Writing: Other things...
January 17, 2008
A short story
It has to be important and real. If among all the topics of discussion we chose this one there’s got to be a reason. He’s the only Frenchman I talked to in Denver. Our encounters were rare and never lasted very long; hardly a few hours each time. Still, we came to talk about her. She’s thirty. Maybe she’s forty. She’s married that at least we know. Well, most of the time she is anyway. She has kids or not. She has two. Actually she’s single. It’s hard to tell really. She is obviously several women. She is they; but barely. They have lost so much that they became she. Sorry, I was not trying to confuse you reader. I’m trying hard here to paint her – they – as they are but it’s really difficult. She has lost everything that made her a ‘she’ and became ‘they’; a crowd of something. Some would say she still human but is it still true? There’s this amazing book from Ayn Rand called Anthem where the whole civilization has forgotten the word “I” and “you”. People have lost so much of their identity that one refers to himself as “we” (coincidently “you” is replaced by “they”). The dialogues are a bit confusing sometimes but it’s a very interesting book. ‘She’ has lost so much that she is lost in a sea of ‘they’ or maybe ‘they’ have lost so much that they can be referred to as ‘she’…if you will. The one thing that we know for sure is that she’s miserable. That’s obvious enough. We are not sure she knows it. Instinctively maybe but is it still knowledge? Let’s just say that there is a certain amount of sadness in her. There’s some delusion too. There’s some awareness as well which is why we’re talking about her – them. She became, very slowly, aware of her condition; each day a bit more than the day before. The whole process might have lasted a year, maybe more but how can we tell? Insignificant things pilling up, building the structure of an internal revolt, slowly. Uncorrelated events working together to assemble one action, just one. It’s not much of course but it could change her life… I know it’s a bit inappropriate but let me invite you in her home. We’re almost in downtown Denver. Close enough anyway. If there was such a thing as the perfect distance from the center of the city to the center of gravity of this house that would be it. Away from the troubles and the noise, away from the drunks and the bums, away from the teenagers pushing all boundaries – using sex, drugs, alcohol and other means - as far as they can, caught up in an endless game of truth or dare with invisible players – with themselves maybe? Away from all this but close enough to go out and enjoy Denver’s nightlife if they had wanted to. Not that they have the time really. She actually can’t remember the last time they went out together like they use to…it has to be before Gary was born. Then came Lauren of course so there was no more going out… To have a shopping center at walking distance was a requirement when they bought the house but she takes her car most of the time because of the kids, you know... It’s just safer than to walk around. Anything could happen out there and the five thousand plus pound SUV seems to be a safe place. It’s not for her you know. When they first met they would walk for hours together to – and thru - the city in the evening and at night. Even after they got married – she was twenty – they would still go out a lot she seems to remember. But of course things were different back then. It’s not really that there was less crimes but it seems like there was a better purpose behind every transgression. As crazy as it may sound there was a certain quality in the violence of those past days. Some sort of security she would say…Is that crazy? How can one talk about a feeling of security amongst such a violent, dangerous society? What she meant was that the purpose of the crime itself, the knowledge of the criminal - or at least the knowledge of its background - made him more predictable than these guys high on god-knows-what who can blow a fuse and start shooting at anytime. It is this predictability that she misses. She would tell you this herself of course but she doesn’t know how. She doesn’t have the words…almost, but not quite. She’s not stupid mind you; far from it actually. She had very good grades in high-school and all the way through college she was a very good student. It’s just that she never has time to think now, to stop and consider her own life, her own person, to pause, even for just one minute, and think about what really matters. But what really matters? Even answering that question would have required some time and things went so fast after she had graduated… She married Josh of course – her boyfriend from high-school - and bought a house the same year. A year after that she got pregnant (she had always wanted kids as far as she could remember) and you know…it is so much work. Two was enough though and for a long time she felt very good about her life. She had followed all the rules and everything had worked out for the best. The house was great and she loved it. She had made a good part of the decoration and hand-picked most of the furniture while going thru what seemed to be every single furniture store in the State. She was genuinely happy with the result and really felt at home. Josh had his own room – a home theater slash office slash guys-only kind of room – but barely used it actually. This last fact had always been a source of pride for her. The fact that she was enough - she was everything he had ever wanted from his own words - this fact brought a sense of warmth to her and also a sense of achievement to some extent. She worked of course – she had to - but it was more a job than a career and she knew it. There’s nothing wrong about making somebody else’s coffee all day long mind you. It’s actually fairly easy if not always pleasant and the money is okay if not great. It’s not like she had had any big plans anyway. Even after she had graduated the right thing to do seemed obvious enough to her and she just went ahead with her plan. Politically she was a democrat. What else is there? She had voted Al Gore like any unselfish person would. Poor people needed our help. The weak needed our help and even our good old planet earth needed protection after suffering from so much abuse during the last centuries. Here, like everywhere else, it was just a matter of common sense. War was not the answer to anything and she knew that the Republicans would do something stupid…again. History had proved her right and this gave her even more confidence. So when the war was declared it was without any hesitation or doubt that she had started to voice publicly her hatred of the Republican Party whenever she’d get a chance. She soon realized that she didn’t have the right background to answer all the questions but she had good heart, she cared about others and that was all that mattered. In every debate, whenever she would be outsmarted by her interlocutor she would not see the intelligence of a well built argument but only the cunning and shrewdness of someone ready to use all the tricks to justify the unjustifiable. More than often the impossibility to make herself heard, facing these greedy assholes refusing to see the human consequence of their murderous policy, would bring tears to her visage. She would call upon their heart, their sensibility; she would call upon their generosity and only meet an indestructible wall. Enraged by her own inability to convince she would sometimes read Time Magazine and try to use some of their arguments but she soon realized that each time, some new data would show up during these debates and that she was never fully prepared to answer everything that needed to be answered. It was like trying to hit a moving target. To these days she never cancelled her subscription to Time Magazine even though she has hardly any time to read it. She sometimes tries to go through an article or two but with the kids and the rest... She knows that dedication is the key to everything and she just can’t afford to spend hours each day reading the newspaper or watching the news. Who has time nowadays? She doesn’t have a dog. She thought about it and actually wanted one…kind of. She brought up the subject again this morning and Josh made fun of her saying that it would be a bit ‘too much’. Come on, we have a house, two cars – a SUV and a coupé - and two kids; don’t you think we’re close enough to the American cliché? He had said it as a joke of course. She didn’t really think there was anything wrong about having a dog or even why the fact that a majority of Americans wanted something would make that particular something wrong…no, really, this argument was flawed. Who cares what others think? Maybe if everybody wanted the same thing it was proof that this something was right…that’s the very principle of democracy she thought. Those words never came out though. The circumstances were gathered; the argument was right, her point was valid, the words were there and also…there was this old pressure, this sense of being smothered somehow, a lack of air, a lack of space… But she didn’t reply. Josh took off – he had to bring the kids to school on his way to work and was already late. She stood there, finishing her coffee, standing in the ten thousand dollar kitchen she hardly used, her eyes staring at the door, passed the door actually, wondering… This moment could be the hinge of her life. These moments are few in the life of a person and usually we are not even aware of them when they pass. We see them in retrospect, after endless back and forth in our head, long after the facts have become the past, when we are not even sure about the accuracy of these facts. Here, it’s one of these rare occasions where the subject is aware of the significance of the alternative he faces, the understanding that there will be an after and a before and that the choice she could make would tell them apart forever. It is important to stop here and take a closer look at her. She was not a knock out but she was a fairly attractive woman nonetheless. From her own perspective – and Josh’s – she was perfect. She was definitely not like the women one can see in magazines or on TV nowadays and she was certainly not trying to imitate them. The fact that the media would filter one woman out of a million and then brainwash their audience into believing that this was somehow the reference was just outrageous not to say criminal; how many lives had been wasted by both men and women waiting for someone “that perfect” who would just never come? Humans were never perfect and it was high time people got use to it. She thought there was something totally unreal anyway about these cover girls and she never understood why anybody would be attracted to something that was after all just an image. She would refer to them with some wit as ‘paper girl’ – the imperative word being paper and its natural shallowness and frailty. No, she would never look up to these women with envy that’s for sure. She knew there was more to life than seduction and she just didn’t feel any particular respect for those who chose to make a leaving out of it. She had a great, perfect white smile and she was proud of that; god knows it cost her enough time, money and even pain and she convinced herself that her personal investment in that regard was at least as important as the result itself. Her smile was an accomplishment, the result of hard work and not a given. She was 5.8 and had very nice legs – she would certainly not hesitate to wear shorts during her morning jogging two times a week. Her body was thin she told herself – considering she had given birth to two babies - and she had perfect control of her weight. Her hair was dark and her visage long – a bit stern maybe. This might actually be the only thing one could regret; she had lost the innocence, the naivety of youth. Slowly, over the years, a certain severity had settled almost permanently in her and was now part of her features, as were her very thin and long eyebrows and her slightly sunken cheeks. Her body had lost part of his youth of course but the hours spent weekly at the gym had definitely helped. She had nice breast she thought. Nicely shaped but not too big either. She always thought that that’s where she would draw the line. She remembered that once, one of her coworkers had showed up at work after she had spent a few days on vacation; the girl had ‘upgraded’ at least two sizes. She remembered vividly how she felt for this girl at that particular time; a mix of pity, of revulsion and even revolt in the name of womankind. She couldn’t help but notice the change in the look of some clients during this day; their eyes would wander a little longer than usual on this girl it seems... She hated it. Each time a client would drop a dollar bill in the tip jar she couldn’t help but wonder; would the dollar have come off that wallet last week in the same circumstance? What about this smile or this glance? What about this kind word? Would that man hold the door for her if it wasn’t for her newly acquired double D? She remembered going thru that day like a ghost really – lost in her thoughts – her state of frustration worsening at each instant, at each male client. She would try and fail to answer the impossible question of what would be in ‘other circumstances’. She remembered she had never felt so bad than at the end of that very day at work, reaching a state of absolute paranoia, trying to pay attention to the slightest changes; change of behavior or change of intonation in the voice of the customers addressing this girl. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t be sure about anything and that uncertainty was even worse than the rest. She had quit her job a few days later without a word of explanation and had found a place at some other coffee shop the week after. Josh had tried to ask about her reasons for the change – the new job was farther and the hours less convenient – but she had always remained vague repeating that she needed the change and that was all. Unknowingly, Josh had paid the price in the form of a certain distrust from her because he was a male and they were all the same. She knew it was not fair but she also started to see him differently after this episode even though he had nothing to do with the whole story and had never even looked at another woman as far as she could tell. So yes, that’s where she would draw the line. It was one thing to dress nicely and take care of your body – matter of respect and of health respectively – but to make such a radical change in your body was something totally different. The line was clearly defined in her mind. It was just a matter of self-respect; women were more than that. She had actually no more esteem for these ridiculously thin women with their pretty faces, their fake breasts and their suntanned skin twelve months a year than she had for these other women, on the other side of the spectrum, who would neglect to spend just a few minutes in front of a mirror dressing correctly before leaving their house in the morning. There was a minimum that was required in public and she knew it. How could others be so blind, so ignorant? She went back upstairs. Maybe we should follow her… She enters the bedroom and spends fifteen minutes picking up the clothes she’s going to wear today. It’s Tuesday and she doesn’t have to work at least. It’s a beautiful day out - the first one of the year after this endless winter; something light will do. She settles for a red dress. A bit unusual for her but she needs the change. She throws the clothes on the bed cover, walks to the bathroom and stops in front of the mirror as she always does; one minute every morning, looking at her reflection in the mirror; one minute to watch for a possible change; one minute for herself. The steam from Josh’s recent shower still lingers around and drops of water are running down the mirror. The scent of her husband’s perfume mixed with the remaining smell of shower gel and aftershave – usually somehow reassuring – reinforce today her feeling of oppression, intrusion. She stands facing the mirror. She looks straight into these somber eyes. Finally after a few seconds, her right hand starts moving up slowly towards her left shoulder, and then it’s her left hand. Her nightgown falls silently along her body and she stays there, starring at her reflection. She replays in her head the exchange she had with Josh earlier. It was nothing really she tells herself. It was about a dog no? Was there something else? She stares. When was the last time you acted for yourself, by yourself? - “Stop it” Did she just say that aloud? Who are you? The question resonates again and again in her head…Who are YOU? Take a look at yourself, now, what do you see? Who is this woman? She hasn’t moved for what, two minutes? Five maybe? Her eyes are still, fixed, trying to see...See what? One tear, a single tear gathering and now running down her left cheek leaving a glossy path along the way so that others can soon find their way if…but no, nothing follows. That’s it. “It was nothing” her internal voice keeps repeating these words again. She feels… There’s no pain… - “It was nothing!” It’s not sadness… - “It was nothing!” There’s no anger… - “Nothing” She feels…”nothing” finally answer the voice one last time in her head as an unbearable feeling of emptiness submerges her. This time there’s no stopping the tears any longer. She mechanically walks toward the shower and close the glass door as the warm water starts pouring automatically drowning the tears…to no avail. She’s exhausted. Her back slowly slides down against the wall of the shower and she finally sits on the floor grabbing her knees strongly pressing them against her breast waiting for the sobbing to stop. Everything comes back to her now. The strange, undefined sensation she had had on her wedding day – quickly repressed, the feeling of having lost something important, this feeling she had discarded minutes before saying yes comes back under a totally different light. The pain of giving birth to Gary comes back as well associated for the first time with a feeling of revulsion and even hate for mankind. Random events – some insignificant some more important – are coming back now in a totally aberrant order; the location of their last vacation, the choice of the church for their wedding, the name of their daughter (Josh’s grandmother was named Lauren as well), their last restaurant, even the color of the SUV… A small voice made a last attempt to tame the internal upheaval, the revolt literally that was now taking command of her sanity; most of these choices were insignificant anyway so what if they weren’t yours? She tried to convince herself…in vain. The decision was already made. Against everything she had been taught. Against her vows, against reason itself – or at least what other would see as reason – she would leave him. The thought surprised her at this moment as much as it would, later astonish Josh. She was shocked by the outcome of her train of thoughts and immediately stood up - almost falling back in the slippery floor of the shower. It barely took her fifteen minutes to pack a suitcase. The note took longer however. How do you say this? What are the right words? She finally settled for the most simplistic ones. What else? “How do you stop the waste of a life? How do you get back the control of your existence?” She thought as her trembling fingers drew the final sentence ending her marriage; “I’m leaving. I’m sorry.” She thought about removing the last part but decided to leave it after all…she was genuinely sorry and this about so many things really.
January 12, 2008
How Garry Kasparov Imitates Life
Thank you M Kasparov for your book. I was certainly not disappointed I must tell you. I knew it would be interesting just by reading its title. As I was wandering around, freely, in one of our western stores full of books from all other the world - free or otherwise – I thought that yours somehow should be an exciting one. What a title; How life imitates chess. Even from someone who’s known for his incredible arrogance – whether facing a chess board or not – I thought it remarkable. To devise on the analogy between life and chess is indeed a fresh idea that was bound to catch my attention but to believe that somehow it is life that imitates chess and not the other way around requires a certain amount of…well let’s call it imagination and daring for now – keep in mind though that I’m only using these as strong euphemisms. I was genuinely curious about your book I should say, just as I was genuinely interested by Albert Einstein’s book “Ideas and Opinions” a while ago and unfortunately for the same wrong reasons. In both cases I thought the author was intelligent when really he was just going thru time – and not life – with a very strong case of OCD. Sure, if someone knows about chess it is certainly you M Kasparov. My mistake however was to believe that you also knew something about life. This is certainly the most valuable lesson I have learned reading your book and I thought a thank you note would be appropriate. You are a child of the Soviet Union. We usually add the adjective ‘former’ in front of this reference but since you’re the living proof that its spirit is still alive I thought it wise to omit it. Indeed, the spirit of the Soviet Union lives through its children and, as the breath of a dying man living painfully thru his last moments; that spirit stinks. Usually, everybody around the soon to be corpse is sensible enough not to mention the horrible stench. Maybe I’m not that sensible or maybe, and this is perhaps closer to the truth, I’m a little afraid too. Maybe I misjudged the condition of that decaying heresy that was sometime referred to as central planning, and even if I did not, I still believe we should be cautious and remember than even the dead – countries, ideologies and people alike – can do us harm. People have a very short term memory. We say that history repeats itself and it is true; unfortunately it is the whole of that history that tends to come back over and over; not only the good part of it – the improvement of our condition thru knowledge – but also the worst – the murders and the abuse of all kinds . The time of war has ended believed the philosopher at the beginning of the twentieth century; was he ever wrong. Don’t fool yourself M Kasparov, the only lesson that Russians can teach us today is one we don’t need to learn. We already know and we knew all along. We understood your ideology and your beliefs. We knew their plusses and minuses. We knew what it would create and what it would destroy. To sum up, we made the most accurate evaluation – to the best extent of our knowledge – and we discarded it for what it represents. The western world did not become what it is today by chance or for lack of other options; it had all the options, all the cards. It discarded these other options and chose the path leading to its current state of leadership knowingly. Keeping that in mind, the only lesson Russia, China, India and many other countries are teaching the world today is how wrong they have been and how right the western world was and is. What did you bring to the table at which Humanity is sitting today? A bit more than other beggars certainly but not much really, not much. You seem to misunderstand here the complexity of our feelings when we look at your country and others so let me explain. First there is pride. To be right, regardless of the importance of the matter, is always a good feeling. Reality is the judge which rewards us whenever we are right, and it is the only well deserved reward. To be right – during a determined lapse of time – is synonym of an accurate identification of reality itself, which is why reality can be the only judge in the first place if you know how to reason…That being said, it is certainly reassuring to look at both sides of a coin and this even when our instinct tells us that the other one always exists. In order to know where you stand, you need to look not only at yourself but also at the big picture. Russia, and other countries, serves today that purpose; they serve no other; you remind us of how much one country can be wrong, how much a people can be weak. Again, to see countries all over the world, finally dropping their almost religious beliefs in central planning and absolute control of personal life, asking the western world for advice on how to put in place the foundation of an open market certainly doesn’t teach us anything. We are doing the teaching here M Kasparov, in Paris, in London, in Geneva and just about everywhere in the United States, in every one of our numerous universities. Not that many Russian universities in the top one hundred; many Russians in our universities though. We are giving you access to a knowledge that is foreign to you, a knowledge that centuries of idleness from you didn’t even come close to develop. We tried to teach by example and you did not listen. We tried to teach by force but you ran away avoiding the combat, fearing it would expose the full extent of your weaknesses. Your stubbornness is unfortunate for civilization itself but we had to wait for your complete collapse to be over to see what could flourish for this fertile soil. We had to wait for you to first recognize your mistakes and ask for a lesson. That you failed to reassess your situation during almost a century is only a lesson for yourself; certainly not for us. We already know we were right. Do you think that France and United States got leadership in science and economy, in politic, diplomacy and education out of thin air? Do you think there’s something genetically wrong with others? No. There’s not. Russia is one the richest country on the planet. Africa is one of the richest continents on the planet. This is facts. Beyond those facts come the actions of a few men. It is politics – thru action or idleness - that determines the reality of our condition. We made choices and reality rewarded us because our identification of the two most important things in life was accurate. We identified ourselves correctly. We identified our environment correctly. Others believed that they could afford to discard their environment - and sometime nature itself - and they get wiped out every now and then, by the first difficulties – be it a tsunami or an earth quake, playing the victims instead of finally taking control of their life. Others believed that they could afford to ignore their own nature, the nature of Man, that they could constrain it and force it to be one thing or another depending on their personal whims and needs of the time – disregarding the striking contradiction of their view of life; somehow they believed that they were not part of what they called ‘the people’ – maybe they were right, they were not Man after all; just evil. These views have failed. We both know it. When President Reagan ordered M Gorbachev to tear down the Wall he knew it to. The words he chose were harsh and he found a strong opposition, even amongst his closest friends, minutes only before he made what became his most famous declaration. It was not a request, it was not a favor or a hope; it was an order uttered by a winner addressing a loser. Enough about pride for our feeling is complex and there is more. There is curiosity as well, the type that submerges us with disbelief, render us speechless at the sight of so much delusion. We already know that rock bottom is psychologically the best place for you to get some help; there is a moment there, a short span of time, a precarious opportunity where pride itself dies and frees the mind allowing it to accept and even welcome external help without the afterthoughts, without the idea of a future retribution; one’s pride has to die for any help to be worth. As I said, we know it but we can’t help but be surprised to see that others don’t. Of course, after pride and curiosity there is also shame. We can’t forget the fact that somehow, our nature is the same. Our poets have said – all of them with their own words and sometime with their own political or religious agenda - that no man is an island. Aware of this, we can’t help but feel some shame and decide to take some of the burden from you and carry it so as to lighten yours – you have some catching up to do it case you haven’t noticed and you need all the speed you can get. This shame would be overwhelming and terrifying if it wasn’t for one single belief; this one thing that separates our respective systems; the belief that – even though we do have the same nature – one part of this nature is the ability to make a difference, to make choices, to see two paths at every step and to chose one. We have the same tools to evaluate this reality - curiosity is our fuel – but the last call, whether to act or not is ours. It is what defines individuality and identity regardless of our resemblance. May this resemblance amount for ninety nine point nine percent of who we are, the rest would still allow one man to be his own, to be one, against or with others, by choice One attribute of our society is competition. We chose to recognize this attribute as being part of our own nature and decided – willfully – that our society should comply with this nature (it’s is not the other way around as some came to believe). As a Grand Master you do recognize the importance of competition but here again you managed to miss the point believing that the ultimate goal of competition was the destruction of the opposition. This is unfortunately and at best a fairly common mistake. More often however it is part of the well known apparatus of the leftist propaganda to reduce western capitalism as a deadly competition where there can only be one winner; what a simplistic view. No, competition is not meant to be destroyed; we need it to evaluate and measure ourselves. Knowing that the hardest thing to do is to be objective when looking at a mirror, we came to realize that, somehow, someone like us, with the same desire, thriving in the same area – be it work or something else – gives a better, more objective image of ourselves. The language itself says it all; during a competition an athlete is said to “measure himself against other”. In the field of competition ‘we take the full measure of someone’. Those turns of phrases are not accidental; they are accurate representations of the mental process taking place during any competition; the process of measurement. Yes sometimes, in the world of businesses, a competitor dies - you mention Netscape and Altavista in your book. Your mistake here is to believe that their death was the goal of the competition all along. Microsoft didn’t kill Netscape. Google didn’t destroy Altavista. These were not victims, they were responsible for their actions; they take chances and made choices. They pushed their competition and when they became useless – for lack of evolution – they disappeared. Bill Gates always made it clear that he would welcome any competitors. The only requirement being that it should be real competition – not the artificial version of a totalitarian government. Google is challenging Microsoft today. Apple has always challenged Microsoft with uneven successes and lately, from the position of challenger, Apple became leader and it is Microsoft’s turn to look up in several areas. In economy this disappearance – which is certainly not a murder by any stretch of the mind - has been referred to as creative destruction. It may strike the ignorant as a contradiction in terms; it is not. A competition is a set of mirrors facing each other. When one stops reflecting an accurate image, it loses its purpose and needs to be replaced. The new one is always a better one and this mechanism of replacement of something useless by something useful requires imagination and creativity from the challenger. Man’s mind has never failed to provide novelty in every field. How is that possible? In art as in science the reason for this incredible prowess is the improvement of our knowledge. Regarding art I believe it comes from a better ability for introspection; in the case of science, a more accurate and thorough understanding of our environment. Art comes from inside which is why it seems to be related to instincts. There’s something animal-like in every piece of art, something that we don’t quite understand because we don’t understand ourselves very well yet. Every aspect of our mind is tuned to look outside - from our first look to the last; science was born from that innate curiosity. The western world has some prejudice against Russians. We believe that somehow, you are better chess players and pianists. As all prejudices, this one is mostly wrong but does however include a part of truth. The truth is that Russians for decades were not allowed to express themselves. They were not allowed to write. They were not allowed to talk. Totalitarianism can do a lot of damage to Man but one thing it can’t do is stop one’s ability to question, to think - except by an irreversible act of annihilation of the person. God knows you made good use of that last tactic but for the ones who survived they had no choice but to find a way to express themselves; naturally, music and chess quickly became the way out; if the body is to be enslaved, let the mind be free… Your country pushed to the extreme the idea that every aspect of life was a constitutional right that needed protection. You went as far as trying to guaranty life itself missing the fact that by doing so you were removing what makes it precious; it’s vulnerability. What makes it worth is how much one is ready to fight for it. Capitalism long ago understood that there’s no value outside the context of a trade. For life the same is true; it has no value if you let yourself die sitting on a rock praying your gods to save you. What makes it valuable is the strength one is ready to deploy to save himself from the unavoidable outcome. The creativity, the imagination and the passion flowing, gushing out of every idea that is aimed at improving his precarious condition are the value itself. The ultimate beauty is in the realization that regardless of the amount of work and talent, death will welcome you when the game is over. The ultimate beauty is to know it and still disregard the fact. In this sense every action is an act of pure generosity; an offering from the soon to be dead to others; a message in a bottle that one throws out to the sea for future generations of men. It is not meant as a justification, as an excuse or a lesson but only as a testimony of what has been, once, created, by the willful action of a free man. In the western world we have millions of ways to express ourselves – from your own point of view ‘to waste time’. So many ways actually that we might spend a lifetime trying them out one after the other and still miss to identify at the end our true calling. You and others see this as a failure, as something that needs to be fixed. I’m sure those men – if not yourself - will soon try to correct it with the best intentions, of course, if not for the best results. This unlimited pool of ways of expression, this diversity limits naturally the number of players in each field. This fact might appear as a deficiency to be corrected by those miss-identifying the underlying mechanism. But in fact, it should be left alone and remain there as a permanent reminder of the need for more openness and diversity; not for more control. What you perceive as a waste of time is the creation of new points of views, of new ways. Who are you to get in the way? What makes you think that your life won’t be saved by one of those explorers? I’ve got news for you; most likely you already owe your life to someone who dared to think differently. Out of four million years, Man’s life expectation doubled in less than two centuries. Do you really think that’s a coincidence? Say thank you to romanticism and the industrial revolution that came with it. No M Kasparov; even though some of the qualities that are expected from a Chess Grand Master can be useful in the life of a politician, a citizen or a business man, life doesn’t imitates chess. Chess only imitates a tiny part of life; and hardly the most appealing one. I’m glad it led you to a thorough understanding of the concept of warfare, tactic and strategy and of what is only a side effect of competition. This understanding is certainly required for someone who has some political ambition but the thought that, somehow, you came to believe that this was enough to be a leader is a scary one. To become a political figure you need first to understand that you would no longer be the one playing. As a president, you would not be in front of the board; you would watch a game played by millions of others. You also need to understand that not only, these pieces have a mind of their own, but most importantly, it is not your place to judge why they play the way they do. To lay a qualitative judgment of their respective motivations would be a deadly mistake and an impossible goal. Your job would be to ensure that everybody respects the rules and nothing else. Every step outside this path is a step towards dictatorship. How much abuse can a leader afford and enjoy before he’s being removed by time, by law, by guillotine or a combination of the three is just child play. Dictators are like kids, aware of the concept of boundaries but still unaware of the exact location of these limits; they push, more and more every day, keeping an eye on their parents, expecting the imminent punishment but also curious about the nature and the extent of the leeway. Here again you are mistaken; a leader is not the adult responsible of so many kids. It’s the other way around. Wisdom is in the number. You enjoy analogies? Here’s one; you are one of the few kids; the people are the parents. Whenever we, in the west, look at the leaders of Russia or Iran, Colombia or Argentina, Kenya or Chad, we don’t see responsible parents in charge of their kids, we see kids playing with dangerous toys that are not their own. And even if we know that if it came down to it you would suffer more than us and that we will be the last man standing, the thought of how much damage you can do to yourself and to us, to your people and to ours, the thought that it took so long, and the work of so many talented hard working men, to create the circumstance of our lives and that it would take barely a few years and maybe just a few hours to some fools to destroy it, this thought is a scary one M Kasparov. If you ever come to leading your countrymen, a word of advice; don’t push too hard. You want to be king? Remember that the most important piece on the board is also the weakest. It is its weakness and lack of mobility that makes each step even more crucial. You made the choice to express yourself thru the game of chess. You have succeeded and became one of the best. Let the leadership of your country to those who have invested their lives in the study of the political game. You’re late and this is not your thing. Thanks for playing. David
December 31, 2007
A Weird Animal
I have nothing to do with it, seriously, you can ask anybody; I don’t do friendship. She knows it too and still we act as if it was nothing. Never mind the 800 pound gorilla, let’s go out and have a drink. It works to. How? I have no idea. It has a life of its own it seems. It’s there, right next to us, it tags along and keeps us closer. We try not to stare, but still, can’t help but wonder about that weird animal that follows us everywhere. Where does it come from? What does it eat? I mean surely it feeds on something. Don’t look at me; I have no idea I swear, how would I know? I’ve never seen one before. I kind of like the thing though. First I thought it was strange, felt uneasy around it and didn’t really acknowledge its presence – why would I? It is so unfamiliar to me. But slowly I saw it grow, imperceptibly, at each encounter, it became stronger and surer of itself; denial was no longer a possibility. I wonder if she’s seen one before...I should ask sometime. Anyway, I don’t mind it really. I just can’t help but be curious. Think about it. You live your life, quietly, minding your own business, doing your thing and one morning you wake up and it’s there. How strange? Wouldn’t you be curious? I know I am. She doesn’t seem to be though; she smiles at me and all I can think of is how lucky I am to have met such a wonderful person. She’s so innocent. Her innocence, that’s all I want to see most of the time; denial, here too; I know. There’s more but we don’t talk about it. I can’t help but be worried these days though. I haven’t been around for a while and I wonder if I should do something. What if it needs me? Do I have a responsibility over it? Arguably I didn’t ask for him to follow me everywhere but it’s there, somehow because of me. How long can I ignore its existence without asking questions? Or worse, answering them...To be honest I don’t want it to go anywhere; as I said, I like the thing. Sometimes...well, call me crazy but I think I need it. Or at least I need the possibility of it. It reassures me even when I can’t see it. Just to know it’s around gives me hope. Sometime it seems to be hiding somewhere out of my sight and before long I can’t help but wonder about it. I wouldn’t say I’m worried but still...I’m glad when I finally hear his steps. He comes back, just like that, like nothing, like it belongs and has always been around. It’s so strange...Friendship is such a weird animal.
December 29, 2007
Smothered
When space itself becomes too narrow, when the very air we breathe doesn’t even flow, how is our heart to glow? Where is the flower of our hope to grow? - df
Cast away, again. It’s nothing new really but I have to wonder why. Usually, the more I think about something the closer I get to the answer...but not this time. Looking at the distance that separate the factual slave that I am to the possibility of freedom that I can foresee and dream of I can’t help but wonder if the journey lying ahead of Man is as long and treacherous than the old path that was once followed, millennia ago, by others, leading them slowly from their original condition of independence to this state of sheer slavery. Why would they accept the yoke and the lashes? What was the aim of this protracted sufferance? Peace? Hardly, if one looks back closely. Peace of mind maybe but the price seems to be rather high and the object badly made; they certainly ignored the price for they were not planning on paying it in the first place. Even more recently – a few centuries more or less - the trend remained the same. A few million lives barely bought the world a few crumbles of local independence (term which indeed should have struck those weak victors as a contradiction.) What were you trying to achieve? I wish I could ask the question but the inherent quality of our fathers – political figures or not - is to be unaccountable. Who is to pay for their crimes and their incompetence, for their capitulation, their weaknesses and their defeat? It is thought that people somehow should be grateful for the given and therefore spend their life redeeming themselves and pay back the state. Where is that come from? Why look at one side of the coin and not the other? How can one be so blind and ignorant and fail to see, to understand the fatal flaw of that logic and the obvious swindle of those officials? I would not naturally condone the use of blind violence that has become the idiosyncratic and most vivid quality of proponents of the need for radical change but in the view of the general indolence of the lethargic pleb that inhabit our lands I have to ask myself if this is not the answer after all. Obedience failed. Passive disobedience failed as well. What else is there but active disobedience? When space itself becomes too narrow, when the very air we breathe doesn’t even flow, what is the last man to do? And why, why choose to abscond with our children’s freedom in our hands? If there ever was one responsibility to one man, it is not to bequeath our mistakes on the youngest and bear our own burden regardless of the price. Today I would not condemn these hideous acts for their nature - god knows there is legitimacy to violence and the guilty have been warned. We can certainly emit some concern about the choices as far as the target is concerned but I would certainly not shed a tear upon the death of a politician who, finding himself - or herself - in a position of power, has not spend every waken seconds to give back the gift of freedom to his people and instead chose to settle for a tedious surrogate satisfying no one while leaving to improbable others the responsibility to make the next step. I’d rather have strong enemies than weak friends; the formers have always laid - fortuitously - the foundation of knowledge and reason and strengthened the incentive for progress while the latter historically have only brought stagnation, dullness, monotony and boredom. Revolutionaries should remember that lesson before settling for less than they deserve lest their children will eventually pay their freedom a higher price with painful interest.
“I shall take you to be right-thinking, for did I not, I should be obliged to join an army against you.” – Elphaba - addressing the Wizard of Oz
December 28, 2007
Nouvel An
2008, bordel - le foie a tenu un an de plus, qui l’eu crût ? La foi non, plus de foi – plus foi en rien. L’homme est indigne, la nature est faible, le soleil n’est plus roi (ou l’inverse) – il fait froid. Non je ne suis pas bourré enfin, pourquoi vous demandez ? Arf, fatigué. Suis-je ivre ? Ce doit être le froid ! Après deux semaines en France, la cacophonie m’ennuie, les faignasses m’agacent, l’élite m’irrite, les ménagères m’exaspèrent, les vieux me rendent furieux, J’vois rouge et j’maudis les dit rouges comme le péril d’une autre couleur, lui. Démise ou pas, la miss perd sa mise. Même Carla me désappointe, si j’ose dire. Bâbord ? Tribord ? On en perd le nord. Quel fâcheux model ! Rendez-vous compte ! Même pas un vrai français ! Hongrois rêvé ! Le comte n’est pas rendu. Il vient de loin mais n’a encore rien vu. La populace est lasse et la France mal barrée. Le navire chavire ! Tournons la page avant qu’il y ait naufrage ; ça vire un navire, sans rire ! Ya qu’a lire ; Impôts, grèves, associations de mal faiseurs – des fous qui veulent tout, qui volent tous, le beurre et la laide crémière. C’est amère d’avoir été trop battu, abusé, mystifié, une vrai tartine de leurre quoi. Ecoutez ! Fêtez la mort, pas les sourds au Darfour (bien qu’elle – la mort - se fasse attendre, chaque année un peu plus, elle se refuse la vile haine, se fait prier comme une femme ; c'est infâme) Melpomène est dépassé, c’est tout dire. La muse s’est usée. Le peuple impuissant s’émeu comme une vieille vache aride et fatigué de son pré, même de loin, même du foin, et quel foin que le sien! Vraiment, à qu’elle fin ? Le bas pays se retourne - Qu’allait-il faire sans cette jachère ? Se morfondre ? En hivers ? Il n’y a plus de saison ! À quoi bon retarder l’inéluctable, la nouvelle est née, elle vocifère, on n’a pas le choix, elle a de la voix, elle le dit, le cri, c’est la loi! Rendez nous l’or! Le peuple s’en dore, il n’y peut rien, il se refuse, car au fond il n’a que fer, ce n'est pas une ruse. C’est terrible, cette terre ivre d’argent. Et quels ivres agents, provocateurs et tueurs maintenant. Ils boivent trop et de plus en plus tôt ; Beaucoup de fêtards et peu de fait d’art, le peuple a peu d’égard et des rails. Alors il prend l’avion. Mais là non plus rien n’est azuré, même pas le ciel ! IL n’en croit pas ses cieux - et on le comprend – quel triste spectacle, vu d’en haut, c’est tout faux tout flamme. « Paris brule t’il ? » les saints s’interrogent de leur loges, vautrés sur le divin ils fument et s’enflamment à leur tour ; Que de discours ! Tout ça ne sert à rien et on en vient à souhaiter un peu plus de silence et moins de marches en cadence, un peu plus de chance aussi, et de vacances. On se résigne et on re-signe ; finalement, en France, on avance...
December 25, 2007
Respect
The dream is always the same. I’m walking along the sidewalk and see an old friend coming towards me. I salute him of course – what else? He passes by without a word. He saw me – no doubt but he kept silent and acted as if I hadn’t been there, denying the reality of my existence. I lied. It’s not a dream. It’s actually quite real. I wanted to write something about it for a year or so but always had better things to do. I’m always amazed by the rudeness of most adult when it comes to the use of email and other ‘modern’ means of communication. I’m…well, let’s just say a bit over thirty, and by now I really don’t have any expectation or even respect for most human beings because of that. But still, I can’t help but be surprised by their absolute lack of any semblance of education. For a while I thought that this issue was a problem of adaptation; when new tools come along it always take a certain amount of time for any civilization to adapt and to find the proper and best use for the new gear. Usually it takes more or less a generation. Having to wait thirty years to find traces of some sort of decency amongst people is not the most pleasant thought I reckon but what can we do? Something has been lost and won’t be transmitted to the youngest. We just have to hope that they will re-discover – somehow – the respect we once knew and apply it to the new technology. I came to revisit that theory recently. I actually don’t see any reason to believe that something has been lost. I believe that that something was never there in the first place. I explain. The semblance of respect that people were showing towards one another has never been respect; it was obligation. If they had had any incentive to acknowledge each other’s existence – beside cultural habit and class obligation – they would have found a way to translate this respect through any possible mean of communication. It seems just impossible to me to believe that, just like that, a few hundred million people decide to ignore the hell out of each other, just because they can. Occam’s razor. Our civilization was only behaving itself – sort of – because it felt obligated, because they knew they had to deal with one another whether they like it or not. As soon as the incentive disappeared – or as soon as a technology allowed them to get away with it – they came back to their truth self, the arrogant one. Some have said that the danger of illegal download is that this generation will be remembered as a savage one, I believe that the way people behave with each other will have much more impact on the way this generation is perceived in a few decades. Illegal download at least has the advantage of posing the base of a new problem; Duplication Vs robbery (Even though some idiots act as if there was no difference). The revelation of an absolute lack of innate respect in most humans towards one another doesn’t help in any way that I’m aware of. It just exemplifies how retarded that civilization is and how much progress is needed. At a time when the so-called disparity of wealth seems to be the favorite concern of the leftist media – sorry for the redundancy - and the guilt fanatics alike I can’t help but wonder; what about the disparity of reverence, of respect? Don’t you value that too? How much I despise those thieves is beyond the expression of words.
December 25, 2007
Pacific Crest Trail - Post Mortem
I’ve been wanted to write a post mortem for months. It just seems impossible not to. After all, following any such experience – a life changing experience that is – it is highly important to sit down – literally or figuratively - for a while and ask; “What did it mean?” Regardless of the nature of the event, regardless of its practical aspects and impact on one’s life – past and future – it would be a total waste not to ask certain questions. Any experience remains useless until it is understood, digested by the mind. One of the most striking aspects of hiking along the PCT is the addiction it creates. No need of any recording, writing or photography; I can pause for one second and picture myself arriving late right before white river near the fish hatchery, several miles after the wind farm, near highway 10 passing Cabazon. I remember every aspect of the trail. I remember each turn. I remember the tree under which I setup camp. I remember the smell of the flowers, the sound of the river a few hundred feet away. I remember. There was nothing particular about the night I spent there – a bit warm maybe; I fell asleep after 11pm – and there’s no reason to remember it. But I do. And I could remember every single of the one hundred and forty nights I spent sleeping under the stars if I tried. Some moments were just dull really. Some were nothing short of extraordinary. I put my life at risk only once (that I know of) risking a two hundred feet fall while off trail, I put my weight – and my trust - on one step, on one tiny rock. It didn’t collapse. It was a stupid thing to do but it worked; I was thirsty. Several weeks after, meeting two bears on a jeep road with Mt Shasta on the background was incredible too; they were walking slowly down the road towards me while I was checking my map. I’m not even talking about crossing the Oregon border… Again there are hundreds of moments like these and each thru-hiker, for each hike will make new ones. One has to wonder why life – everyday life that is – couldn’t be like this. I spent more than two months in Denver after I left the trail and I remember none of it except for a few moments. I can’t even remember the day I came back in Denver actually; how ridiculous is that? It seems that the one thing that makes the souvenir of the PCT so extraordinary is the diversity of each day. Every part of the trail, every tree, every mountain, every river and every stream is unique and this ever changing sight communicates its distinctiveness to each day spent along the trail. Of course, there are other things that can be found along the trail and are absent from the plebian life of the city but still, I don’t see anything in nature itself that can have such a power; I’m not that big a fan of trees, animals or rocks. So it has to be something else than nature itself (I mean the reality of it, alone, outside the field of perception.) No, really, the only particular thing about the trail seems to be its sheer diversity. Change thru life is an old problem; too many changes would bring uncertainty and fear of the unknown while not enough changes would bring…well, death - for lake of adaptation - among other things. It would bring boredom too but I don’t want to scare anyone. How much change is required you ask? Each individual has to figure that out but asking the question is already a big step. Still, I can’t help but wonder why hiking the Pacific Crest Trail is so addictive. I jumped out of a plane once and couldn’t think about anything else for a week after the fact. The PCT is a hundred times better. I was a bit worry about that actually even while on the trail. Even during the worst, the most painful moments I feared I would forget the pain and want to come back. That’s exactly what happened. When I took the decision to stop (a bit before Ashland) I was limping at less than one mile per hour along the trail; my two ankles were killing me. My knees were shot. My back on the right, my thigh on the upper left started to bitch seriously and I had a beginning of shin split…again. It took me two full days to hike the last twenty miles; ridiculous. In the middle of the high sierra I was taking up to three thousand mg of ibuprofen a day; two third of that in the morning just to be able to stand on my feet. How many times I had to walk on my knees fifty feet in the early morning to grab my ursack because I had forgotten my medicine in there? Many. I ended up sleeping near my food. It was just too much work and I’d rather deal with a bear anyway. Whether I will be able to hike again is still a question; I don’t know. I think I definitively shot my two Achilles tendons but who knows? I will try next year for a few miles see how it goes. The truth is; I remember the reality of the pain but I don’t remember the pain itself. Again, I knew that would happen and the only reason I didn’t come back on the trail after I left is because I keep reminding myself of it. I have to. If it was just for the souvenir I have, the lingering impression the journey has left on me I would probably, even today, in December, be out there. Talk about addiction. A few hundred miles in, a hiker I met on the trail told me it was his seventh attempt. My first reaction was to wonder why would anybody want to do it more than once. Now I can’t help but wonder why would anybody want to stop. This hiker had reached Canada twice out of seven attempts and actually stopped this year after crossing California. Today I’m almost envious if not jealous. I still don’t understand the reaction of most people when it comes to that trail. I met people who were literally in awe about someone hiking such a distance; I never understood why. I met people telling me that they would probably not be able to hike for several months (usually they meant ‘physically’) and I don’t understand that either. Most of the hikers I met were not physically strong or trained or young with a few exceptions. The majority thought; let’s walk and see how far we can go. That’s the way. That’s the only way. The only hikers who had more than just a little confidence were the few ones who had already hiked either the PCT or the AT and they were not immune from the inherent haphazardness of any long distance hike. To sum up, if I could spend six months each year hiking along that trail, I would. And I don’t even like walking; that’s telling.
Monday, April 16, 2007
On Friendship
Can two persons of opposite sex be friends?
First I have to say that this is about the last subject on earth I want to treat. However, I was asked that question recently and decided I would give it some thoughts. Since it is always safe to check some definitions let me sum up the ones from my Oxford American Dictionary:
Friend - A person with whom one has a bond of mutual affection; typically exclusive of sexual relations.
Love - An intense feeling of deep affection, a deep romantic or sexual attachment to someone.
Why did I choose to include love? In our main question it would be a mistake to think that the issue is about sex and not love. I don’t think sex itself between friends is the issue as long as no emotions and no “intense feelings” are involved. On the other hand things get complicated when one of the two parties develop strong feelings for the other. Now from the definitions above – and that has always been my assumption – the difference between a friendly relation and a “more intimate” one is only a matter of degree. My personal definition of love is “Between two persons, the mutual validation of their respective value judgments”. Incidentally, this is also my definition of friendship, which is why I hate the concept of friendship in the first place. Back to our problem, and since we’re dealing here with a matter of degree, what can get in the way of two persons of opposite sex so that they agree on a friendly relationship and “nothing more”? As far as external circumstances, the list is rather short; the social status or obviously the geographical location. In essence they both are a matter of distance and that distance can always be crossed if both parties value their “relation” enough…we’re back to value, back to the matter of degree. (Marriage (social status) is usually an obstacle. I do have more married women “friend” than single ones - which is not really surprising since I have none of the latter.) I don’t really like the idea of value when speaking about individuals but here the value is of course subjective – not objective. There are zillions of souls out there who will defend themselves saying that they are not ranking individuals based on some specific criteria but the reality is that they do. They can choose to remain unaware of it but love itself is a matter of judgment so we might as well be honest with ourselves for a minute. We rank people and our criteria are usually a reflection of the things we value. The belief that this process is outside the limit of our understanding is as old – and as false – as the one pretending that, somehow, our emotions or feelings have anything to do with our heart. The process is quite real, it concerns our mind and it is only for lack of introspection that some chose to ignore it. Esthetic is important obviously and this, not only in our culture, but also in our very nature; turns out, sight is the sense we use the most. Arguably this sense is also used for observation, which will feed our intellect with information related to behavior. Also and as a side note, age is something I would include here as some sort of subcategory. Intellect is another important one obviously. “How important?” depends on our value. Money – not always related to Esthetic or Intellect – is another criteria. Social skills – The ability to deal / strive with our social environment. Happiness (satisfaction) – The ability to content oneself with what one has. Fame (public recognition) is strongly entwined with some of the above and leadership (obviously successful ones) can be judged by its side effect. The list might not be exhaustive but I believe other criteria will most likely be related to one of the above. So, we value and at the same time we represent a value. Obviously a strong note on one of the criteria can “buy a strong note” (“find his soul mate” if you’re naive) in another criteria but I believe that in this case, talking about love is a mistake. We can talk about attraction. We can even talk about business agreement (think Hollywood here). We certainly can’t talk about love. The reason for that is that, love is a “mutual validation”, which means that a guy with $100 on his bank account would have a hard time pleading the case that he, in fact, values money and for the same reason a three hundred pound women wouldn’t be the strongest advocate of esthetic values. Schopenhauer on happiness, Stalin on social skills, you get the picture.
It is very important to understand the reflective aspect of love. It is absolutely not – and cannot be if both parties are honest – a unilateral intellectual process. By saying “I love you” the speaker validates the values chosen by the object of his love but at the same time, the very action of the loved one, having chosen these particular values among all, represents a tacit statement toward the ones who are able to recognize and “value” these values… To some extent, friendship would be “attraction” (exclusively between different values on either side) while a more passionate relation would require the involvement (and therefore recognition) of a unique value (esthetic, intellectual, etc…).
Freewill implication All this is nice. We can define the “mechanic” of the process (i.e. the judgment of value) as much as we want but if you’re like me – a believer of freewill – you have to take into consideration the fact that the “judgment of value” of one (or worst both) party can very well be a lie. Not exclusively the words but the very life of an individual can be misleading. Truth is, some people are so immured in the belief that they are on this earth to please others, that they might very well live a life in plain contradiction with their “values”. Arguably “to please others” is not the only incentive to be living someone else’s life. The desire to “fit in” for young people (or not so young in some cases) is rather high in the list as well. To hold on to one’s values in this society is a bit like kayaking around the Cape Horn; it requires intellect, strength and quite often a bit of insanity – never mind the paradox.
Regardless of the reasons, the question remains; how can we be sure of the “values” held by the other party? What is the proof? Since Men can’t read mind, there cannot be any proof. Without proof, we need trust. Of course, if you’re seventeen, her (or his) words will suffice…however, very soon, you understand the full requirement of the concept “trust” – the need for some sort of credentials.
Sexual act as a proof of accurate judgment
In the context of a relationship, the sexual act represents that “trust” (archaic: commercial credit). If exclusivity is implied (and, or required) the exclusivity might even represent a stronger value than the act itself (human nature; we value what is scarce much more than what is common; plebian; ordinary) My personal conclusion is that, in so far as the relation between two persons of opposite sex is not obstructed by some external considerations and as long as they share the same sets of values, love is to be found and the sexual act represents the logical proof of their mutual honesty regarding their respective value. Conversely, the refusal of one of the party to “follow through” can only be seen as the unfortunate acknowledgment of his (or her) lie.
January 17, 2008
Sacrifices
Relationships are about compromises and sacrifices…supposedly. That’s what I hear quite often. I have a different take on that though… Definition: - “A loss entailed by giving up or selling something at less than its value” - “The act of losing or surrendering something as a penalty for a mistake or fault or failure…“ The implicit cement of the concept of “relationship” – as it is used here - is the concept “love”. “Love”, between two persons, can be defined as “the mutual validation of their respective value judgments”. I’m sure you disagree so let me explain this first… Love - “I love you” What is that mean? What do you mean by “you” exactly? Do you mean the one hundred and forty odd pound of flesh standing in front of you? I didn’t think so. How is “you” different from the other six billions “you”? Whenever the statement is voiced, an implied reference is made to the choices made by the “targeted” individual; the other if you will. “I” would not be “I” if I had chosen to leave in France instead of the US. “I” wouldn’t be “I” if I had chosen to bake pastries instead of creating video games…and so on… Every single choice made by an individual over his lifetime defines his identity. One small change and we’re talking about someone else. Someone “just like me”, baker, photographer, writer or programmer (amateur in all cases and proud to be) who would have decided to leave for Sidney instead of Denver is not quite me… Sure, I could be two inches taller, my nose could be smaller…would that make any difference as my identity is concerned? Certainly not. “A man is the sum of his actions, of what he has done, of what he can do, nothing else." (Andre Malraux) Actions based on choices based on values (principles if you will) We make choices. How? Even though, in many instances, individuals choose to remain unaware of the mechanism involved in their choices – whether important or trivial – the mechanism still exists. Now if you’re a smart ass you’re probably thinking of flipping a coin to prove the point that, in some instances, no internal – read volitional – mechanism is involved…well, let me ask you this then; does the “choice” (consequential of the action of flipping a coin) define you in any way knowing that that very choice has been triggered by an external will? Since here we’re only interested by the choices as a defining attribute of identity, we obviously have to discard all actions triggered by anything else than freewill. Andre Malraux should have said “A man is the sum of his choices and nothing else." A volitional choice is a redundancy. Before we make choices, we evaluate and we judge. Do I value the mind over the body? Yes. Do I value knowledge over belief? Yes. These are “principles” or “values”. The term “Moral principles” has been corrupted by Christianity so for most people “Ethical” would be a good surrogate in a civil / laic society. That being said, whether we use “Moral” or “Ethical”, the tacit implications is the approval of a certain elite; religious in the first case, politic in the second or the approval of so called majority under a democratic system. The term of “Value” is more appropriate in the sense that it doesn’t imply a prejudice in its very nature. Values only exist inside the context of a trade – trade in the largest sense of the term including social exchanges. When I say “I value mind over body” it’s certainly not outside the context; the statement would not have any meaning if they were no other individuals. “Armed” with my personal sets of values (principles) I judge my environment. Based on that judgment, I make choices. With all this in mind we can come back to our definition of “Love” between two persons as the “mutual validation of their value judgments”. When “the one” says “I love you”, she validates “you” meaning “my choices” meaning “my value judgment”. We measure “love” everyday. “Honey, I got promoted; we’ve got to move to Atlanta, GA.” “Honey, I’m sorry; I cheated on you with your best friend.” “Honey, I’m sorry; I know you want children but I just can’t…” All statements above trigger a measurement. These might seem extreme but whenever we talk about sacrifice, we’re not talking about daily and casual exchanges. We are talking about all the important choices implied by a relationship. Not the choice between “Japanese” and “Italian” cuisine on a Saturday night. The expression “You jump; I jump” means nothing else than this measurement. If love is a judgment of value I think the term sacrifice is misleading – not to say deceptive. The reality is that if the value of “The love itself” is estimated as being superior to whatever is at stake (loss of status in a local move, loss of a culture in an international move, treason of the vows – unspoken or explicit – of any relation in case of adultery etc…) the concept / term of “sacrifice” can only applied if the second value is superior. Whenever “Love” (i.e. its value) has the upper hand the term “sacrifice” is erroneous.
March 2007
Anti-nationalism- judging my homeland
“Isms” are very peculiar types of concept in the sense that their definitions are usually quite imprecise. Take nationalism for instance. For some people, nationalism and patriotism are synonymous. For others – probably the majority – nationalism is some sort of extreme patriotism - which in itself has quite a fuzzy definition… For me nationalism is the consciousness of nation. Men have very few needs; Two only actually. The first one, food, is a short-term need. The second one, sex, is a long-term need. Both have the same function; to ensure our survival…just on a different scale. The prerequisite of these two needs is judgment. In order to know the details, how, what and when (why and where are highly irrelevant. Kitchen works fine…in both cases) need to be evaluated; they need to be defined. Judgment implies values. We can’t have the first without the second. Every judgment can receive as a response the question: From what standard? Value here is implicit. The murder of someone, the use of violence against others, the breaking of laws in general…pretty much anything that could bring someone in front of a judge could be argued over by responding “From what standard?” – That being said I wouldn’t try that as a line of defense in a murder case but only because judges are bad philosophers. Does the dichotomy created by the consciousness of nations imply necessarily and automatically a judgment of value? I would answer that by a question; How could it not? Even when facing two colors, men will most likely make a judgment of value. Arguably they probably won’t be able to explain the reason of their choice and certainly won’t be aware of the mechanism(s) leading to that choice but they will make one. They might refrain from choosing when the judgment is required outside of context (two rectangles; one blue the other red. Which do you favor?) but let’s use a context – paint for room, color of a car or a dress – and the judgment will be immediate. Would you like to have the walls of your bedroom painted in red? I didn’t think so. Color is a basic attribute of our perception. One of the only two attributes perceived by sight (the other being shape obviously). We can’t really get more basic than that and still we make judgment. Why? I think the answer – and I’m not quite satisfy with it as I’m typing – is that, eventually, we have to. Possibly because we feel the need to act and make a choice in order to consider that matter settled so we can move on... We might postpone the judgment for a while but eventually, facing two choices; we have to make up our minds. From there, we are doomed. As we grow older and face the same selection again and again, the historic of our previous picks becomes in itself a value, which will bring / add its weight to later choices…Sure I could pick red, then green, then red again…but nobody does that and this for a good reason; consistency. We can’t deal with inconsistency. In order to survive and really in order to learn anything – which is a prerequisite of our survival, we need consistency. Of what good our knowledge of today would be if what we know could be tear down tomorrow? Knowledge is, before anything else, the assurance that our judgments will hold. “I know” implies certitude thru time. The word/concept used to define a temporal judgment is belief. Knowledge is by nature “atemporal”. How convincing is my argument? I’m not sure really. To the question “Does the dichotomy created by the consciousness of nations imply necessarily and automatically a judgment of value?” I would say that, in theory, most likely it will. In practice, out of six billion people, it will have to. What values are there? I’m mainly talking about qualitative values but the border between qualitative and quantitative is rather thin…not only because a quantity is in itself a quality but also because, for a country, quantities – whether natural resources, population, area and the like – are all qualities. Today – and I am absolutely aware that these criteria are only an arbitrary choice – countries are rated following three criteria; Education, life expectancy and GDP per Capita. The annual “Human Development Report” does just that. These criteria are not independent from one another but they give us a general idea – or at least a starting mark - for our evaluations. Why should we care? Countries are different. Our values – precondition of our judgment – are subjective. It seems rather tempting to actually make a choice…big mistake. Not for me really because I already made a choice and I’m quite happy about it. I’m not sure I’ve already written anything directly related to that but I’m sure my absolute hatred of those who officially represent France already tipped you off. Good. Let’s not go down that road again…at least for now. To come to the United States or conversely to leave the United States is usually not seen as a political statement. On the other hand, to leave or to settle in a European country – and actually any other country that doesn’t have English as a first language – is first and foremost a political statement. I won’t explain why and how the absence of nationalism is link to the English language (some other time, same place). For now, I will follow the path of nationalism… Paul David Hewson, Jean-Philippe Smet, Bjorn Ulvaeus and me… Those names probably don’t ring a bell… The first calls himself Bono, the second Johnny Halliday, and the latter is a member of the Swedish band Abba. Their music is not really what they have in common. The noise they all made recently was not music and the source wasn’t their own lungs…Their actions was the source, more precisely their decision to leave their homeland to settle - either themselves or at least their bank account - in a foreign country. Newspaper had a rather shallow take on the matter. For them – and for the politicians behind – the decision was exclusively tax related. These musicians were bastards running away from their countries who had given them so much and they were running away only for the sake of paying fewer taxes…those bastards. The problem is a bit more complicated than this. First and foremost; the question of either staying or leaving one’s homeland is nothing new and it is certainly not limited to famous musicians. The question is valid for every single citizen in all countries and that question - like all questions – can be answered based on a standard of value. I wrote often – and probably enough – about nationalism; it’s a powerful tool that allows governments and nation states to marshal their people behind a unique goal. The nature of the goal is always utterly irrelevant – it can be the fight of an archenemy or the common good or both. The “hidden” objective is the use of power and the fact that individuals can’t be ruled; only masses can. But nationalism has its limit. No matter how loud the crowd, the newspaper and the government, the rhetoric “You owe everything to your country and should spend your life paying taxes to say thank you” has its limits. To anyone who would give me that speech, I shall reply; “Paying? Sure, show me the contract and the bill…” I’m not French. That’s not who I am, that’s not what I am. What and who I am is defined by what I do. I was born in France; this is a matter of geography. My parents paid for my education; not my country. Between my views that some would consider extreme and the views of the nationalists embodied by the rhetoric summed-up above, there’s an entire world of grey… it is fair to say that, in France, sixty five million people find themselves in between. They need to make a measurement and that measurement is based on a standard of value. Education, health, security, Wellbeing and globally happiness and any other topic can be included in that evaluation. We could certainly add tolerance – religious or otherwise. The criteria are numerous not to say endless and the take we have on these depends both on our needs and our desires. Here I think it is obvious enough that with sixty five million people we’ll probably end-up with sixty five million different measurements… The French government stated a few days ago that only a few hundred persons were concerned by that issue…the reality is that all Frenchmen are. More people everyday put on the same level the place they live in (country) and the other place they live in (city) and you know; the place they live in…neighborhood. The differences of nature of each of these concentric circles are fading away slowly as the years go by… When one doesn’t like his neighborhood, one leaves. That’s as simple as it gets. I pay taxes and I expect a certain amount of service for the people “receiving” (stealing really) my money. If they are not up to the task they have chosen and imposed (read “forced down my throat”) I have no problem whatsoever removing my financial support and moving out. Of course, with that kind of people (my kind that is) a government faces two alternatives. It can either improve the service he renders toward his citizen…or he can choose to use force and constraints of all sorts (including self restraint of individual induced my nationalism) in order to stop the hemorrhage of the country. Latest events have shown that unfortunately, as far as France is concerned, the government leans towards the second option. Journalist and politics alike voiced their anger toward countries such has Belgium and Switzerland; pointing a blaming finger at their supposedly “unfair” (read “attractive”) tax systems. The justified response from Switzerland was a some sort of diplomatic version of “Go fuck yourself…please.” I’m glad they’re not that neutral after all.