December 23rd, 2011

grrrr

I was out doing errands much of the day. Busy. Cars. People. Kids. Stuff.

And on top of the crowds, my head is stuffed up which means I have recurrent dizziness and I am in a bad mood.

Bought more RAM today and I swear the computer is slower, not faster. Needs something else, but damned if I can figure out what at this point.

I think I need to quit whinging and go to bed.

Some time ago I posted a couple of bits about a book called When Prophecy Fails by Leon Festinger, or more accurately, posts about my (then) current thinking about the implications of what Festinger has to say. When I was reading today I came across a piece in Mother Jones in the same vein.

The article is interested in political persuasion and contemporary denialism – you know the people who think that autism is caused by vaccinations (despite all the evidence to the contrary), the people who think the earth was created in 7 days and that life does not evolve (despite all the evidence to the contrary), the people who believe the climate is not changing and even if it is what humans do has no impact (despite all the evidence to the contrary). Those guys. In Festinger’s study they are called The Seekers.

In the annals of denial, it doesn’t get much more extreme than the Seekers. They lost their jobs, the press mocked them, and there were efforts to keep them away from impressionable young minds. But while Martin’s space cult might lie at on the far end of the spectrum of human self-delusion, there’s plenty to go around. And since Festinger’s day, an array of new discoveries in psychology and neuroscience has further demonstrated how our preexisting beliefs, far more than any new facts, can skew our thoughts and even color what we consider our most dispassionate and logical conclusions. This tendency toward so-called “motivated reasoning” helps explain why we find groups so polarized over matters where the evidence is so unequivocal: climate change, vaccines, “death panels,” the birthplace and religion of the president (PDF), and much else. It would seem that expecting people to be convinced by the facts flies in the face of, you know, the facts.

The theory of motivated reasoning builds on a key insight of modern neuroscience (PDF): Reasoning is actually suffused with emotion (or what researchers often call “affect”). Not only are the two inseparable, but our positive or negative feelings about people, things, and ideas arise much more rapidly than our conscious thoughts, in a matter of milliseconds—fast enough to detect with an EEG device, but long before we’re aware of it. That shouldn’t be surprising: Evolution required us to react very quickly to stimuli in our environment. It’s a “basic human survival skill,” explains political scientist Arthur Lupia of the University of Michigan. We push threatening information away; we pull friendly information close. We apply fight-or-flight reflexes not only to predators, but to data itself.

We’re not driven only by emotions, of course—we also reason, deliberate. But reasoning comes later, works slower—and even then, it doesn’t take place in an emotional vacuum. Rather, our quick-fire emotions can set us on a course of thinking that’s highly biased, especially on topics we care a great deal about.

There four pages of interesting information about this, and science does not escape the analysis.

And it’s not just that people twist or selectively read scientific evidence to support their preexisting views. According to research by Yale Law School professor Dan Kahan and his colleagues, people’s deep-seated views about morality, and about the way society should be ordered, strongly predict whom they consider to be a legitimate scientific expert in the first place—and thus where they consider “scientific consensus” to lie on contested issues…

…Indeed, there’s a sense in which science denial could be considered keenly “rational.” In certain conservative communities, explains Yale’s Kahan, “People who say, ‘I think there’s something to climate change,’ that’s going to mark them out as a certain kind of person, and their life is going to go less well.”

It comes down the fact that facts can’t persuade under these kinds of circumstances. So what then? Education?

In a 2008 Pew survey, for instance, only 19 percent of college-educated Republicans agreed that the planet is warming due to human actions, versus 31 percent of non-college educated Republicans. In other words, a higher education correlated with an increased likelihood of denying the science on the issue. Meanwhile, among Democrats and independents, more education correlated with greater acceptance of the science.

So not education. Or at least that by itself isn’t enough. Mother Jones suggests careful presentation of data inside an already acceptable model tailored to the group you want to inform.

Conservatives are more likely to embrace climate science if it comes to them via a business or religious leader, who can set the issue in the context of different values than those from which environmentalists or scientists often argue. Doing so is, effectively, to signal a détente in what Kahan has called a “culture war of fact.” In other words, paradoxically, you don’t lead with the facts in order to convince. You lead with the values—so as to give the facts a fighting chance.

I accept this as almost certainly true but mentally rebel anyway.  Still, I know that when May 22 comes along and when Harold Camping‘s group find themselves still here, they will not renounce the silliness. They’ll just dig in deeper. And partly that is because they value faith over data; they want the emotional comfort of belonging much more than they want the satisfaction of having an accurate view of reality.

My rebellion comes because such behaviour, such irrationality, offends me. I want to believe that facts are enough of a persuasion despite the clear evidence that they are not. Yet, I know that I have (and do) tailor my way of speaking about things depending upon which group of people/family I am with. I am an atheist, for example, but I am perfectly capable of speaking about spirits when in the sweat. And I have no intention to defraud. I am speaking what I feel to be true in the terms under which people I care very much about can hear me.

Nevertheless, such culture crossing, such a liminal stance, is difficult, time-consuming and requires enormous physical and emotional effort. And if the studies Mother Jones references in the article are true, some of us just can’t stand the world a liminal stance illuminates. So there will always be some of us that jump out of the unknown and unknowable center where uncertainty reigns and one is asked to always walk on the uncertain surface of civilization’s waters. Some of us will always hop back to shore and into a black “yes” or “no.”

Here’s another fact: May 22 will arrive so we will be required to keep going. The only choice is how we go.

April 9th, 2011

light and purpose

For the first time in a number of weeks, it appears as if I have the weekend. Of late I’ve been either in the hospital on the weekend or waiting out the pain at home. But this morning, I woke early, a little sad, but in no pain.

Wonders.

The odd thing is I’m not sure what to do with it.

I left home early and went to my favourite coffee shop. All my regular seats were taken, so I got a coffee and a fruit smoothie (I hadn’t had breakfast yet), and went back to my car to read poetry. It’s not really quite warm enough for me to sit for long outside so I moved on fairly quickly. I’ve discovered I really need another “office” or perhaps a better word would be “studio”. Wouldn’t that be lovely, a warm, light place full of birds and plants—a place to gather and bead, or read, perhaps talk, write, or just sit silently?

I’m gearing up for a change, a move back into the arts; light takes the credit for the decision. If you’ve read here you know how important the sun is to me, a sense of life, the sounds of birds and the chitter of animal toes and teeth. This change is a decision that has been post-p0ned until now because of my health—a job does provide some security. And, apart from paying the bills, working provides a sense of purpose. The problem is that it is someone else’s purpose. Still, in many ways it is easier to live for someone else than to continually invent and re-invent one’s own direction. And then to continually feed it with feeling! To enliven direction with purpose is horrendously difficult in those of us who have minds that range, and that realize direction (even conviction) is just a decision and not an inbuilt divine.

So I’m back home to pick up my beading and my camera, then I’m off again. I’ve decided today is just about feeling, about feeling and noticing the feelings. That’s all.

February 25th, 2011

solar pleasure

At lunch time I walked out of the building I’m in and into an almost blinding sun. It’s cold for Vancouver, but there is no wind and that sun! I went to the local Starbucks which has a large open seating area outside where there is no piped music and if you want it there is space to sit out from under the eave of the building. I took my coffee to a chair and sat.

Have you ever felt that rough shudder of pleasure when you’ve been cold for a long time and then suddenly you are warm? Within seconds of sitting in the sun, my whole body shook for almost ten seconds with that return to comfort. Such delights we are offered by being of body.

I sat still drinking my hot coffee in the sun for a good twenty minutes and didn’t try to see anything, but just to feel what the sun is like as it washes over my face.

February 7th, 2011

freedom and limitations

I have been housebound for several days and unable to drive for several days more. You may not get how scary that is for someone like me, but it is. My sense of freedom is very much tied up with my car. Things get really bad? feel like I’m going to snap and smack someone? I get in my car and drive for a few days. This kind of freedom—to close up inside my metal skin, to remove myself from whatever cruelty I’ve witnessed, to manage my rage through an acceptable expression of power and speed—is one way I cope.

But I buggered my knee and I drive a standard. So no go.

I went to see my doctor this morning, and will see the physiotherapist this week; all the recent rest has made it possible for me to walk (carefully) again. But I can’t drive or I’ll reinjure the bloody knee, so I am transit-only for a while. It’s a good thing transit is so wonderful in Vancouver, but now when I look at the far mountain my sense of kinship with the upturned and contorted sea bed is overshadowed by longing. It’s not that I would go today, but that I no longer have that option. Not today and not tomorrow. I don’t much like my limitations flung in my face.

My options? Don’t look at the mountain so I don’t feel the longing or get over it. I choose the second. I mean really what’s wrong with longing?

January 15th, 2011

no mind

Today was one of those days where my normally critical mind just shut up shop and stayed in bed. My physical body did the same until noon at which time I went out to buy coffee. I had taken books with me, although my experience with this state is that I almost certainly wouldn’t read or do anything that required an active mind. On days like this I feel like a sensory processing-centre rather than a conscious being: I am deeply aware of things moving around me and in me; memory is more vibrant and accessible. It’s like I’ve become a metaphor, breathing slowly, a living, connective process. For example, things I smell, hear, feel link much quicker to other places and other times and a kind of sensual bridge appears over the abyss between now and not-now.

There was a moment at the table outside, I had just taken the first sip of my 5-shot latte and was already blissed, when the sun flooded out from under the clouds and the sparrows massing the bare-limbed tree behind me sprang into voice. And I was simultaneously at the cottage, summer napping under the birch trees at the edge of the water.

Ordinary miracles.

I blame Qunqun. I went to bed thinking of Zhuangzi, Kun and Peng and this is what happens.

January 12th, 2011

snow day people

Vancouver doesn’t get much snow so when it does it is gently entertaining to watch people deal with it.

I am at the coffee shop and out the window I can see a small green grocer. There are  bright yellow wooden stalls upon which the rich greens of chard and the deep red of sweet peppers mix with the white turnips and cauliflower. Past there, people go, stop at the corner and struggle with the melting mass that fell last night.

It’s above freezing by several degrees so all that snow is turning to slush and where people have clambered over small shoveled hillocks of the stuff they have pressed the snow into a temporary ice.

One of the men who works in the grocery is shoveling. He’s one of those guys that are big and try to hide it. He has a shaggy beard to cover his face, an orange knit cap, a mustard yellow sweater that rides up when he lifts his arms to reveal his abdomen, and baggy jeans.  Everything is really too big for him, but even so, when he presses against the ice on the sidewalk with his shovel his thigh muscles push back against the jeans and show his true size. I wonder about men who hide their strength. I bet he’s very gentle, with a temper that scares him, and he likes colour next to his skin, but wears one of those”manly” green canvas army jackets. A man with things he wants kept private, but a man who does have things worth keeping.

And then there’s the woman, short, bundled so that it is hard to make out what she might move like unencumbered. She is afraid of falling, and so taking very short, almost mincing, steps. She is carrying several cloth bags, and, perhaps her cautiousness, makes me think she is in her 60s. I have no idea though. Not really. She  remains, now that she is gone, indeterminate. And I realize, even if she is a regular here, even if I saw her everyday for the next two months, I wouldn’t know it was this woman, this one crossing the melting snow so very carefully.

Then there are the two 20-something young men, and a woman in waterproof boots that come up to her knees. They aren’t together but they act like each other. They play with the snow piles. The men jump it, grinning as they reach the hight of their arc. Airborne: I can’t hear their yeah! but I can seen their open mouths and the stretched cheeks indicating their delight. They land in the street and one skids a bit. They bound across the road and disappear once past the window. The woman is more sedate in her joy. She splooshes into the forming puddle of water at the melting edge of the snow.  She is rather more forceful than required and this tells me she is playful. Her boots were clearly a premeditated plan to massacre the calm transformation of the night’s snow into the day’s water. Yet she carries out her plan quietly and then, walking on as if nothing had transpired, she hides her nature. It is like,  once the splash has been accomplished, she wants to make sure everyone knows she is really very sedate and sophisticated. Her body upright, her walk measured, it is like she is shouting normal woman here.

I wonder what they all do for entertainment when the snow is gone. And the older woman? I wonder if there is a place she feels free to unbundle and walk with sure steps?

January 11th, 2011

exactly how I feel today

MGMT

hat tip to my son for posting this on facebook – and so I got to see it

In an earlier post I mentioned that I had received an eagerly awaited book by Lyn Cowan called Tracking the White Rabbit: A subversive view of modern culture. I absolutely adore the book. In fact I have already put in an order for another copy so I can give it to a friend of mine—and I don’t do that often because usually one’s reading tastes are idiosyncratic and personal. But this book!

I suppose partly this is because these essays seem so familiar. Her writing style is loose and deeply metaphorical; her essays suggest that she has a “pointed” view on some things; she is happy rolling around in the shadows, with ambivalence and impermanence. Dude! I approve!

OK, so that manifestation of adoration over, here is one of the niggly, wiggly ants stirred up out of the nest by one of her essays. (The deal is that each and every essay has booted the ant nest so I expect more of these “responses” will make it to tailfeather.)

In this case I am referring to the essay “The archetype of the victim.” The purpose of the essay is to distinguish between the social (outer) and psychological (inner) aspects of the victim archetype. She does this with great success and shows how North American culture has, to a large extent, lost contact with the inner aspects—the divine sacrifice—of the victim archetype.

Once you have been stomped, this latter aspect is the way to re-establish some sense of purpose, meaning and a sense of control over the outcome of one’s inner life. One returns to a sense of  personal control by accepting the sacrifice, and thereby, accepting the vulnerability and limitations of being human. There are things that happen to us over which we have no control. When those things are really bad they constellate this inner victim, which demands attention, and we suffer, and our society suffers, if we do not give it.

I can go with much of this although I would use different metaphorical ways of thinking about the process. What niggled at me was this sentence on the second page of the essay at the end of the sixth paragraph:

And since the victim is, by definition, powerless, the primal emotion that always accompanies victimization is fear.

I’ve been the victim of a number of nasties and for the most part I would agree that fear has been a common response—along with rage. But the odd thing is that the two worst things in my life did not include fear although the sense of powerlessness was literally overwhelming.

In the one case I’ll tell you about, my infant son died only 2 days after his birth. He was born with a heart defect that could not be repaired and his natural growth processes meant that he would die, slowly, of a lack of oxygen to his brain. Once I got him back from the specialist with that news, I just held him until he died.

So there you go. Overwhelming, fall down on the floor, grief. Total powerlessness to protect my child. But not an once of fear, neither for myself nor for him. No rage either. Perhaps it is the case that I am not a victim here and so my quibble isn’t justified.  I agree that  the sense of powerlessness is the gift of victimization, one that is terrible and horrifying to bear, but one that is a glimpse of our impermanence, of the truth of our condition. But I’m not sure that pain and powerlessness are sufficient conditions for  the constellation of the victim archetype.

I think perhaps that rage and its cousin fear are also necessary. Rage and fear are almost certainly shadows of each other. That is, if you are enraged, your shadow is fear. If you are terrified, your shadow is rage. My question is whether victimization is only about being powerless as the quote suggests. I actually think that the archetype is constellated in the marriage of powerlessness and rage. When my son died, there was no rage and, therefore, no fear. So whether I can be considered a victim with regard to the death of my baby, depends upon whether the victim archetype is really about powerlessness alone, or whether it is about the pairing of powerlessness and rage.

One of the things at stake here is the realization that powerlessness need not necessarily be “storied” as enraging or terrifying. Having said that, rage and fear are natural responses. I like rage. It feels healing, clean. Yet rage assumes the possibility of justice. It demands an equalization of position, a return to a social balance. So if one’s vulnerability is forcibly enacted and made public by another person or by a human institution, our history as a social species tells us to demand justice because by doing this we can restore the power balance and help ensure our continued life within the human community.

It is also completely understandable that we should fall back on our inbuilt remedy in non-human cases. Like the times when cows were tried for murder when they killed their humans, we want to read our social system onto the world so we can redress our evident vulnerabilities. But that is fundamentally silly. We can make cows honorary humans (I wonder if the executioner and his family ate the “honorary human” after the execution), we can make up divines to enact postmortem justice, but that doesn’t make it so.  When a child is born without an aorta, there is no fault to find. There is no way to redress the balance and so fear and rage are not necessary responses. Death and grief like that just is.

So, either I am not a victim with regard to my son’s death and powerlessness is not a sufficient condition for the constellation of the victim archetype, or I am, and fear is not a necessary reaction to utter vulnerability.

I don’t know. What do you think?

January 9th, 2011

grouch, grouch, grouch

Stars! I am such a grouch today. I was fine until almost exactly 2pm and then – bam! – instant foul mood. WTF, I say.

I went home, went to bed and slept for four hours. In the middle of frakkin day. And still woke up like a pit viper on mad-juice. I want to be a tyrannosaurus, eat all the cute little bunnies and destroy everything pink.

Blah.