From one of my favorite blogs, Neurophilosophy, comes this lovely image of a 19th century papier mache brain. Be sure to click through the caption so you can see the whole thing in multiple views. Speaking of brains, I enjoyed reading Jonathan Mayhew’s inventory of his own neurological state, especially as it relates to music. What I know about music I’ve had to learn by conscious effort & my interest has been driven mostly by a love of language set to music. Song seems to me the very highest art. Here is a piece on the Miller-McCune blog about MRI studies of musicians’ brains done while they are actually playing. (Unfortunately, the Youtube videos have been removed, thought it is still possible to find tape of Monk & Bird playing.) The problem of how the brain creates our human worlds is, I think, the basic problem of philosophy & science. Is the process of consciousness linguistic? I think so. That is, I don’t think modern consciousness could have evolved without language. Consciousness requires a symbolic system. Not quite sure what to make of this large-scale color-naming experiment, but it suggests that there is strong clustering in color names among English speakers. Apparently, when babies — before they develop the ability to talk — see colors, a “non-linguistic” part of their brains processes the information. Not sure that makes the color perception any “purer,” as the headline suggests, unless you want to associate language with impurity. Which, come to think of it, makes sense philosophically & mythologically: Eden & the Fall, the use of tools for labor, including language . . .
Monthly Archives: March 2008
Gun Rights
Does anyone else find it strange that the majority of the Supreme Court appears ready to endorse a reading of the Second Amendment that categorically affirms an individual’s right to own a gun because gun ownership is necessary if one wants to overthrow the government. It is a measure of just how radical this court is that it is about to side with the Tim McVeighs of this world against the rest of us.
Justice Antonin Scalia told Mr. Dellinger that “the two clauses go together beautifully†if the Second Amendment was understood as an effort to guarantee that militias would not be “destroyed by tyrants.†The proper reading, Justice Scalia said, is, “Since we need a militia, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.†[NY Times]
With all the talk from the radical right these last eight years about how liberals, especially anti-war liberals, are traitors, and considering that some of the radical right (freelancers & self-organized “militias”) will surely consider either Hillary Clinton or Barak Obama a “tyrant,” I think I’ll begin this week to assert my right to own a gun. I grew up among hunters & I’m not afraid of guns — I’d need a little practice to refresh my feel & aim, but not that much. Seems like a good investment about now. Yep, I’m going to start building my constitutionally protected arsenal. Think I’ll start with a shotgun. [Note: In case it's not obvious, the preceding paragraph contains hyperbole & sarcasm, both well-known rhetorical devices, at least until recently.]
Apparently, The European Enlightment . . .
. . . was driven by coffee & cigarettes. But we knew that. Actually, the review makes Daniel Lord Smail’s book about how humans alter their & others’ moods sound fascination even though I’m usually suspicious dismissive of Grand Unified Theories of Civilization.
My Lai: Forty Years Later
My friend Ly Lan, whose own village was destroyed by the US military when she was a child, sends this audio from the BBC as a remembrance.
William Carlos Williams in 1928
I’ve always loved these lines from WCW’s “Descent of Winter,” which is a kind of daybook consisting of poems & sections of prose. Williams, a pediatrician, was also an acute observer of old age. Beyond that, I love the audacity of the shift between the two stanzas, leaving the reader to make the connections between the objectively rendered description of a burning rubbish pile & his description (less objective) of the old.
In the dead weeds a rubbish heap
aflame: the orange flames
stream horizontal, windblown
they parallel the ground
waving up and down
the flamepoints alternating
the body streaked with loops
and purple stains while
the pale smoke, above
steadily continues eastward–What chance have the old?
There are no duties for them
no places where they may sit
their knowledge is laughed at
they cannot see, they cannot hear.
A small bundle on the shoulders
weighs them down
one hand is put back under it
to hold it steady.
Their feet hurt, they are weak
they should not have to suffer
as younger people must and do
there should be a truce for them