Aprils 22

(or, the Ghost of Apr. 22 Past)

1998

Over a Pierson lunch, I once again found myself discussing the evils of religion, this time up against T—, who ended up telling me that "people just like [me]" are the ones who will lead to what's basically the end of the world, "people who think they know everything." I told her that this was a willful misinterpretation of what I had said (realized later I should have pointed out that she was speaking in clichés). I had said exactly the opposite, that part of the problem with religion is that it pretends to have all the answers. I told her that what I believed was that we don't know everything and that it's better to accept that than to accept superstitious primitive explanations. And yes, lots of good has come from religious people, and lots of meaning has been derived from religion, but that is a testament to the ingenuity of humanity, not the inherent worth of religion. T— still thought that "people like [me]" who think people can exist with no "spirituality" (which she refused to define) are the source of all future evil (in slightly different words). The tyranny of cliché, huh? She (and I guess most people, myself included) have trouble seeing around cultural heritage, can't look objectively at anything even remotely connected to their own lives— and thus cannot truly accept those things.

On the other hand, A—, later, a new Catholic, surprised me with an intelligent point about it all. I doubt she meant quite what I took it as, but it struck me nonetheless— let's see if I can reconstruct—

—So you think religion is lies?

—Yes.

—And you think God is lies?

—...It depends on what you mean.

—[Maybe a specific religion's portrayal of God is lies, but the concept of God is true.]

Her relationship to Catholicism is cultural and family-based. Her relationship to God is intensely personal.

She went on to say something I heard as this: the specific object of faith may be false, but faith qua faith is very real.

"Qua" is a new word for me, but I think I have it right. Maybe not. I should just say that faith... no, qua works, I think... but that the essence of faith, faith itself disconnected from its object, e.g. blind faith in the goodness of God sans God(?), could be a very good thing.

This might be an answer to the question that's bugged me, the conflict between my psychoanalyst's belief* that ignorance, bliss or not, is bad and my awareness that the bloated superstitions of, say, Christianity and Islam and Judaism have led to the enrichment of individuals and the world (arguable) and to the increased happiness of many lives (less arguable). It's the faith that matters, but not faith in a Christian sense (or even probably A—'s sense as she said it), not faith as something directly related to and defined by its object, I mean faith—well, qua faith.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Then there's the Third Reich categorical imperative. As Arendt reports, Hans Frank developed a Nazi version of Kant's categorical imperative: "Act in such a way that the Führer, if he knew your action, would approve of it" (Die Technik des Staates, 1942, pp. 15–16). To focus on only one of the absurdities in Nazi Kant, we find that the morality of the categorical imperative has dropped from the highest level to an abstraction of the lowest—i.e., from absolute acceptance that one does not do something to an idea that one does not do something for fear of punishment, that punishment leaving the sphere of direct threat and becoming a more abstract fear, linked nonetheless to actual authority. (This version of that low-level morality is on a similar level to fear of God.)

My worry is that, as much as I believe (with some reservation) in the categorical imperative (e.g., I think you should not kill, for no reason other than that you should not kill),** I do not live up to those high moral standards. What if I believe in the categorical imperative only because of a Third-Reich/bad-faith sort of morality, behaving a certain way because of an awareness of oneself as an observable object (observable in the abstract) and thus out of an abstracted fear of punishment, the punishment one of lost love? I.e., person [S] (which may or may not stand for [Shorty]) does not kill, because he can imagine himself perceived by another who might think poorly of him for killing. Again, we have a fear-of-God morality, perhaps more on the God's-love side than the God's-wrath side. Even worse, what if this abstracted fear of punishment is not based on fear of hypothetical observation, but rather a meticulously overcautious defense from possible real observation? What if [S] acts in such a way that anyone, if he knew [S]'s action, would approve it, just in case someone actually does catch sight of him doing it? In that case, [S]'s morality is on a lower level than fear-of-God, and rests on the lower ledges of fear-of-human-disapproval.

On the other hand, this scale may be flawed. As I found with the parallel-but-different levels of Third Reich morality and fear-of-God morality, it is not linear (which would be nice), and I'm not sure it's so clear that a fear of human disapproval is less noble than a fear of God's disapproval (God being fictional, other people being nonfictional). It would be a good thing, after all, to act in such a way that others are not harmed by your actions.

But that's my worry. Not a major one, and I guess I expressed it last year in different terms, when I worried about my now-defunct pride in honesty. I keep loving P— through Summer '96 because she'd be hurt if she knew I didn't anymore. For example. A simplification, but one with some truth in it.***

Hence my guilt at describing M— many months ago (I remember this very clearly) as hip-sexy (I notice M—'s nipples through her shirt—heaven forfend!). And I really did—and do—feel sort of weird about having written it. And I really do (unfortunately) believe that I feel weird only because H— could theoretically read it. Even if the file were password-protected, I'd feel that. Now, noticing that another girl is attractive in no way constitutes infidelity, and intellectually I'd feel no guilt. I'm in love with H—, and my roommate's friend's mammaries pose no threat to our relationship. And yet I must act in such a way that H—, if she knew of my action— not that she's Der Führer at all—

I'm getting into a whole different territory, spurred on in part by the unbased jealousy H—'s been bringing up intermittently over the past semester— but the foundation I should return to now is that of morality and why I do what I do.

It comes back to religion, too. I say it's bad that people believe a lie, even if that lie makes them happier and helps them be good. Without religion, I do believe, the overall moral good-behavior of the world would plummet. I do not have much faith in man's inherent morality. I do think that most people need threats to keep them on track. I feel bad saying that, but I think it's true. History demonstrates. (Hence the relevance of "We cannot tolerate the use of threats and force by one group to impose its views on others.") But so is it then reasonable to criticize religion, to criticize Plato's noble lie? Do I try to be good just so [to sum up] [Short Round] is good? Is it bad to be good because you should be good? a level removed from Kant's categorical imperative? "Consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds." Somewhat related. How does it all fit in?

I found in History 272b that I kept agreeing with the philosophies that came up. That's not true at all, I guess. But existentialism rang true to me, and then so did the death of the subject. I think, "Go go postbourgeois subject!" and then I realize what exactly I'm rooting for. I don't know. There are just so many systems of thought.

In our last 125 class, Fayen talked about the tyrannical effect of a curriculum over the readings of a course, pointing out that grouping any books together in any order imposes a certain interpretation over all of them. To Sartre (and many other), existentialism was the culmination of intellectual thought. To us—well, so much has followed.

"The good of the one outweighs the good of the many." Or something. Star Trek IV. Do we agree? It's that paper I wrote for Philosophy 110a. I don't quite remember my conclusion. The little girl, or the world? The rugged individual, or the Moonie mass marriage? Of course it's not so simple a dichotomy.

Here's something simple: I have an exam tomorrow.

There. Simple.

[later that day]

Frank Zappa, as quoted on St. Alphonzo's Pancake Webpage: "Stupidity is the basic building block of the universe.

2001

Superman III—an experience, to be sure. Part of what I felt was not an entirely successful evening...but of course it wasn't. What was I thinking, putting J— and T— and C— together? There was no call for it. I'm not good in groups, so where's the rationale for creating my own group, one that would never arise in nature, not in a million years? Not in a million millions? (In some places you'll read, e.g., "a hundred thousands," instead of "a hundred thousand. Just a note. We're pretty used to "tens of thousands," which incidentally is the only context I've ever seen for the plural of "ten.") It was something of a wretched day, frankly. Driving J—**** to Target in New Jersey in the late afternoon of a Saturday, through the Lincoln Tunnel in traffic (there and back twice, as it happened, through some bad navigation), and all four hours of it colored by emotional acting up on the part of us both—wretched, yes. Then straight to this ridiculous evening. No harm done, of course, but I should hang out with T—, or with J—, or with C—. Not all three. It's absurd.

On a lighter note, I am reading Ada. What do I take with me to Europe? I do not know.

2004

I've got to say—this Jesus script is really, really brilliant.

Jesus is fighting a giant rat right now.

* I did not at the time have a psychoanalyst: I'm using the word the way you might use...hm...like, "My American's faith in the world order," or, "My TV-watcher's sense of reality."

** Kant : sophomore Shorty :: Rome : sophomore A—. All about Daddy.

*** Interestingly, in retrospect it's clear that this is the fabrication: I did a lot of work to talk myself out of loving P—. Ah, yes, very deep, the well of the past—may we not even call it bottomless.

**** Different J—.