A Partial Apology for Liberalism, or, A Partial Criticism of its Critics

Before I begin, a note is warranted: I will be dropping a lot of names in this piece and I want to put you at ease before you have to deal with them. I don’t expect that any of my likely readers will be familiar with most of the people I mention and I am trying to write specifically so that you can still understand what’s going on without knowing who they are. Anything I need you to know about them, I will tell you myself. I will also provide links should I fail in this endeavour or should I succeed in piquing your interest, but I do not intend for you to rely upon them. That said, let’s begin.

A statue of the Godd of Democracy, holding a torch aloft, behind whom are evergreen branches.

The Goddess of Democracy at UBC. Source: Carl Mueller at flic.kr/p/5cNvQY

A few weeks ago I found Love of All Wisdom, the philosophy blog of Amod Lele. There’s a lot going on with Lele’s work that I find interesting and compelling. An academic philosopher with a PhD in the subject, he describes himself as working in the Aristotelian, Buddhist, and historicist traditions and his work is wide-ranging, bringing a huge variety of both Western and non-Western philosophers to a problem. (His header has pictures of his major influences: Santideva the Indian Buddhist philosopher, Aristotle the ancient Greek empiricist, Hegel the German historicist, Confucius the traditionalist communitarian, and Martha Nussbaum the contemporary academic philosopher.) He also uses a few different categorization schemes for philosophies, two of which he’s organized into a quadrant system that I am thinking of adopting: integrity vs. intimacy and ascent v. descent. (If I was still at my old blog, I’d add it to my Taxonomies of Religions list.) His thought is new to me, but I admire his precision, erudition, creativity, and seriousness–a rare combination of traits in a thinker.

Although I would love to just list the things I’ve learned from Lele, what I want to focus on for this post is where his ideas intersect with those of other people whose thought I’ve encountered lately, who explicitly reject the anthropology, and therefore politics, of liberalism.* Continue reading

How Many Streams of Anglicanism?

As I mention in my posts on his A Passionate Balance: The Anglican Tradition, Alan Bartlett leans heavily on the common idea that Anglicanism has three streams. In Bartlett’s understanding these are the Catholic, evangelical, and liberal streams. Each emphasizes, without monopolizing, one of the legs of the Anglican tripod or stool (another common metaphor): tradition, Scripture, and reason, respectively. Looking around a little online, I saw other people mention these three streams or strands of Anglicanism, especially when referring to the Church of England.

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Source: Historic Images – Lancashire at flic.kr/p/H95WLR

But more often than this configuration, I saw American Episcopalians discuss a different three streams: the Catholic, the evangelical, and the charismatic. (Here is one example.)

Why replace the liberal stream with the charismatic stream? Continue reading

Against Libertarianism: An Annotated, Opinionated Bibliography

Jon Wong has asked me to write a post about my understanding of libertarianism, and I agreed to do it.* In retrospect, this was maybe foolish: I can’t think of anything interesting to say which hasn’t already been said by others. So rather than write 3000 words that have already been written, I will introduce those already-written words which best represent my understanding of libertarianism.

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Source: Tom Wardill at flic.kr/p/yFx8a

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The Calendar and the Cards

A Minor Experiment in Gender

While shopping for my mother’s Christmas present last December, I was in one of those seasonal pop-up stores that appear in malls in November and saw Katerina Plotnikova‘s 2017 Enchanted calendar, pictured here:

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Source: calendar.com


Reader, I wanted it.

I wanted it, but I felt foolish for wanting it. I wanted it, but I hoped no one would catch me wanting it. I wanted it, but I thought that if someone knew I wanted it they’d think I wanted it out of some sort of sexual deviancy: maybe I have a thing, they’d think, for pubescent girls with animals. I wanted it, but I knew that I wasn’t supposed to want it. This sort of thing was for women, and only certain kinds of women.

Let’s sit a moment with those thoughts I was having. For a man to want this calendar, for a man to exit his clearly defined gender roles so much as to purchase this calendar, would mark something more than the mere gender failure I mentioned in the last post. Only the most preposterous and heinous kind of mentality could explain it: possibly bestiality, probably pedophilia, certainly hebophilia. I don’t think I was wrong to feel that such an attitude exists outside myself, in Fort McMurray or in the Western world broadly. But it’s ridiculous! I wanted a calendar, nothing more, but certain arbitrary rules about taste meant that expressing this want would bring down on my head a set of questions which, although triggered by my violation of a gender norm, far exceeded those gender norms in scope and severity.*

I bought the calendar.

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Being a Man without a Driver’s License in Fort McMurray

A Warning to My Younger Self

After a very stressful day at work this summer I sat on the bench at the bus stop with my face in my hands, cradling a headache. Then a horn honked and I looked up to see the driver shout “Loser!” from his passing pick-up. I had assumed that he assumed I was homeless and hung over or something of the sort; at any rate, it had been such a long time since anyone had called me a loser that I’d forgotten how one was supposed to feel about it.

A few days later I told one of our summer students, who has chosen the pseudonym Avicenna Nightingale, about it as I happened to be on the same bus as her after work. She suggested he didn’t take me for drunk.

“It was probably because you were waiting for a bus,” she said. She was a local so she probably knew this sort of thing better than I did.

“What?”

“Yeah, like, ‘Where’s your truck, son?’ Was he driving a souped-up pick-up?”

“Yeah.”

“Was he wearing a black t-shirt a size too small to show off those guns?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Don’t you know only losers take the bus?”

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Am I Back?

I want to apologize for my unannounced absence. There were a few causes: maintenance issues in my apartment, overtime at work, a slight emotional miasma, and most importantly the slow death of my laptop made it difficult for me to write anything. I’m working on my tablet with external keyboard now, which I don’t find conducive to blogging. However, I will try to get back into the swing of it again.

A bit of personal news: I am now an uncle; the family name will live on; I will have to research how to corrupt the youth. Also, I have a second rabbit, named Eglamore (so I can call him Egg for short, though mostly I call him Mr. Bun or Mr. Fluff). He is a lionhead rabbit, though his mane doesn’t overwhelm his face as it does with some lionheads.

-CH

Trump’s Flat Speech: Populism and Richness of Language

Last Friday night—20 January 2017—I got into a discussion with a Facebook Friend of a Facebook Friend regarding Trump’s inauguration speech. In coming up with a way to articulate my contentions, I unwittingly recreated Bakhtin’s idea of heteroglossia; although this is unsurprisingly, since I engaged with Bakhtin more than once in both of my English Lit degrees and have likely internalized some portion of his thought, it was somewhat disappointing, as I was pleased with what I had come up with and would have liked to have taken credit for it. Nonetheless, if I share a version of that argument here, I can at least save you the trouble of reading Discourse and the Novel or, if you choose to tackle it, give you something to get started with. Moreover, I think Bakhtin may be the right thinker to bring to this conversation at this moment anyway, and I haven’t seen that happen yet.

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Source: Geoff Livingstone at flic.kr/p/RaZcLB

In response to a friend’s observation that there was little dissection of Donald Trump’s US Presidential Inauguration Address, one of his Friends (who has chosen not to go by his name here) claimed that if such a speech required experts to parse it, then it was not a very good speech. Although he did not invoke populism, I assumed he made this claim on populist grounds: he’s made this sort of claim before and much defense of Trump is made in populism’s name—although, as we’ll see, neither Trump nor Trump supporters are really populist. The idea, however, is this: the US Presidential Inauguration Address is a speech for all Americans and, as such, should be as totally accessible to all Americans as is possible; to the extent that experts—that is, journalists, politically correspondents, and so on—are able to uncover some meaning that Joe the Plumber is unable to uncover, the speech fails.

When I responded that it is in fact impossible for everyone to 100% of the meaning of a speech, he said that media must be dropping the ball: if analysis is necessary, then analysis must be necessary in the case of Trump’s speech too.

This is a very good point. I have to concede that my friend’s observation—there is comparatively less analysis of Trump’s speech compared to Obama’s and Bush’s speeches—remains unexplained. However, I felt like there was nonetheless a qualitative difference between Trump’s speech and previous US Presidential Inauguration Addresses, that this difference did at least address my friend’s observation, and that total universal semantic accessibility was not a valuable end-goal in such speeches or in almost any text object.

There are two problems conflated here which need to be addressed separately. One is descriptive: is there or is there not a qualitative difference between Trump’s speech and Obama’s and Bush’s speeches, and not merely their contexts, which explains the difference in journalists’ response to these speeches? One is normative: Is it better for a US Presidential Inauguration Address’s semantic content to be more readily accessible and exhaustible to more people? The normative question also has two parts. The first part is, again, descriptive: Is it possible for a speech to be totally accessible to all people at the same time? The second part is truly normative: If it were possible, is it something we should want? Although I tackled both parts on Facebook, here I will only go into the normative part in any detail. Continue reading

Revisiting: Other People’s Epics

Every Some third Saturdays of the month I intend to re-post something I wrote for one of my assorted old blogs or tumblogs. This week I am revisiting the Thinking Grounds for “Other People’s Epics.” The first sentence is no longer quite true, but otherwise I think it holds of reasonably well. I spun out this theme quite a lot, possibly ad nauseum, at the Thinking Grounds. Immediate sequels included “Other People’s Mystery Novels” and “Other People’s [Insert Genre]s.”

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Briton Riviere’s Una and the Lion. Una is the romantic interest of Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene: Book One. Source: Sofi at flic.rk/p/ftjgXA


Other People’s Epics

One of my recurrent pastimes is to imagine what another person’s epic might look like.

As far as genres go, the epic is one of my favourites to think about. No individual epic counts among my favourite books (though, you know, Paradise Lost is pretty great). The reason I like thinking about them is that, at least in the English tradition, they have become a kind of formal game, thanks to the humanists of early modern England. (Note to readers: “early modern” is the new PC term for “Renaissance;” in England the early modern period spans the 1500s and 1600s, but it got started earlier in Italy, France, Spain, the Netherlands, etc.). Let’s dive into a bit of history, shall we?

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What World Do You Live In?, Part 3

[You may want to read Part 1 and Part 2 first.]

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Source: Ruth at flic.kr/p/rQKEbo

W. Paul Jones seems to have two uses in mind for his Theological Worlds construct: self-diagnosis and pastoral planning. First, the Theological Worlds can help individuals understand themselves. Second, the Theological Worlds can help churches organize their congregation into sub-congregations according to Theological World so that the congregants are engaging with people who fundamentally understand them. If the Inventory is mostly useless to you because, as I discussed previously, the questions make no sense to you, the first use does not apply to you. If you aren’t part of a congregation or other group that might reasonably organize itself in the way Jones imagines, the second use also does not apply to you.

These aren’t the only uses, though. My first exposure to Jones was through Richard Beck, and one of his insights was that if people don’t understand that everyone has their own Theological World, standard attempts of proselytization will fall flat:

Now, it’s a big shocker for some Christians to find out that many of their brothers and sisters don’t live within this theological world. Sin isn’t their obsessio. Not that they deny the existence and problem of sin, just that sin isn’t the defining quandary of their spiritual lives.

I am an example of a Christian of this stripe. Sin and guilt isn’t my obsessio. If you tell me that I’m going to hell I’ll just blink at you blandly and yawn. I’m emotionally unmoved. To be clear, it’s not that I don’t want to go to heaven. I do. I just don’t spend my life trying to save my own skin.

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Open to the Light’s Leading: Birkel’s Quaker Tradition

I went into Michael L. Birkel’s Silence and Witness: The Quaker Tradition with very little knowledge about Quakerism beyond half-remembered depictions in the Underground Railroad historical fiction I read in school as a kid1 and the odd tidbit I came across in comments sections.2 I knew they were pacifists and had been abolitionists and I knew a Quaker founded Pennsylvania as an experiment in committed religious freedom. And yet, even though I had very few expectations about the tradition, I found myself not just charmed but surprised throughout my reading of the book.

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Source: TCDavis at flic.kr/p/6evVft

One of the things that I did not expect was how much Quakerism resembled certain non-Christian religions. Especially early on in the book, Birkel’s description of Friends’3 spiritual experiences often used the word “the Light,” referring either to God or to God’s activity in the soul; nerd that I am, this reminded me of Warcraft’s Church of the Holy Light and the various non-theistic religious traditions it suggests. And Birkel himself notes the resemblance the Quaker practice of silent sitting (some groups of Friends sit in silence, or near-silence, during their worship services) has to Buddhist meditation: in both cases the ones sitting try to get past their egos and thoughts to something truer. In the end notes, however, he is careful to note that Buddhists meditating in groups are still in an important way meditating alone (one sitter achieving enlightenment does not improve the meditation of the others) while Quakers understand that they sit in silence together (when one Friend is especially able to reach the Light Within, a sense of peace and holiness pervades the whole assembly). Now that I’ve read the book it makes sense that not all Friends have been Christians, but that was another surprise for me.

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