On Mother's Day

I generally dislike talking about or even thinking about parenting.  It's more than just boring; it's a painful reminder of the tediousness of the experience.  To talk about what a tedious time people are having just adds to the grating irritation of all those repetitive tasks.  Even funny mom-stories aren't usually funny to me.

But I feel like talking about Mother's Day today to weigh in on some books newly released.  Two reviews were in the New York Times this morning.  I have no intention of reading the books, so the reviews will have to suffice.  And I want to think a bit about the day - not in a Hallmark-bashing way, but as a day to contemplate motherhood.

Prensky's Natives and Immigrants

I just finished reading Teaching Digital Natives.  It's being read by the teachers and administrators of the new type of course that I've been on about lately.  I wish I had been given it last summer.  After a year of trying to piece together the main ideas of the program from snippets of philosophy and examples of projects, it seems to me this book may be a bible of sorts.

Where to begin?

Let's start with the Urban Dictionary's entry for Digial Nativism:

Mistaken belief that young folks who were born immersed in things digital are somehow in a state of grace and older folks are cursed by their age and lack of digital conditioning.  Arrogant and insulting division of generations into different camps first proposed by Marc Prensky but unfounded on any survey data.  With an insulting tone worthy of the original American nativists who hated immigrants (especially Catholic ones), Marc Prensky speaks of pre-iPod humans (digital immigrants) contemptuously.  This is simply digital nativism, a kind of generational prejudice that is ill founded and unsubstantiated.

Wow.  I think Prensky hit a nerve.  Let's see how mistaken this belief really is.

Book Clubs: Developing Community or Provoking Conformity

In the new-fangled course I'm teaching that allows teachers from fourteen schools to collaborate, we have a book club or literacy circle that can offer students a choice of fourteen different books to study.  It's all online on different types of discussion forum sites that any student can read and follow and add to during class or from home.  Each teacher just hosts one site.  Here's mine.  It's not nearly as impressive as some of the others, but it gets 'er done.

We've been trying to get students to connect in a variety of ways for the past two months, and this seems to be something that really works to develop community between teenagers across school divides.  Students each can pick any of the books based on their own taste in literature, and I think that is the key to the success of this activity.

On Educational Reform

I'm teaching a "new" type of program call the Futures Forward Project.  It joins three grade ten subjects for the morning with one teacher.  The idea is that if students have one teacher all morning, with three subjects, their education can become more flexible and therefore more student-directed as they individually decide every day what kinds of projects to do and when.

The idea has been around for centuries.  It started with Rousseau, then Montessori, and more recently with Hall-Dennis, Outcomes Based, and Mastery Learning projects.  All of these recent additions to education seem to come and go over and over under different names.  It's curious to me how we have this one main way of teaching that involves socratic teaching and some rote memorization of facts followed by testing and the practical application of skills within a typical classroom setting, and then every few years or so, we're told to throw it all out and do something radically different.  Then we revert back to the old standard again.

On Community

It's not just my favourite TV show.

Every year I teach the prisoner's dilemma to social science students.  The upshot of the dilemma is, if a person can reduce his/her own problems by screwing over someone else, what will they do.  The best option collectively is for both to take care of each other, but the best option individually is for us to be selfish. And, we can never be sure that other people will take care of us in return.  That the big stopper to  many acts of kindness - a concern that the kindness will not be returned.  But with an expectation of return, that's not so much kindness as a covert bargain without a clear agreement established.  But even if there is an agreement, "I won't rip off you if you don't rip off me," sometimes people lie. And then we get burned.

On God Our Invisible Parents

A couple of years after Beyond the Pleasure Principle, Freud wrote Future of an Illusion to clarify why so many people believe in God and why this is a problem for society.  All through the book he's guided along by a clever imaginary critic questioning him at every turn to ensure he presents a solid argument against religion.  He has no concerns with the book harming people by suggesting God is a hoax because those with unshakable faith will remain steadfast, but he is briefly concerned that people will write off all his theories, and all of psychoanalysis, because of his atheism. It's funny that he didn’t at all foresee that people might instead write him off for his perceived obsession with sex.  His atheism didn't become as commonly known.

On Pleasure and Pain

In Freud’s Beyond the Pleasure Principle, written in his mid-60s at the end of WWI as influenza killed one of his daughters, he tries to sort out why our lives generally suck even though we seem to be driven towards pleasures and away from pains.

What I love about Freud is that, like Montaigne, he’s just figuring. He doesn’t suggest that he knows all the answers; he’s just throwing out some ideas for consideration:

“We must hold ourselves in readiness to abandon the path we have followed for a time, if it should seem to lead to no good result….I am neither convinced myself, nor am I seeking to arouse conviction in others” (part VI).

The Aesthetic as a Route to Meaningfulness

Toby, at A Piece of Coffee, wrote an interesting post on Woody Allen and the meaning of life.  In particular, he discusses Manhattan to talk about Allen's need for art and music to give his life meaning rather than Hannah and Her Sisters or Midnight in Paris which I recently gushed over.  But, as he says, this is a common theme with many of Allen's films:  the purpose of life is to enjoy the richness of it, the beauty of art, music, architecture, and people, "to be part of the experience" (HaHS).

Toby says of art, "We distract ourselves constantly, we refuse to think about the meaning of our existence, we skirt around the inevitable." I think art can be a huge distraction, both in the viewing and in the creating. But it can also be a means towards reflecting on and delving into the depths of the ultimate meaninglessness of our lives, particularly if we include writing as an art form. We can be both pragmatically distracted from death and immersed in it as we ponder the very subject enough to make the words that fit together to communicate our ideas. Eh?

The Subjectivity of Taste

Amanda Marcotte at Pandagon has an interest post up about guilty pleasures.  As she points out, we can't have guilty pleasures unless we have rules around what we believe is acceptably pleasurable.  We can figure out our own rules (often obliquely concealed from us) by looking at what we believe doesn't fit.  The question becomes, "What are you slightly embarrassed to admit enjoying?"

She and others focus on music, books, TV shows, and films.  I don't actually have any that I feel awkward about, so it would appear that I have no rules around them.  I have preferences, but no obvious prejudices.  My little one loves Justin Bieber.  I find the music monotonous and hard to listen to, but I don't think less of anyone for liking it, and I wouldn't hide it if I was a fan.  Shining a light on my CDs or films doesn't cause me to cringe even when people make fun of some of the selections.  They're just acting superior.  There's nothing wrong with liking the Three Stooges.  Or Sarah McLachlin for that matter.  The Bay City Rollers had their day, and so did Nicholas Cage.

A Meander Through Summer Viewing

I’ve seen a ton of excellent movies this summer, many new releases, but also some films I’ve missed over the years too. There are three in particular that affected me in such a way that I felt I was a slightly different person having seen them.

It all started with the first, Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, which has Owen Wilson about to get married to a mundane, superficial woman when he more or less finds a portal to the past, a place rife with passion for art and architecture and literature. When I left the theatre, the street looked different to me. The film reminded me to notice little things: how some old chairs were arranged on a porch, the slant of a roofline, initials scrawled on the corner of a brick. It reminded me of the importance of paying attention to aesthetics in our everyday life (further emphasized by this article yesterday). It also reiterates that we should never settle when it comes to marriage.

On Ritual Work

It might sound flaky or religious or new-agey, but cultivating ritual ceremonies isn't necessarily any of those. It can be a dramatic way to cut through to the core of an issue affecting us and help us through significant transitions. We already do graduations, funerals and weddings (which we don't always do very well, often focusing more on the dress and cake than the union), but there are other transitions that we could use some help getting through. Jung wrote about it, as did James Hillman,

Years ago, an old boyfriend and I, our relationship on shaky ground, went to a therapist. She took us through a ritual to help us end our dying relationship, and I was fascinated by how powerfully the ritual affected me. So in grad school I sought out courses in Ritual Studies to learn more. Then as a teacher, when I got to the anthropology unit of my Challenge of Change in Society class, I started including a section on ritual work.

By chance, one of my ritual studies professors had two children who ended up in my class. I was a little nervous teaching them about ritual work since they were sired by an expert in the field. But he assured me that, at the time, they had no interest in reading any of his books, so they got all their introductory knowledge from me. Yikes!

On House Cleaning

I cleaned my house, so I took photos to document the rare event.  I have a hard time cleaning, but there's lots to take from Taoist and Zen writings about it.  It's all about the moment, and not the final product.  Years ago I watched a film called Enlightenment Guaranteed about two brothers who stay at a Zen monastery for a while.  Their days are filled with meditating and chores.  The one actor was also in the film Men! which I saw decades ago.  It's about a guy who uses an alias and moves in with the guy who's having an affair with his wife.  I tried it in a philosophy class once to discuss ethics.  Reactions were mixed.

Back to Enlightenment:  One message they learn is that it doesn't matter that someone walks across the floor right after you just cleaned it.  The point was in the cleaning not in the having it cleaned.  That helps.  Because it's never over, it seems fruitless.  It helps to consider that the purpose of housecleaning is something greater than just to have the house clean.  But it is nice to actually see the rooms and not the mess.

On Being Jack Layton

I cannot believe how deeply affected I am by the death of Jack Layton yesterday though I've never even met the man.

This is the time to take solace in philosophy, but it's hard.  There's Epictetus' "death is nothing dreadful" path, but this isn't about my own fear of death, or death itself being a worry.  It's about the death of this one specific man.  It's not really about coping with death at all, but coping with loss, and not just of a person but the loss of hope that we've got riding on him.

On Fear

A bit of Montaigne,

Such as are in immediate fear of a
losing their estates, of banishment, or of slavery, live in perpetual
 anguish, and lose all appetite and repose; whereas such as are actually
 poor, slaves, or exiles, oft times live as merrily as other folk.

When we fear losing our stuff or status, we can’t really enjoy either. And isn’t that a waste. Epicurus agrees that we can only really enjoy pleasures when we’re free from worry.

There’s an old Zen story about a great warrior who had a favourite teacup. He almost dropped the cup, and was shocked by his own fearfulness and anxiety over it. He had faced thousands of armed men, but never did he feel so frightened as when he almost broke his cup. So he smashed it and lived happier for it.

I think the same story could be told of a leader fearing his loss of position.

On Mindfulness

On yet another urging recommendation, I finally read The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh.  But I didn't read it well.  I'm a picky reader.  I can immerse myself in difficult philosophy readings, but this was a struggle.  I happily read all about Montaigne's thoughts on mindfulness, but I was trying to read this mindfully instead of expediently.  I found it repetitive, and ended up doing much of the reading in front of a movie just to get through it.

He cautions against following philosophical doctrine:

 "If one clings merely to a system of concepts, one only becomes stuck.  [Instead we must] penetrate reality in order to be one with it, not to become caught up in philosophical opinion or meditation methods....The finger which points to the moon isn't the moon itself."  

Uh oh.  That's totally me, stuck following doctrines instead of... doing that other stuff.

Okay, I'm still not there.  I really appreciate contemplating on Taoist and Buddhist thought, but I can't bring myself to set aside the time and attention necessary to live it as thoroughly as this book suggests.  Even trying to do breath-work for a minute a day is a struggle for me.  And I hate yoga.  Part of the reluctance might be that I was really into it all as a teenager, so doing it now feels like I'm trying to be a kid again.  I feel like I should be past all that now.  But I still got something out of my superficial reading of the book:

The whole book and theory is about maintaining awareness of the present.  If you're not present right now, then you're not really alive right now.  There was a Tolstoy story that I loved.  The moral is that the most important time is now, and the most important people are whomever you're with, and the most important thing to do is to bring joy to the people you're with - even if it's your enemy.  In the story, the person learning the lesson ends up saved by unwittingly helping an enemy.  It's similar to other Tolstoy stories.  Don't bother with revenge, just don't add any more evil to the world.  

Thich Nhat Hanh suggests we don't look at life divided into parts that you give to others, at work, with kids, etc.  Each moment you spend with others is your own time that you get to spend with others.  You have unlimited time for yourself.  It's all for you.  That's a useful perspective to keep in mind when I feel like people are draining me because I have something else I'd rather be doing.  I'm impatient whenever I'm not really here right now.

It's all a matter of perspective.  When my kids were babies and up all night sick, as I'd walk the halls jiggling and patting the little one, I'd tell myself that this is a great opportunity to hug my kids.  When they're older, they probably won't let me hold them for hours and hours (and hours).  It really helped me to appreciate the time instead of becoming bitter or complaining.

Once I took my then 3-year-old to the dentist.  She wanted to walk, so we left the stroller at home.  On the way back home after a stressful afternoon of waiting and all the excitement of a new experience, she wanted to be carried and promptly fell asleep in my arms.  While I carried her the many blocks home, I imagined I was running a marathon with fans cheering me on at the edges of the sidewalk.  That fantasy helped me carry on, to feel strong, proud and grateful for the exercise I got instead of miserable from the burden of a heavy child. It was a useful delusion.

There was a good little parable about lettuce.  If the lettuce doesn't grow well, we don't blame the lettuce.  We blame the sun or rain or soil or rocks or bugs or rabbits.  We should be as compassionate with people when they "are still imprisoned by false views, hatred, and ignorance and continue to create hatred, and ignorance and continue to create suffering for themselves and for others."  And we should have compassion for ourselves too, of course.   Take "care for one's self, not being preoccupied about the way others look after themselves, a habit of mind which gives rise to resentment and anxiety."

Montaigne suggests we maintain mindfulness by writing about what's happening right now, and just by really paying attention to what we see and hear.  That's doable for me.  It's a start.  But I'm still going to mentally multitask from time to time, still going to think about life and ideas while I do dishes instead of just doing dishes.  And that's okay.  I can try to really be with people when I'm with people, but the dishes are less affected by my attitude.  And I like to think.  

On Good Role Models

If you haven't heard the story of Hege Dalen and Toril Hansen yet, these two heroes were camping and heard shots coming from across the lake on the Island of Utoya in Norway where kids were being targetted by a lone gunman.  They got in their boat and made several trips in order to save 40 people who were trying to swim to safety.  They were shot at and found bullet holes in their boat, but they kept going back to save more lives.

Many people questioned why this part of the story wasn't made pubic sooner, and concluded that it has something to do with the fact that they're both women and a married couple.  That messes with our idea of what a hero looks like.  It's also bizarre how much of the immediate media was filled with claims of ties to Islamic terrorists. Now the killer's being branded as not a real Christian.

We like to distance ourselves from anything disagreeable.  But that is to deny the reality of any group of people.  An individual is a microcosm of a group.  We each have potential to cause harm - maybe not murder, but certainly meanness.  If we deny that's part of us, we risk acting on it all the more because we're only allowing ourselves to see our sparkling persona.  It seems like it's almost necessary for evil to be acted out somewhere.  Are there any pious groups without at least a trickster in their midsts, or a liar or manipulator?  We can only try to be virtuous as often as possible.  We'll always be drawn into the fray surrounding us from time to time.  Like the priest in this video:



According to Montaigne, and the Stoics, and Epicurus, and Aristotle, and the Tao, one way to try to stay on the straight and narrow is to find good people out there and follow their lead.  I think, because of the potentially nefarious nature of humanity, we can't blindly follow one person's lead.  Some people do wonderful things, but aren't always wonderful.  As exhausting as it may be, we still have to think for ourselves all the bloody time!

Some people follow Jesus or Muhammad, but they stray from the original words and stories to following other followers who are misleading at best, and horrifically cruel at worst.  Both of these prophets generally suggest we should be nice to one another - mainly, but the metaphorical stories makes the details a bit muddy.  So people have used religion to back up their own nastiness for centuries.  And everyone likes to pick and choose a bit to determine the philosophy that fits them best - as they should.  A friend once commented that Islamic doctrine is clearly more violent than Christian doctrine, but I suggested she forgot about some of the claims made in the Book of Revelation in which Jesus will judge and wage war and strike down the nations and all that jazz.  She said, "My church doesn't really believe in that part of the Bible." Just as well.     

There are plenty of examples of virtuous people who walk among us like Dalen and Hansen, and we should follow their incredible courage and persistence, but yet if we follow all their acts believing they are the Good incarnate, they're bound to stray and lie or act thoughtlessly or something from time to time.  It happens.  We have to consciously follow the right actions and attitudes, not the right people.  And this particular instance makes it clear that we shouldn't just look for virtue in the typical places.  Our stereotypes around who is likely to be good can really throw us off the mark.  

On Entertainment and Cruelty

While I was in the middle of re-watching season one of Arrested Development yesterday, someone came to my door wanting a donation for an initiative she was creating.  This happens every other day or so.  I'm often very patient listening to people's plea for financial help with their new business or for me to buy their service that they claim I can't live without.  It's the new version of the door-to-door salesman. But yesterday?  Not so much.  I interrupted her with, "Sorry, I'm just not interested," and walked away.

I felt badly afterwards, but rationalized that her intro was just too long for sustained attention.  She needs to get her pitch down to two-minutes tops!  Also, there are many people on my street that will listen to her at length, so I can free-ride on their kindness.  If my reaction upset her, I know the woman two doors down would build her back up.  Right?

But then I wondered if the T.V. show I was watching wasn't affecting my judgment and subsequent behaviour.

I gravitate to shows with snarky, selfish, morally-corrupt characters like It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Weeds, and Community.  There's likely something in me that appreciates that kind of humour - maybe it's because I typically repress all that in my regular life, so I like to watch it on T.V.   I think I'll go with that.  But to what extent does watching the corruption affect my behaviour and make me even more corrupt than otherwise?

Does media reflect or affect society?  I think it's both.

An interesting study was done that found that "educational media exposure was correlated with future observed relational aggression."  Researchers looked at the connection between the content of non-violent cartoons and verbal aggression, and found a strong correlation.  Shows like Arthur or Franklin, or Magic School Bus are non-violent, but the content is full of anti-social behaviours:  snarky, whiney kids who complain and tease and berate one another.  Another study found that 96% of all children's programming includes verbal insults and put-downs, averaging 7.7 put-downs per helf-hour, and 84% of the time, there was no reprimand or correction, only laughter or nothing at all.  Even though the final moral of the story is positive, the kids watching pick up and directly copy the behaviours seen throughout.

T.V. producers have spent so much energy on taking out all the physical aggression in shows like Road Runner, or Bugs Bunny, that they didn't see they had replaced it with verbal aggression.  Conflict of some type is integral to a story.  Everyone getting along is boring and doesn't entertain beyond the early years.

That physical aggression of dropping anvils on characters or punching them until they have little birds circling their heads are strongly disapproved of in our culture.  Kids know that.  We watched the shows without copying them - much.  At the very least if we copied them, we did it secretively because we know we'd get in trouble if we got caught.  But subtle verbal nastiness is almost socially sanctioned, particularly if it entertains us in class or at the dinner table.  We might say, "That's not very nice," but with a hint of a smile that suggests it's okay anyway.

We all know hitting and biting is wrong.  But we seem to have forgotten that teasing and belittling and whining is problematic.  These behaviours have become socially acceptable on T.V. shows and in our lives.

But is it immoral to hurt someone's feelings in order to get a laugh or because we're feeling impatient with them?  Is it just an etiquette issue?  Etiquette is much more relative and culturally determined.  We were taught to keep our elbows off the table and never wear a hat indoors back in the day.  Most of us ignore these  rules now with no ill effects, and people who maintain them strictly may be seen as old-school.  But the difference between these examples is the harm caused.

Knowingly causing harm to another for personal gain is immoral.  Often instead of altering our behaviour to reduce harm (by not teasing for example), we try to alter our belief in the effect ("She doesn't mind if I tease her") or the receiver's belief in the effect ("Oh, lighten up!").  We rationalize our behaviour to try to convince ourselves and others that we're not really causing harm simply because it's entertaining to us to cause exactly this kind of harm.  And it's a bit of a power-trip.  Of course sometimes teasing really doesn't cause harm.  But we typically know where that line is, and we often ignore it.

I hate censorship.  And I think that's not necessary for the big kids anyway.  I think we can watch the shows, but perhaps should pay just that much more attention to our behaviour to ensure we're not blindly copying the very funny but very cruel attitudes and actions we're watching.  We can laugh at the fools so long as we don't turn them into our role models.  For our children, it's a matter of monitoring when they're able to think before they act before they should watch such anti-social programming, and then discussing the programs with the kids as they watch.  Maybe they can watch some nature shows until then!

And when Montaigne says we need to work against evil in order to actually be virtuous, he might be happy to know that in today's society those opportunities to consider an immoral act but choose to be virtuous are more plentiful than ever!

AND let's not forget it IS possible to be funny without being a jerk:

Temporary Distractions

When not reading, I like to watch bizarre videos like this one (it's not your typical cat video - and, apparently his cat wrote it):



Then there's this:



And then I got sucked into re-watching season one of Arrested Development.  But that's what summer's all about!

On Virtue and Intention

Montaigne's essay "Of Cruelty" speaks more to virtue than evil. He's sorting out what it means to be virtuous.  In a nutshell he says, "What I have in me of good, I have by chance."  Being virtuous has to be more than just the good we do that we would have done even if it wasn't considered good.  Virtuous acts are those that take a bit of struggle.

I like to think of myself as moral by choice - by the sheer strength of my willpower to resist temptation. But lately I've decided it's just my dumb luck that I tend to do things that seem virtuous at this time and place.

I have allergies to fragrances. I go on and on about the harm caused by phthalates, but truth be told, I couldn't wear perfume or make-up if I wanted to. I can't even walk down the detergent aisle at the grocery store. I'm a canary in a coal-mine. My irritations make me seem a good feminist and a good environmentalist.

And I'm oblivious to details. My mom had significant facial hair, but I didn't notice that was unusual until I was 12 when a friend's dad made fun of it. A few years back I met up with an old boyfriend on the street. He thanked me for having dated him in high school. I was hot for him and baffled by the gratitude.

"I used to be really overweight."

"Oh, I don't think so."

"No really. I've lost 150 pounds since then."

I didn't notice a difference. I didn't say that because it might be taken as an insult. I'm just kinda spacey about that kind of stuff. But instead of getting called on being a basket-case, I seem non-judgmental and open-minded and accepting and all those other nice things.

The smell of cars makes me sick, and I also get horrible motion-sickness. So, of course, I'm a strong cycling advocate. I'm good for the planet not because of my moral fiber, but because cars make me barf.

And I'm left to wonder, if I wasn't such an easily-sickened space-cadet, would I be as virtuous? And since my virtue seems personality-dependent, or just my inclination, can I take any credit for it?

According to Montaigne:  nope.

Virtue is "other and nobler than the inclinations toward goodness that are born in us." A virtuous act requires some measure of vice to work against and overcome.  Virtue requires a struggle for goodness.  We're virtuous, I take it, when we act against our desires, not with them.  Good acts are still good I suppose, but not nearly as commendable as virtuous acts.  I can buy that.  It's easy for me to live without a car, so it's not as praiseworthy as if I gave up a car I loved for the sake of the environment.  And if I seek praise for such an easy act, then I'm being kind of slimy.

He goes on, 

"For this reason it is that, when we judge of a particular action, we are to consider the circumstances, and the whole man by whom it is performed, before we give it a name. 

To instance in myself: I have sometimes known my friends call that prudence in me, which was merely fortune; and repute that courage and patience, which was judgment and opinion; and attribute to me one title for another, sometimes to my advantage and sometimes otherwise."

I'm pretty honest which is sometimes a virtue, but I'm often unaware of the affect my words and actions will have on others. Years ago when I brought my newborn baby to work for a visit, I immediately handed it off to a colleague who loves babies.  Later another colleague told me that that was so incredibly nice of me.  The guy holding my baby has schizophrenia.  But I didn't see him as someone with a disorder then make a moral decisions to do the right thing.  I just saw him as a person who loves babies, and I didn't hesitate to hand mine over.  It was an act of innocence, not virtue.

But honesty works against me too.  Again at work, I once casually mentioned that I wouldn't be caught dead in a blazer, and apparently offended a whole room of blazer-wearers.  They thought I was so cruel to say such a thing. But that wasn't my intention, only the effect.  So, if I take no praise in the first case, then I should take no blame in the latter either, right?  I apologized anyway.

In both instances I was being honest and oblivious, but neither kind nor cruel.  If we consider the whole person before we cast judgment, that suggests that intention matters more than effect.  But we still have to take responsibility for the effect we have on others.  It seems to come down to getting the blame but not the praise.  Montaigne doesn't actually suggest we get no praise for our goodness, just not as much as for our virtuousness.

I have had perhaps a few moments of virtuousness.  When I was first pregnant with no desire to marry, several people advised me to abort.  They didn't typically use those words though (although a few did).  The words were closer to, "You can't be pregnant and single and teach in a high school, and you can't marry the dad, so...."  Then they'd trail off for me to come to my own conclusions.  I'm pro-choice, but not for my own convenience.   It was clear to me the right thing to do was defy public opinion and custom and have the baby.  I stood up to the masses and did the right thing.  BUT it's also what I wanted to do, so I think it was actually a good act, but not a virtuous act even though there was significant internal struggle involved.

I'm down to only one really clear example of virtue.  This past March I wanted to sell a rental property.  I asked around if anyone wanted it, and I offered $320,000 as the price - a very reasonable estimate given the area and a realtor assessment done the previous fall.  A neighbour jumped at it the day before I was about to give up and have realtors look at it.  He couldn't have an offer ready for a few days.  I wanted to go ahead with the realtors in case he couldn't get the money together, but I promised him that my word was good, that I'd take $320,000 regardless what the realtors said.  They said $450,000.

Ouch.

I sucked it up and accepted the neighbour's offer.   It was virtuous in that I had to struggle with it, and the right answer was not the easy answer, not what I desired by a long shot.   BUT, I will be left to wonder, would I have been so virtuous if it wasn't a neighbour that I had to see regularly.  AND since it's the case that if I had raised my price by 100,000, I would have felt sick every time I walked past his house, isn't it still an inclination to act that way?  That I would be internally tormented if I hadn't done it seems to suggest it was an act more natural than intentional.  I think the struggle and the ill feeling I also have when I think of the lost cash means it was actually indeed a virtuous act.

Can I feel virtuous now?!

Finally Montaigne gets to the cruelty bit of his title.  He, like most of us, has "naturally a horror for most vices."  It makes us uncomfortable to watch people in pain.  Most of us have empathy, and he doesn't understand people who don't.  He says,

I could hardly persuade myself, before I saw it with my eyes, that there could be found souls so cruel and fell, who, for the sole pleasure of murder, would commit it; would hack and lop off the limbs of others; sharpen their wits to invent unusual torments and new kinds of death, without hatred, without profit, and for no other end but only to enjoy the pleasant spectacle of the gestures and motions, the lamentable groans and cries of a man dying in anguish. For this is the utmost point to which cruelty can arrive:  "That a man should kill a man, not being angry, not in fear, only for the sake of the spectacle." (Seneca)

That he despises cruelty by inclination makes it an act of goodness or innocence, not virtue.  But, does it follow then that people without such an inclination are merely bad, and not evil?  The effect is the most evil acts ever committed, but the intention may be merely to clean up the neighbourhood.

And I also wonder, if Montaigne was a guard in Zimbardo's experiment, where random students were assigned to be guards or prisoners for six days and nights in a wing of the university, would he have tormented the prisoners until they were rocking in a corner like the other guards did?  This would be a perfect event necessary for the expression of virtue:  going against the crowd and inclination in order to do the right thing.  But would he have done it?

Would I?

On Evil

Elizabeth Renzetti interviewed Simon Baron-Cohen on his new book The Science of Evil in the Globe and Mail today.  If you picture Borat when you hear that name, you're not alone.  They're cousins.  Anyway, from the article, having not read the book, it's striking how common most of the theories he posits are.

He's got his bit about the amygdala lighting up when we judge emotions from seeing only a person's eyes.  But the rest is straight out of a grade 12 course I teach:  Empathy is on a spectrum within each of us.  It's partly from our genes and parenting and partly from environmental factors.  Some people are naturally closer to zero empathy - typically people with anti-social personality disorder (called psychotic in the article).  People with aspergers often have poor ability to judge emotions from a person's face, but their love of rules keeps them in line.  People in groups, like the Nazis, collectively lose empathy by believing, or being trained to believe, that another group of people is not like them.  I call this "othering"; Baron-Cohen refers to in-group, out-group models.  Even chimpanzees, like Bonobos, display empathy.  I was hoping for an exciting new book on scientific theories of evil, but, judging from this article, I don't think this is it.

For the past forty years or so, the studies to talk about when it comes to understanding loss of empathy in a group have been the ones conducted by Milgram and Zimbardo which suggest that almost any one of us could be made to harm others given the right environmental circumstances.  They aren't mentioned in the paper, but I'd be surprised they aren't in the book.  It makes me think I should turn my course into a book.  But I'd feel remiss because I wouldn't actually be saying anything new.  It's just a collection of studies that have been around for years.  It's exciting to 17-year-olds who have never heard of them though.  And I guess there's a lot of people who haven't taken social psych courses and might love the book.  But I keep looking for new material and keep finding the same stuff being repeated.

Is this the final answer then?