tang dynasty times

Kashmir

Shunya was recently talking about possible solutions for the situation in Kashmir. Indeed, the place has been a battlefield practically my entire adult life and truly there seems to be no easy answers to the problem of what to do.

When pressed, Shunya said he thought that,

...if a people demonstrably want independence, the Indian state has no right withholding it. The current occupation will only radicalize the local Muslim youths. As Kennedy said, “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable."

Nodding my head in agreement as I read; I couldn't help but wonder, but, do governments often give up states? Or parts of states? When colonial powers call it quits and pull out or governments collapse-- those are the times we see countries divided or broken up. But what about countries on the rise, like India? It doesn't seem likely they would give up territory-- no matter what the human and economic cost.

In truth, I have been in love with Kashmir my whole life. And, just like Herr Utz, I can point to the precise moment-- both in time and place-- of the start of my obsession.

I was maybe 10 or 11, and like every month, my heart skipped a beat when I saw the magazine's bright yellow cover sticking out of our mail box: National Geographic! The Vale of Kashmir was the cover story-- and from that moment on, Kashmir became the place of my dreams. Even the little girls on the cover with their hair pulled back in scarves with huge, bright blue eyes, fascinated me and I remember telling my mom how, "this is what I should look like."

I kept the magazine for years, and read what I could-- but in fact, there really wasn't a lot of well-written histories or accounts of the region-- with the exception of, of course, Rumer Godden. The lack of books, however, allowed my imagination greater freedom....

Finally, away at college the chance presented itself-- a trip to India. My traveling companion-- well, I think he actually thought we were going to Rajasthan. Little did he realize that I had other plans-- and not just other plans, but a one-track mind to go with those plans! Landing in Delhi, I insisted we head straight to the train station:

 "We've gotta head into the mountains, you see."

It was very late, and dark, and the Delhi train station was eerily quiet (though packed with sleeping travelers, who were sprawled on mats and on benches).

Exhausted from the flight from Amman, the place seemed shut for the night. Suddenly, though, a man came out of nowhere (a phenomenon which happened a lot to us in India I recall), took us by the arm saying, "you want a bus, I think"... and literally an hour later we were heading north-- at full throttle. We were on a "video bus" and the Bollywood extravaganza was blaring out the bus speakers full blast.

Yes, we were on our way.

24 hours later, covered in soot from the road, we stumbled off the bus, and there before my eyes was the object of my desire. No amount of reading and no amount of imagination could have prepared me for what splendors would unfold in front of my eyes in the days to come.

Staying on one of Dal lake's legendary houseboats, we both just silently looked around, stunned at the incredible beauty of the place. Shikaras glided here and there along the lake and through the many watercourses. It was early June and water plants and flowers were in full bloom in the shallower parts of the lake, where children played and large families, vacationing in the Vale from the plains, bordered brightly decorated boats to head out to the Gardens of Love that dot the lakes in Srinagar.

Yes, the gardens of love.

My favorite garden, Shalimar, had been built by the Moghul emperor Jehangir in 1616 to celebrate his love for his wife. Set up against Dal Lake, the entire garden is a cool grassy place created along three great terraces (charbaghs)-- the lowest originally set aside for the common people, the middle for the invited guests of the emperor, and finally the top charbagh, which was reserved for the emperor himself. Along the fountains and canals, colorful spring flowers were in bloom.

Kashmiris-- like Persians-- love to picnic, and countless families were enjoying themselves under the shade of the many trees. We elected to have ours right on top the emperor's terrace with its splendid views of the lake below. Sultan's wife had prepared a true Persian-style picnic of pollo rice and yogurt, kebabs and tea served in glasses. Although nearly 20 years have passed since then, I will never forget it. To sit in the warm sunshine in a cool garden surrounded by the sounds of water and laughing children-- truly it was just as the Kashmiris say, "a piece of heaven."

Surrounded on almost all sides by the greater Himalayas, Sultan told us that the Kashmiris liken their valley to a huge emerald surrounded by diamonds. Those diamonds, my companion was anxiously waiting to travel over. He thought we were there only killing time till the road opened to Ladakh. Didn't he know, I would have stayed right there in Kashmir the rest of my life?

A full month later than is done in Japan, they had just let the water flood into the rice terraces that dotted the lush, emerald green valley. Each terrace, bordered by pink colored stones, was like a gigantic mirror reflecting the snow-covered mountains in their glassy waters.

"Did they make those fields just for the sheer beauty of them," I wondered.

"No stupid, they're for food!"

You see, I had never left the country before. This was my first time ever abroad-- and even the rice paddies were unfamiliar.

My companion had grown increasingly anxious, though. He could no longer wait for the snows to melt. Didn't I know, they were having their most famous masked dance ceremony in just two more weeks in Leh?  And he had his heart set on being there for it. So, everyday, we took a shikara from our houseboat across hepatitis-filled waters to shore. There we would go line up at the air India office to see about getting on a flight to Leh.

But flights were booked solid till the end of the month and the Beacon Highway had still not announced an open date for the season. He was beside himself.

Across the street, there was a cafe. I hadn't thought of it in years. In fact, I might never have really thought of it before. But, I'm sure it was there. A small wooden house-- like any you would see in northern California with a large garden full of tables, with wind chimes in the trees and music playing nonstop. They served the backpacker's food you can find anywhere from Bangkok to Borocay: banana pancakes, iced coffee, delicious icecream, burgers, curries, vegetarian.... Was it my imagination or wasn't that Led Zeppelin playing in the background: Kashmir.

"What are we going to do?"

In spite of his frustrations at not being in Rajastan, and despite his anxiousness to hit the road, he was as delighted to be here as I was. He had even done a little jig, so excited was he when we followed the Jhelum River and turning a corner got our first glimpse of the market area and the old city. 

That jig would develop into a fascination with Central Asia that would last for him for a very long time --at least ten years that I knew of. He kept repeating, "It's a medieval city." "This is the Central Asia I have been dreaming about my entire life." 

Srinagar was indeed a Central Asian town, which had long stood on one of the axillary routes of the Silk Road. I would like to somehow find out more about this part of Kashmir's past, but have been unable to really find much to read. Still, this much I know. Traders traveled over the mountains from Kashgar to Kashmir, before they headed south into India.

In the picture, you can see the old fort up on the hill. The town was not only full of history, but no matter where we looked, things looked relatively prosperous, clean-- and stunningly picturesque. Some lived on boats along the river, some above shops in the market and many more in homes clinging to the hill below the fort. Walking around, people would call out,

"Come, have tea"

And the tea. Kashmiri tea is a bit of Persia. Sweet with sugar and milk and perfumed with cardamom, it was served out of silver samovars. 

Last night, lying awake in my futon and thinking about the lake, the lotus flowers and water lilies and all the birds; the fragrant food, and the people we met, I don't know why I felt so incredibly nostalgic. And sad, as well. For I wondered, would I ever see it again? Probably the question itself is flawed for how could I ever see it again? After all that has happened, could the place ever recover? Hasn't, in fact, too much been lost?

At the start of the violence, Sultan had immediately left Kashmir with his family, re-locating to Goa. At first, his letters were filled with discomfort: it was too hot, the food too spiced and he longed so terribly for home. The honeymooners we shared a boat with, Nana and Dilip, had returned to Gujarat. Nana and I corresponded for many years --though we never spoke of Kashmir again.

About six months ago, I read a review in the NYRB about a Kashmiri arts exhibition written by one of my favorite writers, William Dalrymple. (The article is here). Some of the graphic things he described as having seen while in Kashmir, however, have haunted me since. I don't know what should be done anymore than anyone else. All I know is that I feel a sense of great loss-- for a way of life, a place which I too considered to be a slice of heaven-- has been lost. For almost two decades I have been waiting to hear some good news about this magical place.

And, I am still hoping for that news to come.

**

Most of the photographs in the post are from LRaleigh's gorgeous (!) photostream His essay too is worth a read too! He visits Jesus' supposed grave outside Srinagar (which I wrote about here) as well as about the 2nd Buddhist council held in Kashmir in 100 ad (which was where the difference between Mahayana and Theravada Buddhism were hammered out. The great Nagarajuna was said to have attended: I wrote briefly about Nagarjuna here)

John M., whose own trip to Kashmir three years ago was not quite so idyllic, writes to recommend this book by Sumantra Bose (These articles I thought were worthwhile reading) While John M's report was really not positive, LRaleigh was only there a year ago and the way he wrote about Kashmir's allure and mystique-- well, it was good to read.

View from Inside a Bronze Ding: Part 2

Inside a Bronze ding-- again

Conrad tells me about a time in the 1930s-1940s when scholars in America sought to re-introduce into universities a pedegogy inspired by the curriculum of Medieval universities. Undergraduates, he describes, were to "receive an all-round education in the arts and sciences, and their reading would revolve around a series of classic texts later labeled the Great Books."

Conrad calls this a metaphyics of education, and sees this movement as aiming to position a "canon" of Great Books-- perhaps in much the same way as Confucian teachings have served as the foundation for traditional education in East Asia.

This leads to the question, I think, as to how the American scholars actually viewed these texts. Because the thinkers were -- to my mind-- not necessarily understanding their canon of books in the same manner as the Medievals were understanding their canon of books, right?

To the Medieval student, the canon of Great Books would have functioned (again much in the same way as Confucius' teachings) as a foundation informing behavior and thought: as exemplary model. That is to say, the Medieval books served as religious, philosophical or moral model. I question whether the Great Books of our times served the same function to the American thinkers (who included, Conrad tells me, Scott Buchanan, Stringfellow Barr, Mortimer Adler and Robert Maynard Hutchins).

However, having said that, though, I think that the Great Books served some metaphysical function for these modern thinkers is without question.

Dreyfus also talks much about the underpinnings of the Great Books program. He says that by the time he got to Harvard it was hardly more than a class, but that this class (ie, "The Great Books") had a particular metaphsical understanding, which can be characterized as the humanist perspective. You can still see this, he says, in the cliff notes or introductions written about the Great Books, and college professors too mostly teach the canon from this particular point of view.

What was the view?

Well, that since the beginning of time, humans have remained basically unchanged  and that over time we are becoming clearer and clearer about our human nature as indivuals-- each with their own psychological desires and wants.

This is a story of self-fulfilling individuals in Hegelian (progressive) history, and it is the humanist project to uncover the truth about things (since only humans are able to find truth). The Great Books, then, serve as kind of milestones in the ever-evolving story of human understanding. In this way-- and according to the humanist story-- Shakespeare was able to express fundamental truths about what it is to be human that stand as more accurate expressions of our condition than say the ancient Greeks. And this is why Hamlet is somehow more "familar" to us, than Odysseus, for example.

Heidegger, in contrast, rejecting this unfolding view of Hegelian history-- whereby humans are getting clearer and clearer about being-- instead sees humans as dwelling within particular understandings of being; so that the Greeks lived within their worldview and the Medievals within their's-- with no world view being better or worse than another.  Rather than collectively developing, the Greeks collectively stressed certain things within their world view while the humanists of the Renaissance stressed other things. This was Heidegger's great rejection of historicity. (Heidegger's Letter on Humanism)

And, the Great Books?

Well, Heidegger sees them as "works of art working;" that is as exemplary models that illuminate a given society's understanding of some aspect of being, so that the ancient Greeks, and then the ancient Romans, and finally the Victorian British each understood Conrad's tripod (shown above) from a different perspective (and from perspectives borne of their own unique world views). None had it "right" and indeed none were particularly superior. And, this was the big move, I think, that Heidegger made in his later works, which sought to place language, poetry and art in privledged positions as the means by which being shows up as intelligeable to man (not vice versa).

****

Anyway, I've already written about all this in Penelope Waiting for Odysseus.

What is relevant here is, of course, this shared belief that an underlying metaphysical understanding is helpful in looking at the Great Books, and for pedogogical issues in general. In Conrad's words,

Hutchins applauds the medieval acknowledgement that the articulation of an underlying system is an essential first step in understanding the purpose and interrelation of the various academic fields of study. Once the foundations have been sorted out, then the specifics of the disciplines can be established; and once the university as a whole is given some sort of order, it can start producing citizens able to contribute to a stable society.

This liberal arts approach stems from the Classical conception of the Greeks, which "aimed at imparting general knowledge and developing intellectual capacities, in contrast to a professional, vocational, or technical curriculum (wiki)"

It was the education deemed appropriate to the freeman-- as opposed to a slave who might require a more specialized vocational training.

So, what is the metaphysical foundation underpinning the humanities (or a university education) today? 

Well, I would say the rug has indeed been pulled out from beneath the liberal arts; for today, it seems that the relentless drive toward efficiency (humans as resources) has created an education which aims-- by necessity-- to be useful, so that university degrees, rather than being "aimed at imparting general knowledge and developing intellectual capacities proper to a freeman" as in the classical conception, instead now have more in common with the education "proper to slaves."

Perhaps this Will to be Useful is the new metaphysical understanding...in that case, there may no longer be a place for the liberal arts at all-- or a the very least the liberal arts would need to demonstrate the manner in which they are useful. Just to reiterate what I said here,

Art, religion, relationships, education, political policy all must serve the greater good-- that is, it must be useful or find itself obsolete. This goes well beyond materialism or efficiency as an adjective. This last point has so much resonance, I think, when we start talking about "American Philistinism" or "Where have all the Intellectuals gone?" it is a useful place to begin-- as indeed, education is no longer viewed as something to edify but rather as something that will serve a useful purpose, and intellectuals themselves are under the gone to be Relevant. People who care about intellectual matters are seen as snobbish and in Ivory Towers and indeed it is publish or perish-- (ie, be economically useful or find yourself another job) It wasn't always like this either (Recently I "read" a biography about Joseph Needham and his career would be quite frankly impossible today. Scholars just can no longer freely follow their interests that far afield.)

And so Conrad's question remains.

If we do find the metaphysical core of the Liberal Arts pulled out from under our feet, can we continue to accept the structure of the academic humanities as we know it?

An intriguing question to be sure.

**

(And in case you missed yesterday's post on Autumn Sakura, I link it here.)

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Classicist Mary Beard is an interesting example of someone in the humanities making themselves "relavant" (efficient). She is, by the way, in Berekely to deliver the Sather Lectures this Fall and described her orientation to California here.

Autumn Thoughts 秋思

Of the four seasons, it is autumn alone which can be felt before it arrives. After a windless, long and blisteringly hot summer, toward the end of August, the arrival of autumn can be felt as surely as the warmth of the sun.

How does it arrive?

Autumn arrives first by the sound of the wind. It is ever so slight, something heard more than felt-- the stirring in the wind of the leaves in the trees.

"Autumn is coming," it's all people talk about.    

 

 

秋来ぬと目にはさやかに見えぬども風の音にぞおどろかれぬる　　　
--藤原敏行あそん

Nothing meets the eye
to demonstrate beyond a doubt
that autumn has come--
yet suddenly we are struck
just by the sound of the wind
--- Fujiwara Toshiyuki no Ason

And, our Lady of the Seasons, Sei Shonagon, tells us

秋は、夕暮。夕日のさして、山の端（は）いと近うなりたるに、烏の寝どころへ行くとて、三つ四つ、二つ三つなど、飛び急ぐさへあはれなり。まいて雁などの列ねたるがいと小さく見ゆるは、いとをかし。日入り果てて、風の音、虫の音など、はたいふべきにあらず。
“In autumn the evenings, when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of the hills and the crows fly back to their nests in threes and fours and twos; more charming still is a file of wild geese, like specks in the distant sky. When the sun has set, one’s heart is moved by the sound of the wind and the hum of the insects”

**

For a long time, I was puzzled. "Why," I wondered, "was the Ninth Month traditionally known as the 'Long Month'  (nagatsuki)?" Afterall, August always felt so long that September in comparison flew by. Well, the Long Month is "long" because of lengthening nights.  As the Lady said, Autumn is all about the evenings. And it ain't pretty. Everything conspires against a person during those lonely nights: early darkness, dewdrops like tears, the crickets crying and crying outside your window-- everything reminding you of your lover's absense; the death of passion and romance, fading as quickly as the colors of the grasses in the field.

Autumn is the season of Waiting, Longing, Pining, Omou.

秋萩も
色づきぬれば
きりぎりす我が寝ぬことや
夜はかなしき　
As autumn deepens
and the bush clover also change color
there cries the crickets
like me despairing the sadness
of these sleepless autumn nights
    -Anon (KKS)

君しのぶ
草にやつるる
古里は
松虫の音ぞ
悲しかりけり
Back home in the house
pitifully covered in lonely grass
I wait, listening
to the crying pine crickets
and sadly long for you to come
-Anon (KKS)

In Japan, its always love. Next door, though, while poets do once in awhile speak of romance, more it is friendship that the poets sing about. So, in China, when one thinks of "Autumn Thoughts" (秋思, Qiu Si), it is of friends faraway... drinking alone with the moon, maybe? Melancholic meditations, absolutely. Romance and love, though, don't make much of an appearance-- perhaps as Spring is a better time in China for thinking of romance?

Jane Hirshfield is one of my favorite translators of classical japanese poetry into English. An amazing feat for someone who doesn't speak Japanese! She also captured one aspect of Chinese poetry that I love so much here-- in this poem (which is not a translation but rather her own poem). It reminds me so much of Inoue's portrayal of the monk Chao's fate that I wrote about here. What is it about this aspect of being swallowed up in insignificance as something strangely comforting? And why does this seem all the more vivid in autumn...

The Heart's Counting Knows Only One
In Sung China,
two monks, friends for sixty years
watched the geese pass
Where are they going?
one tested the other, who couldn't say.

The moment's silence continues.

No one will study their friendship
in the koan books of insight.
No one will remember their names.

Almost swallowed by the vastness of the mountains
but not yet.

As the barely audible
geese are not yet swallowed;
as even we, my love, will not entirely be lost.
--Jane Hirshfield

21st Asian History Carnival- Part 2

暦

Early autumn-- it is one of the most beautiful times of the year. Known as the Time of White Dew, it is a season characterized by singing autumn insects, a countless variety of elegant chrysanthemums, and the most beautiful moon of the year.

It is also a time of devastating typhoons. China Beat's Paul R. Katz tells us that not only did a large typhoon come ashore last Sunday, but a food contamination incident (including tainted baby formula) has rocked the island as well. Richard at Stocks and Politics  also writes of the incident here. (You can read what the cover-up allegations are based on on the 2008 baby milk scandal wiki article). 

Switching countries, but still on the topic of tainted food, the always-brilliant Jun Okumura writes of Japan's latest food scandal (and its political implications) here. As I was falling asleep last night, I heard a news report that the same chemical was found in imported powdered milk (from China) used in frozen food here in Japan as well. We'll see what happens but the public here is very distrusting already after the great gyoza scare, 

選舉

So, what have been the notable posts across the blogosphere in early Autumn? Well, to tell you the truth, if we set aside all the tedious post-Olympic wrap-ups, as well as the US election and financial crisis, well there really is not a whole lot to recommend. However, I would be remiss if I didn't mention the activity in Tokyo to select a new Prime Minister or the elections in Hong Kong.

First Tokyo. What can I say? How many prime ministers have there even been the last two decades in Japan? Is it me, or is Japanese politics really boring? Well, luckily we have Tobias Harris to explain things for us! Tobias Harris, by the way, is on my list of people I'd really like to meet someday. I believe he worked as an assistant to one of the upper house representatives, before returning to the US to enter a PhD course at MIT. From Fukuda's resignation here to Koizumi's response, Tobias takes us on a tour of the process of selecting a new prime minister. Somehow he even makes Japanese politics almost interesting-- and, as icing on the cake, Shisaku writes of Fukuda's last stand here.

Personally, I thought the most interesting series of posts this early autumn was hands down Daisann McLane's election reports from Hong Kong.

Similar to the way she writes about learning Cantonese (which is, of course, the name of her blog), she reports about the recent Hong Kong elections, not from an armchair journalistic point of view, but as someone actually out there working the campaign trail. The hero of her story is Leung Kwok Hung. Better known as 長毛, Daisann starts off worried about her friend's chances of being re-elected to LEGCO-

LEGCO--that compromised, politically hog-tied legislature of which he is the most interesting, and certainly the most principled member (show me another Hong Kong pol that lives in a council house flat, and gives away all his salary except $1,000 US a month!)

  

I remain convinced that it takes a certain type of person to devote themselves to learning Cantonese. In my own Cantonese class in Kowloon, I watched students drop like flies: from long time Western and Indian residents (some living in HK decades before signing up for a beginners Cantonese class) to the Japanese and Taiwanese students, few were left by the end (and as I was one of those dead flies, I cannot even tell you how many were left on the last day!)

I would say mastering Cantonese takes a personality which likes a challenge. And, indeed, by the next post, we find our gal sitting smack in the middle of Long Hair's campaign office. This post was then followed by this one which has her out on the campaign trail-- passing out fliers in the New Territories. Her View from the Gaai Tauh --not to mention the election results here and here  were for me this past month's highlight.

And speaking of un-simplified characters, Richard at the Duck tells us that Taiwan is flirting with the idea of adopting hanyu pinyin. Really? I wondered... it looks like it might be official, though, according to this. It certainly would make things "simpler," I guess.

大日本帝国　

First, to set the mood are these Hand Painted Cups commemorating the "suppression of Taiwan" by Imperial Japanese forces.

Sayaka, of the Prison Notebooks, had two posts here and here on the topic of colonial education in Japan that brought up some really interesting issues. Both were recommended to me by Konrad and are well worth having a look. And, Chuck Hayford says that this article by Mikyoung Kim on Japan Focus is the best overall review and analysis of the Northeast Asian history textbook issue.

玉声

Confucius and "Asian values" remain a controversial topic. The first scuffle of early autumn was kicked off at the Granite Studio when Jeremiah wrote this post analyzing a "mini-debate" between Daniel Bell and Dissent's Michael Walzer at Dissent Magazine. The original debate can be read here. As things heated up, Daniel Bell even felt the need to stop in to speak up for himself. During debates about "Asian values" it seems that almost inevitably Singapore and India are brought up. New blogger Eric Feigenbaum wrote an interesting Post here addressing many of the issues that Singapore presents.

A few days after Jeremiah's post, Namit Arora at Shunya's Notes uploaded a post also on the Sage, called What Confucius Said. To respond to Namit's post, I wrote this post called, Talking to Confucius (which I recommend more for the discussion about the bronzes than anything else). Jeffery Westerstrom had a piece in the Far eastern Economic Review called, Confucius: China's Comeback Kid, which also generated some comments.

What is it about the Sage that he seems to inspire such divided feelings? (Which is really to ask the other side of Namit's question, why it is that Confucius has such a negligible following outside the Chinese cultural sphere, compared, for example, to Zen Buddhism or "even all those Hindu gurus and yogis with their fans in California") Curious, I asked the expert extraordinaire Sam Crane, who answered quite simply that enough effort has not be made to show the relevancy of Confucian thought and that is the reason Confucianism remains relatively unpopular outside the Chinese cultural sphere.

And speaking of Sam Crane, if I were to award Learning Cantonese Daisann Mclane with the Gold, then the silver medal for this 21st Carnival, I think should go to Sam Crane for his post, Can a Black Man be Chinese?  I am quite certain even Sam was surprised by the number of comments he received! And he afterward posted an alternative: Can a Black Woman be Chinese?

藝

Finally, a word about the photograph at the top of the Post. Like that used for the 21st Asian History Canival Part 1-- this one too is one of Jim Gourley's Top 40 China Photos. This particular one is one of my personal favorites.

On the topic of photographs, there are two historic photography exhibitions that were of particular note. First, at Australia's National Gallery, the exhibition Picture Paradise is showcasing over 400 original photographs from the Asia Pacific region from the 1840s to the 1940s. Just poking around the website, I was stunned by the great beauty of some of the images

(Recently at Disneyland in LA, I overheard a kid asking his father, "Dad, what's film?")

The other exhibition is in Los Angeles and was organized by Tokyo  bloggers Neojapaonisme. Jeremiah already introduced some of the photographs in the last Carnival, but I did want to remind everyone that Meeting Modernity started on the 13th. It's already well-known that Japan has a long and very rich history of photography. I was not all that surprised that the this latest "stash" of old photographs was uncovered in Tochigi as I seem to recall that one of the last Shoguns was very interested in the new art and had at least one official photographer who hailed from Tochigi (indeed, one of his descendants took my son's o-miyamairi photograph almost 7 years ago).

Any hardcore Tochigi history of photography fans might enjoy this novel (written by a Tochigi local writer) about the life of the Shogun's photographer and his son during the early days of Meiji Japan. Some of the pictures from the Meeting Modernity exhibition can be seen here. And for what might be the best online collection of Japanese historical photographs, here is Okinawa's Soba's amazing photostream.

Jeff Wasserstrom put this together on What Did the Cultural Revolution Look Like. Enjoy!

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So, there you have the 21st Asian History Carnival. If you enjoyed what you read please leave or comment (or write to the librarian) All complaints should be sent to Jeremiah (just kidding).... 

Going Visiting with Hannah Arendt

 

The other day Kourosh-- also known as Cyrus the Great-- and I were having a discussion about the fact that my new passport has a microchip in it. It seems, I said, that at least from here, there is a real absence of any kind of political dialog about the turn our country has taken-- from microchips and offshore prisons to a war that few people actually seem to even support. Kourosh wondered whether his own stance that "this (evil) too shall pass" was apathetic or not. This reminded me of a radio show that I listened to the other week on Australia Broadcasting Corporation's The Philosophers Zone about Hannah Arendt.

Hannah Arendt, born of Jewish parents in Germany, grew up just in time for Hitler's regime. A student of the great Karl Jaspars, she was perhaps most famously the lover of Martin Heidegger. Having to flee Germany and then France for America, Arendt remained (for obvious reasons) deeply bitter about Heidegger and Jaspars stance (alternating support and then complete political withdraw) concerning Hitler and the Nazi regime. Afterall, of all people, shouldn't those people devoted to a life of contemplation (philosophers) be the first to stand up for what is right in the face of such overwhelming evil?

She is one of the 20th century's greatest philosophers. And though she was to live out her days in the United States, she remained committed to to practicing philosophy in the continental tradition (something seemingly almost impossible to do in contemporary America). In this European tradition, rather than working to construct philosophical systems which are rooted strictly in logic and a priori concepts, Arendt, like the greatest modern European philosophers, was committed to "doing philosophy" in a manner that is born out of one's own experience (that is, phenomenology).

In that way, her thinking is inextricably bound with that of Heidegger's as well as in her own experiences as a victim of the Nazis. She is, indeed, like many European philosophers concerned with our POLITICAL condition (and that means, she is, like Aristotle, concerned with our SHARED human experience). That is to say, really, that if thought does not somehow inspire action, if one does not lead a life of action (vita activa) then our thinking will remain impoverished (this is the great rejection of Plato).

This leads me to the point of the radio program where the host and guest talk about Arendt's very famous quote about the Banality of Evil. After a dramatic kidnapping in South America, the Israeli government brings Nazi master-mind Eichmann back to Israel to stand trial for his crimes againt Jewry and all humanity. Arendt traveled to Jerusalem to cover the trial, and reporting for the New Yorker, she made the famous comment that rather than sounding like some kind of madman, in fact what really struck her was the "banality of his speech." Accepting that many involved in evil acts are just robots or cogs in the wheel, still the show's host, Alan Saunders, persists that there are others who perform immoral acts on the basis of careful thought. How can that be, he asks? What, then, is the role of thought?

"Alan Saunders: Just finally, the great tragedy, or one of the great tragedies, there were quite a lot of contenders for the title, but one of the great tragedies of the 20th century to which she was witness, and of which she was to some extent a victim, a lot of it's about people like Hitler, Houston Chamberlain, the anti-Semitic theorist, even Wagner: a lot of it is about people sitting in rooms, thinking, and thinking the wrong thoughts. It's not all about people like Eichmann whom you can say are mechanics, are just getting on with the job, or just obeying orders. It is actually people thinking quite hard, but thinking badly.

Max Deutscher: Well she has quite a lot to say about that. As I say I've already indicated that she can be fully critical of a life of thought of a certain sort. If thought, to simplify, is a kind of inner conversation, this has implications. How do we get to think well? Well, we stand in need of the other, right? We need to be conversing with others. That sounds innocent and easy, but it isn't, as people find when they try. You know, things blow up, or the other person refuses to be thoughtful. So you get a kind of symbiotic relationship I suppose that my thinking well depends on the quality of my conversations with others. But it's not simply a one-way process as if thinking were a mere ghost of the full-blooded conversation with another, because the conversation with another that has any success is thoughtful, is borrowing upon my inner life as well, and so it's if you like, it's the preparedness to spend that time of what may be quite hard work thinking about the problems that arise at the conversational level, at the literally conversational level, that we refine and moderate our language and approach in order, if you like, that our conversations be more successful. None of this guarantees a good politics, and no-one has a guarantee for a good politics, but if one thinks of some of the characters you're talking about, they are people who are not working out their ideas adequately in close critical contact with others."

I suppose in this way, I do feel uncomfortable with Kourosh's apathetic response that "this too shall pass." This is because, above and beyond the political implications from such a stance is this role of conversation with the Other as being somehow critical to forming true judgements. For, I do believe that even "just talking" about philosophical or political issues is in some way-- while maybe actually effecting nothing at all- at least it involves some kind of faculty of judgement, and such discussions are therefore essential to our thinking processes and our moral lives.

But do conversations growing out of the inner life of individuals really take place anymore? This leads to what philosopher's describe as our contemporary sense of alienation whereby dialog comes down to a narrating of events (what I did last weekend). That is, discussion becomes dominated by that which has NOT been filtered through one's inner life.

Arendt concluded that Eichmann was-- as a kind of cog in the wheel (just a guy doing his job??) incapable of "exercising the kind of judgement that would have made his victims' suffering real or apparent for him." That is, "it was not the presence of hatred that enabled Eichmann to perpetrate the genocide, but the absence of the imaginative capacities that would have made the human and moral dimensions of his activities tangible for him."

What is called for then? Individuals who are both willing to think (and are committed to having rich inner lives) as well as individuals who are committed to our shared experience via dialog (vita activa).

Hannah Arendt was chided by her publisher for wanting to call Eichmann "thoughtless," since that word (in English) really is used lightly to chastise children or someone considered rude. At the same time, though, in my opinion the word is exactly on target-- for truly there was a total lack of any thought. Eichmann was, as Arendt argued beautifully, bereft of the ability to have "an internal dialogue with himself, which would have permitted self-awareness of the evil nature of his deeds." This inability, she says, "amounted to a failure to use self-reflection as a basis for judgement, the faculty that would have required Eichmann to exercise his imagination so as to contemplate the nature of his deeds from the experiential standpoint of his victims."

It really, then, comes down again to the heart (our inner lives and imagination). The ability to look at the world from another's point of view in an imaginative way. Kant required this of us, and perhaps such dialogs-- even in times where we think "nothing will come of it;" well, still such dialogs serve an important purpose. Arendt put it beautifully, calling such conversations that arise out of our contemplative lives as 'To think with an enlarged mentality means that one trains one's imagination to go visiting'.

Yes, the heart too needs to go visiting...

For a discussion of the banality of evil in terms of money and the arms trade, see this. 

***

"The Unexamined life is not worth living"-- Socrates

(A few days later): This whole discussion of the need for discussion which is filtered through our inner lives and our own inner dialogs reminded me of Socrates (perhaps my favorite Greek). Plato described him as saying that, "taking time everyday to DISCUSS questions of the basic values that shape your life is the best thing you can do to improce the qualty of your own life."

I think its interesting that Socrates chose to use the word "discuss" rather thank just to think about. I suppose-- like Arendt (who was deeply indebted to Socrates) that it was this shared understanding that was so essential to our moral lives. And to Socrates a life of virtue was equivalent to the Good Life. His concept of prtotecting our own souls from damage (whereby only the agent herself can damage her own soul) is very interesting-- as is the concept that the Good Life lies in our own choices-- right down to the end. 

And speaking of the end. What a way to go! A cup of Hemlock poised at his lips, he smiles and says, "Tell Crito I owe a cock to Asclepius" 

Here is a In our Times program about Socrates:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/history/inourtime/inourtime_20070927.shtml

And the Philosophers Zone program (aired on my birthday last year):

http://www.abc.net.au/rn/philosopherszone/stories/2007/1870416.htm

The other day Kourosh-- also known as Cyrus the Great-- and I were having a discussion about the fact that my new passport has a microchip in it. It seems, I said, that at least from here, there is a real absence of any kind of political dialog about the turn our country has taken-- from microchips and offshore prisons to a war that few people actually seem to even support. Kourosh wondered whether his own stance that "this (evil) too shall pass" was apathetic or not. This reminded me of a radio show that I listened to the other week on Australia Broadcasting Corporation's The Philosophers Zone about Hannah Arendt.

Hannah Arendt, born of Jewish parents in Germany, grew up just in time for Hitler's regime. A student of the great Karl Jaspars, she was perhaps most famously the lover of Martin Heidegger. Having to flee Germany and then France for America, Arendt remained (for obvious reasons) deeply bitter about Heidegger and Jaspars stance (alternating support and then complete political withdraw) concerning Hitler and the Nazi regime. Afterall, of all people, shouldn't those people devoted to a life of contemplation (philosophers) be the first to stand up for what is right in the face of such overwhelming evil?

She is one of the 20th century's greatest philosophers. And though she was to live out her days in the United States, she remained committed to to practicing philosophy in the continental tradition (something seemingly almost impossible to do in contemporary America). In this European tradition, rather than working to construct philosophical systems which are rooted strictly in logic and a priori concepts, Arendt, like the greatest modern European philosophers, was committed to "doing philosophy" in a manner that is born out of one's own experience (that is, phenomenology).

In that way, her thinking is inextricably bound with that of Heidegger's as well as in her own experiences as a victim of the Nazis. She is, indeed, like many European philosophers concerned with our POLITICAL condition (and that means, she is, like Aristotle, concerned with our SHARED human experience). That is to say, really, that if thought does not somehow inspire action, if one does not lead a life of action (vita activa) then our thinking will remain impoverished (this is the great rejection of Plato).

This leads me to the point of the radio program where the host and guest talk about Arendt's very famous quote about the Banality of Evil. After a dramatic kidnapping in South America, the Israeli government brings Nazi master-mind Eichmann back to Israel to stand trial for his crimes againt Jewry and all humanity. Arendt traveled to Jerusalem to cover the trial, and reporting for the New Yorker, she made the famous comment that rather than sounding like some kind of madman, in fact what really struck her was the "banality of his speech." Accepting that many involved in evil acts are just robots or cogs in the wheel, still the show's host, Alan Saunders, persists that there are others who perform immoral acts on the basis of careful thought. How can that be, he asks? What, then, is the role of thought?

"Alan Saunders: Just finally, the great tragedy, or one of the great tragedies, there were quite a lot of contenders for the title, but one of the great tragedies of the 20th century to which she was witness, and of which she was to some extent a victim, a lot of it's about people like Hitler, Houston Chamberlain, the anti-Semitic theorist, even Wagner: a lot of it is about people sitting in rooms, thinking, and thinking the wrong thoughts. It's not all about people like Eichmann whom you can say are mechanics, are just getting on with the job, or just obeying orders. It is actually people thinking quite hard, but thinking badly.

Max Deutscher: Well she has quite a lot to say about that. As I say I've already indicated that she can be fully critical of a life of thought of a certain sort. If thought, to simplify, is a kind of inner conversation, this has implications. How do we get to think well? Well, we stand in need of the other, right? We need to be conversing with others. That sounds innocent and easy, but it isn't, as people find when they try. You know, things blow up, or the other person refuses to be thoughtful. So you get a kind of symbiotic relationship I suppose that my thinking well depends on the quality of my conversations with others. But it's not simply a one-way process as if thinking were a mere ghost of the full-blooded conversation with another, because the conversation with another that has any success is thoughtful, is borrowing upon my inner life as well, and so it's if you like, it's the preparedness to spend that time of what may be quite hard work thinking about the problems that arise at the conversational level, at the literally conversational level, that we refine and moderate our language and approach in order, if you like, that our conversations be more successful. None of this guarantees a good politics, and no-one has a guarantee for a good politics, but if one thinks of some of the characters you're talking about, they are people who are not working out their ideas adequately in close critical contact with others."

I suppose in this way, I do feel uncomfortable with Kourosh's apathetic response that "this too shall pass." This is because, above and beyond the political implications from such a stance is this role of conversation with the Other as being somehow critical to forming true judgements. For, I do believe that even "just talking" about philosophical or political issues is in some way-- while maybe actually effecting nothing at all- at least it involves some kind of faculty of judgement, and such discussions are therefore essential to our thinking processes and our moral lives.

But do conversations growing out of the inner life of individuals really take place anymore? This leads to what philosopher's describe as our contemporary sense of alienation whereby dialog comes down to a narrating of events (what I did last weekend). That is, discussion becomes dominated by that which has NOT been filtered through one's inner life.

Arendt concluded that Eichmann was-- as a kind of cog in the wheel (just a guy doing his job??) incapable of "exercising the kind of judgement that would have made his victims' suffering real or apparent for him." That is, "it was not the presence of hatred that enabled Eichmann to perpetrate the genocide, but the absence of the imaginative capacities that would have made the human and moral dimensions of his activities tangible for him."

What is called for then? Individuals who are both willing to think (and are committed to having rich inner lives) as well as individuals who are committed to our shared experience via dialog (vita activa).

Hannah Arendt was chided by her publisher for wanting to call Eichmann "thoughtless," since that word (in English) really is used lightly to chastise children or someone considered rude. At the same time, though, in my opinion the word is exactly on target-- for truly there was a total lack of any thought. Eichmann was, as Arendt argued beautifully, bereft of the ability to have "an internal dialogue with himself, which would have permitted self-awareness of the evil nature of his deeds." This inability, she says, "amounted to a failure to use self-reflection as a basis for judgement, the faculty that would have required Eichmann to exercise his imagination so as to contemplate the nature of his deeds from the experiential standpoint of his victims."

It really, then, comes down again to the heart (our inner lives and imagination). The ability to look at the world from another's point of view in an imaginative way. Kant required this of us, and perhaps such dialogs-- even in times where we think "nothing will come of it;" well, still such dialogs serve an important purpose. Arendt put it beautifully, calling such conversations that arise out of our contemplative lives as 'To think with an enlarged mentality means that one trains one's imagination to go visiting'.

Yes, the heart too needs to go visiting...

For a discussion of the banality of evil in terms of money and the arms trade, see this. 

***

"The Unexamined life is not worth living"-- Socrates

(A few days later): This whole discussion of the need for discussion which is filtered through our inner lives and our own inner dialogs reminded me of Socrates (perhaps my favorite Greek). Plato described him as saying that, "taking time everyday to DISCUSS questions of the basic values that shape your life is the best thing you can do to improce the qualty of your own life."

I think its interesting that Socrates chose to use the word "discuss" rather thank just to think about. I suppose-- like Arendt (who was deeply indebted to Socrates) that it was this shared understanding that was so essential to our moral lives. And to Socrates a life of virtue was equivalent to the Good Life. His concept of prtotecting our own souls from damage (whereby only the agent herself can damage her own soul) is very interesting-- as is the concept that the Good Life lies in our own choices-- right down to the end. 

And speaking of the end. What a way to go! A cup of Hemlock poised at his lips, he smiles and says, "Tell Crito I owe a cock to Asclepius" 

Here is a In our Times program about Socrates:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/history/inourtime/inourtime_20070927.shtml

And the Philosophers Zone program (aired on my birthday last year):

http://www.abc.net.au/rn/philosopherszone/stories/2007/1870416.htm

Talking to Confucius

About a month ago, Shunya had asked me what it was that so interested me about Confucianism.

First, I had to stop and think for a minute.

Am I, in fact, interested in Confucianism?

Being interested in Confucius in one sense is like being interested in Socrates-- we really have nothing in the sage's own writing, as everything handed down to us are really the interpretations, extemporizing and extrapolations about what the sage is supposed to have said by those who came after him. 

I suppose it is true that the older I get, the more I am drawn to certain practical or tempering aspects of these two practical philosophers-- both whom I am sure I never really appreciated when I was in my Nietzschean twenties.

So, what is it about Confucius? We learn he is even being resurrected after decades of silencing by none-other than the Chinese communist party. What is it about his thinking that continues to speak to us even after 2500 years?

Remember the Nine Tripods that I was telling Mr. Roth about the other day? Remember what the Zhou King's trusty minister 王孫満(*) said to the rebellious Chu army general camped out outside the city walls?

The tripods do not matter, virtue does.

I think this is one aspect of his philosophy that is so appealing to so many-- this stress on individual cultivation, character and virtue (don't all three of those terms seem quaint or old-fashion now?)

I remember reading years ago that China has long been characterized as being a “wise man”--in contrast to “holy man”-- culture (such as those found in India or the Holy Land, for example). While this characterization can be traced all the way to ancient Zhou Dynasty times, with Confucius, the significant role given to self-cultivated wisdom (humanism) came to take center stage.

What does that mean, then, for an individual?

Well, for one thing, the way we live our lives here and now, become very important; for according to Confucius it was this life--rather than metaphysical issues of God and an afterlife-- which truly mattered. To put it very simply, Confucius believed it was in man’s best interest-- indeed it as his true nature-- to live morally and in harmony with nature and in society.

Sam Crane at The Useless Tree describes it this way:

 For Confucius, "harmony" is an effect; it is the thing created when individuals fulfill their social roles, especially in regard to their closest loving relationships, their families.  It is generated, in a social sense, from the bottom-up, from the myriad individual enactments of personal responsibilities happening in innumerable families and close social networks.  Any implementation - in a modern public policy manner - of these sensibilities would have to concern itself with enabling individuals to perform their family and social obligations.

Be sure to read on for his discussion of how this differs from both communist party collectivism as well as liberal individualism.

Confucian harmony is best attained through the cultivation of self, both by the correct performing of rituals (li) which had the power to put one in contact with the wisdom of the past, as well as, and above all, through a Socratic type of self-study ideally leading to the transformation of self.

In the words of one French scholar, Confucian wisdom, inextricably linked with morality, could only be acquired “after an effort lasting every minute of one’s life, by control of the smallest details of conduct, by observation of the rules of life in society (i), by respect for others and for oneself and by the sense of reciprocity (shu)” Man’s task, he explains, was to devote his life to gaining such wisdom through education, ritual, and proper social organization.

A task to last a lifetime; the cultivation of self as expressed through our social interactions, relationships and contributions-- these are all things which I found very compelling. (Do you think a lifetime of reading and travel that was achieved for reasons of pure personal pleasure are as Good, for example, as those which bear fruit in contributions that benefit other people-- even just one's family members, for example? This is an honest question, not a statement).

**

One compelling by-product of Confucian thought which affects the culture at large would be-- first of all, a stress on the past. 

Confucius' "Ethical Way” is presented as something passed down from Heaven to the idealized sage-kings of antiquity, and Utopian society was something seen to have been already realized, solely in the reality of the past. It was never, for example, imagined in any sort of hope in the future or an afterlife as in the West. And it was in the past that one could find the “exemplary models” necessary for all moral actions, including the methods of enlightened government. In a similar way to the Italians of the Renaissance who held the Ancients to be the “Grand Exemplars” in everything from art to politics, Confucius taught that the problems of the present age could be best solved by a “return to antiquity.” He considered the ancient kings to have been men of perfect virtue and therefore having been almost godlike.

Confucian, and later Neo-Confucian scholars and philosophers tended to elucidate on everything from political intrigues to philosophical dilemmas in terms of past precedents, “for only those with a clear vision of the past can uphold civilization’s future.” This is something referred to by one famous Chinese art historian as "Possessing the Past." Therefore the libraries and art collections of the various imperial palaces in Chinese history (the area from which I am writing in fact) became potent links to this highly venerated past, representing “a form of historiography that showed how rulers employed ritual, symbol, and history to legitimatize their rule.” 

This is also something that appeals to me personally. Indeed, I am no Utopian thinker.

Ideally as well, scholars, philosophers, artists and other literati would have a central place in a Confucian society. As Gloria Davies mentions in her interview with Alan Sanders in a recent edition of the Philosophers Zone,  

It's interesting, and in fact I think the Chinese government probably pays a lot more attention to the ramblings of intellectuals in China than any Australian government would to the ramblings of academics like myself, and that's because elite Chinese culture actually does turn on a kind of conviction in the power of ideas. The power of ideas to transform people, to transform society at large. When an intellectual comes up with a particularly catchy phrase, or a persuasive way of describing a situation, you'll find the government actually taking that up.

A government of scholars who are adept at the arts-- what do you think? How would that compare to a government of engineers? Or a government of successful businessmen or career politicians?

I know, I know, it's never going to happen-- no matter what Sam Crane says about Mr. Clinton!

So, I guess we are left with Shunya's issue with the New Confucianism (a movement whose main proponents were in Taiwan, Hong Kong and the US, I believe). To be honest, I just do not see it as being as problematic as Shunya thinks-- for indeed, I always like more Confucius if it means less Maoist philosophy. Yes, Mao's image was scrubbed from the Olympics and harmony and humanism were held up in his place. Was that any worse than the alternative, though?

Having spent my entire adult life in East Asia, I have watched as issues surrounding "Asian Values" starting with Mahathir 15 or so years ago have continued to generate much anxiety and rhetoric (not much dialog really). We, of course, also had Huntington's Clash of Civilizations and I just finished Robert Kagan's new book which paints another dark picture of more conflict between the liberal democracies and the world's many autocracies. And then Shunya asks, "Can't one be progressive without being self-righteous?" Which, I suppose is too ask can one not impose their utopian vision on another culture and still remain *not* on the side of the executioners?" 

I think so, but I wonder what Confucius would say?
 

(*)  It is interesting to note that the story of the wise minister (J. I am still waiting on the pinyin for his name! I only know the japanese reading) lives on over a thousand years later in Japan where even today the expression, “to inquire after the weight of the tripods” is still used (albeit by the older generation!) when someone’s ability is being called into question by an inferior.

The Philosophers Zone interview with Gloria Davies is recommended listening.

Palinurus sleeps

--from the Peony archives

A poet himself, he remarked to me that he thought that, "as a rule of thumb all poetry is bad poetry."

I said, NO. Because, of course, bad poetry always comes as a shock.

(And, I think we have all had the experience of reading bad poetry-- which like bad theater, can have the peculiar ability to cause embarrassment).

No, I said. Good poetry leaves us somehow changed. I really said that it somehow stains you with its feeling. But, no, what I meant is that like all great art -- in subtle or profound ways-- fine poetry can change you.

He was working on a poem himself at the time. Given his fascination with boats, shipmen and the crew, his choice was not all that surprising.

Palinurus:

Palinurus, at the night helm, watches the ebb and cease
of the evening light from his post. Palinurus dreads:
the sea, the chill of the lorn coast—
he dreads what lies beyond the ship,
he dreads the slick slip of a day into dusk,
dusk into night, the swathes of offusc
threat, the roil and rumble of the waves.

For years, I too have felt as if I am in a rickety wooden boat being tossed about on huge frothy, beast-like waves. This is no Polynesian outrigger gliding gracefully, effortlessly on the water's surface-- headed south toward Tahiti-- no, I am talking about a tiny boat full of gaping holes being tossed about atop cold, deathly waters.

Sometimes at night when I close my eyes, I almost feel the rise and fall of the swell.

Yes, I know what it is like to feel as vulnerable as Palinurus.

Others could gratefully succomb to the temptation of sleep. Release, as he calls it. But not Palinurus-- for his promise was too great.

Despite his dread he behaves
as a man must: for he who holds the tiller
commands the crew's trust. In his arms he cradles an oar
as a totem against death, mutters and dumbles
to himself, with an eye on the stars and rocks.
As he steers, his oar rocks in his arms
and becomes a wife's calf, a friend's wrist,
a friend half-remembered, and wreathed about in mist—

Grasping the tiller, he is griped-- bathed in mist-- it's power proves too much, and he slips quietly overboard. 

You see, this is why I hate boats. 

Sailing toward Athens across stormy Adriatic waters-- all I could think of was the limbless bronzes, sunk down at the bottom looking up at us. Laughing at our temerity. Yes, I pity Palinurus-- I pity his promise, I pity his occupation, I pity his fate.

And, I loath the feckless waves. I once shoved out of my way a group of Buddhist monks-- dressed in orange robes, heads shaved bare en route to some temple in Bangkok, to be the first one off a boat on the Chao Praya when the current got too rough. Creating bad karma perhaps, but what would they understand about being pulled down under the water? 

Sleep alofts and thrusts the body overboard;
night, obliviscous night, sticks and clutches at the helm.
The stars no more illuminate the rocks, unshored,
and the ship she drifts and rocks and wanders from the realm.

Exquisitely crafted, beautifully resounding, reading his poem I realized something I had never thought of before: The boat. Drifting without its helmsman, it still made it to where it was fated to go. Believe it or not, up till now, I had never imagined that rickety boat would land anywhere...Thinking that, I smiled, feeling oddly at peace-- and even perhaps somehow changed-- for a moment or two.