I’m tempted to use that as a story title. Maybe someday. Meantime, here’s an image.
Truth and Power…and Other Stuff
On Dangerous Intersection, an article was posted recently about the problem of Power in relation to truth. I wrote a response and decided to post it here, as a short essay on the (occasionally etymological) problem of Truth.
When people start talking about what is true or not, they tend to use the word like a Swiss Army knife. It means what they want it to mean when they point at something. Truth is a slippery term and has many facets. Usually, in casual conversation, when people say something is true, they’re usually talking about something being factual. Truth and fact are conjoined in many, possibly most, instances, but are not the same things. The “truth” of a “fact” can often be a matter of interpretation, making conversation occasionally problematic. The problem is in the variability of the term “truth”—like many such words, we stretch it to include things which are related but not the same. There is Truth and then there is Fact. 2 + 2 = 4 is a fact. It may, if analyzed sufficiently, yield a fundamental “truth” about the universe, but in an of itself it is only a fact.
When someone comes along and insists, through power (an assertion of will), that 2 + 2 = 5, the “truth” being challenged is not in the addition but in the relation of the assertion to reality and the intent of the power in question. The arithmetic becomes irrelevant. Truth then is in the relationship being asserted and the response to it. The one doing the asserting and the one who must respond to the assertion.
Similarly, in examples of law, we get into difficulty in discussions over morality. Take for instance civil rights era court decisions, where there is a conflation of ethics and morality. They are connected, certainly, but they are not the same thing. Ethics deal with the proper channels of response within a stated system—in which case, Plessy vs Fergusson could be seen as ethical given the criteria upon which it was based. But not moral, given a larger criteria based on valuations of human worth. To establish that larger criterion, overturning one system in favor of another, would require a redefintion of “ethical” into “unethical”, changing the norm, for instance in Brown vs The Board of Education. The “truth” of either decision is a moving target, albeit one based on a priori concepts of human value as applied through ethical systems that adapt.
Bringing this into the realm of religion, it gets tricky. Because the concept “god” can be formulated according to personal criteria that have only desultory relations with what we might call Fact (for instance, “god” can be seen as purely a philosophical notion identifying certain characteristics of human response to the sublime as well as characterizations of personal assumptions about states of being which cannot be derived by deductive reasoning), to make the claim “there is no god” is functionally devoid of truth. The best you can say is “there is no god for me.” If I acknowledge, for example, that my “god” is purely a mental construct I carry around inside to allow me to function according to a set of precepts, your claim that there is no god is merely opinion, just as unverifiable or testable as my assertion that there is. The “truth” lies outside those opposing statements, which are really trying to establish fact in a realm of ideation. Conversely, to say “there is no god but god” can only ever be a personal statement of belief, unattached to any factual content. The truth is personal, disconnected from material fact.
(Agnostics and atheists get into a lather over the validating quality of religious documents, and contest the “facts” stated in the Bible and other tomes, claiming that because these facts do not conform to reality, it invalidates the assertion that there is a deity behind them. All it really does is take away the material foundation of religious claims—belief remains a personal choice. This is no mere equivocation. Finding Truth in this quandary is difficult at best and finding proper expression for deeply held beliefs or disbeliefs drives political discourse.)
Likewise, then, you get into the difficulty of determining moral behavior as opposed to the simply ethical based on these personal apprehensions.
Power introduces a third element that distorts all sides of the Truth/Fact, Moral/Ethical discourse by rendering all elements subject to arbitrary force. The force is a fact and may well establish an ethical ground, but it will always have a tenuous (at best) relationship to Truth and Morality.
Power should always be suspect and expressions of it always discounted in considerations of truth, even though expressions of power are difficult to ignore. For instance, the legal power of a religious state may well assert its right to put someone to death for a lapse in religious expression. This in no way establishes the truth of the verdict or the guilt of the victim in moral terms. This is no more than power asserting itself and demanding conformity. But the discourse becomes thoroughly distorted by the acknowledgment that certain expressions may not be uttered. While within the strict confines of the system in question, the death penalty may be construed as ethical, in a larger context (the innate value of individual thought and expression of conscience) it cannot be construed as moral, even though the state in question claims adherence to a moral dictum.
Teasing these elements apart is essential in deriving a sane methodology of community.
De Stael Conference
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This past weekend I attended an intensive three-day workshop on the apparently much debated, highly-regarded Germaine de Stael. I audited this because Stael (pronounced, according to these folks, Stahl) is going to be a central figure in my alternate history.
Well, not “going to be”, she is, but so far she’s been mostly in the background. In the second book, she will be onstage, although in slightly bizarre, nonhistorical form (this is SF after all), but in the third book she will be central—my protagonist will be in her entourage from 1797 until her death in 1817.
Germaine de Stael nee Necker was at one time one of the most popular and well known intellectuals in Europe. After the fall of Napoleon, the quip was made that “there are three powers in Europe now—Russia, England, and Madame de Stael.” When I began researching her, I had no idea. Never heard of her. I was told this weekend that in France, she is still widely regarded and talked about, but here in the U.S.A. I’d never heard of her until an odd paragraph in a Napoleonic biography—which did little to illuminate just how significant this woman was. (I’m particularly annoyed at the short shrift Simon Schama gave her in his otherwise marvelous history of the French Revolution, Citizens.) Well, this is the sort of thing that feminist writers are always complaining about, and rightly so. Napoleon’s ultimate fall can be directly laid at Germaine de Stael’s feet—she brokered the Grand Alliance that defeated him (the first time).
(She was instrumental in keeping the Republican spirit alive even in the face of Napoleon’s destruction of everything the Revolution had aimed at achieving—and largely missed, to be sure. She was a networker par excelence and a philosopher of the first water.)
In that she will be a major character in my trilogy, I wanted to know as much about her as I could find out, and through the machinations of internet serendipity I found a blog that led me to a woman who is a specialist on Stael and got me invited to attend this conference, which fortuitously was held at Washington University right here in my home town. It may be two years before the material I gathered will be required, but the conference—only the Second International one, the last held 11 years ago—was now, so I had to go.
Very worthwhile, extremely informative, I have a wealth of data to work on and several contacts who will gladly answer emails, etc etc, and maybe even one or two new friends. My head feels stuffed to bursting. My thanks to the co-organizers, Karyna Szmurlo from Clemson University in South Carolina and Tili Boon Cuillee here at Washington University.
I say all this up front because I want it clearly established that 80% of this conference was worth the money and the time and I am delighted that I went.
One problem. And this is an academic problem. It has always annoyed me in books, but this weekend I ran into it in lecture form and it just, well…
At least four of the presentations and virtually all the direct quotes in the course of two and a half days of lectures were done in French. Without translation. I was apparently the only person out of about 35 or so attendees that could not speak or read French. I did not make a fuss—what would be the point?—and I ended up blaming myself for never have acquired another language, especially when one lecture was conducted partly in Italian as well. I missed what were evidently excellent talks through being hopelessly monolingual.
But what really annoyed me was that in two or three of these instances, handouts were passed around containing the major quotes from the lecturers, and these were likewise all in French. No translations. I have the papers, I have at least three friends who can read them to me.
As to the rest, well, like I say, it was excellent and I have much to work with. So it’s a minor complaint, really. I sat there, expression neutral (I hope), feeling stupid, and said nothing, then or later.
This practice really annoys me in history texts. I wonder if it is done that way in other languages—say, for instance, a book published in Brazil and written in Portugeuse, but with direct quotes in another language without benefit of translation. I realize Americans are notoriously monolingual, but I doubt everyone everywhere with an interest in history is multilingual. Making that assumption is, forgive me, rude.
At the final banquet, we were treated to an address by another scholar who is working on a book about the French experience in North America, and he began the talk in French, and I thought “shit, not again…” But he switched to English after a few paragraphs and the rest of the speech was fine.
The thing that really bothered me about not understanding the French parts? I missed the jokes. Sitting there, listening to the musical meanderings of the presenters, all of a sudden the room would erupt in laughter. I didn’t get it. Obviously.
But. I think now I ought to go to work on the alternate history. I feel charged up now.
What was also nice was the reception by these folks of the idea behind my novel. You know, you’re never sure how that’s going to go over. But generally, there was sincere interest and a little excitement. Even the suggestion by one of the organizers that when I finished the project, perhaps I could come to a future conference and read from the novel. Well. Not too shabby.
I am thoroughly mentally exhausted, though. I am not a formal scholar and “keeping up” can be something of an effort—a lot of assumptions get made and acted upon in such a narrowly-self-defined group. But I managed to “decode” enough that I kept up and even, finally, contributed a modest remark or two. All in all, really great stuff.
Queen of Her Domain
We put up this platform in the backyard for Coffey to use, and use it she does. She supervises the yard work, lounges regally at times and surveys her kingdom. Or is that queendom? Anyway, I thought I’d post this.
Neuronapathy
Once upon a time…
I had pretensions long ago to be an Artist. I still dabble. I stumbled over a sketchbook the other day. These are some of my abstracts. Click on the thumbnails for a larger view.
Neuronapathy, Winners, and Tongue of Empire.
Atheists Are (Perhaps) Us…Or Not
There was a time in this country that an open admission of atheism could get a person severely hurt in any given community. Ostracism, mainly, which over time can be very damaging. But like so many other “out of the mainstream” life choices, this too is no longer the case.
According to this article in the New York Times, “No Religion” has more than doubled on surveys in the past ten to twenty years. Now, that does not mean all these folks are atheists or agnostics. It means, quite specifically, that they align themselves with no organized religion.
Some folks might wonder at the difference. What is having faith if not in the context of a religious umbrella?
When I was fifteen I left the church. I’d been educated in a Lutheran school and received a healthy indocrintation in that faith. After entering public high school, I found myself growing less and less involved or interested. There was in this no profound personal insight or revelation. It was adolescent laziness. I’d never been a consistent Sunday church-goer, and although there had been a year or two when I actually practiced Testifying, born out of a powerful belief in Christianity, other factors managed to draw my interest away.
I stopped attending church at all. I didn’t give it a lot of thought—some, but not a lot—until some visiting teachers showed up at my door from my church. They were nice, they were concerned. I’d been receiving the newsletter and so forth. They wanted to know where I’d been. I handed them some sophistry about finding another path. At that point, I still believed in god and accepted Jesus and all that. And in truth I had begun to suspect that the whole church thing had some serious problems. But basically, I just didn’t want to be bothered, and all my new friends came from other backgrounds and didn’t go to that church. I hadn’t especially liked the whole school experience there (having been bullied, mostly, till almost 8th grade) and didn’t have much motivation on that score to go back and make nice with people who had basically treated me like shit.
They accepted my explanation and went away. A few months later I received a letter from the P.T.L. and church board telling me my soul was in jeopardy if I didn’t return to the fold. It took two pages, but the bottom line was I needed to get my butt back to church and beg forgiveness (and pay my dues) or I’d end up in hell.
I was furious. My father read the letter, laughed, and pronounced that they were obviously hard up for money, and suggested I ignore it.
I did for another nine months. Then I got another such letter. Shorter, more to point, and the financial aspect was sharper. This time I didn’t ignore it. I went to the next open P.T.L. meeting there and when they asked for questions from the floor I stood up, read the letter, and then told them that this amounted to harrassment. I didn’t care if they needed money, this was a threat and if I heard from them again, especially this way, they would hear from my lawyer.
I never heard from them again.
My anger did not subside. It drove me into a frenzy of religious questioning. Over the next two years I visited dozens of churches and more than a few off-the-wall sects (even the Church of Scientology), looking for…something.
I found bits of it here and there. Being a rather idealistic youth, having not found a satisfying answer in any of them, I opted to have faith my own way and to hell with all of them. I was done with Organized Religion.
And that’s how I felt about it for a long time—that it wasn’t god I didn’t believe in, but the church. The more I studied the more I came to see how the church had become an institution that looked out for its own interests and my personal moral salvation was but a product sold to make sure the slate roofs didn’t leak and the clergy could dress well. It wasn’t until I almost married a Catholic and went through some of the courses offered that I came to my final revelation that it was all just an extra-governmental method of social organization and control and had no real connection to anything holy.
Whatever that might be.
For several years I was militantly anti-religion. I’ve mellowed. All that I felt then about the church I do still feel, but not to the exclusion of much else. I no longer view “church” as evil or even remotely culpable in social ills. I’ve come to feel that many individual parishes and congregations have staid the tide of harm that sweeps over communities periodically and that without them communities would suffer more because frankly there isn’t anything else that does what a church does. I believe that if all churches vanished tomorrow, by the end of the year there would be new ones, because people seem to need them. They might not be called churches, but, like the organization in the Times piece, would serve all the social functions of one.
I also feel that belief in god is not something that will ever go away. There is a connection people need to feel to things larger than themselves and for many the amorphous thing they call god is it. I dropped that notion when I realized that I felt exactly—exactly—the same feelings I’d felt toward god when in the grip of great music or in the presence of great art. It is, in any of its manifestations, a human thing that takes us out of ourselves and shows us what the universe can mean, and there are many ways to tap into that. There was a time when for the vast majority of people the Church was the only place to go to find that. Seriously. In one place, people could stand in the presence of grandeur that took them out of themselves and connected them to a larger realm, through the architecture, the music…and the stories.
We live in a time when all those things can be experienced by many more people than ever before and in contexts shorn of the rather monopolistic trappings of religion. Perhaps people do not consciously make that connection, but I think more and more people find that they are, for lack of a better term, spiritually fulfilled in the course of living a full life than was ever possible before.
So I am careful about associating labels that may not be exactly correct to this growing phenomenon of people rejecting churches. They are not all atheists. Many may not be agnostics. But all of them have discovered that the thing they sought in religion can be found without it.
The best thing about this is that for all these people there is no one who can write them a threatening letter about hellfire and make them dance to a tune they no longer find danceable.
I Do Not Look Like This Anymore
I’m a bit vain, I admit it. I like looking…well, it’s hard to pin down. I have never considered myself “good looking” by any popular standards. I have my own and I have frankly never lived up to them quite. But I have a care for my appearance, which drives me to the gym and to trim my beard and to dress well when I can.
It’s a struggle against entropy. It won’t destroy me to lose it, but to do my best without killing myself is important. I’m not vain enough to do liposuction. If my hair falls out, I’ll shave my head rather than wear a “laurel wreath.” Mainly, I try to keep the muscle-to-fat ratio at an acceptable level, make sure my teeth are clean, and watch my posture. Let the rest go where it may.
I had this photograph done back in the mid-90s, when I thought I was on my way to being some kind of Big Time Writer. I’ve used it a few times. It is now quite dated. The beard, for instance, is now almost all white.
I can still get into the mesh shirt though…
To Explore Strange New Worlds….
The number of stars discovered having planets in orbit has grown over the years since we figured out how to find them. Mostly, though, the planets in question have been big Super Jovians, basically failed stars that, had they been a bit more massive, probably would have ignited and turn their primary into a binary or even trinary star system. Smaller planets— say, like Earth or Mars—are by definition harder to find.
But find one we have. Check this piece at Panda’s Thumb.
The possibilities inch toward probabilities that there is life—rich life, complex life—elsewhere, not just here. This is a really cool time to be a science fiction fan.
Or maybe not. Once the fantasy becomes fact, will it have the same kick? It’s a question prompted on a much smaller scale by SF stories that have dated badly. Technology or even basic science has passed them by and rendered them incorrect, obsolete in their premises. I’ve seen it suggested that such stories be treated as alternate history, which is a good way around some of the pitfalls. A lot of Arthur C. Clarke falls into this category. Most of the apocalytpic tales that had us living in ruins before the 21st Century. Putting a date on the events in a story can have a detrimental effect in terms of its viability in the future.
This doesn’t bother some people. I have a hard time with it and I admit it’s a personal thing with me. When I read a novel that was published in the 50s or 60s about events in the 90s and those events are, necessarily, wrong, my suspension of disbelief goes out the window. But mainly if the events of the story are sufficiently large scale—like the Soviet Union winning the Cold War or the advent of a nuclear holocaust or a moonbase or major shifts in geopolitics. If the story is personal and doesn’t require that kind of overall rearranging of the landscape, it works just fine. But then, is it science fiction?
Alternate history really would be a good way to view a lot of old SF. The exploration of strange new worlds we never found…
In the meantime, we have some real ones that have been found. How cool is that?
Compass Reach
On Knocking ‘Em Dead
By now I think everyone on the blogosphere has heard the story of Susan Boyle.  It is an amazing moment and I hope she goes on to do more, because this woman has the fire and the talent.
You can tell, when you watch the video, that everyone in the audience and the judges thought this was a joke. Here’s this dowdy, middle-aged woman with no looks and from a small town and with no creds who claims to want to be great and is going to sing a sentimental song from a musical and, well, shame on them and shame on us, she looked like she was going to croak like a frog. So many people of like appearance do. They step up on stage at the karaoke lounge and bellow or whine and it’s terrible and embarrassing and one hopes everyone was drunk enough not to care, but expectations get set.
To be clear, people who look like that ought to have this kind of talent sound like frogs, too, but somehow we don’t characterize them that way. We keep expecting beautiful people to be beautiful in everything, or at least to have the good taste to not try what they can’t do.
One of the judges said that Susan’s performance was a wake-up call. Indeed.
I can’t sing. I know this. Even though, on occasion, with the right amount of brandy in my belly, I’ve been known to surprise a roomful of people, this is not a talent I have in any reliable measure. And when I get nervous, it gets worse.
But I can play piano and guitar and from time to time I’ve actually pulled off a minor coup in public performance. The hindrance is always the nerves combined with my expectations. I want to be great.
And I know I’m not.
I’m okay with that, though. As much as I love music, it is not my first love, and playing okay is, well, okay with me.
But it’s the guts to actually overcome self-consciousness enough to do what you know you can. Susan Boyle has that. I have no doubt there are many people who go onto those kinds of shows who really do have talent and blow it because, standing there in front of that audience and those judges, the little troll in the back of their brain tells them they can’t. It is as much a talent and an ability to ignore that little shit as it is to then perform. To some extent you have not care.
But how do you do that when really you care so much it’s painful?
The only way to shut that troll up is to do this kind of thing at least once. And then again. And again. And so on.
There was a girl in my grade school, a couple years behind me, who was the epitome of wall flower. She could never manage to keep her hair combed right, her clothes never fit the way they should, and she muttered in class. I found out later that she got straight A’s all through school, but she as unremarkable as they come.
Because I was bullied through most of grade school, I made a deal with the teacher one year to be allowed to come in and play piano during recess. I did this for a few months until I got in trouble for playing Never On Sunday (it was a parochial school). A few others would come in, mostly girls, and listen. I was not a great player by any stretch of the imagination then, but I was 12 and I could play I wasn’t playing hymns, so it was special.
This girl came in a few times and once she asked if she could try. There were giggles, but I slid aside and she sat down.
She was 10 and proceeded to play Claire de Lune almost note perfect. I recognized it because we had a lot of classical records at home, but the others didn’t. Still, for about three minutes, it was mesmerizing. Small hands, they nevertheless flew over the keys during the latter sections of the piece.
When she finished, I said “That was terrific! What else can you play?” Whereupon she turned a brilliant red and ran from the classroom. I never heard her play again.
Now I hadn’t thought of her till I saw Susan Boyle.
Never underestimate the power of human potential. People will surprise you every time. If they get a chance. If they get a shot at living a dream.
And we should never, ever laugh at someone’s dream.