HARDWIRED
“ Success (or failure) in matters of love, money, reputation or power is transient stuff; you soon settle back down (or up) to the level of happiness you were born with genetically.” In Tom Wolfe's Hooking Up
Wolfe predicts that a new Nietzsche will soon come to announce “the Soul (or Self) is dead.” The suspected killer is the neuroscientific world view, which aspires to explain away these entities, along with another old friend, free will. Scientists claim to have discovered that most of the behaviour that makes up our cherished view of ourselves is in fact genetically encoded, infamous examples being intelligence, homosexuality, having criminal tendencies, and how we respond to beauty.
This will bring about a sea change in our thinking, claims Wolfe, as we have long been used to ideas of social or psychological conditioning – from Marx and Freud, respectively. The result could be that many of our everyday notions become quaint artefacts. Personal responsibility is the most important of these, and along with that goes the ability to criticise meaningfully the actions of others.
I doubt the change in the intellectual climate will be so profound.
(1) There is as much evasion of responsibility in saying “I’m socially conditioned – don’t blame me” as in saying “I’m wired wrong – don’t blame me”.
(2) When we praise or blame, for moral wrongdoing (e.g. “Blair was wrong to go to war”) we are not thinking of some absolute freedom of choice at the moment of decision, as if the culprit had flicked the wrong switch. (This kind of existential pause before decisionmaking is, in any case, the exception rather than the rule.) Rather, we are thinking of someone’s whole character that formed the background to the choice made. Blaming someone is like blaming a faulty computer. It doesn’t matter exactly how the fault came about; the point is that it is there now, and worth complaining about, or taking action over.
As for the Soul (or self) being dead, this is old news to Buddhists, readers of Proust, and many philosophers. Don't be too hard on yourself, because you, as a discrete entity, literally don't exist. The notion of your slowly changing and evolving character is preserved, however - it is something akin to a climate. Get used to acting as a collection of events, and seeing statements about you and your personal beliefs in the same category as weather reports - reasonably reliable, but not facts. Your moods are like tropical storms. And if things aren't going your way, wait for a change in the weather.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Sunday, July 17, 2005
RAW FOOD SUBVERSIVE
"The ethical value of uncooked food is incomparable. Economically this food has possibilities which no cooked food can have." Gandhi.
Raw and "bio" food seems to be taking off here in Central Europe, but I suppose it never came down to earth, as it were, in a culture where "total wellness" has long been touted as a panacea to the great Hungarian cholesterol-gobbling masses. The more usual diet of sausages, fried dough and multifarious cheeses sadly leaves droves of people hobbling before their time.
Headed off to the country recently for a weekend of eating raw food, doing yoga and general abstinence. Our hosts were a rake-thin couple in their sixties, who had evidently been at it for years. They prepared exquisite dishes from various vegetables, fruit, seeds and nuts - not just salads but tasty main courses, spreads for toast and even cream cakes (with nut cream.) I certainly felt rejuvenated after eating this stuff for two days, though this may have been as much to do with not having had a drink all weekend (something I don't do, unless ill) as anything else.
On the down side, there wasn't a lot of humour to be had during the weekend. All the participants were very earnest; good people, but of the po-faced fanatical type, and scarcely a giggle escaped their lips. I've noticed this is a marked tendency among the spiritual and people from a broadly Left tradition, and I'm not sure why. I think it's because "enlightenment" tends to dispel lightness, and humour to subvert.
Joan was utterly dominating, and presided thin-lipped over the proceedings. Before each meal, she declared, after waiting grimly for silence to descend, that she would talk about the food, and this she proceeded to do in hushed reverential tones. The first time, we wolfishly lunged at the great mounds of food, so her tremulous husband pre-empted us the second time: "in this house, it is customary to spend a few seconds in silence." We felt suitably admonished.
Among many edicts and prescriptions, Joan said you should eat nothing with a watermelon, and no more than eight dates at a time. Also, water should be drunk no less than half an hour before eating, NEVER with the meal or afterwards as it would wash away all the enzymes before they got to work. So when I went upstairs to get a little of my water (wisely packed) I felt a Class A twinge of guilt. I plucked up the courage to bring the plastic bottle into the yoga room later; it earned a withering glance from my teacher, the kind relapsing alcoholics get from their counsellors. When Judit, my girlfriend, brought some plates and leftover food to the kitchen, she was stopped from putting it in the bin with Joan's terse proclamation, "I have special rules for leftover food!" (It was to be further empulped for one of the next day's spread.)
All the discussion was about food, food, food. In a moment of snatched privacy, Judit said, "you'd have to be in your dotage to be so preoccupied with your digestive system." We had to escape for walks a couple of times - and we felt as if we were skipping off school! When her husband started going on about some disciple of Hungary's original raw food guru - possibly a former Nazi, I thought - who was alive at 96, I thought of my grandmother going strong at 91 on her own particular regime of sweets and cream cakes.
"The ethical value of uncooked food is incomparable. Economically this food has possibilities which no cooked food can have." Gandhi.
Raw and "bio" food seems to be taking off here in Central Europe, but I suppose it never came down to earth, as it were, in a culture where "total wellness" has long been touted as a panacea to the great Hungarian cholesterol-gobbling masses. The more usual diet of sausages, fried dough and multifarious cheeses sadly leaves droves of people hobbling before their time.
Headed off to the country recently for a weekend of eating raw food, doing yoga and general abstinence. Our hosts were a rake-thin couple in their sixties, who had evidently been at it for years. They prepared exquisite dishes from various vegetables, fruit, seeds and nuts - not just salads but tasty main courses, spreads for toast and even cream cakes (with nut cream.) I certainly felt rejuvenated after eating this stuff for two days, though this may have been as much to do with not having had a drink all weekend (something I don't do, unless ill) as anything else.
On the down side, there wasn't a lot of humour to be had during the weekend. All the participants were very earnest; good people, but of the po-faced fanatical type, and scarcely a giggle escaped their lips. I've noticed this is a marked tendency among the spiritual and people from a broadly Left tradition, and I'm not sure why. I think it's because "enlightenment" tends to dispel lightness, and humour to subvert.
Joan was utterly dominating, and presided thin-lipped over the proceedings. Before each meal, she declared, after waiting grimly for silence to descend, that she would talk about the food, and this she proceeded to do in hushed reverential tones. The first time, we wolfishly lunged at the great mounds of food, so her tremulous husband pre-empted us the second time: "in this house, it is customary to spend a few seconds in silence." We felt suitably admonished.
Among many edicts and prescriptions, Joan said you should eat nothing with a watermelon, and no more than eight dates at a time. Also, water should be drunk no less than half an hour before eating, NEVER with the meal or afterwards as it would wash away all the enzymes before they got to work. So when I went upstairs to get a little of my water (wisely packed) I felt a Class A twinge of guilt. I plucked up the courage to bring the plastic bottle into the yoga room later; it earned a withering glance from my teacher, the kind relapsing alcoholics get from their counsellors. When Judit, my girlfriend, brought some plates and leftover food to the kitchen, she was stopped from putting it in the bin with Joan's terse proclamation, "I have special rules for leftover food!" (It was to be further empulped for one of the next day's spread.)
All the discussion was about food, food, food. In a moment of snatched privacy, Judit said, "you'd have to be in your dotage to be so preoccupied with your digestive system." We had to escape for walks a couple of times - and we felt as if we were skipping off school! When her husband started going on about some disciple of Hungary's original raw food guru - possibly a former Nazi, I thought - who was alive at 96, I thought of my grandmother going strong at 91 on her own particular regime of sweets and cream cakes.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
THE HYPNOTISM OF WASPS
When I used to live in Ghana, I had a wasps' nest somewhere near my house, perhaps even under the rafters, and, since I had left my radio in bed under the mosquito net, my breakfast time entertainment was to study their behaviour. I observed a strange ritual that I can't explain.
The noise of the wasps all buzzing together would begin soon after I turned the light on, and sometimes they were up before me. Collectively, they generated a deep high-voltage hum like you would get from a faulty electrical appliance. They would always gather on the grille of the windows because the brightest light usually came from here. Like a schoolboy, I'd extinguish this light and switch on the external one, listening to the immediate pitch change when I did so. Of course, they'd gradually migrate to the other bulb, although it took some of them quite a long time to realise the light source had changed. Perhaps they were sleepy like me.
By now, the sun was starting to come up over the bush land beyond the campus. At one point, just at the moment you'd describe as daybreak, when the light was enough to give some colour to the sky, the wasps stopped dead. This wasn't sudden enough to make you sit up and notice; it happened over a minute or two. There they would sit, frozen in awe (as it seemed) or else complete confusion. All buzzing ceased. And the stillness continued for about twenty minutes, after which they began to fly off, individually and randomly. The first time I saw this conglomeration, I actually thought they had all died during the night. It was spectacular in its own way.
What was going on? Were they greeting the dawn, passing chemical messages to each other in mute communion, or simply trying to calculate the position of the real sun? In their eerie unison, I couldn't help but notice the similarity with the other call to prayer which was happening a little further away on campus, every day at the same time.
When I used to live in Ghana, I had a wasps' nest somewhere near my house, perhaps even under the rafters, and, since I had left my radio in bed under the mosquito net, my breakfast time entertainment was to study their behaviour. I observed a strange ritual that I can't explain.
The noise of the wasps all buzzing together would begin soon after I turned the light on, and sometimes they were up before me. Collectively, they generated a deep high-voltage hum like you would get from a faulty electrical appliance. They would always gather on the grille of the windows because the brightest light usually came from here. Like a schoolboy, I'd extinguish this light and switch on the external one, listening to the immediate pitch change when I did so. Of course, they'd gradually migrate to the other bulb, although it took some of them quite a long time to realise the light source had changed. Perhaps they were sleepy like me.
By now, the sun was starting to come up over the bush land beyond the campus. At one point, just at the moment you'd describe as daybreak, when the light was enough to give some colour to the sky, the wasps stopped dead. This wasn't sudden enough to make you sit up and notice; it happened over a minute or two. There they would sit, frozen in awe (as it seemed) or else complete confusion. All buzzing ceased. And the stillness continued for about twenty minutes, after which they began to fly off, individually and randomly. The first time I saw this conglomeration, I actually thought they had all died during the night. It was spectacular in its own way.
What was going on? Were they greeting the dawn, passing chemical messages to each other in mute communion, or simply trying to calculate the position of the real sun? In their eerie unison, I couldn't help but notice the similarity with the other call to prayer which was happening a little further away on campus, every day at the same time.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
LIVE 8: HOW WE ARE ALL BEING BETRAYED
Behind all the supposed well-wishing for Africa, Western companies are lining up to exploit the continent. The increases in aid will have strings attached. There will be no real movement on fair trade. An economic protectorate is being created, rather than giving Africans a say in their own future. Please copy and paste this link into your browser, and someone tell Bob Geldof.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/Columnists/Column/0,5673,1521411,00.html
Behind all the supposed well-wishing for Africa, Western companies are lining up to exploit the continent. The increases in aid will have strings attached. There will be no real movement on fair trade. An economic protectorate is being created, rather than giving Africans a say in their own future. Please copy and paste this link into your browser, and someone tell Bob Geldof.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/Columnists/Column/0,5673,1521411,00.html
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