How many scholarly stakes in the heart will we need before Martin Heidegger (1889-1976), still regarded by some as Germany’s greatest 20th-century philosopher, reaches his final resting place as a prolific, provincial Nazi hack? (…)

For Faye, Heidegger’s 1930s Nazi activism came from the heart. Pains takingly providing sources, Faye exhibits Heidegger’s devotion to “spreading the eros of the people for their Führer,” and the “communal destiny of a people united by blood.” We learn of Heidegger’s desire to be closer to Hitler in Munich, and his eagerness to lead the Gleichschaltung, or “bringing into line,” of the German universities with Nazi ideology. According to several witnesses, Heidegger would show up at class in a brown shirt and salute students with a “Heil Hitler!”

{ The Chronicle of Higher Education | Continue reading }

I guess I think it sounds flatly preposterous to say that Heideggerian philosophy is fascist. It’s just that the Heideggerian immune system, so to speak, is particularly bad at fighting off something like fascism. That’s not what it’s built to do. Which is a very bad thing.

{ Out of the Crook Timber | Continue reading }

Stifter in fact always reminds me of Heidegger, of that ridiculous Nazi philistine in plus-fours. Just as Stifter has totally and in the most shameless manner kitschified great literature, so Heidegger, the Black Forest philosopher Heidegger, has kitschified philosophy. (…)

I cannot visualize Heidegger other than sitting on the bench outside his Black Forest house, alongside his wife, who all her life totally dominated him and who knitted all his socks and crocheted all his caps and baked all his bread and wove all his bedlinen and who even cobbled up his sandals for him. (…) Heidegger is the petit-bourgeois of German philosophy, the man who has placed on German philosophy his kitschy nightcaps, that kitschy black night-cap which Heidegger always wore, on all occasions. Heidegger is the carpet-slipper and night-cap philosopher of the Germans, nothing else.

{ Thomas Bernhard, Old Masters: A Comedy }

photo { Heidegger’s hut has become a place of pilgrimage | full story }

If I ask you to imagine thirteen bananas, not the numeral 13 but 13 distinct, clearly separated bananas, you’re going to run into trouble; it’s easy to imagine four different bananas, all with different shapes and slightly different colors and spots in different places, but thirteen? If I ask you to add twelve to the pile, you may remember that 13+12 = 25, but can you picture it? Can you picture a pile of thirteen distinct bananas, to which you add another twelve distinct bananas, the way you can easily picture in your mind’s eye a pile of three distinct bananas to which you add one?

{ Daily Meh | Continue reading }

Who knows the world?

He who knows himself.

What is the eternal mystery?

Love.

{ Novalis, Henry Von Ofterdingen, 1802 }

If philosophy hadn’t existed – apart from Aristotle – what would we not know? The answer is that it wouldn’t have made the slightest difference. (…)

Science has done very well without any philosophy whatsoever. Take biology over the last 100 years – philosophy has had zero impact. (…)

Nothing in Popper or in any other philosophy of science has anything relevant to say about science.

{ Lewis Wolpert/The Philosophers’ Magazine | Continue reading }

For example, what does quantum mechanics actually mean? I’ve been using quantum mechanics for about 35 years, almost three-quarters of my life, and the more I study it the less I understand it.

{ Alan Sokal/The Philosophers’ Magazine | Continue reading }

Humanity has long struggled over the nature of time. In the last century, physicists were shocked to discover that the arrow of time cannot be derived from the laws of physics which appear perfectly symmetric. For every solution for t, there seems to be an equally valid solution for -t (except in a few cases involving the weak force in which case the symmetry is more complex, involving charge, parity and time).

At first glance that looks puzzling. But after a few years reflection, most physicists agreed that it’s perfectly possible for symmetric laws to give rise to asymmetric phenomena. Physicists have identified a number of such asymmetric phenomena that represent “arrows of time”, says Claus Kiefer at the Institut fur Theoretische Physik in Cologne, Germany.

Perhaps the most famous is the thermodynamic arrow of time in which the entropy of a closed system must always increase. But there is also a quantum mechanical arrow of time in which a preferred direction of time is determined by decoherence and a gravitational arrow of time in which the preferred direction is determined by gravitational collapse.

“What is peculiar is the fact that the time direction of the phenomena is always the same,” says Kiefer. It’s almost as if the arrow of time were predetermined in some way. “The question raised by the presence of all these arrows is whether a common master arrow of time is behind all of them,” he asks.

What master law might be responsible? Kiefer’s conjecture is that the direction of time arises when quantum mechanics is applied to the universe as a whole, a branch of science known as quantum cosmology.

{ The Physics arXiv Blog | Continue reading }

In the natural sciences, arrow of time, or time’s arrow, is a term coined in 1927 by British astronomer Arthur Eddington used to distinguish a direction of time on a four-dimensional relativistic map of the world, which, according to Eddington, can be determined by a study of organizations of atoms, molecules, and bodies.

Physical processes at the microscopic level are believed to be either entirely or mostly time symmetric, meaning that the theoretical statements that describe them remain true if the direction of time is reversed; yet when we describe things at the macroscopic level it often appears that this is not the case: there is an obvious direction (or flow) of time. An arrow of time is anything that exhibits such time-asymmetry.

The symmetry of time (T-symmetry) can be understood by a simple analogy: if time were perfectly symmetric then it would be possible to watch a movie taken of real events and everything that happens in the movie would seem realistic whether it was played forwards or backwards.

An obvious objection to this assertion is gravity: after all, things fall down, not up.

{ Wikipedia | Continue reading }

How do we fall in love? There are countless times during the course of the day when someone catches your eye. I remember recently being in [a coffee bar] across from my editor’s apartment (…) and there was a fine-boned woman behind the cash register with a neck like an antelope, and we looked at one another in that appraising and mutually approving way that, had I been a single man rather than a very happily married one (more on love, lies and marriage to come in a later column), would have resulted in a conversation. That is, we provoke and are provoked by one another frequently, perhaps many times a day. If our sexual antennae are up—in New York, when I visit, as opposed to Kansas City, where I live, the array and intertwining of sexual antennae seems like a tangle of erotic interest, a dangerous sensual spider web—we could begin the process of feeling one another out (which would lead, one hopes, to feeling one another up) in an almost daily way. (…)

According to Aristophanes, human beings were once joined together in pairs, so that we had four arms and four legs. But this unusual metrical composition and arrangement of limbs made us so speedy—have you ever noticed how everything accelerates when you’re in love, except the time apart from your lover?—that we dared to roll our way up Mount Olympus, challenging the Gods, which prompted Zeus, quite sensibly, to split us apart with thunderbolts (the stitching up of skin he had to do afterwards was pulled together at one point, which is why you have a belly button). But this splitting in two—whether woman from woman, man from man, or man from woman (there were all three sorts)–is why, now, you feel this desperate need to be reunited with your other half, it is why you no longer feel whole, except when you are in love. True love, then—and this is where all this trouble starts, which is later exploited by so many poets and brokenhearted cowboy singers—is when you are reunited with that single person who was once your other half.

{ Clancy Martin/The Faster Times | Continue reading }

We are liars and lie catchers, and the sport runs from the banal to the breathtaking, from personal to public. Right now, someone somewhere is lying about “having plans tonight.” Meanwhile, someone else is discovering that his or her spouse has methodically concealed an affair. And take a look at the news of the past couple of weeks: Barry Bonds was charged with perjury. City employees were accused of fabricating companies to siphon taxpayer money. Lies are all around us.

Sometimes, of course, dishonesty is the best policy. Lying, for all the bad it might cause, is an indispensable part of keeping our day-to-day lives running smoothly.

“Everybody lies — every day; every hour; awake; asleep; in his dreams; in his joy; in his mourning,” Mark Twain wrote in his 1882 essay “On the Decay of the Art of Lying.”

Much of the time we don’t even know it. Lying is a necessary, near-involuntary practice that keeps the fabric of society from unraveling. Example:

“How are you?” a co-worker asks.

“Fine, thanks,” you say, when in truth you’re not fine. Life is a hellish morass, and this person is getting in the way of your dutiful self-pity. But to respond in such a dour manner would turn a passing pleasantry into an awkward, socially debilitating episode.

Take your average 10-minute conversation between two acquaintances. In that span, the average person will lie two to three times. That’s not cynicism. That’s science.

{ Washington Post | Continue reading }

There is something to be said about fakes in tribal art, often seeming somehow to lack soul, and not quite having some kind of ring of truth. For example, they’re often somehow seemingly made to shock us, or to please us. The very finest works of tribal art, New Guinea art, or African art in my opinion, somehow have a lack of any interest in our perception at all, they’re sort of in another world. You can sort of see that in retrospect but can you always be certain with every piece you come across? No, I don’t think so.

{ The philosophy of authenticity, fakes and forgers | ABC | Continue reading }

artwork { Kefwele mask, Songye tribe, Congo }

Mopery is a vague and obscure legal term, used in certain jurisdictions to mean “walking down the street with no clear destination or purpose.”

{ Wikipedia | Continue reading }

photo { Garry Winogrand }

This is the primary misconception about placebos: that the placebo itself is somehow “working” to treat a medical condition. You can see it even in the headline for an otherwise well-crafted article that appeared in Wired last August: “Placebos Are Getting More Effective. Drugmakers Are Desperate to Know Why.” As internist and medical professor Peter Lipson noted on the Science-Based Medicine blog, placebos by definition have no medical effect. The “placebo effect” is due to the subject’s (and sometimes, the experimenter’s) expectation that a treatment will work. And, of course, a patient sometimes recovers simply due to chance or because his or her immune response handled the problem. Researchers observe an improvement, and this gets attributed to the placebo. In the case of the Wired article, the misconception in the headline is cleared up by the text of the report: The placebo effect may be getting stronger for reasons that are unclear to researchers. Placebos themselves, as ever, remain ineffective.

{ Seed | Continue reading | Cognitive Daily/ScienceBlogs }

photo { Camilla Akrans }

The problem with optimism is that it’s blatantly incorrect: we aren’t all above average in everything, things do not always get better, and we can’t always get what we want. The problem with realism is that by itself it is depressing, a demotivator that does not elevate.

As an altnernative to the Charbydis of Realism and the Scylla of Optimism, I present Stoicism, via Marcus Aurelius (Meditations, Book II, part 1):

Say to yourself in the early morning: I shall meet today ungrateful, violent, treacherous, envious, uncharitable men. All of these things have come upon them through ignorance of real good and ill… I can neither be harmed by any of them, for no man will involve me in wrong, nor can I be angry with my kinsman or hate him; for we have come into the world to work together.

Now, this at first seems rather banal: don’t sweat mean people. But this is actually quite important, because frustrations with people, not nature, causes most of our grief. Most of what causes people angst are not exogenous constraints of no one’s fault, but rather, when people do things that seemingly are intended to harm you: someone cuts you off in traffic, privately belittles your contributions to colleagues. Recognize there are things you can control, and those you can’t, and this include other people’s actions: learn the difference, and don’t worry about things you can’t control.

{ Falken Blog | Continue reading }

Obviously Lola was nuts with happiness and optimism, like all people on the good side of life, the ones with privilege, health, security, who still have a long time to live.

{ Céline, Journey to the End of the Night, 1932 | Continue reading }

photo { Taryn Simon }

I believe that puzzles are miniature models of the inner workings of the imagination and thus, in doing them, we gain insights into ourselves. This unconscious process is, in my view, what makes them so appealing — and frustrating at the same time, when the answer is not found. Self-knowledge is always its own reward. This is why when we do get the answer we feel that everything is right in the world; when we don’t, we get a sense of chaos and veritable angst. It is difficult to put aside an unsolved puzzle, isn’t it?

{ Dr. Danesi/NY Times | Continue reading }

Optimists called the first world war “the war to end all wars”. Philosopher George Santayana demurred. In its aftermath he declared: “Only the dead have seen the end of war”. History has proved him right, of course. What’s more, today virtually nobody believes that humankind will ever transcend the violence and bloodshed of warfare. I know this because for years I have conducted numerous surveys asking people if they think war is inevitable. Whether male or female, liberal or conservative, old or young, most people believe it is. For example, when I asked students at my university “Will humans ever stop fighting wars?” more than 90 per cent answered “No”. Many justified their assertion by adding that war is “part of human nature” or “in our genes”. But is it really? (…)

A growing number of experts are now arguing that the urge to wage war is not innate, and that humanity is already moving in a direction that could make war a thing of the past.

Among the revisionists are anthropologists Carolyn and Melvin Ember from Yale University, who argue that biology alone cannot explain documented patterns of warfare. They oversee the Human Relations Area Files, a database of information on some 360 cultures, past and present. More than nine-tenths of these societies have engaged in warfare, but some fight constantly, others rarely, and a few have never been observed fighting. “There is variation in the frequency of warfare when you look around the world at any given time,” says Melvin Ember. “That suggests to me that we are not dealing with genes or a biological propensity.” (…)

Brian Ferguson of Rutgers University in Newark, New Jersey, also believes that there is nothing in the fossil or archaeological record supporting the claim that our ancestors have been waging war against each other for hundreds of thousands, let alone millions, of years.

War emerged when humans shifted from a nomadic existence to a settled one and was commonly tied to agriculture, Ferguson says. “With a vested interest in their lands, food stores and especially rich fishing sites, people could no longer walk away from trouble.” What’s more, with settlement came the production of surplus crops and the acquisition of precious and symbolic objects through trade. All of a sudden, people had far more to lose, and to fight over, than their hunter-gatherer forebears. (…)

Perhaps the best and most surprising news to emerge from research on warfare is that humanity as a whole is much less violent than it used to be (see our timeline of weapons technology). People in modern societies are far less likely to die in battle than those in traditional cultures. For example, the first and second world wars and all the other horrific conflicts of the 20th century resulted in the deaths of fewer than 3 per cent of the global population. According to Lawrence Keeley of the University of Illinois in Chicago, that is an order of magnitude less than the proportion of violent death for males in typical pre-state societies, whose weapons consist only of clubs, spears and arrows rather than machine guns and bombs.

There have been relatively few international wars since the second world war, and no wars between developed nations. Most conflicts now consist of guerilla wars, insurgencies and terrorism - or what the political scientist John Mueller of Ohio State University in Columbus calls the “remnants of war”. He notes that democracies rarely, if ever, vote to wage war against each other, and attributes the decline of warfare over the past 50 years, at least in part, to a surge in the number of democracies around the world - from 20 to almost 100.

{ NewScientist | Continue reading }

photo { Terry Richardson, Nikki and Zoe, 1995 }

Why do people say “um” and “er” when hesitating in their speech?

This question can actually be split into two: why do people say anything at all while hesitating and why do they say “er” and “um” instead of other possible sounds?

To answer the first question, linguists known as conversation analysts have observed that people vocalise in a conversation when they think it is their turn to talk, and there are several ways of negotiating the taking of those turns. One of them is the relinquishing of a turn by the current speaker and another speaker taking the floor. Therefore, silence is often construed as a signal that the current speaker is ready to give up his or her turn.

So, if we wish to continue our speaking turn, we often need to fill the silences with a sound to show that we intend to carry on speaking. If we always thought out thoroughly everything we were going to say in a conversation, or memorised our lines perfectly there would be no hesitation at all. But, as it is, we do a lot of what is called local management, or improvisation, during conversation for many reasons not least because we cannot predict the reactions of our interlocutor. In order to keep the floor while we hesitate, we place dummy words in the empty spaces between our words, much as we might drape our coats on a seat at the cinema to prevent others from taking it.

The second question, as to why “er” and “um” are used instead of say, “ee” or “choo” is not as easy to answer.

“Er”, in British English, is a transcription of the phonetic schwa sound found in unstressed syllables of English words (such as the vowel sound in the first syllable of “potato”). In traditional phonetics this was called the neutral sound because it is the vowel sound produced when the mouth is not in gear, that is, not tensed to say any of the other formed vowels such as “e”. The “um” sound is more difficult to explain unless it is just a bad transcription of the same neutral sound with a consonant that closes the mouth in preparation for another real word.

{ NewScientist }

artwork { Kitagawa Utamaro }

Within a few years, e-mail and Twitter moved the art of letter writing to the trash bin. And in an age when all psychic life is being understood in terms of neurotransmitters, the art of introspection has been become passé. Galileos of the inner world, such as Soren Kierkegaard (1813-1855), have been packed off to the museum of antiquated ideas. Yet I think that the great and highly quirky Dane could help us to retrieve a distinction that has been effaced.

These days, confide to someone that you are in despair and he or she will likely suggest that you seek out professional help for your depression. While despair used to be classified as one of the seven deadly sins, it has now been medicalized and folded into the concept of clinical depression. If Kierkegaard were on Facebook or could post a You Tube video, he would certainly complain that we, who have listened to Prozac, have become deaf to the ancient distinction between psychological and spiritual disorders, between depression and despair. (…)

While Kierkegaard would have agreed that happiness and melancholy are mutually exclusive, he warns, “Happiness is the greatest hiding place for despair.”


{ Gordon Marino/NY Times | Continue reading }

related { Kierkegaard, Metaphysics and Political Theory }

{ Plus: Yo we’re gonna wear them all night, right bro? | Chris D’Elia }

When is the best time to stop renting and buy a house?
When it costs less to buy than to rent. And how do you figure that out? Find two similar houses — one for sale and one for rent — and divide the asking price by the annual rent. (…)

Which is the best day of the year to make an offer on a house?
Christmas Day. Huh? Not all real estate agents agree, but those who do offer three reasons. (…)

Which is the best day of the month to make an offer on a house?
The first Tuesday. Why early in the month? Because the homeowner just wrote a mortgage check for a house he no longer wants, and he doesn’t want to write another one.

When is the best time to buy life insurance?
As soon as you become a parent.

{ Excerpted from Mark Di Vincenzo’s Buy Ketchup In May And Fly At Noon | NPR | Continue reading }

I was reading Aquinas’s commentaries on Aristotle, especially his Physics. In it, Aquinas frequently gives, as an example of animals which do not have locomotion, none other than oysters. Oysters do not walk about the sands or rocks at the bottom of the sea looking for their lunch. They are carried about by water motion or what they need is brought to them by the same waves. But they are definitely alive. They are not plants drawing their needs from roots.

{ First Principles | Continue reading | Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle’s De Sensu et Sensato }

quote { Sweet Zoo }

photo { Grant Cornett }

Compulsive hoarding is a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), a neurobiological condition, most likely genetically based. OCD comes in a wide variety of forms, of which hoarding is only one. Compulsive hoarders may collect only certain types of things, or they may indiscriminately save everything. We are not talking here about collecting things that are valuable or important such as art, coins, or stamps. (…)

Some of the things most commonly saved include newspapers, magazines, lists, pens, pencils, empty boxes, pamphlets, old greeting cards, junk mail, old appliances, outdated books and even assorted labels, string, rubber bands, plastic containers, bottles, and bottle caps. In the most extreme cases, people have been known to save such things as empty matchbooks, used tissues, old cigarette butts, bird feathers, old cars, discarded paper cups, used aluminum foil, paper towels, lint, and hairs. Some of these sufferers will even rummage through other people’s trash, and bring home obvious junk that to them, seems quite useful or repairable. (…)

In 1932, Homer Lusk Collyer (1881–1947) purchased a building across the street at 2077 Fifth Avenue for $8,000. He planned to divide it into apartments and to rent them. This plan was never realized, as he suffered a stroke in 1933, becoming blind as the result of hemorrhages in both of his eyes. With one exception, he was reportedly never seen outside of his home again.

Homer’s brother, Langley Collyer (1885–1947), gave up his job to nurse his brother back to health. No physician was ever consulted. Langley apparently believed that the cure for his brother’s blindness was for him to eat 100 oranges a week, and to keep his eyes closed at all times, in order to rest them. The brothers possessed a large library of medical books, and it would seem that Langley felt he had the information and knowledge necessary to treat his brother.

{ OC Foundation | Continue reading }

Burglars tried to break into the house because of unfounded rumors of valuables, and neighborhood youths had developed a fondness for throwing rocks at the windows. They boarded up the windows. In an attempt to exclude burglars, Langley used his engineering skills to construct booby traps and tunnels among the collection of items and trash that filled the house. The house soon became a maze of boxes, complicated tunnel systems consisting of junk and trash rigged with trip wires. Homer and Langley Collyer lived in “nests” created amongst the debris that was piled to the ceiling.

Their gas, telephone, electricity and water having been turned off because of their failure to pay the bills, the brothers took to warming the large house using only a small kerosene heater. For a while, Langley attempted to generate his own energy by means of a car engine. Langley began to wander outside at night; he fetched their water from a post in a park four blocks to the south (presumably Mount Morris Park, renamed Marcus Garvey Park in 1973). He also dragged home countless pieces of abandoned junk that aroused his interest. In 1933, Homer, already crippled by rheumatism, went blind. Langley devised a remedy, a diet of one hundred oranges a week, along with black bread and peanut butter. He also began to hoard newspapers, so that his brother could catch up with the news once his sight returned. (…)

On March 21, 1947, an anonymous tipster phoned the 122nd police precinct and insisted there was a dead body in the house. A patrol officer was dispatched, but had a very difficult time getting into the house at first. There was no doorbell or telephone and the doors were locked; and while the basement windows were broken, they were protected by iron grillwork. Eventually an emergency squad of seven men had no choice but to begin pulling out all the junk that was blocking their way and throw it out onto the street below. The brownstone’s foyer was packed solid by a wall of old newspapers, folding beds and chairs, half a sewing machine, boxes, parts of a wine press and numerous other pieces of junk.

A patrolman, William Baker, finally broke in through a window into a second-story bedroom. Behind this window lay, among other things, more packages and newspaper bundles, empty cardboard boxes lashed together with rope, the frame of a baby carriage, a rake, and old umbrellas tied together. After a two-hour crawl he found Homer Collyer dead, wearing just a tattered blue and white bathrobe. (…) But Langley was nowhere to be found. For weeks there was no sign of Langley.

On Saturday, March 30, false rumors circulated that Langley had been seen aboard a bus heading for Atlantic City, but a manhunt along the New Jersey shore turned up nothing. Two days later, the police continued searching the house, removing 3,000 more books, several outdated phone books, a horse’s jawbone, a Steinway piano, an early X-ray machine, and even more bundles of newspapers. More than nineteen tons of junk had been removed, just from the ground floor of the three-story brownstone. Still unable to find Langley, the police continued to clear away the brothers’ stockpile for another week, removing another 84 tons of rubbish from the house.

On April 8, 1947, workman Artie Matthews found the dead body of Langley Collyer just ten feet from where Homer had died. His partially decomposed body was being eaten by rats. A suitcase and three huge bundles of newspapers covered his body. Langley had been crawling through their newspaper tunnel to bring food to his paralyzed brother when one of his own booby traps fell down and crushed him. Homer, blind and paralyzed, starved to death several days later.

{ Wikipedia | Continue reading }

The last name of the title characters of E. L. Doctorow’s new novel, “Homer & Langley,” is Collyer, and the book’s brothers do, in fact, turn out to be versions of those infamous New York pack rats, whose overstuffed Harlem brownstone made their name synonymous with obsessive-compulsive collecting.

{ NY Times | Continue reading }