Keith Burgess-Jackson

10-21-87 Wednesday. I had a nice discussion with Clark Wolf this afternoon. It ranged over music, politics, and philosophy, but the most interesting subject was how each of us came to discover and fall in love with philosophy. As I explained to Clark, I came at philosophy in an odd way. My original interest was narrow: animal rights. The book that started everything was Barry Holstun Lopez’s Of Wolves and Men [(New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1978); I finished reading this book on 28 December 1980]. That book exposed me to natural history (Aldo Leopold, Henry Beston, and Stephen Gould), wilderness (Roderick Nash), and moral philosophy (John Rodman and Peter Singer). Eventually these interests brought me to Joel Feinberg [1926-2004] and Tom Regan, and that opened up my philosophical world. After arriving at the University of Arizona to attend graduate school [in August 1983], my interests expanded even further, into other branches of philosophy. Now I’m interested in epistemology, philosophy of religion, metaphysics, and philosophy of language. The metaphor that I chose to describe this process is a zoom lens. Originally, I said, I was focused on animals. But gradually I’ve pulled back the lens and begun to explore or examine other subjects within what is conventionally known as philosophy.

During this time, the Latin and Greek books which I continued to read with my father were chiefly such as were worth studying, not for the language merely, but also for the thoughts. This included much of the orators, and especially Demosthenes, some of whose principal orations I read several times over, and wrote out, by way of exercise, a full analysis of them. My father’s comments on these orations when I read them to him were very instructive to me. He not only drew my attention to the insight they afforded into Athenian institutions, and the principles of legislation and government which they often illustrated, but pointed out the skill and art of the orator—how everything important to his purpose was said at the exact moment when he had brought the minds of his audience into the state most fitted to receive it; how he made steal into their minds, gradually and by insinuation, thoughts which, if expressed in a more direct manner would have aroused their opposition. Most of these reflections were beyond my capacity of full comprehension at the time; but they left seed behind, which germinated in due season. At this time I also read the whole of Tacitus, Juvenal, and Quintilian. The latter, owing to his obscure style and to the scholastic details of which many parts of his treatise are made up, is little read, and seldom sufficiently appreciated. His book is a kind of encyclopædia of the thoughts of the ancients on the whole field of education and culture; and I have retained through life many valuable ideas which I can distinctly trace to my reading of him, even at that early age. It was at this period that I read, for the first time, some of the most important dialogues of Plato, in particular the Gorgias, the Protagoras, and the Republic. There is no author to whom my father thought himself more indebted for his own mental culture, than Plato, or whom he more frequently recommended to young students. I can bear similar testimony in regard to myself. The Socratic method, of which the Platonic dialogues are the chief example, is unsurpassed as a discipline for correcting the errors, and clearing up the confusions incident to the intellectus sibi permissus, the understanding which has made up all its bundles of associations under the guidance of popular phraseology. The close, searching elenchus by which the man of vague generalities is constrained either to express his meaning to himself in definite terms, or to confess that he does not know what he is talking about; the perpetual testing of all general statements by particular instances; the siege in form which is laid to the meaning of large abstract terms, by fixing upon some still larger class-name which includes that and more, and dividing down to the thing sought—marking out its limits and definition by a series of accurately drawn distinctions between it and each of the cognate objects which are successively parted off from it—all this, as an education for precise thinking, is inestimable, and all this, even at that age, took such hold of me that it became part of my own mind. I have felt ever since that the title of Platonist belongs by far better right to those who have been nourished in, and have endeavoured to practise Plato’s mode of investigation, than to those who are distinguished only by the adoption of certain dogmatical conclusions, drawn mostly from the least intelligible of his works, and which the character of his mind and writings makes it uncertain whether he himself regarded as anything more than poetic fancies, or philosophic conjectures.

Note from KBJ: Many law professors use the Socratic method—or an approximation of it—in their courses. The students read a case. The professor calls on someone to state the facts, both substantive and procedural. (Who did what to whom? How did the case get into the courts? What happened at trial? Who appealed? On what basis? Which rule was applied by the appellate court, with what result?) Once done, the professor asks whether this or that change to the facts would (or should) make a difference to the result. This forces the students to identify the ratio decidendi of the case, i.e., to identify the true ground of the decision. Oral arguments before the United States Supreme Court proceed in much the same fashion. Part of what makes the first year of law school so difficult is that students are unfamiliar with the Socratic method. They are used to having information transmitted to them by their instructors. In law school, little or no information is transmitted. Instead, questions are asked. The students are expected to figure things out for themselves.

Many professional athletes are so self-absorbed as to be obnoxious. And then there are people like Lance Armstrong, who was in my neck of the woods yesterday. (I think I passed him on Cherry Pie Hill.) Lance could devote himself to earning money, like a certain former president I know, or partying, like so many NFL and NBA players, but he has chosen to devote himself to others. Read this. If it doesn’t renew your faith in humanity, nothing will.

Here.

To the Editor:

While I applaud Bob Herbert’s willingness to speak about absent black fathers and personal responsibility, I think there is something else that’s being missed. We are letting the mothers off the hook too easily.

What I see in my generation (I’m 36) are women who wear single motherhood as a badge of honor and take the “I don’t need a man to have a baby” attitude. Perhaps their fathers were absent and so this is closer to their experience. But although they may not need a man, these children need fathers.

Unfortunately, the system makes it easier for these women to get help when the father is absent. So if we are going to have a discussion about personal responsibility, we have to talk about the role of mothers and how our society’s good intentions have exacerbated this sad state of affairs.

Angela DiCamillo
New York, Oct. 16, 2007

Note from KBJ: It’s a sad commentary on our society that something so obvious needs saying. There are people out there who insist that any family is as good as any other. It doesn’t matter (they say) whether a child is raised by a single mother, a single father, a married couple, two men, or two women. This is obviously false, so one wonders why it is so vehemently asserted. I think it’s to prevent anyone from feeling unfortunate. We don’t want children who were raised by a single mother (for example) to feel as though they missed something by not having a hands-on father. I have news for these children: You missed something. I fully expect to hear someone say that being raised by wolves is just as good for a child as being raised by a mother and a father. All that’s required is that the wolves love the child.

The always graceless Paul Krugman* complains about David Kennedy’s review of his book.

* “Op-Ed columnist Paul Krugman has the disturbing habit of shaping, slicing and selectively citing numbers in a fashion that pleases his acolytes but leaves him open to substantive assaults” (Daniel Okrent, “13 Things I Meant to Write About but Never Did,” The New York Times, 22 May 2005).

Yesterday, in Mineral Wells, Texas, I did my 24th bike rally of the year and my 420th overall. This was my 11th consecutive rally. I would do a rally every Saturday from late March to late November if I could, but there are always a few open dates along the way. Things are winding down for the 2007 rally season. As the weather cools, I’ll pick up the distance and intensity of my runs. I’m looking forward to doing 5K and 10K footraces this fall, winter, and spring. I hope you’re staying active. Your body is your earthly vehicle. It needs vigorous exercise to remain healthy and strong. In the ancestral environment, people stayed active naturally by hunting, gathering, and preparing food. Now, with sedentary jobs and rich foods to tempt them, people must make an effort to stay active. I’m not the least bit surprised that obesity is rampant.

Only one of my friends—Randy—showed up at the rally, which is known as the Crazy Kicker. Joe is training for the White Rock Marathon in mid-December and Phil wimped out. Randy and Phil rode the day before with Levi Leipheimer and Jason McCartney, who were in town to promote something. Randy tells me that Levi has joined the Astana cycling team, which was previously led by the disgraced Alexander Vinokourov. I’m sure Levi will be the team leader next year. Look for him to contend for the Tour de France title in 2008. It’s about time another American stood at the top of the podium. If Levi wins, he will probably credit Phil and Randy for helping him train. I’m just glad they didn’t knock him over.

It was a gorgeous day for a bike ride. The sky was clear and the air crisp and cool. I knew I’d regret it later, but I wore a long-sleeved shirt under my jersey to ward off the morning chill. (We started at eight o’clock.) Sure enough, I took it off about three hours into the ride. I also wore brown cotton gloves to keep my hands warm. I eventually took them off and stuffed them into my jersey pocket. By the time we finished riding, at 12:30, it was warm. The official high temperature for the day was 91° Fahrenheit. We’re supposed to get cooler weather soon, perhaps as early as tomorrow. It looks like a cold front is bearing down on us from the Pacific Northwest.

The Mineral Wells area, which is west of Fort Worth, is hilly and scenic. It’s one of my favorite places to ride. The hills—except for Cherry Pie Hill near the end—aren’t steep, but they’re long. They remind me of some of the mountain passes in New Mexico and Colorado. Early on, I had a flat tire. Randy was a few feet ahead of me at the time and didn’t know it. I replaced the tube quickly and got rolling. I thought Randy would wait for me at the first rest stop, in Graford, but I didn’t see him, so I continued by myself. I found him at the second rest stop, in Palo Pinto. I thought he knew about my flat and decided to wait for me there, but later I learned that he didn’t know about my flat. He thought he dropped me. Ha! We rode the rest of the course together and had fun, despite the brutal wind. The average wind speed for the day was 14.8 miles per hour, with gusts to 29. There were two stretches of road where the wind slowed our pace to a crawl. It felt good when it was behind us, though.

I rode 17.6 miles the first hour, 15.6 the second, and 18.2 the third. I averaged only 14.83 miles per hour for the final 1:00:39. That stretch included Cherry Pie Hill, which, as I said, is steep. It winds through the trees. Just when you think you’ve reached the top, you see another ascent. I joked to Randy before the start of the climb that with the tailwind we had, we might be able to coast to the top. He was not amused. I ended up with an average speed of 16.55 miles per hour for 66.4 miles. Two years ago, I averaged 16.42 miles per hour, and the year before that 15.14. With the hills and the wind, I’ll take it.

My cycling computer messed up again. A week ago, in Glen Rose, it recorded my heart rate but not my mileage. Yesterday, it recorded my mileage but not my heart rate. I have no idea what’s going on. Randy’s $400 GPS computer conked out during our ride. He’s livid, as well he should be. One minute the computer works fine; the next it’s blank. Randy whines so loudly and so often, about so many things, that this new whining didn’t matter. It was a drop in the bucket. Riding with Randy is like drinking fine whine. But seriously, Randy has come a long way as a bike rider. We’ve had a great time at the rallies this year. May 2008 be just as safe and enjoyable.

Addendum: Someone made a profile of the course based on GPS data. When I said the course is hilly, I wasn’t shittin’!

They say the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

In the case of today’s politician the quickest (and easiest) way to getting a vote is to form an unreasonable, visceral, autonomic distaste for your opponent. Witness: the coming 12 months.

A nation in the midst of discarding its freedoms for security and preferring emotion to reason will feature politicians who gravitate towards this quicker and easier road to votes that doesn’t involve the brain. And isn’t that just what we WANT in this country? Leaders who keep the masses (rabble) happy and secure while building their dachas far removed?

Will “Curmudgeon” Nehs

1. Someone at The New Yorker (the “PR Coordinator”) sent this to me via e-mail. I can’t find it online, so I uploaded it. It’s a story about super agent Scott Boras, who represents Alex Rodriguez and many other baseball players. If I had baseball talent, I’d want Boras on my side.

2. I couldn’t watch yesterday’s ALCS game between the Cleveland Indians and the Boston Red Sox. As soon as J. D. Drew hit a grand slam, I turned to the college football game between Auburn and LSU. Later, I saw that the score was 10-1 in the third inning. I couldn’t bear to see the giddy Red Sox fans, who are almost as obnoxious as Yankee fans. I hope Cleveland wins tonight, because I don’t want to see Boston in the World Series. Then again, what could piss off Yankee fans more than Boston winning another World Series? The Yankees haven’t won since 2000, despite outspending every other team by a scandalous margin. The Red Sox will have won two titles in four years.

3. Who will be the next manager of the Yankees? Don Mattingly? Joe Girardi? Tony LaRussa? Lou Piniella? Bob Brenly? Why not Buck Showalter?

4. Here is an interesting blog post about J. D. Drew, who is almost as uninspired as Andruw Jones.

Here.