The September 24, 2009 New York Review of Books has a review essay by John Searle, Philosophy Professor at Cal-Berkeley. Searle is a longtime contributor to NYRB (that's how us cool kids refer to it). I'm a novice when it comes to "philosophy of mind" stuff, but from what I can gather, Searle is a solid academic who still writes books and articles for a literate and non-academic audience.
In this particular piece he reviews Fear of Knowledge: Against Relativism and Constructivism by Paul A. Boghossian, published by Oxford U Press. It is a short book, only 139 pages, but from Searle's review it seems to raise some important issue.
As an erstwhile academic, I have studied my fair share of what is known as social constructionism. One of my main graduate mentors is a firmly committed social constructionist as are many of her fellow sociologists.
Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann's The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the Sociology of Knowledge is usually acknowledged as the Ur-text of this intellectual movement. Boghossian defines it this way: "A fact is socially constructed if and only if it is necessarily true taht it could only have obtained through the contingent actions of a social group."
Now you might disagree with this premise, but that doesn't seem to be so dangerous, right?
Another famous philosopher, Donna Haraway, writes about "situated knowledge", that our worldview is situated in a particular number of contexts. But it is not necessarily any more valid or better than another. I do agree in part with this belief. For example, despite the rabid beliefs of someone like Fred Phelps and his demented followers, "Homosexuality" as we currently understand it, did not exist back in the culture of the ancient Hebrews and early Christians. Therefore these Biblical condemnations are actually specific to the practice of sodomy or the trade of temple prostitution that Paul warns against in some of his letters. The act of sodomy existed, but not the belief or identity of homosexuality. If we accept the work of Michel Foucault, homosexuality does not come into being until the 19th century (if I'm recalling his writings accurately). Now, as both Boghossian and Searle rightly point out, this can be a slippery slope. They both cite the following example: "Recent research shows that he [Ramses II] probably died of tuberculosis . . . a social constructivist who has denied that this was possible,' asking 'How could [Ramses II] who died circa 1213 BC] pass away due to a bacillus discovered by Robert Koch in 1882?'" REALLY! No wonder mainstream culture has such a negatively dismissive view of academia. Go figure!
As someone who formerly taught undergrads in classes like Humanities and Western Civ I-II and Understanding America, I have experienced how prevalent, if poorly understood, this idea has become. In both classes we tackled difficult issues like religion, race, ethnicity, and sexuality. It was the rare student who dared to take a strong position, which could have potentially alienated me or their fellow students. This came to the fore in HWC when students read selections from the Hebrew, Christian, and Muslim scriptures. I explained to my students that despite their common Abrahamic heritage, they all made "truth claims" that were mutually exclusive. To cite one example, all three faiths had contradictory views on the identity of Jesus of Nazareth. Now, it is true that I a student was free to reject all of these truth claims and religion in general, but even this was something that most students were uncomfortable doing. Also, they certainly rejected my idea of grading on a "relativist" scale. Then they all became fans of objective truth and standards.
As someone who has studied and applied social constructionism in my own academic work, I do see its usefulness, but I ,like Boghossian and Searle, ultimately reject this epistemological position. I do believe that we can still find timeless wisdom (episteme) and that knowledge is not ultimately relative and contingent.
If I may make a plug for a publication, I think the New York Review of Books is one of the best publications around. If you are looking for a magazine that takes art, literature, and ideas seriously, NYRB is for you. The contributors are almost uniformly excellent and well-qualified to provide their commentary and analysis and they have the gift of handling difficult ideas and translating these ideas and experiences into prose accessible to a wider audience.
Czar
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Life in the Big Apple
Dear Fellow bibliophiles,
Sorry for the long time being away. Life has been even more complicated than usual for me.
In an earlier post, I mentioned that I had resisted reading any Jay McInerney out of resistance to the hype that accompanied the publication of his first novel, Bright Lights, Big City. For some reason, McInerney and Bret Easton Ellis were grouped together when they made their respective debuts. McInerney objected publicly stating that anyone who looked at their respective prose would not make such a mistake. He's exactly right. Bright Lights, Big City is everything that Less than Zero was not.
It is funny, endearing, and well-written. It too was quickly turned into a film starring Michael J. Fox as the nameless protagonist who was spurned in marriage by his wife Amanda, played by Phoebe Cates in the film. Having seen the film first, I was surprised by how closely the film follows the novel. Why I completely prefer McInerney to Ellis is that the former has the ability to create not only believable characters, but ones that I as a reader want to learn more about. I do care about these characters, unlike the nihilistic brats in Less than Zero. McInerney's characters are not necessarily happier than Ellis' characters, they simply have more interesting and complete lives.
This novel is loosely based on McInerney's earlier life in New York City as an aspiring writer in the 1980s. Though he too can portray the decadent and mostly empty lives of his characters, the sense of humor throughout the novel kept me going and I finished this novel in short order. My Vintage Contemporaries edition has a blurb from Raymond Carver and I can see why a craftsman like Carver would admire McInerney's work. It has a true literary quality to it and there is a heart to this novel that hooks the reader from the opening pages. McInerney's anonymous protagonist could be Holden Caulfield all grown up and coked out in the 1980s as he still suffers various "phonies" and still looks for something real and authentic. It is a quick read and one that I would definitely recommend.
Czar
Sorry for the long time being away. Life has been even more complicated than usual for me.
In an earlier post, I mentioned that I had resisted reading any Jay McInerney out of resistance to the hype that accompanied the publication of his first novel, Bright Lights, Big City. For some reason, McInerney and Bret Easton Ellis were grouped together when they made their respective debuts. McInerney objected publicly stating that anyone who looked at their respective prose would not make such a mistake. He's exactly right. Bright Lights, Big City is everything that Less than Zero was not.
It is funny, endearing, and well-written. It too was quickly turned into a film starring Michael J. Fox as the nameless protagonist who was spurned in marriage by his wife Amanda, played by Phoebe Cates in the film. Having seen the film first, I was surprised by how closely the film follows the novel. Why I completely prefer McInerney to Ellis is that the former has the ability to create not only believable characters, but ones that I as a reader want to learn more about. I do care about these characters, unlike the nihilistic brats in Less than Zero. McInerney's characters are not necessarily happier than Ellis' characters, they simply have more interesting and complete lives.
This novel is loosely based on McInerney's earlier life in New York City as an aspiring writer in the 1980s. Though he too can portray the decadent and mostly empty lives of his characters, the sense of humor throughout the novel kept me going and I finished this novel in short order. My Vintage Contemporaries edition has a blurb from Raymond Carver and I can see why a craftsman like Carver would admire McInerney's work. It has a true literary quality to it and there is a heart to this novel that hooks the reader from the opening pages. McInerney's anonymous protagonist could be Holden Caulfield all grown up and coked out in the 1980s as he still suffers various "phonies" and still looks for something real and authentic. It is a quick read and one that I would definitely recommend.
Czar
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Judging a book by its cover
For several years before and during my undergraduate years at KU, I worked at the Town Crier in downtown Lawrence. It no longer exists, but it was a bookstore, pipe shop, and Hallmark card store. We sold magazines too. I worked there mostly for the books and the employee discount.
For me, one of the first things that attracts me to a book is its cover. Often with the books displayed with only the spine visible, I am drawn to titles. This was the case with Scott Bradfield's first novel, The History of Luminous Motion. Bradfield had earned a PhD in English from Cal-Irvine, part time home of Jacques Derrida.
I have learned that Bradfield is now an American expat who lives in London. He has written several additional novels and has achieved a modicum of fame for an speech turned into in a essay titled "Why I Hate Toni Morrison's Beloved."
This is my first and probably last Bradfield novel I will read. The novel is the story of an 8-year old boy Phillip who lives with a mentally ill mother who makes a living by stealing the credit cards of men she sleeps with. Phillip's father comes in and out of his life throughout the novel. Phillip kills one of her mother's boyfriends who they had actually moved in with. The man, Pedro, according to Phillip is one of the few decent men his mother had met. From the grave, Pedro occasionally appears to counsel Phillip on a variety of topics.
Phillip's two friends in the novel are a pair of 12-year olds named Rodney and Beatrice.
From what I described so far, the novel is a bit odd, but I suppose there are 8 year olds who are capable of murder and probably women like Phillip's mother too. So that is not my primary beef with Bradfield's novel. It is the utter implausibility of the maturity and interests of the three kids. Now I'm a fan of Marquez and other magical realists. I don't mind the appearance of fantastical elements into a narrative, but I think Bradfield over does it.
To his credit, Bradield is a gifted writer who has a true talent with his prose. Here is Phillip's mom explaining the concept of luminous motion:
“‘The history of motion is that luminous progress men and women make in the world alone,’ Mom said. ‘We’re moving into sudden history now, baby. That life men lead and women disavow, that sure and certain sense that nothing is wrong, that life does not beat or pause, that the universe expands relentlessly. You can feel the source of all the world’s light in your beating heart, in the map of your blood, in the vast range and pace of your brain. That’s the light, baby. You don’t need any other. Just that light beating forever inside of you.’” (42)
Bradfield also excels at creating vivid portraits of the inner landscape of his characters. This is a description of Phillip's mom and her darkness:
“Sometimes I even looked forward to having the darkness take me places. I took me down luminous rivers on large rotting rafts and barges. I saw strange birds flying overhead, and the eyes of other creatures emerging from the mucky water. I traveled down the river where twisted houses sat on shores filled with dark men who wouldn’t come outside. The dark men were inside whispering about me. They held heavy spears and weapons by their side while their addled women cooked large pots of gristly meat and hung their washing out to dry. The men wore loincloths and streaks of paint on their arms and faces. A few mangy dogs lay around outside the circle of men, contemplating the dim fire. One of the dark men was my father.” (130)
We learn of Phillip's desire if not for love, then for an enveloping sense of affection:“I never wanted to be loved when I was eight years old. I wanted to be crushed by soft massive arms. I wanted to be lifted into some towering embrace. I wanted to be hugged so tight I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to be hugged until my eyes watered and my lungs collapsed and my heart popped.” (140) Though there is an implicit sense of violence in this description, there is also the presence of a deep longing in Phillip. Since Phillip does not find this embrace, he turns to drugs (taken from his parents, weed, and various types of beer and hard liquor. This is where the novel starts to leave a bad taste in my mouth. Because everyone knows of 3rd graders who can easily score good dope and cheap liquor. Phillip is kept out of school too, so he sits around stoned and drunk all day.
When he does go out, Phillip hangs with Beatrice and Rodney his 6th grade "mentors" for lack of a better term. Rodney at least has an ambition. “So that’s when I decided to become a warlock. To master the satanic arts of black magic. Devil worshipping, for you laymen. I want to learn to master what they call the black arts.” (178)
Beatrice rounds out this odd triumvirate of boy murder and apprentice warlock by appearing to be the group intellectual.
Here's Beatrice lecturing Phillip on one of his intellectual shortcomings:“Man’s myth of intentionality. I do things to you. Prediction. Subject and object. The dream of perfect cosmic grammar.” (170) Is this the type of grammar they teach in schools now? It gets better though. Beatrice not to be outdone by Rodney's aspirations of the dark arts embarks upon an ambitious reading project.
“I’ve been reading a lot lately, Phillip, since we broke up. French feminists, existential Marxists. I’m teaching myself French so I can read Sartre’s Critique of Dialectical Reason— much of which has been improperly translated, from what I understand.” (171) So the real question I suppose is what Beatrice woudl be doing if she and Phillip had not broken up? Heidegger, Camus or perhaps de Beauvoir?
For me, all it would have taken is for Bradfield to add ten years to the age of the protagonists to make me go along for the ride, but I don't know that even Garcia Marquez would try throwing in a prepubescent devotee of French existentialism!
Without spoiling the ending, Rodney and Phillip embark upon a violent course of action encouraged partially by the dead Pedro.
If you can imagine a trio of messed up, but hyperintellectual tweens with a passion for drugs, sex, and violence, this is the novel for you. I couldn't make it work.
Czar
For me, one of the first things that attracts me to a book is its cover. Often with the books displayed with only the spine visible, I am drawn to titles. This was the case with Scott Bradfield's first novel, The History of Luminous Motion. Bradfield had earned a PhD in English from Cal-Irvine, part time home of Jacques Derrida.
I have learned that Bradfield is now an American expat who lives in London. He has written several additional novels and has achieved a modicum of fame for an speech turned into in a essay titled "Why I Hate Toni Morrison's Beloved."
This is my first and probably last Bradfield novel I will read. The novel is the story of an 8-year old boy Phillip who lives with a mentally ill mother who makes a living by stealing the credit cards of men she sleeps with. Phillip's father comes in and out of his life throughout the novel. Phillip kills one of her mother's boyfriends who they had actually moved in with. The man, Pedro, according to Phillip is one of the few decent men his mother had met. From the grave, Pedro occasionally appears to counsel Phillip on a variety of topics.
Phillip's two friends in the novel are a pair of 12-year olds named Rodney and Beatrice.
From what I described so far, the novel is a bit odd, but I suppose there are 8 year olds who are capable of murder and probably women like Phillip's mother too. So that is not my primary beef with Bradfield's novel. It is the utter implausibility of the maturity and interests of the three kids. Now I'm a fan of Marquez and other magical realists. I don't mind the appearance of fantastical elements into a narrative, but I think Bradfield over does it.
To his credit, Bradield is a gifted writer who has a true talent with his prose. Here is Phillip's mom explaining the concept of luminous motion:
“‘The history of motion is that luminous progress men and women make in the world alone,’ Mom said. ‘We’re moving into sudden history now, baby. That life men lead and women disavow, that sure and certain sense that nothing is wrong, that life does not beat or pause, that the universe expands relentlessly. You can feel the source of all the world’s light in your beating heart, in the map of your blood, in the vast range and pace of your brain. That’s the light, baby. You don’t need any other. Just that light beating forever inside of you.’” (42)
Bradfield also excels at creating vivid portraits of the inner landscape of his characters. This is a description of Phillip's mom and her darkness:
“Sometimes I even looked forward to having the darkness take me places. I took me down luminous rivers on large rotting rafts and barges. I saw strange birds flying overhead, and the eyes of other creatures emerging from the mucky water. I traveled down the river where twisted houses sat on shores filled with dark men who wouldn’t come outside. The dark men were inside whispering about me. They held heavy spears and weapons by their side while their addled women cooked large pots of gristly meat and hung their washing out to dry. The men wore loincloths and streaks of paint on their arms and faces. A few mangy dogs lay around outside the circle of men, contemplating the dim fire. One of the dark men was my father.” (130)
We learn of Phillip's desire if not for love, then for an enveloping sense of affection:“I never wanted to be loved when I was eight years old. I wanted to be crushed by soft massive arms. I wanted to be lifted into some towering embrace. I wanted to be hugged so tight I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to be hugged until my eyes watered and my lungs collapsed and my heart popped.” (140) Though there is an implicit sense of violence in this description, there is also the presence of a deep longing in Phillip. Since Phillip does not find this embrace, he turns to drugs (taken from his parents, weed, and various types of beer and hard liquor. This is where the novel starts to leave a bad taste in my mouth. Because everyone knows of 3rd graders who can easily score good dope and cheap liquor. Phillip is kept out of school too, so he sits around stoned and drunk all day.
When he does go out, Phillip hangs with Beatrice and Rodney his 6th grade "mentors" for lack of a better term. Rodney at least has an ambition. “So that’s when I decided to become a warlock. To master the satanic arts of black magic. Devil worshipping, for you laymen. I want to learn to master what they call the black arts.” (178)
Beatrice rounds out this odd triumvirate of boy murder and apprentice warlock by appearing to be the group intellectual.
Here's Beatrice lecturing Phillip on one of his intellectual shortcomings:“Man’s myth of intentionality. I do things to you. Prediction. Subject and object. The dream of perfect cosmic grammar.” (170) Is this the type of grammar they teach in schools now? It gets better though. Beatrice not to be outdone by Rodney's aspirations of the dark arts embarks upon an ambitious reading project.
“I’ve been reading a lot lately, Phillip, since we broke up. French feminists, existential Marxists. I’m teaching myself French so I can read Sartre’s Critique of Dialectical Reason— much of which has been improperly translated, from what I understand.” (171) So the real question I suppose is what Beatrice woudl be doing if she and Phillip had not broken up? Heidegger, Camus or perhaps de Beauvoir?
For me, all it would have taken is for Bradfield to add ten years to the age of the protagonists to make me go along for the ride, but I don't know that even Garcia Marquez would try throwing in a prepubescent devotee of French existentialism!
Without spoiling the ending, Rodney and Phillip embark upon a violent course of action encouraged partially by the dead Pedro.
If you can imagine a trio of messed up, but hyperintellectual tweens with a passion for drugs, sex, and violence, this is the novel for you. I couldn't make it work.
Czar
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