The heir to a great fortune will, in rare cases, develop a strikingly independent character. He can have all the splendor of wealth without making himself subservient to anyone. He can think, do, and say what he wishes, without regard for authority or convention.
Even more seldom, a man who is born destitute develops the same sort of independence. He finds it better to remain destitute than to make himself subservient.
These two sorts of independent character have many things in common. Among these is their shared contempt for the covetous, ambitious character.
When the independently wealthy character looks at the ambitious character, he thinks, “How silly he looks, sacrificing all his pride and independence, prostrating himself to others—all this, merely to attain what I have without effort.”
When the destitute character looks at the ambitious character, he thinks, “How silly he looks, sacrificing his pride, his independence, his dignity—all this, merely to attain something that is, in fact, quite possible to live without.”
Monday, December 4, 2006
Convenient oversimplifications
It is inevitable that we must simplify, and therefore always to some extent falsify, the bewildering complexity of the human condition. But we must be wary of going further than necessary. The idea of a unitary “soul” or “subject” simplifies our view of the mind, but only at the cost of entirely falsifying it. The notion that the self is unitary is a useful from of self-deception for those who would like to conceal from themselves the chaotic disorganization of their own minds. Something that is by definition unitary does not need to be made into a unit. Integrity is achieved by definition.
A conversation
"Don’t you think you are being arrogant?"
"No, not arrogant, but rather skeptical. Just to make this clear, I will not accept any of your assertions merely on the basis of your experience and authority. You will have to prove each one to me. This is for two reasons. First, you may be wrong despite your experience, and second, I will never learn to understand things if I merely accept them on authority and do not try to understand each in my own way. If you find this too much of a burden, then I suggest that you find a submissive, whimpering coward to assist you. But don’t expect him to perform his work with anything like the excellence and alacrity that I can provide. True understanding comes only to those who relentlessly insist upon achieving it—only to the stubborn and 'arrogant.'"
"No, not arrogant, but rather skeptical. Just to make this clear, I will not accept any of your assertions merely on the basis of your experience and authority. You will have to prove each one to me. This is for two reasons. First, you may be wrong despite your experience, and second, I will never learn to understand things if I merely accept them on authority and do not try to understand each in my own way. If you find this too much of a burden, then I suggest that you find a submissive, whimpering coward to assist you. But don’t expect him to perform his work with anything like the excellence and alacrity that I can provide. True understanding comes only to those who relentlessly insist upon achieving it—only to the stubborn and 'arrogant.'"
Herds of intellectuals
One of the reasons that it is difficult to make much headway in trying to convince a religious zealot that his opinions are irrational is that he feels himself to be a part of a community, and, at a fundamental level, he sees this community, and not himself, as the arbiter of decisions about what is rational and irrational.
One encounters this attitude even among the highly educated. There is a certain sort of intellectual who sees himself primarily and essentially as part of a community—the sociologist as part of community of sociologists, and so forth—and sees this community, and not himself, as the ultimate arbiter of rationality and truth.
Just as the Christian supports his position by citing passages from the Bible, taking for granted that the Bible constitutes the primary source of undisputed truth, this sort of intellectual refers to “the literature” of his field to support his position, and takes for granted that we will accept this as a source of undisputed truth. If you ask him to provide not merely a reference to an article , but to actually recount the specific evidence that convinced him of his particular position, you will find that he very often cannot. The evidence that produced the conviction has faded from memory, and yet the conviction itself steadfastly remains.
One encounters this attitude even among the highly educated. There is a certain sort of intellectual who sees himself primarily and essentially as part of a community—the sociologist as part of community of sociologists, and so forth—and sees this community, and not himself, as the ultimate arbiter of rationality and truth.
Just as the Christian supports his position by citing passages from the Bible, taking for granted that the Bible constitutes the primary source of undisputed truth, this sort of intellectual refers to “the literature” of his field to support his position, and takes for granted that we will accept this as a source of undisputed truth. If you ask him to provide not merely a reference to an article , but to actually recount the specific evidence that convinced him of his particular position, you will find that he very often cannot. The evidence that produced the conviction has faded from memory, and yet the conviction itself steadfastly remains.
Culture requires leisure, but does it really require a "leisured class"?
Lukács cites the following passage from Nietzsche:
Nietzsche is certainly right that leisure is required to produce great art, philosophy, and other manifestations of civilization. In order for someone to produce great art he must to a large extent be at leisure to choose his subject matter, and he must not feel compelled to produce art that appeals to the masses. But whether this requires a distinct caste is open to question. Propitious conditions for culture can also occur if there are enough patrons of humanities to support culture, or if the state supports culture, or if there is enough of a paying audience with refined taste to support culture, or even if the artist needs to divert only a small fraction of his time into mundane works that “pay the bills” to support his more advanced art. Could it be that Nietzsche’s pessimistic views on this subject were conditioned by his own inability to obtain an adequate income from his writing?
A higher civilization can only come about when there are two distinct social castes: that of the working people and that of the leisured, those capable of true leisure; or, to put it more strongly, the caste of forced labor and the caste of free labor.Lukács assumes that Nietzsche had perpetuation of bourgeois imperialism as his final goal. In fact, it is an intermediate goal. The final goal is existence of a leisure class that is not subordinated to anyone, and can thus produce art and literature that expresses something individual rather than something devised merely to please others and earn a wage for it’s author.
Nietzsche, Works (Kroner, Leipzig), Volume II, p. 327
Nietzsche is certainly right that leisure is required to produce great art, philosophy, and other manifestations of civilization. In order for someone to produce great art he must to a large extent be at leisure to choose his subject matter, and he must not feel compelled to produce art that appeals to the masses. But whether this requires a distinct caste is open to question. Propitious conditions for culture can also occur if there are enough patrons of humanities to support culture, or if the state supports culture, or if there is enough of a paying audience with refined taste to support culture, or even if the artist needs to divert only a small fraction of his time into mundane works that “pay the bills” to support his more advanced art. Could it be that Nietzsche’s pessimistic views on this subject were conditioned by his own inability to obtain an adequate income from his writing?
The label "evil" shields us from a true encounter with art—and with ourselves
In order to shield ourselves from the true awfulness of horrific crimes, we distance ourselves from the perpetrators, putting them into a category separate and isolated from ourselves, the category of the “evil man.”
Great art resists this tendency, making it impossible for us to neatly categorize the perpetrator. We cannot help but sympathize with Roskolnikov in Crime and Punishment.
Contemplating horrific crimes without our protective distance forces us to imagine ourselves in the place of the criminal, and to imagine what we would think and feel in his position. What we feel is often a remorse so intense that it cannot possibly be explained by the conventional notion of morality, the notion of following rules. One just doesn’t feel this much remorse for breaking rules. Works like Crime and Punishment teach us that a rule-based morality can never be an inadequate description of the moral universe.
Great art resists this tendency, making it impossible for us to neatly categorize the perpetrator. We cannot help but sympathize with Roskolnikov in Crime and Punishment.
Contemplating horrific crimes without our protective distance forces us to imagine ourselves in the place of the criminal, and to imagine what we would think and feel in his position. What we feel is often a remorse so intense that it cannot possibly be explained by the conventional notion of morality, the notion of following rules. One just doesn’t feel this much remorse for breaking rules. Works like Crime and Punishment teach us that a rule-based morality can never be an inadequate description of the moral universe.
Writer Roommates
Jonathan called out to his roommate Edward, who was sitting in the kitchen, “Edward, could you get me a glass of water?” Edward came to him (sans aqua). “Perhaps," he said, "I should also put on some livery for you, sir?”
“When you're writing, I’ll put on livery for you too. Whoever has the creative fire burning in him is the aristocrat of the moment.”
“Yeah, right. I somehow find myself unable to imagine you waiting on me when I’m having a moment of inspiration.”
“I will, I promise.”
Edward went back to the kitchen to get Jonathan his water, fully intending to collect on the debt at least tenfold.
Jonathan has done something brilliant. In addition to getting Edward to wait on him, he has also given him a new reason to be creative. As it turns out, Jonathan will end up having to pick up Edward’s dry cleaning and groceries. But, oh, what we will not do for a friend whose work we believe in.
“When you're writing, I’ll put on livery for you too. Whoever has the creative fire burning in him is the aristocrat of the moment.”
“Yeah, right. I somehow find myself unable to imagine you waiting on me when I’m having a moment of inspiration.”
“I will, I promise.”
Edward went back to the kitchen to get Jonathan his water, fully intending to collect on the debt at least tenfold.
Jonathan has done something brilliant. In addition to getting Edward to wait on him, he has also given him a new reason to be creative. As it turns out, Jonathan will end up having to pick up Edward’s dry cleaning and groceries. But, oh, what we will not do for a friend whose work we believe in.
Material independence
The formula for material independence is:
r × C + I ≥ Ei.e., real interest rate times capital plus any income from activities which (in the absence of financial concerns) we would be doing anyway in pursuit of our own passions—this sum must be greater than or equal to expenses. The variables r C and I are largely not under our own control. We cannot decide how much capital we will inherit. We cannot decide whether the activity about which we are passionate will produce an income. (Although we can certainly deceive ourselves about where our passion lies.) The only variable that is partially under our control is our expenses. The path to independence is frugality.
Even when it is impossible to satisfy the inequality, we might still achieve a partial independence by pursuing some lucrative but undesirable activity for part of our lives. The danger here is that, in our scramble to make up the shortfall, we will soon come to forget where our true passion lies.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
The philosophy of television
Television commercials encourage us in the belief that all of our needs can be met by the passive and impersonal means of the marketplace. The television programming supported by these commercials encourages us in the belief that all of our intellectual needs can be met by adopting the passive role of a spectator.
Television presents a certain point of view on the care of the self, which can be specified approximately as follows: "All the activity of the self should be directed toward the marketplace. Creative activity should be directed toward creating marketable goods in order to acquire money. Recreational activity should be directed toward consuming marketable goods in order to spend this money."
What is absent in the television-inspired view of the world is a relationship of the individual to himself and others not mediated by pixels or dollars.
Let us now contrast the television worldview with the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius as a representative of the philosophical worldview.
The philosopher “looks to nothing else, not even for a moment, except to reason.” The television viewer flips the channels until he finds something entertaining.
The philosopher recognizes “how few the things are which if a man lays hold of, he is able to live a life which flows in quiet, and is like the existence of the gods.” The television viewer recognizes that a rich variety of things is required to be constantly entertained and distracted.
The philosopher knows that “those who do not observe the movements of their own minds must of necessity be unhappy.” The television viewer knows that the movements of celebrities are far more entertaining.
Television presents a certain point of view on the care of the self, which can be specified approximately as follows: "All the activity of the self should be directed toward the marketplace. Creative activity should be directed toward creating marketable goods in order to acquire money. Recreational activity should be directed toward consuming marketable goods in order to spend this money."
What is absent in the television-inspired view of the world is a relationship of the individual to himself and others not mediated by pixels or dollars.
Let us now contrast the television worldview with the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius as a representative of the philosophical worldview.
The philosopher “looks to nothing else, not even for a moment, except to reason.” The television viewer flips the channels until he finds something entertaining.
The philosopher recognizes “how few the things are which if a man lays hold of, he is able to live a life which flows in quiet, and is like the existence of the gods.” The television viewer recognizes that a rich variety of things is required to be constantly entertained and distracted.
The philosopher knows that “those who do not observe the movements of their own minds must of necessity be unhappy.” The television viewer knows that the movements of celebrities are far more entertaining.
Thursday, November 9, 2006
Should one respect the law?
The question "Should one respect the law?" resolves into four questions. Do laws deserve more respect than the legislators who devise them? Do legislators deserve more respect than the groups who elect them? Do groups deserve more respect than the individuals that compose them? And, finally, what sort of individual elects our legislators?
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
The culture of scientific beauty and technical elegance
Today's tendency toward specialization makes ever scarcer the person of both science and letters, the person who is initiated into the esoteric world of science, and yet has enough of a background in the humanities to place his pursuit in a wider historical, intellectual and aesthetic context. One of the reasons such persons are needed is to recognize and articulately describe the nobility and beauty of science.
Goethe says, in regard to mathematics, that the mathematician is excellent only insofar as he is sensitive to the beauty of mathematical truths. This applies just as well to any other science. If, in the future, we are to have scientists and engineers who are, by this standard, excellent, we will need at least some to be articulate and aesthetically educated enough to help their peers recognize the nobility and beauty of their pursuits, pursuits that are most often perceived as useful and lucrative, and yet morally and aesthetically indifferent.
In particular, as the governance of science and engineering is usurped more and more by commerce, which finds value, not in their elegance, but only in their tangible results, it becomes ever more important to articulate the non-commercial, non-utilitarian aspects of science and engineering. If we aspire to make the scientists and engineers in our society something more than wage laborers—to restore to these professions at least some of the reverent awe which was formerly their due—or, at least, to allow scientists and engineers some satisfaction from their work aside from wages—we must preserve what is perhaps the most neglected aspect of the heritage of science and technology, the culture of scientific beauty and technical elegance.
Goethe says, in regard to mathematics, that the mathematician is excellent only insofar as he is sensitive to the beauty of mathematical truths. This applies just as well to any other science. If, in the future, we are to have scientists and engineers who are, by this standard, excellent, we will need at least some to be articulate and aesthetically educated enough to help their peers recognize the nobility and beauty of their pursuits, pursuits that are most often perceived as useful and lucrative, and yet morally and aesthetically indifferent.
In particular, as the governance of science and engineering is usurped more and more by commerce, which finds value, not in their elegance, but only in their tangible results, it becomes ever more important to articulate the non-commercial, non-utilitarian aspects of science and engineering. If we aspire to make the scientists and engineers in our society something more than wage laborers—to restore to these professions at least some of the reverent awe which was formerly their due—or, at least, to allow scientists and engineers some satisfaction from their work aside from wages—we must preserve what is perhaps the most neglected aspect of the heritage of science and technology, the culture of scientific beauty and technical elegance.
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