On the Island of Despair and the Magic of Friendship. - By Edward Hobson

On the Island of Despair and the Magic of Friendship.

To shamelessly recycle a previously used metaphor, it is as difficult to know what’s going on in someone else’s mind as it is to know what’s going on in someone else’s country.  Though, I find that never stops anyone from attempting to do just that. In both cases. What genuinely interests me though, about the human mind, is not so much the modus operandi of “I know you but you don’t know me”, but the innate solitude of the mind. Any mind. This was, for a time the first limit of the mind that came to me when I started writing on this, but more on that later. The first fact of life is that the mind you have is the only one you will have full knowledge of, and, by extension the only thing you can never be in error of. Not in the sense that you can never be in error in your beliefs, or feelings, but in the sense that you know what is going on in your own mind. We don’t often think about this though, as to do so is, frankly, a bit of a downer. To do so is to see that we are alone on a desert island with only a simple palm tree, and our own carvings in the sand for company, surrounded by an expanse of unknowable, abysmal ocean. With theory and delusion we attempt to sail away from this small speck of land, and I’ll argue that the most delusional of all is The Delusion of Love. For more on the innate ability of love to break down barriers of varying manner, transcend the bitterest of conflict, and unleash an almighty, righteous beam of atomic amour, (often pink or purple) see Love, The Power Of.

Tales of someone who made a catastrophic error of judgement by loving another person unconditionally to such an extent they were unable to see that the balance of affection between one partner and the other was somewhat asymmetrical cover our real life anecdotes, books and films like shipwrecks littering the bottom of the aforementioned ocean. Though, from this perspective, love is always doomed to fail, as to love unconditionally is to suspend all critical faculty, to let down our guard of critical vigilance to breach the shores of the island of despair, and find that we can know another mind as well as we know ourselves, to be as sure that we know something else about the world, outside or our minds, as well as we know our own. From the sound of things it looks as if I’ve painted a rather bleak picture, so what are we to do? The main solution, it seems, is to be in love with a philosopher who is in recognition that to love something is to love it unconditionally, but that critical faculty should be maintained. Since that is easier said than done, the more convenient answer, to myself at least, is to be happier with solitude.  There’s nothing to stop you from carving a Mona Lisa into the sand on your little solitary island, and once your learn that said island is surrounded by a metaphorical sea of error, one comes to appreciate its beauty. We go through life terrified of error and also of solitude, in a culture which coordinates error with weakness, and solitude with bitterness and abnormality.

To stay on familiar ground, railing at “the culture”, and how it is often the greatest stumbling block to the expansion of the mind beyond its limits, I draw the example which was virtually inescapable to anyone who was on the internet in 2011, which is the phenomenon of the “Bronies”. The Bronies (a portmanteau of the half word Bro and the proper word Pony) are males who are fans of the animated television series My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. A study of the Brony community conducted this year called “The Brony Study” found that most respondents were in their teens to late twenties, were educated at a college or university level, and that 81% identified as heterosexual. This contradicts the popular first hand assumption anyone who has just found out about the bronies in our culture might have made. I’m willing to bet the first image that came to mind, unless you are in fact a brony or (female equivalent) pegasister, when I said grown men were watching My Little Pony was that of a basement dweller, emotionally stunted half-wit, or unrealistically camp homosexual. The fact that Friendship is Magic is a show for little girls does bring some confusion to the fore, namely over why grown men would want to genuinely, not ironically, want to watch and celebrate a show about small multicolour horses learning about the magic of friendship. Sometimes the reaction is of outright anger or derision.

Speaking as someone who has seen the show, I propose the reason is that it’s actually a good show, regardless of who it was created for. John Stewart Mill said that we accept as normal that which is usual, and let us recall that at the outset of World War One the French Army decided to kit out their soldiers in bright pink trousers, as it was considered an aggressive, martial colour, and later abandoned their use when it became apparent they made their frontline troops stick out on the battlefield like a rainforest on Mars. There was also a time when it was unbecoming for women to wear trousers.

The mind is limited, by perception, and it is the duty of art and media, to change our perception. Bronies are changing the nature of masculinity, and are expanding their perception beyond the cultural demands of what it means to possess the Y chromosome, and thus breaching the limits of the mind. So I suppose what you can take away from this is; don’t be afraid to be alone or wrong, as we’ll spend much of our time being both before we’re done here, and that what seems unusual may not be as abnormal or detrimental as it first seems.

Friendship sure is Magic,

By Edward Hobson

The Philosophy Takeaway 'Open Topic' Issue 31

War and Intervention - By Ed Hobson

War and Intervention

Having written on this subject a few months ago in my official capacity as a student, I was faced with the issue of whether or not both sides of a conflict could have a just cause. I found that to wage a war, at least in a (primarily) civilian controlled democracy, popular consent is required. In that case, a just cause is a pre-requisite for any military engagement, whatever the true motives for military action may be. In the case of a military controlled dictatorship, this is much easier, but the governing and by that extent, war-making class of the common or garden democracy must convince a sufficient amount of the people with promises that the adventure will be worth the price in blood and treasure. It will spread civilisation to far flung corners of the globe, free an oppressed populace, enrich the homeland, or counter an emerging and virulent threat to the sovereignty of the nation.

This means these motivations are often steeped in a confounding cultural relativism. Our ethics justified the expansion of the Empire because we believed we had a duty to spread “civilisation” and get very rich doing it. Simply put, we were quite racist. The wholesale slaughter of the battlefield bodes ill for anyone who believes in the sanctity of all human life, as the right to life of one is balanced on the scales against the life of another from the other side of a conflict.

As we believe that democracy is, fundamentally a good thing, we would say, for example, the Syrian rebels have a more just cause than the dictator and popularly titled Butcher of Damascus, Bashar Al-Assad. The problem with intervention though, is sovereignty; where does sovereignty stop? Every nation has the right to continue its existence unmolested by outside forces, but surely we don’t want to allow suffering to happen in countries like Syria. Do we?

Whenever we feel intervention maybe necessary, the case for or against really depends on something equally relative, our own moral authority. Helping to overthrow one unpalatable regime while standing aside while another continues to murder and pillage makes us seem, well, a little slimy; hypocritical, as well as undermining any future interventions we may undertake, however noble the intention. It does give pause for reflection about the nature of whether or not intervention is always necessary or merited, especially when this kind of issue is often presented in the very simplistic language good guys vs. bad guys, heroes vs. tyrants. The limits of what can even be achieved by intervention are painfully apparent when we think of it for what it is, and is trying to be, that is, killing with kindness; make a situation better for the people we agree with by killing those with whom we don’t. History is littered with military misadventures started by those who were surely, well meaning, but without understanding.

And this is why we so often don’t intervene. Trying to comprehend all the nuances of what’s going on in another person’s country, when the people we feel we should be supporting are often so fragmented and ineffectual, is as impossible as trying to understand what’s going on in someone else’s head. Getting right to the point, in the context of current events, it seems there’s little hope for a Libyan style outcome in Syria. In the former, the ruling power was losing its grip on a big country with an organised opposition taking shape and holding ground on the other side of the country. Syria does not conform to any part of this narrative.

I apologise for ending on such a downbeat note, especially during the time when, traditionally, combat between warring nations would cease in the interest of upholding the Olympic peace, but this is, as my dad would likely say, the Way the World is. The Syria affair will likely become a protracted struggle, and there will surely be others in the future. Especially when great powers exist and are willing to throw their weight around to secure their interests, peoples in all corners of the world are oppressed,  and the business of war remains so profitable for so many. Because war…

…war never changes.                                                                                                       

By Ed Hobson

The Philosophy Takeaway 'War' Issue 28

Philoshop - By Ed Hobson

Philoshop

 I need to go to prison. For I, Edward Michael Hobson, stole Photoshop. Instead of turning to such disreputable activities as prostitution, dealing crack on the turnpike, or collateralised debt speculation to raise the requisite 350 Dollars American, I was forced

to go a-piratin’. It works, I’m glad it’s there; it reminds me of my 6th form college days doing graphic design on Wednesdays. I’ve made some artwork with it and plastered it on Facebook like a child sticking finger paintings onto the fridge. I’m sure many other people have acquired Photoshop in this way and used it for touching up photos and drawing genitalia on foreheads alike. But if you can just pluck Photoshop from the internet like grabbing an apple off a market stall and shoving it into your pocket, can anyone be a good artist? The ready availability of cameras, image manipulation programs, and a great canvas to paint one’s vision on, has, in the mind of many, stripped the elitism of artistry, putting mere mortals on the same level as the masters of the arts.

We’re all agreed that democracy is a good thing, and that democratisation of healthcare, education, and the political process are as beneficial to the common good as a cold drink on a hot day, but what about the tools to make art? Surely giving everyone the tools is possible, being simply a matter of empirically improving the technology and the access to it, but making everyone an artist is impossible, as that is a matter of personal ability and talent. On the internet, anyone can post anything and say anything all simultaneously, which has made critics of us all. Anyone who watches Question Time will be aware of the bbcqt hashtag which allows people to comment with a likeminded community of individuals on the proceedings playing out on screen. Although this has the side effect of transforming Theresa May, Home Secretary into Theresa May, Space Dentist.

So, the answer to the question should be no. But this brings to the fore the nature of talent. Is it naturally occurring or developed from a position of rudimentary knowledge to one of greater knowledge? I never liked using Photoshop at college until my lecturer told me that I was good at it. So from my experience, the ready availability of the technology is a good thing, and proves to people who have no idea what Photoshop is that they can be good at it. But somehow, I don’t feel that way. The aforementioned Theresa May can be scrutinised through the rigorous analysis of her policies and positions, or she can be scrutinised by the Space Dentist people. The public sphere is, regrettably, a poor place for measured, considerate discussion, wherein the most extreme; controversial; or even just the most laughable opinions gravitate to the surface at the expense of prescience or insight. Forgive me for not having much confidence in the wisdom of crowds. For example, these crowds never stop whining about the Underground when many cities in Britain don’t have one, and are bafflingly happy to live in a monarchy. Not everyone can be an artist for the same reason not everyone can bring themselves to care about philosophy, or comment on the news, (despite the existence of countless “Have Your Says”) because many people go through life without any thought about artistry, philosophy, or politics.

This isn’t a pejorative; those people live in “the real world” and are quite proud that they don’t clog the day to day running of their mind with such extraneous blah as “What is Beauty?” or “Is This Art?” Let’s be a little frank here, if art, or for the sake of argument, philosophy, were widely discussed and commented on by the world and his dog, we’d have lots of new people to talk to, but maybe they’d cease to be special, and they’d lose much of their appeal. I know that I’d have nothing to talk about at parties for a start. To deploy a rusty old maxim that a lecturer often quoted to me, you can take a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. It’s possible that we are the elitists by nature, if only due to the normative values ascribed to the arts and the humanities in general, as opposed to the nobler, materialistic, economically quantifiable mathematics and sciences. So, thinking realistically, not everyone is going to “get it”, but is attempting to strip the elitism from the arts and the humanities itself elitist? Is it not prescriptive of what we think the people should be thinking about? If you’ve ever been on the Moscow Metro, (which, for full disclosure, I have never had the pleasure) then you may think it is. The major stations are adorned with works depicting the ideals of the communist state; renaissance- type statues of hardworking proletarians; mosaics of young fresh faced paratroopers descending from the heavens like angels, these works of art are created by an elite to prescribe the people to think in a certain way. If rhetoric is an art, then art is surely rhetorical.

So, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and get measured for convict stripes. Responses on a postcard to Pentonville please.

By Ed Hobson