Misrepresentation, but without taxation

I've seen an odd thing several times recently: people asserting or assuming that socialists want to give unlimited power to the state. (I can come back and find links if anyone cares about the particulars.) That's just a non-sequitur: as a quick perusal of Wikipedia will show (and I will not provide a link), it has nothing to do with the power of the state, only with the relative distribution of wealth and power relations.

(I've railed against Wikipedia in the past, and don't need to include another rant here; however, there are much better sources available, if you care to pursue the topic. I've read Ayn Rand, why don't you go read some

Fredric Jameson?)

It seems that often, when conservatives accuse liberals of wanting something or other, they reveal their own unconscious desires - their shadow, in Jungian terms. (It's become a cliche that guys who spend too much time complaining about/worrying about homosexuals are likely to be gay themselves; mutatis mutandis, concerns about, say, President Obama rounding people up in camps is a projection of people's unconscious desire to round people up.)

In any case, I am not particularly interested in giving omnipotent power to the state (not that I could of course, but I've seen it phrased that way), or signing away my rights in favor of cheap cars and gruel. And I don't even deny that people who work hard, or who are innovative, or perform some vital service, should be rewarded for that; the question is, how much more? Should house painters be eligible for food stamps while investment bankers commute from the Hamptons in helicopters? (That of course doesn't address the question of whether investment bankers produce anything of worth, and it's arguable that they don't.)

The middle is being hollowed out, and I think that's the source of much of the paranoia and extremism that's poking through, e.g. as the Tea Party; but I continue to be shocked at how poor the response is in meeting the actual problems.
There is of course an argument for supporting this: make things worse, make them so bad that the people will finally rise up! I'm not that kind of socialist, though.

Just Cartoons today

I have been, and will continue to be, busy; but I still have some unposted cartoons, even if I'm not drawing many new ones these days.

Squares!

These are preliminary sketches that I've been working on.
There are a number of things on my mind - frustration with students in particular - but I'll save those for another time.

So that explains it…

I just read an article which, taken together with a couple other recent articles, helps me understand what I’ve been seeing in students lately.

The most recent story indicates that New York students are not meeting standards for college preparedness: “just 5 percent in Rochester” meet these standards, to take a non-random example. I look at my students (two different schools, neither of which I need to name here), and say to myself, yes. Most of my students don’t come from Rochester, and of course I have good students in all of my classes. But there does seem to be a lack of preparation for college: do they know what they’re getting into?

The next story is something I read a few weeks back, but was on NPR this morning, regarding student performance. There are two factors here. The first is that teachers seem to be demanding less of their students; this makes sense, given that student evaluation is largely correlated with perceived grade, and there is a large segment of the population (such as myself) who more or less depend on those numbers for continued employment (I’ve never been explicitly turned down for a job based on them, but I worry about it). I suspect the second factor is correlated to the first, because students will complain regardless of what you ask: the second factor being that studying is down by half from a couple of decades ago. (That means the average amount my students are studying really is less than what I was doing at their age: I’m not just being cranky, I have statistics.) And another “correlation-does-not-imply-causation-but…” piece: they aren’t learning as much. Is this because they’re not being challenged, or because they’re not studying, or both? And they’re not measuring general knowledge: they’re looking at critical thinking skills (you know, the reason you not only don’t listen to Glenn Beck, but don’t understand why anyone does). Although a friend of a friend chided me a few months back for lacking “critical thinking” with regard to certain economic policies, this is one of the main things I teach, regardless of the course title. I don’t care if you know what Empiricism is, but I don’t want you to get your information about it from Swami Krishnananda, or a website built by high school students over a decade ago. Which is to say, be able to find out who is putting out the information, then evaluate whether it’s reliable or not. You know, critical thinking. It's a good thing.

What do we have so far? Students are unprepared for college, studying fewer hours and learning less. Where could we possibly go from here? The Chronicle of Higher Education, of course. Students today “give themselves high marks for ambition,” higher than in the past, but also – and they do say these things are linked – report record low emotional health. Well, duh. Perhaps it's the cognitive dissonance catching up, compounded by the realization that they don't really know what to do about it. (That's my job of course, but a surprising number of the students don't seem to recognize it.)

Now you have a snapshot of my classes: they are ambitious, they want to achieve. But they enter college unprepared to actually do the work, don’t do the relatively short reading assignments that I give them, and then are anxious and depressed.

And yet, somehow I still enjoy teaching.

Math and Fairness (and cartoons)

Imagine if you will, Plato after the execution of Socrates. Rather than accosting people in the marketplace, he and his students gathered in a local park, named after a hero, Academus. This is where we get the term "academic" - and the origins of secondary education as we know it. This is the background I want you to have in mind.


Colleges charge tuition; some more than others. Tuition is usually charged with at least some reference to the classes a student takes; thus a part-time student would pay by the credit-hour, and the full-time student pays a certain amount in order to take a full load of classes, whatever that may be for the institution. Tuition - the money paid - covers a whole lot more than the classes, of course: the buildings, the heat and electricity, maintenance and the people to do the maintenance, including janitors and grounds keepers; the administration and the administrative support, which includes the admissions office, the registrar, the bursar, and student services; of course the library and the books and staff; and other things a college student might enjoy, including athletics and those facilities - which were an integral part of the Academy - and probably more things I haven't thought of yet.
Tuition pays for all of these things; but if we think of there being a tuition for each class - as the part-time student pays - then we see that these costs are distributed among all the classes: for instance, every class in the philosophy department has a certain amount of tuition revenue associated with it, and one might reasonably assume that the support staff and office supplies comes straight out of that part of the budget (I don't really care if this isn't how things are actually divided up: they might be, but I'm speaking conceptually here). And all of the Liberal Arts classes can be understood as paying for that college's staff. And all the courses offered pay into the common features, such as athletics and the library. These are shared resources, thus the money generated from every class contributes.

Of course there's another wrinkle, which is that few students (or their parents) write a check for the full amount. Most have loans, many have some sort of scholarships and grants. So, the figures are squishy: I know that. I haven't seen the actual figures, and in some respect they don't really matter. The point here is, for every class, you could take the tuition associated with the enrollment and come up with a figure of what that particular class generates. If tuition for the semester is $10,000, and a full load is 4 classes, then each student is paying roughly $2,500 per class. (If you're wondering, I was inspired to do the math by this cartoon.) I think this is a legitimate way of looking at costs, because if the student wasn't taking any courses, then she or he would not be a student: there's no particular reason for that person to be on campus.

To explicitly connect Plato's Academy, the purpose of college is the instruction and learning that goes on; you don't need the admissions office or the library, or the copy machines and overhead projectors. You just need a quiet place to discuss issues, and someone who knows what they're talking about. I'm not suggesting that we get rid of all the non-teaching elements, but I do think it's useful to focus in on the instruction, because if you take away the instructor, nothing else makes any sense. So: what percentage of the revenue generated by each class ought to go to the instructor? This is not a rhetorical question.

What Would Nietzsche Do?

I haven't drawn anything new recently except this series, which I used as part of a class discussion. As usual, the cartoons are unrelated to the text which follows. An explanatory note: I don't have any of the usual notations about the particular passages, or hyperlinks which (sometimes) explain the references, because it was written to be read aloud rather than as a blog post. (Okay, one link - yes, I have this t-shirt)



In 1897, a Congregationalist minister living in Topeka, Kansas, published the novel, In His Steps; Charles Sheldon’s book continues to reverberate in our culture with the question it posed: “What would Jesus do?” While initially seen as a radical, and possibly dangerous, book, it’s been assimilated into the mainstream as a reinforcement of bourgeois ideals. It’s difficult to imagine it as dangerous today.

In contrast, posing the question, “What would Nietzsche do?” seems like a joke. Or a challenge to the blandness that now surrounds “WWJD,” and maybe a mocking the commoditization of that phrase in bracelets and other tchotkes. Or, if you’re somewhat familiar with the self-proclaimed Anti-Christ, asking, What Would Nietzsche Do might actually seem dangerous: after all, he writes about the blond beast, about master morality – and was the inspiration for the murders Leopold and Loeb (although not, as many think, Hitler).

But why would I want to know what either one of them might do if they were in my shoes? Unlike Jesus, I cannot turn water into wine or make the blind to see- although I often do answer straightforward questions with opaque little stories. The comparison between Jesus and Nietzsche on this count is unfair: Jesus asked people to follow him – to take up his yoke - while Nietzsche explicitly rejects the idea of any followers. “You want to multiply yourself… you want disciples? Look for zeroes!” So the question, “What Would Nietzsche Do?”, if taken literally, misses the point of his teachings.

But setting that aside for a moment, taking the question literally: what would Nietzsche do? It depends. During the late morning hours of spring, he liked to sit on the Piazza San Marco in Venice. During the summer he liked to take walks around Swiss lakes. He played the piano, composed a bit, read voraciously, wrote prolifically, and had a fantastically awkward love-life. So, why would we want to do what Nietzsche would do? We are unique individuals in our own interests.

I still think it’s a good question, though, if taken more broadly. In his book, Twilight of the Idols, Nietzsche writes of a popular diet at the time, how he tried to follow the diet and how it nearly killed him. Nietzsche is very particular in the telling, though, that the problem wasn’t so much in the diet itself, as it was in the mismatch between his requirements and the prescriptions of this diet: the person who came up with it had found something that worked for him, and shared. What Nietzsche challenges is the very premise, that someone could come up with a way of eating, or a mode of life, that works for everyone. His ironic punctuation to the story is, crede experto, believe one who has tried – even though the story itself suggests we shouldn’t simply take Nietzsche’s word for it.

He doesn’t want followers: his watchword is, “become who you are!” The notion of finding one’s own requirements in life is as old as philosophy itself, even older: an inscription at Delphi read, “Know Thyself.” As with many things, more easily said than done. In another text, Nietzsche talks about this imperative, Know Thyself, and refers to that which is unteachable in us as the “signposts to the problem we are,” our spiritual fate. He is acutely aware of the dangers inherent in self-discovery, and describes it as a pursuit fit only for the strong. Here we see Nietzsche as a seducer, a flatterer who recognizes that most of his readers will automatically think of themselves as strong, or at least strong enough, certainly a person capable of risking such dangers.

Of course, one might think “becoming who you are” is inevitable, and thus requiring no particular effort, not dangerous at all – yet, too many people try to be things they are not, choose inappropriate roles models, fail to recognize their own spiritual fate.

This makes Nietzsche sound like an individualist in the bad sense, the way Ayn Rand is an individualist, caring only for one’s self-development, finding your own path while planting your boot firmly in the face of others who impede you, or have the impertinence to ask for assistance. That’s not true of Nietzsche, though: who I am has been shaped by my environment, my family, my teachers, my friends, even casual acquaintances – and not just the people. Everything, Nietzsche recognizes, is interconnected, bound up with everything else. There are no pieces of our past that we could change and still remain the same, whether the seeming accidents and coincidences, or the missteps and mistakes we have made – all are integral to who we are right now. He writes, “bad or good weather, the loss of a friend, a sickness, slander, the absence of a letter, the spraining of an ankle, a glance into a shop, a counter-argument, the opening of a book, a dream, fraud” - changing any part would result in a different you, and a different world. He asks: “are not all things firmly knotted together in such a way that this moment draws after it all things to come?” We are profoundly interconnected.

Elsewhere he declares, “there is nothing outside the whole!” No place to step back and evaluate, nothing exempt from cause and effect, no way to avoid ourselves. And yet, we drag our feet, we resist the parts of ourselves that we do not like, we want to go back and change our past as if that would somehow help. This is what Nietzsche is thinking about as he asks us to know ourselves, to become who we are. It’s a daunting proposition, inviting despair: in a very real sense there is nothing, after all, to be done. So, What Would Nietzsche Do?

In The Gay Science he writes, “For the New Year: Today everyone allows himself to express his dearest wish and thoughts: so I, too, want to say what I wish from myself today, and what thought first crossed my heart: what thought shall be the reason, warrant, and sweetness of the rest of my life! I want to learn, more and more, how to see what is necessary in things as what is beautiful in them – thus will I be one of those who makes things beautiful. Amor fati: let that be my love from now on! I do not want to wage war against ugliness, I do not want to accuse, I do not even want to accuse the accusers: let looking away be my only negation. And all in all and on the whole: some day I want only to be a Yes-sayer!”

Amor fati: love of fate. Not mere acceptance, certainly not dreary resignation, “Not just to tolerate necessity, still less to conceal it… but to love it.” - embracing the past that constitutes oneself and those parts of oneself that are unteachable. But do not be mistaken about what the unteachable means here; he emphatically rejects giving free reign to one’s desires and prejudices, he does not mean toleration of one’s own bad habits and shortcomings.

What Would Nietzsche have us do? “Become who you are!” John Lennon sang, “there’s no where that you can be that wasn’t where you’re meant to be: it’s easy.” I think Nietzsche would reply that it’s simple, but it’s not easy. In fact, it’s hard work. But it’s the only work that’s truly worth doing: we must recognizing the paradox that this is something that we all must do, and do as part of an interconnected whole, and yet we each must do this individually. What Would Nietzsche have us Do? Become who you are, find your place in the cosmos, affirm the past, but resolutely go forward.

Not for Children

Every once in a while I get an idea for a children's book - simple, allegorical story with lots of illustrations. (I have only completed one so far, but I have at least two more sitting at the back of my head for that mythical period "when I have time"). The problem with these, in general, is that they're not really for kids at all; they're fairly adult, not in the sense that American culture often thinks - having graphic violence and/or sexual innuendo - but actual adult themes.*

So, my latest book idea is called "The Selfish Ant."

[Some back-story here: I'm concurrently reading A.S. Byatt's Angels & Insects (thanks, Mom!) and GWF Hegel's Philosophy of Right (for reasons that I'll probably talk about in another post) when I'm not grading essays. Byatt is relevant because there is an extended discussion of ants and their social order, along with "evolution v intelligent design," as part of the narrative; Hegel is relevant because he starts with the assumption that we are essentially social creatures with socially mediated wants and desires - rather than little autonomous creatures with natural wants and desires. This is not - despite the ant analogy - the same as mindless collectivism: it's merely acknowledging that whatever we do as individuals is shaped by the social environment in which we were raised and continue to operate.]

In my story, there's a little ant who doesn't think she is sufficiently appreciated, and despite the fact that she is virtually identical with all of her sisters, thinks of herself as smarter, harder working and all-around just-plain special in all sorts of ways. She comes to believe that the colony couldn't function without her, and eventually "goes Galt." She leaves the colony and doesn't quite realize she can't really function by herself until she starves to death. (I'm undecided at this point if the remaining ants should carry her corpse back to the colony in order to chop her up and feed her to to the larvae or not.) Note here that if the Queen did this, the colony really would collapse ala Ayn Rand; but the Queen not only truly is special, she's also a hereditary monarch - born to her position, rather than achieving it through a combination of genius and hard work. I think a series of pen-and-ink illustrations would be sufficient, but I don't know if there's a market for it beyond a couple friends (which probably excludes both the anarchists and the libertarians).

Speaking of libertarians, a while back I promised a rant: this post may have to suffice.

Oh, and merry Christmas!

*One of my favorite Calvin and Hobbes cartoons plays with this: "what's an adult movie?" "You know, going to work, paying taxes, that sort of thing." One of the many reasons I like Calvin and Hobbes so much.

To be a philosopher

I've been thinking about Brad DeLong's recent use of Nietzsche to characterize the resistance of some to various economic measures that have a demonstratively positive impact on the economy as a whole (not just the individuals who are the recipients). Some of the pieces work nicely, and others - notably the resistence on tax hikes - do not; I'm still working out how all these things fit together. Along with this, I'm working on a sermon for the UUCR on Nietzsche; I suspect they'd be just as happy, if not happier, if I hadn't gone to seminary. Regardless, in thinking about these things, and trying to anticipate various criticisms, it occurred to me that many people don't understand what I mean when I say that I'm a philosopher. That is particularly true for the people with whom I have had most of my arguments lately. Therefore, it seems useful to state that clearly, even if few people read this, and the people who do read this aren't the people with whom I have been arguing.

When most people think of philosophy, they tend to confuse it with psychology; insofar as they correctly apprehend the subject matter, they seem to think of it as concerning "big questions" and rather fuzzy answers. If they've had a philosophy class, they might even remember what seems to be a pointless philosophical conundrum (or two). But thinking as a philosopher doesn't involve content as much as method. I'm currently reading an introductory text in philosophy which starts with Aristotle's definition of logic as a science - a normative science - and a liberal art (in a similar way that, e.g., arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, music, grammar and rhetoric are all liberal arts). But I suspect that it won't do to say that I think "logically" even if I can give a very precise definition of that; most people think of themselves as logical (even if I can poke holes in their arguments). So let me tell a story.

When I was an undergraduate, long long ago, I believed various things about the way the world is. This included belief in a material body and a distinct mental self; and the idea that the mental self (I think I would have avoided using the word "soul" even then, but perhaps not) was itself divided into three distinct parts, ala Freud (or, although I wouldn't have identified it like this at the time, Plato). Further, I thought it was unproblematic that we have freedom of will, in the sense that our mental self make decisions and causes the material body to do various things; we are "free" if (this is the way various philosophers phrase it) "in exactly the same circumstances, I could have done otherwise" (for the trivial, such as having oatmeal for breakfast rather than eggs, or for the more serious, such as deciding to go to University of Portland rather than Duke as an undergraduate). In the course of taking various classes in philosophy (and psychology, since they're not completely unrelated), I tried to articulate these positions; finding my own arguments lacking, I tried to find others who had previously defended these positions. What I found surprised me: no one had offered particularly good arguments for either dualism (having two distinct components of the self, physical and mental) or for freedom of will. Even the clumsy arguments for determinism, such as John Hosper's Freudian determinism, were laid out with more rigor than any of the arguments defending the so-called common sense view that we have "free will." And here's the punch line: I changed my mind on these topics.

Etymologically, the philosopher is the "lover of, or pursuer of, the truth," rather than someone who has the truth. I am not dogmatically attached to any of my positions, although, for the things I care about, I am increasingly skeptical that anyone has an argument that would convince me that I am mistaken. My skepticism grows when I ask someone with more knowledge of a particular topic to explain why I might be mistaken, and either I get a condescending "explanation" which ignores my concerns, or I am flatly dismissed. My skepticism also grows when I try to point out how reality seems to match the predictions I have been reading (in a rather Popperian way, whatever reservations you may have about Karl Popper), and again my concerns are dismissed (or deleted). For me, to be a philosopher is to follow the arguments where they lead; if you don't like my conclusions, you're welcome to point out the flaws in my arguments and pose counter argument. If you take me seriously, I will take you seriously; however, taking you seriously includes pointing out flaws in your arguments as well. That includes both structural flaws (since logic is the domain of philosophers) and empirical problems. Pushing back is a sign of respect; dismissing is not.

All of this is to say, I will probably come back to Brad DeLong at some point and talk about his use of Nietzsche in diagnosing the current situation (recognizing that if I wait too long, it will no longer be the current situation).

(I may also post a draft of the sermon in the next couple days.)

UPDATE: I've just had another exchange with one of the people I was thinking about when I wrote this. I posted a link to a blog post about economics, and I got a straw person argument as a comment. I try to be kinder to my friends who aren't academics, but there's just a certain rigor I try to bring to everything I write, and I expect the same from people who would like to join the conversation. The funny thing about this is, the comment was in regard to a portion of the blog post which was poorly thought-out and certainly deserving of criticism; it was also not the main point. There were good arguments to be marshaled; it's not my blog post, fire away! Even if it was one of my arguments, go ahead and fire away - philosophy as a discipline is about building good arguments and finding the flaws in arguments, other people's or your own. If there's a problem, I want to know - can it be addressed, how might I go back and change it, what other factors ought I include? Or was it just poorly thought through? Do I need to scrap it entirely? I'm happy to scrap bad ideas, and I'm happy to let good ideas go through a refining process.

But don't just fling shit at me, and then sulk when I point out, "hey, that's shit!"

Oh oh oh, it's magic...

One of the things that I've been thinking about on and off for the past few years is the boundaries that might be set for the Religious Society of Friends. I could say a lot more about that - the history and theological trends that led Hicksite Friends to be fairly wide open - but even I sometimes think that there need to be better boundaries. Talking about "the Light" shouldn't give you an automatic free pass.

An important part of integrity is having distinct boundaries. To a certain extent, it seems as though people are somewhat self-selecting, but I'm still occasionally surprised at the people who want to be among Quakers. Let me suggest a modest boundary: pagans.

It's fine to find the Divine in nature; the Bible encourages that. And the Bible also has Feminine images of God. Christianity has folded in various pagan images throughout history - not just the Easter Bunny with it's eggs, and the Christmas tree, but also the Celtic cross. There has been a fairly consistent trend among Quakers to excise those pagan elements, including the names for the days of the week and the months of the year, although personally I think that insisting on "First Day" and such can be idolatrous in it's own right; I don't particularly find my thoughts drawn to worship of the Norse God of Thunder on Thursday, for instance. It's just an oddity of language.

It does bother me that some people think of magic as real, and think that it's possible to believe in magic and be a Quaker. It seems like there are two possible responses to "magic": you can dismiss it, or you can take it seriously. If you dismiss it, I can't imagine why you would tolerate Friends practicing magic any more than you would tolerate Friends who thought the earth was flat; that is, it's not just an idiosyncratic belief, but demonstrably wrongheaded and potentially harmful.

But you don't have to dismiss magic: I don't take it seriously, but I know people who do. But if you take it seriously, and you want to be a Quaker, it must be rejected. Not because it's necessarily Satanic - although I suppose you could make that argument - but because it necessarily usurps God's powers. Can people make traffic lights change, or control the weather, or call (or send) animals (as at least one member of the administrative faculty of a Quaker seminary believes)? I would say no; these people are just being silly. But if you say yes, then you're usurping God's powers.

If this post is muddled - and I'll admit it is, more than I'd like - it's not because I haven't thought enough about the issue, but because I've thought about it too long. This isn't just about attacking one particular person, because I know several members of the Religious Society of Friends who believe in this nonsense; but I also think the people attacking Harry Potter are silly, too. But it seems as though the proper response to pagan magic is rejection, one way or another. That would be a nice first step to reasserting boundaries for Hicksite Friends.

(The title references a song by Pilot, if you were wondering)

Howdy

I haven't gotten anything quite to the point where I'd be happy to post the stuff I'm thinking about - which is somewhat surprising, given the amount of time I'm in the car - but I wanted to say hi in any case.

Hi!

Q. Should we allow Muslims to build a mosque near Ground Zero?

I'm back in the classroom this semester, after taking this past year off (which is its own long story, not relevant today). So, as part of the introduction to the course, I asked the students to write their names, their hometowns, and their majors on an index card, along with any question they might want me to answer. One of the students posed the question in the title, but I didn't get around to answering it during class.

A. Yes. I think there are two main reasons for this. The first is that religious freedom is basic to this country. While only two of the original colonies had religious tolerance as part of their founding principles, even those colonies with an established religion set that aside with the founding of the republic. I'm most familiar with Virginia's history here, but I think it's particularly relevant: Patrick Henry, an Episcopalian, wanted to have Christianity as the established religion in the state of Virginia; the people who opposed the establishment of a non-denominational "Christianity" were not atheists or members of some non-Christian religion, but Baptists and Presbyterians (and members of other, smaller denominations). They were committed Christians, but they worried that the dominant denomination - the Episcopalians - would control the narrative of what it means to be truly "Christian." Thus, they thought it best to leave it as a private matter, rather than a public one.

My second reason is related to the first: who gets to control the narrative of Islam? That is, just as the Baptists and Presbyterians had different ideas about what it means to be Christian than the Episcopalians (and each other), so there is diversity within the Muslim world.

Following 9/11, people criticized the leaders of the Muslim community in the US for not condemning the attacks. The sad thing about that is that those leaders did condemn the attacks, but no one was listening. The vast majority of Muslims in the US and around the world condemn terrorism, but the radical anti-Western minority seems to control the narrative of what Islam is in this country. I believe having a community center, on par with a YMCA, near Ground Zero, would help correct that.

Ignorance of History

Earlier this week, Julie and I were eating dinner at a family restaurant in Central Square, and overheard a conversation from the guys in the booth behind us regarding the Founders of the United States. They remembered that the Declaration of Independence states that we have been "endowed by [our] Creator with certain unalienable Rights." They also assumed that the Constitution says something about God (it doesn't), and the the Founders were all Christian - "One Nation, Under God." (And just to be absolutely explicit about that last reference, the Pledge of Allegiance was written at the end of the 19th century -without "under God," which was added in the 1950s).

The particularly irritating thing for me is people's appropriation (or misappropriation) of Thomas Jefferson; he gets edited out of textbooks in Texas, but "patriots" wear t-shirts with his quote, "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." (You know, "patriots" such as the fellow who committed the worst terrorist attack on US soil prior to 9/11.) Many other quotes are also falsely attributed to him. But to cite him as an instance of a Christian is particularly grating.

Among his many other pursuits, Thomas Jefferson edited the Gospels into what has come to be known as the "Jefferson Bible." He's not the first to try to harmonize the competing and sometimes conflicting stories told in the Gospels; but he may be the first to edit out all the miracles. I won't go into all of the particular edits (and we could have a fruitful conversation regarding whether the various miracles attributed to Jesus are necessary to believe in order to be a Christian, but not today); but one stands out, and is significant.

"There laid they Jesus,

And rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulcher, and departed."

Why is that so significant? Because it's the last line of the Jefferson Bible. Suffered under Pontius Pilate, crucified, dead and buried; the end. It almost makes me want to carry the Jefferson Bible around with me, just to take out when I overhear conversations where Jefferson is mentioned as a Good Christian Founding Father.

Pre-rant musings

I've relocated several hundred miles north, and I'm not really settled.

However, I've been thinking about my ethics classes and how I approach certain subjects. [Caveat: this is a blog post, not an ethics class, so the presentation here has been modified.]

Are you conservative or liberal? Two issues: crime and welfare.

For the purposes of this post, we have to make some background assumptions. With regard to crime, we assume that some people are innocent and some people are guilty (i.e., you can neither start with the premise that all people are guilty, nor with the premise that one's circumstances exonerate one's responsibility). With regard to welfare, we assume that some people are deserving and some people aren't (i.e., some people are poor for reasons beyond their control and therefore deserve some help from the state, where private charity is insufficient; and being lazy is not a "reason beyond their control"). Further, for both, we have to assume that the system (for prosecution and for distribution, respectively) is always flawed; the best system will still find some innocent people guilty, some guilty people innocent, some deserving poor will be excluded, and some undeserving people will receive assistance. If you don't think these are acceptable premises, then we cannot move forward here.

With regard to crime: is it more important to maximize the number of guilty people punished (knowing that some innocent people will be unjustly punished) or to minimize the number of unjustly punished innocents (knowing that some guilty people will escape their due punishment)? That is, given a flawed system in which perfect justice is elusive, do you emphasize the guilty or the innocent? (When I was growing up, there was a popular phrase, "kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out" which seems to embody the conservative ethos here.)

The situation with welfare is a mirror image: is it more important to maximize the number of deserving poor receiving welfare (knowing that some undeserving people will exploit the system), or to minimize the number of people fraudulently receiving assistance from the state (knowing that some deserving poor - i.e., children in poverty - will get left out)? Again, given a necessarily flawed system, do you emphasize the deserving poor or the welfare cheats?

There are other issues that don't really fit into this schema, and there are additional complexities that this papers over, but I like this as a quick-and-dirty classification, and captures two very distinct ways of looking at the world.

Final in the Alphabet series: Fin.

I've still been thinking about hard-line economic positions, but I've also been drawing cartoons about them. Which is to say, there will not be a rant about libertarians to accompany this picture, but there may be an illustrated rant at some point in the future.

Just to keep you up to date, I've primarily been thinking about moving - from Roanoke, up to New York. For those of you who haven't been following along, that's Central New York, not The City. Very different. I still don't have a firm date for departure, but it will within the next two weeks. Unfortunately, my next job doesn't start until September 7th.

I now plan on returning to my usual mix of cartoons and paintings. Since my plans often don't work out as expected, who knows what's next. Perhaps sculpture!

Y indeed: the penultimate post (in this series)

When I'm painting houses I think a lot. That's not really a hazard of the profession, but it is a hazard for the philosopher stuck painting houses. Lately I've been thinking about the problem with hard-line economic positions.

Let me start with Marxism. I sometimes identify as a Marxist - sometimes to irritate others, but I really do find Marx's critique of capitalism right on target. He peers into the machinery which makes it all tick, and finds it wanting. He could not have been expected to imagine, for instance, the reduction of the university to yet another capitalist machine in which underpaid, overspecialized and imminently replaceable drones (the adjuncts who teach the majority - yes, majority - of introductory level classes in the US) who asked to work harder for less money (e.g., online teaching), and churn out a sub-par product that people keep consuming anyway (because we've been raised to think that a college diploma is the ticket to a better job and therefore lifestyle than our parents, even if that's not true anymore - the actually goal of education lost amid short-sighted economic interest). And yet, look how well his analysis works for the current state of higher education. It's not just for textile mills anymore!

But Marx was naïve about human nature. The workers may grumble about their state of affairs, but are happy enough with a 40 hour work week, some sort of a pension plan, maybe health insurance... hm, we may be due for another revolution. In any case, the workers have not risen up to overthrow Rich Uncle Pennybags, establishing a state which eventually whithers away. The so-called communist states have merely re-established the same sort of societal structures that they were suppose to replace: (I really hate to quote the Who here, but), "meet the new boss, same as the old boss." But that's not because Marx failed to properly critique capitalism, it's because he had an overly optimistic view of human nature. (Kant demonstrates that you can have a view of human nature as containing the seeds of "radical evil" without resorting to theology, i.e., original sin, but that's a topic for another post.)

So, let me be clear in conclusion: I reject a hard-line Marxism which says that a workers paradise is just around the world-historical corner. But I do think he has something important to say about the failures of our current economic system, and, let's face it, the benefits of thinking collectively at least some of the time, as opposed to being relentlessly individualistic.

Twenty fourth in a series, soon to be complete

It has occurred to me that, not only have I slowed down on this series, but I'm thinking more about a larger project lately. And I'm also thinking about moving. So, I need to wrap this up.

I feel as though I ought to add some edifying thought, but I'm not really thinking of anything right at the moment. Perhaps later.

Twenty third in a series

John Lennon sang, "the Walrus was Paul," but that may only have been because when he wrote, "I am the Walrus," he was thinking of Lewis Carroll's poem, "The Walrus and the Carpenter." Except he hadn't read the poem in a while, and forgot that the Walrus is a pretty bad fellow.

I remember reading somewhere that the poem is an allegory about Kantian and Utilitarian ethics - perhaps here - but it seems unlikely that was what John was thinking about.

Twenty second in a series

Reminded of a Simpsons quote:

"Marge, I've got to get out of this rut and back into the groove!"

Twenty first in a series

Sorry for the delay - it's been a busy month, with a surprising amount of travel.

I keep wanting these to be cartoons, and I try to resist the urge; in this one, for instance, I was thinking I might add the Tyrannosaurus Wrench in the background, yelling, "THAT'S LATIN FOR 'BEAR'!"

But I didn't.

Unscheduled interuption

In addition to the various other things I've been trying out lately - when I find the time between work and applying for jobs in Central New York - I've also been working on collages.

These aren't part of a larger series, at least not yet, although both of them suggest a story that I haven't been told.

Yet.