Personal Morality and Free Will

I'm not one to neglect my responsibilities as a secular humanist, but it's only tonight that I broke the spine of this month's edition of Free Inquiry magazine. The editor, Paul Kurtz opens the issue with the question of Personal Morality. Your titular expectations may lead you down the path of, say, vicarious redemption, free will, or personal responsibility, but rather, Kurtz approaches the issue by first accepting a commonly wavered conceit; to be "a secularist or an atheist", he suggests, "is no guarantee of ethical high-mindedness or moral integrity". I agree, although I would argue that you're facing the right direction if you adopt these labels correctly. His piece hinges not on the autonomy of the individual or the assumption of a metaphysical extension of human understanding, but instead he emphasises the importance of personal integrity among secularists.

Secular humanists need to support individual autonomy, freedom of choice, and the right of privacy. Those who are committed to the open, pluralistic, democratic society prize tolerance and respect diversity.

All of which is true. However, he ploughs the fields of the metaphysical when asserting our "freedom of choice". Personal morality, he rightly notes, stems from our evolutionary development, wherein compassion, emotional solidarity, empathy, and the desire to survive were hard-wired into our consciousness. Do we, in fact, have "freedom" at all? Perhaps freedom is illusory, resulting from a conflict of desires. When conflicting impulses collide, in increasingly complex scenarios, we, as humans, are forced to, shall we say, make a choice. Though, we must accept, that this choice is based solely on the singular merits of each, and the repercussions of others. Kurtz addresses this notion in another essay for the magazine, entitled, A Short Primer on Secular Ethics, in which he states:

Some individuals may never fully develop morally — they may be morally handicapped, even sociopathic. That is one reason society needs to enact laws to protect itself.

Indeed, laws, and the inherent punishment, constitute a repercussion. Clearly, one is morally compelled to argue that laws, and the implementation of punishment, are an imperative deterrent to the would-be criminal. And so, when we discuss personal morality, we must accept that the governing of impulses and actions have been affected over our evolutionary history by self-imposed and outwardly imposed laws. This adds to the illusion of free will, as we appear, in our own psyche, to weigh up the positive effects of a deed against the negative. This topic is tackled, albeit not exhaustively, by my friend and relapsed bloggerist, Thom. In his essay, Is determinism inherent due to our linear perception of time?, he had the following to add to the debate:

Specifically, what of moral responsibility? If what I am arguing is true then would it not be acceptable for anyone in court being convicted of a crime to use the excuse of, ‘But it was already determined for me to commit the crime, from the beginning of time.’ My argument in response to this is that whilst we may not be responsible in a cosmically determined sense, we each still possess individual agency and to a certain extent, even if it is illusory, free will. We have the capacity to analyse the potential consequences of any action that we ‘choose’ to commit and in choosing to commit a crime you have to accept the fact that you may be caught and punished for it. If the criminal were to use the determinist argument in defence of his actions then it would equally be perfectly rational for the jury and judge to claim that it is determined that they go to prison for their actions, as if it is only through determinism that they are arguing their criminal actions arose then surely they would have no defence against being punished. To a certain degree, a justice system based on moral responsibility relies on free will having some bearing in reality, and so the concept of free will can perhaps be said to be more of a practical product of necessity in society whilst simultaneously being inherently illusory.

Thom's expansion upon the argument against free will acutely recognizes that it is, at once, a facile debate. Even the illusion of free will is enough for it to penetrate our legal system, and whether we have, as Kurtz argued, a "freedom of choice", is irrelevant. However, the question of personal morality is not, and I fear the debate needs to rage for some time to come.

Swine Flu

The hysteria at present surrounding Swine Flu should be treated with just as much rational scepticism and inquisitiveness as everything else on this blog. I'm constantly reassured by those around me, who seem to show a lot more restraint and reasoning powers than the experts consulted in our daily media outlets. It is true that the common Flu virus kills about 36,000 people in the US every year, and Swine Flu is nowhere near that level of severity (at the moment, at least). I note that the British government has ordered 30 million face masks for distribution among the populace. Why? It's true, coughs and sneezes do spread diseases (granted, flu is a virus), but so too do hands, and we're just as likely to become infected through contact with our eyes as we are through our nose and mouth. Face masks need to be changed every day as they grow damp with water vapour expelled in our respiration, and can you honestly claim that people will wear them properly and effectively? All of this is covered in this week's radio show by Dr Karl, the voice of scientific sense. If you don't already subscribe to their weekly download, I strongly suggest you do so. Further, in an email from Clinton, he reminds us all that these instances of media-hyped furore have a hidden subtext; "too many people have a vested interest in talking up these panics beyond what the evidence can support". And what happened to the other recent scares: "Salmonella in eggs, Y2K, Aids, BSE, SARS and dioxins"? I suggest we all calm down.

Yet More Christopher Hitchens Videos

Perhaps you don't repeatedly type "chirstopher hitchens" into the YouTube search engine quite as frequently as I do, or, I dare say, as often as you should, but I never grow suspicious of an underlying futility; once again, the contributors to YouTube, to which I am a fledgling member, have provided us with this fantastic new interview with Dr Hitchens. He begins by discussing somewhat personal matters, which is unusual, even talking about his daughters, his age, and his son, who makes up part of a British think-tank and campaign group called, The Center for Social Cohesion. Their website resides here and I propose you visit and pay them your due respects (especially if you live in Britain and, therefore, have some degree of interest in the religious pressures faced by all levels of political discourse). And yet, what's really interesting about the interview is that Hitchens mentions, for the first time in the public domain, his current endeavour: he's writing a memoir. Indeed, discussion of his family life will inevitably form part of the interest that surrounds his book, and so it's understandable that he visits these topics now. Before you mop up the coffee you've just spilled in anticipation, feel free to visit this website that's currently hosting the full video of the most recent encounter between Hitchens and his old adversary Dinesh D'Souza. I'm going for the full house here, so you may also wish to view an interview with Hitchens at his home in Washington set against the backdrop of a "portion of his collection" of books. Impressive, I'm sure you'll agree.

Neighbours

I've witnessed some rather bizarre things in my apartment block but my new Chinese neighbours may have come up trumps. They have two flower pots outside their door, complete with two chopsticks rested across the top. Next to this arrangement they've sawn off the top of a 2 litre Pepsi bottle and placed it in front of the chopsticks. Every morning they then proceed to pour a cup of water into the Pepsi bottle. I have no idea why they are doing this. Any ideas? By the way, rumour has it that they'll shut down the university campus if they receive a single report of swine flu from the student population. So, volunteers for a martyr?

Winston Smith

The underlying principle of free speech distilled and decantered by our good friend, Mr Orwell:

Being in a minority, even a minority of one, did not make you mad. There was truth and there was untruth, and if you clung to the truth even against the whole world, you were not mad.

Well Well

He offers her the in-car flicks
She pisses tea and coffee and
They sleep
Side by Side.
Their damp capsule of cold
Head stones and cruise control
Without the rain and bitter wind
The unrelenting wipers wipe
Alone.

Football

My training schedule has taken a recent turn and things have been gruelling and stressful for the last week or so, which means I haven't been able to post as much as I'd like to. A few things, however, have been pressing, such as the fall of my gaming hero, Ronnie O'Sullivan, and the demise of the best football team in the world, Southampton. Long live the Saints. It was nice to see the sporting mentalist and classic British eccentric, Gazza on Match of the Day 2 last week. He put together a pretty coherent mix of criticism for the day's matches and became the voice of the people when bemoaning the lack of flare in today's game. He also said he was getting himself back in shape with a personal trainer, so I tell you what, mate, if you get anywhere close to 200lbs, get yourself down to Southampton. Who wouldn't pick Gazza in their team, even in the state he's in now, ahead of other English strikers like Michael Owen and Darren Bent. If your name is Sheikh and you, therefore, support Manchester United, you're probably sitting fairly contented and comfortable at the moment, even though you continue to bemoan your greatest asset, Dimitar Berbatov, just because he flunked a penalty in this exchange. Come on - if that had gone in - what a hero. The arrogance and sheer complacency of the man is devastatingly attractive. I readily admit to a slight man-crush. He also looks like a cross between Andy Garcia and Christopher Hitchens. We should love that sort of arrogance in football: a man who would rather stand back and admire his own mastery as he floats a ball into the penalty area rather than run onto the rebound. We all appreciated Eric Cantona, regardless of how much we hate Manchester United. Christiano Ronaldo, on the other hand, portrays an arrogance that even the hardiest Reds fan could not warm to.

Blur

Having finally given Blur a chance to encroach on my musical tastes after seeing Graham Coxon and Damon Albarn reunite on stage at this years' NME awards, it was a delight to hear Coxon appear on The Guardian's weekly music podcast. Blur's last record, Think Tank, released in 2003, was largely absent of Coxon's influence, apart from on the final song, Battery in your Leg, which, ironically, is a parting eulogy to the band's 90s hay days. Albarn said the lyrics represented the first time he had actually written about the band. Eventually, however, after Coxon parted company with the band when they complained about his seeming nonchalance and alcoholism, Think Tank grew out of Albarn's creative arc and became riddled with sentimental notions of love, nostalgia, and betrayal. For example Battery in your Leg contains the lines:

Everybody's stopped believing,
But you know you're not alone.
You can be with me?
This is a ballad for the good times.

Similarly, their first single from the album, Out of Time, muses upon guilty delusion, as if Albarn is questioning his own certainty; "Tell me I'm not dreaming, but are we out of time?". He seems to concede that Blur can go no further without Coxon's impetuous, whilst refraining from acknowledging the rift that caused their parting.

But if we stop dreaming now
Lord knows we'll never clear the clouds,
And you've been so busy lately.

Finally, on what I think to be one of the most beautiful songs ever written, Sweet Song, Albarn unflinchingly addresses Coxon, providing a sense of closure for the listeners' suspicions. In the opening verse Albarn sings:

What am I to do?
Someone is really unhappy.
Put myself on the knife
It seems I never got through to you,
So I'll wean myself off slowly.

Further, as part of the chorus, Albarn references Blur's most successful track, This is a Low, which draws from the 1997 Parklife album that saw Coxon and Albarn derive some of their greatest creative chemistry. This is a Low parodies a shipping broadcast and soon became a classic. During Sweet Song Albarn echoes This is a Low's opening line, "And into the sea", with the admission, "everything's out to sea". Yet, Albarn's honesty and emotional turmoil reaches its crux in the final verse.

And now, now
It seems that
It's falling apart,
But I hope I see the good in you
Come back again.
I just believed in you.

Coxon spoke openly about preparing for the summer tour on the podcast, saying that it's difficult to look into each other's eyes when rehearsing things like Out of Time and Battery in your Leg, and from what I've said, I hope you can understand why. Coxon and Albarn's friendship goes back to when they were both eleven year-olds in secondary school, so it's wonderful to see them back together again. I've been an admirer of Albarn since his collaborative effort, The Good, the Bad, and the Queen in 2005, which didn't get the recognition it deserved. Meanwhile his efforts with Gorillaz paid dividends and his musical, Monkey: Journey to the West received as much critical acclaim as is possible, and still tops my wish list of things I'm desperate to see. For a list of short YouTube clips that you really must take the time to watch, see below:

Damon Albarn and Graham Coxon at the NME Awards 2009 - This is a Low.
Blur play at Bataclan, France in 2003 - Sweet Song.
Blur play at Bataclan, France in 2003 - Battery in my Leg.
Blur finish their Bataclan set in 2003 - This is a Low.

Les merdes Francaise

Thom Lowe and Personal Identity

In response to the simple thought experiment that I issued about a week ago regarding personal identity, my good friend, philosopher, and human canvass, Thom Lowe posted a short essay he wrote on the subject in the comments section. In case you missed it, it's a rather nice summation of the issue and well worth your time.

The Ahmedinejad Walkout

What to make of the walkout at the UN summit in Geneva? Ahmedinejad is a goon, a liar, a bully, a religious zealot, an anti-Semitic propagandist, and yet the state figurehead for the most ardently Islamic "Republic" in the Middle East. The two protesters who disrupted the speech before it had even begun should be severely reprimanded. We don't need that kind of crap when it comes to this man; the last impression we want to give is one of ludicrousness and extremism. That only acts to legitimize the equally extreme views Ahmedinejad expressed. Once again we walk the tightrope of freedom of expression and freedom of speech. Ahmedinejad has every right to his opinion and every right to express it. Likewise, the representatives who walked out have the right to do so. Although, in doing so, they appear to undermine his right to free speech. I doubt any of them, if questioned, would agree with me, preferring instead to claim that his speech is redundant once he descends into anti-Semitism. Again, however, you have to claim the rights of both. If Ahmedinejad's speech contains a single, measly ounce of truth, and it forces you to question, rethink, or solidify your own beliefs, then it is worth hearing. If he claims that right, which I allow him, he must accept mine, which is to walk out and deny him a single, measly ounce of credibility. Hmm, tough one.

Wensleydale

Amazingly, this exchange actually took place. Here.

Ann Widdecombe: Paul Gray has a flock of Wensleydale sheep.
Alex James: What's wrong with that?
Ann Widdecombe: Have you got a flock of Wensleydale sheep?
Alex James: I think so.
Jimmy Carr: Now that, Ann, that is rock and roll.

Tie the Wings

The British Foreign Office's ludicrous decision last month to differentiate between Hezbollah's "political wing" and its "military wing" was firmly renounced by Michael Totten on his blog. The FOs distinction, however, leads one to question into which boundary Hezbollah's support for the Syrian Social Nationalist Party (SSNP) should be categorized. Of course, this merely exposes the absurdity of the FO's attempts. It's true that we must communicate with Hezbollah in the same way we must communicate with Iran. Indeed, Iran is largely responsible for Hezbollah's continued political and military firepower in the same way that Hezbollah is the main exponent of the SSNP's occupation of Beirut. I wonder if David Milleband would attempt to make a similar distinction between the SSNP's military and political wings.

The SSNP drew awareness recently when they beat the hell out of Christopher Hitchens on the famously secular Hamra Street, but that wasn't the first and last such attack. Youssef Bazzi, a Lebanese journalist and poet was the victim of an arson attack at his office on Hamra Street last year, and he, along with many other journalists and secular leftists, fled the region. A local television network, Future TV was pillaged this week by SSNP members, leaving a trail of their signatory flag: the spinning swastika that frequents the Hamra region. A reporter for that station, Omar Harquos was beaten up last year on Hamra Street by SSNP members and they were never bought to trial. The SSNP demonstrates all the signs of tribal occupation; their flag is flown wherever their is a street corner, they hang around in groups with motorcycles and weapons, and they've come to hold three main areas in the region, symptomatic of a typical occupation.

Before the Foreign Office makes any sort of communicative gesture toward Hezbollah's "political wing", Hezbollah must first excoriate the SSNP and come to recognize them as a fascistic terrorist group. They must stop supplying them with arms and money, and deprive them of all legitimacy among their own supporters. The British government has a moral responsibility to the good people of Beirut and to Lebanese democracy not to fumble their policies between petty, pathetic distinctions between politics and militancy. Unfortunately, in the Islamic states, the two go hand in hand.

Stephen Fry - Paperweight

Concluding my reading of Stephen Fry's non-fiction, I'm trundling through his collection of writings from back in the late 80s and early 90s, Paperweight. It's a charming, fizzing, brilliant book that would appeal to all senses of Britishness, logic, and humour that we come to associate with a national treasure. My cheeks have never cramped like this before after extended periods of grinning without even realising it. In amongst a little piece he wrote for The Listener magazine in 1989, Stephen explores the old cliche that the British are a tolerant nation. "It is a bizarre fact", he says, "that the more widespread and accepted the cliche the less basis in truth it is likely to have". He claims we have a "squalid history of intolerance", and I'm inclined to agree with him after he lays out a few examples for us. Contrary to popular belief, he reminds us, we have a useless legal system, a state-defined religion based on the family-values of Henry VIII, a history of imprisoning poachers, blasphemers, witches, and homosexuals, and a long tradition of censorship in the arts (pertinent in these days of BBC clamp-down). Admittedly, I added that Henry VIII bit myself, but I thought it compounded the point. Nevertheless, Fry is a traditionalist and can't help but love some aspects of Britain; plus, he manages to throw in a Shakespeare reference for good measure.

But I do loved this country, as Cordelia loved Lear. All the Gonerils and Regans who protest such a vast, sweeping, unthinking love seem to be doing the least to make it a place worth living in. Shouting that we are tolerant does not make us so: claiming without the slightest knowledge of other countries that this institution or that tradition within Britain is 'the best in the world' only serves to make us look ridiculous.

Tall People

Last night, during a fleeting moment of self-analysis, I noticed that many of the individuals I admire today are, to put it plainly, rather tall. Let me frame the correlation for you. I greatly respect the following comedians: Stephen Fry, John Cleese, and Hugh Laurie. I have a great love for Jeremy Clarkson and for the novelist, Bret Easton Ellis. I've developed quite the obsession with Ed O'Brien from Radiohead, and Alex James from Blur. Not to mention, of course, my swimming heroes - Ryk Neethling, etc.. The only person missing is Christopher Hitchens. I don't know how tall he is, but he's not exactly short. All of this may have something to do with the fact that my father is 6'5'', I'm about 6'2'', and my step-dad is nudging 6'3''; perhaps I was subconsciously nurtured to cast an approving look upon those taller than myself. Height, during one's school life, becomes an index of age, and age, you well remember, is synonymous with respect. But I don't feel as if it's just that. There must be something linking charisma, intelligence, charm, and wit that develops from being tall. It's quite possible of course, that being tall from a fairly young age gives one the edge in playground disputes, leading to an inflated ego in later life. This accounts for Clarkson, Cleese, and Fry, but there must be something else, or is it just me?

Thought Experiment

Here's a simple thought experiment for you. When I look back at old photographs of myself from when I was a mere spratling of, say, six months, I'm struck by the fact that every single one of the cells in my body from that age, at some time or other, has died and been replaced. Can I, therefore, look back and say that I am the same person?

The Case against the Afghani 'Marital Rape' Law

Foreword: Forced to write a critique of a recent New York Times opinion piece for my politics and propaganda class, I took the time to read up on the latest situation in Kabul, which I had already posted about here, and wrote a rather cold appraisal of a fairly lousy letter to the editor. Having said that, the sentiments were noble and it's worth your time. Read in full here. My analysis is reprinted below.

The President of Afghanistan, Hamid Karzai recently approved a new law that applies only to the Shiite minority of the country, in which women are legally bound to copulate with their husbands whenever the husband desires.

Dexter Filkins, a New York Times correspondent based in the Middle East describes the new statute that “makes it illegal for a woman to resist her husband’s sexual advances”. However, the law itself seems to violate the Afghani constitution, which explicitly sanctions sexual equality.

Conservative Shiites strongly support the law and retaliated to a female-led protest on Wednesday (5/15/09), by chanting, “Death to the enemies of Islam! We want Islamic law!” Following the ensuing domestic and international outcry President Karzai’s spokesperson, Homayuan Hamidzada responded by stating:

We have no doubt that whatever comes out of this process will be consistent with the rights provided for in the constitution – equality and the protection of women.

The overarching conflict between secular sensibilities and extremist Islamic values sparked outrage in the author of one editorial piece published in Tuesday’s (5/14/09) New York Times, entitled, Women, Extremism and Two Key States.

The editorial reacts to the repercussions of the new law, and his argument is clear. In what the author calls a “reminder of the cost of extremism”, the law, he claims, “effectively sanctions marital rape”.

The use of the word “rape” is jarringly suggestive in comparison to the euphemistic lexis of the government statute. The term, however, is echoed by Filkins, who likewise uses the phrase “marital rape” to conclude his argument that this law reflects “Taliban-like restrictions on women”. What’s more, The Times of London reports on the protest march from Kabul, suggesting the law “appears to legalize marital rape”. Similarly, another recent report reprinted in The Times of London employs the same terminology while discussing the “new laws that are said in effect to legalize marital rape in the Shiite minority”.

It is clear, therefore, that the author of the New York Times editorial in no way neglects his responsibilities, and refrains from descending into euphemism.

As the author continues he repeatedly employs highly evocative language in order, it seems, to garner a sense of revulsion in the reader. For example, we are told of the public “flogging [of] a young woman” who was “screaming for mercy”. Further, the author uses redolent vocabulary like “sabotage”, “violates”, “intolerable”, “slain”, and “brutality” to frame his analysis of, what he implies to be, President Karzai’s “indignity” in “giving in to Taliban demands”.

The manipulation of language in this way, though syntactically astute, invokes a feeling of anger and contempt that affects our overall reading of his argument.

As the piece progresses, the author appears to attacks the authority of President Karzai by suggesting that Karzai’s “popular support plummeted because of government ineptitude and corruption, [and he] is running for re-election in August”. Here, the author’s argument seems unclear. On the one hand, he debases Karzai by holding him responsible for the incompetence of the Afghani government, yet on the other, through commenting on Karzai’s re-election campaign, he implies that Karzai may have been acting with an ulterior motive.

The reader might argue, therefore, that, although Karzai was instrumental in the passing of this statute, investigating the motives of the individuals involved should remain secondary to discussion of the law itself. In this sense, the editorial’s author is guilty of the Ad Hominem fallacy, whereby he attacks the proponent rather than the proposed.

Largely, the editorial provides a model for strong, deductive reasoning, while continuing the main argument with valid examples and points of reference. However, as the author expounds upon the implications of the new law, the reader is forced to consider an instance of invalid reasoning.

It says of Shiite women: Unless she is ill, ‘a wife is obliged to fulfill the sexual desires of her husband’. That is licensed coercion.

Here, the author is guilty of the fallacy of hasty conclusion. Rather than deducing, logically and appropriately, what constitutes “licensed coercion” the author makes the underlying assertion of an inferred premise. If the author had included a statement demanding that a legally binding obligation to “fulfill the sexual desires” of one’s spouse is, in fact, “coercion”, the reader may be more sympathetic towards his argument.

During the author’s most persuasive paragraph, he appeals to the reader’s sense of national responsibility and internationally binding accountability. “Such behavior”, as demonstrated by the Afghani president, he claims, “would be intolerable anywhere”.

[The law] represent[s] an officially sanctioned brutality that violates American values and international human rights norms.

This opinion is jointly held by the female protesters who gathered in Kabul; Filkins reports that one of the women shouted, “We want our rights! We want equality!” The Times of London agrees, calling the new law “abhorrent”, and yet, conversely, appears somewhat critical when describing the protesters as having conducted “a highly inflammatory act of defiance”.

Nevertheless, The Times of London proceeds to outline the fundamental dialectic between the conservative Shiite position and that of the protesters.

[Although] Afghanistan is a signatory to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, conservatives argue that the Article 3 of the Constitution, which permits nothing contrary to the ‘beliefs and provisions of Islam’, takes precedent over all others.

Evidently, the editorial wishes to rail against this exception, and its centrality to the passing of the new law.

Conclusively, although the author may occasionally slip into misleading the reader, the editorial succeeds in pointedly exposing the moral and political flaws of the statute, whilst making a series of valid arguments concerning the latent ramifications of such a misogynistic and religiously bigoted proposition.

Post-script: You would tip a waitress for good service, wouldn't you? If you feel I have legs, but you've never considered contributing to a blog before, the button at the top donates five US dollars to the upkeep of this space. Thank you for your support.

Sweet Song

I could die contented, having heard the following.

It seems I never got through to you,
So I'll wean myself off slowly.

~~ Damon Albarn. (click)

Finny's Wake

I've just popped over to Amazon's dark interior and discovered that two hundred people claim to have read James Joyce's final novel, Finnegan's Wake. Well, there are 200 reviews posted, ranging from the measly 1 star, to the absolutely ridiculous 5 stars, so that would infer 200 people have actually taken the trouble to read it. I tell you what, dear reader, I don't believe a single one of them. Not any of them. So far as I can tell, only two people have ever read it - Joyce himself and Samuel Beckett, a genius, who published quite a defensive essay on the novel. This, too, of course, was pointless as no one could ever read the source text from which the criticism was drawn. I don't think Beckett would care though, to be honest. The same can't be said of Joyce, however, who regularly talked of his "ideal reader". Martin Amis, a man of massive intellect, so much so that he no longer needs to demonstrate it, at all, never finished it, claiming it was "a triumph of style over substance". Neither did Clive James, a man who learned seven languages beyond his native English in order to read foreign authors in their original tongues. Even if the reviewer on Amazon has OXON slotted in after his name I don't care, he hasn't read it, and neither will I, nor will you. You can try, dear reader; open the first page and see how long you last. Venture past page twelve and you're a better man than I. Amazon reviewers did throw up a few laughs though. One of them had clearly only read the chapter summaries in the book's glossary, and another had the following to say:

It's hard. Yes, that's right, hard. But hard can be fun. Just like sex.
(Finnegan's Wake does take longer though).

Marital Rape in Islam

If you needed further proof that religion was man made, with emphasis heavily on man, here it is. Our work is still ahead of us, comrades.

This law does not approve raping, it is rather about loyalty of wife to husband and husband to wife. Rape is what you can see in the West, where men don’t feel responsibility for their wives and leave them to go with several men.

OBT2008

Last one. I promise. Best enjoyed at full volume.

Robert Iddiols

I've just discovered that 'Robert' is the second most common, male name in the United States, behind 'John'. Have you ever heard anything quite so depressing? Rarely do I meet someone with the name Robert. Then again, everyone in America seems to have an uncle Bob. I should have known better. I even considered changing the name on the banner you see above to something well down the list, like Donald, but then I found out that 'Iddiols' is totally unique in the United States. Over 180 million people in the States and none of them could come up with something quite so good as 'Iddiols'. Ha! The fools.

Afar a Bird

Condemned to life the great conundrum. To die is to have lived but not without. To live is to die and not without. To die oneself poses death and not life thus the catch remains. Better to never have been born.

Sorry for the inconvenience

I apologize for the photograph below. If I receive another hundred complaints I promise to take it down. Thanks.

Hazel Blears. Maybe not for the last time.

Ah, yes. All is well. I can remember. I've mentioned here, on this blog, before, perhaps twice, that Hazel Blears, the British parliament member for Salford, not Manchester, is awful. Not just awful, but repulsive. For some reason she is considered worthy of note, possibly on account on her lowly stature (half dwarf and half human) and her sponsor, McDonalds (see eyebrows). Now, not often do I descend into personal attacks (regular visitors to this blog will not know exactly what I'm talking about), but in her case it seems warranted. I first ran up a long list of reasons to hate Blears when I saw her make an appearance on BBC's Question Time in 2004. As we've also noted here, Question Time has all-but become an applause-based competition, in line with new measures adopted by the British public to Americanize even one of our most pioneering of assets. And so, to Blears. She made a cameo appearance on the BBC's radio version of QT, Any Questions?, which is almost as bad as the Now Show. Wait a tick, that's ridiculous. Not nearly as bad as the Now show, but bad nonetheless. The show takes on a very similar format to Question Time, though without the timeless David Dimblebee, and in it Blears was asked to comment on the fine that the BBC were issued after the Andrew Sachs telephone scandal late last year, involving Jonathon Ross and Russel Brand. Why her opinion on this matter is of any consequence whatsoever is beyond me, but perhaps not you, dear reader. Knowing me, as you may, you should be concerning yourself with why, I, Robert Iddiols, is, wait, am concerning myself with such trivialities. Well, it's well within my powers to expose flaws in logic, wherever the offence, and I do hate Hazel Blears. I mentioned that above, earlier in the post. Now, Blears announced that she thought that Brand and Ross should be made financially accountable for the fine that the BBC is being forced to pay and cough up themselves. In doing so, she said, the burden would be placed on the criminals and not on the law-abiding license-fee payers. This stance was roundly applauded and henceforth, predictably agreed upon by the remaining troupe of panelists. Okay. You may be saying to yourself, though I hope not, What's he on about, that's a perfectly respectable, dignified statement, brimming with rationality and logical consistency and I think I'll rub-out her name on my hit-list. But wait, dear reader! She forgets to mention that the BBC did, in fact rather profit from the affair. The fine is a meagre £150,000. It's worth pointing out that, spread among license-fees, that would hardly make a scratch, though it shouldn't have to, and it won't anyway. Brand promptly apologized after the matter and realised that the BBC wasn't quite cut-out for his style of talking, so he left, along with a £200,000 a year contract. What's more, Jonathon Ross' temporary departure saved another £1.5 million. That means the license-fee payer is over 91% up on the deal, so in no way are we being burnt by the anti-christ, sorry, the BBC (I keep doing that). I wonder if we see a reduction in the fee next year. Then again, I'd happily pay double if they would permanently erase her name from the list of possible panelists for any show, any time, anywhere. And, if she must speak in the House of Commons, please pixelate her face.

Awake

May it be known that I cannot sleep and have ventured forth, again, to my laptop in search of some refuge. Aha! You see, the laptop is merely a conduit for my refuge, for you are my refuge, dear reader, the pillar of redeemability. Without the reputation there is nothing. Mine is singularly inflated, and that I wish to maintain. It escapes me now, but about half an hour ago, lulling awake on my pillow, I struck upon a rather nice idea for a post. Smarts. How cumbersome the brain is.

First Love

As Hugh Laurie once said of PG Wodehouse, he's the "funniest writer ever to put words to paper." I, however, beg to differ. Take this from a certain Monsieur Beckett:

Fortunately she was not the first naked woman to have crossed my path, so I could stay, I knew she would not explode. I asked to see the other room which I had not yet seen. If I had seen it already I would have asked to see it again.

To Weep

It's with increasing regularity that I find myself weeping at the slightest stimulus late in the evening. Not, you fear, from a deep solemnity that overcomes one during lonely nights, but rather from heroism displayed through the simplest of mediums. Tonight, for example, I've roundly doffed off a two thousand word essay on Shakespeare's great tragedy, Antony and Cleopatra, in rather a hurry, I might add, as I wished to return as quickly as possible to the whits and joys of PG Wodehouse's faux-calamity, Bertram Wooster and God, excuse me, Jeeves. How then, to finish the book and remain within any sense of contentment? Before settling down to watch Match of the Day I may have made the fatal error of rewatching Ronnie O'Sullivan's maximum break at the 2008 World Championships. That may have lubricated the ducts, as it were. And then, turning my attention to the remembrance designations that pervaded today's highlight game between the mourning Liverpudlians and the blackest of rovers, I felt all overcome. How inducing it was then, you will learn, to see the strike of the season tear through the net within seconds of the kick-off. I've vocally disliked Liverpool in the past, and I've singularly despised the player whose boot it was that pierced the ball during those opening moments, and yet I couldn't help but be reduced to a feeling of Good on you, son, though he is my senior, blurted through a fog of tears and enlightenment. High time then, you may argue, for me to arrive, full-circle, at Samuel Beckett once more, the great purveyor of melancholic delight: the great blender, as he is forthwith known. The following, following a Conradian description of his own skull, captures, what one might define, his humour:

I fell then, and brought down with me an old lady covered with spangles and lace, who must have weighed about sixteen stone. Her screams soon drew a crowd. I had high hopes she had broken her femur, old ladies break their femur easily, but not enough, not enough.

Old Boys Tour 2009 - A Prelude

Editors

A band I feel it's time I endorsed is Editors. Before my cohorts remind me that they're rather mainstream for my tastes, let me assure you that I don't care. Editors have had a fair amount of success early in their career with two platinum selling albums and a Mercury Nomination for their debut, The Back Room, in 2006, so there is only one direction for them to go in, which is down. That's certainly a good thing for us music aficionados. The further Radiohead plummeted into the depths of obscurity in 1999, for example, is, arguably, when musical mastery flourished. Tom Smith, their effortlessly beautiful frontman, like a thinking man's Orlando Bloom, has a voice comparable to Ian Curtis; it's mature beyond his years, and there's a sense of depth and intelligence to his lyrics that lift the music above the popular. Fortunately, Smith has passed the boundary of the death-laden second album without committing suicide, as was Curtis' fate, and they haven't released an album for almost two years now, and another still looks a ways on the horizon. These guys are superb musicians. Chris Urbanowicz, their lead guitarists has the makings of something special, and I'm led to believe by the progression we saw from the first album to the second, An End Has A Start, that there's a lot of potential here, especially given their age. I have not seen such powerful live performances with such energy and passion for a long time. I think if I'd strolled in to watch them at Glastonbury in 2007 and seen the performance posted below it would have blown my mind. Smith has even developed a signature dance, a sort of an upper-bodily contortion, in the same vein as Curtis or our close friend, Mr Thom Yorke. See, for a sample of what I'm talking about, this:

Birds on a Wire

powerlinerflyers from wes johnson on Vimeo.

Your Contributions

You may have noticed, dear reader, a new 'Donate' button on this blog where you can delve into the pits of your pockets and support me in making this blog a long-term occupation. Before you remove me from your favorites tab forever, let me reassure you. I plan to maintain this blog for years to come, but only with your help will I bring it within the standards that I hope to achieve. A leader is made only by his followers. However, I recognize that it needs to be me who makes the first leap. From the middle of May onwards I'll aim to provide a single, solid, lengthy article at least once a week, partly to flex my muscles, but partly in an effort to focus what I already do, and feel compelled to do, whilst turning this into a viable future project. You will have noticed that there are no advertisements cluttering this blog, and there never will be, and after having looked into the option of monetizing this space, I feel a simple, one-off, five dollar donation would reap much greater rewards than the aesthetically hideous AdSense bars, and build an even greater sense of community. Your money would go towards my subscriptions, my literature expenses, and the upkeep of my equipment. You'd tip a waiter in a restaurant, wouldn't you? So if you like what I write, help me expand this blog. Thank you.

Salman Rushdie - Hero?

Has anyone else noticed that Salman Rushdie, although not what one might call, traditionally good-looking, manages to bag the most gorgeous girls in the world? He's now been married four times, and if anything, he's managed to improve his portfolio of female acquaintances over the years. Considering his age, 61, there must be something going on here that we don't quite understand. The last stunner to accompany him to a public function was Olivia Wilde (24), the absolutely beautiful actress who parades alongside Hugh Laurie in the magisterial House. Prior to this, Rushdie appeared in a music video for Scarlett Johansson's (24) cover of a Tom Waits track, Falling Down, kissing her neck, whispering in her ear, and generally having his way with her as she laughed and toyed. Most notably, however, was his last marriage to the American-Indian chef, prime-time television host, and model, Padma Lakshmi (above). She claimed after their divorce that "he's very charismatic" and "any woman who has heard him speak for five minutes would just melt". Anyone would be hard-pressed not to admire his efforts, and take some comfort in a decidedly ugly man wedding a decidedly sensational woman, but I cannot control my feelings of jealousy. What on Earth is his secret? He knows something we don't, dear reader.

Broken Britain

Even from across the Atlantic I've been over-exposed to the phrase, "Broken Britain". It's one of those easy, drab uses of alliteration that seems to please the editors of popular British newspapers. Paradoxically, it's precisely those newspapers who pump this kind of ideology into popular thought that causes Britain to break. When I returned home in mid-March I was, once again, subject to the powers of jet lag and forced, in my reasonably priced Yorkshire hotel, to turn on BBC News 24 at 3am and watch until dawn. I have never before been so depressed. Not because of the overbearing, chaotic, and worrisome state of the international stage, but because of the BBC's news cycle. The salad of stories that they covered, in depth, was an atrocity. Before I remind you that the BBC is more or less wholly paid for by the British public, the real tragedy is that this type of news reporting is being carried out so nonchalantly and so wholesale that the British public don't see the gradual bankrupting of their news media. BBC News covered the timely death of Jade Goody, the unfortunate death of Natasha Richardson, and the discovery of a mother and daughter corpse duo. Three items, covered in detail by the British Broadcasting Corporation. This came in the same week as President Obama's plea to Iran to discuss further its attempted nuclear proliferation, the March 14th demonstrations in Beirut that truly mark the beginning of the Lebanese general elections, and the breaking of the ceasefire agreement between Israel and Palestinians in Gaza, to name but a few. I hope that when I put it like that, you can see how redundant and absurd the BBC's selection was, how insignificant to your lives and mine, how unapologetically irresponsible. The three deaths were, of course, tragic, yet unworthy of a place among headlines and breaking news. This style of media distribution has become the norm in Britain, and it is not breaking news, it's breaking Britain.

Another Return to...Form

I'm back, ensconced in sorrow, bereft once again from my beloved after nearly a month of relationship ecstasy. The passing weeks have not been intellectually productive. I've flirted with Orwell's essays on the English language, and two-stepped over the four novellas penned by Samuel Beckett's "frenzy of writing" in 1946, beautifully collected here, from which the quote below is drawn. However, discussing what you should, and must expect of me; the UN Resolution concerning religious criticism fell by the wayside. Knowing my political disposition on such matters, you may have expected a juicy rant, but as you may imagine, I've been rather distracted. My efforts to follow the issue only gurgled up a late-night letter to the now-sacked editor of the campus newspaper. Read the initial piece here, to which I responded, here. And so, furtively, I pass you over to our saviour in such matters, C. Hitchens, who discusses the issue over on Slate. Also, for a chuckle, watch Hitchens join Bill Maher on his panel show alongside Salman Rushdie and rapper/activist/actor/hero, Mos Def (insert further irony here) to discuss various current affairs. Of course, there's a lot more to come, but I'll leave you with an effortlessly funny passage from Beckett's short story, The End, lending an insight into the existential ennui that flourishes out of age and ignorance:

The earth makes a sound as of sighs and the last drops fall from the
emptied cloudless sky. A small boy, stretching out his hands at the blue sky,
asked his mother how such a thing was possible. Fuck off, she said.