Now that I have finished teaching my May-term course I have many days ahead to think and work and sweat (days are already consistently in the 90s here). While my partner (mlle gassy) is teaching her course I get to spend the bulk of my day with my 2-yr. old (gas fils). As we sit in our front yard relaxing in our pool (a little blow-up model from Target: my front yard screams redneck, especially toward the end of the week before I mow the weeds), little gas fils splashes in the pool while daddy complains about the world he will inherit. Grinning, gas fils adds an emphatic "yes" (with a splash) after each full stop in my rant.
And a random sampling of today's headlines provides much material for ranting. The NYTimes reports the beginning of the trial, in absentia, of 26 Americans accused of kidnapping an Egyptian terrorist suspect (see "Trial Opens Involving C.I.A. Rendition"). The suspect was sent (or rendered) to Germany and then to Egypt, where (he claims) he was subjected to torture. There is something particularly apt in the phrase "extraordinary rendition." The UK Independent (yesterday's) has a piece called "Bloodshed is Spreading across Afghanistan, warn Aid workers." The UK Guardian has a report on the recent BAE scandal (paying a Saudi prince one billion pounds in a shady arms deal). It also contains an editorial piece by Timothy Garton Ash entitled "There's one thing the U.S. presidential contenders all have in common: God." That one pretty much speaks for itself, I think. Most of these contenders seem pretty solid on war in Iraq, too. I wonder if there's any link? It's got to be more plausible than the Saddam Hussein / Al Queda connection.
Then again, maybe I'm just looking for all that's negative in the world? This is what my mother says. There are uplifting and positive stories in the papers. Why not say something about these? For instance, every paper I looked at this morning - American, British, and French - had a story about Paris Hilton being released from prison. Now here's the very image of together-ness. Popular culture unites us by what's best in all of us. In Paris Hilton, that is, we can see our collective-Western best self. What's next, for God's sake: agreement on climate change?
[For later: Timothy Garton Ash's point raises a host of questions, most of them pretty embarrassing. But one of them, I think, goes back to a previous post about teaching literary works. (It doesn't help too much with the question about scholarship.) This is something I would like to write more about. It may be the case that those of us working in humanities disciplines can help (or have been helping, or should help) to counter the insistence (in this country) that God is central to politics. A little enlightenment can be a dangerous thing.]
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
...Lewis Libby?
First of all, how much pleasure can I reasonably expect to gain by hating a grown man called "Scooter"? Not that I could ever like I. Lewis Libby, in whom (at present) is embodied all that is corrupt and stupid and violently vindictive and icky in our present government. 30 months in prison; that's great, I guess. Make it 30 years and what's the difference, really? Putting Libby in prison (which probably won't happen anyway) is akin to going after those privates who appeared in and took the Abu Ghraib photographs. Sure they're idiots - and much, much worse than idiots. But they hardly constitute the root of the problem.
Here is the last bit from Hazlitt's essay on hating:
"...[a]nd England, that arch-reformer, that heroic deliverer, that mouther about liberty and tool of power, stands gaping by, not feeling the blight and mildew coming over it, nor its very bones crack.... [Do] we not see hypocrisy, servility, selfishness, folly, and impudence succeed, while modesty shrinks from the encounter, and merit is trodden under foot? How often is 'the rose plucked from the forehead of a virtuous love to plant a blister there!' What chance is there of the success of real passion? What certainty of its continuance? Seeing all this as I do, and unravelling the web of human life into its various threads of meanness, spite, cowardice, want of feeling, and want of understanding, of indifference towards others and ignorance of ourselves - seeing custom prevail over all excellence, itself giving way to infamy - mistaken as I have been in my public and private hopes, calculating others from myself, and calculating wrong; always disappointed where I placed most reliance; the dupe of friendship, and the fool of love; have I not reason to hate and despise myself? Indeed I do; and chiefly for not having hated and despised the world enough."
Indeed.
Here is the last bit from Hazlitt's essay on hating:
"...[a]nd England, that arch-reformer, that heroic deliverer, that mouther about liberty and tool of power, stands gaping by, not feeling the blight and mildew coming over it, nor its very bones crack.... [Do] we not see hypocrisy, servility, selfishness, folly, and impudence succeed, while modesty shrinks from the encounter, and merit is trodden under foot? How often is 'the rose plucked from the forehead of a virtuous love to plant a blister there!' What chance is there of the success of real passion? What certainty of its continuance? Seeing all this as I do, and unravelling the web of human life into its various threads of meanness, spite, cowardice, want of feeling, and want of understanding, of indifference towards others and ignorance of ourselves - seeing custom prevail over all excellence, itself giving way to infamy - mistaken as I have been in my public and private hopes, calculating others from myself, and calculating wrong; always disappointed where I placed most reliance; the dupe of friendship, and the fool of love; have I not reason to hate and despise myself? Indeed I do; and chiefly for not having hated and despised the world enough."
Indeed.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
...My Work
I am not sure if academic work is becoming increasingly irrelevant (that is to say, was there ever a time when it was relevant?) or if I am becoming increasingly aware of the irrelevance of most academic work. This is not a quality issue. I do not mean to suggest (as others have) that standards have fallen or that theory has ruined everything, etc. I mean to ask what is the point of academic writing in the first place?
"How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" (Wordsworth)
Recently, I had to put together part one of my tenure review file: the research part. This folder is sent to several referees around the country. These referees in turn decide whether or not my work constitutes a contribution to my field of study. This is a sickeningly worrisome process to me, raising as it does - as it is supposed to do? - my own insecurities about work, intellect, writing. But my worries are hardly an interesting topic to write about. The process has raised another concern as well, though, and this concern is something that has been nagging me for several years now (from the dissertation prospectus phase, in fact): if I am fortunate my work will pass as a viable contribution to my field. But to what does my field contribute?
I like my job and I like having a job. I like teaching; I like my students and my colleagues. I do not like where I live but that's acdemia, isn't it? I can and do see the relevance of teaching. I sometimes ask why I should teach Wordsworth or Conrad or Woolf - why I should teach literary works, that is. The answer I give myself changes a lot. One of the better recent answers I've seen from others comes from Mark Danner. In a speech he delivered to the 2005 graduating English class at UC Berkeley (entitled "Humanism and Terror (What are you going to do with that?): see http://www.markdanner.com/articles/show/humanism_and_terror_what_are_you_going_to_do_with_that), Danner (who has written on the Abu Ghraib photographs for the NYRB) highlights the fact that the current administration not only condones torture, it openly condones it: it does not conceal the fact, that is, that it is for torture. Still, despite the fact that documents and evidence regarding the atrocities of the government are easily accessible, few people look. Few people, perhaps, care. In this context, deciding to study literature, says Danner, is deciding to be someone who questions, who looks, who reads.
"We are divided [...] between those of us willing to listen, and believe, and those of us determined to read, and think, and find out. And you, English majors of the Class of 2005, you have taken the fateful first step in numbering yourselves, perhaps irredeemably, in the second category. You have taken a step along the road to being Empiricists of the Word. "
This sounds good to me. And the fact that Conrad or Woolf or Dostoevsky can give us a better sense of the complicated motivations behind violence, war, and treachery does not preclude the sheer pleasure of reading their books. Political and moral questioning can coexist with pleasure. It can be a pleasure (the pleasure of hating is my theme). But this is a digression. How and why does a scholarly book on Conrad or Woolf or Dostoevsky matter? Such books might make us better teachers, better readers, better thinkers or questioners. But do we really need another reading of "Resolution and Independence"? Not to sound too stuffy here, but what is the function of criticism at the present time? To not be read by more that seven people? OK. Are there other kinds of writing - more general, less scholarly - that perform the function outlined by Arnold: to create the ideas and materials out of which culture and cultural products can be formed? I don't think academic writing is doing this. But then maybe it has a different function (to qualify someone for Tenure, to establish competence in a given area of instruction?).
Another digression: In todays NYTimes there is a review of the new Zachary Leader bio of Kingsley Amis. The review is written by the Times film critic, A.O. Scott. The Times drives me crazy and I take great pleasure in hating it - almost as much pleasure as I take in reading it. The paper's wishy-washy political stances, the fact that it (along with most others) completely dropped the ball on the Iraq war, and the assumption in its culture pages that everybody struggles with their co-op board and that everybody is perhaps tired of the menu at Babbo: all of this makes me pull my hair out. Of course, there is good stuff, too. For example, in his wonderfully written review of the Amis bio, Scott references the following: in his own “Memoirs” Amis, "an ardent connoisseur of feminine beauty," called Margaret Thatcher “one of the best-looking women I have ever met.” “This quality is so extreme,” he continued, that “it can trap me for a second into thinking I am looking at a science-fiction illustration of some time ago showing the beautiful girl who has become President of the Solar Federation in the year 2220.”
I think there might be a good conference-paper topic here.
"How is it that you live, and what is it you do?" (Wordsworth)
Recently, I had to put together part one of my tenure review file: the research part. This folder is sent to several referees around the country. These referees in turn decide whether or not my work constitutes a contribution to my field of study. This is a sickeningly worrisome process to me, raising as it does - as it is supposed to do? - my own insecurities about work, intellect, writing. But my worries are hardly an interesting topic to write about. The process has raised another concern as well, though, and this concern is something that has been nagging me for several years now (from the dissertation prospectus phase, in fact): if I am fortunate my work will pass as a viable contribution to my field. But to what does my field contribute?
I like my job and I like having a job. I like teaching; I like my students and my colleagues. I do not like where I live but that's acdemia, isn't it? I can and do see the relevance of teaching. I sometimes ask why I should teach Wordsworth or Conrad or Woolf - why I should teach literary works, that is. The answer I give myself changes a lot. One of the better recent answers I've seen from others comes from Mark Danner. In a speech he delivered to the 2005 graduating English class at UC Berkeley (entitled "Humanism and Terror (What are you going to do with that?): see http://www.markdanner.com/articles/show/humanism_and_terror_what_are_you_going_to_do_with_that), Danner (who has written on the Abu Ghraib photographs for the NYRB) highlights the fact that the current administration not only condones torture, it openly condones it: it does not conceal the fact, that is, that it is for torture. Still, despite the fact that documents and evidence regarding the atrocities of the government are easily accessible, few people look. Few people, perhaps, care. In this context, deciding to study literature, says Danner, is deciding to be someone who questions, who looks, who reads.
"We are divided [...] between those of us willing to listen, and believe, and those of us determined to read, and think, and find out. And you, English majors of the Class of 2005, you have taken the fateful first step in numbering yourselves, perhaps irredeemably, in the second category. You have taken a step along the road to being Empiricists of the Word. "
This sounds good to me. And the fact that Conrad or Woolf or Dostoevsky can give us a better sense of the complicated motivations behind violence, war, and treachery does not preclude the sheer pleasure of reading their books. Political and moral questioning can coexist with pleasure. It can be a pleasure (the pleasure of hating is my theme). But this is a digression. How and why does a scholarly book on Conrad or Woolf or Dostoevsky matter? Such books might make us better teachers, better readers, better thinkers or questioners. But do we really need another reading of "Resolution and Independence"? Not to sound too stuffy here, but what is the function of criticism at the present time? To not be read by more that seven people? OK. Are there other kinds of writing - more general, less scholarly - that perform the function outlined by Arnold: to create the ideas and materials out of which culture and cultural products can be formed? I don't think academic writing is doing this. But then maybe it has a different function (to qualify someone for Tenure, to establish competence in a given area of instruction?).
Another digression: In todays NYTimes there is a review of the new Zachary Leader bio of Kingsley Amis. The review is written by the Times film critic, A.O. Scott. The Times drives me crazy and I take great pleasure in hating it - almost as much pleasure as I take in reading it. The paper's wishy-washy political stances, the fact that it (along with most others) completely dropped the ball on the Iraq war, and the assumption in its culture pages that everybody struggles with their co-op board and that everybody is perhaps tired of the menu at Babbo: all of this makes me pull my hair out. Of course, there is good stuff, too. For example, in his wonderfully written review of the Amis bio, Scott references the following: in his own “Memoirs” Amis, "an ardent connoisseur of feminine beauty," called Margaret Thatcher “one of the best-looking women I have ever met.” “This quality is so extreme,” he continued, that “it can trap me for a second into thinking I am looking at a science-fiction illustration of some time ago showing the beautiful girl who has become President of the Solar Federation in the year 2220.”
I think there might be a good conference-paper topic here.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
...Myself
There is a giant bug crawling along the wall directly behind my desk. When I first moved to this place the sight of these giant, flying roaches filled me with terror. Scrambling for a shoe, a book, a recent copy of the LRB - on second thought, no, not that - I would rush to quash the intimidating insect, usually missing on my first try. There I would be, weapon dropped, hands madly mussing hair and shirt, sure that the "straggling caitiff" was somewhere on my person. Eventually the creature would show itself: on the floor or lower on the wall. Then I would pick up my weapon and steady my hand and nerves. It is important to keep your eye on the bug as you are hitting it. Whack.
After awhile, I get used to the bugs. I start to use the flat of my hand to kill them. But this evening I leave the bug to pursue its course along the wall behind my desk. "I bear the creature no ill-will," as William Hazlitt wrote of a spider "crawling along [his] matted floor" (in 1823), "but still I hate the very sight of it." This is progress. I'm settling in, getting used to things.
"The spirit of malevolence survives the practical exertion of it. We learn to curb our will and keep our overt actions within the bounds of humanity, long before we can subdue our sentiments and imaginations to the same mild tone. We give up the external demonstration, the brute violence, but cannot part with the essence or principle of hostility." (Hazlitt, "On the Pleasure of Hating")
How very apt these words seem today - in any number of contexts. Hitchens has recently claimed the mantle of Orwell. Zizek, in perhaps a more risky identification, wants to "repeat" and "reactualize" Lenin. "As Lenin himself would have put it," Zizek writes, "'fidelity to the democratic consensus' means the acceptance of the present liberal-parliamentary consensus, which precludes any serious questioning of how this liberal-democratic order is complicit in the phenomena it officially condemns, and, of course, any serious attempt to imagine a society whose socio-political order would be different." Fair enough. Lenin would certainly rile up the slumbering democrats who pass for "left" in this country. In addition, his party politics would present a formidable challenge to the better organized right. But I'm not Lenin. And I cannot write like Zizek - at least not for more than a sentence or two (probably). They will continue to crawl on their bellies, these democrats. Shoes won't keep them away for very long. And books, forget about it. But if they (and many other things, people, etc. soon to be detailed) are good for nothing else, they are good for hating (as Republicans have been for oh so long). This can be fun: a great source of pleasure. It does not have to be purely negative or wholly unproductive. "Without something to hate," exclaims Hazlitt, "we should lose the very spring of thought and action."
Such is a present case for taking up Hazlitt. I'm for hating (but not hate). I'm making a list, in fact.
After awhile, I get used to the bugs. I start to use the flat of my hand to kill them. But this evening I leave the bug to pursue its course along the wall behind my desk. "I bear the creature no ill-will," as William Hazlitt wrote of a spider "crawling along [his] matted floor" (in 1823), "but still I hate the very sight of it." This is progress. I'm settling in, getting used to things.
"The spirit of malevolence survives the practical exertion of it. We learn to curb our will and keep our overt actions within the bounds of humanity, long before we can subdue our sentiments and imaginations to the same mild tone. We give up the external demonstration, the brute violence, but cannot part with the essence or principle of hostility." (Hazlitt, "On the Pleasure of Hating")
How very apt these words seem today - in any number of contexts. Hitchens has recently claimed the mantle of Orwell. Zizek, in perhaps a more risky identification, wants to "repeat" and "reactualize" Lenin. "As Lenin himself would have put it," Zizek writes, "'fidelity to the democratic consensus' means the acceptance of the present liberal-parliamentary consensus, which precludes any serious questioning of how this liberal-democratic order is complicit in the phenomena it officially condemns, and, of course, any serious attempt to imagine a society whose socio-political order would be different." Fair enough. Lenin would certainly rile up the slumbering democrats who pass for "left" in this country. In addition, his party politics would present a formidable challenge to the better organized right. But I'm not Lenin. And I cannot write like Zizek - at least not for more than a sentence or two (probably). They will continue to crawl on their bellies, these democrats. Shoes won't keep them away for very long. And books, forget about it. But if they (and many other things, people, etc. soon to be detailed) are good for nothing else, they are good for hating (as Republicans have been for oh so long). This can be fun: a great source of pleasure. It does not have to be purely negative or wholly unproductive. "Without something to hate," exclaims Hazlitt, "we should lose the very spring of thought and action."
Such is a present case for taking up Hazlitt. I'm for hating (but not hate). I'm making a list, in fact.
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