Avril Lavigne and the Doctors

Avril Lavigne comes from that Napanee-Kingston area of Ontario that I like so much, and so I was especially interested to learn of her experience with the bumbling doctors who couldn't  diagnose her Lyme Disease:

I, also, had Lyme Disease about ten years ago and went through a similar experience with doctors as she did. I went to four different doctors who had no idea what was wrong. One of my symptoms was that I had swollen, sore joints such that I could hardly move my right arm and my knees. One doctor said I had “water in the joints” and sent me to a joints specialist. The specialist got mad at me and said “You don't have water in the joints” and just ordered me to wear an arm sling and sent me a huge bill. I didn't have insurance at the time so he was able, like the other doctors, to bill me three times what the insurance schedules specify for his “work.”

Ultimately, it was a nurse friend who correctly diagnosed that I had Lyme Disease. I think that most people who have had Lyme would have a special feeling for Avril Lavigne through this. Her bit about the “computer” is a whole additional story that is worthy of the era's deepest criticism and scholarship.

There was another incident this last week which caught the reality of the medical care experience as I know it. This incident got national attention in the US because it was the subject of a Washington Post article. Many elements of that incident ring exactly with my own experience, but especially the bit about the doctors' contempt and hostility. It's as if doctors, like the police, consider the people as the enemy.

I've thought a lot about that over the years - why it is that they are so contemptuous of us when it is supposed to be their vocation to help us in our hour of vulnerability and need. Avril Lavigne very clearly picked up the contempt and hostility of the doctors.

The best explanation I can come up with is that the “social” philosophy, particularly for the last forty years, has been programmatic, conscious selfishness and being ill, vulnerable, in distress, issues a demand for compassion and otherness and anti-selfishness. These qualities are the exact opposite of the ethos of the era, on which the doctors' substantial incomes depend.

Another partial explanation is that they themselves know at some level about their incompetence and inadequacy every bit as much as we do, probably even more than we do.

Perhaps you can offer an explanation. I think people are often hesitant to speak out the way Avril and the Virginian spoke out, because we think that no one will believe what we are saying. I get that all the time. Whenever I point out incidents like these two that I have mentioned here, or of my own similar experience in the medical world, I find that no one believes me. The usual response I get is complete silence. But I hear Avril's heart in that video. I refuse to say that I don't hear it.

Are They Progressives Or What?

There is now, strangely, a “progressive” theme among “conservatives” that goes along the lines that society is getting better, people are getting nicer, that we have surmounted racism and sexism, and that there is such a thing as Progress in human affairs.

There is this astonishing popularity among them of Stephen Pinker and his book, saying how much better things are today. Maybe that's even where they are getting the theme.

Normally, conservatives deny the possibility of progress, and are fond of Stop!, taking us back to the way things were, taking back their country, citing how human nature doesn't change and what it was that ruined Rome.

So what's going on with this?

Is it simply that the present inured state of inequality and degradation of the poor so flatters themselves?

And then, strangely enough too, I find myself (a Progressive) thinking from time to time that, yes, the Viet-Nam war fifty years ago pretty much exposed the reality and what we are seeing now, even in this instance, is evidence that things don't really change in any fundamental way.

“The Better Angels of Our Nature “ by Steven Pinker

I read “The Better Angels of Our Nature: The Decline of Violence in History and Its Causes” and then read several reviews of it.

The most serious flaw in the book is the author's assertion that human action is the resultant of forces. He calls these forces “endogenous” and “exogenous,” which is another way of saying of nature and nurture or heredity and environment or wiring and programming. Another way of stating it, even more abstractly, is to say that human action is a dependent variable that is predictable from an independent variable. This basic scheme can be elaborated by multivariate analysis and weighting of factors, but it's still the attempt to predict human action. The book's numerous linear graphs all display two variables.

But the characteristically human thing is to insert a process of reflection in between the x and the y, during which the human contemplates alternative courses of action, sometimes over a very long period of time, and then chooses or constructs one which he or she may change after further reflection or new developments. This reflection process introduces historicity and futurity into our lives which would be impossible or uneconomical or unnecessary if our actions were just the playing out of forces. It also introduces intentionality, agency, agony, and alterity - phenomena that we all see directly, commonly, but which only academics deny – deny for non-academics, but not for themselves.

Which brings me to the second serious flaw - an inadequate account of what the author variously calls sympathy, empathy and perspective-taking. He devotes a lot of words to the subject and is aware that this is an area of the most persistent objections to the “forces” scheme. The author tries to deal with this and spends a lot of words on the subject which never really satisfy me or him. For example, he says that we get perspective by imagining the other's point of view. He is very careful with his words on that point – that we “imagine” the other's point of view. But this theory involves the epistemological or metaphysical problem of “solipsism,” or the "homunculus argument." The “looking glass self” as well as social darwinism, which he posits, are still very popular but careful thinkers saw through them a hundred years ago or more. He is far from any understanding that people are able to be in two places at once, as in quantum theory.

I was not able to find any mention in this discussion of what is loosely called “projection.” I refer to the idea that humans who refuse to acknowledge their own faults “project” or attribute those particular faults to others. The Freudians called it a defense mechanism and seem not to have accounted for it very acceptably, but I think there is no question that the observation is of something real and common. The existing theories of “projection” may not be very satisfying, or may be very complicated, but I think our common experience is that what gets people really angry and violent towards you is not really you, but something about themselves which they are trying to repress and which your reality elicits within themselves. All the bad stuff within the self is denied, repressed and then projected onto the enemy, thus justifying various forms of violence. I write “various forms of violence” here and reflect that I was not able to find any attempt to define “violence” in this book subtitled “The Decline of Violence and It's Causes.” I looked carefully for a definition of violence, given the scientificky smoke, but just could not find it. But then I found the author writing on his website that he quite deliberately does not define violence. An explicit, careful definition is quite consequential to Pinker's thesis about the decline of violence if you consider, as I do, what the supporters of the bankers and financiers and the 1% have done to us over the last decade or four, to be a form of violence. So Pinker simply and deliberately refuses even to try to define it, sensing that if he did so, it would completely destroy his worldview, his thesis, his book, his reputation, and his comfortable, well-paying, respectable job.

There is one more thing that comes to my mind right now and that is the author's unrestrained use of metaphor and simile. He refers in the title itself to “angels,” but you can see right away that he has no belief nor interest whatsoever in anything remotely like angels. He is clearly aware of the misuse of metaphor, as when he refers in quotes a few times to “hydraulic” theories such as of the flow of libido in classic Freudian psychoanalysis. But he himself is constantly doing it. Anyone who is truly serious about understanding humanity and who has seen how easily a mistaken metaphor can invalidate a sophisticated, highly-elaborated-over-many-years social theory, becomes extremely careful and reluctant about using metaphors. The subtle misuse of one metaphor can destroy an academic's entire life work. Attributing agency to genes, evolution, the system, culture, tradition, instincts, attitudes, needs, drives, forces, history, brains, time, space – a million other "factors" - can do that, too, so you become extremely careful about it. I think now of how Talcott Parsons, another Harvardian, and his acolytes spent so many years and so many words and so many people's lives and funds on positing “system prerequisites” as causing people's actions, and of how B. F. Skinner, another Harvardian, and his acolytes posited there being no such thing as thought or choice or selfhood or dignity, just conditioning.

My own view is that the a depiction of the reality of this book, and of the reality of social sciences in the academy, would require a fiction/fantasy author of the highest ability.

What Is Remembered Most

I can no longer remember who took this photo, or even the exact location of the event, and I've never seen a single reference to it other than it's original publication several years ago.
 
It epitomizes the U.S.'s invasion of Iraq, and so much else the U.S. and, yes, many other countries have done. It appears for all the world as if it has putatively been forgotten, put behind us while we move on, forward, not looking to the past.

But now, as the hour of death draws close, I think less of the effects of the crime on those who did it and in whose name it was approved or allowed. What I see more is the love that the surrounding men have for the father and his son.

Val

Erich Maria Remarque's “Im Westen Nichts Neues” ("All Quiet on the Western Front”)

This book should be read by every first-year high school student, before Shakespeare or math or science.

It's a first-hand account of an 18-year-old boy's going off to fight in World War One, and has stood the test of time. There are a lot of other books about the basics of that war, like “The Good Soldier Švejk," but this one has especial depth and perspective.

Here are three quotes from “Im Westen Nichts Neues” that were especially exciting to me during my recent reading of the book:

• p. 10: "And perhaps more of us thought as he did, but no one could very well stand out, because at that time even one's parents were ready with the word 'coward'; no one had the slightest idea of what we were in for. The wisest were just the poor and simple people. They knew the war to be a misfortune, whereas people who were better off were beside themselves with joy, though they should have been much better able to judge what the consequence would be.”
  
  
• pp. 11-12: ...”The idea of authority which they represented, was associated in our minds with a greater insight and manlier wisdom. But the first death we saw shattered this belief. We had to believe that our generation was more to be trusted than theirs. The bombardment showed us our mistake, and under it the world as they taught it to us broke into pieces...We were all at once terribly alone, and alone we must see it through.”
  
  
• pp. 266-267: “How senseless is everything that can ever be written, done, or thought, when such things are possible. It must be all lies and of no account when the culture of a thousand years could not prevent this stream of blood being poured out, these torture-chambers in their handreds of thousands. A hospital alone shows what war is...
  
  “I am young. I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow.”

First Days of May and Selecting Bush Twice

The first days of May here in Dayton, Ohio, have been ineffably beautiful: new leaves and buds and blossoms, fresh and light green leaves, perfectly clear skies way beyond anything I could express, more so than ever. I really should be out in this priceless sunshine right now, just looking at the flowers and grasses and trees and skies.

I find it all quite shocking, so much so that I wonder why it is that, now, at this point in my life, it is all so surpassingly and excruciatingly beautiful. 

I suspect that the “excruciating” word holds the key. It is, unfortunately or fortunately, only possible to appreciate something by contrast, by knowing the opposite perspective, the opposing reality.

Appreciating, perceiving, these astonishing, priceless, perfect May days is probably due in my own particular case to my experience one year ago this month of coming close to death because of a bicycle accident, from which I have still not recovered. But there was also “The List” I was composing a few nights ago. I made a list of some of some of the almost-incredible horrors which I doubt that I shall ever fully fathom:

• The USA selected George W. Bush as their President – twice.
  
  
• The Viet-Nam war, and following it by the Iraq war, and the Afghanistan war.
  
  
• Pat Buchanan on TV recently, smiling and gloating over the fact that the USA voted in every state except Massachusetts for Richard Nixon, a known criminal who was unconscionably pardoned, over George McGovern, a known decent man who said that the Senate walls reeked with blood.
  
  
• Recently reading “The Good Soldier Švejk” and “All Is Quiet on the Western Front,” particularly the bit about the widespread joy when that war broke out.
  
  
• The Milgram and Zimbardo experiments.
  
  
• Fox News, Limbaugh, Malkin, Savage, Falwell, Rumsfeld, Cheney, Scalia, Alito, Thomas, Bremer, Perle, Wolfowitz, Feith, et al.
  
  
• Bill Clinton and Joe Lieberman.
  
  
• The Christianists and the Jihadists.
  
  
• The oil and coal industries, and the bankers, and the medical industries.
  .
• The “You-can't-ask-me-to-stick-my-neck-out” Academy and the Media.

Please add a contribution of your own to my list.

Inebriate of Air, Debauché of Dew

“Inebriate of Air – am I –
And Debauchee of Dew – “

That’s how I felt on waking on this perfect Easter Day in Dayton - the way Emily Dickinson describes it.

And yet, and yet, I find myself in the middle of this delight, thinking of a young man who knocked at my door yesterday morning. He was about eighteen years old, a college student, who announced that he was part of a group of students who had started a house-painting business, and that he was knocking on doors in my neighborhood in search of work. He had a well-organized presentation; a printed hand-out; a hopeful, respectable manner; and that Ohio face.

I myself couldn’t use his service, for I had recently painted my house. Most of the houses in my neighborhood, which is poor, are owned by slumlords who will not put a penny into maintaining their properties unless you seriously threaten to take them to court. I tried to tell this young man about the house three doors down from me that really badly needs painting. I told him the name of the guy who owns it, a “respectable” lawyer here in the city, who made the excuse to me for the shabbiness of his property that “My wife told me not to put any money into that house.” The dearest little five-year-old girl and her mother live there, by the way.

The young man didn’t acknowledge what I was saying, and as presentable as he was, I could see that he didn’t really care what I was saying, either. He had this uncomfortable look on his face as I was talking, and most likely thought I was an eccentric and an old fool. Ohio!

My heart went out to him nonetheless. I felt for the two-hundredth time in my life that old question of how it is that anyone can bring a child into a world like this. But then, for the two-hundredth time I came to see that the message of Easter is true – “My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” is followed with appreciation of how much better it is all designed than we could have imagined.

There is this simply astonishing Psalm, #22, that begins with those exact cries of those who feel forsaken, but ends with words, “They shall come, and shall declare his righteousness unto a people that shall be born, that he hath done this.”