Market forces have their place. Given a limited supply and a coupling with high demand, the price one pays for consumable pleasure goes up. Thankfully, our kids like mince and turn their noses up at rump steak; too chewy apparently.
For the consumer, one-way entertainment like TV doesn't conform to these market forces. Quite the opposite in fact. When TV is consumed at a high rate, its availability increases. Thus its cost, in terms of convenience, reduces.
Take soap operas for example. As we discussed the other evening, the UK public spoke clearly to Rupert Murdock when we told him that we like soap operas. Lots of them, and repeated regularly thankyouverymuch. So, we we're given it.
The net effect of this model unfortunately, is a homogenisation of output. Programming that pleases the majority within a standard deviation of the mean, gets priority. Programming that's slightly esoteric, cerebral and/or 'artistic' gets squeezed out.
That said, we do have our BBC, funded through a bastardised tax. Surely this venerable institution isn't subject to these ravages? It seems not. In an effort to retain market share, our broadcasting gem has bought in. After all, the easiest way to validate its mandate to the public is to demonstrate a high market share.
It should be said however, that my BBC has resisted this banal feedback loop with Radio 4. This remains, for me at least, the jewel in its stuffy crown.
Now, I've gone on quite enough for one night. So, to sum up the beginnings of my argument let me say this; I believe that human expression and artistic endeavour will ultimately liberate us from our existential plight.
I also believe that homogenisation stands in our way.
Matt over at Far Traveller asks us to play an interesting game; Think of yourself as an alien and ask questions of your earthly partner. I imagine my alien persona asking Louie, how the human race sees itself answering the "What now?" problem that follows our inevitable pointlessness epiphany.
I believe the answer rests in understanding beauty.
More on this another night.
Wednesday, 21 March 2007
Tuesday, 20 March 2007
Fame at last?
There comes a point when blogging, that one starts to notice the web stats creeping up. A small, but esteemed group seem to keep returning. This is nice.
In this very same moment, one looks back and worries that what's been said previously is nothing but a confusion of ideas. To put it bluntly, a load of shite.
What results then, is a very real temptation, to write for one's audience.
If like Murdock, the need is for profit and fame, then one should adapt away. However, I started this blog for personal satisfaction, with only a small side order of fame. So I shall try to continue unabashed.
If you are one of my little orange dots, then you have my thanks.
In this very same moment, one looks back and worries that what's been said previously is nothing but a confusion of ideas. To put it bluntly, a load of shite.
What results then, is a very real temptation, to write for one's audience.
If like Murdock, the need is for profit and fame, then one should adapt away. However, I started this blog for personal satisfaction, with only a small side order of fame. So I shall try to continue unabashed.
If you are one of my little orange dots, then you have my thanks.
Schopenhauer's Ennui
Monday nights on UK Terrestrial TV are bleak. If so minded, you can muffle your brain with back to back soap operas from 6:30 right through till 9:00. If one ventures into the multi-channel digital kingdom, you can enjoy these melodramatic effusions 24/7.
There was a time when this wasn't so. Back in the dark ages, when we had only three channels to choose from, scheduling was more balanced. The nation would tune in to Coronation Street at 7:30 one evening a week. It was an occasion, you could say.
Then along came Murdock with his Sky empire. He liberated us from our desperate, parochial lives. Now, we chose what to watch and when to watch it. The customer was in control.
Yet, to get our passes to this wonderland, we had to make a Faustian pact. In return for limitless choice, we attached our magic digi-boxes to the Sky mothership. Each night, as we slept soundly in our beds, the magic boxes phoned home and shared our viewing with Murdock and his minions.
Murdock listened well, and what he heard pleased him. He found that we prefer not to think. Given the choice, the majority of us opt to consume programming that's easy on the brain. Programming like reality TV, sitcoms and soap operas.
So, he gave us more of it, and we watched more of it. So he showed us it again, and we watched it again, and again, and again. He'd hit upon a magic formula;
1) Buy cheap & easy TV, repeat it ad-nauseum
2) The masses consume it, along with the bundled advertising
3) Profit
4) Rinse & Repeat
More on this later...
There was a time when this wasn't so. Back in the dark ages, when we had only three channels to choose from, scheduling was more balanced. The nation would tune in to Coronation Street at 7:30 one evening a week. It was an occasion, you could say.
Then along came Murdock with his Sky empire. He liberated us from our desperate, parochial lives. Now, we chose what to watch and when to watch it. The customer was in control.
Yet, to get our passes to this wonderland, we had to make a Faustian pact. In return for limitless choice, we attached our magic digi-boxes to the Sky mothership. Each night, as we slept soundly in our beds, the magic boxes phoned home and shared our viewing with Murdock and his minions.
Murdock listened well, and what he heard pleased him. He found that we prefer not to think. Given the choice, the majority of us opt to consume programming that's easy on the brain. Programming like reality TV, sitcoms and soap operas.
So, he gave us more of it, and we watched more of it. So he showed us it again, and we watched it again, and again, and again. He'd hit upon a magic formula;
1) Buy cheap & easy TV, repeat it ad-nauseum
2) The masses consume it, along with the bundled advertising
3) Profit
4) Rinse & Repeat
More on this later...
Monday, 19 March 2007
Can you keep a secret?
Ok Blog, we know each other quite well now, don't we? Nearly a hundred posts. Who'd have thought it eh?
It's time you should know something. I have another child. A son. He's nearly ten now. I know, I should have told you about him before now.
After all, he's as much part of the family as everyone else. He gets on with Meg and Dom as if they were full siblings.
So, here's some photos of him. His name's McLeod.
It's time you should know something. I have another child. A son. He's nearly ten now. I know, I should have told you about him before now.
After all, he's as much part of the family as everyone else. He gets on with Meg and Dom as if they were full siblings.
So, here's some photos of him. His name's McLeod.
The Quiet World
In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
the government has decided to allot
each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it
to my ear without saying hello.
In the restaurant I point
at chicken noodle soup. I am
adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long
distance lover and proudly say
I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn't respond, I know
she's used up all her words
so I slowly whisper I love you,
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.
Jeffrey McDaniel
Saturday, 17 March 2007
Pan's Labyrinth
I've got a pile of books in the corner of our bedroom that has a life of it's own. At the moment it's growing about a foot every two months. Through the night it taunts me;
"You haven't read me. Is it because you're scared?"
"No" I reply, "I just don't have the time."
Ohh, my most precious of resources, and so little of it. Like oil, its value is inversely proportional to its supply. Our kids are the temporal incarnation of OPEC.
Movies inevitably, get shifted down my priority list. Somewhere near to emptying the dishwasher.
The list then, grows more quickly than my books. Sitting at the top of this list for some time has been Pan's Labyrinth. Tonight we watched it!
Wow! What a movie. I found it moving, unsettling, beautiful, absurd and astounding. Quite simply one of the best films I've ever seen. If you find that like us, your time is a rare and precious commodity, then think of this film as an investment.
We may have been the last remaining couple to not have seen this film. If you are amongst the remaining few, then what are you waiting for?
Here's the trailer, complete with obligatory, annoying and americanised voice over. "In a war..".
"You haven't read me. Is it because you're scared?"
"No" I reply, "I just don't have the time."
Ohh, my most precious of resources, and so little of it. Like oil, its value is inversely proportional to its supply. Our kids are the temporal incarnation of OPEC.
Movies inevitably, get shifted down my priority list. Somewhere near to emptying the dishwasher.
The list then, grows more quickly than my books. Sitting at the top of this list for some time has been Pan's Labyrinth. Tonight we watched it!
Wow! What a movie. I found it moving, unsettling, beautiful, absurd and astounding. Quite simply one of the best films I've ever seen. If you find that like us, your time is a rare and precious commodity, then think of this film as an investment.
We may have been the last remaining couple to not have seen this film. If you are amongst the remaining few, then what are you waiting for?
Here's the trailer, complete with obligatory, annoying and americanised voice over. "In a war..".
Friday, 16 March 2007
Sartrezine
Scientists have recently explained the experience of spirituality, transcendence, and religiosity. The problem was identified to be 5-hydroxytryptamine re-uptake rates within the Substantia Nigra. The condition, initially thought to affect 48% of the population, is due to a mutation in the gene SLC6A4.
Pfizer have subsequently developed a drug treatment, and human trials of Sartrezine have begun.
Initial results have proven positive. People who reported feelings of interconnectedness with the universe and/or a faith in God, experienced a marked reduction in symptoms within 4 days of treatment. Placebo patients reported similar effects, but at a significantly lower rate.
Many patients who actively participated in organised religious ritual however, continued to display these behaviours, regardless of blood serum levels of Satrezine. A faith in God it has been proposed, has no clear correlation to religious behaviour. In some cases, a marked increase in these behaviours were noted, with a concomitant shift towards Conservative political bias.
Some serious side effects to Sartrezine have been reported. Relationship difficulties, emotional bluntness and irresponsible behaviour have been noted in 25% of patients.
The National Institute for Clinical Excellence is investigating its effectiveness for use in the NHS.
Thursday, 15 March 2007
A load of tosh
Prof PZ Myers has had a dig at the word Spirituality. He feels it's another word for lies and empty noise.
In many contexts he's right. The word is so wooley in its definition, it can be bent to pretty much any meaning. That said, it can be of some use; Not everyone who uses the term is a dim wit.
As ususal with Pharyngula, the value is in the numerous comments. I encourage you to go and contribute. In the mean time, here's some of the more thought provoking ones;
Nodoze: people also blather on about art, morality, metaphysics, and a host of other vague things of a transcedent or metaphysical nature that are "real" but defy science and, for that matter, truth. they are the serious business of mankind, in Popper's words the "ultimate questions," and there is no way to distinguish their serious answers from nonsense, as far as science can say. obviously science isn't enough. it has limits. oh well!
Neolotus: PZ, try reading the Introduction portion of Roger Ames translation of "Sun-Tzu: The Art of War" where it deals with the differences between the two-world view of the West and the one-world view of the East or watching "The Last Samurai" or perhaps just learning about Eastern philosophy.
Shorter version of spirituality: treating the living world/universe with respect and humility and learning to live in harmony with it.
The feeling of commiseration is the beginning of humanity. Is there something in this you fail to understand?
Oh, something you might understand is Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" as a place to begin.
Al: There's nothing vague or "transcendent" about art, morality or metaphysics. As far as aesthetics and ethics, science can't tell us the "oughts," but there are certainly reasonable descriptions for why aesthetics and ethics exist from an evolutionary, psychological and sociological standpoint.
As for metaphysics, there are reasonable discussions one can have about epistemology, ontology and other areas of metaphysics while sticking to reason and empiricism and without the need to invoke anything "mysterious," "transcendent," or "ineffable." The latter is the hallmark of bad philosophy anyway, as it just means you've thrown your hands up and given up on attempting to come to an understanding.
MartinC: Too much spirituality can obviously be bad for you. I think the maximum recommended dose is 3 milligrams per kilo. Unfortunately its taking rather a long time to invent a spiritual weighing scale. Don't worry though, I'm sure it will turn up soon, just like Demski's 'Specified complexity measurer'.
SAM: I would have thought the maximum dose for a human was 21 grams. Overdosing woud be more than a spirit could handle without accidentally evolving. Perhaps I am wrong.
Potenilla: Guys, have you ever considered that the consciousness of being connected with something greater than onesself - or, better, the "feeling" or "sensation" thereof, has a genetic substrate and there is individual variation within the human species?
Just because none of you have this consciousness/feeling (and I don't, either), doesn't mean to say it doesn't exist in ohers. Sometimes (often) is gets translated into religion, and sometimes into something more like treating the living world/universe with respect and humility and learning to live in harmony with it.
We would do better in concentrating on reducing the political effects of (organised) religion, and making sure that people who don't have the spiritual consciousness/feeling don't feel they have to pay lip-service to religion, than in wasting our time trying to convince those people who do have it that they are wrong to do so. IMHO the latter is much like trying to convince gay people that they shouldn't be gay. Or, perhaps, to convince heterosexual men that looking at a woman's legs as she walks down the street is ALWAYS wrong and "treating her as a sex object".
Daenku32: consciousness of being connected with something greater than onesself
Does earth count?
In many contexts he's right. The word is so wooley in its definition, it can be bent to pretty much any meaning. That said, it can be of some use; Not everyone who uses the term is a dim wit.
As ususal with Pharyngula, the value is in the numerous comments. I encourage you to go and contribute. In the mean time, here's some of the more thought provoking ones;
Nodoze: people also blather on about art, morality, metaphysics, and a host of other vague things of a transcedent or metaphysical nature that are "real" but defy science and, for that matter, truth. they are the serious business of mankind, in Popper's words the "ultimate questions," and there is no way to distinguish their serious answers from nonsense, as far as science can say. obviously science isn't enough. it has limits. oh well!
Neolotus: PZ, try reading the Introduction portion of Roger Ames translation of "Sun-Tzu: The Art of War" where it deals with the differences between the two-world view of the West and the one-world view of the East or watching "The Last Samurai" or perhaps just learning about Eastern philosophy.
Shorter version of spirituality: treating the living world/universe with respect and humility and learning to live in harmony with it.
The feeling of commiseration is the beginning of humanity. Is there something in this you fail to understand?
Oh, something you might understand is Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" as a place to begin.
Al: There's nothing vague or "transcendent" about art, morality or metaphysics. As far as aesthetics and ethics, science can't tell us the "oughts," but there are certainly reasonable descriptions for why aesthetics and ethics exist from an evolutionary, psychological and sociological standpoint.
As for metaphysics, there are reasonable discussions one can have about epistemology, ontology and other areas of metaphysics while sticking to reason and empiricism and without the need to invoke anything "mysterious," "transcendent," or "ineffable." The latter is the hallmark of bad philosophy anyway, as it just means you've thrown your hands up and given up on attempting to come to an understanding.
MartinC: Too much spirituality can obviously be bad for you. I think the maximum recommended dose is 3 milligrams per kilo. Unfortunately its taking rather a long time to invent a spiritual weighing scale. Don't worry though, I'm sure it will turn up soon, just like Demski's 'Specified complexity measurer'.
SAM: I would have thought the maximum dose for a human was 21 grams. Overdosing woud be more than a spirit could handle without accidentally evolving. Perhaps I am wrong.
Potenilla: Guys, have you ever considered that the consciousness of being connected with something greater than onesself - or, better, the "feeling" or "sensation" thereof, has a genetic substrate and there is individual variation within the human species?
Just because none of you have this consciousness/feeling (and I don't, either), doesn't mean to say it doesn't exist in ohers. Sometimes (often) is gets translated into religion, and sometimes into something more like treating the living world/universe with respect and humility and learning to live in harmony with it.
We would do better in concentrating on reducing the political effects of (organised) religion, and making sure that people who don't have the spiritual consciousness/feeling don't feel they have to pay lip-service to religion, than in wasting our time trying to convince those people who do have it that they are wrong to do so. IMHO the latter is much like trying to convince gay people that they shouldn't be gay. Or, perhaps, to convince heterosexual men that looking at a woman's legs as she walks down the street is ALWAYS wrong and "treating her as a sex object".
Daenku32: consciousness of being connected with something greater than onesself
Does earth count?
Geekstar
I remembered, just before I dropped off last night, that I had a demo of my band, recorded not too long after the Hardy incident. Well, a couple of years after if I'm honest. Anyway, on listening to it, I understand now why I'm sat blogging, rather than on a world tour with my three piece.
Ho hum. Be kind - I was young.
Ho hum. Be kind - I was young.
Wednesday, 14 March 2007
What the f**k is happiness then?
Am I happy? I suppose I am. Probably.
In truth, I've only a vague idea of what happiness is. I know that it's pretty important; why else would we devote our lives to the pursuit of it? But is it some rapturous state of being - full on fulfillment, actualisation and all that? Or is it a more suburban, gentle experience? Mediocre, even.
I remember a French lesson (3rd Floor, Humanities Block, Longfield Comprehensive, 1988), when Mrs Hardy, all tweed skirt and sternness, was struggling to deal with her unruly class. I was sat in my usual seat, at my usual table, trying to be cool but still conforming to Mrs Hardy's wishes for me to be a good student. I was a compliant kid, you see.
No, I was a dork; A typecast nerd - good at maths, poor at ball games (though I could run like Pheidippides). My only redemption was my guitar and vocal abilities. An odd teenage paradox then; a geek in a cool band. This saved me from the true ravages of dorkedom.
Anyway, I remember Mrs Hardy loosing her temper with us all. I'd never seen her in such a fit of pique. She slammed her hand on her desk and shouted;
"I'm sick of this nonsense, why can't you all be as mature and stable as Scott?"
I could have killed her.
What aspiring rock star wants to be "mature and stable"? What dork aspires to this banality, aged fifteen?
I hated her, not because she'd embarrassed me; I hated her because everyone in the classroom knew she was right. I was dull. Stable. For fuck sake.
The maturity bit is still open for debate. I'm 34 now, and still feel like a kid. The stability bit was bang on however.
I've never been at the whim of my tempers. I'm sitting right now next to Miche. You could say that I'm mildly happy. Her left leg is crossed over my right knee as I type. She's watching Scrubs on Sky TV. I've just kissed her on her forehead. I doubt she was conciously aware of it. Her head inclined a little, nothing more. Our life is what it is. Ordinary, stable.
I was born for this; My kids upstairs in bed, central heating on, income tax paid and washing up done.
No alarms and no suprises. A good pension.
Is it the chicken in me, that finds happiness in stability? Or is it the egg, that in being stable, is happy?
In truth, I've only a vague idea of what happiness is. I know that it's pretty important; why else would we devote our lives to the pursuit of it? But is it some rapturous state of being - full on fulfillment, actualisation and all that? Or is it a more suburban, gentle experience? Mediocre, even.
I remember a French lesson (3rd Floor, Humanities Block, Longfield Comprehensive, 1988), when Mrs Hardy, all tweed skirt and sternness, was struggling to deal with her unruly class. I was sat in my usual seat, at my usual table, trying to be cool but still conforming to Mrs Hardy's wishes for me to be a good student. I was a compliant kid, you see.
No, I was a dork; A typecast nerd - good at maths, poor at ball games (though I could run like Pheidippides). My only redemption was my guitar and vocal abilities. An odd teenage paradox then; a geek in a cool band. This saved me from the true ravages of dorkedom.
Anyway, I remember Mrs Hardy loosing her temper with us all. I'd never seen her in such a fit of pique. She slammed her hand on her desk and shouted;
"I'm sick of this nonsense, why can't you all be as mature and stable as Scott?"
I could have killed her.
What aspiring rock star wants to be "mature and stable"? What dork aspires to this banality, aged fifteen?
I hated her, not because she'd embarrassed me; I hated her because everyone in the classroom knew she was right. I was dull. Stable. For fuck sake.
The maturity bit is still open for debate. I'm 34 now, and still feel like a kid. The stability bit was bang on however.
I've never been at the whim of my tempers. I'm sitting right now next to Miche. You could say that I'm mildly happy. Her left leg is crossed over my right knee as I type. She's watching Scrubs on Sky TV. I've just kissed her on her forehead. I doubt she was conciously aware of it. Her head inclined a little, nothing more. Our life is what it is. Ordinary, stable.
I was born for this; My kids upstairs in bed, central heating on, income tax paid and washing up done.
No alarms and no suprises. A good pension.
Is it the chicken in me, that finds happiness in stability? Or is it the egg, that in being stable, is happy?
Monday, 12 March 2007
An awakening
A small part of my spirit listens to the seasons. During our shortening winters it sequesters away in some warm corner of my 'soul'.
There's a day, that I can pinpoint each year, when it awakens. Today is that day.
I'm not follicaly blessed, so even a glimmering of the spring sun beats down on my skull. Leaving the office early tonight, it was warmed a little. The sky was clear, and yet it was still mild. I noticed the trees beginning to blossom.
Driving home, I found that the sun no longer loomed on the horizon. At last, it had climbed high enough for my sun visor to block. My foot got heavy on the accelerator and the stereo got loud.
I came home to a quiet house. I forgot that both kids were out at friends for tea. Miche was working at her desk quietly. We'd the house to ourselves. Mmn.
Later, I decided to give our front lawn it's first cut of the year. Dom was dropped off, saw me with lawnmover and uncharacteristically ran past into the house. No hello or nothing.
A minute later he clambered out of the front door, dragging his yellow kiddy mower. He must have been rummaging deep in the garage to retrieve it. We finished off the lawn together. Up and down.
With smug self satisfaction, I decided that life is good, and spring is here.
There's a day, that I can pinpoint each year, when it awakens. Today is that day.
I'm not follicaly blessed, so even a glimmering of the spring sun beats down on my skull. Leaving the office early tonight, it was warmed a little. The sky was clear, and yet it was still mild. I noticed the trees beginning to blossom.
Driving home, I found that the sun no longer loomed on the horizon. At last, it had climbed high enough for my sun visor to block. My foot got heavy on the accelerator and the stereo got loud.
I came home to a quiet house. I forgot that both kids were out at friends for tea. Miche was working at her desk quietly. We'd the house to ourselves. Mmn.
Later, I decided to give our front lawn it's first cut of the year. Dom was dropped off, saw me with lawnmover and uncharacteristically ran past into the house. No hello or nothing.
A minute later he clambered out of the front door, dragging his yellow kiddy mower. He must have been rummaging deep in the garage to retrieve it. We finished off the lawn together. Up and down.
With smug self satisfaction, I decided that life is good, and spring is here.
Sunday, 11 March 2007
Some nice breasts there, Melanie
There's a big group hug going on at Digg right now, as circa 2,400 geeks agree that being intelligent is damned hard. Apparently being bright makes you unhappy. Some might call it an emo circle-jerk.
Now, of course this is a load of old bunkum. There's no clear correlation between high intelligence and depression as far as I'm aware. In fact, it's been shown that having a high intellect can reduce the likelihood of suicide.
I (and probably you) know many 'intelligent' (I) people we consider to be happy (H). Equally, we know 'less intelligent' (D) people who are unhappy (U). There are two more combinations left of course; I/U & D/H. See, I can use algebra. 'Cos I'm clevor, me.
That said, I think there may be a kernel of truth in the proposition.
Assuming that intelligence isn't simply IQ, I've the good fortune of knowing some immensely gifted people. What I admire most about them is the way they occupy the 'Depressive Position'.
Now, bear with me whilst I explore what this term means. For those of you uninitiated to psychodynamics, hold on tight, because it gets a bit freaky.
Melanie Klein, a Freudian psychoanalyst, first described the Depressive Position in her work with very young children.
The child, in Klein's argument, engages in 'phantasies' wherein the mother's 'good' breast is idealized and loved, while the mother's 'bad' breast is attacked and devoured. The split between the satisfactory 'good' breast and the frustrating 'bad breast' is the child's first step into its 'I' prison - the breast is the first object the child experiences outside of itself. For the child, the good and bad breasts are not seen as belonging to a whole mother. Instead, they are experienced as separate objects.
Why would a child do this? Well, "splitting" enables the infant to ward off anxiety by experiencing the loving breast singularly, and completely separate from the hated, persecutory breast. The good breast is then 100% good. Life in this position is a simple flip between all bad and all good; Black and white. Klein called this the "paranoid-schizoid position". (I doubt she'd have named it that today.)
At some point within the first year of life, the infant comes to see its mother as a whole object, and, with this new perceptual ability, it comes to the horrifying recognition that the "good" and "bad" breast co-exist with the whole mother. The infant is grief-stricken by the recognition that, all along, it had been attacking the "good" breast along with the "bad" breast.
With this realisation, "the infant suffers extreme feelings of grief, guilt and fear of loss, and, as a result, seeks to make reparation for her/his damages to what once was the idealized, good breast. In exchange for this bitter realization, the infant's anxieties lose in strength; objects become both less idealized and less terrifying, and the ego becomes more unified. All this is interconnected with the growing perception of reality and adaptation to it."
So, if we think of the breast as metaphorically representing wholeness; good, bad and all the grey in between, then this realisation is the first experience of ambivalence for the infant.
Now of course, all of this is utter bollocks. We must not forget that Melanie was the product of an unwanted birth - her parents showed her little affection. Her much loved elder sister died when Klein was four, and she was made to feel responsible for her brother’s death.
You could say that she had some "issues".
That said, her theories have some use when applied to object relations theory, and in particular the dynamics of groups. In the interests of brevity, I'll not touch on projective identification and other Kleinien mental gymnastics. This is a gross simplification of her ideas;
Groups of people occupying the Paranoid-Schizoid Position tend to view other groups as all bad or all good. Politicians capitalise on this each day.
Groups of people that inhabit the Depressed Position tend to view things in shades of grey. They're less inclined to blame, and tend to see both sides of an argument. They can hold an idea that they don't argee with, in the group mind, for the purposes of exploration. You could call this a 'grown up' approach.
In these respects, I aspire to sit in the Depressive Position. I aspire to have the beginners mind.
Like bible mythology, psychoanalytical theory must now be thought of as metaphor. In our brave new, cognitively behavioural world, it no longer sits upon its throne of truth.
It's a good thing I suppose. Psychoanalysis does make you talk a lot of crap.
Now, of course this is a load of old bunkum. There's no clear correlation between high intelligence and depression as far as I'm aware. In fact, it's been shown that having a high intellect can reduce the likelihood of suicide.
I (and probably you) know many 'intelligent' (I) people we consider to be happy (H). Equally, we know 'less intelligent' (D) people who are unhappy (U). There are two more combinations left of course; I/U & D/H. See, I can use algebra. 'Cos I'm clevor, me.
That said, I think there may be a kernel of truth in the proposition.
Assuming that intelligence isn't simply IQ, I've the good fortune of knowing some immensely gifted people. What I admire most about them is the way they occupy the 'Depressive Position'.
Now, bear with me whilst I explore what this term means. For those of you uninitiated to psychodynamics, hold on tight, because it gets a bit freaky.
Melanie Klein, a Freudian psychoanalyst, first described the Depressive Position in her work with very young children.
The child, in Klein's argument, engages in 'phantasies' wherein the mother's 'good' breast is idealized and loved, while the mother's 'bad' breast is attacked and devoured. The split between the satisfactory 'good' breast and the frustrating 'bad breast' is the child's first step into its 'I' prison - the breast is the first object the child experiences outside of itself. For the child, the good and bad breasts are not seen as belonging to a whole mother. Instead, they are experienced as separate objects.
Why would a child do this? Well, "splitting" enables the infant to ward off anxiety by experiencing the loving breast singularly, and completely separate from the hated, persecutory breast. The good breast is then 100% good. Life in this position is a simple flip between all bad and all good; Black and white. Klein called this the "paranoid-schizoid position". (I doubt she'd have named it that today.)
At some point within the first year of life, the infant comes to see its mother as a whole object, and, with this new perceptual ability, it comes to the horrifying recognition that the "good" and "bad" breast co-exist with the whole mother. The infant is grief-stricken by the recognition that, all along, it had been attacking the "good" breast along with the "bad" breast.
With this realisation, "the infant suffers extreme feelings of grief, guilt and fear of loss, and, as a result, seeks to make reparation for her/his damages to what once was the idealized, good breast. In exchange for this bitter realization, the infant's anxieties lose in strength; objects become both less idealized and less terrifying, and the ego becomes more unified. All this is interconnected with the growing perception of reality and adaptation to it."
So, if we think of the breast as metaphorically representing wholeness; good, bad and all the grey in between, then this realisation is the first experience of ambivalence for the infant.
Now of course, all of this is utter bollocks. We must not forget that Melanie was the product of an unwanted birth - her parents showed her little affection. Her much loved elder sister died when Klein was four, and she was made to feel responsible for her brother’s death.
You could say that she had some "issues".
That said, her theories have some use when applied to object relations theory, and in particular the dynamics of groups. In the interests of brevity, I'll not touch on projective identification and other Kleinien mental gymnastics. This is a gross simplification of her ideas;
Groups of people occupying the Paranoid-Schizoid Position tend to view other groups as all bad or all good. Politicians capitalise on this each day.
Groups of people that inhabit the Depressed Position tend to view things in shades of grey. They're less inclined to blame, and tend to see both sides of an argument. They can hold an idea that they don't argee with, in the group mind, for the purposes of exploration. You could call this a 'grown up' approach.
In these respects, I aspire to sit in the Depressive Position. I aspire to have the beginners mind.
Like bible mythology, psychoanalytical theory must now be thought of as metaphor. In our brave new, cognitively behavioural world, it no longer sits upon its throne of truth.
It's a good thing I suppose. Psychoanalysis does make you talk a lot of crap.
Friday, 9 March 2007
Life is a venn diagram?
I guess then, there are three ways to respond to the human paradox (the universe being pointless, yet finding ourselves full of point);
1: Deny it exists, and submit to the Lord - he who gives us absolute meaning, morality and eternal salvation. It's a shame it's an illusion. It really is.
2: Medicate it away. Perhaps our most common response. Drugs, 1-way entertainment and banality give us the balm we need to ease our existential angst. In this, we confuse happiness with an absence of pain.
3: Accept the paradox for what it is, and suffer the consequences. Both good and bad.
Me? I bounce between 2 & 3 by the hour...
M'off to watch some friday night TV.
Tuesday, 6 March 2007
Despite all my rage, I'm still just a rat in a cage...
In the 1970's Bruce Alexander challenged the dominant understanding of drug addiction. Previous to his research, it had been widely accepted that availability of drugs was the root cause of addiction in our communities. As drugs become more available, we become addicted to them at an increasing rate. Therefore, if drugs were ubiquitous, we'd be a nation of addicts.
This theory had been confirmed in studies of rat behaviour. They went something like this;
Give a rat two choices - 1: Push a lever for a drink of water or, 2: Push a lever for a shot of Morphine.
Unsurprisingly, the rats got themselves stoned. Over and over again. Some of them got so wasted, they ceased to eat or drink. They even started listening to the Velvet Underground. Some of them died.
This proved that mammals, given the opportunity, will spontaneously become addicted to psychotropic substances. They will become so dependent on them, that they will cease to become productive organisms.
Alexander highlighted a flaw in these ideas. He argued that if you put a man in a tiny cage and make him live his whole life in it, it would be a near certainty that he'd choose to get out of his head on smack. What else has he to live for? Alexander thought that this is no different for rats.
So he made the Rat Park. A rat utopia. It was big, interesting and comfortable. Food was readily available, and the rats had ample space to form social relationships. When Morphine was made available to these rats, they chose not to use it.
Even when a rat was put in a cage and forced to become a junkie, when it returned to Rat Park it spontaneously withdrew from opiates. With very few observable withdrawal effects incidentally.
Now, we need to be careful in drawing any firm conclusions from his research, but it does pose some interesting questions about human behaviour.
Do we take drugs simply because they're there? Or do we take drugs for more complex reasons? And if we ever create our utopia, will we still use them?
Personally, I think that Alexander's ideas can be expanded beyond the realm of drug abuse;
For many, daily existence lacks any real meaning and purpose. Many live within a "mindless routine....[their purpose is to] produce the greatest quantity of widgets on the assembly line". It's little wonder then, that they return home to seek out the most soporific diversion available. Diversions such as soap operas, reality TV shows, junk food and pornography.
In a way, this mindless consumption gets us stoned. Like heroin, one-way entertainment wraps us up in a comfort blanket of thoughtlessness. Thinking is the last thing we want to do when we live in restricted cages. Ignorance is bliss.
Unlike Alexander's rats however, we're the architects of our prisons. We can choose to inject the hypnotic, each time we press the next channel button, or we can choose to make something.
This I think, is at the root of human spirituality; The need to make things. The need to be creative and express ourselves is cruicial to our wellbeing. One-way entertainment that's designed to stifle thought, strips these urges from us. It deadens something fundamental in us.
Few of us are talented artists. But all of us can make stuff;
We can make;
This theory had been confirmed in studies of rat behaviour. They went something like this;
Give a rat two choices - 1: Push a lever for a drink of water or, 2: Push a lever for a shot of Morphine.
Unsurprisingly, the rats got themselves stoned. Over and over again. Some of them got so wasted, they ceased to eat or drink. They even started listening to the Velvet Underground. Some of them died.
This proved that mammals, given the opportunity, will spontaneously become addicted to psychotropic substances. They will become so dependent on them, that they will cease to become productive organisms.
Alexander highlighted a flaw in these ideas. He argued that if you put a man in a tiny cage and make him live his whole life in it, it would be a near certainty that he'd choose to get out of his head on smack. What else has he to live for? Alexander thought that this is no different for rats.
So he made the Rat Park. A rat utopia. It was big, interesting and comfortable. Food was readily available, and the rats had ample space to form social relationships. When Morphine was made available to these rats, they chose not to use it.
Even when a rat was put in a cage and forced to become a junkie, when it returned to Rat Park it spontaneously withdrew from opiates. With very few observable withdrawal effects incidentally.
Now, we need to be careful in drawing any firm conclusions from his research, but it does pose some interesting questions about human behaviour.
Do we take drugs simply because they're there? Or do we take drugs for more complex reasons? And if we ever create our utopia, will we still use them?
Personally, I think that Alexander's ideas can be expanded beyond the realm of drug abuse;
For many, daily existence lacks any real meaning and purpose. Many live within a "mindless routine....[their purpose is to] produce the greatest quantity of widgets on the assembly line". It's little wonder then, that they return home to seek out the most soporific diversion available. Diversions such as soap operas, reality TV shows, junk food and pornography.
In a way, this mindless consumption gets us stoned. Like heroin, one-way entertainment wraps us up in a comfort blanket of thoughtlessness. Thinking is the last thing we want to do when we live in restricted cages. Ignorance is bliss.
Unlike Alexander's rats however, we're the architects of our prisons. We can choose to inject the hypnotic, each time we press the next channel button, or we can choose to make something.
This I think, is at the root of human spirituality; The need to make things. The need to be creative and express ourselves is cruicial to our wellbeing. One-way entertainment that's designed to stifle thought, strips these urges from us. It deadens something fundamental in us.
Few of us are talented artists. But all of us can make stuff;
We can make;
- dinner
- time
- love
- someone laugh
- someone think
- an idea
- a phone call
- a heart race
- a move
- a choice
Sunday, 4 March 2007
Watch where you're pointing that thing will you!
There's a growing tendency amongst atheists to use the psychiatric lexicon whilst describing the religious. A collective delusion we may say. Psychosis, even.
As we've already established however, this language is as slippery as a fish. It's a language of morality and conformity. It shifts and writhes as our cultural norms develop.
Invoking these dangerous constructs against people with whom we disagree, places us firmly in the camp of witch hunters and inquisitors. We're using half baked and blurry ideas to condemn people. Perhaps ducking stools and public floggings will work equally well.
Now, I know from first hand experience that psychosis is a very real thing. I've known people lost in their tormenting realities; ravaged by persecuting voices, bitten by snakes and stalked by murderers. These same people have disintegrated right in front of their families.
Often, our society has compelled them to accept aggressive treatments - chemical straight jackets, in the name of recovery. We're protecting the individual and the general public apparently. In doing so we may rip away their spirit, hope and self-respect. It can take years, decades even for people to recover from these experiences. Often, the very treatment itself damages the person more than their psychosis. Some never recover.
The religious may have beliefs that cannot be substantiated by the consensus reality. However, most are not tormented and disintegrated by true madness. They are far from ill.
It upsets me when dangerous words are used willy nilly. As I've said, words can kill. So don't waggle your linguistic shotgun about without the safety catch enabled. Please.
As we've already established however, this language is as slippery as a fish. It's a language of morality and conformity. It shifts and writhes as our cultural norms develop.
Invoking these dangerous constructs against people with whom we disagree, places us firmly in the camp of witch hunters and inquisitors. We're using half baked and blurry ideas to condemn people. Perhaps ducking stools and public floggings will work equally well.
Now, I know from first hand experience that psychosis is a very real thing. I've known people lost in their tormenting realities; ravaged by persecuting voices, bitten by snakes and stalked by murderers. These same people have disintegrated right in front of their families.
Often, our society has compelled them to accept aggressive treatments - chemical straight jackets, in the name of recovery. We're protecting the individual and the general public apparently. In doing so we may rip away their spirit, hope and self-respect. It can take years, decades even for people to recover from these experiences. Often, the very treatment itself damages the person more than their psychosis. Some never recover.
The religious may have beliefs that cannot be substantiated by the consensus reality. However, most are not tormented and disintegrated by true madness. They are far from ill.
It upsets me when dangerous words are used willy nilly. As I've said, words can kill. So don't waggle your linguistic shotgun about without the safety catch enabled. Please.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)