Death rattles can still be annoying when you're trying to concentrate

This weekend saw the convergence of three totally unrelated events that I will relate through the magic of words. Also known as "lying."

In the first episode of Wolf Hall, Lord Norfolk (I think) yells at Cromwell about how France belongs to England; and he's willing to go to war to get what rightfully belongs to them.

In the Passover story, we remember how we were slaves, but now we're free to get drunk--and also how we can never be truly happy when remembering the death of our enemies.

In the science fiction community, the nominee slate for the Hugo Awards was announced; this year, the nominees largely--almost wholly--belong to a slate that was put forward for political purposes by some right-wing Americans.

What ties them all together? Well, in this scenario, the organizers of the right-wing voting block clearly see their position much like Norfolk sees his in Wolf Hall: science fiction belongs to us and we'll go to war to make sure that people recognize our right.

I believe more in the Passover story. (And also in history: Norfolk never conquered France, though he made a good show of it.) That is, we have a long way to go; and the rise of equality isn't a straight-line; but I really do believe that the arc of history is towards something like justice. Maybe we weren't anything as dramatic as slaves in our lifetimes; maybe we were just exploited labor; maybe we had our loving relationships overlooked and violated by state power; maybe we were considered the objects and minor characters in other people's stories; maybe we were told we couldn't do or be something because of who we were. But however bad things were (and are), it seems like things are getting better for justice and tolerance and fairness.

So when I see something like a right-wing movement attempting to "take back" the Hugo Awards, it doesn't seem like the spear's tip of a coming wave of bigotry and idiocy. (And, sorry not sorry, folks, but the argument that runs "this art is too political, let's read stories where there are no politics" is a pre-Copernican level of idiocy: it's idiocy all the way down.) This sweep seems like the death rattle of a movement that has really lost both the war and any understanding of what they were fighting for. (Uh, the Hugo Awards? That's your big goal this year?)

But still, a death rattle can still be annoying. For instance, right now, I'm sure there are good works that would've been nominated, but that got pushed off because of this political bloc voting. I'm so looking forward to the day after the awards ceremony, when that information becomes available.

Here again, Passover comes to my rescue: at the end of the seder, we recall we are free, but that we have more work to do when we say, "Next year in Jerusalem." So:

Next year, may we have good works on the awards lists, good works that have won by merit.

Nerds and their toys; or, The thing you like is not your ego

The World Fantasy Award is--and I hope this isn't too big of a shock--an award for best fantasy in the usual major categories (novel, novella, short fiction, anthology, etc.). The award statue is a caricature of Lovecraft--or, if we're being honest, a pretty faithful view of Lovecraft.

Now, Lovecraft is a guy with a spotty legacy in a few areas. Some people today think he's a bad writer because he occasionally used odd words ("squamous") and his mad narrators can be a little completely insane in their descriptions.

But where Lovecraft really shines for people who don't like him is in his racism, which is very real. Though it's also more complex than some people seem to understand: when looking at historical racism, it's important to understand that their racism is not our racism. So, Lovecraft has some things to say about Africans and Asians--and also Eastern, Southern, and Northern Europeans. Also the British at times. Also: Yankees. Or put it this way: Lovecraft has some really mean things to say about the Jews--or at least, Eastern European Jews. He has no problems with Portuguese Jews. And his hatred of blacks in NYC is pretty clearly a hatred of southern culture. And for all the evil mixed race people--whether that mix is human or monstrous--there's no real notion that there are some completely clean people in those encounters.

But put that to the side for a moment, because, however complex and nuanced Lovecraft's racism can be, he's also just a racist.

So now we come to the main issue that's rocking a very tiny corner of the nerdosphere these days: should we change the statue for the World Fantasy Award so that it doesn't look like we're honoring Lovecraft? Why don't we honor someone else, like respected author, Octavia Butler? That, at least, is what the petition going around now asks for.

I have to say, at first, I was not influenced by the anti-Lovecraft petition, largely because (a) I like Lovecraft's work; (b) I think the statue--designed by Gahan Wilson--is neat; and (c) it was easy to get into the weeds of the argument that the statue should be changed. About that last point, the argument should simply just be that Lovecraft's racism makes him a bad choice for a statue honoring fantasy. That's a pretty persuasive argument, to me. Instead, some of the anti-Lovecraft bloggers and writers have pointed out that he's not a great writer or didn't write fantasy--neither of which are really true. And when Butler got proposed, I think many people scratched their heads: she has far less fantasy in her works than Lovecraft does.

If I were for changing the statue, my argument would simply be: because of his racism, he's a bad emblem for fantasy; and rather than all pick our favorite authors, we should choose something more abstract or symbolic to represent the award.

(For comparison, the science fiction awards are symbolic: the Hugo Award's statue is a rocket, while the Nebula Award's statue is a... nebula. Sure, those symbols harken to a time when science fiction was synonymous with space, but everyone understands that they are symbols. Even if you don't have a rocket in your novel, you can enjoy your Hugo. So it's perfectly reasonable for the World Fantasy Award to be something like a dragon or a sword or something similarly symbolic of fantasy.)

But now that I've seen all the pro-Lovecraft arguments--mostly in the form of whining about political correctness--I'm really coming around to the idea that we should change the statue. Maybe this happens in all sorts of genres and hobbies, but people who love Lovecraft--among whom I usually include myself, except in this occasion--sure can't tell the difference between an attack on Lovecraft and an attack on themselves. It's like any negative comment about Lovecraft is aimed at their own ego.

I don't want to single out Lovecraft fans, especially after listening to a podcast discussion about the Game of Thrones tv show vs. the books where one nerd talked about how the show was threatening to ruin his reading experience. On one hand, I get where he's coming from, since the books are very plot-heavy and surprising. On the other hand, oh brother--discussing this particular media property in the hushed tones of romantic and religious exaltation seems a little overdone. I've had movies and books "spoiled" for me and you know what? I still enjoyed those books and movies. Demanding that no one else gets to enjoy something because their enjoyment threatens yours, that's not any way to go through life.

This seems to be something that nerds in particular are given over to: the adoption of some particular works as central to their identity. And again, one hand: I get it, because when most culture is set up in a way that doesn't excite you and then you discover something that does--something that no one else is excited about--of course you're likely to take that on as a part of yourself. Everyone else cares about football and you're the only one reading Dragonlance books? Then you may think of yourself as the person who reads Dragonlance books. But seriously, we nerds do ourselves no favors when we calcify our identities and associate our egos with some particular person or work.

Or for the bumper sticker: No matter how much you love Lovecraft, he does not love you back.

Elysium and political science fiction, part 2

Which brings us to Elysium, which takes it's place with In Time as very political science fiction.

Wait, wait! Let me rephrase that: Elysium and In Time seem very political because they comment directly on and criticize our current systems. Compare that with something like... well, how about Demolition Man, a very entertaining action science fiction film--if I remember correctly. (Mostly I just remember the thing about the three shells replacing toilet paper.) Demolition Man involves a risk-taking cop and a psycho terrorist, with the further s.f. idea that society in the future is very clean and the psycho terrorist has been revived by someone to kill off some rebellious people. So we end up rooting for the underdogs, the individuals, the risk-taking cop--which, frankly, doesn't seem so overtly political because that's one of our founding stories. Underdog George Washington, individualistic cowboys taming the West, risk-taking cops who buck the system for moral reasons--how many stories of ours fit into that basic form?

So when I say that Elysium is very political, I should be clear: it is more obviously political because (a) it is critical and (b) it is not very subtle. By comparison, Demolition Man isn't all that subtle, with Stallone personifying the heroic aspect of a dirty, individualistic America; and something like Alien--where a corporation is willing to kill off its workers for profit--may be critical, but is a little more subtle. (I mean, Alien is a great haunted house story, with a monster picking off people who can't leave. The whole political aspect is small details that you don't really need to understand to enjoy the film. Hence: subtle.)

Which brings us back to the difference between Skinny Bitch Jesus Meeting and my own sketch comedy--which honestly, wasn't as funny. And it's not because I'm more critical in my sketch comedy, but because I'm not subtle.

Which brings us--again!--back to Elysium, which got a lot of flack for being political when it should more properly have gotten flack for being a little unsubtle. Rich people have access to medical technology and poor people live terrible lives that are seriously constrained by material considerations. Well, duh! To put it another way: did we need to make this into science fiction to get some of the same questions and themes? Heck, you could've made this a Roaring 20s noir about a guy trying to get access to some doctor who was dedicated to healing rich gangsters in some resort.

Oh boy, this is going to be a three-parter, isn't it? I haven't even gotten into what Elysium did right and what it did wrong.

Elysium and political science fiction, part 1: All about sketch comedy and political points!

In Austin a few weeks ago, I saw this hilarious New York-based sketch comedy duo named Skinny Bitch Jesus Meeting. Their first sketch involved these two men teaching bird-watching and bird-calls, before their teaching was derailed by their personal issues, mostly around women.

When I was at Second City, my first sketch comedy teacher emphasized the idea of "point" or "point of view"--you don't just throw random things into a sketch; you organize the sketch around some central premise or idea. Coming from grad school, where I taught expository and argumentative writing (where every paper wasn't just "here's some ideas I had" but organized around some central point), I immediately latched on to that idea--and twisted it, so that each sketch had to have some argument.

So I wrote a sketch where two rich people try to convince a poor person that it's okay to eat endangered species, which ended with the idea that they were really stuffing him up to eat him later. Point: the rich want to eat you. I also wrote a hi-larious sketch where some lipstick executives wondered how to make more money, including some tasteless projects (marketing to older women for their funeral lipstick needs), and devolving into violence--lipstick specially marketed to stalkers to write on bathroom mirrors (as happens in all the stalker movies). The last line of the sketch was one executive turning to the other and literally saying "I'd kill you all for a buck."

Don't get me wrong: I still love those sketches and there are still parts of those sketches that make me laugh. And don't get me wrong (again): I don't mind really political comedy.

But let's not fool ourselves about the difference: when Skinny Bitch Jesus Meeting makes a sketch about men who are obsessed with women and sex, they start out with bird calls (for mating?), and they never really have someone state the point of the sketch. (For some of their sketches, I'm not sure I could even articulate the point. When they sing Little Shop of Horrors's "Suddenly Seymour" as "Suddenly Lemur," with one of them wearing a ridiculous lemur costume and shoving food into her face, there's not a lot to analyze--but they had so much electricity and chemistry that I nearly cried laughing.) By contrast, when I was writing my sketches, I would start with the point and have someone say it. Maybe in another draft I'd cool that down a little, make that point only hinted at rather than said baldly.

Which brings us to Elysium--which I'll talk about next time!

Library of America Story of the Week Read-Along 166: H. L. Mencken, The Nature of Liberty (#36)

H. L. Mencken, "The Nature of Liberty" (1920) from H. L. Mencken: Prejudices: The Complete Series:

It seems like every week or so, we get at least one story of some ridiculous, tragic, foul abuse of power by police (e.g., performing illegal body cavity searches on stopped cars in Texas), institutional administrators (e.g., covering up rape or other crimes, from Church to university), or other officials who we put trust in (e.g., shutting down the government in a temper tantrum over a law that was passed years ago and upheld by every branch of government--just for example).

So Mencken's attack on this trend in American culture reads unfortunately true even 90+ years later. When he says that the Bill of Rights was "inelastic" when it was adopted, but has now been "kneaded and mellowed into a far greater pliability and reasonableness," I hear echoes of people who say things like "After 9-11"--and then follow it with some draconian and unAmerican proposal.

(Which is not to say that I believe in any bullshit originalism when it comes to the Constitution. Obviously, some things change, as in the obvious example of technology; at the same time, some things change more slowly, if at all, as in the obvious example of our ideals and hopes: "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.")

Mencken exposes this ridiculous kowtowing to violence on the part of a certain segment of society by pretending to be for it, noting that, for instance, someone who was imprisoned falsely has the recourse... of taking his photo down from the public section of the police precinct. This is so much like the idea that surveillance isn't a big deal if you have nothing to hide (at the same time as various surveillers are caught snooping their exes), that I'm not sure whether to be heartened that things haven't changed or depressed about it. Mencken's pose of naive acceptance is somewhat humorous, but his anger is too close to the surface for him--and for me--for this to be a really hilarious satire.

Boycotts and blacklists; or, We need to talk about Orson (Scott Card)

Back in February, I discussed the issue of Orson Scott Card and under what conditions people (or just me, really) could ethically consume material by a homophobe who has argued that homosexuality is often linked to childhood abuse and trauma; and that any government that supported marriage equality had lost its legitimacy to govern. (You remember, it was the post with a very short decision tree.) Now that the movie version of Ender's Game will soon come out, many other people have weighed in on the issue, from Chuck Wendig (verdict: he loves Ender's Game, but can't conscionably put money in Card's pocket) to Cory Doctorow (verdict: free speech is sacred, and he doesn't understand the difference between a consumer-boycott and a corporate/governmental blacklist).

Now, as we've seen with other things--Chick-fil-A sandwiches for one example--any attempt to punish a business for the political views of its owners/operators can have a backlash in the form of political people who hold the opposite view: if Chick-fil-A suddenly represents anti-gay policies, then anti-gay people will rush to eat chicken. Is that what will happen here--for every person who avoids going to see the movie for political reasons, there might be someone else going to go see it?

But if the goal is to make a big noise and remind people (who are resistant to change) that change has already happened and to remind other people (who feel left out because of their minority or invisible status) that they are not alone, well, then, boycott on. Because boycotts are not just aimed at the target; they--like all protests--are aimed at the audience. This sort of boycott nicely sends a message that there are limits on acceptable speech.

This doesn't mean that OSC isn't free to speak his mind; it only means that he isn't free from the consequences of doing so. Let's be honest: we've always had limits on what speech was acceptable--you can't yell "fire" in a movie theater because it endangers lives. Maybe you can't yell "your gayness is a tragic consequence of your childhood abuse"--since, after all, that also endangers lives.

Life is short, my RSS feed is long

In light of the upcoming shutdown of Google Reader (c'mon, Google, really?), I think it's a good time to make a few trims to my RSS feed. (This is especially on my mind now since just a few days of camping lead to a ballooning of unread items: I think I get somewhere between 150 and 200+ items a day.) Most of these cuts aren't very momentous--I'm not as plugged into gaming culture right now so Penny Arcade is often wasted on me--but there's one I want to comment on:

I'm cutting myself off from Andrew Sullivan. While his system of aggregation often highlights interesting items, that in no way makes up for having to slog through his biased opinions on material which he doesn't entirely understand. Others have so ably bullet-pointed his failings, so I don't really need to go through the list of the times he was wrong or his blinkers.

What really gets me about him is his inability to break the pattern: a topic comes up, Sullivan spouts off on it; many bloggers and dissenters point out where he is wrong, but Sullivan doubles down, often with the self-righteous patting-himself-on-the-back that goes along with his "I'm just telling it like it is" and his "your liberal orthodoxy can't hold me back, man"; eventually, a few weeks later, after someone like Ta-Nehisi Coates intervenes, Sullivan makes some sort of correction or apology, which often seems sincere if not self-congratulatory about being able to change his mind--wash, rinse, repeat. Whatever the topic is--race and IQ; terrorism; structural prejudice against women; the war in Iraq--Sullivan can be counted on to be wrong, but somehow find a way to cast himself as being on the right side throughout. 

In short: he's a prick. If he had a bar stool rather than a blog, no one would listen to his mixture of pious self-regard and toadying for certain powers that be.

Travels with my Dog

This last weekend, Sarah and I went to Big Bend National Park, which is like the sun--large and hot and full of Texans. We camped out, which is inexpensive compared to cornering the oil market, but always seems to include some unexpected costs--propane, ice, meat, whistles, etc. The whistles are in case you run into trouble on the hiking trails, which we so far haven't done.

At least, not by Saturday, when I write the first draft of this while Sarah is hiking the Santa Elena Canyon Trail. See, we're not alone here and I'm not referring to the lurking mountain lions. (They say, "by the time you see a lion, the lion has already seen you.") We're here with our dog, Blackie, who isn't allowed on the trails because this national park is also something of a wildlife refuge. Considering that Blackie has already barked at deer, rabbits, and a horse, I have some sympathy for the idea that dogs bother the wildlife here too much for them to walk on the trails.

Besides that minor inconvenience/potential tragedy (hiking alone in bear country seems less than ideal), this trip has gone pretty well. And Big Bend is quite picturesque, from the emaciated Rio Grande (and the Mexican national who came over to check the donation jar and tchotchkes that are set out); to the Chisos Mountains (surprisingly cool because, duh, they're mountains, with some real hairpin curves in the road); to the canyons of the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive (just what it says on the tin).

Pictures to come.

Ethically consuming the products of the unethical; Or, my favorite authors tend to dislike people like me

In the subtitle to this post, I speak mostly of H. P. Lovecraft, whose views on Jews and other minorities was complex at best, hateful at worst. There are elements of his stories that I may cringe at, in the way that people cringe today at yesterday's racism, sexism, et ceterism. But I never worry about buying a Lovecraft book or seeing a Lovecraft-inspired movie because Lovecraft is very, very dead--he's long given up the fight against blacks and Jews, so if I give money, it's not going to come back at me in the form of anti-Semitic commercials and laws.

But let's take the case of Orson Scott Card, whose Ender's Game is finally being made into a movie. Let's say you like this book (I don't) and want to go see the movie, but are turned off by Card's political views, which seems to be the situation that Alyssa Rosenberg is in. (If you hadn't heard, Card's anti-gay opinions stretch as far as contemplating revolution against a government that endorsed marriage equality.)

Here's the decision tree I've worked out. If you answer "Yes," at any time, stop; but if you answer "No," go to the next question:

A) Does the work in question endorse the political view you disagree with vehemently? If yes, then skip it. (Though we should note that there's room for debate, there may not be room for propaganda in this. So you might go see a movie which included homophobia; but not a movie that endorsed it.)

B) Does my consumption materially support an opposing political view? Which is a complex question, so I'll break it down:
1) Does the creator (or creators) work towards this political view or contribute towards this?
2) Does the creator (or creators) benefit from my consumption?

As it turns out, this is a very short decision tree. Let's see how it works in practice for Ender's Game the movie and Card's homophobia:

A) I don't think Ender's Game is homophobic, so go on to question B.

B1) Orson Scott Card definitely works against LGBT equality: he's on the NOM board at least. He probably also financially supports such groups, though that's less clear.

B2) This is a harder question to answer. First, I don't know if Card's contract gives him a percentage of the movie profits. And I also don't know if an Ender's Game success will inspire people to option other Card novels and make them into movies: I don't see a Speaker for the Dead movie or some Alvin Maker movies, but I suppose it could happen. Because Card works against gay rights, this question requires more research (does he profit from this movie?) and speculation (will a success here lead to profit from other movies?).

So if Card stands to make money that he might use against (not to put to fine a point on it) my sister, then I might skip this movie even if I were interested in it.

Monty Python destroyed England?

Do you remember when the 1989 Batman came out and we all were talking about how it was an allegory for the '88 presidential election, with George H. W. Bush as Bruce Wayne and Dukakis as Robert Wuhl's character?

Actually, no, I don't think that happened. But fast forward twenty years and suddenly we're discussing whether The Dark Knight supports torture as a means to get information out of the Joker; and whether Bane may be more like the Occupy movement on the left or the ultra-capitalist Romney on the right. Part of this, I think, has to do with a current in the conservative movement which goes something like this: "everyone thinks we're uncool because the commie leftists own Hollywood and we need to take back culture."

And I support that movement: it's about time that conservatives looked at art and said, "I want to express myself too," rather than follow the usual anti-National Endowment argument that says art isn't good for anything and we shouldn't spend any tax money on that.

But as with all nascent movements, there's going to be some missteps and growing pains; for example, the hilarious mess the National Review made all over itself when it tried to gather a list of 25 great conservative movies.

I was reminded recently of how far this current within conservatism has to go to become intelligent discourse (instead of "rar, my guy good, your guy bad") when conservative blogger Kathy Shaidle wrote about her mixed feelings about Monty Python. On one hand, their sketches are funny. But on the other hand, according to Shaidle, Monty Python "unwittingly (or not) destroyed England in a way the Luftwaffe could have only dreamed of." What the what?

See, in Shaidle's mind, Monty Python (along with the Beatles and the rest of the '60s/70s counterculture) used satire against authority in a bad way, which has led to a terrible hash of multicultural leftist junkie thuggery or something. (Amazingly, that was exactly what the Luftwaffe was trying to do.) And the Pythons, by and large, turned out to be leftist traitors of culture.

So why does Shaidle still enjoy them? To salve her political conscience, Shaidle looks at three sketches which she calls the best (but not necessarily the funniest) and kinda, sorta, maybe intimates how they support her conservative views, so she can go on liking them.

I realize that the purpose of a blog post like Shaidle's is less to convince outsiders than to rile up people either for or against you. (Say something provocative to get people talking about you! Have people say mean things about you so you can send a fund-raising letter to the base explaining your victimization!) But, to me, it honestly seems like Shaidle is trying to work through a mismatch between her politics and her sense of humor. I think this is a good project--maybe examining her own interest in anti-authoritarian humor will change her relation with authoritarians-on-the-right. Maybe she'll come to accept the humor and humanity of people who don't hold her politics? Or maybe she'll just come up with some reason why the things she likes all fit within a well-policed category called "conservatism" that accepts Bush's warrantless wiretapping but freaks out over Obama's interest in passing laws banning high-capacity magazines.

Missing the Point; or, Yes, But Can You Secede from Reality?

I am not a conservative or a Republican, and unless things change radically, I never will be. And I don't know many Republicans/conservatives that I talk to about political issues. But I do occasionally hang out on conservative websites and forums to see what people are saying; this doesn't give me any special insight into the conservative mind--for one thing, the people who go to those sites are a self-selected group, tending towards some extreme views.

In other words (and shorter), I'm just guessing here and don't have a nifty model like Nate Silver.

That said, what I'm reading is not making me hopeful that Republicans will wake up to reality after the drubbing of the 2012 election. The talk might occasionally nod towards soul-searching like an acquaintance--"well, maybe we should rethink our position on social issues since they're not winning issues for us."

But most of the talk excels at the sort of angry, reality-resistant positions that the right has perfected recently: Romney was a bad candidate (and even worse, a mushy non-conservative); the media was in the tank for Obama (sub-argument: there wasn't enough attention paid to Benghazi, Fast & Furious, etc.); things will never be the same with these new, non-traditional Americans (you know the ones we mean *makes racist comment*, not that we're racist); the takers just vote themselves more bread and circuses; etc.

In other words, everything is wrong with the world except our ideas, which are great.

And this isn't just from the no-name commenters; if you go to National Review's blog, The Corner, you'll see quite a few arguments like this, including:
1) the old GOP leaders don't work, we need new leaders (with, we assume, the same ideas);
2) Chris Christie betrayed us;
3) we can't change our ideas because they're our ideas!;
4) we need to educate the public about the meaning of liberty (sub-argument: destroy the existing colleges and schools); etc.

What really gets me about this (and why I'm taking precious NaNoWriMo time to write this post) is that these Republicans keep talking about how great their ideas are, without any hint that maybe possibly kind of we tried a lot of these ideas over the years and they're not. Low taxes on the rich create jobs? The Republicans are the party of small government? We need to do things unilaterally to show the world we mean business? Capitalism solves everything? Gay sex and abortion are terrible things that degrade the morals of society?

I hope I'm wrong about all this; I hope all this "a storm is coming, I'm getting guns" talk is just the immediate sting of the 2012 beating; but while hopeful, I'm not optimistic that this will teach the GOP very much. Maybe a few more election loses will knock some sense of reality into them.

So, who's ready for 2014?

He said/He heard/He heard at the VP Debate 2012

After the VP Debate, I was incensed at a conservative tweet that characterized Biden's answer on abortion as evidence that he was a "shitty Catholic." I stupidly got into a conversation with this conservative, which helped clarify the difference here. Spoiler: the difference is that this person assumes the worst of liberals.

When Biden explained that he acts according to his religious belief but he doesn't force those beliefs on others, I heard a rousing call for religious tolerance, which, you know, is kind of a big deal in America.

What this conservative heard was something more like "I support eugenic genocide." Now, before I get accused of casting his argument in an absurd light, let me note that this is actually what he said on his blog:

The modern abortion debate is simply early 1900s eugenics tied up with a pretty bow labeled “woman’s rights.” Eugencis are all about rating humanity on an arbitrary scale of usefullness, and then manipulating it accordingly. (cite) 

Yup, "woman's rights" is just the pretty bow we use to hide our thirst for baby blood and a desire to weed out undesirables, which, in this case, is all babies ever. So, how do we have a political discussion over this?

In slight defense of this terrible argument by this conservative, I will say that he pivots quickly from "this is a religious belief" to "this is the scientific and moral truth." Of course, that has no bearing on the VP debate where the abortion issue was starkly cast in a Catholic frame, so it's a terrible argument on his part. But it does help clarify his POV, which is that abortion is a moral issue removed from religion. I do wonder who told him that fetuses were the moral equivalent of living women, but that's another issue.

Also, for comic genius, I can't beat a Romney supporter claiming that Biden is just being political expedient in his answer. Seriously: I cannot beat that for unintentional comedy.

Andrew Sullivan's Gut Has Shit For Brains

Alternately titled: "Andrew Sullivan is not America."

Andrew Sullivan is a useful blogger to follow for a few things; quiet introspection is not one of them. If you follow Andrew (affectionately known as Sully), you saw his meltdown over the first presidential debate, with such carefully titled posts as "Does Obama Want Out?" and "Did Obama Just Throw The Entire Election Away?" Since then, he's run some dissenting emails and some supporting emails, but the general message has stayed the same; even in a short post on how Clinton said something, Sully throws in a jab at Obama: "Could the president switch off ESPN for a second and take notes?" (cite)

Over at the Awl, Ken Layne pierces Sully's narcissism and hyperventilating. Layne notes that "There are no small moments in Andrew Sullivan's online world": everything is always the end of the world--as long as it affects Sully directly. (Seriously, check it out: he grudgingly admitted that there was a GOP war on women though he found the term "shrill"--and then he turned around and declared that there was a war on gays. Because if it affects Sully, then it's a serious issue in his world.)

So when Obama had a disappointing performance, it's not just a political issue for Sully, it's a personal attack and affront. Which leads to the second problem with Sully: overestimating his own feelings and thoughts. This is a common problem for pundits, who often claim that "politician X would be doing a lot better if only he embraced the issue that I care about." With Sully, this is Bowles-Simpson, a ridiculous grand bargain that smart people on the left call "the cat food commission" because of its likely outcome: slashing care for the elderly and needy. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that Obama can safely lose the gay Anglo-American Irish Catholic Oxford-educated PhD vote without significantly altering his electoral chances. Only Sully's pride will be hurt.

This is Monday Morning Quarterbacking at its best: histrionic and self-assured. And what really drives home the lesson today is Sully's "woe is me" comments on moving to New York City with a very lucrative contract, a ridiculous post titled "New York Shitty" that ends with the plaintive cry of the oppressed: "Please tell me it gets better." Oh, pobrecito! Let's all make sure Sully finds New York bearable with his $1m blogging gig.

No, let's be honest: New York can be hard to deal with; Obama had a disappointing performance at the debate. And yet, the world still somehow goes on. Sully will often excuse his kneejerk wrong reactions by noting that he's thinking in real time (unlike the rest of us who somehow get extra time from our hook-up with the Gallifreyans?) and responding with his gut, but maybe it's time for Sully to take a deep breath and admit that his gut has shit for brains.

How does a book shape a country?; Or, Why can't you read?

This is late news, but then again, this is a semi-moribund blog, so it fits.

Starting in late June, the Library of Congress put on a display of Books That Shaped America, which is the kind of title that demands to be shouted from the rooftops. It's a collection of 88 books by American authors that "have had a profound effect on American life." 

There are numerous problems with a list like this. For instance, presentism: we read the development of America from a particular point in time, so certain things will seem more or less important now than they once were. 

Case in point: Moby Dick, which has been around for roughly 150 years but pretty much only read for 100. So if you organizing this exhibit in 1900 and wanted to include Moby Dick, there's a chance you would've been locked up as incurably crazy. It's true that it's shaped reading lists in schools for the past century, but how has that really shaped America? Here's a counterfactual thought experiment: Imagine a US where Moby Dick was never written--what's different from our world?

Case in point (2): I would've included some Jonathan Edwards, an important theologian, author of "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," and intellectual forebear of the Great Awakening--even though he's not all that important to America today in a direct way.

Another problem--though it's probably a self-conscious strategy on the part of the LoC--is that the concept of "shaping" is inherently vague. So the exhibition can say that The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was a best-seller (in England), but that's a far cry from saying that it started a tradition of American supernatural folk-tales or somehow shaped America in some way besides making money.

So the list has problems, sure, but it also has a built-in argument that these are some of the books that shaped America. This isn't an exclusive list; and it isn't even presenting itself as a list of the books that most shaped America. This is simply an exhibition to start a conversation. If you don't like this list, make up your own to add the books that you think should be added to this category.

That said, there's a lot of predictable boo-hooing about how mean this list is to religious-Americans or otherwise fails--complaints that tend to cast more light on the writer's ignorance or perversity than on the list's failure. 

For instance, professor of religion Stephen Prothero complains that there's not enough religion on the list; we could call this the "Where's the Bible?" problem, as I've seen that question asked around the internet in comments. Except the list is clearly restricted to American authors and people would know that if they bothered to read the info. Prothero knows this, but oddly calls the restriction "a technicality," making it sound as if it's a quibbling little detail instead of the organizing principle of the whole exhibit. He probably means that it's "arbitrary," which is fair, but then most organizing principles are. It's especially telling that his list (in a book you can buy now!) includes several non-book items, like a memorial, which shows how non-conventional his thinking is--or how he refuses to obey the rules of the game.

On the more materialistic end of the spectrum, Reason magazine blogger Tim Cavanaugh complains that there aren't enough best-sellers (because, for a Libertarian, the market is always right). I agree in parts with Cavanaugh's argument about presentism, though it pains me to be on the same side as someone who can't bother to look up how to spell Edgar Allan Poe's name. But Cavanaugh's organizing principle ("Who made the most money?") is so blinkered and narrow that it comes out self-parodizing: "to shape America" is the same thing for this crowd as "to make money." Cavanaugh's entry ends on the perfect note, with a complaint that the LoC has too many librarians. Because who needs librarians when you have best-seller lists?

Why Fish doesn't matter on Santorum.

Stanley Fish is a lion of the literary critical establishment, which means that most people know to ignore him. Except for the New York Times, which has a nasty habit of keeping people around who sound reasonable but are generally full of shit in a variety of ways--David Brooks, Ross Douthat, William "Never right about anything" Kristol.

Case in point: Here's Stanley Fish arguing that we should recognize that Santorum comes from a long tradition of American godbotherers. Which means that we're wrong when we say that Santorum doesn't understand the Establishment clause separating Church and State because other people--intelligent people like Supreme Court justices--make the same claims.

(If you have a little voice on your shoulder who says, "well, couldn't they all be wrong together?," congratulations: you're smarter than a New York Times columnist.)

Now, Fish is not alone in taking to task people with whom he nominally agrees with. (I'd bet a fair bit that Fish votes for Obama over any GOP candidate.) Walter Benn Michaels, another lion of the lit crit world--hear him roar!--makes some similar arguments. (See Our America, where he reveals that multi-culturalist liberals are the real racists.)

What particularly bothers me about this Fish article is that Fish seems to concede some legitimacy to Santorum's ideas on the procedural grounds of tradition--precedent. "Other people have said X, therefore we have to take X seriously." I grant this: there's a tradition, so we can't say that X is totally new--but X can still be radical and out of touch with the mainstream--or simply wrong.

Maybe it's my atheist Jewishness, but I take seriously Washington's 1790 letter to the Touro Synagogue in Newport, drawing a picture of a tolerant utopia where "every one shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree, and there shall be none to make him afraid" about his religious differences. This is an equally valid American tradition--and it's one that Santorum is totally out of touch with.

Could Citizens United end up helping Obama?

Up till now, Republican Super PACs blow out of the water the Democratic Super PACs in terms of money raised. The reason is pretty clear: Republican super donors, like Huntsman's dad and Gingrinch's Sheldon Adelson. This is pretty much the scenario that Democratic opponents of Citizens United expected.

But I wonder if Citizens United might end up helping Obama. Here's what I don't mean: Obama recently said that he would accept Super PAC money, so it's possible that Democrats will soon enjoy more Super PAC money.

Here's what I do mean: the Republican candidates--Gingrinch especially--have had a lot more money to drag out this nomination fight--and the more we see of these candidates, the less we like them. So here's a short theory: right now, Citizens United is helping Obama by keeping the Republican fight going.

On Andrew Breitbart's Death

I might as well just change the title of this blog to "Andrew Sullivan is often wrong." (Which puts him ahead of Megan McArdle, who is always wrong.)

See, Andrew Breitbart died at only 43 years old, but what a full life he had, trying to sabotage ACORN and Shirley Sherrod and anyone or thing that seemed liberal. Sullivan's posts on this matter have been to say that Breitbart was a fallible political actor (which is a tragedy that we should all feel bad about) and that we shouldn't forget to advance some sympathy towards him as a human being.

Which is all well and good, but this isn't Sullivan being generous--it's Sullivan covering up one particular truth about Breitbart (in public life, he was a jerk) with another truth that Sullivan says is more important. (Oh, Breitbart is human; oh, Breitbart loved pop music.)

I agree with Sullivan, that it is surprising and sad to think about Breitbart's sudden death when we consider him as a private person. But as a public figure, I can't consider his death as a tragedy. (Not all surprises are tragic.) Breitbart did enormous damage to the political discourse, and we're better off without him.

(Or rather, Breitbart took part in that damaging. He surely wasn't alone.)

Also, do you ever notice Andrew Sullivan always wants us to extend sympathy towards the single powerful person; but when it comes to airing questions of racial superiority, Sullivan never wonders if there's anything unsympathetic about it?

"The Way We Live Now": in debt and loving it

I recently watched the complete BBC adaptation of Trollope's The Way We Live Now, which was the novel he wrote in 1875 that scolds British society for being so greedy.

In this novel and mini-series, a foreign-born financier comes to London; and while he wants a way in to the upper class (which isn't about money but breeding), they all want to get on his good side since he's got all the money and the plans to make more money. As typical in Trollope (I can say, having read one novel and this TV Tropes article on him), there are several plotlines, lots of stories of love that is blocked for some reason (religious difference, previous engagement, lack of money).

It's almost a shame that this mini-series isn't being made now (perhaps as a counterpoint to Downton Abbey?), since the issues of financial crime seem newly pertinent. It's no surprise that things don't turn out well in the novel--Trollope likes rewarding his heroes and punishing his victims. What's surprising is that the scheming financier Augustus Melmotte evokes any pity from us at all: unlike the greedy British peers who he's trying to join, Melmotte actually seems to understand the violence and sacrifice underpinning his money.

So when Melmotte loses everything and is punished, well, on one hand, this is no more than the game he played and the chance he took; but at least he's punished, while many of the British peers go on about their narrow lives, unpunished and unenlightened.

But then I might be thinking of this mini-series wistfully since the cruel bankers are crushed instead of receiving bailouts that they don't even acknowledge. (For more on that, listen to this interview of bankers saying that they're smarter and that's why they're employed and wealthy.)

Why do conservatives position themselves as victims?

Many commenters over the last few years have noted that conservative talking points are incoherent: Obama is a ruthless tyrant AND a spineless wimp AND an idiot who can't speak without a teleprompter AND an elite snob; climate change is a hoax AND it's a natural process; Obama is an atheist AND a radical Muslim AND belongs to a black supremacist church. Some of this might qualify as double-think, where the person holds two opposing ideas at the same time, but mostly I think this is just a smorgasbord approach to political belief: take whatever you need at a particular time.

My personal favorite incoherency is their self-view: Republicans/conservatives are the only tough guys who can deal with America's enemies BUT they are also victims suffering mainstream calumny who can't fight back against the Democratic machine.

I originally thought that the self-positioning of conservatives as victims had to do with America's love of the underdog, of the myth of the average man pushed too far (constantly on display during Tea Party conversations). They see themselves as intrepid rebels who are courageously speaking truth to power, saying what other people are too scared to say (even though everyone else is saying it).

But recently, Scott Eric Kaufman nicely pointed out something that helps flesh out this rhetorical positioning (even if he misreads for comedic effect). That is, the rhetorical positioning of conservatives as victims places them as defending the natural.

When I studied the 19th century, I would find these sort of things all the time, for instance, in the Ron Paul-esque debate on gold vs. paper money: Gold is the only natural money, therefore we have to enact laws saying that Gold is the only natural money. Or in discussions of race: Blacks are clearly inferior by nature, so we have to enact laws saying that Blacks are clearly inferior.

So with our current debate about gay marriage: Marriage is always between one man and one woman, therefore we need a law. There is something sweetly sad about the way they give up the game as they try to win it; after all, if X was truly X, we wouldn't need a law about it.

The other benefit to this rhetorical positioning (we are defending what should need no defense) is that the enemies of conservatism are always outsiders: they are Northern abolitionists stirring up the happy black slaves, or they are Jewish financiers undermining the economy, or they are simply demonic violators of natural law.

The Economist and mealy-mouthed press

I've said before that it seems to me like the current conservative/Republican party movement is an unstable conglomerate, full of people who wouldn't share any structure together other than a big tent: there are

1. the Romney-supporting moderate/realists (or closet nuts); 
2. the Santorum-supporting religious right; 
3. the Paul-supporting libertarian right (i.e., financially libertarians, socially conservative); and 
4. the Gingrich-supporting haters-of-liberals. (You can tell them because they're the ones who say that you should do something because it annoys a liberal. Heck, Sarah Palin said that almost exactly: vote for Gingrich to annoy a liberal.)

I hope for a conservative fracture in part because it bothers me that people who have such diverse views feel the need to vote together. (I hate libertarians and I think most are essentially conservative; but there is some liberal-libertarian overlap that could be reached if not for Paul's figurehead leadership.) Also, I wouldn't mind if these single-issue voters fractured since it would cede power to the Democrats.

But more importantly this conglomerate mess bothers me because you end up arguing with a moderate who disavows some extreme view--but then both the moderate and the extremist go into a booth and vote the same way.

(Some political bloggers I follow argue that moderate Republicans tend to vote the same as the more extreme Republicans--that their moderation is more an electoral strategy than a policy conviction. Judging by the last few years, it's hard to argue with that; though I think it's probable that more extreme politicians start more extreme policy and the moderates in the Republican Party just go along. For what it's worth, Democratic moderates seem more interested in fighting other Democrats, cf. Manchin in WV.)

So for a few years now, some hopeful political bloggers have argued that moderate Republicans would some day take back their party.

But moderate Republicans will never be in charge as long as they're coddled by a mealy-mouthed, "both sides do it"horse-race press.

And one big example of that is  The Economist, which is a realpolitick, conservative magazine with a nasty inability to tell the truth. That is, The Economist would be happiest with a globalized, laissez-faire, tax-the-poor world (more or less), but they're not global-warming-denying, dinosaurs-missed-the-ark crazies.

And yet whenever The Economist podcast discusses American politics, it always comes out with mealy-mouthed narratives about how partisan gridlock is paralyzing the nation--without ever noting how the Republican Party is blocking nominations and legislation at an unprecedented rate.