Philosopher Richard Rorty Chillingly Predicts the Results of the 2016 Election … Back in 1998

rorty

Twen­ty years ago a strong aca­d­e­m­ic left in uni­ver­si­ties all over the world spoke to polit­i­cal cul­ture the way that a glob­al­ized nation­al­ist far-right seems to now. Among pub­lic intel­lec­tu­als in the U.S., Richard Rorty’s name held par­tic­u­lar sway. Yet in his con­trar­i­an 1998 book Achiev­ing Our Coun­try, Rorty argued against the par­tic­i­pa­tion of phi­los­o­phy in pol­i­tics. A mem­ber of the so-called “Old Left,” or what he called the “reformist left,” Rorty took on the “Cul­tur­al Left” in ways we now hear in (often bit­ter) debates between sim­i­lar camps. In the course of his attacks, he made the uncan­ny pre­dic­tion above.

The cul­tur­al left, wrote Rorty, had come “to give cul­tur­al pol­i­tics pref­er­ence over real pol­i­tics, and to mock the very idea that demo­c­ra­t­ic insti­tu­tions might once again be made to serve social jus­tice.” He fore­saw cul­tur­al pol­i­tics on the left as con­tribut­ing to a tidal wave of resent­ment that would one day result in a time when “all the sadism which the aca­d­e­m­ic left has tried to make unac­cept­able to its stu­dents will come flood­ing back.”

As demo­c­ra­t­ic insti­tu­tions fail, he writes in the quote above:

[M]embers of labor unions, and unor­ga­nized unskilled work­ers, will soon­er or lat­er real­ize that their gov­ern­ment is not even try­ing to pre­vent wages from sink­ing or to pre­vent jobs from being export­ed. Around the same time, they will real­ize that sub­ur­ban white-col­lar workers—themselves des­per­ate­ly afraid of being downsized—are not going to let them­selves be taxed to pro­vide social ben­e­fits for any­one else.

At that point, some­thing will crack. The non­sub­ur­ban elec­torate will decide that the sys­tem has failed and start look­ing around for a strong­man to vote for—someone will­ing to assure them that, once he is elect­ed, the smug bureau­crats, tricky lawyers, over­paid bond sales­men, and post­mod­ernist pro­fes­sors will no longer be call­ing the shots. A sce­nario like that of Sin­clair Lewis’ nov­el It Can’t Hap­pen Here may then be played out. For once a strong­man takes office, nobody can pre­dict what will hap­pen. In 1932, most of the pre­dic­tions made about what would hap­pen if Hin­den­burg named Hitler chan­cel­lor were wild­ly overop­ti­mistic.

One thing that is very like­ly to hap­pen is that the gains made in the past forty years by black and brown Amer­i­cans, and by homo­sex­u­als, will be wiped out. Joc­u­lar con­tempt for women will come back into fash­ion. The words [slur for an African-Amer­i­can that begins with “n”] and [slur for a Jew­ish per­son that begins with “k”] will once again be heard in the work­place. All the sadism which the aca­d­e­m­ic Left has tried to make unac­cept­able to its stu­dents will come flood­ing back. All the resent­ment which bad­ly edu­cat­ed Amer­i­cans feel about hav­ing their man­ners dic­tat­ed to them by col­lege grad­u­ates will find an out­let.

He also then argues, how­ev­er, that this sadism will not sole­ly be the result of “eco­nom­ic inequal­i­ty and inse­cu­ri­ty,” and that such expla­na­tions would be “too sim­plis­tic.” Nor would the strong­man who comes to pow­er do any­thing but wors­en eco­nom­ic con­di­tions. He writes next, “after my imag­ined strong­man takes charge, he will quick­ly make his peace with the inter­na­tion­al super­rich.”

Rorty blamed the Marx­ist New Left for “retreat­ing from prag­ma­tism into the­o­ry,” wrote The New York Times in its review of Achiev­ing Our Coun­try. He felt the cul­tur­al left had aban­doned the “Amer­i­can exper­i­ment as sec­u­lar, anti-author­i­tar­i­an and infi­nite in pos­si­bil­i­ties,” such as “Whit­man ide­al­ized as lov­ing rela­tion­ships and Dewey as good cit­i­zen­ship.” The Times wrote then that Rorty’s pre­dic­tions above were a form of “intel­lec­tu­al bul­ly­ing.” We can take our dystopi­an futures from sci-fi nov­el­ists and film­mak­ers, but when philoso­phers “harus­pi­cate or scry,” as T.S. Eliot wrote in “The Dry Sal­vages,” we tend to dis­miss it as the “usu­al / Pas­times and drugs, and fea­tures of the press.”

The emi­nent Stan­ford pro­fes­sor exhort­ed his con­tem­po­raries to leave behind “semi­con­scious anti-Amer­i­can­ism” and embrace prag­mat­ic civ­il engage­ment, and did so by offer­ing up exam­ples from Amer­i­can lit­er­a­ture and phi­los­o­phy that all had fierce activist strains. Exco­ri­at­ing one kind of life of the mind, Rorty can’t help but offer anoth­er. “What does Rorty offer as a solu­tion?” asked the Times review, “Not real­ly very much.” Per­haps not to politi­cians. But to the post­mod­ern aca­d­e­mics and writ­ers he accused, he offers up as counter exam­ples Walt Whit­man, John Dewey, and—as Rorty not­ed in an inter­view—James Bald­win, whose “use of the phrase… achiev­ing our coun­try” inspired his book’s title, Achiev­ing Our Coun­try.

via Slate

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Octavia Butler’s 1998 Dystopi­an Nov­el Fea­tures a Fascis­tic Pres­i­den­tial Can­di­date Who Promis­es to “Make Amer­i­ca Great Again”

John Sear­le on Fou­cault and the Obscu­ran­tism in French Phi­los­o­phy

Hux­ley to Orwell: My Hell­ish Vision of the Future is Bet­ter Than Yours (1949)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

Henry David Thoreau on When Civil Disobedience and Resistance Are Justified (1849)

His­to­ry is rife with exam­ples of oppres­sive gov­ern­ments. The present is rife with exam­ples of oppres­sive gov­ern­ments. You can name your own exam­ples. The ques­tion that presents itself to any oppo­si­tion is what is to be done? Go under­ground? Sab­o­tage? Take up arms? The like­li­hood of suc­cess in such cases—depending on the bel­liger­ence of the oppo­si­tion and the capa­bil­i­ties of the government—varies wide­ly. But I see no moral rea­son to con­demn peo­ple for fight­ing injus­tice, pro­vid­ed their cause itself is just. Nei­ther, of course, did Hen­ry David Thore­au, author of the 1849 essay “Civ­il Dis­obe­di­ence,” a doc­u­ment that every stu­dent of Polit­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy 101 knows as an ur-text of mod­ern demo­c­ra­t­ic protest move­ments.

This is an essay we have become all-too famil­iar with by rep­u­ta­tion rather than by read­ing. Thoreau’s polit­i­cal phi­los­o­phy is not pas­sive, as in the phrase “pas­sive resis­tance.” It is not mid­dle-of-the-road cen­trism dis­guised as rad­i­cal­ism. It lies instead at the water­ing hole where right lib­er­tar­i­an­ism and left anar­chism meet to have a drink. “I hearti­ly accept the mot­to, ‘That gov­ern­ment is best which gov­erns least,’” wrote Thore­au, and ulti­mate­ly “’That gov­ern­ment is best which gov­erns not at all.’”

Like many utopi­an the­o­rists of the 19th cen­tu­ry, Thore­au saw this as the inevitable future: “when men are pre­pared for it, that will be the kind of gov­ern­ment they will have.” Thore­au laments all restric­tions on trade and reg­u­la­tions on com­merce. He also denounces the use of a stand­ing army by “a com­par­a­tive­ly… few indi­vid­u­als.” And yet—despite these rad­i­cal positions—Thoreau has been enshrined in the his­to­ry of polit­i­cal thought both for his rad­i­cal tac­tics and his defense of pre­serv­ing gov­ern­ment, for the present.

“To speak prac­ti­cal­ly and as a cit­i­zen,” he wrote, “unlike those who call them­selves no-gov­ern­ment men, I ask for, not at once no gov­ern­ment, but at once a bet­ter gov­ern­ment.” He does not go to great lengths, as clas­si­cal philoso­phers were wont, to define the ide­al gov­ern­ment. It is rad­i­cal­ly demo­c­ra­t­ic, that we know. But as to what con­sti­tutes injus­tice, Thore­au is clear:

When the fric­tion comes to have its machine, and oppres­sion and rob­bery are orga­nized, I say, let us not have such a machine any longer. In oth­er words, when a sixth of the pop­u­la­tion of a nation which has under­tak­en to be the refuge of lib­er­ty are slaves, and a whole coun­try is unjust­ly over­run and con­quered by a for­eign army, and sub­ject­ed to mil­i­tary law, I think that it is not too soon for hon­est men to rebel and rev­o­lu­tion­ize. What makes this duty the more urgent is the fact that the coun­try so over­run is not our own, but ours is the invad­ing army.

This peo­ple must cease to hold slaves, and to make war on Mex­i­co, though it cost them their exis­tence as a peo­ple.

The fig­ure he cites of “a sixth of the pop­u­la­tion” is not erro­neous. As W.E.B. Du Bois showed in one of his rev­o­lu­tion­ary 1900 soci­o­log­i­cal visu­al­iza­tions, dur­ing the time of Thoreau’s essay, one-sixth of the country’s pop­u­la­tion was indeed com­prised of peo­ple of African descent, most of them enslaved. Thore­au wrote dur­ing debates over the imped­ing Fugi­tive Slave Act, a law that put every per­son of col­or in the expand­ing country—free or escaped, in every state and territory—at risk of enslave­ment or impris­on­ment with­out any due process.

Thore­au found both this devel­op­ing night­mare and the Mex­i­can-Amer­i­can war too intol­er­a­bly unjust for the coun­try to bear. And he rec­og­nized the lim­i­ta­tions of elec­tions to resolve them: “All vot­ing is a sort of gam­ing… with a slight moral tinge to it,” he wrote, then observed with dev­as­tat­ing irony, giv­en total dis­en­fran­chise­ment of peo­ple who were prop­er­ty, that “Only his vote can has­ten the abo­li­tion of slav­ery who asserts his own free­dom by his vote.”

“Unjust laws exist,” writes Thore­au, “I say, break the law. Let your life be a counter-fric­tion to stop the machine. What I have to do is to see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong which I con­demn.” Thore­au had put his dic­ta into prac­tice already many years before. He had stopped pay­ing his poll tax in 1842 to protest the war and the expan­sion of slav­ery. He was final­ly arrest­ed and jailed for the offense in 1846. The inci­dent hard­ly sparked a move­ment. He was bailed out, per­haps by his aunt, the fol­low­ing day. And as we well know, the Mex­i­can-Amer­i­can war and the cri­sis of slav­ery were both resolved with… war.

But Thore­au used his expe­ri­ence as the basis for “Civ­il Dis­obe­di­ence,” which he wrote to a local audi­ence in his home state of Mass­a­chu­setts, and which went on to direct­ly inspire the mas­sive­ly suc­cess­ful, nation­al grass­roots move­ments of Gand­hi, Mar­tin Luther King, Jr. and oth­er non-vio­lent Human Rights and Anti-War lead­ers around the world. So what did he rec­om­mend dis­senters do? Here are the basics of his pre­scrip­tions, with his words in quotes:

“I do not hes­i­tate to say, that those who call them­selves Abo­li­tion­ists should at once effec­tu­al­ly with­draw their sup­port, both in per­son and prop­er­ty, from the gov­ern­ment of Mass­a­chu­setts.” Thore­au then goes on to describe his par­tic­u­lar form of resis­tance, the non-pay­ment of tax. His the­sis here, how­ev­er, allows for any just refusals to rec­og­nize gov­ern­ment author­i­ty.

“Under a gov­ern­ment which impris­ons any unjust­ly, the true place for a just man is also in prison.” Thore­au him­self suf­fered lit­tle, it’s true, but mil­lions who came after him—dissidents on all con­ti­nents save Antarctica—have endured impris­on­ment, beat­ing, and death. “Sup­pose blood should flow,” writes Thore­au, “Is there not a sort of blood shed when the con­science is wound­ed?” As for the just­ness of dis­obe­di­ence, Thore­au makes a very log­i­cal case: “If a thou­sand men were not to pay their tax-bills this year, that would not be a vio­lent and bloody mea­sure, as it would be to pay them, and enable the State to com­mit vio­lence and shed inno­cent blood.”  

Thore­au goes on to intro­duce a good deal of nuance into the argu­ment, writ­ing that com­mu­ni­ty tax­es sup­port­ing high­ways and schools are eth­i­cal, but those sup­port­ing unjust war and enslave­ment are not. He rec­om­mends dis­cern­ing, thought­ful action. And he expect­ed that the poor would under­take most of the resis­tance, because the bur­dens fell heav­i­est on them, and “because they who assert the purest right, and con­se­quent­ly are the most dan­ger­ous to a cor­rupt State, com­mon­ly have not spent much time in accu­mu­lat­ing prop­er­ty.” This has gen­er­al­ly, through­out his­to­ry, been true.

The best thing a per­son of means can do, he writes, is “to endeav­or to car­ry out those schemes which he enter­tained when he was poor.” Or, pre­sum­ably, if one has nev­er been so, to fol­low the poors’ lead. The para­dox of Thoreau’s asser­tion that the least pow­er­ful present the great­est threat to the State resolves in his recog­ni­tion that the State’s pow­er rests not in its appeal to “sense, intel­lec­tu­al or moral” but in its “supe­ri­or phys­i­cal strength.” By sim­ply refus­ing to yield to threats, anyone—even ordi­nary, pow­er­less people—can deny the government’s author­i­ty, “until the State comes to rec­og­nize the indi­vid­ual as a high­er and inde­pen­dent pow­er, from which all its own pow­er and author­i­ty are derived.”

Read Thoreau’s com­plete essay, “Civ­il Dis­obe­di­ence,” here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

6 Polit­i­cal The­o­rists Intro­duced in Ani­mat­ed “School of Life” Videos: Marx, Smith, Rawls & More

Hear 21 Hours of Lec­tures & Talks by Howard Zinn, Author of the Best­selling A People’s His­to­ry of the Unit­ed States

‘Tired of Giv­ing In’: The Arrest Report, Mug Shot and Fin­ger­prints of Rosa Parks (Decem­ber 1, 1955)

Mar­tin Luther King, Jr. Writes a List of 16 Sug­ges­tions for African-Amer­i­cans Rid­ing New­ly-Inte­grat­ed Bus­es (1956)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

An Animated, Monty Python-Style Introduction to the Søren Kierkegaard, the First Existentialist

When first I vis­it­ed Copen­hagen, I went over, as many tourists do, to the Assis­tens Ceme­tery to find the grave of Søren Kierkegaard. But for all of us who know the name of that 19th-cen­tu­ry Dan­ish philoso­pher, how many can claim even an acquain­tance with the ideas that made his into a near-house­hold name? The intro­duc­to­ry video from Alain de Bot­ton’s School of Life just above gets us start­ed on form­ing that acquain­tance with this “bril­liant, gloomy, anx­i­ety-rid­den, often hilar­i­ous” thinker in a man­ner rel­e­vant to the prob­lems of mod­ern life, high­light­ing three of Kierkegaard’s best-known works: 1843’s Either/Or and Fear and Trem­bling and 1849’s The Sick­ness Unto Death.

In the first two, says de Bot­ton in the role of the nar­ra­tor, “what Kierkegaard wants us to do, above all, is wake up, and give up our cozy, sen­ti­men­tal illu­sions. He sys­tem­at­i­cal­ly attacks the pil­lars of mod­ern life: our faith in fam­i­ly, our trust in work, our attach­ment to love, and our gen­er­al sense that life has pur­pose and mean­ing.” He quotes the philoso­pher him­self and his real­iza­tion that “the mean­ing of life was to get a liveli­hood. That the goal of life was to be a high-court judge. That the bright­est joy of love was to mar­ry a well-off girl. That wis­dom was what the major­i­ty said it was. That pas­sion was to give a speech. That courage was to risk being fined $10. That cor­dial­i­ty was to say ‘You’re wel­come’ after a meal, and that the fear of God was to go to Com­mu­nion once a year. That’s what I saw, and I laughed.”

The direc­tion in which this real­iza­tion took Kierkegaard’s thought pro­duced a body of work con­sid­ered a prece­dent of the Exis­ten­tial­ism explored in the 20th cen­tu­ry by the likes of Mar­tin Hei­deg­ger, Albert Camus, and Jean-Paul Sartre. “Mar­ry, and you will regret it,” Kierkegaard wrote in Either/Or. “Don’t mar­ry, you will also regret it. Mar­ry or don’t mar­ry, you will regret it either way. Laugh at the world’s fool­ish­ness, you will regret it. Weep over it, you’ll regret that, too. Hang your­self, you’ll regret it. Don’t hang your­self, and you’ll regret that, too. Whether you hang your­self or don’t hang your­self, you will regret both. This, gen­tle­men, is the essence of all phi­los­o­phy.”

Kierkegaard stressed the then-new idea of angst, “a con­di­tion where we under­stand how many choic­es we face, and how lit­tle under­stand­ing we can ever have, of how to exer­cise these choic­es wise­ly.” Some might turn to reli­gion for the solu­tion, and so, in a way, did Kierkegaard, who “adored the sim­ple truths of the Gospels” but “loathed the Chris­tian­i­ty of the estab­lished Dan­ish Church.” What an irony that his fam­i­ly name means “church­yard” in Dan­ish, let alone that he should be buried in such a famous one him­self. (Kierkegaard’s nephew protest­ed the bur­ial, which result­ed in a fine for dis­rupt­ing a funer­al.) But to the extent that the philoso­pher’s pres­ence there caus­es its pil­grims both casu­al and devot­ed to reflect seri­ous­ly on the irre­solv­able con­tra­dic­tions still at the core of our lives, his mis­sion (in de Bot­ton’s words) “to save him­self and, he thought, human­i­ty,” con­tin­ues.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

The Phi­los­o­phy of Kierkegaard, the First Exis­ten­tial­ist Philoso­pher, Revis­it­ed in 1984 Doc­u­men­tary

Down­load Wal­ter Kaufmann’s Lec­tures on Niet­zsche, Kierkegaard, Sartre & Mod­ern Thought (1960)

Get to Know Socrates, Camus, Kierkegaard & Oth­er Great Philoso­phers with the BBC’s Intel­li­gent Radio Show, In Our Time

Exis­ten­tial Phi­los­o­phy of Kierkegaard, Sartre, Camus Explained with 8‑Bit Video Games

Philoso­phers Drink­ing Cof­fee: The Exces­sive Habits of Kant, Voltaire & Kierkegaard

Who Wrote at Stand­ing Desks? Kierkegaard, Dick­ens and Ernest Hem­ing­way Too

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

What Did Nietzsche Really Mean When He Wrote “God is Dead”?

nietzsche habits

The quote inspired an anx­ious 1966 Time mag­a­zine cov­er, and a preachy 2016 movie fran­chise that works hard to inoc­u­late the faith­ful against atheism’s threat­en­ing seduc­tions: “God is Dead,” wrote Friedrich Niet­zsche in his 1882 book of inci­sive apho­risms, The Gay Sci­ence, and unwit­ting­ly coined a phrase now insep­a­ra­ble from 20th cen­tu­ry cul­ture wars. Of course, Niet­zsche knew he was toss­ing a Molo­tov cock­tail into the fraught cul­ture wars of his own time, but he didn’t blow things up for the sheer plea­sure of it. Instead, his blunt asser­tion lay at the heart of what Niet­zsche saw as both a tremen­dous prob­lem and a nec­es­sary real­iza­tion.

To clar­i­fy, Niet­zsche nev­er meant to say that there had been some sort of god but that he had died in recent his­to­ry. “Rather,” writes Scot­ty Hen­dricks at Big Think, “that our idea of one had” been ren­dered a rel­ic of a pre-sci­en­tif­ic age. The philoso­pher, “an athe­ist for his adult life,” found no place for Chris­t­ian belief in a post-Enlight­en­ment world: “Europe no longer need­ed God as the source for all moral­i­ty, val­ue, or order in the uni­verse; phi­los­o­phy and sci­ence were capa­ble of doing that for us.” Accept­ing this brute fact can impose a heavy exis­ten­tial­ist bur­den, as well as a heavy philo­soph­i­cal and eth­i­cal one: the­o­log­i­cal think­ing is deeply embed­ded in West­ern phi­los­o­phy and lan­guage, or as Niet­zsche wrote, “I am afraid we are not rid of God because we still have faith in gram­mar.”

A com­mit­ted meta­phys­i­cal nat­u­ral­ist, Niet­zsche nonethe­less saw that just as he was haunt­ed by his strict reli­gious upbring­ing, unable to eas­i­ly rid him­self of the traces of the Chris­t­ian God, so too was Euro­pean civ­i­liza­tion haunt­ed, par­tic­u­lar­ly the bour­geois Ger­man soci­ety he often sav­aged. “God is dead; but giv­en the way peo­ple are, there may still for mil­len­nia be caves in which they show his shadow.—And we—we must still defeat his shad­ow as well!” The “shad­ow” of god trails our ideas about moral­i­ty. Fear­ing to give up reli­gious thought, we cling to it even in the absence of reli­gion. What is to take its place, we won­der, except for wide­spread, destruc­tive nihilism, a con­di­tion Niet­zsche feared inevitable?

Niet­zsche even saw sci­en­tif­ic dis­course as haunt­ed by ideas of divine agency. “Let us beware of say­ing that there are laws in nature,” he writes in The Gay Sci­ence, “There are only neces­si­ties: there is no one who com­mands, no one who obeys, no one who trans­gress­es. Once you know that there are no pur­pos­es, you also know that there is no acci­dent; for only against a world of pur­pos­es does the word ‘acci­dent’ have a mean­ing.” Far from pulling away the source of human mean­ing, how­ev­er, Niet­zsche seeks to lib­er­ate his read­ers from the idea that “death is opposed to life”—or that los­ing a cher­ished belief is a cat­a­stro­phe.

On the contrary—as philoso­pher Simon Critch­ley apt­ly para­phras­es in a brief video at Big Think— Niet­zsche  thought that belief in God made us “cring­ing, cow­ard­ly, sub­mis­sive crea­tures,” and pro­found­ly unfree. He believed we would con­tin­ue to be so until we accept­ed our place in nature—no easy feat in an age so steeped in god-think. “When will we be done with our cau­tion and care?” Niet­zsche won­dered, “When will all these shad­ows of god no longer dark­en us? When will we have com­plete­ly de-dei­fied nature? When will we begin to nat­u­ral­ize human­i­ty with a pure, new­ly dis­cov­ered, new­ly redeemed nature?”

For Niet­zsche, the mass of peo­ple may nev­er do so. He reserves his redemp­tion for “the kind of peo­ple who alone mat­ter; I mean the hero­ic.” Fail­ing to become heroes, ordi­nary peo­ple in moder­ni­ty are fat­ed to go the way of “the Last Man,” a fig­ure, writes Hen­dricks, “who lives a qui­et life of com­fort, with­out thought for indi­vid­u­al­i­ty or per­son­al growth.” A pas­sive con­sumer. We can read Nietzsche’s phi­los­o­phy as thor­ough­go­ing elit­ism, or as a call to the read­er to per­son­al hero­ism. Either way, the anx­i­ety he tapped into has per­sist­ed for 134 years, and shows lit­tle sign of abat­ing for many peo­ple. For oth­ers, the nonex­is­tence of a supreme being has no effect on their psy­cho­log­i­cal health.

For bil­lions of Daoists and Bud­dhists, for exam­ple, the prob­lem has nev­er exist­ed. Niet­zsche knew per­haps as much about East­ern reli­gion as his con­tem­po­raries, much of his knowl­edge taint­ed by Arthur Schopen­hauer’s pes­simistic take on Bud­dhism. “Com­pared to [Schopenhauer’s] world view,” writes Peter Abel­son, “which is very severe, Bud­dhism seems almost cheer­ful.” Niet­zsche could be equal­ly severe, often as a mat­ter of polemic, often as mat­ter of mood, some­times dis­miss­ing oth­er reli­gious sys­tems with only slight­ly less con­tempt than he did Chris­tian­i­ty. But he sums up one of his key athe­is­tic val­ues in a sup­posed quote from the Bud­dha: “Don’t flat­ter your bene­fac­tors! Repeat this say­ing in a Chris­t­ian church, and it will instant­ly clear the air of every­thing Chris­t­ian.” To live with­out belief in god, he sug­gests over and over, is to be ful­ly free from servi­tude, and ful­ly respon­si­ble for one­self.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Niet­zsche, Wittgen­stein & Sartre Explained with Mon­ty Python-Style Ani­ma­tions by The School of Life

Wal­ter Kaufmann’s Clas­sic Lec­tures on Niet­zsche, Kierkegaard and Sartre (1960)

The Dig­i­tal Niet­zsche: Down­load Nietzsche’s Major Works as Free eBooks

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Stephen Fry Narrates 4 Philosophy Animations On the Question: How to Create a Just Society?

How do we cre­ate a just soci­ety? 50,000 years or so at it and human­i­ty still has a long way to go before fig­ur­ing that out, though not for lack of try­ing. The four ani­mat­ed videos of “What Is Jus­tice?”—a minis­eries with­in BBC Radio 4 and the Open Uni­ver­si­ty’s larg­er project of ani­mat­ing the ideas of philoso­phers through­out his­to­ry and explain­ing them in the voic­es of var­i­ous famous nar­ra­tors—tell us what John Rawls, Hen­ry David Thore­au, and the Bible, among oth­er sources, have to say on the sub­ject of jus­tice. Stephen Fry pro­vides the voice this time as the videos illus­trate the nature of these ideas, as well as their com­pli­ca­tions, before our eyes.

Imag­ine you had to cre­ate a just soci­ety your­self, but “you won’t know what kind of a per­son you’ll be in the soci­ety you design.” This thought exper­i­ment, first described by Rawls in his 1971 book A The­o­ry of Jus­tice as the “veil of igno­rance,” sup­pos­ed­ly encour­ages the cre­ation of “a much fair­er soci­ety than we now have. There would be exten­sive free­dom and equal­i­ty of oppor­tu­ni­ty. But there would­n’t be extremes of high pay, unless it could be shown that the poor­est in soci­ety direct­ly ben­e­fit­ed as a result.” An intrigu­ing idea, but one eas­i­er artic­u­lat­ed than agreed upon, let alone real­ized.

Much ear­li­er in his­to­ry, you find the sim­pler prin­ci­ple of “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” an “ancient form of pun­ish­ment known as lex tal­io­n­is, or the law of retal­i­a­tion.” Any read­er of the Bible will have a strong sense of this idea’s impor­tance in the ancient world, though we’d do well to remem­ber that back then, it “was a way of encour­ag­ing a sense of pro­por­tion — not wip­ing out a whole com­mu­ni­ty in retal­i­a­tion for the killing of one man, for exam­ple.” While harsh pun­ish­ment could, in the­o­ry, deter poten­tial crim­i­nals, “severe legal vio­lence can cre­ate mar­tyrs and increase soci­ety’s prob­lems.” The rule of law, nat­u­ral­ly, has every­thing to do with the cre­ation and main­te­nance of a just soci­ety, though not every law fur­thers the cause.

But you’ve no doubt heard of one that has: habeas cor­pus, the legal prin­ci­ple man­dat­ing that “no one, not even the pres­i­dent, monarch, or any­one else in pow­er, can detain some­one ille­gal­ly.” Instead, “they need to bring the detainee in ques­tion before a court and allow that court to deter­mine whether or not this per­son can legal­ly be held.” Yet not every author­i­ty has con­sis­tent­ly imple­ment­ed or upheld habeas cor­pus or oth­er jus­tice-ensur­ing laws. At times like those, accord­ing to Thore­au, you must engage in civ­il dis­obe­di­ence: “fol­low your con­science and break the law on moral grounds rather than be a cog in an unjust sys­tem.” It’s a dirty job, cre­at­ing a just soci­ety, and will remain so for the fore­see­able future. And though we may not all have giv­en it as much thought as a Rawls or a Thore­au, we’ve all got a role to play in it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A The­o­ry of Jus­tice, the Musi­cal Imag­ines Philoso­pher John Rawls as a Time-Trav­el­ing Adven­tur­er

Jus­tice: Putting a Price Tag on Life & How to Mea­sure Plea­sure

Free: Lis­ten to John Rawls’ Course on “Mod­ern Polit­i­cal Phi­los­o­phy” (Record­ed at Har­vard, 1984)

47 Ani­mat­ed Videos Explain the His­to­ry of Ideas: From Aris­to­tle to Sartre

What is the Self? Watch Phi­los­o­phy Ani­ma­tions Nar­rat­ed by Stephen Fry on Sartre, Descartes & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

John Cleese & Jonathan Miller Turn Profs Talking About Wittgenstein Into a Classic Comedy Routine (1977)

Every­one inter­est­ed in phi­los­o­phy must occa­sion­al­ly face the ques­tion of how, exact­ly, to define phi­los­o­phy itself. You can always label as phi­los­o­phy what­ev­er philoso­phers do — but what, exact­ly, do philoso­phers do? Here the Eng­lish come­di­ans John Cleese of Mon­ty Python and Jonathan Miller of Beyond the Fringe offer an inter­pre­ta­tion of the life of mod­ern philoso­phers in the form of a five-minute sketch set in “a senior com­mon room some­where in Oxford (or Cam­bridge).”

There, Cleese and Miller’s philoso­phers have a wide-rang­ing talk about Lud­wig Wittgen­stein, sens­es of the word “yes,” whether an “unfetched slab” can be said to exist, and the very role of the philoso­pher in this “het­ero­ge­neous, con­fus­ing, and con­fused jum­ble of polit­i­cal, social, and eco­nom­ic rela­tions we call soci­ety.” They come to the ten­ta­tive con­clu­sion that, just as oth­ers dri­ve bus­es or chop down trees, philoso­phers “play lan­guage games” — or per­haps “games at lan­guage” — “in order to find out what game it is that we are play­ing.”

As inten­tion­al­ly ridicu­lous as that expla­na­tion may sound, it would­n’t come across as espe­cial­ly out­landish in many phi­los­o­phy-depart­ment com­mon rooms today. Cleese and Miller, no strangers to play­ing their own kinds of lan­guage games, get laughs not so much from mock­ing the non­sen­si­cal com­plex­i­ties of phi­los­o­phy — and indeed, most of their lines make per­fect sense on one lev­el or anoth­er — as they do from so vivid­ly express­ing the dis­tinc­tive man­ner of the “Oxbridge Philoso­pher” char­ac­ters they por­tray. It has every­thing to do with man­ner, both ver­bal and phys­i­cal, tak­en to as absurd an extreme as their lines of think­ing.

Cleese and Miller’s ver­sion of the Oxbridge Philoso­pher sketch here comes from the 1977 Amnesty Inter­na­tion­al ben­e­fit show and tele­vi­sion spe­cial An Evening With­out Sir Bernard Miles (also known as The Mer­maid Frol­ics), but oth­ers exist. It goes at least as far back as Beyond the Fringe’s days pio­neer­ing their huge­ly influ­en­tial brand of British satire on the stage in the 1960s; their ear­li­er per­for­mance just above fea­tures Miller and fel­low troupe mem­ber Alan Ben­nett. It can still make us laugh today, but we might well won­der whether any­one in the his­to­ry of human­i­ty has ever real­ly sound­ed like this — in which case, we should watch footage of real-life Oxford philoso­phers back in those days and judge for our­selves.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mon­ty Python Sings “The Philosopher’s Song,” Reveal­ing the Drink­ing Habits of Great Euro­pean Thinkers

Mon­ty Python’s Philosopher’s Foot­ball Match: The Epic Show­down Between the Greeks & Ger­mans (1972)

John Cleese Touts the Val­ue of Phi­los­o­phy in 22 Pub­lic Ser­vice Announce­ments for the Amer­i­can Philo­soph­i­cal Asso­ci­a­tion

Athe­ism: A Rough His­to­ry of Dis­be­lief, with Jonathan Miller

The Mod­ern-Day Philoso­phers Pod­cast: Where Come­di­ans Like Carl Rein­er & Artie Lange Dis­cuss Schopen­hauer & Mai­monides

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

The Sights & Sounds of 18th Century Paris Get Recreated with 3D Audio and Animation

In what is often called the “Ear­ly Mod­ern” peri­od, or the “Long Eigh­teenth Cen­tu­ry,” Europe wit­nessed an explo­sion of satire, not only as a polit­i­cal and lit­er­ary weapon, but as a means of react­ing to a whole new way of life that arose in the cities—principally Lon­don and Paris—as a dis­placed rur­al pop­u­la­tion and expand­ing bour­geoisie rad­i­cal­ly altered the char­ac­ter of urban life. In Eng­land, poets like Alexan­der Pope and Jonathan Swift sav­aged their rivals in print, while also com­ment­ing on the increas­ing pace and declin­ing tastes of the city.

In France, Voltaire punched up, using his pen to nee­dle Parisian author­i­ties, serv­ing 11 months in the Bastille for a satir­i­cal verse accus­ing the Regent of incest. Despite the huge­ly suc­cess­ful pre­miere of his play Oedi­pus sev­en months after his release, Voltaire would ulti­mate­ly be exiled from his beloved city for 28 years, return­ing in 1778 at the age of 83.

Now, of course, Parisians cel­e­brate Voltaire in every pos­si­ble way, but what would it have been like to have expe­ri­enced the city dur­ing his life­time, when it became the buzzing cen­ter of Euro­pean intel­lec­tu­al life? In the video recre­ation above, we can par­tial­ly answer that ques­tion by expe­ri­enc­ing what 18th cen­tu­ry Paris may have looked and sound­ed like, accord­ing to musi­col­o­gist Mylène Par­doen, who designed this “his­tor­i­cal audio recon­sti­tu­tion,” writes CNRS News, with a “team of his­to­ri­ans, soci­ol­o­gists and spe­cial­ists in 3D rep­re­sen­ta­tions.”

The team chose to ani­mate “the Grand Châtelet dis­trict, between the Pont au Change and Pont Notre Dame bridges” because, Par­doen explains, the neigh­bor­hood “con­cen­trates 80% of the back­ground and sound envi­ron­ments of Paris in that era, whether through famil­iar trades—shopkeepers, crafts­men, boat­men, wash­er­women on the banks of the Seine… or the diver­si­ty of acoustic pos­si­bil­i­ties, like the echo heard under a bridge or in a cov­ered pas­sage­way.” The result is “the first 3D recon­struc­tion based sole­ly on a son­ic back­ground.”

“We are the whipped cream of Europe,” Voltaire once said of his Paris, a lux­u­ri­ous, aris­to­crat­ic world. But 18th cen­tu­ry Paris was also a grimy city full of ordi­nary labor­ers and mer­chants, of “cesspools and kennels”—as a com­men­tary on Dick­ens’ A Tale of Two Cities notes—and of wine-stained streets with­out prop­er drainage. And it was a city on the verge of a rev­o­lu­tion from below, inspired by icon­o­clasts from above like Voltaire. In the 3D video and audio recre­ation above, we get a small, video-game-like taste of a bustling city caught between immense lux­u­ry and crush­ing pover­ty, between medieval the­ol­o­gy and human­ist phi­los­o­phy, and between the rule of divine kings and a bloody sec­u­lar rev­o­lu­tion to come.

We start­ed the video above at the 2:06 mark when the ani­ma­tions kick in. Feel free to start the video from the very begin­ning.

via @WFMU/CNRS News

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Fly Through 17th-Cen­tu­ry London’s Grit­ty Streets with Prize-Win­ning Ani­ma­tions

Beau­ti­ful, Col­or Pho­tographs of Paris Tak­en 100 Years Ago—at the Begin­ning of World War I & the End of La Belle Époque

What Makes Paris Look Like Paris? A Cre­ative Use of Google Street View

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

An Animated Introduction to French Philosopher Jacques Derrida

Since the bold arrival of his book Of Gram­ma­tol­ogy in 1967, French philoso­pher Jacques Der­ri­da has been understood—or misunderstood—as many things: a rad­i­cal rel­a­tivist who ”rejects all of meta­phys­i­cal his­to­ry,” a fash­ion­able intel­lec­tu­al play­ing lan­guage games, a bril­liant phe­nom­e­nol­o­gist of lan­guage…. One asso­ci­a­tion he vehe­ment­ly reject­ed was with the kind of iron­ic, lais­sez faire post­mod­ernism rep­re­sent­ed by Sein­feld. But when it came to clar­i­fy­ing his work for puz­zled read­ers and onlook­ers, Der­ri­da could seem as will­ful­ly, frus­trat­ing­ly eva­sive in per­son as he was on the page. His work, writes Williams Col­lege pro­fes­sor Mark C. Tay­lor, can “seem hope­less­ly obscure… to peo­ple addict­ed to sound bites and overnight polls.”

Most peo­ple famil­iar with some of Derrida’s work know a few key terms of his thought: dif­férance, trace, apo­r­ia, phar­makon. Those who’ve only heard the name prob­a­bly know only one: Decon­struc­tion, a “way of doing phi­los­o­phy,” says Alain de Bot­ton in his video intro­duc­tion to Der­ri­da above, that “fun­da­men­tal­ly altered our under­stand­ing of many aca­d­e­m­ic fields, espe­cial­ly lit­er­ary stud­ies.” But what exact­ly is “Decon­struc­tion”? Rather than a method, Der­ri­da him­self described it as a process already occur­ring with­in a writ­ten work, one we can observe when we “do not assume that what is con­di­tioned by his­to­ry, insti­tu­tions, or soci­ety is nat­ur­al.” 

Derrida’s med­i­ta­tions on the inabil­i­ty of lan­guage to con­tain or com­mu­ni­cate nat­ur­al or meta­phys­i­cal truth devel­oped in unique life cir­cum­stances. Born into a Jew­ish fam­i­ly in French colo­nial Alge­ria in 1930, the philoso­pher grew up very con­scious of “hav­ing been in an infe­ri­or posi­tion at the nexus of three dif­fer­ent reli­gions, Judaism, Chris­tian­i­ty, and Islam, all of which claimed to speak the truth,” says de Bot­ton. Upon arriv­ing in Paris to study in 1949, Der­ri­da found him­self even fur­ther on the social mar­gins. “Though Der­ri­da was not an auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal writer, it’s hard not to read his work as a response to big­otry and exclu­sion.”

The claim that the philosopher—whose name has almost become syn­ony­mous with post-mod­ernism, for good or ill—was not an auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal writer may seem strange to some. One of his most-read books in col­lege cours­es, Mono­lin­gual­ism of the Oth­er, pro­ceeds from an inves­ti­ga­tion into his fraught rela­tion­ship with the French lan­guage because of his upbring­ing as a reli­gious minor­i­ty in a Euro­pean colony. Lat­er, Der­ri­da deliv­ered a ten-hour address to a con­fer­ence called The Auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal Ani­mal, pub­lished posthu­mous­ly (and excerpt­ed here).

Nonethe­less, Der­ri­da would not have made much of his place as the author, this being only a rhetor­i­cal occa­sion for analy­sis. Der­ri­da, writes Nazenin Ruso at Phi­los­o­phy Now, argued that “once the text is writ­ten, the author’s input los­es its sig­nif­i­cance.” The per­son of the author—his or her phys­i­cal pres­ence, bio­graph­i­cal expe­ri­ences, emo­tions, desires, and intentions—becomes irre­triev­able for read­ers, one of many absences in the text that we mis­take for pres­ence.

It’s hard to see, then, how we can speak of what Derrida’s “hope” was for his read­ers’ self-improve­ment, as de Bot­ton says in his video intro­duc­tion. This being the School of Life, we are treat­ed to a rather util­i­tar­i­an read­ing of the philoso­pher, one he would per­haps reject. But Der­ri­da bris­tled at the idea that lan­guage could suf­fice to tell us how and who to be in the world. His sus­pi­cion of logo­cen­trism, “an over-hasty, naïve devo­tion to rea­son, log­ic, and clear def­i­n­i­tion,” says de Bot­ton, means he felt that “many of the most impor­tant things we feel can nev­er be expressed in words.” To hear Der­ri­da talk about the prob­lem of priv­i­leg­ing lan­guage over oth­er means of expres­sion with an artist who unique­ly agreed with his posi­tion, read his inter­view with jazz great Ornette Cole­man.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

140 Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Phi­los­o­phy with a South­ern Drawl: Rick Rod­er­ick Teach­es Der­ri­da, Fou­cault, Sartre and Oth­ers

Jacques Der­ri­da on Sein­feld: “Decon­struc­tion Doesn’t Pro­duce Any Sit­com”

Philoso­pher Jacques Der­ri­da Inter­views Jazz Leg­end Ornette Cole­man: Talk Impro­vi­sa­tion, Lan­guage & Racism (1997)

Teacher Calls Jacques Derrida’s Col­lege Admis­sion Essay on Shake­speare “Quite Incom­pre­hen­si­ble” (1951)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

 

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