I am posting more frequently over there now. Shocked? Well, I do draw the line at Twitter. My FB page is listed under 'Bill Vallicella.'
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Facebook
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Conscience, Brain, and Scientistic Pseudo-Understanding
Here at Maverick Philosopher: Strictly Philosophical
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Canada Up in Smoke
The benefits of marijuana legalization will surely outweigh the costs. Right?
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Saturday Night at the Oldies: Kerouac Goes Home in October
Jack Kerouac quit the mortal coil 49 years ago tomorrow, securing his release from the samsaric wheel of the quivering meat conception, and the granting of his wish:
The wheel of the quivering meat conception . . . . . . I wish I was free of that slaving meat wheel and safe in heaven dead. (Mexico City Blues, 1959, 211th Chorus).
The Last Interview, 12 October 1969. "I'm not a beatnik. I'm a Catholic." "I just sneak into church now, at dusk, at vespers. But yeah, as you get older you get more . . . genealogical."
As much of a screw-up and sinner as he was, as irresponsible, self-indulgent, and self-destructive, Kerouac was a deeply religious man. He went through a Buddhist phase, but at the end he came home to Catholicism.
"Everybody goes home in October." (On the Road, Part I, Ch. 14, Para 1) Here's the whole paragraph:
At dawn my bus was zooming across the Arizona desert — Indio, Blythe, Salome (where she danced); the great dry stretches leading to Mexican mountains in the south. Then we swung north to the Arizona mountains, Flagstaff, clifftowns. I had a book with me I stole from a Hollywood stall, "Le Grand Meaulnes" by Alain-Fournier, but I preferred reading the American landscape as we went along. Every bump, rise, and stretch in it mystified my longing. In inky night we crossed New Mexico; at gray dawn it was Dalhart, Texas; in the bleak Sunday afternoon we rode through one Oklahoma flat-town after another; at nightfall it was Kansas. The bus roared on. I was going home in October. Everybody goes home in October.
"Pretty girls make graves." (Dharma Bums)
Jack Kerouac, Desolation Angels (G. P. Putnam 1965), p. 48:
Outside it's October night in Manhattan and on the waterfront wholesale markets there are barrels with fires left burning in them by the longshoremen where I stop and warm my hands and take a nip two nips from the bottle and hear the bvoom of ships in the channel and I look up and there, the same stars as over Lowell, October, old melancholy October, tender and loving and sad, and it will all tie up eventually into a perfect posy of love I think and I shall present it to Tathagata, my Lord, to God, saying "Lord Thou didst exult — and praise be You for showing me how You did it — Lord now I'm ready for more — And this time I won't whine — This time I'll keep my mind clear on the fact that it is Thy Empty Forms."
. . . This world, the palpable thought of God . . . [ellipsis in original]
Alela Diane, We Are Nothing
Jack Kerouac, Tristessa (written 1955-56, first published in 1960), p. 59:
Since beginningless time and into the never-ending future, men have loved women without telling them, and the Lord has loved them without telling, and the void is not the void because there's nothing to be empty of.
Henry Mancini, Moon River. Video with shots of Rita Hayworth. YouTuber comment: indimenticabile Rita, stupenda Rita, vivi nei nostri ricordi, vivi nei nostri cuori. This was Jack Kerouac's favorite song. Ellis Amburn, Subterranean Kerouac (St. Martin's 1998), p. 324:
One night he [Kerouac, during a 1962 visit to Lowell, Mass.] left a bar called Chuck's with Huck Finneral, a reedy, behatted eccentric who carried a business card that read: "Professional killer . . . virgins fixed . . . orgies organized, dinosaurs neutered, contracts & leases broken." Huck's philosophy of life was: "Better a wise madness than a foolish sanity." They drove to a friend's house in Merrimack, New Hampshire, and on the way, Jack sang "Moon River," calling it his favorite song. Composed by Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer, "Moon River" was the theme song of the popular Audrey Hepburn movie Breakfast at Tiffany's. Sobbed by a harmonica, later swelling with strings and chorus, the plaintive tune's gentle but epic-like lyrics describe a dreamer and roamer not unlike Kerouac.
Indeed they do. A restless dreamer, a lonesome traveller, a dharma seeker, a desolation angel passing through this vale of mist, a drifter on the river of samsara hoping one day to cross to the Far Shore.
Jay Farrar and Ben Gibbard, California Zephyr
10,000 Maniacs, Hey Jack Kerouac
Tom Waits, Jack Kerouac on the Road!!
Aztec Two-Step, The Persecution and Restoration of Dean Moriarty
Some readings:
Jack Kerouac, Mexico City Blues, 228th Chorus
Jack Kerouac, Safe in Heaven, Dead. Good sound quality. "I wish I was free of that slaving meat wheel, safe in heaven, dead."
Jack Kerouac, Charlie Parker. "Charlie, Parker, lay the bane off me, and everybody."
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It’s About Time
Typepad has finally secured its hypertext transfer protocol. My URL now sports an 's': https. That's reassuring to me and to you, dear reader. Now they need to work on their on-board back-up utility to expedite the back up of huge blogs like mine.
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Credible Testimony
I just discovered an entry at James N. Anderson's weblog with which I agree entirely, not that I disagree with many of Professor Anderson's other posts. His Credible Testimony makes some of the same points that I made in Is She Believable? Interestingly the posts were uploaded on the same day, October 1st. I hadn't read his piece and there is no evidence he had read mine. In these trying times of deep disagreement we should take some pleasure from any agreement that comes our way.
Both posts are examples of how philosophers can help raise the level of public discourse.
But who reads us? And how many have the mental stamina to 'process' our distinctions?
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Burden of Proof, Appeal to Ignorance, Safety Considerations, and God
Here at Maverick Philosopher: Strictly Philosophical
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Is it politically sane to want both to crush and to tolerate opposing tribes?
George Packer in The New Yorker on tribalism:
I hear myself say this and think, A solid analysis. At the same time, I hear a Republican reply, Pure tribalism. You’re just proving your own point. I want part of my brain, even a small part, to be always attuned to the frequency of other tribes, ready to pose the essential questions: How would this sound coming from them? How do they see you? I try to keep two thoughts in my head at the same time: the other tribe needs to be crushed, and I have to talk and listen to them. The first thrives on rage, the second on tolerance. These are contradictory states of being, and extremely difficult to maintain in tension, but a sane politics requires both. The alternative isn’t victory but self-destruction. After all, we have to live together.
Surely the above is incoherent. I cannot both tolerate you and seek to crush you. Toleration does not imply approval, but it does imply a willingness to put up with you, your beliefs, your expressions of your beliefs, and at least some of the actions flowing from them. If I tolerate you, then I let you be, which is obviously incompatible with crushing you either physically or politically.
Packer tells us that a sane politics requires both rage and tolerance. On the contrary such a politics would be insane.
Packer tells us we have to live together. True. But he offers no proposal as to how to do so peacefully.
Secession is out of the question. If so, we are just going to have to battle it out in this age of post-consensus politics. It won't be pretty. Let's hope that political means suffice to beat back the Democrats. If we can beat some sense into them, then perhaps we can keep the Republic together.
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If God Cannot Cause Himself, How Can He Know Himself?
This from a reader:
If we say God cannot create himself since this implies a contradiction (God existing prior to himself to act on himself), how can we say God does anything with regard to himself?
For instance, we say God knows himself. But how is this possible, seeing as God would need to first exist, in order to know himself? Knowledge is a relation in the mind to what is outside it. If I "know" a thing, I have the thing, the thing that is not me, in my mind. But if there is only simply God, how does he "have" himself in his mind?
An interesting question worth thinking about.
I grant that God cannot create himself. For if he creates himself then he causes himself to exist, and nothing can cause itself to exist. For a thing cannot enter into a causal relation unless it exists. So if God causes himself to exist, then his existence is logically, if not temporally, prior to his existence. And that, we agree, is impossible.
The main point is that the existence of a thing cannot be logically prior to its existence. (And if it cannot be logically prior, then it cannot be temporally prior either.) But the existence of a knower not only can but must be logically prior to its self-knowledge. I cannot know myself unless I exist, but I can exist without knowing myself. In the finite case, then, it is clear that existence is logically prior to self-knowledge, and indeed other-knowledge as well.
Now God is omniscient and exists in all possible worlds. So there is no possible situation in which he does not know himself or fails to know everything there is to know about himself. If we think of God as omnitemporal as opposed to eternal, then at every moment he enjoys full self-knowledge. At every moment, his existence and self-knowledge are simultaneous. But this is not a problem since there is no problem with God's existence being logically prior to his self-knowledge even if the former is not temporally prior to the latter. We get the same result if God is eternal.
In sum, God's existence cannot be logically prior to God's existence as it would have to be if God creates himself. But God's existence can be logically prior to God's self-knowledge.
There is a second problem that the reader conflates with one I just discussed. If God alone exists, how can God know himself if "Knowledge is a relation in the mind to what is outside it"? This problem is solved by denying the assumption. Self-knowledge is NOT a relation to what is outside the mind. I feel good right now, and I know it. The object of my knowledge is an internal state. God's self-knowledge can be said to be analogous to finite self-knowledge.
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Word of the Day: ‘Ultracrepidarian’
Here:
adjective-
1.expressing opinions on matters outside the scope of one's knowledge or expertise."“Dad, how do we know the universe is expanding?” inquires your six-year-old. Try answering that without resorting to an ultracrepidarian trick here or there"
noun-
1.a person who expresses opinions on matters outside the scope of their knowledge or expertise."most patients are ultracrepidarians when it comes to medicine"
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Cactus Ed on Sweet Gone Jack
Here:
Some of Abbey's most entertaining letters involve skirmishes over literary reputation, one of his enduring obsessions. In a letter to the Nation, he contrasted Kurt Vonnegut's "concern for justice, love, honesty and hope" with "novels about the ethnic introspection project (Roth, Bellow)" and "the miseries of suburban hanky-panky (Updike, Cheever, Irving)."
He disparaged Jack Kerouac as "that creepy adolescent bisexual who dabbled in Orientalism and all the other fads of his time, wrote stacks of complacently self-indulgent, onanastic [sic] books and then drank himself to death while sitting on his mother's lap, down in Florida." He called Tom Wolfe a "faggoty fascist little fop" but later defended "Bonfire of the Vanities" as a "novel that reminds us, in the end, that defiance and resistance, manhood and honor, are still possible."
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Mary Midgley (1919 – 2018)
The Guardian reports,
Mary Midgley, who has died aged 99, was an important writer on ethics, the relations of humans and animals, our tendency to misconstrue science, and the role of myth and poetry.
The Telegraph obituary, behind a paywall, begins:
Mary Midgley, who has died aged 99, was one of Britain’s leading moral philosophers, though she was more effective in wielding philosophical objections to other people’s beliefs than promoting a coherent philosophical viewpoint of her own.
That's a bad sentence. Do you see why? Strike 'coherent' and it is just fine.
There are women in philosophy such as Midgley who are much better than many men. Why then female 'under-representation' in our discipline?
Here are excerpts from a longer piece which is sure to elicit the impotent rage of leftists:
Why are women 'under-represented' in philosophy? Because women as a group are not as good at it as men as a group, because women as a group are not as interested in it as men as a group, and because the feminine nature is conciliatory and averse to what they perceive as the aggressive, combative, and hostile aspects of philosophical dialectic. This is surely a large part, if not the whole, of the explanation, especially given the Affirmative Action advantage women have enjoyed over the past half a century.
The hostility often felt by women reflects something about the nature of philosophy, namely, that its very lifeblood is dialectic and argument. Argument can be conducted civilly, often is, and of course ought to be. But it still looks to the female nature as a sort of 'fighting,' a sublimated form of the physical combat that men are wont to engage in, even when dialectic at its best is no such thing. So there is something in the nature of philosophy and something about females that explains their 'under-representation.' Those are sneer quotes, by the way. Anyone with an ounce of philosophical intelligence can see that the word I am sneering at conflates the factual and the normative. Therefore it shouldn't be used without sneer quotes.
[. . .]
Anecdote. I once roomed with an analytic philosopher at a National Endowment for the Humanities Summer Institute. I recall a remark he made about philosophical discussion: "If you are not willing to become a bit of an asshole about it, you are not taking it seriously." The guy was obnoxious, but he was right. In a serious discussion, things can get a little tense. The feminine nature shies away from contention and dispute.
If you deny that, then you have no knowledge of human nature and no experience of life. Ever wonder why women are 'over-represented' among realtors? It is because they excel men when it comes to conciliation and mediation. I don't mean this as a snarky put-down of the distaff contingent. I mean it as praise. And if females do not take it as praise are they not assuming the superiority of male virtues?
It is a non sequitur to think that if the Xs are 'under-represented' among the Ys, then the Xs must have been the victims of some unjust discrimination. Men are 'under-represented' among massage therapists, but the explanation is obvious and harmless: men like to have their naked bodies rubbed by women in dark rooms, but women feel uncomfortable having their naked bodies rubbed by men in dark rooms. It is not as if there is some sort of sexism, 'institutional' or individual, that keeps men out of massage therapy.
Blacks are 'over-represented' in the NFL and the NBA. Is that because of some racism 'institutional' or individual, that keeps whitey out? Of course not. Blacks are better than whites at football and basketball. Jews are just terrible. Chess is their athletics. Jews dominate in the chess world. Is that because the goyim have been suppressed? Is a Jewish conspiracy at work?
Does my talk of blacks and Jews make me a racist and an anti-Semite ? To a liberal-left dumb-ass, yes. For they are incapable of distinguishing between a statement whose content is race and a racist statement.
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Saturday Night at the Oldies: Tom Merton, Baez, Dylan, and Ry Cooder
Thomas Merton, though 51 years old in 1966, was wide open to the '60s Zeitgeist – all of it. The Journals of Thomas Merton, Volume Six, p. 93, entry of 10 July 1966:
Borrowed a record player and played Joan Baez over again — and now really know "Silver Dagger" (before I had the melody confused with "East Virginia"). One record I like more and more is Bob Dylan's Highway 61 [Revisited].
On p. 324, Merton references Dylan's Ballad of a Thin Man.
In the same volume we find "A Midsummer Diary for M" and on p. 305:
All the love and death in me are at the moment wound up in Joan Baez's song, "Silver Dagger." I can't get it out of my head, day or night. I am obsessed with it. My whole being is saturated with it. The song is myself — and yourself for me, in a way.
Ry Cooder, He'll Have to Go. The old 1960 Jim Reeves country crossover hit.
Ry Cooder, Good Night Irene. Leadbelly. Eric Clapton's rendition at a 1982 English Christmas party.
Ry Cooder, Yellow Roses. The old Hank Snow tune.
Ry Cooder, Maria Elena. An old standard from circa 1932.
Ry Cooder, Paris, Texas. Excellent evocative video. Great YouTuber comment:
Man I have been gone way too long. I miss America, the open road, the wild west. I remember staying in hotels with just a dozen rooms or so, and only maybe four of them in operation. Twenty seven bucks and bed springs so squeaky we had to make love on the floor. Walking out to the pay phone, a billion stars in the sky, I need to try and find my way back again.
Lotte Lenya sings September song, very smokily: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdc4oBnu_fw&list=RDrdc4oBnu_fw&start_radio=1