Like wiping an eraser across the land: The New York Times allows you to see before and after satellite photos of the devastation in Japan.
The planet does not care about us. Nature does not care about us.
Any care in this world begins and ends with us.
Errol Morris does not understand Thomas Kuhn.
Part of this non-understanding is due to Kuhn; part of this non-understanding is due to Morris.
(I am not the only one who thinks so.)
Judith Warner confuses the consequences of inquiry with inquiry.
Michael Bérubé is not confused, but did he really not understand the implications of epistemological nihilism?
I am not a genius—repeat, I am not a genius—yet even I, as a 2nd or 3rd-year grad student was able to suss out the political dangers of such nihilism.
I wrote a paper for a course on the philosophy of knowledge in which I (budding-but-not-yet-full-epist-nihilist) noted that the slipperiness of fact was a constant problem which must constantly be confronted. That “fact” and “evidence” and “reason” could be used as weapons meant that one must be ready to contest the deployment of such weapons.
This was a problem for me, for awhile: If everything is up for grabs, how can one move?
I solved this particular problem by moving.
Yes, there’s more, much more, involved than this, but this isn’t the place for an explication of my solution. I brought this up simply to signal my recognition that, yes, this is a problem.
I’ll try to dig out the particular paper, but I believe I used an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, in which Captain Picard is tortured by a Cardassian; his torturer, in an attempt to break him, wants him to say that there are five lights when there are only four. Upon his release, he turns to his torturer and emphasizes that there are, in fact, only four lights.
Later, however, he admits to Counselor Troi that he did see five lights.
Given that people can be coerced into not seeing what is in front of them—that truth as an intersubjective activity means that it is vulnerable to domination—means that truth is subject to political debate.
Upshot: those of us invested in particular forms of and inquiries into truth must defend against assaults on those forms and inquiries.
I got this, as a smart-enough grad student, and I’d bet that I wasn’t the only one.
But Bérubé and Warner are shocked—shocked!—that “it turns out that the critique of scientific “objectivity” and the insistence on the inevitable “partiality” of knowledge can serve the purposes of climate-change deniers and young-Earth creationists quite nicely.”
No shit, Sherlock.
Okay, so that wasn’t very nice. Bérubé is a lit professor and was busy mining his own particular veins of concern; that’s one of the benefits of scholarship, after all: to forsake the surface and plunge below. Conversely, it was really not such a stretch for me, as a budding political theorist, to have recognized the political implications of anti-foundationalism.
Anyway, Bérubé is now aware that excavations below can lead to instability up top: “[P]erhaps humanists [read: humanities professors] are beginning to realize that there is a project even more vital than that of the relentless critique of everything existing, a project to which they can contribute as much as any scientist–the project of making the world a more humane and livable place.”
There is more to this story, of course, not least of which is a defense of such excavations given the possibilities of instability; the short version is that the cracks were always there.
The long answer awaits.
What makes NPR liberal? What makes any media outlet liberal or conservative?
On the Media didn’t quite ask this, but in a segment with Ira Glass (who insists NPR is not liberal), they introduced the possibility that they will ask this question, as well as, perhaps, whether it matters.
Still would have liked to have heard them discuss O’Keefe’s edits of the vid.
I am old. I like to go fast.
That I put the “I am old” statement first tells you that I blame my age for my hesitations regarding speed.
I took my road bike out yesterday—first time in years—for a coupla’ spins around Prospect Park. Oh, every time I get on this bike I marvel at how quick it is. Unlike my road bike, this baby just sssshoooms when I crank the pedals.
That light narrow frame, those smooth skinny tires, the aerodynamism of the hunched-over posture. . . ack! That light narrow frame means it’s less stable! Those smooth skinny tires are apt to skip across the road! In my hunch I can’t see as well!
No, I didn’t wipe out. (I will: I wipe out at least once every biking season, usually because I panic and can’t untangle my shoes from the clips fast enough. I try to have this happen away from traffic.) But the marvel at the speed competed with the concern that things are more likely to go wrong at speed.
Prudence is a fine thing, but so, too, is the exhilaration which follows recklessness.
Anyway, I’d rather not be afraid, and think that the more I ride the road bike, the less anxious I’ll be.
All the shit I have yet to learn and still, all the shit I have to re-learn.