David Brooks wavers, it seems to me, between thoughtful philosophical conservative and Republican talking head. Today he writes in his capacity as the latter.
John McCain, apparently, is at a disadvantage. He isn't getting to play the kind of politics he wants, where he appears to be the post-partisan healer of the country to Barack Obama's left-wing nutjobness. His campaign is being forced against his will to have structure, and to attack people. This isn't the kind of good-natured, easy-going presidential race John McCain signed up for. And this means that he's fallen behind and has had to turn to a more nasty, traditional kind of politics. Now, this doesn't come naturally to him, of course, and he's really had to work at it, but after long last his newly minted tactics of personal attacks and mocking of truth and justice have paid off. He's nearly neck-and-neck with Obama, and so in Brooks's own words, "a long-shot candidacy now seems entirely plausible."
And the American Dream is saved.
No. No no no. John McCain is not a long shot. He has never been a long shot. John McCain has held office in the United States Senate for over 21 years. He ran a nearly successful race for the Republican nomination for President in 2000, and has had more publicity than nearly all other senators for many years. He has the endorsement and financial support of hordes of super-wealthy Republican donors, not to mention a little cash in the bank of his own.
Barack Obama, on the other hand, emerged recently from extremely local politics, is the first viable African-American candidate ever, and defeated the most powerful family in the Democratic party to become the nominee. I'm not going to say it's truly a long shot, because his family does have some background in politics and he has served in the Senate, but he's a hell of a lot closer than McCain.
I know that I'm probably preaching to the choir here, but it really does irritate me when people use John McCain's poor policy choices and lack of charisma to characterize him as some kind of David to Obama's Goliath.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Friday, August 8, 2008
Is LiveStrong dead?
I saw one today and remembered it--when did people stop wearing those LiveStrong bracelets, and the knock-off ones? I'm certainly glad it's over, but they lasted for a good while. How long does it take for fads like that to die? (Note: Stephen Colbert still wears his WristStrong bracelet.)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
I guess centralized power is centralized power.
I was in DC last weekend, visiting the nation's capitol and other things. My lovely tour guide took me through two of the House Office Buildings, the Capitol building, and around other bits of the city. It was all very pretty, but after my visit to Rome last month, I couldn't help but notice that a fair share of the architecture is decidedly fascist, in the style of Mussolini's constructions. Huge slabs of smoot gray stone rising out of the ground with angular edges and harsh columns. Ferociously stylized statues and reliefs of symbolic figures of power (eagles, men with swords, etc.). The similarities are really striking.
It makes sense, I guess. The purpose of Fascist architecture is to convey the immense power of The State, its monolithic ability to crush you and its inherent right to everything you have. Washington basically does the same thing, but I suppose its architecture is more revealing than its rhetoric. When you go to DC, you don't see the seat of a nation of the people, by the people, for the people; you see a collection of stern white and gray buildings crawling with armed guards who inspect you and bureaucratize you before you even walk in the door. If I were a crazy libertarian, this stuff would probably scare me, but because I'm sympathetic to the idea of a centralized federal aristocracy, I'm generally OK.
Still, they must have known about the Fascist thing. Mussolini's Rome was built largely in the 20s, and I'm pretty sure that most of modern Washington was constructed after that. I guess if you want to send a message, you aren't going to let a few negative connotations of authoritarian dictatorship get in your way.
It makes sense, I guess. The purpose of Fascist architecture is to convey the immense power of The State, its monolithic ability to crush you and its inherent right to everything you have. Washington basically does the same thing, but I suppose its architecture is more revealing than its rhetoric. When you go to DC, you don't see the seat of a nation of the people, by the people, for the people; you see a collection of stern white and gray buildings crawling with armed guards who inspect you and bureaucratize you before you even walk in the door. If I were a crazy libertarian, this stuff would probably scare me, but because I'm sympathetic to the idea of a centralized federal aristocracy, I'm generally OK.
Still, they must have known about the Fascist thing. Mussolini's Rome was built largely in the 20s, and I'm pretty sure that most of modern Washington was constructed after that. I guess if you want to send a message, you aren't going to let a few negative connotations of authoritarian dictatorship get in your way.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Fight the power, or don't.
The pus-filled sore of women and Union leadership has now been scratched by many, so I figure it's my turn to take a stab at it.
There appear to be a number of questions at hand. A few of them are:
1. Do women and men have different roles/purposes in leadership?
2. If so, is this appropriate?
3. What should the Union do about this?
etc.
Are women being relegated to weak administrative positions instead of being allowed to develop intellectually? I say no. There are many very fine female speakers in the Union, just as there are many fine female administrators in the Union. Indeed, they are often the same people. The former President, Ms. Homer, was a fine example. As is the former speaker, Ms. Rittelmeyer. As is the current speaker, Ms. Lee. There are plenty of other examples. Does this mean that the Union is not inherently structured as a masculine-styled "old boys club?" Not at all. In the sense that it is most commonly meant, the Union and its agressive style of debate and socialization is exceedingly masculine. What these and other women have shown is that an organization's "masculinity" does not mean that it is impenetrable to women.
Ah, but as Kate says, the real power lies in the parties. While I would dispute her on this point alone (the past election cycle has indicated to me that there is clearly ideology and inspiration in Union leadership), I will go down her path. In the past two semesters alone, during my time at Yale (and hers), there have been six female chairmen of parties. Out of 14, that isn't bad, especially considering the male majority in the membership. Were these women inspirational leaders? I think their parties would say so. Kate's party, the Party of the Right, which has not had a female chairman since the fall of 2006, has its own roadblocks to overcome (or not, if it so chooses). But this is indicative not of a general failure of the Union system, or even of women as a gender to fulfill the dominant role in an organization.
It seems that there are a number of people, regardless of gender, who seek leadership roles for whatever reason, and fight until they assume them. Some have a harder time than others, either because of personal or environmental setbacks. But I would add that we have the great fortune of residing in a microcosm of privilege where practically everything is voluntary. If you choose to take part in a system that keeps you down, be prepared to fight harder or accept your assigned role. While the world may be big and bad, Yale is small and pretty, and your narrative is one that you have a part in writing, if there is a narrative at all.
Leadership is a trait, or perhaps a number of traits. Some women possess it, others do not. Some men possess it, others do not. Associating this trait with the realm of masculinity may be informative, but it is not a rule. At this point, I am willing to say that gender roles exist as an anthropological observation, but not as a cultural imperative.
And so I say to the postmodern world: know the power structure. Learn it. Embrace it, reject it, do with it as you will. But if you feel nurturing, nurture. If you feel dominant, dominate. Only the reactionary nature of the culture you embrace, coupled with your own self-doubt might hold you back. For the rest of us, we will live the world as we see it, honoring the victors and forgetting the weak.
There appear to be a number of questions at hand. A few of them are:
1. Do women and men have different roles/purposes in leadership?
2. If so, is this appropriate?
3. What should the Union do about this?
etc.
Are women being relegated to weak administrative positions instead of being allowed to develop intellectually? I say no. There are many very fine female speakers in the Union, just as there are many fine female administrators in the Union. Indeed, they are often the same people. The former President, Ms. Homer, was a fine example. As is the former speaker, Ms. Rittelmeyer. As is the current speaker, Ms. Lee. There are plenty of other examples. Does this mean that the Union is not inherently structured as a masculine-styled "old boys club?" Not at all. In the sense that it is most commonly meant, the Union and its agressive style of debate and socialization is exceedingly masculine. What these and other women have shown is that an organization's "masculinity" does not mean that it is impenetrable to women.
Ah, but as Kate says, the real power lies in the parties. While I would dispute her on this point alone (the past election cycle has indicated to me that there is clearly ideology and inspiration in Union leadership), I will go down her path. In the past two semesters alone, during my time at Yale (and hers), there have been six female chairmen of parties. Out of 14, that isn't bad, especially considering the male majority in the membership. Were these women inspirational leaders? I think their parties would say so. Kate's party, the Party of the Right, which has not had a female chairman since the fall of 2006, has its own roadblocks to overcome (or not, if it so chooses). But this is indicative not of a general failure of the Union system, or even of women as a gender to fulfill the dominant role in an organization.
It seems that there are a number of people, regardless of gender, who seek leadership roles for whatever reason, and fight until they assume them. Some have a harder time than others, either because of personal or environmental setbacks. But I would add that we have the great fortune of residing in a microcosm of privilege where practically everything is voluntary. If you choose to take part in a system that keeps you down, be prepared to fight harder or accept your assigned role. While the world may be big and bad, Yale is small and pretty, and your narrative is one that you have a part in writing, if there is a narrative at all.
Leadership is a trait, or perhaps a number of traits. Some women possess it, others do not. Some men possess it, others do not. Associating this trait with the realm of masculinity may be informative, but it is not a rule. At this point, I am willing to say that gender roles exist as an anthropological observation, but not as a cultural imperative.
And so I say to the postmodern world: know the power structure. Learn it. Embrace it, reject it, do with it as you will. But if you feel nurturing, nurture. If you feel dominant, dominate. Only the reactionary nature of the culture you embrace, coupled with your own self-doubt might hold you back. For the rest of us, we will live the world as we see it, honoring the victors and forgetting the weak.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Paternalism at its most familial: that's not good for you!
The city of New York continues to force its citizens to be healthier. First the smoking ban, then the trans fats ban, and now fast food and "casual-dining" restaurants are required to post calorie counts on their menus.
Is this okay? Probably. My initial reaction was, "they can't do that!" But they I realized that not only can they legally do that, it might be a good idea. So long as the four-star upscale restaurant doesn't have to measure the energy of each escargot, I applaud the effort to make people at least be conscious of the shit they put into their bodies.
The article posted above quotes a couple people saying that they won't be affected by this, that they'll still eat a Big Mac because "people don't go to McDonald's for a healthy lunch. They go for a fast-food burger and fries." But I don't think so. Many people go to McDonald's because it's convenient and cheap and (they think) they know what it is. But if I were even remotely conscious of my health, I'd hesitate before supersizing it if I saw the calories.
This has been driven home to me more recently, as I've been on a diet. I started it on a whim, deciding that I weighed somewhat too much and that I wanted to lose about 11 pounds by the end of July. It's hard, actually. I've been surprised. After the first week, I had only lost two, and now my discipline is lagging. Especially since I love Taco Bell. Now, I know how bad Taco Bell is, but only because I spend a lot of time on their website (http://www.tacobell.com/ - check out their ad jingle mixes at the top right). I used to pretend to think it was healthy (it's got meat, cheese, vegetables, and bread. Sounds like a great sandwich, right?), and I can easily imagine New Yorkers at least underestimating, if not ignoring, the actual fat content of their Crunchwrap Supreme (sooooo delicious).
So, good job New York, I guess. But I'll admit I'm not thrilling for New Haven to follow suit.
Is this okay? Probably. My initial reaction was, "they can't do that!" But they I realized that not only can they legally do that, it might be a good idea. So long as the four-star upscale restaurant doesn't have to measure the energy of each escargot, I applaud the effort to make people at least be conscious of the shit they put into their bodies.
The article posted above quotes a couple people saying that they won't be affected by this, that they'll still eat a Big Mac because "people don't go to McDonald's for a healthy lunch. They go for a fast-food burger and fries." But I don't think so. Many people go to McDonald's because it's convenient and cheap and (they think) they know what it is. But if I were even remotely conscious of my health, I'd hesitate before supersizing it if I saw the calories.
This has been driven home to me more recently, as I've been on a diet. I started it on a whim, deciding that I weighed somewhat too much and that I wanted to lose about 11 pounds by the end of July. It's hard, actually. I've been surprised. After the first week, I had only lost two, and now my discipline is lagging. Especially since I love Taco Bell. Now, I know how bad Taco Bell is, but only because I spend a lot of time on their website (http://www.tacobell.com/ - check out their ad jingle mixes at the top right). I used to pretend to think it was healthy (it's got meat, cheese, vegetables, and bread. Sounds like a great sandwich, right?), and I can easily imagine New Yorkers at least underestimating, if not ignoring, the actual fat content of their Crunchwrap Supreme (sooooo delicious).
So, good job New York, I guess. But I'll admit I'm not thrilling for New Haven to follow suit.
Friday, July 18, 2008
"Wherever it is"
This is funny. I like it because it's amusing, and because it references Aliza Shvarts.
I still maintain that the Shvarts piece was artistic, but I concede that when described, it sounds gratuitously silly.
You have to be on your toes, because the next big repugnant masterpiece could happen anywhere, at any time. More and more I find myself traveling to Sweden, California, or wherever Yale University is just to get a glimpse of a duck being force fed pâté-filled Oreos.
I still maintain that the Shvarts piece was artistic, but I concede that when described, it sounds gratuitously silly.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Obama Phenomena
Tom Tomorrow (cartoonist extraordinaire, if you didn't know) has a rather clever strip this week about the varying perceptions of Obama. I probably fall in most closely with the "Obamanologists" who "strive to explain the difference between what Obama says and what he means." I have a feeling that most Democrats fall into one of these categories. Broockman is clearly a "disillusioned acolyte," and I know a couple folks would be fall in the "ubiquitous apostates" category.
Aside from being amusing, the strip also affirms Democrats' own perception of "I belong to no organized party, for I am a Democrat" (thanks, David). Obama's done a pretty good job of representing himself, but aside from the occasional email from Howard Dean, I haven't heard anything from other prominent Democrats since the primaries. The Party needs to revitalize its own clout and create a coherent image of its candidate that everybody can fall in with, instead of splintering off into their own incomplete ideas about him.
Aside from being amusing, the strip also affirms Democrats' own perception of "I belong to no organized party, for I am a Democrat" (thanks, David). Obama's done a pretty good job of representing himself, but aside from the occasional email from Howard Dean, I haven't heard anything from other prominent Democrats since the primaries. The Party needs to revitalize its own clout and create a coherent image of its candidate that everybody can fall in with, instead of splintering off into their own incomplete ideas about him.
Monday, July 14, 2008
America outsources even its mediocrity
When I was in Rome, and felt nation-sick, I inaugurated America Day (to be held each June 28 hence) by going to the store and buying Pringles, Snickers, Coke, and a Budweiser. It was glorious, and I felt proud. And I'm glad I did it then, because Anheuser-Busch, that shining emblem of Americana, is being sold to the Belgians. I'm sad. Maybe even outraged. Next year I'll have to use Miller, or something. Is nothing sacred? Will the French buy back the Statue of Liberty? Will Ford move to Mexico? Will Arnold Schwarzenegger get to be President? These are sad times, my fellow Americans.
I'm not really opposed to these kinds of sales. Free markets often to work out in everybody's favor. But Budweiser really is an American icon, and whether or not you approve of the drinking culture of our great nation, you really have to be sad to see it go. Obviously they'll still serve it. Obviously it will still taste gloriously bland. But it won't be the same.
I'm not really opposed to these kinds of sales. Free markets often to work out in everybody's favor. But Budweiser really is an American icon, and whether or not you approve of the drinking culture of our great nation, you really have to be sad to see it go. Obviously they'll still serve it. Obviously it will still taste gloriously bland. But it won't be the same.
Two politicians walk into a bar
Apparently there's a stir about next week's New Yorker cover. It depicts Barack and Michelle Obama standing in the Oval Office in full terrorist regalia under a portrait of Osama bin Laden as a flag burns in the fireplace. Both the Obama and the McCain campaign have called it "tasteless and offensive," but I for one think it's time that everybody suck it up for satire.
I'm working backwards here, because my first instict is to defend everything the New Yorker does, and then figure out why it's okay. The cartoonist, Barry Blitt, defends his work by claiming that, "It seemed to me that depicting the concept would show it as the fear-mongering ridiculousness that it is." Sure, but he needn't be so diplomatic. One of my favorite things about this "new kind of politics" was that there weren't supposed to be any pulled punches. I want to see a cartoon of McCain cutting brush in a cowboy hat with Laura Bush (he's Bush III). I want to see Obama stubbing a cigarette out on the face of a helpless white man as he sips a fine red wine (he's an elitist who hates white people).
Come on, media, help us think more about the men who will run our country! Don't just give me soundbites, give me biting commentary. Don't give me scandals, scandalize me. Political discourse has the reputation of turning off millions of Americans who feel like it's such a dirty game that they can't get involved. But Americans love dirty games, let them participate! People know more Bush jokes than they know Bush policies. It's time to use that to everybody's advantage.
Q: How many Democrats does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Only three, but they need healthcare and a living wage.
Q: How many Republicans does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Let the market decide!
Those are just off the top of my head, but I feel confident that the more jokes we hear(constructive jokes, mind you, not Dennis Miller shit), the more invested we'll be. And so I applaud the New Yorker for spearheading what will hopefully be a trend of amusing understanding.
I'm working backwards here, because my first instict is to defend everything the New Yorker does, and then figure out why it's okay. The cartoonist, Barry Blitt, defends his work by claiming that, "It seemed to me that depicting the concept would show it as the fear-mongering ridiculousness that it is." Sure, but he needn't be so diplomatic. One of my favorite things about this "new kind of politics" was that there weren't supposed to be any pulled punches. I want to see a cartoon of McCain cutting brush in a cowboy hat with Laura Bush (he's Bush III). I want to see Obama stubbing a cigarette out on the face of a helpless white man as he sips a fine red wine (he's an elitist who hates white people).
Come on, media, help us think more about the men who will run our country! Don't just give me soundbites, give me biting commentary. Don't give me scandals, scandalize me. Political discourse has the reputation of turning off millions of Americans who feel like it's such a dirty game that they can't get involved. But Americans love dirty games, let them participate! People know more Bush jokes than they know Bush policies. It's time to use that to everybody's advantage.
Q: How many Democrats does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Only three, but they need healthcare and a living wage.
Q: How many Republicans does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Let the market decide!
Those are just off the top of my head, but I feel confident that the more jokes we hear(constructive jokes, mind you, not Dennis Miller shit), the more invested we'll be. And so I applaud the New Yorker for spearheading what will hopefully be a trend of amusing understanding.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
The Yale Corporation is a collective douchebag.
About two weeks ago, from the YDN:
There goes the first promise they made: eliminating annex housing. Now they're just planning to "significantly reduce" it, which entirely defeats the purpose.
Mostly I'm pissed off about this because aside from going forward with an expansion we don't need that had very little student support, they're going back on their word about all the things that got them any support in the first place. Next they'll be saying that the enormous student center they promised with plenty of places for groups to meet will become office space, and that they won't be hiring that many new faculty after all.
Why do we need to expand anyway? The answer most commonly given is that Yale feels bad about rejecting so many qualified applicants. Aside from the fact that I don't give a shit, that's a pretty shallow answer. Admitting another 200 kids a year won't take us back to 1980 admissions levels, it will take us back to 2004 admissions levels. Maybe. And why do we care? Yale has prided itself for centuries for having an intimate student body with a compact campus that has the feel of a liberal arts college but the resources of a university. Now they're expanding our numbers, sprawling our campus, and straining our resources. Those motherfuckers. Somebody please try to justify this move to me. Please.
In February, when he first endorsed plans for expansion, Levin suggested the new colleges would allow for the Yale College enrollment to increase by about 650 to 700 students, or 12 or 13 percent of the existing student body. But Levin said the Corporation has decided to make the colleges slightly larger, allowing for an increase of about 800 students, or roughly 15 percent of the existing student body.
There goes the first promise they made: eliminating annex housing. Now they're just planning to "significantly reduce" it, which entirely defeats the purpose.
Mostly I'm pissed off about this because aside from going forward with an expansion we don't need that had very little student support, they're going back on their word about all the things that got them any support in the first place. Next they'll be saying that the enormous student center they promised with plenty of places for groups to meet will become office space, and that they won't be hiring that many new faculty after all.
Why do we need to expand anyway? The answer most commonly given is that Yale feels bad about rejecting so many qualified applicants. Aside from the fact that I don't give a shit, that's a pretty shallow answer. Admitting another 200 kids a year won't take us back to 1980 admissions levels, it will take us back to 2004 admissions levels. Maybe. And why do we care? Yale has prided itself for centuries for having an intimate student body with a compact campus that has the feel of a liberal arts college but the resources of a university. Now they're expanding our numbers, sprawling our campus, and straining our resources. Those motherfuckers. Somebody please try to justify this move to me. Please.
Salvation subject to availability
By popular demand, I'll start with the "near-conversion" story. It may not be quite as juicy as some of you were hoping, but it was still an experience. About three and a half weeks into my five week stay in Rome, two friends and I decided to check out St. Peter's basilica in the afternoon. We had been reading Mark Twain's The Innocents Abroad, and I had been particularly struck by this passage:
Twain does not exaggerate. The place is immense, and, simultaneously, perfectly proportioned. It is easy to imagine that St. Peter's is God's house, and that God's house is decorated with hundreds of square feet of beautifully detailed mosaics, colossal statues of saints, and one of the most epic domes ever built. Epic, that is the right word to describe it. To walk through it was an odyssey, to turn a corner was to discover another church's worth of treasures, to look up is dizzying but hypnotizing. I spent four hours in this church. No particular ceremony was going on, no procession or mass. But it was not for a moment boring or tiring. After two hours or so of wandering through the arcades and apse and nave, we walked through the papal crypt, past the bodies of the politicians who really shaped the middle ages and the renaissance, past full-grown men crying like babies at the tomb of John-Paul II, and finally past the tomb of St. Peter himself. Here, I paused, and gave a short bow, a gesture I had purposely avoided at the altars of all other churches. Here was the rock, the foundation of Christianity and the Western world, the Godfather of civilization. A bow was appropriate.Next, we went up to the cupola, at the top of the dome of St. Peter's. The climb was grueling, but the view was monumental. The basilica, I believe by regulation, is the tallest building in Rome, by a very significant margin. The Pantheon which, when up close, looks like a giant structure, is barely visible among the streets and other monuments. Imagine marveling at the height of Harkness tower and then turning around to see the Empire State building. I believe the feeling is analogous. In any case, I was stunned by the whole ordeal. Tombs, views, and my goodness, the baldachino. What a structure that thing is. As I was walking out the church, and looked back at the gigantic nave with the gigantic altar and the rays of light coming through the gigantic windows, yes, I felt an impulse to belong. I've always said that if I were to join any religion, it would be Caltholicism or Congregationalism. Congregationalism for the apolstalic lovey-ness, and Catholicism for the grandeur. Several of us decided that we wanted to go to mass on Sunday: a 10:30 mass, in Latin, with full homily. It would have been... epic. Unfortunately, you have to get tickets in advance for a mass at St. Peter's, and we didn't come soon enough. Thus, I remained mass-less, and all possibilities of conversion were crushed beneath church bureaucracy. Ain't that always the way?
When we reached the door, and stood fairly within the church, it was impossible to comprehend that it was a very large building. I had to cipher a comprehension of it. I had to ransack my memory for some more similes. St. Peter's is bulky. Its height and size would represent two of the Washington capitol set one on top of the other--if the capitol were wider; or two blocks or two blocks and a half of ordinary buildings set one on top of the other. St. Peter's was that large, but it could and would not look so. The trouble was that every thing in it and about it was on such a scale of uniform vastness that there were no contrasts to judge by--none but the people, and I had not noticed them. They were insects. The statues of children holding vases of holy water were immense, according to the tables of figures, but so was every thing else around them. The mosaic pictures in the dome were huge, and were made of thousands and thousands of cubes of glass as large as the end of my little finger, but those pictures looked smooth, and gaudy of color, and in good proportion to the dome. Evidently they would not answer to measure by. Away down toward the far end of the church (I thought it was really clear at the far end, but discovered afterward that it was in the centre, under the dome,) stood the thing they call the baldacchino--a great bronze pyramidal frame-work like that which upholds a mosquito bar. It only looked like a considerably magnified bedstead--nothing more. Yet I knew it was a good deal more than half as high as Niagara Falls. It was overshadowed by a dome so mighty that its own height was snubbed. The four great square piers or pillars that stand equidistant from each other in the church, and support the roof, I could not work up to their real dimensions by any method of comparison. I knew that the faces of each were about the width of a very large dwelling-house front, (fifty or sixty feet,) and that they were twice as high as an ordinary three-story dwelling, but still they looked small. I tried all the different ways I could think of to compel myself to understand how large St. Peter's was, but with small success. The mosaic portrait of an Apostle who was writing with a pen six feet long seemed only an ordinary Apostle.
But the people attracted my attention after a while. To stand in the door of St. Peter's and look at men down toward its further extremity, two blocks away, has a diminishing effect on them; surrounded by the prodigious pictures and statues, and lost in the vast spaces, they look very much smaller than they would if they stood two blocks away in the open air. I "averaged" a man as he passed me and watched him as he drifted far down by the baldacchino and beyond--watched him dwindle to an insignificant school-boy, and then, in the midst of the silent throng of human pigmies gliding about him, I lost him. The church had lately been decorated, on the occasion of a great ceremony in honor of St. Peter, and men were engaged, now, in removing the flowers and gilt paper from the walls and pillars. As no ladders could reach the great heights, the men swung themselves down from balustrades and the capitals of pilasters by ropes, to do this work. The upper gallery which encircles the inner sweep of the dome is two hundred and forty feet above the floor of the church--very few steeples in America could reach up to it. Visitors always go up there to look down into the church because one gets the best idea of some of the heights and distances from that point. While we stood on the floor one of the workmen swung loose from that gallery at the end of a long rope. I had not supposed, before, that a man could look so much like a spider. He was insignificant in size, and his rope seemed only a thread. Seeing that he took up so little space, I could believe the story, then, that ten thousand troops went to St. Peter's, once, to hear mass, and their commanding officer came afterward, and not finding them, supposed they had not yet arrived. But they were in the church, nevertheless--they were in one of the
transepts. Nearly fifty thousand persons assembled in St. Peter's to hear the publishing of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception. It is estimated that the floor of the church affords standing room for--for a large number of people; I have forgotten the exact figures. But it is no matter--it is near enough.
Twain does not exaggerate. The place is immense, and, simultaneously, perfectly proportioned. It is easy to imagine that St. Peter's is God's house, and that God's house is decorated with hundreds of square feet of beautifully detailed mosaics, colossal statues of saints, and one of the most epic domes ever built. Epic, that is the right word to describe it. To walk through it was an odyssey, to turn a corner was to discover another church's worth of treasures, to look up is dizzying but hypnotizing. I spent four hours in this church. No particular ceremony was going on, no procession or mass. But it was not for a moment boring or tiring. After two hours or so of wandering through the arcades and apse and nave, we walked through the papal crypt, past the bodies of the politicians who really shaped the middle ages and the renaissance, past full-grown men crying like babies at the tomb of John-Paul II, and finally past the tomb of St. Peter himself. Here, I paused, and gave a short bow, a gesture I had purposely avoided at the altars of all other churches. Here was the rock, the foundation of Christianity and the Western world, the Godfather of civilization. A bow was appropriate.Next, we went up to the cupola, at the top of the dome of St. Peter's. The climb was grueling, but the view was monumental. The basilica, I believe by regulation, is the tallest building in Rome, by a very significant margin. The Pantheon which, when up close, looks like a giant structure, is barely visible among the streets and other monuments. Imagine marveling at the height of Harkness tower and then turning around to see the Empire State building. I believe the feeling is analogous. In any case, I was stunned by the whole ordeal. Tombs, views, and my goodness, the baldachino. What a structure that thing is. As I was walking out the church, and looked back at the gigantic nave with the gigantic altar and the rays of light coming through the gigantic windows, yes, I felt an impulse to belong. I've always said that if I were to join any religion, it would be Caltholicism or Congregationalism. Congregationalism for the apolstalic lovey-ness, and Catholicism for the grandeur. Several of us decided that we wanted to go to mass on Sunday: a 10:30 mass, in Latin, with full homily. It would have been... epic. Unfortunately, you have to get tickets in advance for a mass at St. Peter's, and we didn't come soon enough. Thus, I remained mass-less, and all possibilities of conversion were crushed beneath church bureaucracy. Ain't that always the way?
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Just you wait...
Hey, folks. Sorry I've been gone so long. I'll explain in a bit, but the good news (if you like me) is that I'll be back in a mere matter of days!
Coming up, on Alcibiades at Yale:
-The difference between Rome (where I am now) and America
-New developments in the 2008 election
-Maybe a bit on Roman Triumphs (what I'm studying)
-My near-conversion to Catholicism thwarted only by bureaucracy
-And I'll beat up on that William Deresiewicz article that everybody's sending around.
See you soon!
Coming up, on Alcibiades at Yale:
-The difference between Rome (where I am now) and America
-New developments in the 2008 election
-Maybe a bit on Roman Triumphs (what I'm studying)
-My near-conversion to Catholicism thwarted only by bureaucracy
-And I'll beat up on that William Deresiewicz article that everybody's sending around.
See you soon!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Your chains will set you free
Helen and David were talking last night about constraints, and how oppression can be good. The basic thesis, as I interpreted it (disclaimer: I was not the most compos of mentis), was that we need some benevolent oppression to tell us who we are and where we fit in society. Femininity, for example, is mildly oppressive, but it gives women a role and allows them to more expediently explore the meaning of their lives.
Okay. That seems to work. But if we need constraints to help us understand identity, what kind of identity do we have? Is there anything to us, naturally, or do we merely reflect the cultural circumstances from which we come? Sure, my social context tells me who I am, but am I actually discovering who I am or am I learning who I'm supposed to be?
I'm fine with reading history and looking at art and considering the origins of our culture. But if our culture is really worth continuing (and I think it probably is), why is coercion necessary, never mind good?
I'm pretty into choice. This is because I love freedom. But even more than general freedom I love it when people make their own identities. This doesn't mean iconoclasticism for iconoclasticism's sake. People who shout "down with the man!" annoy me as much as they do anyone else. I've chosen a fairly traditional persona in my society, for now. But I'm not sold at all that it's oppression itself that's important, rather than just wanting to protect things that we happen to like.
Okay. That seems to work. But if we need constraints to help us understand identity, what kind of identity do we have? Is there anything to us, naturally, or do we merely reflect the cultural circumstances from which we come? Sure, my social context tells me who I am, but am I actually discovering who I am or am I learning who I'm supposed to be?
I'm fine with reading history and looking at art and considering the origins of our culture. But if our culture is really worth continuing (and I think it probably is), why is coercion necessary, never mind good?
I'm pretty into choice. This is because I love freedom. But even more than general freedom I love it when people make their own identities. This doesn't mean iconoclasticism for iconoclasticism's sake. People who shout "down with the man!" annoy me as much as they do anyone else. I've chosen a fairly traditional persona in my society, for now. But I'm not sold at all that it's oppression itself that's important, rather than just wanting to protect things that we happen to like.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Burke gets abused (as usual).
Matthew Yglesias linked to an article in the Atlantic about how John McCain is a Burkean conservative. Personally, I think it's trying too hard.
Perhaps, just perhaps, he isn't a neocon. But it isn't metered change he's doing, it's pandering. The reason he's for the tax cuts now is because it will get him votes. Same reason why he voted against the anti-torture bill. It isn't that he philosophically opposes changes and restrictive reforms, he's just more spineless than we give him credit for.
Yes, the James Dobsons and Rudy Giulianis of the American right aren't real conservatives. Yes, what the Republican party needs to get it back on some kind of philosophical path is more Burke. But John McCain just isn't the guy. He's a maverick, remember? He stands up for what he believes in, even if it isn't the norm! Granted, John McCain is as much a maverick as Mike Gravel is a libertarian, but conservatives (authentic or otherwise) can't have it both ways.
The way I see it, the Republican party has three directions they can go:
1. Neoconservatism. Like Reagan with a sadistic edge. Low taxes for the rich, strong military presence in every country between Egypt and India, and a centralized government doing whatever the hell it wants with its people, resulting in generations of debt, broken alliances, and wholly useless moral "highground."
2. Federalism. Starve Washington, let the libertarians run free in the streets, and kick back as the poor of America rise up and bring the long-awaited Proletarian revolution.
3. Real conservatism. Elitism. The kind of thing Burke wanted- social conservatism, economic protectionism, and a heavy dose of aesthetic power plays. This direction is actually impossible.
These options all have some stuff in common, and McCain has to an extent flirted with all of them without commiting to one. Intriguingly, this is one of the things that makes him so appealing to moderates. They don't know what kind of a conservative he is, so they can't be sure of all the terrible things he'd most likely do. He might invade a country, but he might not be a neocon. He might gut welfare and education and social security, but he might not be a small government libertarian. He might purely maintain the status quo and waste everyone's time talking a big game about America versus the ideological forces of evil. Is he John? Is he President McCain? Or is he J.S. McCain III? Hopefully, time will never tell.
In any case, he's no Edmund Burke, and he's still a bad candidate.
Perhaps, just perhaps, he isn't a neocon. But it isn't metered change he's doing, it's pandering. The reason he's for the tax cuts now is because it will get him votes. Same reason why he voted against the anti-torture bill. It isn't that he philosophically opposes changes and restrictive reforms, he's just more spineless than we give him credit for.
Yes, the James Dobsons and Rudy Giulianis of the American right aren't real conservatives. Yes, what the Republican party needs to get it back on some kind of philosophical path is more Burke. But John McCain just isn't the guy. He's a maverick, remember? He stands up for what he believes in, even if it isn't the norm! Granted, John McCain is as much a maverick as Mike Gravel is a libertarian, but conservatives (authentic or otherwise) can't have it both ways.
The way I see it, the Republican party has three directions they can go:
1. Neoconservatism. Like Reagan with a sadistic edge. Low taxes for the rich, strong military presence in every country between Egypt and India, and a centralized government doing whatever the hell it wants with its people, resulting in generations of debt, broken alliances, and wholly useless moral "highground."
2. Federalism. Starve Washington, let the libertarians run free in the streets, and kick back as the poor of America rise up and bring the long-awaited Proletarian revolution.
3. Real conservatism. Elitism. The kind of thing Burke wanted- social conservatism, economic protectionism, and a heavy dose of aesthetic power plays. This direction is actually impossible.
These options all have some stuff in common, and McCain has to an extent flirted with all of them without commiting to one. Intriguingly, this is one of the things that makes him so appealing to moderates. They don't know what kind of a conservative he is, so they can't be sure of all the terrible things he'd most likely do. He might invade a country, but he might not be a neocon. He might gut welfare and education and social security, but he might not be a small government libertarian. He might purely maintain the status quo and waste everyone's time talking a big game about America versus the ideological forces of evil. Is he John? Is he President McCain? Or is he J.S. McCain III? Hopefully, time will never tell.
In any case, he's no Edmund Burke, and he's still a bad candidate.
Friday, April 4, 2008
The Obsolsescence of Virtue
This is a paper I wrote this morning. It's unedited (as is traditional of my papers), very shoddily organized, and is written in a style more suited to pseudo-academia than entertainment, but it's about conservatism and virtue and modernity, so because I've been absent for a while I thought I might post it. After the cut.
Edmund Burke and Jean-Jacques Rousseau share an obsession with virtue, but it seems initially that that is all they share. Rousseau, in his Discourse on the Arts and Sciences, essentially desecrates the idea of enlightenment culture, disparaging the inauthenticity of modern social structures. Burke, in contrast, glorifies the aristocratic society of France and denigrates the extreme leveling of the classes practiced by the revolutionaries in his Reflections on the Revolution in France. Despite their vastly different ideas of whence it is derived, both authors dramatically mourn the loss of virtue and criticize and prefigure the decline of society. Burke’s insistence on reasoned conservatism in the face of radical change seems like a watered-down and misguided version of Rousseau’s reactionary opinions, and the two authors’ iconic nostalgia prefigure the very real decline of virtue in the modern era.
Rousseau claims in his Discourse that mankind’s fondness for the arts and sciences have made societies soft and weak. He gives examples like Rome, “formerly the temple of virtue,” which, “after the likes of Ovid, Catullus, and Martial…became the theater of crime, the disgrace of nations, and the plaything of barbarians” (Rousseau 6). He suggests that rather than leave behind poems and equations, virtue is all society need be remembered for. To illustrate this, he employs the example of Sparta, where “‘men are born virtuous, and the very air of the country inspires virtue.’ Nothing of her inhabitants is left to us except the memory of their heroic actions. Are such monuments worth less to us than the curious marbles that Athens has left us?” (Rousseau 8) What good are the arts, Rousseau asks, if they cause the corruption of society? Complex civilization breeds homogeneity, and “without ceasing, common customs are followed, never one’s own lights” (Rousseau 4). In striving for a more enlightened society, we have abandoned the ability to judge right and wrong for ourselves, falling into a mass hysteria of mass consciousness. We have structures for the sake of structures, order for the sake of order, and “if there are still some [real citizens] left to us, dispersed in our abandoned countryside, they perish there indigent and despised” (Rousseau 17). Rousseau describes an era of inauthenticity, where society has “the appearances of all the virtues without having any” (Rousseau 4). He suggests that “these abuses come from…the fatal inequality introduced among men by the distinction of talents and the degradation of virtues” (Rousseau 17). Good men are not respected, he says, and an artificial society that loses sight of its own good cannot last for long.
Amazingly, many of Rousseau’s auguries for the fall of civilization occur during the French Revolution. The aristocracy is punished, the mob of peasants rules the streets, and the society of France is turned upside-down. Edmund Burke, however, does not hail this rebellion as the fated triumph of virtue over verisimilitude, but bewails the fall of what he considers to have been virtue. He elevates the customs that Rousseau disapproves of to a lifestyle, saying that the prejudice, the practice of preserving traditions of the past, “renders a man’s virtue his habit” (Burke 183). Burke asserts that virtue lies in practice, and that the forsaking of the customary system would destroy it. The very concept of inequality that Rousseau declares to degrade virtues is exalted by Burke; he says that “the levelers…only change and pervert the natural order of things” (Burke 138). Civilization is too important to change much. Burke seems to agree that and excess of nuance has hurt the spirit of France, and he, like Rousseau, regrets the triumph of “sophisters, oeconomists, and calculators” (Burke 170) and vanquished “that proud submission, that dignified obedience” (Burke 170). This is, perhaps, precisely what Rousseau meant when discussing “the appearances of all the virtues.” The “age of chivalry” (Burke 170) of which Burke laments the destruction is hardly the sober virtue of Sparta. Burke reminisces about Marie Antoinette, the queen of France, “glittering like the morning-star, full of life, and splendor, and joy” (Burke 169). It is the aesthetics of the ancient regime, the strict reverence for nobility qua nobility that he appreciates. “To make us love our country,” he says, “our country ought to be lovely” (Burke 172).
This is the central difference between Burke and Rousseau. Rousseau despises appearances; he faults mannered falsity for the corruption of mores, whereas Burke posits that it is the appearance of sublimity in society that gives society stability. Doing things because they are traditional, for Burke, is what maintains order, while for Rousseau the acceptance of petty customs clouds the real end of virtue. What both seem to reject are the terms of the enlightenment. Kant defines enlightenment with the phrase sapere aude, “have courage to use your own understanding,” but Rousseau and Burke derive different connotations of this. Rousseau’s contempt for all the arts and sciences reveals his complaint against sapere aude: he objects not to the courage but to the realization of that courage in the pursuit of knowledge. “Answer me, I say,” he demands of the philosophers, “you from whom we have received so much sublime knowledge; if you had never taught us any of these things, would we therefore have been any less numerous, less well governed, less formidable, less flourishing or more perverse?” (Rousseau 12) He denies the usefulness of haphazard curiosity, desiring to return to a state of nature that, however fictional, embraced individual instinct above overbearing rationality. Burke objects to the audacity of enlightenment more than to its specific practices. He does not disparage knowledge, but rather wishes that “learning, not debauched by ambition, had been satisfied to continue the instructor [the church], and not aspired to be the master” (Burke 173). These differently-aimed criticisms exhibit two different kinds of conservatism, Burke’s modern conservatism that is skeptical of change, and Rousseau’s reactionary conservatism that rejects the progress and utility of all modern thought.
In a sense, Burke proves Rousseau right: the decadence of enlightenment society in France cannot maintain its excesses, and the bubble of the chivalric sublime must pop. At the same time, what Rousseau advocates is admittedly contrived, “the evil is not so great as it could have become” (Rousseau 17). There is a resignation with which he hopes that “ordinary men...[do not] chase after a reputation that would escape [them]” (Rousseau 21). Both Rousseau and Burke are fighting the juggernaut specter of modernity, and only by freezing or even reversing time can their ideals of virtue be salvaged. It is for this reason that conservatism has adopted the ideology of nostalgia, the belief that “old establishments are tried by their effects” (Burke 285), that “individuals would do better to avail themselves of the general bank and capital of nations, and of ages” (Burke 183). There is, of course, knowledge to be drawn from the past. There is, of course, purity in whatever the state of nature may be. But just as naïve purity yields to ambitious curiosity, so does methodical enlightenment gives way to passionate romanticism, and the angry mob can always bring down the proud standard of ancient virtue.
Edmund Burke and Jean-Jacques Rousseau share an obsession with virtue, but it seems initially that that is all they share. Rousseau, in his Discourse on the Arts and Sciences, essentially desecrates the idea of enlightenment culture, disparaging the inauthenticity of modern social structures. Burke, in contrast, glorifies the aristocratic society of France and denigrates the extreme leveling of the classes practiced by the revolutionaries in his Reflections on the Revolution in France. Despite their vastly different ideas of whence it is derived, both authors dramatically mourn the loss of virtue and criticize and prefigure the decline of society. Burke’s insistence on reasoned conservatism in the face of radical change seems like a watered-down and misguided version of Rousseau’s reactionary opinions, and the two authors’ iconic nostalgia prefigure the very real decline of virtue in the modern era.
Rousseau claims in his Discourse that mankind’s fondness for the arts and sciences have made societies soft and weak. He gives examples like Rome, “formerly the temple of virtue,” which, “after the likes of Ovid, Catullus, and Martial…became the theater of crime, the disgrace of nations, and the plaything of barbarians” (Rousseau 6). He suggests that rather than leave behind poems and equations, virtue is all society need be remembered for. To illustrate this, he employs the example of Sparta, where “‘men are born virtuous, and the very air of the country inspires virtue.’ Nothing of her inhabitants is left to us except the memory of their heroic actions. Are such monuments worth less to us than the curious marbles that Athens has left us?” (Rousseau 8) What good are the arts, Rousseau asks, if they cause the corruption of society? Complex civilization breeds homogeneity, and “without ceasing, common customs are followed, never one’s own lights” (Rousseau 4). In striving for a more enlightened society, we have abandoned the ability to judge right and wrong for ourselves, falling into a mass hysteria of mass consciousness. We have structures for the sake of structures, order for the sake of order, and “if there are still some [real citizens] left to us, dispersed in our abandoned countryside, they perish there indigent and despised” (Rousseau 17). Rousseau describes an era of inauthenticity, where society has “the appearances of all the virtues without having any” (Rousseau 4). He suggests that “these abuses come from…the fatal inequality introduced among men by the distinction of talents and the degradation of virtues” (Rousseau 17). Good men are not respected, he says, and an artificial society that loses sight of its own good cannot last for long.
Amazingly, many of Rousseau’s auguries for the fall of civilization occur during the French Revolution. The aristocracy is punished, the mob of peasants rules the streets, and the society of France is turned upside-down. Edmund Burke, however, does not hail this rebellion as the fated triumph of virtue over verisimilitude, but bewails the fall of what he considers to have been virtue. He elevates the customs that Rousseau disapproves of to a lifestyle, saying that the prejudice, the practice of preserving traditions of the past, “renders a man’s virtue his habit” (Burke 183). Burke asserts that virtue lies in practice, and that the forsaking of the customary system would destroy it. The very concept of inequality that Rousseau declares to degrade virtues is exalted by Burke; he says that “the levelers…only change and pervert the natural order of things” (Burke 138). Civilization is too important to change much. Burke seems to agree that and excess of nuance has hurt the spirit of France, and he, like Rousseau, regrets the triumph of “sophisters, oeconomists, and calculators” (Burke 170) and vanquished “that proud submission, that dignified obedience” (Burke 170). This is, perhaps, precisely what Rousseau meant when discussing “the appearances of all the virtues.” The “age of chivalry” (Burke 170) of which Burke laments the destruction is hardly the sober virtue of Sparta. Burke reminisces about Marie Antoinette, the queen of France, “glittering like the morning-star, full of life, and splendor, and joy” (Burke 169). It is the aesthetics of the ancient regime, the strict reverence for nobility qua nobility that he appreciates. “To make us love our country,” he says, “our country ought to be lovely” (Burke 172).
This is the central difference between Burke and Rousseau. Rousseau despises appearances; he faults mannered falsity for the corruption of mores, whereas Burke posits that it is the appearance of sublimity in society that gives society stability. Doing things because they are traditional, for Burke, is what maintains order, while for Rousseau the acceptance of petty customs clouds the real end of virtue. What both seem to reject are the terms of the enlightenment. Kant defines enlightenment with the phrase sapere aude, “have courage to use your own understanding,” but Rousseau and Burke derive different connotations of this. Rousseau’s contempt for all the arts and sciences reveals his complaint against sapere aude: he objects not to the courage but to the realization of that courage in the pursuit of knowledge. “Answer me, I say,” he demands of the philosophers, “you from whom we have received so much sublime knowledge; if you had never taught us any of these things, would we therefore have been any less numerous, less well governed, less formidable, less flourishing or more perverse?” (Rousseau 12) He denies the usefulness of haphazard curiosity, desiring to return to a state of nature that, however fictional, embraced individual instinct above overbearing rationality. Burke objects to the audacity of enlightenment more than to its specific practices. He does not disparage knowledge, but rather wishes that “learning, not debauched by ambition, had been satisfied to continue the instructor [the church], and not aspired to be the master” (Burke 173). These differently-aimed criticisms exhibit two different kinds of conservatism, Burke’s modern conservatism that is skeptical of change, and Rousseau’s reactionary conservatism that rejects the progress and utility of all modern thought.
In a sense, Burke proves Rousseau right: the decadence of enlightenment society in France cannot maintain its excesses, and the bubble of the chivalric sublime must pop. At the same time, what Rousseau advocates is admittedly contrived, “the evil is not so great as it could have become” (Rousseau 17). There is a resignation with which he hopes that “ordinary men...[do not] chase after a reputation that would escape [them]” (Rousseau 21). Both Rousseau and Burke are fighting the juggernaut specter of modernity, and only by freezing or even reversing time can their ideals of virtue be salvaged. It is for this reason that conservatism has adopted the ideology of nostalgia, the belief that “old establishments are tried by their effects” (Burke 285), that “individuals would do better to avail themselves of the general bank and capital of nations, and of ages” (Burke 183). There is, of course, knowledge to be drawn from the past. There is, of course, purity in whatever the state of nature may be. But just as naïve purity yields to ambitious curiosity, so does methodical enlightenment gives way to passionate romanticism, and the angry mob can always bring down the proud standard of ancient virtue.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Be true to your school (of thought)
Nicholas Kristof has an opinion piece in the Times today similar to opinion pieces in many many papers these days. Clinton is really going to fuck over the Democrats by staying in too long. While I somewhat agree, this isn't what I'm most worried about right now. What concerns me more than the general chances of the Democratic party in November is the poll Kristof cites indicating that 19% of Obama supporters would consider defecting to McCain if Clinton were the nominee, and 28% of Clinton supporters would vote GOP if Obama were picked at the convention.
This is really really scary. I know that people have strong feelings about their favorite candidates, but they're really not that different. I think Obama's policies are slightly better, and that he's much more charismatic. Clinton supporters think her policies are slightly better, and that she's more experienced. Fine. Whatever. But none of those reasons are good enough to engender the kind of bitterness it takes to abandon a party.
I don't know what those 19% of Obama supporters are thinking, but I imagine it's along the lines of, "Clinton is too divisive and bitchy and won't get the world's respect, whereas McCain's a stand-up guy." So what if he's a more "real" than Hillary? He's still a Republican with very very conservative views; the kind of views we've all been hating on for nearly 8 years now. As to the 28% of Clinton's camp who would go to the Reps, I imagine you're thinking, "experience is too important for me to trust Obama. Clinton's gotten a lot of shit for her phone call ad, but there's some truth to it. I really don't think Barack is qualified to get stuff done." To you I say: okay, experience is helpful. But, once again, as we've seen with Bush, experience that's bad is worse than no experience at all. GWB was governor of a major state, has a gazillion connections and has since birth, has politics in his blood, and can't run a country worth jack. McCain may be a respected senator and a war hero, but that won't help him get America out of the problems we have now. The guy either doesn't know or chooses to ignore that Iran is a Shiite nation, and no doubt will do with both foreign and domestic policy whatever the fuck he wants.
Obama is better than McCain. Clinton is better than McCain. Al Gore is better than everybody, but unfortunately that's irrelevant.
Do the right thing. Vote Democrat in 2008.
Edit: Here's the link to the actual poll, and here's what you should do now.
This is really really scary. I know that people have strong feelings about their favorite candidates, but they're really not that different. I think Obama's policies are slightly better, and that he's much more charismatic. Clinton supporters think her policies are slightly better, and that she's more experienced. Fine. Whatever. But none of those reasons are good enough to engender the kind of bitterness it takes to abandon a party.
I don't know what those 19% of Obama supporters are thinking, but I imagine it's along the lines of, "Clinton is too divisive and bitchy and won't get the world's respect, whereas McCain's a stand-up guy." So what if he's a more "real" than Hillary? He's still a Republican with very very conservative views; the kind of views we've all been hating on for nearly 8 years now. As to the 28% of Clinton's camp who would go to the Reps, I imagine you're thinking, "experience is too important for me to trust Obama. Clinton's gotten a lot of shit for her phone call ad, but there's some truth to it. I really don't think Barack is qualified to get stuff done." To you I say: okay, experience is helpful. But, once again, as we've seen with Bush, experience that's bad is worse than no experience at all. GWB was governor of a major state, has a gazillion connections and has since birth, has politics in his blood, and can't run a country worth jack. McCain may be a respected senator and a war hero, but that won't help him get America out of the problems we have now. The guy either doesn't know or chooses to ignore that Iran is a Shiite nation, and no doubt will do with both foreign and domestic policy whatever the fuck he wants.
Obama is better than McCain. Clinton is better than McCain. Al Gore is better than everybody, but unfortunately that's irrelevant.
Do the right thing. Vote Democrat in 2008.
Edit: Here's the link to the actual poll, and here's what you should do now.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
The Issues
By now, I'm sure most of you have seen this, but if you haven't, do. It's possibly the best speech I've ever seen by a contemporary politician.
This isn't anything original to point out, but this is why Barack Obama is a better candidate than Hillary Clinton. If you want an issues-based campaign, these are the issues. If you want change in America, this is where it comes from: point out the problems, and try to find solutions. And be candid. Obama is the real deal in a way that most politicians, that most people, can't even begin to be. He, at least in this speech, is talking in a way that makes people listen. He isn't speaking for applause. He isn't spouting soundbites. The incidental applause, the quotations CNN puts at the bottom of the screen, are out of place. He answers all the questions. He speaks plainly. He eliminates the jargon and the doubletalk and all the political bullshit that disenchanted pundits and intellectuals have been ranting about for decades. The man is smarter than I took him for; not cleverer, necessarily, not craftier, but smarter. I have never seen a politician look to the root of America's soul, love the country so much. I have come to trust him like I might trust an old teacher. It isn't charisma he's exuding. I thought that was all it was. I didn't like the "yes we can" change crap because I thought it was a tool. I knew it was a good tool, so I voted for him because I knew others would and because I wanted a Democrat in the White House. But his "yes we can" goes beyond the rallies and the posters and the psychology. He wants to try to fix America the way nobody has perhaps since Roosevelt. I have never before valued truth so much.
He'll probably still lose Pennsylvania. It will probably still come down to the superdelegates, and they may or may not choose to make him the nominee. But I hope they do because there is a chance--just a chance--that Obama will be the kind of president that the president is supposed to be.
I thought Howard Dean saw America the way it should be, and I liked him for it. He was smart and able and had good ideas in a time when almost all the ideas coming out of Washington were bad. But Obama doesn't see America the way it should be, he sees it the way it is. America can be distrusting and cynical and even hateful. It can destroy lives and it can cripple communities. But he has also seen the part of America that can make men strong and give them fulfillment and joy. Clinton's presidency would be historic. The first female president. She would be fine. She would break down barriers. But Obama's presidency wouldn't be remembered for being the first time a black man sits in the Oval Office. It would be remembered for showing America what it is, for better or for worse, and for trying to make it as great on the inside as we say it is on the outside.
Obama still panders. In Ohio, in Iowa, in Texas. I wish he wouldn't. He is still a politician, and Washington is still run by those who want it most. But maybe, just maybe, he can make some of the citizens want it more than the farmers. He wants a more perfect union. Excelsior, Alex. If you want Excelsior, look to the man who wants to change the way Americans think, not the way they pay their taxes or the way they buy their corn. Bush and Cheney have showed us how a country can start to hate itself. Obama can help us love ourselves, not because America has a bigger cock than the other guys, but because America cares for itself and makes great men who care for America.
I don't know precisely what policies he would implement. I leave that research to Ted Kennedy, to Bill Richardson, to David Broockman. I don't know how being a "community organizer" will help him correctly respond to that 3 AM phone call. But what I see in Barack Obama is more than a talking head, more than a bleeding heart, more than a helping hand. I see a man, a flesh and blood person, who wants to be president of the country that made him great so that he can make the lives of its citizens better. More perfect. Yes we can? I don't know for sure. But at this point I can't help but try.
This isn't anything original to point out, but this is why Barack Obama is a better candidate than Hillary Clinton. If you want an issues-based campaign, these are the issues. If you want change in America, this is where it comes from: point out the problems, and try to find solutions. And be candid. Obama is the real deal in a way that most politicians, that most people, can't even begin to be. He, at least in this speech, is talking in a way that makes people listen. He isn't speaking for applause. He isn't spouting soundbites. The incidental applause, the quotations CNN puts at the bottom of the screen, are out of place. He answers all the questions. He speaks plainly. He eliminates the jargon and the doubletalk and all the political bullshit that disenchanted pundits and intellectuals have been ranting about for decades. The man is smarter than I took him for; not cleverer, necessarily, not craftier, but smarter. I have never seen a politician look to the root of America's soul, love the country so much. I have come to trust him like I might trust an old teacher. It isn't charisma he's exuding. I thought that was all it was. I didn't like the "yes we can" change crap because I thought it was a tool. I knew it was a good tool, so I voted for him because I knew others would and because I wanted a Democrat in the White House. But his "yes we can" goes beyond the rallies and the posters and the psychology. He wants to try to fix America the way nobody has perhaps since Roosevelt. I have never before valued truth so much.
He'll probably still lose Pennsylvania. It will probably still come down to the superdelegates, and they may or may not choose to make him the nominee. But I hope they do because there is a chance--just a chance--that Obama will be the kind of president that the president is supposed to be.
I thought Howard Dean saw America the way it should be, and I liked him for it. He was smart and able and had good ideas in a time when almost all the ideas coming out of Washington were bad. But Obama doesn't see America the way it should be, he sees it the way it is. America can be distrusting and cynical and even hateful. It can destroy lives and it can cripple communities. But he has also seen the part of America that can make men strong and give them fulfillment and joy. Clinton's presidency would be historic. The first female president. She would be fine. She would break down barriers. But Obama's presidency wouldn't be remembered for being the first time a black man sits in the Oval Office. It would be remembered for showing America what it is, for better or for worse, and for trying to make it as great on the inside as we say it is on the outside.
Obama still panders. In Ohio, in Iowa, in Texas. I wish he wouldn't. He is still a politician, and Washington is still run by those who want it most. But maybe, just maybe, he can make some of the citizens want it more than the farmers. He wants a more perfect union. Excelsior, Alex. If you want Excelsior, look to the man who wants to change the way Americans think, not the way they pay their taxes or the way they buy their corn. Bush and Cheney have showed us how a country can start to hate itself. Obama can help us love ourselves, not because America has a bigger cock than the other guys, but because America cares for itself and makes great men who care for America.
I don't know precisely what policies he would implement. I leave that research to Ted Kennedy, to Bill Richardson, to David Broockman. I don't know how being a "community organizer" will help him correctly respond to that 3 AM phone call. But what I see in Barack Obama is more than a talking head, more than a bleeding heart, more than a helping hand. I see a man, a flesh and blood person, who wants to be president of the country that made him great so that he can make the lives of its citizens better. More perfect. Yes we can? I don't know for sure. But at this point I can't help but try.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
The Decline and Fall of Nothing in Particular
So apparently our economy sucks. This is somewhat interesting to me. People have been saying for as long as I've been willing to listen that America is on the brink of a recession, and this looks kind of like the real thing.
It might be kind of fun. I don't really have any money to speak of in the market, and the nice thing about recessions is that people recover from them and then are richer than before. Either that or we'll be bought by the UAE, which might be an interesting experience in and of itself. Also, it might encourage people not to be investment bankers.
It might be kind of fun. I don't really have any money to speak of in the market, and the nice thing about recessions is that people recover from them and then are richer than before. Either that or we'll be bought by the UAE, which might be an interesting experience in and of itself. Also, it might encourage people not to be investment bankers.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.
A better liberal than I posted about sin taxes, and solicited comments from libertarians in response. I'm against sin taxes, but I don't use the libertarian approach. In a sense, I think my reason for opposing them is more authentically liberal than Broockman's reason for supporting them. He says:
Therefore, we should help them help themselves by de-incentivizing undesirable expenditures like cigarettes and alcohol and help American society in the process by having fewer sick people. Everybody wins.
No. That's not what we're about. It isn't that the people choose to smoke or drink. I don't give a shit about what people choose. But sin taxes discriminate in the same way that drug laws discriminate. Yes, the poor, those who are least able to afford the taxes, are the most likely to pay them. Poor people don't buy cigarettes and alcohol because they're easy to buy, they buy them because their lives suck and smoking or drinking makes them feel better. They know that cigarettes are unhealthy, and that alcohol can be destructive. They've probably witnessed the effects. But they don't particularly care, because the hurt is now and the relief is the buzz of a Marlboro or the numbness of a beer. If you've tried cigarettes or alcohol (or even both at once...mmm...) you'd understand.
"But then the poor people get sick and we have to pay for them! That's no fun!"
True. But that is precisely why we have such a system. To help those in need.
There are lots of things that cause illness. Sex causes the spread of diseases like AIDS and syphilis. Sugar causes diabetes. Red meat raises cholesterol. Fish contain mercury. Even exercise can cause broken bones, muscle strains, shin splints. I'm not saying that it's as bad to run a mile as it is to suck down a Camel, but if the primary argument is the burden on the taxpayer, then you're sounding more like a libertarian than I think you'd like to admit.
I'm all for anti-smoking campaigns. I'm all for AA. You can talk at me until you're blue in the face about the dangers of dependency but if I'm working 14 hours a day in some shithole and you charge me a half-hour's wages for my pack of smokes so that you don't have to pay 20 bucks a year to your local hospital I'm gonna be pissed. My life won't get better if it's harder for me to buy cigarettes. It'll get worse. If you don't want any kids to start smoking, then ban cigarettes. Go ahead. It's not the lack of choice I'm worried about, it's the discrimination. If you think these... sins are worth eliminating, do it. But shaking your finger and taking my money just makes me feel bad, and that's no fun.
I may have presented a couple of half-written arguments here, and if so I apologize, but it's late and I'm kinda angry.
We know that people that get hooked on either of these things are hurting themselves. Furthermore, since they tend to be lower income, its likely that whatever health complications they get will end up being paid for in large part by us since over half of bankruptcies in the US are related to medical costs, and the loss to providers from those services are passed onto the rest of us.
Therefore, we should help them help themselves by de-incentivizing undesirable expenditures like cigarettes and alcohol and help American society in the process by having fewer sick people. Everybody wins.
No. That's not what we're about. It isn't that the people choose to smoke or drink. I don't give a shit about what people choose. But sin taxes discriminate in the same way that drug laws discriminate. Yes, the poor, those who are least able to afford the taxes, are the most likely to pay them. Poor people don't buy cigarettes and alcohol because they're easy to buy, they buy them because their lives suck and smoking or drinking makes them feel better. They know that cigarettes are unhealthy, and that alcohol can be destructive. They've probably witnessed the effects. But they don't particularly care, because the hurt is now and the relief is the buzz of a Marlboro or the numbness of a beer. If you've tried cigarettes or alcohol (or even both at once...mmm...) you'd understand.
"But then the poor people get sick and we have to pay for them! That's no fun!"
True. But that is precisely why we have such a system. To help those in need.
There are lots of things that cause illness. Sex causes the spread of diseases like AIDS and syphilis. Sugar causes diabetes. Red meat raises cholesterol. Fish contain mercury. Even exercise can cause broken bones, muscle strains, shin splints. I'm not saying that it's as bad to run a mile as it is to suck down a Camel, but if the primary argument is the burden on the taxpayer, then you're sounding more like a libertarian than I think you'd like to admit.
I'm all for anti-smoking campaigns. I'm all for AA. You can talk at me until you're blue in the face about the dangers of dependency but if I'm working 14 hours a day in some shithole and you charge me a half-hour's wages for my pack of smokes so that you don't have to pay 20 bucks a year to your local hospital I'm gonna be pissed. My life won't get better if it's harder for me to buy cigarettes. It'll get worse. If you don't want any kids to start smoking, then ban cigarettes. Go ahead. It's not the lack of choice I'm worried about, it's the discrimination. If you think these... sins are worth eliminating, do it. But shaking your finger and taking my money just makes me feel bad, and that's no fun.
I may have presented a couple of half-written arguments here, and if so I apologize, but it's late and I'm kinda angry.
Friday, March 14, 2008
The fetish of history
I've been in Boston for the past few days, which is my excuse for not posting (blah, blah, blah). There's a lot of history in Boston, and if you haven't been, I suggest you go. Boston has done a good job of preserving its (extensive) history, and giving the tourist a nice "wow, that happened here" feeling. But did it? I feel that we often forget the significance of the time-space continuum in our fetishization of monuments. So this is where the the Boston Massacre happened. Where Paul Revere started his ride. Where the Red Sox won the World Series. But I don't fully understand why this brings us closer to the actual event than if we were to read about it in a book.
I agree that it does, and I'm quite a big fan of looking at old things, but I still don't get it. There's a nice quotation from The History Boys by Alan Bennett:
Not to say that standing in Boston Common is the same as star-gazing at toilet paper, but the instinct is similar. "Wow, this is so old" vs. "wow, this place is so important." I think that Americans, as people of a young nation, might crave this sense of history more than the Europeans who pass medieval churches daily, but there seems to be a universal human attraction to cool old things. I certainly don't mind this inclination, and I engage in it myself with regularity (as most Yalies do), but I want to be sure to remind myself that these people I'm deifying were men, too, most of whom were less well-educated and worldly than me.
Aren't we special.
I agree that it does, and I'm quite a big fan of looking at old things, but I still don't get it. There's a nice quotation from The History Boys by Alan Bennett:
Wanting toilet paper, or paper of any description, the monks used to wipe their bottoms on scraps of fabri... linen, muslin, patches of tapestry even... Some of these rags survive, excavated from the drains into which they were dripped five hundred years ago and more, and here now find themselves exhibited in the abbey museum.
...it is conceivable that one of these ancient arsewipes was actually used by [St. Aelred]. Which at the time would have made it a relic, something at which credulous pilgrims would come to gaze.
But what are these modern-day pilgrims gazing at but these same ancient rags, hallowed not by saintly usage, it's true, but by time...and time alone? They are old and they have survived. And there is an increment even in excrement, so sanitised by the years and sanctified, too, they have become relics in their own right...
Not to say that standing in Boston Common is the same as star-gazing at toilet paper, but the instinct is similar. "Wow, this is so old" vs. "wow, this place is so important." I think that Americans, as people of a young nation, might crave this sense of history more than the Europeans who pass medieval churches daily, but there seems to be a universal human attraction to cool old things. I certainly don't mind this inclination, and I engage in it myself with regularity (as most Yalies do), but I want to be sure to remind myself that these people I'm deifying were men, too, most of whom were less well-educated and worldly than me.
Aren't we special.
Monday, March 10, 2008
The Lost Generation
I just watched "Across the Universe," and it got me thinking. Is there something to be said for drug-addled radicalism? I didn't think there was, but now I'm unsure. These people who lived their lives so in the moment as to destroy themselves, their generation, and their own culture may be more worthy of applause than we who wear natty suits and drink cognac. The Vietnam War, which is portrayed as such an unstoppable force, engendered more outburst of pure feeling than any other event in American history that I can think of at the moment. Gertrude Stein called the children of World War I "the lost generation," but we still seem to have them. Maybe Allen Ginsberg had it more right: "I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by / madness, starving hysterical mad". The first Great War caused chaos and disillusionment, but the madness was different. The madness of Vietnam was a madness that took its madmen down, piece by piece, until we reached the stifling banality that I want to escape now. When I see pictures of the drug dens and riots and concerts and cafes I don't think "man, I want to do that," but even worse I think "there is no way that could happen anymore." It isn't in our psyche. What frustrates me about today's "radicals" isn't their impovrished idealism and desire for iconoclasitc individualism, it's their complete and utter inability to mean anything. We are living in stable times, when the world is presented to us on a ticker tape, and we nod and approve or disapprove and discuss the implications of yesterday's coindicences. The worst atrocities of the world are unfortunate. The heights of human achievement are laudable. There is nothing to go crazy about. There really isn't.
"The poor will always be with us." "Death comes to all." Drugs aren't enough, sex isn't enough, rock and roll is words to music. Everything is mainstream, everything is kosher, everything is selfish and pointless and we should accept everyone for who they are. Hate isn't dead. Violence exists. Always has, always will. Pride cometh before the fall but the fall really isn't that bad. We've created a nice cushion of acceptance and complacence and social security for the failures and the punks and the angry students. Boys will be boys. Mid-life crises are mundane. Go out and buy a car and get addicted to morphine or heroin or sex and come back and work out the rest of the week.
I'm not angry. There's nothing to be angry about. I'm just disappointed.
God has always been dead, but for how long has life been dead?
"The poor will always be with us." "Death comes to all." Drugs aren't enough, sex isn't enough, rock and roll is words to music. Everything is mainstream, everything is kosher, everything is selfish and pointless and we should accept everyone for who they are. Hate isn't dead. Violence exists. Always has, always will. Pride cometh before the fall but the fall really isn't that bad. We've created a nice cushion of acceptance and complacence and social security for the failures and the punks and the angry students. Boys will be boys. Mid-life crises are mundane. Go out and buy a car and get addicted to morphine or heroin or sex and come back and work out the rest of the week.
I'm not angry. There's nothing to be angry about. I'm just disappointed.
God has always been dead, but for how long has life been dead?
Sunday, March 9, 2008
At the Gates of the Ivory Theme Park
I'm on spring break now (SPRING BREAK!!!111!one!), and Yale has flicked out of existence, more or less. The YDN won't come out tomorrow, I won't have to get up early, and I won't drink cheap vodka on weeknights for a while. This is supposed to be a relief, and to some degree it is, but I've also started getting that feeling everyone gets of "oh no, my life! It's going so fast!"
Yalies seem to have a minor obsession with time; generally, there isn't enough of it. I sympathize. My father (an alum; yes, I'm a legacy brat) from time to time proposes offering a 5th year of Yale with full tuition, no housing, and extra degree. There are enormous and glaring problems with this idea, of course, but at the same time it seems somewhat compelling. Another year of college? Another two semesters of irresponsibility and debauchery? Sign me up! But is that what college is really about?
It seems that a lot of us really aren't sure whether we're actually becoming sophisticated adults or whether we're putting off being sophisticated adults by going to college. I'm sure the sentiment varies from person to person, but for all the undergraduate organizations we create and community service we do and navel gazing we engage in, we also binge-drink and hook up and fight against the man in our own special way.
I doubt this will ever be resolved. I suppose what ultimately matters is that sophisticated adults come out of Yale somehow, and go on to do important-sounding things. But I kind of wish we could decide whether Yale is a training camp for life or a protracted gap-year from it.
Yalies seem to have a minor obsession with time; generally, there isn't enough of it. I sympathize. My father (an alum; yes, I'm a legacy brat) from time to time proposes offering a 5th year of Yale with full tuition, no housing, and extra degree. There are enormous and glaring problems with this idea, of course, but at the same time it seems somewhat compelling. Another year of college? Another two semesters of irresponsibility and debauchery? Sign me up! But is that what college is really about?
It seems that a lot of us really aren't sure whether we're actually becoming sophisticated adults or whether we're putting off being sophisticated adults by going to college. I'm sure the sentiment varies from person to person, but for all the undergraduate organizations we create and community service we do and navel gazing we engage in, we also binge-drink and hook up and fight against the man in our own special way.
I doubt this will ever be resolved. I suppose what ultimately matters is that sophisticated adults come out of Yale somehow, and go on to do important-sounding things. But I kind of wish we could decide whether Yale is a training camp for life or a protracted gap-year from it.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Lo, for I am the Shepherd... and You are the Sheep
Yaron Brook came to the Yale Political Union last night to debate "Resolved: Your Poverty is Your Problem." I voted in the neg, and the resolution failed (coincidence?), but the debate allowed me to look at Objectivism with new concerns.
The classic objection to Ayn Rand's philosophy is that it's cold-hearted and that it takes the human element (relationships, community, empathy, etc.) out of life. A community of egoists might be rational and meritocratic, but if we don't feel beholden to people we can't meaningfully interact with them in any way that might improve our solitary and poor lives.
In the (approximate) words of Dr. Brook, "my life is my life, your life is your life." If we all think only of ourselves, everything turns out dandy. Those with important skills go to the top, and those who don't "think" enough drop out of the race.
I'm tempted to say that this kind of Objectivism doesn't go far enough. Sure, if you're smart, acting in your own self-interest is an effective way to live, but why respect others' right to do the same? If life is good when I act in my own self-interest, wouldn't it be much better if everybody acted in my self-interest?
Premise 1: I know how to live my own life well (if I didn't, then Objectivism wouldn't work in the first place, which is possible).
Premise 2: My only obligation is to myself (I don't have children).
Premise 3: Most people are sheep (this has been shown by history).
Conclusion: It makes perfect sense for me to bend others to my will, and have them help me life the good life.
Not by violent means, of course. Dr. Brook doesn't like violence, and I agree with him. He also thinks that violence is the only means of coercion, and I'll go with him on that, even though I've got a decent inkling that it's not true. But if I can convince people that they should do things which may or may not benefit me (they do; shhhh...), what possible obstacle could there be to mentally exploiting millions and millions of people, provided nothing terrible happens to them as a direct result?
After all, nothing matters in the long run and we're all going to die.
Cheers.
The classic objection to Ayn Rand's philosophy is that it's cold-hearted and that it takes the human element (relationships, community, empathy, etc.) out of life. A community of egoists might be rational and meritocratic, but if we don't feel beholden to people we can't meaningfully interact with them in any way that might improve our solitary and poor lives.
In the (approximate) words of Dr. Brook, "my life is my life, your life is your life." If we all think only of ourselves, everything turns out dandy. Those with important skills go to the top, and those who don't "think" enough drop out of the race.
I'm tempted to say that this kind of Objectivism doesn't go far enough. Sure, if you're smart, acting in your own self-interest is an effective way to live, but why respect others' right to do the same? If life is good when I act in my own self-interest, wouldn't it be much better if everybody acted in my self-interest?
Premise 1: I know how to live my own life well (if I didn't, then Objectivism wouldn't work in the first place, which is possible).
Premise 2: My only obligation is to myself (I don't have children).
Premise 3: Most people are sheep (this has been shown by history).
Conclusion: It makes perfect sense for me to bend others to my will, and have them help me life the good life.
Not by violent means, of course. Dr. Brook doesn't like violence, and I agree with him. He also thinks that violence is the only means of coercion, and I'll go with him on that, even though I've got a decent inkling that it's not true. But if I can convince people that they should do things which may or may not benefit me (they do; shhhh...), what possible obstacle could there be to mentally exploiting millions and millions of people, provided nothing terrible happens to them as a direct result?
After all, nothing matters in the long run and we're all going to die.
Cheers.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
La nouvelle vague
So Keith Richards is the new face of Louis Vuitton, or, as my roommate says, "the new shriveled skull of Louis Vuitton." What are these people thinking? Is our obsession with celebrity such that we will buy handbags hocked by a geriatric druggie, so long as he appears in Who's Who? We should not take high fashion advice from somebody whose prime was spent in a spandex leisure suit.
In other news, Texas and Ohio had their primaries today. Ohio has been called for Clinton, but the Texas votes aren't all in. I wish Bill Clinton would have just one moment of extreme disloyalty and endorse Obama the way he knows he wants to.
Also, my will is very strong. More later. Gotta read some Wordsworth.
In other news, Texas and Ohio had their primaries today. Ohio has been called for Clinton, but the Texas votes aren't all in. I wish Bill Clinton would have just one moment of extreme disloyalty and endorse Obama the way he knows he wants to.
Also, my will is very strong. More later. Gotta read some Wordsworth.
Monday, March 3, 2008
Hello, Internet
Greetings, travelers. I've begun this little timekiller mostly on a whim (like everybody else in the electronic world), and don't fully expect to pursue it to its full potential. In high school, my drama teacher always recommended that we keep at diary, suggesting strongly that it would make us better actors, but I never did. I'm far too lazy to stay disciplined, and my life wasn't at the time interesting enough to write about myself without feeling guilty for wasting everyone's time.
Well, my life is still probably not worth bookmarking, but I've been formulating a philosophy of life over the past few months, and this may or may not serve as a decent sounding-board. Apparently, other things happen in the world, too, and I'm allowed to comment on them.
A bit about me, in case you don't know me and just happened to stumble upon this by Googling "alcibiadesatyale blog" (I know I often do): I'm an undergraduate at Yale University in the gorgeous utopia of New Haven, CT, in the glorious United States of America. Whoopee. I like to argue, act, and engage in other performative activities. I've chosen Alcibiades (ancient Greek military leader, character in Plato's "Symposium") as my pen name because he was arrogant, ambitious, attractive, bright, charismatic, and other things I either am or aspire to be.
This whole affair of writing on the web is merely part of a larger scheme in my lifelong attempt to achieve awesomeness. I'll probably be wrong about a lot of things I write on here, and I invite you to correct me. I'll probably say vapid, substanceless things unworthy of being written or read, and I invite you tell me so. I'd like to try to keep this as interactive as possible, because I honestly take very little pleasure in gabbing on to nobody in particular. I like conversations, not soliloquies, and if nobody listens then all this has been in vain.
What am I saying, all this? This baby most likely won't last past spring break.
Cheers.
Well, my life is still probably not worth bookmarking, but I've been formulating a philosophy of life over the past few months, and this may or may not serve as a decent sounding-board. Apparently, other things happen in the world, too, and I'm allowed to comment on them.
A bit about me, in case you don't know me and just happened to stumble upon this by Googling "alcibiadesatyale blog" (I know I often do): I'm an undergraduate at Yale University in the gorgeous utopia of New Haven, CT, in the glorious United States of America. Whoopee. I like to argue, act, and engage in other performative activities. I've chosen Alcibiades (ancient Greek military leader, character in Plato's "Symposium") as my pen name because he was arrogant, ambitious, attractive, bright, charismatic, and other things I either am or aspire to be.
This whole affair of writing on the web is merely part of a larger scheme in my lifelong attempt to achieve awesomeness. I'll probably be wrong about a lot of things I write on here, and I invite you to correct me. I'll probably say vapid, substanceless things unworthy of being written or read, and I invite you tell me so. I'd like to try to keep this as interactive as possible, because I honestly take very little pleasure in gabbing on to nobody in particular. I like conversations, not soliloquies, and if nobody listens then all this has been in vain.
What am I saying, all this? This baby most likely won't last past spring break.
Cheers.
Post-Modern Conservatives and the Weather
Just had a brief dinner with Nicola (bisexual pseudo-neo-conservative) and Noah (gay pseudo-neo-conservative). I had been looking for the Tories, having just read Burke, but they had broken tradition to move to another dining hall. How absurd. Nonetheless, I seated myself and my sticky rice ("Ingredients: sticky rice, water) at the table and engaged in a conversation about meaning. Duh.
Nicola is apparently trying to rediscover or manufacture meaning in life, an endeavor which she calls "post-postmodernism." I immediately launched into my usual schtick of how there is no meaning, and how everything is already manufactured, so what's the point.
"But what will you teach your children?"
How to cheat at cards.
The conversation itself was nothing particularly novel (sorry, Nikki), but it got me thinking about what this whole modernism/postmodernism/post-structuralism/post-postmodernism/antidisestablishmentarianism thing is, anyway. Does it really matter? There either is meaning, or there isn't, and the terms seem to only be useful to the extent that it allows us to categorize eras of thought, which are unlikely to be unified in the first place. If somebody calls themselves a postmodernist, does that tell us anything about them? Is it fair to believe them? Why did they get the chance to say that, instead of talking about something else, like bunnies?
I honestly don't know. I've always tuned out when people use words any more technical than "epistemological," which I only Wikipedia'd last month. If you can talk about philosophy and meaning without sounding like a douchebag, shouldn't you do it? Or is the pretension part of the fun.
The weather, by the way, is pretty nice. Andrew E. was sitting outside in a t-shirt this afternoon. Such is post-postwinter in New England.
Nicola is apparently trying to rediscover or manufacture meaning in life, an endeavor which she calls "post-postmodernism." I immediately launched into my usual schtick of how there is no meaning, and how everything is already manufactured, so what's the point.
"But what will you teach your children?"
How to cheat at cards.
The conversation itself was nothing particularly novel (sorry, Nikki), but it got me thinking about what this whole modernism/postmodernism/post-structuralism/post-postmodernism/antidisestablishmentarianism thing is, anyway. Does it really matter? There either is meaning, or there isn't, and the terms seem to only be useful to the extent that it allows us to categorize eras of thought, which are unlikely to be unified in the first place. If somebody calls themselves a postmodernist, does that tell us anything about them? Is it fair to believe them? Why did they get the chance to say that, instead of talking about something else, like bunnies?
I honestly don't know. I've always tuned out when people use words any more technical than "epistemological," which I only Wikipedia'd last month. If you can talk about philosophy and meaning without sounding like a douchebag, shouldn't you do it? Or is the pretension part of the fun.
The weather, by the way, is pretty nice. Andrew E. was sitting outside in a t-shirt this afternoon. Such is post-postwinter in New England.
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