUAC").  See the giants of HUAC above, Senator Joe McCarthy and Roy Cohn, hard at work.  Have those days returned, or are they returning?

The People's House, as it is called by some without apparent irony, or at least certain of its members, recently took the opportunity to posture for us by interrogating high officials of certain Ivy League schools regarding anti-semitic speech and conduct if not in the halls of academia then on campus.  As a result, certain of them have resigned or are on the cusp of doing so, and the professionally outraged and great donating individuals and corporations are gunning for their jobs.

It's always amusing when politicians strike attitudes for the cameras and exercise their relatively limited powers of expression on most any topic.  But this is particularly the case when self-righteousness is what is on display.  To be frank, the very idea of members of Congress inquiring into free expression isn't merely amusing; it's alarming.  Their tendency is to regulate, as regulation involves the exercise of powers that, unfortunately, are given them, and except for the acquisition of money it is the exercise of power which gives them the most joy.

So, any meeting of a committee of Congress for the purpose of exploring issues which may be impacted by First Amendment concerns, or questions of morals, is prima facie disturbing.  What seems to be motivating the head hunting now taking place, though, is itself disturbing, as it seems that the sad recipients of Congressional attention had difficulty affirming that advocating the extermination of the Jewish people would violate the codes of their institutions relating to bullying and harassment. 

Calling for genocide would seem objectionable per se.  Ambivalence on whether it is in the case of Jews in particular is especially objectionable at this time, given increasing instances of anti-semitism, which is what evidently led to this latest salle by Congress into higher education.  One would think that it would only make sense to confirm that calling for genocide of a people is bullying and harassment even in Ivy League schools.

Just what caused the hesitance and equivocation isn't entirely clear, but it seems to be motivated by the belief that, at least in the academy, there should be few if any limits on expression.  Just why this would be believed is also unclear, to me at least.  To a certain extent, I tend to blame John Stuart Mill, the author of On Liberty.  On the question of freedom of speech, he remains something of an idol.  Mill is thought by today's version of conservatives to be a liberal, and therefore evil, but the truth is he was very much a Classical Liberal, which is what conservatives were in many instances in the days when conservatism was a legitimate point of view.  He is perhaps more accurately called a Libertarian.

Regardless, though, when it comes to free expression Mill was unfortunately something of an absolutist.  Thus, according to him--"if all mankind minus one were of one opinion, and only one person were of the contrary opinion, mankind would be no more justified in silencing that one person than he, if he had the power, would be justified in silencing mankind."

There is danger in absolutism.  In the case of free expression, claiming that all expression must be free requires the suspension of intelligent judgment.  It requires that we accept the view that all speech be treated as equal in value and merit.  That simply is not the case, and no appeal to a mythical "marketplace of ideas" justifies such an irresponsible position.  In fact, as we should know to an increasingly reasonable degree of certainty, people will believe anything, no matter how stupid, no matter how insensible, no matter how irrational, and once believing won't be persuaded not to believe.

This is not to say that there's anything seemly or worthy in the histrionics being engaged in by certain politicians and the wealthy as they seek to outdo each other in their self-righteous demands for academic blood.  But it is to say that free expression can be dangerous, and isn't always to be allowed.

Which Dystopia?

Let's cavil no longer, and admit what is clearly the case.  We live in a dystopia, a bad, harsh place according to the ancient Greek on which the word is based; a society in which its inhabitants live wretched, dehumanized and fearful lives according to Merriam-Webster Online.  Thomas More used the word "utopia" in his novel of the same name, a word meaning "no place."  His utopia was a nearly perfect society, but of course did not exist, being nowhere.  There can therefore be no utopian society, but certainly can be a dystopian one, as we have proved or may be in the course of proving.

Various authors have imagined dystopias, some famously.  But if we live in one now, which of the fictional dystopias is it most like?  Such things may concern some few of us who are citizens of this one in particular.

Some fictional dystopias commonly result from some kind of cataclysmic or apocalyptic event, such as nuclear war or natural disaster.  I find it hard to isolate the cause of our own dystopia.  There's probably no one cause.  In any case, lacking such an event I think we can't compare our dystopia to those depicted in such novels as The Road by Cormac McCarthy or The Drowned World by J.G. Ballard.

As a citizen of God's Favorite County, the U.S.A., I can imagine with relative ease a dystopia created by the machinations of a particular religious sect as in the case of Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale. The Abrahamic religions are inherently intolerant and exclusive, and the version of Christianity most popular here has always been particularly restrictive, though its adherents are notably flexible in their interpretation of the appropriate path whenever it suits them, which is to say for the most part whenever it limits their self-interest, selfishness and bigotry.

I doubt our dystopia can be called religious, however, as there is so much more contributing to the woeful condition of our society.  Economic inequality, for example.  I don't know that plutocracies have ever been considered dystopias, however.  Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged has been called a dystopian novel, but the plutocracy it idealizes, which separates itself from the rest of the world, is characterized as a utopia, made up of insanely wealthy geniuses some of whom seem to be aficionados of rough sex, like Ms. Rand herself.   It's unclear whether she considered a fondness for rape roleplay to be common among her super-men and women, if not a necessary condition of their exalted nature, but it figured prominently in her fiction.

The prevalence of violence in our dystopia, particular among the young, is reminiscent of Anthony Burgess' A Clockwork Orange.  Our suspicion of books and tendency to restrict what is taught brings Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 to mind.  I don't think Orwell's 1984 is similar to what we have achieved to date, as we aren't quite as regimented and regulated, or unified enough, to be compared to its version of dystopia.  Also, our society isn't as puritanical.  We love our pleasures, and are committed to them and manipulated by them.  In that sense, it may be that dystopia as depicted by Huxley in Brave New World is more similar to ours than not.

Which brings me to The Garden of Earthly Delights, the peculiar masterpiece of that peculiar artist, Hieronymus Bosch, pictured above.  Paradise is on the left, hell on the right, and in the center is our world, in which we cavort.  Bosch portrays us as engaged in a grotesque romp.  The people he painted are silly, stupid, carnal, frenzied and mad.  Hell is obviously their destination--indeed, they seem to be rushing towards it.

One thing which I think has been lacking in fictional dystopias is the fact that we're quite capable of making our world a harsh place in which we live harsh and fearful lives simply by being stupid and ignorant.  I don't think it an exaggeration to say that stupidity and ignorance are two of the primary causes of our current dystopia.  What we accept and believe today as true is remarkably preposterous in certain respects. That we accept things as true without hesitation or efforts at verification is extraordinary in itself.  It's hard to think of other times when we've been so credulous, so willing to believe what we're told, particularly when it comes to our politics.  

As elections and primaries grow close here, we're inundated with commercials so pitiful, so corny, so clearly biased that it's difficult to believe they can be taken seriously by anyone.  Do those who create these vile, pandering, unintentionally comic advertisements really believe we're so shallow, so stupid, so easily manipulated?  Are we, in fact?

We all know the saying "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."  It's been attributed to Edmund Burke and John Stuart Mill.  That may well be true, but our dystopia may have come about not because we've done nothing to prevent the triumph of evil, but because we've been too stupid to recognize the evil taking place, or understand what is good, or do good.  

I don't think a novel with this theme will be forthcoming.

There's No Law But The Law

The existence of the law is one thing; it's merit and demerit another.  Whether it be or be not is one enquiry; whether it be or be not conformable to an assumed standard is a different enquiry.

These are words of John Austin, who is considered to be the founder of a philosophy of law called "legal positivism."  He was a contemporary of Jeremy Bentham.  J.S. Mill attended his lectures on law.

A legal positivist maintains that the law is something that exists regardless of whether it's good or bad.  It is something different and separate from what's described as natural law.  When we study the law as a functioning system, therefore, it's specious to contend, as people too often do, that it isn't really the law because it doesn't meet a particular moral standard, whether that standard be natural law, the commandments of God, or some other standard by which right and wrong, good and bad may be determined.

According to the legal positivist, it's incorrect, therefore, to claim that a law considered wrong or bad according to some such standard isn't a law.  It's a law alright.  It may be a bad one.  We may claim it should be changed, or shouldn't be followed, but a law it is and so it shall remain until changed or revoked.

There are those who have difficulty accepting this view.  They appear to believe that the law must be something else; something higher, something that's just, fair, equitable.   A law must comport with natural law, and recognize and uphold natural rights.  The law according to their point of view isn't the law we humans and our governments may adopt, promulgate and enforce.  The real, true law is otherwise there in some respect, written in the stars as it were, or existing in the mind of God.

The proponents of the American and French Revolution were given to maintaining that the laws they objected to were contrary to natural law and/or natural rights, which were superior to the law imposed by those they rebelled against.  Thus, they were not appropriately law under this conception.  Not being law, there was no obligation to follow them and even a positive duty to defy them.  This apparently was felt necessary to justify rebellion.  It may be it was believed that characterizing them in this fashion created more of a foundation for revolution then characterizing them as merely bad, unjust laws.  A tyrant's laws are more evil if they constitute a violation of the laws of God or Nature than if they only seem bad to other, fallible, humans.

Perhaps this was an understandable view when it was claimed that kings ruled by divine right and governmental authority could not be challenged without being dramatically unjust.  Those times are gone, though.  When man is the measure of all things, appeals to an unwritten law are unavailing, or at least unconvincing.  

Some people tend to believe that the acceptance of legal positivism requires that we believe all laws, all systems of law, are the same in merit, and that any law must be obeyed.  That's not something that follows from the premise that bad laws are laws nonetheless.  It's a conclusion which in its own way is derived from the belief that the only real law is that of nature or nature's God.  In that case, of course, the laws must be obeyed.  Interestingly, those who don't accept legal positivism will also tend to be those who claim that laws they find objectionable need not be followed.  In that case the law is merely a human contrivance which may be violated, when it serves to protect, for example, rights we believe don't exist, laws which protect people we don't believe should be protected, or laws which allow conduct we believe should be eradicated instead of protected.

Legal positivism imposes a most useful distinction.  That distinction is between the existence of the law and its worth, or merit.  Knowing what a law is, why it was adopted, how it functions in a legal system, is far more useful in determining whether it should or should not be changed than some effort at deduction from assumed standards, especially those that are supposed to be embodied in nature or exist in the mind of God.  

Homo Degeneratus

Most of us will recognize this picture from Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey.  In this scene, one of our distant ancestors or another, encouraged or enlightened courtesy of the seemingly inscrutable monolith, has discovered that a bone may be used as a tool.  As a killing tool in particular.  After killing a tapir and one of his own kind from a different group or tribe, the new prototypical Homo Faber (Man the Tool Maker) celebrates his discovery by tossing the bone into the air, and it becomes through Kubrick's inspiration a tool of a different kind--a space vessel.  So, after that violent beginning, we humans progressed and came to create far more sophisticated tools, according to the movie.

And so we did, and do.  But more than making tools, we have managed now to be "tools" as that word is defined in slang, or in the invaluable Urban Dictionary.  We've become, in other words, jackasses.  We've devolved from being Homo Sapiens.  As it seems our devolution is continuing, we're more properly considered Homo Degeneratus.

What is remarkable is that not only do we devolve, we seem to have no interest in progressing, in being more than we are or better than we are, in thought or deed.  We want to have more than we do and have better than we do, however.  It's a significant distinction.  More money, more and better possessions are desired.  We take that selfishness for granted.  Thinking better and doing better aren't among our goals, though.  Indeed, judging from what we say and do it isn't clear we think we can or should think or do better than we do now.  We resent anything or anyone suggesting we're lacking in any respect when it comes to what we believe or what we want.  We reject anything suggesting that what we believe or want is untrue or unworthy.

How else do we explain what seems to be the widespread belief in absurd conspiracy theories and election fraud which abounds at this time, despite that there is no legitimate evidence supporting that belief?  How do we understand claims being made that fraud must be disproven rather than proven?  Why do so many of us simply assume that claims made are true; particularly, it seems, those made by people who are proven liars?

A possible explanation is that we've become Homo Degeneratus, and are increasingly stupid, dull and bovine as a rule.  So, we're easily led--herded as it were.  We're changing into the stereotypical caveman as portrayed in cartoons. Maybe we're regressing, rapidly, for some reason.  

Another is that we've reached the limits of our ability and/or desire to think and the world around us, indifferent to our incapacity, grows more and more complex and dangerous.  Because we cannot or will not think more than we have, we turn to thoughtless answers and solutions to our problems, in the hope we'll hit on something that works.  The worse things become the more our urge to grasp at even the most idiotic response, provided only that it satisfies our need not to think about what is happening and seems right.

Perhaps we're witnessing denial, as defined in psychology, but on a mass scale.  We simply refuse to acknowledge what takes place if we find it objectionable, unpleasant or threatening.  Certainly we're witness to a particularly gross form of denial at this time in the form of the rejection of the results of the recent election.  Is denial catching?  It might be, in the sense that hysteria is catching and can overcome groups of people, who come to accept an alternate version of reality and, unfortunately, put their delusions into action.

This all raises questions about the fate of representative government in these dark times of instantaneous communication and instantaneous acceptance of whatever is communicated if it is satisfying.  It's been known for sometime that we're all subject to manipulation.  Those in sales and marketing have known this, at least, and profited by it.  Add to it what seems to be a positive revulsion to critical thinking of the kind that infests so many of us, and a legitimate fear of what will become of representative government arises.

If we've become or are becoming a kind of herd, then we may be led.  We may even be led to the slaughter, as are other herds.  Then government becomes a matter of despotism, by one or by a group.  In that case, our best hope lies with the possibility of a benign, knowledgeable despot of the kind longed for by even such as J.S. Mill in his more Coleridge-inspired moments.  Or perhaps an intellectual elite of the kind envisioned by Plato, by which we'll be marched in dull, regulated ranks towards perceived perfection.

Will we come to provide proof for the dreams of elitists, tyrants, autocrats and despots throughout history?  Proof, that is to say, that we're incapable of governing ourselves and must be prodded, even compelled, to accept what those who consider themselves our betters, or divinely inspired, or otherwise destined, think are goals to be reached?  Stay tuned.

 

A Strange Kind of Liberty

Six professors at Wellesley College, members of an entity with the daunting title of "The Commission on Race, Ethnicity and Equity", recently sent to other members of the faculty at that college an email which has made the news.  As one might expect from a body so named, the email is in the nature of a pronouncement, but is in the guise of a recommendation, that recommendation being that certain kinds of people not be invited to speak at Wellesley.  Also as one might expect from members of such a commission, the email's closing salutation is "in solidarity."

Wellesley's mission, according to its Web Site, is "[t]o provide an excellent liberal arts education to women who will make a difference in the world."

The email is peculiar in several respects, but most of all I think in its use of the word "liberty."  The members of the Commission were apparently induced to issue it because within recent years speakers professing "controversial and objectionable beliefs" were invited to the college.  The members of the Commission are careful to say that they--of course--defend free speech and believe it essential to a liberal arts education,   However, they note that as noted by a historian, the "enlightenment principles" underlying free speech prescribe that the limits of one's liberty begin when it imposes on the liberty of another."  The Commission then declares: "There is no doubt that the speakers in question impose upon the liberty of students, staff and faculty at Wellesley."


For me, the fact that professors at an institution like Wellesley refer, with apparent approval, to enlightenment principles is something of a surprise in itself.  I may be misinformed, but I was under the impression the Enlightenment is disapproved as being too European, imperialist; too committed to an unsupported and detrimental regard for what was and still is considered to be science and reason.


But I digress.  I wonder, primarily, just what liberty of (evidently) everyone at Wellesley was, without doubt, imposed upon by speakers holding controversial and objectionable beliefs.  Regrettably, the members of the Commission are not clear just what the liberty is, or how it is being restricted.  Reference is made to students who feel "the injury" most acutely and "invest time and energy in rebutting the speakers' arguments."  Is their liberty imposed upon because they feel injured?  Or, is their liberty imposed upon because they devote time and energy to rebutting arguments; time and energy which could have been devoted to some other activity, or restful inactivity?

My guess is that the members of the Commission think liberty is being imposed on because of the former.  They reference in various ways the distress of students, and harm to them, several times in the email after their declaration regarding the clearly offended liberty of all at Wellesley, so I don't know what else they could intend.  So, the pertinent question would seem to be--is the liberty of a person "imposed on" when they feel disturbed or offended ("harmed") by the fact certain people say certain things?

"Liberty" is defined as consisting of freedom, i.e. the freedom to do or say what one pleases, the freedom to choose.  A person's liberty is infringed when that person's freedom to do something or other is restricted unduly.  Arguably, a person feels disturbed or distressed when he/she isn't free, but that feeling isn't itself the state of being unfree anymore than pleasure is the state of being free.  I don't have liberty because I feel good nor am I lacking it when I feel bad.  I feel distressed when I'm insulted, but that doesn't mean my liberty has been taken away or infringed upon.

This strikes me as fairly obvious.  Did the members of the Commission actually mean, instead, that liberty was being imposed upon because the students felt called upon to rebut the objectionable speakers, or somehow had a duty to do so?  I think when someone is actually compelled to do something we can say that he/she had no choice, and so wasn't "at liberty" to do otherwise.  But if one's liberty is imposed on whenever one rebuts a claim or argument, it is imposed on whenever there is disagreement, or strong disagreement, and I don't think we use the word "liberty" in that manner.  Besides, isn't time and energy invested in rebutting an incorrect concept or idea time well spent, especially (even?) in the halls of the Academy?  Regardless, I think the professors of the Commission are using "liberty" in a most unusual, artificial manner.  Which is to say that they use it inappropriately.

I think they do so because they understand that their "recommendation" will be taken to be a recommendation to restrict free speech on a college campus, and understand also that it is such a recommendation.  They could, of course, claim that free speech should be restricted in order to avoid students being harmed, or disturbed, or distressed, but would rather not say that. 

The quote from J.S. Mill I inserted at the beginning of this post should be familiar to most academics, and probably is familiar to the members of the Commission.  They're also no doubt familiar with something else he wrote, to the effect that we should be free to do as we wish provided we cause no harm, i.e. that our liberty is permitted to the extent that it doesn't infringe on the liberty of another; that is where they began in their email.  But it's clear that Mill didn't think, with them, that speech should be silenced when it is disturbing.

Silencing speech is clearly a limitation of freedom.  Preventing someone from speaking imposes upon that person's liberty.  Hearing someone speaking doesn't impose upon the liberty of the listener, though, nor does hearing of someone speaking or having said something objectionable or controversial in any normal sense of the word.

The Commission and those who share the opinions of its members must resign themselves to the fact that much as they may support free speech, they seek to prevent it in certain circumstances.  The more honorable course would be for them to admit this and maintain that certain speech should not be permitted.  That, of course, is not an easy claim to make or defend, but that is the actual claim being made, today, by some of those involved in higher education. 

Mencken the Prophet? Democracy and the Moron

Hearken to the words of H.L. Mencken, the great Sage of Baltimore:

“As democracy is perfected, the office of president represents, more and more closely, the inner soul of the people. On some great and glorious day the plain folks of the land will reach their heart's desire at last and the White House will be adorned by a downright moron.”

I suppose some would say that day has already come and gone.  I'm uncertain about that, but if it has not one can make a good case that it will, soon enough. 

Mencken had little or no faith in democracy, as may be expected from a lover of Nietzsche.  Democracy was for Mencken what Christianity was for Frantic Freddie, I believe; that is to say, an institution the purpose of which is to impede and restrict as far as possible the "superior man."  Mencken's regard for the preening Nietzsche, that relentless purveyor of exclamations, pronouncements and rhetorical questions, was his great fault in my opinion.  But in a way his elitism was understandable then and still is now. 

Ultimately, in politics and other things, we get what we deserve if not what we want.  So if elect a moron we will most certainly deserve him.  Are we destined to elect one?  Was Mencken right about democracy?

The question whether democracy is a desirable form of government has been asked for quite some time.  Democracy was of course rejected by Plato.  He preferred that we be led on a grim, dreary death-march to perfection, unfettered by art and amusement, grouped in closely regulated ranks separated one from the other though we would be able to advance if we show promise in our steps, perhaps even attaining, eventually, the ranks of the Guardians marching before us.

An enlightened despotism has been the dream of many intellectuals, and was even for a time at least favored by such a friend to liberty as J.S. Mill.  As I recall, he thought that this happy dictatorship would represent a stage in our development.  Our ignorance and brutish character would be limited while molded by a despot or despotism of an elite until that glorious day when we would be able to think for ourselves.  Then, I think, we might be able to vote, even, though certain votes would count for more than others.

There have been relatively few democratic nations over time; perhaps there have been none, really, since the days of the Greek city-states.  Even God's favorite country, the United States, is not a democracy, nor was it intended to be one.  It is a republic.  The Founders didn't want a true democracy, fearing the tyranny of the majority, fearing more the mob, the common folk.  They would have been horrified by universal suffrage. 

So, Mencken wasn't right, strictly speaking, to think of this nation as a democracy.  The shrewd lawyers and merchants, and rich farmers, who created this nation were careful in their efforts to make certain that there would be no democracy so long as the Constitution and institutions they created persevere.  The fabled checks and balances we learned of in school (or learned of once, in any case) are there not only to limit the powers of any one branch of our government, but also to prevent majority rule.

Thus we may take heart from the fact that the moron we may be fated to elect as president won't be entirely a moron unleashed.  We may want the moron to have the power to ignore Congress and the courts and, perhaps more importantly, the special interest groups who carry politicians around in their pockets like Don Corleone, but much as we would like this to happen  (or think we do), it will not.  The moron may think it will happen, being a moron, but that won't make it so.

Someone like Mencken may say that republic or not, we elect morons at all levels.  Our representatives are morons as well as our President, or will be.  And so our judges will be morons.   The ascendancy of morons is inevitable, eventually, whenever election outcomes are based on majority vote.

Well, that may be.  But in that case we'll tire of the morons, and start all over again, running through the various forms of government.  Perhaps democracy is a kind of end of government.  It may lead to chaos, which will lead us to impose an autocracy, thence to an oligarchy, and etc.  We will be a phoenix rising from the ashes, then burning, then rising again.

The Stoic and the Ubermensch

Nietzsche famously, or infamously depending on your perspective, condemned the Stoics (in his understated way) thusly:

You desire to LIVE "according to Nature"? Oh, you noble Stoics, what fraud of words! Imagine to yourselves a being like Nature, boundlessly extravagant, boundlessly indifferent, without purpose or consideration, without pity or justice, at once fruitful and barren and uncertain: imagine to yourselves INDIFFERENCE as a power--how COULD you live in accordance with such indifference? To live--is not that just endeavoring to be otherwise than this Nature? Is not living valuing, preferring, being unjust, being limited, endeavouring to be different? And granted that your imperative, "living according to Nature," means actually the same as "living according to life"--how could you do DIFFERENTLY? Why should you make a principle out of what you yourselves are, and must be? In reality, however, it is quite otherwise with you: while you pretend to read with rapture the canon of your law in Nature, you want something quite the contrary, you extraordinary stage-players and self-deluders! In your pride you wish to dictate your morals and ideals to Nature, to Nature herself, and to incorporate them therein; you insist that it shall be Nature "according to the Stoa," and would like everything to be made after your own image, as a vast, eternal glorification and generalism of Stoicism! With all your love for truth, you have forced yourselves so long, so persistently, and with such hypnotic rigidity to see Nature FALSELY, that is to say, Stoically, that you are no longer able to see it otherwise-- and to crown all, some unfathomable superciliousness gives you the Bedlamite hope that BECAUSE you are able to tyrannize over yourselves--Stoicism is self-tyranny--Nature will also allow herself to be tyrannized over: is not the Stoic a PART of Nature? . . . But this is an old and everlasting story: what happened in old times with the Stoics still happens today, as soon as ever a philosophy begins to believe in itself. It always creates the world in its own image; it cannot do otherwise; philosophy is this tyrannical impulse itself, the most spiritual Will to Power, the will to "creation of the world," the will to the causa prima.

It's hardly surprising, of course, that Nietzsche, who seems to have been an insistently, deliberately, emotional thinker, wouldn't find Stoicism congenial.  If ever there was someone overwhelmingly disturbed by things not in his control, it was Nietzsche.  It's unfortunate but typical of him (at least from what I've read) that he condemned it in this fashion; delivering yet another rant rather than a serious analysis.

I wonder sometimes if his frenzied style was typical of his time rather than a personal quirk. William James was more or less his contemporary, and C.S. Peirce; J. S. Mill was older, dying it seems when Nietzsche was in his thirties.  Imagine any of them writing in this fashion, and you (or at least I) can't help but laugh.  Perhaps this was the style in continental Europe, though, or at least in Germany.

Nietzsche's exclamatory comments are very Dionysian, certainly, but if you like me are unimpressed by mere denunciations--argument by exclamation--it's difficult to see in this excited outpouring much that is coherent or much of significance.  I'll perforce address what he seems to be saying to me.

First, he states that Nature is indifferent and we, by living are otherwise than indifferent; we value, have preferences, are unjust.  Of course the ancient Stoics didn't feel that nature was indifferent in the sense being used by Nietzsche, as it was infused with the Divine Reason and had a purpose, so Nietzsche rather than addressing or even acknowledging that is merely telling us what he thinks Nature to be.

Let that pass, though.  We humans are parts of Nature, however, and so our feelings, desires etc.--which Nietzsche seems to think of as contra Nature--are, therefore, just as much part of Nature, as natural, as we are.  So when the Stoics refer to acting according to Nature they obviously refer to acting according to human nature as well as Nature in general, as human beings interacting with the rest of Nature.  It's not possible for us to live "otherwise" than Nature as Nietzsche claims.  Nietzsche's distinction between us and Nature is thus unsound.  Perhaps, though, he didn't think of us as parts of Nature. 

Next, he equates the Stoic dictum live according to Nature to "live according to life."  It's not clear to me, though, why he does so.  In what sense is Nature "life"?  In the sense that it exists?  It does of course exist, but it has certain characteristics, as do we.   Is Nietzsche seriously claiming that the Stoic dictum in question is simply "exist" or "live"?  That would indeed by silly, and it is silly of Nietzsche to maintain that is the case.  The Stoics clearly refer to living in accordance with certain characteristics of Nature and humanity, i.e. to living in a certain way, not merely living.

Then, he accuses the Stoics of imposing morals and ideals on Nature.  He does not trouble to explain this claim anymore than he did his others, but he seems to be saying that the Stoics purport to see in Nature what to think and how to act. 

This makes no sense either, though, as the Stoics quite consistently insist that what is in our control is very limited, and what is beyond our control is vast.  The great majority of Nature, therefore, is not something with which we should concern or disturb ourselves.  So, we would not "see" Stoicism in Nature.  Instead, being Stoics, we understand that Nature is to a great extent something we lack the ability to impose upon.  Also, Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius state that our lives are what are thoughts make it; that what disturbs us is not what takes place, but our feelings regarding what takes place.

Stoicism doesn't appear in Nature, but Nature and our nature, and our interaction, necessarily figure in how we should act.  We live according to Nature when we live as reasonable human beings, based on what we know of Nature and ourselves.

He also calls Stoicism "self-tyranny", again for no stated reason.  Just what tyranny is involved in not being unduly disturbed but rather tranquil, being calm and reasonable, is not clear.  But Nietzsche may have so committed himself to being full of Romantic sound and fury that even the merely sensible seemed to him vile and evil.

Not content to denounce Stoicism, he proceeds to denounce philosophy in general.  Indeed, why not, being Nietzsche?  What did he do that was not, directly or indirectly, a denunciation of something?  Nietzsche was an extremist, I think, and more an artist (a tortured one, of course) than a philosopher.  The reference to Bedlam in his condemnation of Stoicism is unfortunate in his case.  Perhaps if he had been a Stoic he wouldn't have gone insane in the end, identifying himself so much with Dionysius that he claimed to be the mad god.

No Balm in Gilead?

It's interesting that we expect others to understand, or at least recognize, phrases or stories taken from the Bible.  The Old and New Testaments have permeated Western imagination and thought, at least to the extent they supply ready grist for a variety of mills, reference points, expressions, thought-images.  The West has other common reference points as well, of course.  Most of us know instantly what is intended when the Trojan Horse is mentioned, for example, or when reference is made to Caesar crossing the Rubicon.  These are commonalities of the Western mind, foundations on which may be placed all manner of constructs and comparisons.  Analogy can instantly prompt understanding in certain cases.

Here I refer to the sickness which characterizes our Great Republic, and the question whether we have become a hopeless case; thus, no balm in Gilead.  Jeremiah 8:22 according helpful Google.  Not quite as common a reference as would be one to the Walls of Jericho, or Daniel in the lion's den, I know, but you see this healing balm referred to by Poe in his poem The Raven, and elsewhere.

I know--you tire as I do of doomsayers.  There are so many of them and they are so insistent and noisy.  This is especially the case, as it always is, with those who have much to lose and are fearful of losing it, and with the old.  What was the case will not be the case, more than likely, and change, though the darling of nature as it was called by Marcus Aurelius, has always evoked fear among those who cannot abide change.  The content are satisfied with what they are and what they have and care next to nothing about anything but remaining content.  When there is a chance that something will happen which would endanger their satisfaction, however, they are rabid in their defense of the status quo. 

"Radical conservatism" has a nice ring to it, but I hesitate to call "conservative" what passes for the Right Wing these days in our Glorious Union.  "Radical" seems an appropriate enough word, however, though "reactionary" may be more appropriate.  Intelligent conservatism doesn't deny that change will occur or maintain that change is in all cases something bad, something to be avoided at all costs.  If that was the case then J.S. Mill's remark that most stupid people are conservatives would be true, as stupidity is required if one is to object to all change, any change.

A true conservative may be cautious in making changes, and leery of social experiments when engaged in by the government, but isn't ipso facto against all change and an unswerving supporter of tradition.  Conservatives once thought, and may even have thought truly, that they were more reasonable than their Liberal counterparts.  But it is necessary to employ reason in order to be reasonable, and reason seems to be something those who style themselves as conservatives now conspicuously lack.

Today's conservatism is in fact anti-reason, anti-science, anti-education.  It scoffs at evidence of climate change.  It would be more reasonable to acknowledge the evidence and do something about it rather than yammering over whether or not it is in whole or in part or not at all related to the conduct of our rapidly multiplying and exceedingly selfish species.  It seeks to require than creationism be taught in school; that homosexual relationships be at best ignored if not criminalized, but in any case recognized as qualitatively different from heterosexual relationships and accorded no status in the law; that our nation involve itself militarily in disputes all over the planet; that drug use be criminalized; media regulated; religion (Christian, that is) not merely tolerated but encouraged and granted special benefits by the law, and seeks to make what was intended to be a secular state assuring religious freedom into a state actively fostering religion of a particular kind.

I don't mean to claim that conservatism is the disease we suffer from, first because conservatism has been jettisoned but also because what may be a fatal disease is one that runs deeper, and has its basis in the abandonment of reason as a guide to conduct.  This has many consequences, but among them is a tendency to tribalism and thoughtless adherence to what is familiar.

What conservatism has lost sight of is its roots in classical liberalism, which emphasized individual rights and civil liberties.  Today's conservatives want people to act in specified ways and to think, if at all, in a particular manner.  They do not want people to have the freedom to live as people themselves think best; they want people to live as they do.  Today's conservatives seek to create their own version of a nanny state, they've merely chosen a different kind of nanny interested in pursuing other goals.  Their nanny is God-fearing, traditional, close-minded, distrustful, insular and unreasonable.

There may in fact be balm in Gilead, though, but if so it is not a balm which need be applied.  Death may be the ultimate medicine for our nation's illness.  Death and globalization. Soon, those who call themselves conservatives will die off, and it is not at all clear that there will be others to take the place.  Unfortunately, it's not likely that this will result from the fact that younger generations will be better educated and more reasonable than their hidebound elders.  It will more likely result from the fact that the traditions to which their elders adhere will dissipate as we all come to be more familiar with different customs, different traditions.

What conservatives should be doing is assuring that reason and science are given prominent places in education and that the young grow used to employing critical thinking in decision making.  This would be the best way to assure that actions are taken only after intelligent consideration.  But critical thinking is not respectful of tradition and generally not indulged in by those who want nothing more than to have things just as they are or were.

Weighted Voting (Money for Votes)

Extremely wealthy old man Tom Perkins recently proposed that the votes of those who make more money and so pay more taxes should in effect count for more than those of ordinary folk, here in our Great Republic.  Mr. Perkins had, previously, compared those with less than respectful views of the exceedingly wealthy to Nazis, and compared the exceedingly wealthy to Jews persecuted by Nazis.  It's unclear whether he is merely an eccentric old rich man we may treat as a figure of fun, like Thurston Howell III or Mr. Maggoo in his unforgettable role as Scrooge, or perhaps Montgomery Burns, or whether he actually takes himself seriously and expects others to do so.

It seems incomprehensible that those who come within what is now called the 1% should feel put upon by anyone.  They are in fact very well off, and it is delusional to suggest otherwise.  It takes a special kind of self-righteousness to take such a position.  One has to wonder, in fact, whether when they make these kinds of complaints they are feeling defensive, as if they know in their hearts that they should not be as enormously wealthy as they are.

He's not the first to propose a weighted system of votes, though.  Among those who have are J.S. Mill, normally considered to be a progressive sort for his times.  He and like-minded others once made up a band called the Philosophical Radicals, a group of mildly annoyed if not angry young men who involved themselves in politics by advocating for the Parliamentary Reform Bill of 1832 among other things.  Mill was eventually elected a member of the House of Commons, though he remained a member of Parliament for a short time only.

It amazes me that Mill could even function after the bizarre childhood he experienced thanks to the machinations of his father James, who sought to turn him into a kind of paragon by forcing him to learn a very large number of things by a very early age.  James' efforts resulted in only one nervous breakdown that we know of, and his son remained quite loyal to him, though the son departed from the simple quantitative utilitarianism espoused by his father in various respects.

Mill was also progressive in that he was an advocate of women's rights, a particularly radical position for his time.  It's unclear whether he wrote The Subjection of Women himself or with Harriet Taylor, who eventually became Harriet Taylor Mill (Mr. Taylor having been it seems more or less resigned to their romance, and having obligingly died after a time).  It's even possible Harriet wrote this essay herself, and that it was published under Mill's name because he had a name, and a well known one.

What Mill proposed, in his Representative Government, differed from the scheme proposed by angry old man Perkins in that it was not so obviously based on wealth.  It was more in the nature of a system based on education and experience.  So, professionals, professors and such would have a vote worth, say, 4 of the votes of a mere artisan or merchant.  It happens that only those with wealth could have obtained the kind of education Mill thought merited a vote worth more than others, so it may have worked out to be a similar proposal.

It isn't entirely surprising that philosophers even in the 19th century took a rather dim view of the common people.  There has always been a tendency among philosophers to believe that the common herd must be led, for its own good, by the wise, dating back to Plato.  And Mill after his breakdown became close to such as Coleridge and others, and may have held the view that the best form of government would be that of a benign despot or elite until ordinary people could be trusted with their own affairs.

What Perkins proposes though (seriously or not) seems to be based merely on relative wealth.  Of course, even "ordinary" people are well educated in comparison to those of the past, and it would be difficult to identify a group of people as wise in these United States.  It is easy enough, though, to identify the very rich.  The question is, why should the very rich have greater voting power?  In what sense does the possession of money and assets establish that one should have a greater voice in determining things government does?

Perkins seems to be drawing a comparison with the way corporations are run.  I'm not sure this works, however.  Those with more money may buy more shares in a corporation, certainly, and so have more shares to vote.  But we must give Mr. Perkins some credit and assume that he is not proposing an equivalent system for our government, in which some people would in effect buy more votes than others. 

Is it rather that this system has appeal to him because the wealthy pay more tax?  Perhaps he imagines that (assuming they do, proportionately, pay more tax) they thereby make a greater investment in the government, and so should have a greater voice than lesser investors.

But imagining the government is a for-profit corporation or proposing that it be treated as one has its dangers, and one would think the wealthy should be aware of this.  Majority shareholders have certain duties to minority shareholders under the law, and officers and directors have duties to shareholders under the law as well.  So majority shareholders would be subject to legal action, as would the officers and directors their votes would elect, and surely Mr. Perkins would not want to draw the analogy between corporations and the government that far.

There's also the fact that it seems rather silly to propose that the government should be run like an entity that exists solely for the purpose of making money.  We expect our government to do other things, as I think Mr. Perkins would realize if he paused to think for a moment or two.  At the least, we want it to maintain a police force to protect ourselves and our property, particularly against the progressives and the common people, that irritating 99% that the 1% think they require protection against.

I suspect the 1% have very little to worry about.  While they may be deprived of the right to buy votes outright, money makes our Republic, like the world, go 'round, and in a political system so dependent on money the very rich may buy politicians more easily than they could votes simply by giving them money they require, thereby making them obligated to them in various ways.  It isn't likely this system will change anytime soon.

At the end of the day, those like Mr. Perkins who seem to feel offended that they are not well respected or liked by others less fortunate than they are must resign themselves to the fact that they are not sympathetic or heroic figures.  There simply is no reason why they should be admired or cossetted merely because they have lots of money, far more than they need, and want to have even more.  They may be envied, of course, for their wealth, but that wealth provides them with no status beyond that of being wealthy.  That they should feel sorry for themselves or feel they should be pitied is laughable, and renders them absurd. 

Allan Bloom, Old Fogey

In the late 1980s, Allan Bloom wrote a book entitled The Closing of the American Mind, which made quite a stir back then and still is a subject of some controversy.  It is a broad and somewhat ponderous critique of higher education here in our Great Republic, from his perspective as a professor.  It was latched onto by conservatives and lashed at by liberals.  Bloom denied being a conservative, and to do him credit he is now and then careful to qualify his assertions which seem on their face to be consistently critical of what are considered positions favored by the political left.

I find myself sympathetic with certain of his claims, though I must admit it's been quite some time since I lurked in the halls of the Academy.  But I can't help but disagree with most of them.  I don't think, though, that my disagreement arises from the fact that he is or should be considered a conservative.  For all I know, his statements he was not a conservative were earnest and true.  This book does not establish he was a conservative, in my opinion.  Instead, it establishes he was an old fogey; someone with a fussy and excessive regard for what and how things were done in the past, to and by them.

What strikes me about the book is the hostility to the modern which informs, if it does not inflame, Bloom's many complaints.  Bloom has a genuine fondness for the good old days when the classics were read, classical music was listened to, the family was the fundamental unit of society and politics, love and sex were romantic.  The father was a paterfamilias, the mother through the clever employment of feminine charm and "wiles" (a word he uses with some frequency) assured that the father, as a male constantly subject to his brutish needs, remained a provider to the children she instinctively produced and loved. 

But Bloom at the time he wrote his book found his students (he refers to them as "kids" all too often) to be orphans of a sort.  Largely the children of divorced parents, they lacked grounding in the dutiful and secure ambiance of the family.  They did not read the classics; indeed, they had been taught to despise or at best disregard them.  Sex was, to them, merely a pleasure.  They listened to rock music.

According to Bloom, this sad state of affairs was the result of the Enlightenment.  Divines like Hobbes and Locke opined that conduct was based on individual self-interest, and from this premise derived systems based on individual freedom.  Society and the family were no longer of real concern.  Things just got worse from there.  Soon people like Mill and Dewey appeared.  Bloom seems to think that these two were proponents of relativism (this is news to me, and would have been to them, I think).  They and others came to convince us that it is not possible to make critical judgments of claims or people, resulting in "openness" of a kind Bloom finds objectionable in his students.

Neither philosophy nor religion provides guidance to the kids any longer.  Modern philosophy is unconcerned with how to live, with the great questions which were addressed by philosophers in the past.  Nobody reads anymore, so the kids are not prompted to consider those questions through the influence of great writers.

To the extent Bloom takes the position that relativism and the view that critical judgments cannot or should not be made are adversely affecting our society and education, I am in agreement with him.  I'm uncertain where Mill and Dewey fit in, though.  Mill would seem to be the least objectionable of the Utilitarians from the perspective of an old fogey.  Dewey seems to have been a very unassuming person but has become a sort of boogie man to those of the right of the so-called culture wars. 

Bloom at one point acknowledges that Dewey sought to apply scientific method to addressing problems which were not traditionally scientific (political and social problems).  Given that fact, I think it's difficult to maintain Dewey supported relativism.  But it may be that what Bloom objected to was the application of that method outside of the sciences--though he doesn't seem particularly fond of science, either.  Dewey was an adherent of the use of creative intelligence and inquiry which requires the making of judgments and a consideration of their consequences in determining conduct; how does this amount to the rejection of standards by which judgments can be made?

Bloom frequently refers to Rousseau, and seems to think highly of him and his thoughts on education and love.  But Rousseau is an odd choice, I think, given Bloom's thesis.  If students are adrift due to their failure to read the appropriate works, what are we to say of Rousseau?  He relegated his own children to virtually certain death by consigning them to what passed as orphanages in his time, all the while writing of the proper way to raise and educate the children of others.  If Rousseau wrote admirably about children while casually disposing of his own, why claim it is necessary to read Rousseau in order to know how to go about educating and raising children?  Writing about this issue as he did didn't serve to induce him to act properly.  Why should reading him induce others to act properly?

Bloom was not a fool.  He didn't claim that the old ways were best except by implication, which is to say that he wrote that he didn't mean to maintain they were perfect, or the best guides to living and learning.  Instead, he states that since they are gone, and since they gave students the grounding they so clearly need, they must be replaced by something which will serve the same purpose.  Now, though, there is nothing, according to Bloom.

Of course, if there is nothing now, and if something is better than nothing and the old ways were something, then it would seem to follow that we are better off reinstating and following the old ways.  So it is difficult to contend that Bloom was not an advocate of the old ways of doing things, I believe.

What seems to pervade the book is the belief that the students, the "kids", must be led along the path of life in the Academy, as they receive no appropriate guidance from their families or friends or the declining culture and society in which they live.  There is a kind of elitism generating Bloom's complaints.  Accepting that it is at least possible there are no absolute truths (and it seems that Bloom accepted this possibility, or at least did not commit himself to propounding absolute truths exist) it doesn't follow that it is impossible to make reasonable judgments, i.e. to be open to anything, without objection.  On the contrary, we make judgments without relying on absolute truths or absolute certainty frequently; we must do so.  Bloom doesn't object to skepticism or the questioning of norms in itself.  He does seem to object to students as they are now (without education and enlightment courtesy of our relativistic and materialistic society) being skeptical and questioning, however.  He thinks that is something they are ill-equipped to do.

For Bloom, I think, the common herd is incapable of making the right decisions, and especially so the progeny of that herd.  It is for those who are truly educated to educate them so they can make those decisions.  Those who are truly educated are not modern.  They are, like Bloom, old fogeys.

Homage to Matthew Arnold

Ultimately, I think he managed to transcend Romanticism, and that is much to his credit.  It was not easy, given the times in which he lived, to appeal to the rational, nor was it easy for him to do what I think he did, and that is to move poetry from its overwrought, sometimes saccharine, indulgence in the emotions and gushing celebration of nature towards the modernism of such as Elliot and Stephens; towards a coolly intellectual though melancholy appraisal of life.  Dover Beach remains, for me, one of the greatest poems, and it fascinates me that a Victorian managed to write it.

He was a fine writer of prose as well, and an astute social and literary critic.  When it comes to religion, which clearly was of great importance to him, it strikes me that in a way he is a tragic figure, doomed to appreciate the Greek and Roman thinkers, including Marcus Aurelius and the Stoics, who espoused a pre-Christian view he admired and yet bound to champion Christianity, or at least a version of it, cleansed as best as possible in that era from superstition.  It makes for a certain inconsistency in his thought.

So does his respect for tradition and his formidably aristocratic perspective of culture, what it could and should mean, with respect to his desire to improve society.  I'm reading his Culture and Anarchy now, and his musings regarding Nonconformist and Establishment religions are striking in their conservatism, as is his view of education, and he was quite well-versed regarding what passed as education then.

He is inclined to be critical of American education, though he indicates he believes that it has resulted in increased literacy, because he views it as being limited to informing people of and interesting them merely in business and politics, and not what he clearly believes to be of importance, i.e., those aspects of culture which have not much of anything to do with business and politics.  But unless he describes later in this work or otherwise in his writings how one manages to teach the classics and the nonmaterial aspects of culture to the masses, this kind of criticism appears ineffective, and even rather petulant.  Are we to avoid education because it only manages to allow people to read newspapers and does not induce them to read Plato or (shudder) Newman?

One must start somewhere, or not start at all.  I get the impression that he would rather not start at all, unless in starting we teach everything, and this was not a realistic goal then nor is it now.  Still, his sincerity is apparent.  Perhaps that was typical of the Victorians.  They were sincere in their desire to improve humanity, but their conception of what constituted improvement was limited and their conception of the means by which improvement could be made was narrow.

I think of him as a transitional figure, much like J.S. Mill was in philosophy.  Too thoughtful to be an irrational windbag like Emerson or a complete and utter elitist like Coleridge and others of the time, but still inherently conservative in thought and belief,  He reminds me somewhat of Santayana in his prejudices, but he lacks Santayana's naturalism.  A figure worthy of note and serious consideration.