Category Archives: Living Well

Holy Katzenjammer Kids!

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The uses and misuses of swearing

Dr. Bear - tinyEditors note: the point of this post is that swearing can at times be needless, overused, immature. hostile, and dull. However, to make this point, I use a fair amount of that language. If you are not jaded, not callous, and not used to this sort of talk, I commend you, but I do recommend that you not read further.

Continuing my tradition of ambiguous Valentine’s Day posts, I would like to talk about swearing.

I appreciate swearing as much as anyone. I grew up in the Swabian parts of Germany, and remember the noble words of the regional hero Götz von Berlichingen. I remember being amazed at the ability of a friend of mine–Couture–to carry on whole complex conversations by simply changing the inflection of 3 little word: “fuckin’ shit, man.” One of the kindest, warmest men I know uses FUCK the way my dog sheds, and I honestly wouldn’t change him.

When Dominique Strauss-Kahn’s defense team says things like: “the prosecutors had greatly exaggerated the frequency of his “licentious evenings;” there had only been 12 in three years,” you might feel the need to say “he’s not out of control because it’s only four orgies a year?!? WHAT THE FUCK?!?” or its abrevicon WTF. Certainly what in the world?!?  seems too mild to be appropriate, and what the hell?!? almost seems too mild. But if we are commenting on this shameful man/men like him in general/the French culture of sexism that allows it/the IMF and its policies in general, shouldn’t we try to do it with creative words which diminish and shame without making us sink to a comparable boorish and harsh level?

I think there comes a time when we must learn to use language judiciously and creatively, rather than the short-barrel blast of hell, shit, damn, or fuck.
speech bubble (point)
First of all, swearing is used in contexts where it is totally unnecessary. Hey red-neck driving down the road trying to look ghetto: It is not necessary to say anything to that annoying tool minding his own business on the sidewalk as. It certainly is not necessary to spout an obscenity like a mid-Pennsylvania farm well spouts Frack-waste. What you look like is a pimpled piece of immaturity trying to shock the Junior High Librarian with his newly learned potty-words. This goes double for all you soft, maturity-frozen guys who don’t seem to own long pants. So guys: if you see someone harming an animal or disrespecting a woman, you might give them a piece of your mind, but save it for then.

Secondly, swearing in general—and the big four in particular—is overused. American culture at this point in the 21st century is overloaded with swearing. In everyday interactions one hears the sort of language one would have expected from Persian Gulf War vets, homeless psychotics mumbling to the voices they hear, or drunken Geordie teenagers taking the train home from a night out. Blue language is used as adjectives and adverbs when the person really means “I’m all like, you know?” Unrepeatables are repeated like birds in an Escher print.
speech bubble speed it up

 

 

 

 

Among the many things psychologist Steven Pinker discusses in his book The Language Instinct is swearing. It seems to exist in one form or another in most cultures, enough that the use of harsh language might be hard-wired into the linguistic centers of the brain. His theory is that when we want to use strong, forceful language, language that grows out of strong passions, language that elicits a response, we express ourselves by linking our words to objects that evoke strong feelings. Religion is surrounded by strong feelings, so we use the idea of strong, frightening things like eternal damnation with our casual HELL!!! and DAMN!!!! The impure emissions of the human body are shocking, so we use SHIT!!! Coitus as a public act is shocking, so we have our FUCK! I generally disagree with Pinker as to how much of language is innate and how much is social. I would argue that swearing is a language game within the web and weave of a specific group of cultural practices….
speech bubble (gordon bennett)

Sorry.

The purpose of swearing is to shock, to express strong feelings, to stop us in our tracks and make us pay attention. If this is over-used, than it loses its edge. If swearing becomes commonplace, then what is the point? MOTHER-FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!! is not an everyday phrase like “she was all like ‘I don’t know.'” It is a special phrase. It shouldn’t be worn from over-use when you need it for special occasions, like when your plan fails and instead of getting that pesky road-runner, you drop the Acme 500 pound weight on your foot, or you find out your husband is in jail in Virginia for statutory, or you look at the Presidential field for 2016.

Pepper is good, but too much pepper is just too much pepper.

Thirdly, I am not sure most people realize how harsh obscenity and profanity are. Yes, you might feel as if a certain corporation has jerked you around like a tether-ball, but you tossing a few dysphemisms into a conversation with a poor sales clerk is not going to change that. You may think letting some of that anger out will make you feel better (Hello! It’s 2015. Freud is dead, and so is the hydraulic view of the soul), but the main thing it will do is shower down upon that clerk like a leaky colostomy bag. It might be free expression to you, but it is not like that for somebody who is not free to walk away from it. What sounds like righteous indignation on your side of the counter actually feels violent—yes, violent—on the other side of the counter.

Finally…..
speech bubble (finally2)
Finally, it is dull.

Dull, dull, dull, dull.

It is just 4 words in slightly different combinations. I remember my mother telling me that she felt it only a small mind could not find more creative and original ways of expressing themselves than relying upon a collection of borrowed vulgarities. Is that all you’ve got? Wouldn’t it be better to have more interesting things to say? Shouldn’t your colorful language have a wider pallet?  I’m not saying that everyone has to be Captain Haddockesque about it, but if you must express yourself, express yourself! When the Patriots intercepted that pass on the goal line, the first thing out of my mouth was: “HOLY KATZENJAMMER KIDS!” I had a wonderful co-worker who would yell “Son of a Motherless Goat!!” if she dropped a book on her foot. Be creative! Say things like: “Dick Whittington’s cat!” or “190 pounds of broken pencils would be less of a waste of carbon than you are,” or “Good thing you’re a mouth-breather, because I certainly never expect anything more valuable than halitosis to come out of there,” or “Who needs a hadron collider? There’s plenty of dark matter under that baseball cap!” Make up euphemisms! “He’ll be all over her like a pick-pocket on a kangaroo ranch.” Find random expressions like and make them your own. It is a global village; borrow some “Himmel und Donnerwetter!!!” or “Kapusty Mój!!!” After all, which were the best parts of this post: the big 4, or the colorful language Wode Toad and I used?

In most cases, it is best to speak like a gentleman, but if you must swear, by Toutatis! swear with flair!130signature2

 

Twelfth Night

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I have been musing lately upon Umbra Mai Fu, the larghetto short aria which begins George Frideric Handel’s opera Serse.

Yes.
I actually do things like that.
Only Dr Bear.

It is a beautiful piece, although the opera is rather goofy, and was not particularly successful. It premiered on the 15th of April, 1738, in London, with the castrati Caffarelli (Gaetano Majorano) singing the title role. Today, it might be performed by a counter-tenor (Andreas Scholl’s performance is quite good); however, since there are only two dozen or so good counter-tenors out there, it is often performed by a mezzo-soprano.

Papyrus_topsy_turvy_worldThe twelfth and last night of Christmas is celebrated as epiphany, or as the Feast of the Magi in many countries, but in England, it retains one of the characteristics of the Roman festival Saturnalia, that of turning the social order on its head. Twelfth Night is often marked by amateur theatrics, as well as professional ones, which are “Topsy-Turvy;” traditional roles of master and servant, and of man and woman, are reversed.

This is a beautiful song. It is a song of longing for home and peace.
It is a love song to a tree, written for a castrated man, sung by a woman pretending to be a man, who is a Persian king, although the words are in Italian, and the music is composed by a German composer, who lived in London.

Times and places fade away; gender roles and national identities will always be in flux, but beauty–beauty remains.

Platanus_orientalis_(Oriental_Plane)_Tree
Never was a shade
of any plant
dearer and more lovely,
or more sweet.

 

Imagine that.

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This has been an eventful week at the Bistro.

I had to give up the other job, the book-seller one, the one that Small Arms 005supports me financially(albeit half-heartedly).
It was certainly not the best of situations, but I will miss all the friends I have there, many of whom are incredibly dear to me.
It also means that after Christmas Eve, I will be unemployed. This means that the Bistro will be spending a bit of time on the road until we find out where we are going. If any of you out there knows a business which needs a philosopher, please let me know.
I also am a pretty good baker, and a fine cook, and, yes: the Doctor makes house calls.

Allons!

My deskSecondly, we bid a sad farewell to our interns–although you may still be hearing stories and ideas for a while. I might have more time to write, since I will no longer be choreographing squirrels. How we could get from Lucretius to fainting goats to singing Finnegan’s Wake, all in less than 90 seconds, was mystifying. Still, in spite of all the things Wode says, I will miss them, and the energy they brought with them.

Finally, apparently, if you do a google image search for “mountain walk,” one of the first dozen or so pictures to come up is from the Bistro website.
This week, the publishing house Giangiacomo Feltrinelli Editore srl. in Milan contacted us, and we have sold the image “Roan Mountain Walk 022” to them to use for the cover of a reprint of Pino Cacucci’s Camminando.
Roan Mountain Walk 022It was a week of sad goodbyes, and of the terror of new journeys, but, on the other hand, it was also the week that Dr Bear became an Italian Cover-boy.

Imagine that.

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Abby the Spoon Lady

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I have no remarkable dexterity–in fact, a history of nerve and other damage to my left arm has left me with little dexterity at all.
I have no remarkable skills–nothing much to show for the last chunk of century.
I have no remarkable musical talent–a good ear and a passable voice that can follow the ear.

I do recognize musical talent, and there is a whole lot of it around me here–maybe there is a lot of music everywhere, maybe all around us, and we should drink our full of it every second.
I do recognize beauty, and Abby the Spoon Lady combines dexterity, skill and music in a way I have never seen before; each time I see her, I sit on the sidewalk amazed, fascinated, unable to tear my eyes from the dancing, flying spoons.
Then, she will always look over at me and grin a knowing grin.

This one just makes me want to ride the rails.

 

 

Of logical syllogisms and poets

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saphhoἢ ὥσπερ Σαπφώ• ὅτι τὸ ἀποθνῄσκειν κακόν• οἱ θεοὶ γὰρ οὕτω κεκρίκασιν• ἀπέθνησκον γὰρ ἄν.
“…Or [as] Sappho [writes],
‘Death is an evil;
the gods have so decided,
for otherwise they would die.'”

Aristotle quotes the poet Sappho constructing a logically valid modus tollens syllogism to argue that death is not, as some suggest, a blessing but rather a curse.

A modus tollens (denying the consequent) syllogism is structured like this:

  • It can be shown that if [insert first statement] is the case, then it follows that [insert second statement] will be the case.
  • It can be shown that [second statement] is not true.
  • Therefore, [first statement] cannot be the case.

Or, to put it in symbolic terms:

modus_tollens_ornament_roundHer argument goes like this:

  • If death were a blessing, then the gods would have it–they being blessed, and able to have all good things.
    (Logically, if [death is a blessing], then it follows that [the gods would die])
  • The gods, however, do not die.
    ([the gods would die] is not true.)
  • So death cannot be good, but is a terrible evil.
    (Therefore, [death is a blessing] cannot be true.

But, of course, the greatest curse is being separated by those we love…

Sappho_Loison_cour_Carree_Louvre

Sappho, fragment 94

Honestly, I wish I were dead.

Weeping many tears, she left me and said,
“Alas, how terribly we suffer, Sappho.
I leave you against my will.”

And I answered: “Farewell, go and remember me.
You know how I cared for you.
When you remember, remember
these good and beautiful times.

Beside me you put on
many wreaths of roses
and put garlands of violets        Sapphomet2
around your soft neck.            

You poured precious myrrh,
and royal perfume on your body,
pouring out your longing on soft beds.

And there was no dance,
no ceremony, no celebration,
without us.

 


 

Guilt is a piss-poor basis for morality

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The interns and I are continuing to discuss Greek philosophy, so don’t be surprised if that seeps into a lot of these entrées.

One of the hardest differences to try to make clear between our culture and the ancients–just one little facets of La querelle des Anciens et des Modernes, is how fundamental to their view of the world things like pride and honor and respect were. Since the interns handle money, a lot of my focus is upon ethics.
Rembrandt_Harmensz._van_Rijn_079

For most Americans, ethics is almost synonymous with morality, and morality is generally seen in terms of transgressing a set of imperatives. Obviously, the result of transgressing or even failing is guilt.

 

Socrates, descend from your clouds and talk dirty to us.

Put another way, we think of right and wrong in terms of a code or a bunch of rules. Somewhere in the back of our heads or hearts, we have a series Jiminy_Cricket_standing_up_to_Lampwickof “thou shalt not’s” and “don’t even think about it’s,” or our mother’s  voice saying: “do you really think that’s a good idea?” We live in a selfish, self-obsessed world, but at the same time are haunted by the voice of a little cricket tsk-tsk-ing us.
It seems unavoidable that we will break these rules and fail to live up to this code–in fact, it is virtually impossible that we do not. When we do, the result is guilt; in fact, the fear of guilt, the fear of having to walk that long dark hall to face the wrath of Jiminy is what is supposed to keep us in line.

piggy's glassesNot that that is always a bad thing: those without guilt are psychopaths, and we do, after all need something to keep us in line, something to avoid descending to chaos and anarchy and cruelty. After all, look how poorly we remain moral with guilt?

See, the problem with guilt is that is insatiable–there will always be more to feel guilty about. It is also much better at motivating us to avoid acts than to actually act.

By contrast, honor is an attempt to become better, and to take pride in being better. Caspar_David_Friedrich_-_Wanderer_above_the_sea_of_fogIt is striving for excellence, and taking joy in both the accomplishment and the striving–like the glory of running fast. It sets goals and standards–virtues and examples–and allows us to construct a narrative of being ethical, instead to just case studies of being unethical. It calls us to act rather than encouraging us to focus upon prevent illicit acts. We shouldn’t be regretting ethical failures–which is what guilt is–but instead we should be cultivating virtues that will allow us to act justly, kindly, honestly, generously, courageously, and so on, in the present and in the future.

And when we do, we should feel the reward of pride in an action well done, and look to the next task to accomplish.

The 300 Spartans at Thermopylae had no reason to feel guilty if they had backed down from the Persians–the Persians did, after all, outnumber them, and the Spartans had fulfilled their obligations to the other Greeks. No, the Spartans defended the fiery gates out of pride; they wanted to perform what they were called to do well.

Guilt prevents the worse from happening, and also nags us to help others, but the cost is an insatiable gnawing self-loathing, and ultimately the problem that the one who can best avoid guilt is the monk in the cell doing nothing.
Pride encourages us to outdo ourselves in living well and doing good, and can see ethics as something to build upon and strive for, but at the cost of encouraging the outward show rather than genuine goodness.

Better than either, though, would be compassion.

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Let us now praise Loud-Mouthed Broads!

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The interns and I were talking about Plato’s dialogue Charmides in the afternoon during prep, and then on through tea (apparently, some of them don’t appreciate muffins that leave a warm after burn on your tongue. I, however, thought they went perfectly with today’s post).

Here is my paraphrase of the first part dialogue (Plato’s, not the interns):

Socrates is chatting up Charmides, a handsome, athletic, sweet-natured young man with good manners and a great personality. Charmides is known for having all the virtues a young man should have, especially temperance, so Socrates asks him to explain what that is.

Dr. Bear - Eyes(Editor’s note: the Greek word here is σωφροσύνης, pronounced soph-ro-sun-ace, and involves self-control. We could translate it prudence, but temperance–in the sense of tempering one’s desires and passions–works best, even though I have rarely heard that word used that way since the beginning of the 20th century.)

The young man says it’s like being quiet, or not being too fast.
Socrates points out in how many situations being quiet or slow is actually bad– in Statue_of_a_kouros_Getty_Villa_Collection)classes, the quiet and slow students are not the best, with musicians, the quiet hesitant ones aren’t the best, those who can play loud and fast are generally the best. Do you want your memory to be slow and quiet? Your wit? Your ability to solve problems? No–swift and active.
I might add how many times I haven’t been informed of something until it was too late because somebody was quiet or slow. (“Oh, sorry. I meant to tell you that burner was on.” “You know, there is a tool we got in last week that would have made that easier.” “Didn’t somebody tell you we don’t have to save those anymore?”)

The poor young man says maybe it’s like modesty or meekness.
This won’t do: Homer says that meekness is of no value to the man in need, after all, if you are modest and meek, you won’t be able to speak up for yourself, which would be bad, and certainly a virtue like temperance would be good and not bad?
wode looking rightPersonally, I only value modesty for people who have much to be modest about.
As Wode Toad says: “Modesty is the opiate of the mediocre.”

The young man suggests he heard somebody say it was minding your own business.
Well, says Socrates, if everybody just minded their own business, the plumber would never come to your house, that would be meddling, physicians wouldn’t concern themselves with your body, but would only mind their own, folks couldn’t cook for others, or make clothes for others–it sounds like a pretty chaotic community, doesn’t it?
I might quote Marley: “Business!” cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again
“Mankind was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The deals of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”

Now, what struck me this time through the story, was how familiar the youth Charmides’ account of this virtue was. Not that young men today are prone to temperance, but it sounds like a Madeleine_au_miroir,_Georges_de_la_Tourcertain model of what might be called “feminine virtues,” or “acting like a lady,” or “biblical womanhood,” or some other cheap brand name. Be Quiet. Be modest. Mind your own business.
Even girls who don’t have any of these things overtly said to them, have the practices of being feminine–or, by contrast, not being seen as a pushy broad, or a bitch, a tomboy, or (gasp!) a lesbian–conditioned into them. Don’t be too loud, don’t run and jerk around so, will you sit still?, stop putting yourself out there, let others talk first, don’t be so demanding, don’t be so proud, mind your own business–all of these are part of being nice, and we all want to be nice, don’t we?
I keep expecting one year to have a woman in my classes who is not aware of these expectations, especially since I get a lot of athletes, but all of them are aware of them, and of how often they have failed to live up to them.
Boys get the nice stuff a little, but women of all ages are taught to wear it like a heavy flak-jacket.

Why?

In an age of speed and communication, why do we want to tell half the population they should be slow and quiet? Why would we want to tell young people to be quiet? How much do we lose by that?Klimt_-_Pallas_Athene

In an age of loud voices, why are we telling so many bright, insightful voices they should be meek and modest? If they cannot speak up for themselves, who will? Even more, if things need to be said, they should be said, even if they are critical–especially if they are critical and we don’t want to hear them; that makes any culture stronger.

Commerce, of course, blurs the lines of minding one’s own business, but so does minding animals or children, cleaning up a creek, asking somebody how they are doing and really wanting to know, keeping an eye on the neighborhood, improving the world, showing compassion, fixing flats, and so much else.

Dancin'I once told my daughter that she comes from a long line of strong-willed women and a long line of men who somehow got a kick out of strong-willed women.
Now, my grandmother and her sisters would never want to be thought of as loud-mouthed broads–they were all proper ladies (I just wanted a catchy headline). I do, however, owe a big chunk of my notion of what a woman should be like through them, the Thomas sisters. They were all out-spoken, and that was one of the things that made them so wonderful. My grandma was demure and directed the church choir, but she could also command a crew to make thousands of hoagies in one morning a few times a year as a fund-raiser. They could all be deferential, but I would have hated to have run up against them when someone was treated unjustly–they were outspoken; they were forces of nature beautiful and terrible to behold.

Most of all, men or women, why do we make virtue about what we don’t do?
Shouldn’t it be about what we do?
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Lovely, lovely Notes

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Like anyone else, I have a tendency to form an opinion and then let that opinion shape my perceptions. Of course, this is wrong; I should not let my opinions do the work for me, but should try hard to listen to my experiences and let them shape my opinions.
Opinions are a useful and necessary tool for getting a handle on this messy busy world, but aren’t as useful–and are often harmful–if they do not fit the actual world. A flat head screwdriver isn’t the best tool to unscrew a Phillips head screw; a shot-gun is even worse.
That seems hyperbole (Overstated Hyperbolic?!? From Dr Bear?!? I am shocked! Shocked!), but I am certain that each of us have encountered people who use opinions like shotguns, or even heavier artillery.

Experience is our teacher–although not always our friend–and we much be open and pay attention to her.

…But I digress, in my usual New Madrid river flow kind of way.

I have written in the past about the importance of the hand-written note,  and have spoken disdainfully about electronic communication.
While I still believe in the importance of a hand-written note, in the past few weeks I have had to re-think my view. You see, I received two lovely notes electronically, and I had to admit that they were wonderfully human, and gracious, and authentic. The writers each took time to personalize them, and each of them carried the personality of the person writing, as well as a bit of the conversations we had shared in the past. They showed a respect for me–treating me with kindness and dignity, and even some empathy.

The odd thing about them was, they were both negative responses to requests.
One was a letter from a prospective employer for whom I had made the short list, and with whom I had interviewed; it told me they would be going with another candidate, although they were very affirming of me and my credentials, and were very open about the reasons they had decided to go with the other candidate.
One was a negative response from an RSVP, but it was punctual, gracious, and very kind.

Both were so much more than a computer generated “Thank you for your interest, but…” e-mail, or a dashed off “Sorry, something came up, but let’s do coffee sometime” text.  Each was so much better than the growing tendency not to answer at all. Each of the rejection notes treated me with dignity, as a human with feelings. Each note communicated, was specific, but also was clear and firm, as adult to adult.
Both of the notes were written by human beings.

I guess that is more important than paper or pens and ink or stamps; when we communicate with other human beings, what we say should be able to pass the Turing Test–it should be clear that it is being said by a human being.

Even better, what we write or say might have some basic empathy, so that it is clear that it was said by a real Mensch.

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Chasing Words

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Sun casting out light,
the birds competing with song,
the day before the day.

 

The new sun casts out
its light in straight lines,
while it playfully wrestles the little clouds.
From on their phone lines,
mockingbirds compete
with trills and songs and whistles.
The day before the day.

 

The sun casts out
its light in lines
as I make my way;
the birds compete
with trills and rhymes;
the day before the day.

 

Rounding the corner, I look up from the dog and am stunned.
Through clouds gilt-edged against the sun, the light cuts out in straight bright lines. Around the light, the sky is a brilliant blue, fading into the dark gray blue of the mountains. The air seems alive with light, but at the center of it all is the rising sun.
From telephone pole to telephone pole, the mockingbirds call out, competing to see who will win the morning.

I already have;
I walk on, beginning a new day.