“For all serious intellectual progress depends upon a certain kind of independence of outside opinion.” – Bertrand Russell 1940
On a few occasions, some people whom I’m having conversations with have suggested that I can’t stand being wrong (read as “incorrect”, thus not in a moral sense). But I quickly respond and mention that nothing could be farther from the truth. In fact, I love being shown where I’ve failed, or where I’ve missed something. Why, you ask? Because I then have learned something whereby I am then in a position to be more correct. I enjoy being proved (shown) wrong, so that I can then be right. ☺
Then I got to thinking, that this seems kind of snobbish. It would beg the response: “You always have to be right, don’t you?!?!” But I ask what else would one desire in matters such as these? Who would want to be wrong, for the sake of being wrong? I’m not discussing matters such as romantic relationships or morality, which receive their “rightness” from somewhere else. I’m discussing intellectual correctness in public discourse, which leads to personal development.
This is what I’m concerned with: development and growth. It is about a “winning”, only there should not be a loser. Both parties should gain and grow. The leading quote by Russell references the “outside opinion” which is necessary for growth. And there is nothing snobbish about wanting, and being proud of, progression.
Democracy
A more general example of this is democracy. I’m no political science guru of any type but here are my two cents. Democracy is also about being right, for its constituents; it is about the growth, progress, and development of its citizens. Now what makes democracy unique is its methods in achieving such goals. Democracy believes voices should be heard. Not that we should find or reach a majority voice and then base our truth off of it; rather that through the work of rational discourse between a multitude (not solely the democrat/republican dichotomy we currently seem to have fallen into) of views, we then discover (discern) a more “correct” (right) view.
This is what Russell is talking about. If you want progress, you cannot have a majority voice, whether political or other, judge the value of the other opinions, and thus dominate and determine truth. Democracy is reliant upon debate and genuine debate requires an independence of opinions, a suspension of a determination of truth. Listening to the minority voice (or just the other side of a given topic), while never being prepared to change your own position, is not a genuine, or rational stance to take. Part of what it is to be rational is the willingness to change (progress), to no longer remain dogmatic, or what Russell would call “rigid”.
My discussion of truth may sound very relativistic, but that is not what I mean. A relativistic truth would say that no side is more right/correct than the other. What I am trying to express is that you need the openness first, as a foundation, to then, in rational discourse, be better prepared to see which view is more correct. Relativism, on the other hand, never gets off the ground. It never makes the decision; it always remains at the opposition (if you can call it that) and as such, can never have genuine discourse.
Democracy is also predicated on the fact that we can be wrong. That is why the majority view cannot be seen as truth. We cannot dogmatically hold on to the majority view, for the fallibility of people is a foundational part of democracy. The “independence of outside opinion” must always exist to keep us honest.
Conclusions
To tie this back into my original points, I want to get back to the individual being right or wrong. Those people have said that I can’t stand being wrong because I freely attempt to support my side, or the devil’s advocate side, with as much argumentation as possible. It is not that I discredit (dis-value) the other side, but that if we are to ever progress, we must be fair to both sides and must have them both be argued for as such. A big benefit to being able to argue coherently for your opponent is that you are forced to focus on the rational discourse (which requires multiple views), rather than merely your conviction for one side of a given topic. So actually, it isn't about me being right, but about all of the parties involved learning from the discourse.
Perhaps, it is less about individuals (and democratic discourse) being “right”, and more about the progressing.
“The world needs open hearts and open minds, and it is not through rigid systems, whether old or new, that these can be derived.” – Bertrand Russell 1957
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Christian Ritual
[Disclaimer: this post makes a lot of broad claims, sometimes even historical ones! My goal is not to lay out universal claims for Christianity, but rather to explain my experience of a select, remote Christian context. Feel free to correct, explain, denounce, or question, anything said hence forth. I see no reason why my un-cited statements would be insufficient or misleading in some way.]
Ritual is a part of most, if not all, religions; Christianity is no exception. From major events such as marriages, baptisms, and funerals, to daily and weekly actions such as prayer, meditation, fasting, communion, singing, etc., 21st century Christianity appears to retain its ritual. In fact, after mentioning all of those, it seems as if it is primarily ritualistic. And yet, I find more and more that there is a constant doing-away with it.
Through the commencement of the enlightenment era, where modern thought found a place outside of religion, religion faced decisions such as: should it take up the rationalism of the time, should it concern itself only with itself, its doctrine, faith, and its own construction and exemplification of morality, and many other questions similar to this. In some form or other, many of the Christian sects have incorporated modernal rationalism in some fashion or other.
Seeing that the “science and religion” game isn’t a very good one to play (explained below), Christianity has recently begun to attempt to refocus upon what it is good at: faith, community, the development of its own sort of morality through charity, and ritual. However, I do not think the recent heritage of rationalism and focus on cognition within the past few centuries has been shed so successfully.
I recently attended a church service of a northern Indiana missionary church and the “rituals” astounded me. Concerning almost every song, and in almost every prayer, there was a call to a thought of, reflection on, attention to, etc. (a constant reflection and consciousness concerning what the attendee was doing). No longer can one “do”; rather, one must always think, reason, explain, justify, his or her ritualistic actions: think about the words of the song; know and explain why you celebrate Christmas; understand what this prayer means; and countless others.
Christianity is becoming a mental, cognitive, and very conscious-oriented religion. Even in trying to do away with the rationalism of the last several centuries, the congregation is asked to “think” back to the roots of Christianity and the bible, and then reflect upon that.
Even in ritual, there is this reiteration of the reflection; a centrality of thought in a realm created in and for thoughtlessness, for doing. Further, thinking and reflection also have their place in religion; we should always be prepared to think about what things we chose to be a part of. But with contemporary Christianity, thought (cognition) has become central, and this centrality is displacing the efficacy of ritual.
The Results
First, there is the resultant guilt (and self-centeredness) of repeatedly focusing on failures. This constant visualization and contemplation of the lack, cannot but conclude with a failure to succeed. One cannot achieve a success; there is always a failure and always a thinking on that failure. In this self-ish repetition, the Divine almost never enters in to it and thus, there is no peace.
But more to the point, it leads to doubt. This is why I said the “science and religion” game is not a good one to play. It is always misleading. So while I do not feel that the tension is warranted, it is always present. Part of the sermon talked directly about this. When people are constantly shown scientific information which appears to “explain” things that the church cannot, it results in doubt. Again, this explanation should never displace religion, but nonetheless, there is a fight for who gets the position, the sole position, between science and religion (in my opinion, there are two realms, and neither should problematize the other). Thus, people doubt the rational side of religion, completely missing the equally relevant non-rational/cognitive sides, such as ritual.
Perhaps the more disconcerting effects are the following:
Prayer becomes a (self-centered) petition for forgiveness of sins and chance at improvement of the self, rather than an openness to the Divine. Song is no longer sung and participated in, but the lyrics are to be contemplated and thought out. In rituals such as marriage, communion, funerals, and baptism, there is a constant call to reflection on the reasoning for the event, rather than the experiencing of the event itself. The self must always be (self-)conscious and aware of what it is doing, rather than being a part of and taken up in the experience. It delimits the self and closes off the believer from his or her relations with the ritual, the community, and the Divine.
The experience of Christianity has become remarkably cognitive.
Ritual is a part of most, if not all, religions; Christianity is no exception. From major events such as marriages, baptisms, and funerals, to daily and weekly actions such as prayer, meditation, fasting, communion, singing, etc., 21st century Christianity appears to retain its ritual. In fact, after mentioning all of those, it seems as if it is primarily ritualistic. And yet, I find more and more that there is a constant doing-away with it.
Through the commencement of the enlightenment era, where modern thought found a place outside of religion, religion faced decisions such as: should it take up the rationalism of the time, should it concern itself only with itself, its doctrine, faith, and its own construction and exemplification of morality, and many other questions similar to this. In some form or other, many of the Christian sects have incorporated modernal rationalism in some fashion or other.
Seeing that the “science and religion” game isn’t a very good one to play (explained below), Christianity has recently begun to attempt to refocus upon what it is good at: faith, community, the development of its own sort of morality through charity, and ritual. However, I do not think the recent heritage of rationalism and focus on cognition within the past few centuries has been shed so successfully.
I recently attended a church service of a northern Indiana missionary church and the “rituals” astounded me. Concerning almost every song, and in almost every prayer, there was a call to a thought of, reflection on, attention to, etc. (a constant reflection and consciousness concerning what the attendee was doing). No longer can one “do”; rather, one must always think, reason, explain, justify, his or her ritualistic actions: think about the words of the song; know and explain why you celebrate Christmas; understand what this prayer means; and countless others.
Christianity is becoming a mental, cognitive, and very conscious-oriented religion. Even in trying to do away with the rationalism of the last several centuries, the congregation is asked to “think” back to the roots of Christianity and the bible, and then reflect upon that.
Even in ritual, there is this reiteration of the reflection; a centrality of thought in a realm created in and for thoughtlessness, for doing. Further, thinking and reflection also have their place in religion; we should always be prepared to think about what things we chose to be a part of. But with contemporary Christianity, thought (cognition) has become central, and this centrality is displacing the efficacy of ritual.
The Results
First, there is the resultant guilt (and self-centeredness) of repeatedly focusing on failures. This constant visualization and contemplation of the lack, cannot but conclude with a failure to succeed. One cannot achieve a success; there is always a failure and always a thinking on that failure. In this self-ish repetition, the Divine almost never enters in to it and thus, there is no peace.
But more to the point, it leads to doubt. This is why I said the “science and religion” game is not a good one to play. It is always misleading. So while I do not feel that the tension is warranted, it is always present. Part of the sermon talked directly about this. When people are constantly shown scientific information which appears to “explain” things that the church cannot, it results in doubt. Again, this explanation should never displace religion, but nonetheless, there is a fight for who gets the position, the sole position, between science and religion (in my opinion, there are two realms, and neither should problematize the other). Thus, people doubt the rational side of religion, completely missing the equally relevant non-rational/cognitive sides, such as ritual.
Perhaps the more disconcerting effects are the following:
Prayer becomes a (self-centered) petition for forgiveness of sins and chance at improvement of the self, rather than an openness to the Divine. Song is no longer sung and participated in, but the lyrics are to be contemplated and thought out. In rituals such as marriage, communion, funerals, and baptism, there is a constant call to reflection on the reasoning for the event, rather than the experiencing of the event itself. The self must always be (self-)conscious and aware of what it is doing, rather than being a part of and taken up in the experience. It delimits the self and closes off the believer from his or her relations with the ritual, the community, and the Divine.
The experience of Christianity has become remarkably cognitive.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Poetry, Art and my Ramblings on Them
First, as a disclaimer, I've never taken a course on Aesthetics. Thus, this post is in no way grounded in any historical account of aesthetics; it is merely my own take on something I have never been much good at: art. Consequently, there is most likely a few thousand pages discrediting everything I'm about to say. Owell.
Poetry
I’m not a big fan of poetry, never have been. I’m all for using uncommon words and constructing your writing in unique and inventive ways, but I don’t feel that you need poetry to achieve those effects. I hate dry, monotonous diction and syntax just as much as the next reader, but poetry, while certainly avoiding monotony and constantly playing with sentence structure, remains unappealing nonetheless.
I don’t doubt that there is much meaning to be had in poetry. But for me, there is a good deal of difficulty in discerning good poetry and bad poetry. That doesn’t exactly give me much hope for poetry.
I do however, enjoy rhyming. I think it takes a lot of skill to rhyme. Chaucer used a decasyllabic meter with an A-A, B-B rhyming scheme for the entirety of Canterbury Tales (I could be slightly off on this). That my friends, is impressive. It takes discipline. But this discipline is predicated on structure. Rhyming forces the writer to subject his thoughts to structure, but not in such a way as to lose the value and individuality of the thought. Rather, whatever the writer is attempting to express, s/he must always form the expression within a pattern, or structure.
Now you could say that this is stifling creative thinking and writing. And while I do not disagree, you then open the writing up and no longer is it able to be subjected to criterion. Dissolving the structure of the writing, at the same time, absolves the writing from judgment. No longer can the reader say, this piece of poetry is good, or that piece of poetry lacks quality. In fact, the designation (of the “this” or “that” as poetry) itself becomes less certain.
Prose is more than capable of giving us the creativity and ingenuity to stimulate and fill our imagination. (Read you some Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde)
Art in General
Within structure, the skill and thus, quality can be determined. I suppose this despising of poetry stems from an issue I have with art as meaning-making in general. With no structure as a guide, no end-point by which to base the work on, the creator no longer requires skill. Hence why the distinction between good poetry and bad poetry becomes muddled.
Great artists rarely are considered great by one piece of art. It takes a collection; a repeated creation and production of art by which, we can then judge the artist. A single piece can be magnificent, but that does not make the creator magnificent.
We don’t praise haphazardry (if it wasn’t a word before, it is now) because it doesn’t involve skill. There is no specificity, and thus, it is open for all to achieve (if you wish to call it an achievement).
Pablo Picasso: “There is no abstract art. You must always start with something. Afterward you can remove all traces of reality.”
I love that quote. There is always “something” there first, and then the artist abstracts away. This “away” is taken directly from the Latin prefix ‘ab’, and entails a “something” first there, from which we move. But this abstraction, this removal (or movement away), is not done simply. It is technically done, it involves skill. And through this movement away, a trajectory or structure of the piece is then discovered. And through the structure, we then are able to judge the quality, the skill, of the artist.
Poetry
I’m not a big fan of poetry, never have been. I’m all for using uncommon words and constructing your writing in unique and inventive ways, but I don’t feel that you need poetry to achieve those effects. I hate dry, monotonous diction and syntax just as much as the next reader, but poetry, while certainly avoiding monotony and constantly playing with sentence structure, remains unappealing nonetheless.
I don’t doubt that there is much meaning to be had in poetry. But for me, there is a good deal of difficulty in discerning good poetry and bad poetry. That doesn’t exactly give me much hope for poetry.
I do however, enjoy rhyming. I think it takes a lot of skill to rhyme. Chaucer used a decasyllabic meter with an A-A, B-B rhyming scheme for the entirety of Canterbury Tales (I could be slightly off on this). That my friends, is impressive. It takes discipline. But this discipline is predicated on structure. Rhyming forces the writer to subject his thoughts to structure, but not in such a way as to lose the value and individuality of the thought. Rather, whatever the writer is attempting to express, s/he must always form the expression within a pattern, or structure.
Now you could say that this is stifling creative thinking and writing. And while I do not disagree, you then open the writing up and no longer is it able to be subjected to criterion. Dissolving the structure of the writing, at the same time, absolves the writing from judgment. No longer can the reader say, this piece of poetry is good, or that piece of poetry lacks quality. In fact, the designation (of the “this” or “that” as poetry) itself becomes less certain.
Prose is more than capable of giving us the creativity and ingenuity to stimulate and fill our imagination. (Read you some Picture of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde)
Art in General
Within structure, the skill and thus, quality can be determined. I suppose this despising of poetry stems from an issue I have with art as meaning-making in general. With no structure as a guide, no end-point by which to base the work on, the creator no longer requires skill. Hence why the distinction between good poetry and bad poetry becomes muddled.
Great artists rarely are considered great by one piece of art. It takes a collection; a repeated creation and production of art by which, we can then judge the artist. A single piece can be magnificent, but that does not make the creator magnificent.
We don’t praise haphazardry (if it wasn’t a word before, it is now) because it doesn’t involve skill. There is no specificity, and thus, it is open for all to achieve (if you wish to call it an achievement).
Pablo Picasso: “There is no abstract art. You must always start with something. Afterward you can remove all traces of reality.”
I love that quote. There is always “something” there first, and then the artist abstracts away. This “away” is taken directly from the Latin prefix ‘ab’, and entails a “something” first there, from which we move. But this abstraction, this removal (or movement away), is not done simply. It is technically done, it involves skill. And through this movement away, a trajectory or structure of the piece is then discovered. And through the structure, we then are able to judge the quality, the skill, of the artist.
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