Cardinal Keith O'Brien, head of the Roman Catholic church in Scotland,
said in a recent interview for BBC1's Sunday Politics in Scotland, that it is "immoral" how the less well-off had been made to "suffer"
for the failings in the financial services sector.The cardinal's somewhat intemperate language would suggest that he considers issues in terms of the absolutes of good and bad, rather than in more nuanced shades and tones. He fails to recognise that the ethics of the current UK administration continue to remain validly self-consistent, best characterised by the phrase 'rich people looking after rich people'. I find myself in agreement with the cardinal's sentiment. In my ethical framework it is not okay that the welfare state is, in part, being dismantled. To add insult to injury, the abrading is happening in order to pay for the problems created by a sector that has no need for the welfare state. Let the banking and financial sector pay for its own mistakes. In my political analysis, the UK economy is far too dependent on the City of London-based financial sector. I should much rather the UK economy were based on skilled and high-tech manufacturing, but with an emphasis on reducing consumption. If there were economic austerity to be faced by ordinary people, let it be because the economy of the UK were being rebalanced away from financial services towards sustainable ways of living.
The same cardinal, who is well-known for speaking out on controversial issues, recently lambasted the UK government for wishing to provide a legal definition of marriage. The cardinal believes that only the Christian church ought to be allowed to define marriage. A major part of the problem is that the Roman Catholic church, amongst several, has a conservative and extremely outdated view of what constitutes an appropriate relationship, whereas the British public, along with populations across the economically developed world, have been rejecting en masse practices that belong (at best) to a different era. By seeking to bring up to date the concept and practices of marriage, the UK government is patently seeking to revive its popularity. Therefore, it seems to me, this is an issue of competence. I defend the assertion by the UK parliament of its right to determine issues that apply to people across the country. I also defend the right of the Roman Catholic church to determine its own attitude towards marriage.If the Roman Catholic church does not wish to embrace the practice of marrying same-sex couples, it does not seem necessary to force them to do so. Gay couples can choose to marry in a civil ceremony (and I'm not sure how this would differ from a civil partnership) or in a church of another denomination. I am certain that the Religious Society of Friends will be enthusiastic to hold gay weddings for Quakers.
It is looking increasingly likely that, in due course, the Anglican church will split in two over issues of sexuality. Gene Robinson's enthronement in a see of the Episcopal Church in the US exposed attitudes in the worldwide Anglican Church that appear indistinguishable from homophobia. In an effort to keep the Anglican communion in one piece, Archbishop Rowan Williams, head of the Anglican Church, introduced a covenant to which each of the Anglican national churches was expected to sign up. However, the Church of England refused to sign it on the basis of its exclusion of gay clergy. It is far from clear to me why both the Anglican and Roman Catholic Churches are so willing to see themselves portrayed as irretrievably homophobic.Recently, the Catholic Education Society contact the Roman Catholic schools in the UK, inviting them to use in school assemblies material concerning the Roman Catholic church's objection to gay marriage, and urging the schools to encourage their pupils to sign an on-line petition against gay marriage. It is not hard to imagine the effect this may have on young people who feel uncertain or uneasy about their emergent sexuality.
The Church of England is feeling challenged about the likely reduction in the number of its bishops who sit by right in the House of Lords (the upper chamber of the UK parliament). That the bishops are present at all owes itself to the fact that the Church of England is the established church of England - despite the fact that the House of Lords scrutinises legislation that applies variously or severally to the four countries of the UK. On the face of it, this sounds like an excellent reason for removing all of the bishops from the House of Lords. However, I believe that there is a place for senior representatives of each of the major religions and Christian denominations, including the churches in Wales, Scotland and Northern Ireland. As a scrutinising body, the work of the House of Lords would be enhanced by having the views of as many as possible of the constituent bodies that make up the complex organism that is the UK
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
29 April 2012
22 January 2010
War: skillful tactic or utter disaster?
War destroys. War destroys people, communities, culture and infrastructure. War only ever destroys. It is the process of rebuilding that picks up the pieces and rebuilds. Warfare always represents failure.
In her fascinating article, Diana Francis debunks the popular myth that war can be for good.
http://www.opendemocracy.net/5050/diana-francis/war-justifiable-or-simply-catastrophic
If death and destruction are to be reduced, warfare must stop. No exceptions. No excuses.
...
In her fascinating article, Diana Francis debunks the popular myth that war can be for good.
http://www.opendemocracy.net/5050/diana-francis/war-justifiable-or-simply-catastrophic
If death and destruction are to be reduced, warfare must stop. No exceptions. No excuses.
...
14 August 2009
Nationhood (2): thoughts out loud
This posting is an edited version of a timed and dated journal entry written in Caffe Nero, Silver Street, Durham City UK. This version was first written on 17 July 2008, and has since been updated several times.
I want to look again at issues of nationality, not least because I am aware that some of my thoughts have moved on in response to attempting to resolve some cognitive dissonance on the matter.
(10 August 2008: it is not clear to me whether the people of South Ossetia simply wish not to be governed by Georgia, or if they wish to form their own independent government, or if they wish to form an independent government with the people of North Ossetia, or if they wish to be under Russian (military) protection.)
I believe that people should be free to govern themselves, to form their own government, and should not have to be subject to government by another people. Despite the apparent reported despotism of the Mugabe regime, I believe that the people of Zimbabwe (as Rhodesia, a former British colonial possession) should be free to govern themselves, as should the people of Algeria (a former French colonial possession), Burundi (a former Belgian colonial possession), Poland (a former Russian Soviet client state), Latvia (a state formerly occupied by the Soviet Union) and Tibet (occupied since 1960 by the People's Republic of China). What about Ireland? Scotland? Wales? Cornwall? Brittany? Flemish Belgium? Quebec? Lombardy? Greek Macedonia? Turkish Cyprus? Kurdistan? How is the geographical area of self-government to be determined? What about the European micro-states of Andorra? Monaco? Vatican City? San Marino? Lichtenstein? How self-governing are the Channel Isles (Jersey, Guernsey, Sark) and the Isle of Man? Where do micro-colonies fit in, such as Gibraltar? Ceuta?
Beyond consideration of geographical area, there is for me also uncertainty about what I mean by government. At a simple level, the Westminster government is sovereign. However, federal government in Washington DC is not legally competent over every aspect of legal process in the US. In Germany, the lande possess legal competence not shared by the federal government in Berlin. In the UK, the Westminster government devolved some of its power to the Scottish Parliament, and the Welsh and Northern Ireland Assemblies. Further, although under ultimate control by Westminster, city- and shire-based local authorities wield considerable power through their budgets, as do devolved institutions such as the National Health Service, the national rail network, and a plethora of quasi-non-governmental organisations. However, at an international level much of the legislation enacted by the UK government must conform with legislation enacted by, and directives from, the European Union; with the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade; with NATO; and with the United Nations. There are probably any number of international organisations about which I know little or nothing that have specific competence regarding areas of UK governance, and this is to ignore bilateral agreements and understandings, such as the recent military adventures undertaken by the US and UK in Iraq (seen, perhaps erroneously, by many people in the UK as the Westminster government acquiescing to the expectations of the US White House). Whilst pariah states (e.g. Burma and North Korea) and states under siege can run against the pack, at least for a period of time, states central to major world institutions, such as the UK, France, Germany, Italy and Japan either lead the world or else conform - mostly the latter. The exceptions seem to be the superpowers of the US and China, and formerly the Soviet Union, but even these states are under considerable international pressure to conform, as evidenced by the reluctant progress of the Bush administration to acknowledge the human contribution to global warming. So whilst there is a fiction of national sovereignty, there is also an actual dispersal of powers to international organisations. Significantly this de facto ceding of power is not to a world government, but largely to organisations competent in one realm, such as GATT, the World Bank, the IMF, NATO. The major exception to this is the United Nations. However, the UN achieves its authority only from the Assembly of national governments, not from some superior, independent organisation. The European Union, which is an attempt at pan-European government, uses a hybrid version with a combination of pooled national state authority, and trans-European democratic authority. Sadly, the popular democratic aspects of the EU are both weak and undermining of the enterprise. The UN, EU and NATO also make extensive use of experts.
A further international-scale blurring of the sovereignty of nation states is the power wielded by trans-national corporations in every field of finance, commerce and trade.
The foregoing also presupposes that national governments, as though by divine right, have always had sovereignty. A different reality is that they busily acquire power. In part, national governments have acquired authority in novel fields, such as the regulation of television (and thereby, in the UK, the opportunity to tax viewers) and radio communication (and thereby, in the UK, to sell bandwidth to cellphone companies). In part, national governments have acquired authority from other bodies: in (part-)nationalising some UK banks, the Westminster government has also bought itself an important voice in the UK banking industry. In part, national governments have acquired authority by removing the legal competence of autonomous bodies to regulate themselves. (The HPC [Health Professions Council, a UK government body], has recently regulated all psychologists in the UK, despite there being a pre-existing competent body. The HPC has now turned its attention to counsellors and psychotherapists, despite the BACP [British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy] having an effective accreditation scheme.)
To be continued ...
I want to look again at issues of nationality, not least because I am aware that some of my thoughts have moved on in response to attempting to resolve some cognitive dissonance on the matter.
(10 August 2008: it is not clear to me whether the people of South Ossetia simply wish not to be governed by Georgia, or if they wish to form their own independent government, or if they wish to form an independent government with the people of North Ossetia, or if they wish to be under Russian (military) protection.)
I believe that people should be free to govern themselves, to form their own government, and should not have to be subject to government by another people. Despite the apparent reported despotism of the Mugabe regime, I believe that the people of Zimbabwe (as Rhodesia, a former British colonial possession) should be free to govern themselves, as should the people of Algeria (a former French colonial possession), Burundi (a former Belgian colonial possession), Poland (a former Russian Soviet client state), Latvia (a state formerly occupied by the Soviet Union) and Tibet (occupied since 1960 by the People's Republic of China). What about Ireland? Scotland? Wales? Cornwall? Brittany? Flemish Belgium? Quebec? Lombardy? Greek Macedonia? Turkish Cyprus? Kurdistan? How is the geographical area of self-government to be determined? What about the European micro-states of Andorra? Monaco? Vatican City? San Marino? Lichtenstein? How self-governing are the Channel Isles (Jersey, Guernsey, Sark) and the Isle of Man? Where do micro-colonies fit in, such as Gibraltar? Ceuta?
Beyond consideration of geographical area, there is for me also uncertainty about what I mean by government. At a simple level, the Westminster government is sovereign. However, federal government in Washington DC is not legally competent over every aspect of legal process in the US. In Germany, the lande possess legal competence not shared by the federal government in Berlin. In the UK, the Westminster government devolved some of its power to the Scottish Parliament, and the Welsh and Northern Ireland Assemblies. Further, although under ultimate control by Westminster, city- and shire-based local authorities wield considerable power through their budgets, as do devolved institutions such as the National Health Service, the national rail network, and a plethora of quasi-non-governmental organisations. However, at an international level much of the legislation enacted by the UK government must conform with legislation enacted by, and directives from, the European Union; with the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade; with NATO; and with the United Nations. There are probably any number of international organisations about which I know little or nothing that have specific competence regarding areas of UK governance, and this is to ignore bilateral agreements and understandings, such as the recent military adventures undertaken by the US and UK in Iraq (seen, perhaps erroneously, by many people in the UK as the Westminster government acquiescing to the expectations of the US White House). Whilst pariah states (e.g. Burma and North Korea) and states under siege can run against the pack, at least for a period of time, states central to major world institutions, such as the UK, France, Germany, Italy and Japan either lead the world or else conform - mostly the latter. The exceptions seem to be the superpowers of the US and China, and formerly the Soviet Union, but even these states are under considerable international pressure to conform, as evidenced by the reluctant progress of the Bush administration to acknowledge the human contribution to global warming. So whilst there is a fiction of national sovereignty, there is also an actual dispersal of powers to international organisations. Significantly this de facto ceding of power is not to a world government, but largely to organisations competent in one realm, such as GATT, the World Bank, the IMF, NATO. The major exception to this is the United Nations. However, the UN achieves its authority only from the Assembly of national governments, not from some superior, independent organisation. The European Union, which is an attempt at pan-European government, uses a hybrid version with a combination of pooled national state authority, and trans-European democratic authority. Sadly, the popular democratic aspects of the EU are both weak and undermining of the enterprise. The UN, EU and NATO also make extensive use of experts.
A further international-scale blurring of the sovereignty of nation states is the power wielded by trans-national corporations in every field of finance, commerce and trade.
The foregoing also presupposes that national governments, as though by divine right, have always had sovereignty. A different reality is that they busily acquire power. In part, national governments have acquired authority in novel fields, such as the regulation of television (and thereby, in the UK, the opportunity to tax viewers) and radio communication (and thereby, in the UK, to sell bandwidth to cellphone companies). In part, national governments have acquired authority from other bodies: in (part-)nationalising some UK banks, the Westminster government has also bought itself an important voice in the UK banking industry. In part, national governments have acquired authority by removing the legal competence of autonomous bodies to regulate themselves. (The HPC [Health Professions Council, a UK government body], has recently regulated all psychologists in the UK, despite there being a pre-existing competent body. The HPC has now turned its attention to counsellors and psychotherapists, despite the BACP [British Association for Counselling and Psychotherapy] having an effective accreditation scheme.)
To be continued ...
17 May 2008
An existential morality
From the material below I shall create a new weblog posting.
To the extent of my privilege I am existentially obliged to live not only true to my nature and values, but also to improve the world. Why? Because my existence exacts a significant price on the world. Unless I mitigate my existence, I shall leave the world a worse place.
I do not believe that I am privileged to be alive: I had no choice in the decision (or 'mistake') that brought me into existence; I choose not to end my life just yet. I am privileged in that I live in the 21st century AD not BC; that I live in the UK where I have many freedoms, including that of speech, and not in Myanmar, North Korea, Zimbabwe or Colombia; that I live in the economically-developed western world, not in the economically developing world; that I have climbed out of an economically-impoverished and socially-marginalised community in Brent into a professional, intellectual, middle-class life-style. I have no doubt that I am privileged, as are many other people. My privilege gives me power that I can choose to use as I wish. A person with less privilege may have little if any power at their disposal.
My existentialism demands that I live my life true to my own nature. I believe that many people internalise values that are not their own, fail to examine those internalised values, and live their lives at variance from their true nature.
Rights belong to formal or informal legislative frameworks. There is nothing inherent about human rights, consumer rights or birthrights. God-given rights are only for those who believe in a god, which I do not. I claim no rights, although the law of the state and the framework of the community and society in which I live grant me rights. I am granted the right to life until that right is withdrawn (for example, were I to be found guilty of a capital offence).
One of my values is respect for life. I live this in that I am a full pacifist, I oppose capital punishment around the world, and I am a strict vegan. I also respect a person's desire to die.
I recognise that my continued existence is costly. The world is a worse place for my continued existence: my carbon footprint being a topical example; I consume resources such as copper in the cables that power this computer; people feed me by sowing, reaping and processing soya beans; my GP prescribes me blood pressure medication; my daughter is taught at school. Being a westerner, I consume much more than the average person. Being a westerner, and therefore have privilege, I command more power than a refugee in Africa or south-east Asia. Whether I like it or not, the west rests on the bounty of the Earth and on the backs of the world's poor. I feel obligated to mitigate those burdens in the ways that are in my power and that I choose.
To the extent of my privilege I am existentially obliged to live not only true to my nature and values, but also to improve the world. Why? Because my existence exacts a significant price on the world. Unless I mitigate my existence, I shall leave the world a worse place.
I do not believe that I am privileged to be alive: I had no choice in the decision (or 'mistake') that brought me into existence; I choose not to end my life just yet. I am privileged in that I live in the 21st century AD not BC; that I live in the UK where I have many freedoms, including that of speech, and not in Myanmar, North Korea, Zimbabwe or Colombia; that I live in the economically-developed western world, not in the economically developing world; that I have climbed out of an economically-impoverished and socially-marginalised community in Brent into a professional, intellectual, middle-class life-style. I have no doubt that I am privileged, as are many other people. My privilege gives me power that I can choose to use as I wish. A person with less privilege may have little if any power at their disposal.
My existentialism demands that I live my life true to my own nature. I believe that many people internalise values that are not their own, fail to examine those internalised values, and live their lives at variance from their true nature.
Rights belong to formal or informal legislative frameworks. There is nothing inherent about human rights, consumer rights or birthrights. God-given rights are only for those who believe in a god, which I do not. I claim no rights, although the law of the state and the framework of the community and society in which I live grant me rights. I am granted the right to life until that right is withdrawn (for example, were I to be found guilty of a capital offence).
One of my values is respect for life. I live this in that I am a full pacifist, I oppose capital punishment around the world, and I am a strict vegan. I also respect a person's desire to die.
I recognise that my continued existence is costly. The world is a worse place for my continued existence: my carbon footprint being a topical example; I consume resources such as copper in the cables that power this computer; people feed me by sowing, reaping and processing soya beans; my GP prescribes me blood pressure medication; my daughter is taught at school. Being a westerner, I consume much more than the average person. Being a westerner, and therefore have privilege, I command more power than a refugee in Africa or south-east Asia. Whether I like it or not, the west rests on the bounty of the Earth and on the backs of the world's poor. I feel obligated to mitigate those burdens in the ways that are in my power and that I choose.
19 April 2008
Kaos (1): in anticipation
Kaos, produced and directed by the Taviani brothers, was released onto the theatrical art-house movie circuit in 1984. It was screened at the Tyneside Cinema, Newcastle, UK, in 1985, the single occasion when I watched the movie. It left such a deep and lasting impression that I have been searching for a copy of the movie since I bought my television and VCR in 1992. Over the years I have come across several copies of the VHS video for sale, but they have been in US television format (why does the US have to set every standard differently from the rest of the world? - for another posting) and extremely expensive. Being dogged, I have persisted in checking every few months (since about 1995) to discover whether any movie distribution companies had released Kaos for the British / European market, initially on VHS and more recently on DVD. Cliche warning: imagine my surprise a couple of weeks ago when a soon-to-be-released DVD suddenly appeared on the lists of several DVD suppliers. I was so taken aback that I wondered whether it was a scam. My copy was sent from White Rock, Arkansas, US. Excited to receive it as a child with a new toy, I shall watch it this evening.
In telling my story to people I know, few seem as surprised as I am not that the movie should be released on DVD, but that in the face of steadfast evidence to the contrary, I should continue to stand sentinel for the release of this movie on DVD. Thirteen years is a long time to wait. Only a few people know that I waited a long time for Godfrey Regio's Koyaanisqatsi trilogy to be released on DVD. Even fewer know that I am still waiting for Steppenwolf (based on the novel by Hermann Hesse) and Le Grandes Meulnes (based on the novel by Alain Fournier) to be released on DVD. In telling my story, I am saying something important about who I am.
Instead, what almost everyone I have told has focused on is how I shall react watching a movie for only the second time in 23 years, and in particular a movie I have built up in my mind as being so special that it was worth checking the listings of newly-released videos every few months. In part, I have felt mildly irritated that the focus of my story, about dogged, optimistic persistence, has been dismissed and replaced with a focus on whether the movie will live up to my expectations. In part, I have felt disappointed that the people who I have told (all British) assume that I may feel disappointed with the movie. I have also felt a little sad that no-one much has expressed any interest in watching the movie - I know only one or two people who come anywhere near matching my movie taste.
What will it be like? There are scenes and aspects from the movie that I recall vividly: bandits playing boules with the severed heads of their victims; a man howling at moon as he believes he is transformed into a werewolf; an urn-mender who realises that he is trapped in the urn he has just mended; the absence of someone who has recently died. The movie works at a visceral level that I would term expressionist. The issues addressed are profound and concern existence, and I would term this existentialist. The movies that I know which address such issues belong to such directors as Andrei Tarkovsky, Akira Kurosawa, Ingmar Bergman and Peter Greenaway.
What will it be like? I shall watch the movie with a more experienced eye, mind and heart than before. Half my life has passed since I first watched the movie. I have changed in many ways, and expect that the movie, as though a mirror, will reflect an image of my young adult self. Will the middle-aged adult I have become respond to and appreciate the movie as fully as the young adult I was? Who knows? I shall have to find out, and accept what I experience.
What will it be like? I have written elsewhere about having an interest only in those movies that are worth watching at least several times. I trust that Kaos is a movie so rich in difficult ideas that I shall watch it many times. I already know that its initial heady flavours of wormwood and jasmine, citrus and woodsmoke, give way to a complex aftertaste that lingers for decades. I am looking forward to seeing masters of cinema at work.
In telling my story to people I know, few seem as surprised as I am not that the movie should be released on DVD, but that in the face of steadfast evidence to the contrary, I should continue to stand sentinel for the release of this movie on DVD. Thirteen years is a long time to wait. Only a few people know that I waited a long time for Godfrey Regio's Koyaanisqatsi trilogy to be released on DVD. Even fewer know that I am still waiting for Steppenwolf (based on the novel by Hermann Hesse) and Le Grandes Meulnes (based on the novel by Alain Fournier) to be released on DVD. In telling my story, I am saying something important about who I am.
Instead, what almost everyone I have told has focused on is how I shall react watching a movie for only the second time in 23 years, and in particular a movie I have built up in my mind as being so special that it was worth checking the listings of newly-released videos every few months. In part, I have felt mildly irritated that the focus of my story, about dogged, optimistic persistence, has been dismissed and replaced with a focus on whether the movie will live up to my expectations. In part, I have felt disappointed that the people who I have told (all British) assume that I may feel disappointed with the movie. I have also felt a little sad that no-one much has expressed any interest in watching the movie - I know only one or two people who come anywhere near matching my movie taste.
What will it be like? There are scenes and aspects from the movie that I recall vividly: bandits playing boules with the severed heads of their victims; a man howling at moon as he believes he is transformed into a werewolf; an urn-mender who realises that he is trapped in the urn he has just mended; the absence of someone who has recently died. The movie works at a visceral level that I would term expressionist. The issues addressed are profound and concern existence, and I would term this existentialist. The movies that I know which address such issues belong to such directors as Andrei Tarkovsky, Akira Kurosawa, Ingmar Bergman and Peter Greenaway.
What will it be like? I shall watch the movie with a more experienced eye, mind and heart than before. Half my life has passed since I first watched the movie. I have changed in many ways, and expect that the movie, as though a mirror, will reflect an image of my young adult self. Will the middle-aged adult I have become respond to and appreciate the movie as fully as the young adult I was? Who knows? I shall have to find out, and accept what I experience.
What will it be like? I have written elsewhere about having an interest only in those movies that are worth watching at least several times. I trust that Kaos is a movie so rich in difficult ideas that I shall watch it many times. I already know that its initial heady flavours of wormwood and jasmine, citrus and woodsmoke, give way to a complex aftertaste that lingers for decades. I am looking forward to seeing masters of cinema at work.
24 March 2008
Book Review: The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell
The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell, Abacus, London, 2001
(ppb., 279 pp., 11 pp. endnotes/references, indexed, first published by Little, Brown, 2000)
It is not often that book titles manage to raise themselves out of the dust thrown up by the noise of everyday life: Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, Richard Dawkins' The Blind Watchmaker, Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time, J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. The term used by Gladwell in the title to his first book The Tipping Point has now achieved common currency. The relevance to climate change and global warming could lead one to wonder, in all seriousness, whether the concept of the 'tipping point' was itself at a tipping point, ready to tip. For many years we had been either 'on the threshold' (in control) or 'teetering on the brink' (not in control). Tipping points may be less obvious, and inferred only by subsequent analysis. Why did crime in New York City plummet in the 1980s? This is one of the examples Gladwell considers in detail, identifying that a particular set of circumstances were at a sensitive 'tipping point', and a small, highly targetted effort was able to make a massive difference. An example Gladwell does not consider concerns marine clathrates - methane hydrate held in huge volumes in ocean sediments. A small rise in global temperatures currently will do little to these clathrates. However, with global temperatures predicted to rise by four or five degrees over the next forty years, even a miniscule temperature elevation could then release vast quantities of methane, a potent greenhouse gas, setting off a rapid escalation of further, potentially catastrophic, global warming. The ocean temperature at which methane is released from clathrates is a tipping point in terms of climate change.
Most of Gladwell's examples of tipping points are focused around human behaviour. It is easy to see why the same term is used both for physical and social processes. When a transmissible disease starts to spread, the rate of social transmission is likely to change in response to a variety of social factors, such as changes in seasonal behaviour. A viral epidemic, such as seasonal 'flu, may well pass through a tipping point, both on its way up and on its way down. At the time of writing, the much-expected pandemic 'flu epidemic based on the H5N1 bird 'flu virus has not reached a tipping point, although it is understood what that tipping point would be: the point at which the virus mutates to permit efficient human-human transmission. Gladwell considers the fashion industry and how there are tipping points in the sale of particular fashion items. He also considers Paul Revere's ride that led to the American War of Independence, analysing what what made the ride a tipping point.
Gladwell identifies both that the context must be right and that the 'contagion' is contagious, 'sticky'. He also considers that three roles are necessary for a social tipping point: connectors, mavens and salesmen. The designations are supeficially attractive and may contain more than simply a kernel of truth. However, in my view, Gladwell fails to take account of the effectiveness of the vested interests of international commerce and national politics in controlling what we buy, what we watch/read, and what we think. Indeed, his message looks as though it will be attractive to a popular culture that prizes individualism: if you are smart in some way, you can make a difference. Maybe you know lots of people (connectors), maybe you are obsessed with footware or gizmos or supermarket prices (mavens), maybe you can sell beachwear to people living in Greenland (salesmen). I thought time and again: Gladwell knows the culture for which he is writing. A society in which intellect is not fully trusted, but in which people dream of escaping both from the vista of complexity revealed by science, and from the daily tedium of humdrum graft to 'stars in their eyes' silver-bullet breakthroughs.
It is valuable that Gladwell offers plenty of evidence to support his assertions. In popular social science style, the text is made up of one anecdote after another, and includes several well-worked-through examples, albeit largely from the United States. The text is well-supported (11 pages of endnotes and references) with many references to academic books and academic papers, as well as newspaper and magazine articles, albeit largely written by Americans in the United States. This US focus should be surprising as Gladwell was born in the UK and raised in Ontario. The parochialism started to irritate me, not because I hold any anti-American prejudices, but because I started to doubt that his thesis would hold as true for other societies around the world. He does offer a Polynesian example of teenage suicide. However, by this point in the book I had started to become suspicious. How much does Gladwell know about Polynesian society? How much does he understand about suicidal ideation and pyschotherapy? Again, this should be surprising because Gladwell's mother was a Jamaican psychotherapist. Although the precise example of Polynesian teenage suicide may well be valid, I was equally sure that Gladwell was well beyond his home turf.
Academic writing does not make claims beyond those that it can defend. Academic writing considers short-comings, objections and alternative interpretations. Gladwell should be familiar with academic writing because his father, Graham, is emeritus professor of civil engineering at Canada's leading University of Waterloo, Ontario. What is absent from Gladwell's book is anything critical of his thesis, anything that may refute his ideas. At two points (crime reduction in New York City, and the spread of syphilis in Baltimore) Gladwell does rehearse alternative suggestions for what took place, but only as a rhetorical backdrop for his 'white knight' tipping point solution. It is as though, for Gladwell, there is a silver bullet to be found, a tipping point that will make all the difference. The Tipping Point is a text written to persuade and convince. Gladwell is acting as maven and salesman for his own ideas. The example he cites at which he appears to me to be weakest is when considering tobacco smoking reduction behaviour. He fails to acknowledge the emotional complexity of smoking, its multitude of meanings, the meanings associated with quitting, and the fact that much smoking reduction advertising is aimed at adults. Having a degree in history, it is far from obvious that issues of suicide and addictions are areas of Gladwell's strength. Happily, however, his text appears to be much more persuasive when it comes to the commercial advertising of fashion items to a segmented US market. About this he writes well. Indeed, his entire text is written in a style that justifiably belongs to a staff writer for the New Yorker magazine.
It would seem that Gladwell applied to his book, the sub-title of which is How little things can make a big difference, the lessons that constitute his chapters. I bought the book because I had heard of it many times and was interested to learn. The book's advertising puff reads: "The International No. 1 Bestseller", a message advertising how contagious the book is.
The concept of tipping points is important, and deserves to be explored, understood and explained more fully, and above all more rigorously. Maybe is is me who at fault in hoping for a modicum of academic scepticism and balance in a popular social science text. When all is said and done, Gladwell's book is an enthusiastic and encouraging introduction to tipping points.
***
Gladwell biographical information drawn from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malcolm_Gladwell accessed 24 March 2008
(ppb., 279 pp., 11 pp. endnotes/references, indexed, first published by Little, Brown, 2000)
It is not often that book titles manage to raise themselves out of the dust thrown up by the noise of everyday life: Rachel Carson's Silent Spring, Richard Dawkins' The Blind Watchmaker, Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time, J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. The term used by Gladwell in the title to his first book The Tipping Point has now achieved common currency. The relevance to climate change and global warming could lead one to wonder, in all seriousness, whether the concept of the 'tipping point' was itself at a tipping point, ready to tip. For many years we had been either 'on the threshold' (in control) or 'teetering on the brink' (not in control). Tipping points may be less obvious, and inferred only by subsequent analysis. Why did crime in New York City plummet in the 1980s? This is one of the examples Gladwell considers in detail, identifying that a particular set of circumstances were at a sensitive 'tipping point', and a small, highly targetted effort was able to make a massive difference. An example Gladwell does not consider concerns marine clathrates - methane hydrate held in huge volumes in ocean sediments. A small rise in global temperatures currently will do little to these clathrates. However, with global temperatures predicted to rise by four or five degrees over the next forty years, even a miniscule temperature elevation could then release vast quantities of methane, a potent greenhouse gas, setting off a rapid escalation of further, potentially catastrophic, global warming. The ocean temperature at which methane is released from clathrates is a tipping point in terms of climate change.
Most of Gladwell's examples of tipping points are focused around human behaviour. It is easy to see why the same term is used both for physical and social processes. When a transmissible disease starts to spread, the rate of social transmission is likely to change in response to a variety of social factors, such as changes in seasonal behaviour. A viral epidemic, such as seasonal 'flu, may well pass through a tipping point, both on its way up and on its way down. At the time of writing, the much-expected pandemic 'flu epidemic based on the H5N1 bird 'flu virus has not reached a tipping point, although it is understood what that tipping point would be: the point at which the virus mutates to permit efficient human-human transmission. Gladwell considers the fashion industry and how there are tipping points in the sale of particular fashion items. He also considers Paul Revere's ride that led to the American War of Independence, analysing what what made the ride a tipping point.
Gladwell identifies both that the context must be right and that the 'contagion' is contagious, 'sticky'. He also considers that three roles are necessary for a social tipping point: connectors, mavens and salesmen. The designations are supeficially attractive and may contain more than simply a kernel of truth. However, in my view, Gladwell fails to take account of the effectiveness of the vested interests of international commerce and national politics in controlling what we buy, what we watch/read, and what we think. Indeed, his message looks as though it will be attractive to a popular culture that prizes individualism: if you are smart in some way, you can make a difference. Maybe you know lots of people (connectors), maybe you are obsessed with footware or gizmos or supermarket prices (mavens), maybe you can sell beachwear to people living in Greenland (salesmen). I thought time and again: Gladwell knows the culture for which he is writing. A society in which intellect is not fully trusted, but in which people dream of escaping both from the vista of complexity revealed by science, and from the daily tedium of humdrum graft to 'stars in their eyes' silver-bullet breakthroughs.
It is valuable that Gladwell offers plenty of evidence to support his assertions. In popular social science style, the text is made up of one anecdote after another, and includes several well-worked-through examples, albeit largely from the United States. The text is well-supported (11 pages of endnotes and references) with many references to academic books and academic papers, as well as newspaper and magazine articles, albeit largely written by Americans in the United States. This US focus should be surprising as Gladwell was born in the UK and raised in Ontario. The parochialism started to irritate me, not because I hold any anti-American prejudices, but because I started to doubt that his thesis would hold as true for other societies around the world. He does offer a Polynesian example of teenage suicide. However, by this point in the book I had started to become suspicious. How much does Gladwell know about Polynesian society? How much does he understand about suicidal ideation and pyschotherapy? Again, this should be surprising because Gladwell's mother was a Jamaican psychotherapist. Although the precise example of Polynesian teenage suicide may well be valid, I was equally sure that Gladwell was well beyond his home turf.
Academic writing does not make claims beyond those that it can defend. Academic writing considers short-comings, objections and alternative interpretations. Gladwell should be familiar with academic writing because his father, Graham, is emeritus professor of civil engineering at Canada's leading University of Waterloo, Ontario. What is absent from Gladwell's book is anything critical of his thesis, anything that may refute his ideas. At two points (crime reduction in New York City, and the spread of syphilis in Baltimore) Gladwell does rehearse alternative suggestions for what took place, but only as a rhetorical backdrop for his 'white knight' tipping point solution. It is as though, for Gladwell, there is a silver bullet to be found, a tipping point that will make all the difference. The Tipping Point is a text written to persuade and convince. Gladwell is acting as maven and salesman for his own ideas. The example he cites at which he appears to me to be weakest is when considering tobacco smoking reduction behaviour. He fails to acknowledge the emotional complexity of smoking, its multitude of meanings, the meanings associated with quitting, and the fact that much smoking reduction advertising is aimed at adults. Having a degree in history, it is far from obvious that issues of suicide and addictions are areas of Gladwell's strength. Happily, however, his text appears to be much more persuasive when it comes to the commercial advertising of fashion items to a segmented US market. About this he writes well. Indeed, his entire text is written in a style that justifiably belongs to a staff writer for the New Yorker magazine.
It would seem that Gladwell applied to his book, the sub-title of which is How little things can make a big difference, the lessons that constitute his chapters. I bought the book because I had heard of it many times and was interested to learn. The book's advertising puff reads: "The International No. 1 Bestseller", a message advertising how contagious the book is.
The concept of tipping points is important, and deserves to be explored, understood and explained more fully, and above all more rigorously. Maybe is is me who at fault in hoping for a modicum of academic scepticism and balance in a popular social science text. When all is said and done, Gladwell's book is an enthusiastic and encouraging introduction to tipping points.
***
Gladwell biographical information drawn from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malcolm_Gladwell accessed 24 March 2008
16 February 2008
Gaming and gambling
Gaming gambling, like buying sex, is immoral. Since childhood, I have believed gaming gambling to be immoral. In the early 1980s I formally opposed the Betting, Gaming and Lotteries (Amendment) Act 1984 that was enacted by the Conservative government under Margaret Thatcher to liberalise laws around gambling in the UK. I wrote to each member of the parliamentary Committee, chaired by Sir Ian Gilmour, expressing my unhappiness with the proposed legislation. Clement Freud, a Liberal MP who was a member of the committee, referred to me and people like me as "killjoys" (see Hansard).
During my teens I became aware that some poor, working class men would gamble away their wages, further impoverishing wife and children, sometimes condemning the entire family to a life of destitution. More recently I learned that some poor, working class women (for example in Sunderland) would feed the entire week's housekeeping money into gambling machines, getting themselves into debt and becoming prey to loan sharks. In using the word 'some', I do not know how many people, nor how widespread these behaviours are. However, I do know that gambling in the UK is so widespread that it is practically universal, and debt (resulting from consumption and gambling) in the UK currently exceeds GDP. (One of the features of writing weblog postings about issues that concern me is that I confront myself to produce evidence that supports or refutes my beliefs.) Online gambling (poker, for example) appears to be huge. In June 2005: "According to research group Forrester, 76% of the UK's 29 million adult internet users admit to regularly placing a bet either online or offline."
I have always considered succumbing to gaming gambling as evidence of personal weakness, making innocent people vulnerable to scams (the medieval 'three-cup trick'), confidence tricks ('get-rich-quick' schemes)and dishonesty (The Sting). When I was a child I felt disgusted when I learned that gambling machines and casinos pay out less than they receive. I considered their behaviour unfair, because I did not understand that they are businesses. When I was a child, I became gently enthralled both by the idea of 'breaking the bank' (restorative justice) and by the masculine courage of James Bond at the roulette wheel. (On a recent flight from Narita to Schipol I watched the Daniel Craig outing of a James Bond movie, and could not resolve the conflict for me that a character who is supposed to be the ultimate in 'cool' should behave in so pathetic a manner as to have to gamble on the gaming tables.)
In full respect of confidentiality, I can state clearly that there are many people in the UK who have a gambling addiction, and that this addiction, effectively indistinguishable from a chemical addiction, has been extremely problematic in their lives. I have met such people.
Of course gaming is business: it is part of the entertainment industry, as evidenced by the plethora of gaming shows on television. The gambling aspect of gaming has also attracted organised crime (e.g. Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels) and shows gaming, like drugs- and people-trafficking, to be a lucrative, but also unsavoury and seedy business. I do not know what proportion of gaming / gambling in the UK is infected with organised crime, and I may well be guilty of watching too many movies. I imagine that only a small proportion is significantly criminal; that a somewhat larger proportion, whilst legal, has criminal links / associations; and that much of what remains is legal, but may either be tainted or at risk. I believe that most people in the UK who gamble fail to, or refuse to, consider and address this issue; whereas for some the possibility of links to organised crime may add an attractive frisson.
I do not respect the motivation or activity of seeking to acquire wealth without earning it. This places gambling very close to robbery and theft, although in the case of gambling, each party is trying to rob the other. I confess to a strong Protestant work ethic. (When my father died it did not concern me that he left me nothing in his will. In contrast, I am challenged by the fact that my daughter will have little if any opportunity to earn her way through life, and will be dependent on whatever my wife and I can leave her when we die.)
Gaming positions itself within the entertainment industry, and I find it hard to respect resources being spent on activities that make no attempt to improve the world. I also find it challenging to respect money being spent on activities that make no attempt to improve the sum total of happiness in the world, and gaming creates many more losers than winners. This sets gambling in the same category as the military-industrial complex. Gaming is far from the worthy activities of education, scientific exploration, health research, health (physical, mental, emotional) support, charitable giving, economic development (whether in the the economically-developed or -developing world), environmental improvement, and artisitic and cultural expression.
I do not respect games of chance. The UK national obsession with horse racing, and the local enthusiasm for greyhound racing, are not only perversions in their exploitation of animals, but socially-accepted excuses for people to avoid working, looking after their families, and helping to improve the world. When I was a child, millions of people in the UK gambled every week on the outcomes of football (soccer) matches. The national lottery (begun under the Thatcher government) has to a significant extent replaced the 'football pools'. An effect of this has been that charitable giving by individuals in the UK has declined. (I shall check the figures.)
In 1979/80 I lived in Coxhoe, County Durham, UK. I was told by local people about how, during the 1920s and 1930s, large gatherings would be held for illegal gambling in West Cornforth woods, only a handful of miles from where I now live. Children would be posted at the edge of the wood to warn of any approach by the police ('polliss'). Only a mile from where I live are the remains of a grandstand that was built in the 1920s for a horse-racing track. The racing track was closed at the outbreak of the second world war, and the grandstand fell into disrepair. In the local pubs it used to be, and still is for all I know, a commonplace that a large platter of uncooked cuts of dead animals would be raffled. In Quarrington Hill, a village close to Coxhoe, the police raided a regular dog-fighting match. Every village around here has at least a little brick bookmaker's cabin. I have met local people (men) who are private bookmakers - taking bets on all manner of events. A short series of formal presentations, exploring some serious staff-focused activities at the university where I work, had to have a raffle that was drawn at the close of the event. At my daughter's school open day they have a tombola. How many times have I heard "I like to have a little flutter" - on the Derby, on the Grand National, on the pools, on the lottery, on the Thunderball - as though provided they do only a little bit of gambling it is respectable. Like some sap-poison in a tree, gambling seems to infect every vein of British society. However, the poison spreads far beyond the UK. News programmes often report match-fixing allegations in relation to one sport or another around the world. In Tokyo and Kyoto, I saw huge, barn-like shops, 'pachinko parlours', with seried ranks of glaze-faced men and women feeding ball bearings into machines, as though characters from Fritz Lang's Metropolis. When I eventually get to holiday in Arizona, in order to see the Grand Canyon, I shall fly in to Phoenix even though it would be cheaper and easier to fly in to Las Vegas, where, as CSI shows, there are gaming tables and gambling machines as far as the eye can see: a vision of hell that so many delude themselves into believing is a vision of heaven.
Why do people gamble? As evidenced by what I have written above, the answer I see most obviously is that a person hopes to gain from a gambling transaction. However, there are also many other answers. For some, the gambling in which they indulge is about the social activity, whether being seen in their flamboyant hats at Ascot horse-racing track, or dibbing numbers with their sisters and aunties at the local bingo hall. For others, it is about self-indulgence, and they will put five pounds, or fifty euros, or five hundred dollars, in their pocket for an evening's entertainment at the casino, amusement arcade or pachinko parlour - they hope that the money does not run out too quickly. For yet others it is about distraction, either from a demanding job or from problems that are difficult to resolve. For some it is about seeking self-esteem by trouncing other people - the so-called 'competitive spirit'. For others it is about thrill seeking - they enjoy the risk: it is almost that they enjoy losing a game because it heightens the tension for the next game. Perhaps these latter are the people who are also at risk of developing a gambling addiction. For many, their engagement in gambling is probably a response to some combination of each of the above. For each, however, gambling has meaning in their life. Remove gambling from the lives of most people, and their lives become impoverished to the extent of the meaning of gambling to them. This is why it can be so hard for a person with a gambling addiction, for whom gambling has come to mean more than almost anything else in their life, to relinquish the activity.
During my teens I became aware that some poor, working class men would gamble away their wages, further impoverishing wife and children, sometimes condemning the entire family to a life of destitution. More recently I learned that some poor, working class women (for example in Sunderland) would feed the entire week's housekeeping money into gambling machines, getting themselves into debt and becoming prey to loan sharks. In using the word 'some', I do not know how many people, nor how widespread these behaviours are. However, I do know that gambling in the UK is so widespread that it is practically universal, and debt (resulting from consumption and gambling) in the UK currently exceeds GDP. (One of the features of writing weblog postings about issues that concern me is that I confront myself to produce evidence that supports or refutes my beliefs.) Online gambling (poker, for example) appears to be huge. In June 2005: "According to research group Forrester, 76% of the UK's 29 million adult internet users admit to regularly placing a bet either online or offline."
I have always considered succumbing to gaming gambling as evidence of personal weakness, making innocent people vulnerable to scams (the medieval 'three-cup trick'), confidence tricks ('get-rich-quick' schemes)and dishonesty (The Sting). When I was a child I felt disgusted when I learned that gambling machines and casinos pay out less than they receive. I considered their behaviour unfair, because I did not understand that they are businesses. When I was a child, I became gently enthralled both by the idea of 'breaking the bank' (restorative justice) and by the masculine courage of James Bond at the roulette wheel. (On a recent flight from Narita to Schipol I watched the Daniel Craig outing of a James Bond movie, and could not resolve the conflict for me that a character who is supposed to be the ultimate in 'cool' should behave in so pathetic a manner as to have to gamble on the gaming tables.)
In full respect of confidentiality, I can state clearly that there are many people in the UK who have a gambling addiction, and that this addiction, effectively indistinguishable from a chemical addiction, has been extremely problematic in their lives. I have met such people.
Of course gaming is business: it is part of the entertainment industry, as evidenced by the plethora of gaming shows on television. The gambling aspect of gaming has also attracted organised crime (e.g. Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels) and shows gaming, like drugs- and people-trafficking, to be a lucrative, but also unsavoury and seedy business. I do not know what proportion of gaming / gambling in the UK is infected with organised crime, and I may well be guilty of watching too many movies. I imagine that only a small proportion is significantly criminal; that a somewhat larger proportion, whilst legal, has criminal links / associations; and that much of what remains is legal, but may either be tainted or at risk. I believe that most people in the UK who gamble fail to, or refuse to, consider and address this issue; whereas for some the possibility of links to organised crime may add an attractive frisson.
I do not respect the motivation or activity of seeking to acquire wealth without earning it. This places gambling very close to robbery and theft, although in the case of gambling, each party is trying to rob the other. I confess to a strong Protestant work ethic. (When my father died it did not concern me that he left me nothing in his will. In contrast, I am challenged by the fact that my daughter will have little if any opportunity to earn her way through life, and will be dependent on whatever my wife and I can leave her when we die.)
Gaming positions itself within the entertainment industry, and I find it hard to respect resources being spent on activities that make no attempt to improve the world. I also find it challenging to respect money being spent on activities that make no attempt to improve the sum total of happiness in the world, and gaming creates many more losers than winners. This sets gambling in the same category as the military-industrial complex. Gaming is far from the worthy activities of education, scientific exploration, health research, health (physical, mental, emotional) support, charitable giving, economic development (whether in the the economically-developed or -developing world), environmental improvement, and artisitic and cultural expression.
I do not respect games of chance. The UK national obsession with horse racing, and the local enthusiasm for greyhound racing, are not only perversions in their exploitation of animals, but socially-accepted excuses for people to avoid working, looking after their families, and helping to improve the world. When I was a child, millions of people in the UK gambled every week on the outcomes of football (soccer) matches. The national lottery (begun under the Thatcher government) has to a significant extent replaced the 'football pools'. An effect of this has been that charitable giving by individuals in the UK has declined. (I shall check the figures.)
In 1979/80 I lived in Coxhoe, County Durham, UK. I was told by local people about how, during the 1920s and 1930s, large gatherings would be held for illegal gambling in West Cornforth woods, only a handful of miles from where I now live. Children would be posted at the edge of the wood to warn of any approach by the police ('polliss'). Only a mile from where I live are the remains of a grandstand that was built in the 1920s for a horse-racing track. The racing track was closed at the outbreak of the second world war, and the grandstand fell into disrepair. In the local pubs it used to be, and still is for all I know, a commonplace that a large platter of uncooked cuts of dead animals would be raffled. In Quarrington Hill, a village close to Coxhoe, the police raided a regular dog-fighting match. Every village around here has at least a little brick bookmaker's cabin. I have met local people (men) who are private bookmakers - taking bets on all manner of events. A short series of formal presentations, exploring some serious staff-focused activities at the university where I work, had to have a raffle that was drawn at the close of the event. At my daughter's school open day they have a tombola. How many times have I heard "I like to have a little flutter" - on the Derby, on the Grand National, on the pools, on the lottery, on the Thunderball - as though provided they do only a little bit of gambling it is respectable. Like some sap-poison in a tree, gambling seems to infect every vein of British society. However, the poison spreads far beyond the UK. News programmes often report match-fixing allegations in relation to one sport or another around the world. In Tokyo and Kyoto, I saw huge, barn-like shops, 'pachinko parlours', with seried ranks of glaze-faced men and women feeding ball bearings into machines, as though characters from Fritz Lang's Metropolis. When I eventually get to holiday in Arizona, in order to see the Grand Canyon, I shall fly in to Phoenix even though it would be cheaper and easier to fly in to Las Vegas, where, as CSI shows, there are gaming tables and gambling machines as far as the eye can see: a vision of hell that so many delude themselves into believing is a vision of heaven.
Why do people gamble? As evidenced by what I have written above, the answer I see most obviously is that a person hopes to gain from a gambling transaction. However, there are also many other answers. For some, the gambling in which they indulge is about the social activity, whether being seen in their flamboyant hats at Ascot horse-racing track, or dibbing numbers with their sisters and aunties at the local bingo hall. For others, it is about self-indulgence, and they will put five pounds, or fifty euros, or five hundred dollars, in their pocket for an evening's entertainment at the casino, amusement arcade or pachinko parlour - they hope that the money does not run out too quickly. For yet others it is about distraction, either from a demanding job or from problems that are difficult to resolve. For some it is about seeking self-esteem by trouncing other people - the so-called 'competitive spirit'. For others it is about thrill seeking - they enjoy the risk: it is almost that they enjoy losing a game because it heightens the tension for the next game. Perhaps these latter are the people who are also at risk of developing a gambling addiction. For many, their engagement in gambling is probably a response to some combination of each of the above. For each, however, gambling has meaning in their life. Remove gambling from the lives of most people, and their lives become impoverished to the extent of the meaning of gambling to them. This is why it can be so hard for a person with a gambling addiction, for whom gambling has come to mean more than almost anything else in their life, to relinquish the activity.
31 December 2007
A Twentieth Century man
I have several dictionaries. Working as a counsellor, words and language mean much to me. William Shakespeare is my hero: I watched my first Shakespeare play (Twelfth Night) when I was ten years old. I have four generations of Chambers dictionaries: from the 1950s (Chambers 20th Century Dictionary, recently acquired second hand), 1972 (Chambers 20th Century Dictionary, a Christmas present), 1988 (Chambers English Dictionary, my own choice) and 2003 (Chambers Dictionary, also my own choice). I prefer Chambers because its definitions tend to be more liberal-minded, less conservative, less reactionary than other dictionaries. However, I have an extreme objection to Chambers' progressive acceptance and incorporation of the '-ize' suffix, an appendage that, in spite of my Classical education (I studied Latin for five years, Classical Greek for two years, and some years ago made a serious attempt to teach myself Biblical Greek), I consider to be affected (as in an affectation, used by someone who wishes to puff up their language, making themselves sound clever and important, like people using the word 'whilst' when they mean 'while') and/or elitist (its 'correct' use - to use it incorrectly flagrantly demonstrates 'ignorance' - is only when the word's root is from Classical Greek, and who but a Classics scholar is likely to remember which English words have a Classical Greek root?), and gratuitously unnecessary. Use of the '-ize' suffix sneers at both ignorance and dyslexia: it is anti-language. In contrast, use of the '-ise' suffix is universally applicable, and to be favoured by the proles, the hoi poloi, the sans culottes - the people who make a reality of democracy and democratic language.
I have a reverse dictionary that has been useful only very occasionally. I have a dictionary of words first used in the twentieth century. This latter, although of little practical use, is interesting. I have a much-used Roget's thesaurus, and much-less used Brewer's dictionary of phrase and fable, Brewer's concise dictionary of phrase and fable, and Brewer's twentieth century dictionary of phrase and fable. There are also the Oxford dictionary of quotations, and Oxford companions to both the English language and English literature. Beyond English alone, there are dictionaries of signing (BSL) and of other European languages. Were I to be required to shelve all these dictionaries in an attic, I should probably guess that they weighed in at about 50 kg. So why is my first port of call always the internet? Reading The Wisdom of Crowds, recently, I came across the word 'fungible'. The context in which the word was being used offered few clues about its meaning. I checked it out on the internet. As well as definitions, I read the Wikipedia entry. I felt enlightened. I then checked Chambers. The definition was clear and concise, just as I should expect. Yet had I not also read more widely, including the Wikipedia entry, my understanding would have been as thin as gravy made only with a vegetable stock cube.
The words and phrases that I use, and the thoughts that inspire my articulations, belong to the twentieth century. I was born in the middle, the heart, of the twentieth century, the century that provided the context and backdrop for everything I thought and said and did. I learned to speak and think twentieth century, and I have twentieth century preoccupations, such as a concern for technology, for communication, for identity, for democracy, for equality, for spirituality freed from the shackles of traditional religion. Whilst it could easily be shown that none of these is unique to the twentieth century, their assemblage certainly is. It is true that being born and raised in Western Europe, and in Britain in particular, I also became, and continue to become, progressively more aware of previous centuries; but this itself is the root and relativism of post-modernism, a philosophical framework that belongs to the second half of the twentieth century. Simply by being brought up in the second half of the twentieth century, without the requirement of an elite education, I have the capacity to identify with the industrial entrepreneurs of the nineteenth century, the enlightened free-thinkers of the eighteenth century, the radical Commonwealth republicans of the seventeenth century, and so on.
What of the twenty-first century? I am not sure. If the twentieth century could be characterised as a battle between the old and the new, between empire and new democracy, between generations, between the sexes, between enforced adherence to stereotype and searching for new identities, then to a large extent we won. At the start of the twenty-first century, Britain is much closer to France than to Britain at the start of the twentieth century. However, now those battles are over, apathy appears to have set in. Politicians bemoan the public's lack of interest in politics, whereas people vote in their millions for ghastly television trash such as Big Brother and the X-Factor. (Whilst Marx's aphorism about religion is widely misunderstood as a criticism of religion, when he was observing the solace that drown-trodden workers were able to find in it, his 'misquotation' could more aptly be applied to the early twenty-first century addiction to television soap operas.) People no longer appear to have much interest in raw spirituality, and the church pews tend to be occupied by people who have chosen to leave elsewhere and make Britain their home. Concern by adults and children alike for technology seems to focus on games consoles, and battles and wars that are fought look increasingly like computer games and disaster movies. Royal Mail, the UK postal delivery organisation is close to collapse because no-one writes letters any more - it is not that I am knocking e-mail, it is my sadness that the text-message culture hardly favours deep and careful thought.
What of the twenty-first century? The battles having been fought, apathy and lethargy won. I think that ordinary, everyday, twenty-first century Britain lacks a sense of direction, purpose and aspiration. Maybe that is one of the reasons I remain a twentieth century man.
I have a reverse dictionary that has been useful only very occasionally. I have a dictionary of words first used in the twentieth century. This latter, although of little practical use, is interesting. I have a much-used Roget's thesaurus, and much-less used Brewer's dictionary of phrase and fable, Brewer's concise dictionary of phrase and fable, and Brewer's twentieth century dictionary of phrase and fable. There are also the Oxford dictionary of quotations, and Oxford companions to both the English language and English literature. Beyond English alone, there are dictionaries of signing (BSL) and of other European languages. Were I to be required to shelve all these dictionaries in an attic, I should probably guess that they weighed in at about 50 kg. So why is my first port of call always the internet? Reading The Wisdom of Crowds, recently, I came across the word 'fungible'. The context in which the word was being used offered few clues about its meaning. I checked it out on the internet. As well as definitions, I read the Wikipedia entry. I felt enlightened. I then checked Chambers. The definition was clear and concise, just as I should expect. Yet had I not also read more widely, including the Wikipedia entry, my understanding would have been as thin as gravy made only with a vegetable stock cube.
The words and phrases that I use, and the thoughts that inspire my articulations, belong to the twentieth century. I was born in the middle, the heart, of the twentieth century, the century that provided the context and backdrop for everything I thought and said and did. I learned to speak and think twentieth century, and I have twentieth century preoccupations, such as a concern for technology, for communication, for identity, for democracy, for equality, for spirituality freed from the shackles of traditional religion. Whilst it could easily be shown that none of these is unique to the twentieth century, their assemblage certainly is. It is true that being born and raised in Western Europe, and in Britain in particular, I also became, and continue to become, progressively more aware of previous centuries; but this itself is the root and relativism of post-modernism, a philosophical framework that belongs to the second half of the twentieth century. Simply by being brought up in the second half of the twentieth century, without the requirement of an elite education, I have the capacity to identify with the industrial entrepreneurs of the nineteenth century, the enlightened free-thinkers of the eighteenth century, the radical Commonwealth republicans of the seventeenth century, and so on.
What of the twenty-first century? I am not sure. If the twentieth century could be characterised as a battle between the old and the new, between empire and new democracy, between generations, between the sexes, between enforced adherence to stereotype and searching for new identities, then to a large extent we won. At the start of the twenty-first century, Britain is much closer to France than to Britain at the start of the twentieth century. However, now those battles are over, apathy appears to have set in. Politicians bemoan the public's lack of interest in politics, whereas people vote in their millions for ghastly television trash such as Big Brother and the X-Factor. (Whilst Marx's aphorism about religion is widely misunderstood as a criticism of religion, when he was observing the solace that drown-trodden workers were able to find in it, his 'misquotation' could more aptly be applied to the early twenty-first century addiction to television soap operas.) People no longer appear to have much interest in raw spirituality, and the church pews tend to be occupied by people who have chosen to leave elsewhere and make Britain their home. Concern by adults and children alike for technology seems to focus on games consoles, and battles and wars that are fought look increasingly like computer games and disaster movies. Royal Mail, the UK postal delivery organisation is close to collapse because no-one writes letters any more - it is not that I am knocking e-mail, it is my sadness that the text-message culture hardly favours deep and careful thought.
What of the twenty-first century? The battles having been fought, apathy and lethargy won. I think that ordinary, everyday, twenty-first century Britain lacks a sense of direction, purpose and aspiration. Maybe that is one of the reasons I remain a twentieth century man.
29 December 2007
Nationhood (1): Fiddler on the Roof
I recently watched a television broadcast of Norman Jewison's 1971 movie Fiddler on the Roof. I have the VHS video, which I have watched several times, and I am wondering whether to buy the DVD. I often watch on television movies that I have on video. Not only is the quality of the broadcast picture superior - we have a Freeview digibox (digital television signal) box - but the inability to pause and rewind, which I do a lot in order to reflect on what I am watching, much to the mounting annoyance of my wife and daughter - we do not have TiVo - gives the viewing experience an edginess that whilst usually less intellectually satisfying, with the inevitable risk of disengagement between awareness and an integrated cognitive/conative/affective and imaginal response, can be emotionally more gratifying.
I was concerned, having watched the movie for the nth time, to discover what some of the critics have written about it. Roger Ebert was mildly scathing, whereas others have been more generous, although generous is probably what they intended. I find it helpful to read critics' reviews because they inevitably confirm some of my own thoughts and responses, and suggest others that had not occurred to me. I do not fully trust my own judgment. Most obviously for me, a good movie is one that I wish to watch many times. I feel cheated if the movie is not worth watching more than once. For this reason I rarely watch made-for-television movies. I am also likely to feel cheated if the only differences between the first and second viewings are that I know the plot twists and the denouement. On this basis I have learned that I have little interest in watching Ocean's Xteen. I was intrigued to find out whether I would find watching Memento as satisfying for the second time. The jury is still out on whether I should buy the DVD (the issue of memory is important to me). At the other end of the spectrum, the movies I like best are one's that, every time, take me on a journey, if I am up for it, into an even deeper understanding of what it is for me to be human in this world. This is what makes the movies of Andrei Tarkovsky, Akira Kurosawa, Peter Greenaway and Godfrey Regio so compelling for me, and also why I have a fascination for dystopias. In a 'good movie' there will always be the opportunity to discover more. Sometimes this involves seeing/hearing more clearly. My best analogue for this concerns a CD of music by Peter Maxwell Davies. I did not 'understand' what I was listening to the first time I heard it. The dissonances sounded like a cacophony, and the broken rhythms sounded like chaos. Only from many repeated playings have I come to hear the beauty and poise, accompanied by a progressive appreciation of his music. I care what critics write about Peter Maxwell Davies, or about Tarkovsky, Kurosawa, Greenaway or Regio, because I wish to 'understand' more. I am not required to agree with the evaluations of critics. A case in point is the movie I Heart Huckabees. I took the movie at face value albeit on three levels: 1) the level of plot / story / entertainment, etc.; 2) the movie-making level - script, acting, characterisation, filming, editing, etc.; 3) a philosophical level. On the first two of these levels the movie is terrible, and nothing on earth would induce me to watch it again. However, on the philosophical level the movie has something to say, and I shall watch it again. Naturally the critics slammed the movie. I also discovered from the reviews is that the movie is considered to be a spoof, the director intentionally mocking intellectual movies. Maybe, therefore, unlike the Peter Maxwell Davies CD, the movie has little so say - a second viewing and I shall be done with it - maybe. The idea of an existential detective agency interests me, even if the director intended it as a joke.
What does Fiddler on the Roof offer me in repeated viewings? There are major issues of personal, social and national identity, of cultural tradition ("Tradition"), and of spirituality. During the most recent viewing I felt challenged by the concept of personal, cultural and spiritual identity determining national identity. I like the globalised world in which we now live, and the breakdown of a one-to-one mapping between cultural and spiritual identity on the one hand and nationality (whether it be where I live or what is written in my passport) on the other. Whilst I understand something about Israel and about Kosovo, I also understand something about early twentieth century Japan, about Nazi Germany, about Afghanistan's Taleban, about aspects of Putin's Russia. I applaud the European Union both for its programme of smudging the statehood of nations, and for its support of cultural and spiritual diversity. These kinds of articulated insights are gold dust. I wonder what Fiddler on the Roof will offer me next time.
I was concerned, having watched the movie for the nth time, to discover what some of the critics have written about it. Roger Ebert was mildly scathing, whereas others have been more generous, although generous is probably what they intended. I find it helpful to read critics' reviews because they inevitably confirm some of my own thoughts and responses, and suggest others that had not occurred to me. I do not fully trust my own judgment. Most obviously for me, a good movie is one that I wish to watch many times. I feel cheated if the movie is not worth watching more than once. For this reason I rarely watch made-for-television movies. I am also likely to feel cheated if the only differences between the first and second viewings are that I know the plot twists and the denouement. On this basis I have learned that I have little interest in watching Ocean's Xteen. I was intrigued to find out whether I would find watching Memento as satisfying for the second time. The jury is still out on whether I should buy the DVD (the issue of memory is important to me). At the other end of the spectrum, the movies I like best are one's that, every time, take me on a journey, if I am up for it, into an even deeper understanding of what it is for me to be human in this world. This is what makes the movies of Andrei Tarkovsky, Akira Kurosawa, Peter Greenaway and Godfrey Regio so compelling for me, and also why I have a fascination for dystopias. In a 'good movie' there will always be the opportunity to discover more. Sometimes this involves seeing/hearing more clearly. My best analogue for this concerns a CD of music by Peter Maxwell Davies. I did not 'understand' what I was listening to the first time I heard it. The dissonances sounded like a cacophony, and the broken rhythms sounded like chaos. Only from many repeated playings have I come to hear the beauty and poise, accompanied by a progressive appreciation of his music. I care what critics write about Peter Maxwell Davies, or about Tarkovsky, Kurosawa, Greenaway or Regio, because I wish to 'understand' more. I am not required to agree with the evaluations of critics. A case in point is the movie I Heart Huckabees. I took the movie at face value albeit on three levels: 1) the level of plot / story / entertainment, etc.; 2) the movie-making level - script, acting, characterisation, filming, editing, etc.; 3) a philosophical level. On the first two of these levels the movie is terrible, and nothing on earth would induce me to watch it again. However, on the philosophical level the movie has something to say, and I shall watch it again. Naturally the critics slammed the movie. I also discovered from the reviews is that the movie is considered to be a spoof, the director intentionally mocking intellectual movies. Maybe, therefore, unlike the Peter Maxwell Davies CD, the movie has little so say - a second viewing and I shall be done with it - maybe. The idea of an existential detective agency interests me, even if the director intended it as a joke.
What does Fiddler on the Roof offer me in repeated viewings? There are major issues of personal, social and national identity, of cultural tradition ("Tradition"), and of spirituality. During the most recent viewing I felt challenged by the concept of personal, cultural and spiritual identity determining national identity. I like the globalised world in which we now live, and the breakdown of a one-to-one mapping between cultural and spiritual identity on the one hand and nationality (whether it be where I live or what is written in my passport) on the other. Whilst I understand something about Israel and about Kosovo, I also understand something about early twentieth century Japan, about Nazi Germany, about Afghanistan's Taleban, about aspects of Putin's Russia. I applaud the European Union both for its programme of smudging the statehood of nations, and for its support of cultural and spiritual diversity. These kinds of articulated insights are gold dust. I wonder what Fiddler on the Roof will offer me next time.
16 April 2007
Lila, by Robert Pirsig
There are few people who have not read Robert Pirsig's principal claim to fame: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. That I have read the book twice is not saying much. Even if some people have a copy on their bookshelves only for show, never having read the novel, that proportion must be small compared with the number of people who posess a copy of A Brief History of Time by Professor Stephen Hawking, although the pages of the book are as yet uncut. I doubt, however, that there is kudos associated with either owning or reading a copy of Pirsig's Lila, a sequel in several senses to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
Lila uses a similar formula to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: a 'road trip' story interspersed with the advancement of a philosophical model of human experience.
On the positive side I found many valuable insights in Pirsig's text, the most illuminating being:
However, I feel suspicious about philosophy being presented inj the format of a novel. Despite the existentialists, such as Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus and Friedrich Durenmat having presented and explored, or at least illustrated, their ideas in a fictional format (novels, novellas, short stories and theatrical plays), and probably being most popularly known for this, I question why someone who purports to have something new and substantial to say would choose a medium that requires the suspension of disbelief and literary sleights of hand, and would risk the message being ignored or thrown out because the literary quality of the work may be considered to be poor. The literary works of Sartre, Camus and Durenmat may not all be masterpieces, but they can be read at least adequately, and in many cases exceptionally well, without being required to engage with the philosophical exposition. Susan Hill's novels, such as In the Springtime of the Year, The Bird of Night, and I'm the King of the Castle, are typically each important psychological explorations that work well as novels. In none is Hill breaking new and contentious ground, and with each it would be possible to visit source material, for example with the novels listed: respectively bereavement, psychotic breakdown and sibling rivalry. I would feel uneasy were I to find that Hill was, in fact, presenting new, unsupported ideas about psychology and psychiatry through the medium of a novel.
[to be continued...]
Lila uses a similar formula to Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: a 'road trip' story interspersed with the advancement of a philosophical model of human experience.
On the positive side I found many valuable insights in Pirsig's text, the most illuminating being:
"If objects are the ultimate reality then there's only one true intellectual construction of things: that which corresponds to the objective world. But if truth is defined as a high-quality set of intellectual value patterns, then insanity can be defined as just a low quality set of intellectual value patterns, and you get a whole different picture of it."When the culture asks, 'Why doesn't this person see things the way we do?' you can answer that he doesn't see them because he doesn't value them. He's gone into illegal value patterns because the illegal patterns resolve value conflicts that the culture's unable to handle. The causes of insanity may be all kinds of things, from chemical imbalances to social conflicts. But insanity has solved these conflicts with illegal patterns which appear to be of a higher quality."
However, I feel suspicious about philosophy being presented inj the format of a novel. Despite the existentialists, such as Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus and Friedrich Durenmat having presented and explored, or at least illustrated, their ideas in a fictional format (novels, novellas, short stories and theatrical plays), and probably being most popularly known for this, I question why someone who purports to have something new and substantial to say would choose a medium that requires the suspension of disbelief and literary sleights of hand, and would risk the message being ignored or thrown out because the literary quality of the work may be considered to be poor. The literary works of Sartre, Camus and Durenmat may not all be masterpieces, but they can be read at least adequately, and in many cases exceptionally well, without being required to engage with the philosophical exposition. Susan Hill's novels, such as In the Springtime of the Year, The Bird of Night, and I'm the King of the Castle, are typically each important psychological explorations that work well as novels. In none is Hill breaking new and contentious ground, and with each it would be possible to visit source material, for example with the novels listed: respectively bereavement, psychotic breakdown and sibling rivalry. I would feel uneasy were I to find that Hill was, in fact, presenting new, unsupported ideas about psychology and psychiatry through the medium of a novel.
[to be continued...]
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