After After Virtue: an Unflinching Critique of MacIntyre.

After After Virtue: an Unflinching Critique of MacIntyre. 

(Written upon Completing my Second Reading of After Virtue, though not the Nineteenth Chapter, for Obvious Reasons.)

MacIntyre’s crystallized perfection cracks under the hammers and sickles of those Marxist apologists and Nietzschean dreamers whom MacIntyre so translucently despises, but the bulk of the crumbling deconstruction of After Virtue is performed by MacIntyre himself, once his devotion to his dreams of public accountability and his eager resistance to any sort of Nietzschean or Sartrean detachment from Public Life compel him to “defend” his work with a far duller instrument than he employed for its construction: a useful tool repurposed into a weak weapon.

Hardly, if even, three years following the publication of the First Edition in the United States MacIntyre caved into publishing an ominous Nineteenth Chapter wherein, for the first time over the course of his comedic history of moral thought, the playwright himself appears onstage as a caricature, breaking the fourth wall of historicity in order to address the hecklers in his audience. He hardly breaches the top of the third page of this addendum without reducing himself to a stock character at the turn of the leaf: “Morality which is no particular society’s morality is to be found nowhere,” quoth the Learned Scot of Notre Dame, continuing to cite some of his most iconic examples as one-liners: “There was the-morality-of-fourth-century-Athens, there were the-moralities-of-thirteenth-century-Western-Europe, there are numerous such moralities, but where ever was or is morality as such?”

Yet even in writing that previous sentence I am forced to confront the fact that MacIntyre is no longer a Scot, nor has he been one for about half a century, and while the shelter of American Academia might allow this “something of an intellectual nomad” (quite probably his own words) to escape the evils of ethnic profiling, his own ethical aims do not, though they DO allow him the privilege of “doing as the Romans do” within the safe confines of an Institution that is every bit as much a product of liberal Individualism as is Nietzsche, if not far more so.

MacIntyre’s central sin is a contradiction which Aristotle would most probably have laughed at. On the one hand, MacIntyre claims that morality is entirely topical, particular to groups and times, devoid of that universality which thinkers as diverse as Kant and Kierkegaard equated it with, and to be recognized within the context of a plurality. On the other hand, (perhaps not the shaking hand) MacIntyre rejects pluralism, especially with regards to Individuals as Rational Beings.

Yet how does a “nomad” manage to avoid becoming an Ubermensch? Clearly, the chief advantage to leading a nomadic lifestyle within the “fallen” modern world is in that one needs NOT simply to adapt to whatever culture one finds one’s self within, thereby sacrificing that romanticized “continuity of narrative” which comprises After Virtue’s most beautifully crafted chapter, but rather one can avail one’s self of a variety of perspectives and use Reason to decide among them which path to take. Constancy is not lost but gained in such a postmodern wilderness, though the temptation towards inconstancy remains, more tempting than ever before, though more threatening and fearful to the wary and experienced. In offering us the long-lost boon of moral objectivity, how does MacIntyre justify his own subjective biases, biases which by his own definitions MUST be intrinsic to his lifestyle as a transatlantic immigrant? (Perhaps I should note that, in this respect, I feel for him, but only as a character foil.) How does a seasoned nomad “settle down” into the mandala-shaped enclosure of the modern Academic city-state?

Apparently, it is by seeking to subvert the cornucopia of admittedly irreconcilable cultures (“admittedly” by the author’s own admission) and subcultures of the Present Age to the authoritarian rule of one Greek alpha male, severing all ties with competing intellectual traditions, (Camus is mentioned only once in After Virtue, as an unflattering example, and he does NOT appear within the Index of the Third Edition, twenty-six years later; Deleuze, Derrida, and Foucault do not appear at all.) and casually commenting, with boyish naiveté, that it is not virtue but bureaucracy which inspires despotism.

Yet who is better suited to contend with bureaucracy: Nietzsche or MacIntyre? One defines himself entirely by his role as does a chivalrous knight; the other uses medieval writs for wastepaper. Camus achieves more by “charm”, Jung more by “intuition”, and Kierkegaard more by sweeping generalizations than does the bookish, cozy Alasdair MacIntyre, at least with respect to not only appealing to the moral conscience but empowering it in persons. Deleuze, even in rejecting personhood as more than a product of multiplicities, is far more thorough in his investigation of cultures, mythology, and the effects of both upon the internal psyche (thanks in large part, we might presume, to his co-author Felix Guattari) than the Scottish-American historian who idealizes most the Greek and Scandinavian myths, (pity that he and Nietzsche never met to drink to that; intellectual history might have turned out differently) so sequestering himself to those cultures which were directly touched by Aristotelian meddling (at times: an Alexandrian Conquest tantamount at least to Manifest Destiny, though MacIntyre seems to prefer the former to the latter, having tried the fruits of both) that his prologue still lists “Chinese and Japanese” as though it were “also” an alien category to be distinguished from “English, Danish, Polish, Spanish, Portuguese, French, German, Italian, and Turkish”.

Is such myopia not OBVIOUSLY the consequence of a pluralism which rejects all universal claims? Is the infantile idolatry of Aristotle via Jesus not TRANSPARENTLY a reaction to one’s own temperamental insecurities? When the natural conformist, sworn enemy of the Nietzschean Superman, can no longer feel safe leading a nomadic lifestyle, for his home is devoid of patriotism and continuity, what better course of action for him remains but to take up refuge in an academic convent, ally himself with Catholicism out of utility, (especially to appear “consistent” to his students, thereby preserving status and security,) to preach Aristotle to a world tired of it, awaiting the return of the Saviour whom academia will recognize? If Nietzsche cannot be credited for anything else, is it not for arming Jung with the language with which to expose such neuroses?

Who among us has not sinned in this way? Men look to powerful figures like Aristotle or privileged princes like Christ to save them when they find themselves in new and hostile territory. Failing to adapt, we seek to adapt our environment to ourselves; failing to adapt our environment, we seek someone else to adapt it FOR us. One needn’t even consider Nietzsche’s primary project: the rejection of Socrates, without whom Aristotle would have amounted to little. The last line of After Virtue even seeks to place the author in the position of a cleric working towards the recognition of this Saviour; tired of waiting for Godot, the embodiment of hope whose “absence says more than his presence” (as does the wandering Taoist sage whom Watts loved and who surely inspired Nietzsche’s Ubermensch) MacIntyre resolves himself to waiting for St. Benedict. Yet apparently St. Benedict is already among us, and it is MacIntyre himself!! Yet this is just humble enough to stop short of Nietzschean narcissism, for MacIntyre is not herein analogous to Christ; that is Aristotle.

[({Dm.R.G.)}]

Musings: September 2, 2020.

I am not “pro” anything. Only crazy people define themselves (or others) PERSONALLY based upon their opinions about PUBLIC policy.

The film Parasite is not about “class”; it is about a man who stabs his benefactor in the heart with an axe over a question of smell. It is about psychosis, and if you sympathize with the protagonists by the end of the film, to the same extent as you pity them at the start of it, you are a danger to yourself and others. Simply put: no desperation excuses that level of depravity, and if you wish to help people, recognizing in your humility that you cannot save EVERYONE, then start with those you KNOW to be innocent, rather than those whose needs you deem arbitrarily to be greater.

It’s humiliating to admit, but that system which Karl Marx identified properly as the Devil in the nineteenth century has become at once our most deadly modern weapon and our last defence against utter savagery.

Dialectic Reasoning, especially in the Hegelian tradition, is not nearly as staunch and systematic as you might think; in many ways, it burnt our bridges with the archaic and inflated Aristotelian concept of logical “non-contradiction”. Hegel admits, in fact professes, that the more we analyze anything the more it is prone to internal contradictions and circular reasonings. He accepts this, and he urges us to take our thinking a step further in order to accommodate the fact.

Now contrast this with the contemporary attitude: once something no longer “makes sense”, people simply give up and act on what they already “know”. Who is the villain? Little Hegel is up in his study analyzing meticulously while the World burns. Is it his fault? No. He’s setting a fine example for us.

Now you might say: if “contradiction is good” (as per usual, boiling things down) and you are “pro-contradiction”, (while making things personal) then why are you calling US out on OUR contradictions? Simply put: it’s because contradiction isn’t the end. Hegel’s methods are supposed to resolve at least SOME contradictions which thought produces. In many instances, the simplest rational explanation for contradictions in human behaviour is “stupidity and moral feebleness”. It is BECAUSE most people do not practice Dialectical Reasoning that our society is so conflicted, as well as its constituents. Hegel helps us to understand ourselves. You are welcome.

How does one support immigration reform whilst challenging colonialism? The humanistic arguments are the same for both: that the simple fact of an established way of life does not preclude either the possibility nor the imperative for a new way of life, one intended to accommodate the needs of outsiders.

So: why should one group of immigrants restrict others? Simply put, needs are not enough. In order for a system to work, it must follow a code of ethics, usually one formalized in Law. The English colonists were not “illegal immigrants”, since no such formal, federal Law existed upon their arrival, except perhaps in England.

How ironic, therefore, that in appealing to their descendants, I found myself contending with the New Left!! To the liberals, you see, the matter of accommodating outsiders is a joke. There are no “others” to the new liberal; there are only white people, black people, and brown people, and we like white people least.

This is what the argument has degenerated into: fuck the buffalo. They were here first. Fuck science. They were here first. Fuck Law. They were here first. Fuck human rights, that all-too-recent European invention which silenced the archaic African invention we call slavery. They were here first.

May I append this? Fuck history, that means by which we can follow the development of ideas without subordinating ourselves to primitive myths and proto-Fascist ideologies. They were here first.

Don’t get me wrong: I love mythology as much as the next guy. I just hate people who take it literally, and there is no greater modern myth than the concept of Natural Human Rights. Everything which we take for granted as a Society is the product of that “White Man’s Burden” which seems so embarrassing in context. It is simply the nature of progress that one always looks back with shame, since it’s impossible to be constantly improving without always one-upping what came before.

[({DM.R.G.)}]

After After Virtue:

For a scholar who professes a belief in that an innovative society is the most effective one, Alasdair MacIntyre seems extremely resistant to innovation in the defence of his own work, standing by his breakthrough publication After Virtue for nearly forty years. While he contends that any credible counterargument would have already been presented to him by now, there is nothing within his ethic which precludes the possibility of being sheltered from the Truth.

The simplest means by which to prove him wrong is to describe Life in three parts: fitting in, standing up, and standing out. We start our metamorphosis by attempting to “fit into” an established social order, in spite of personal moral scruples, hoping that by doing so successfully we might appropriate an appreciation for its norms, thereby bridging the gap between the inner and the outer.

Yet what we find is that social life is intrinsically Absurd, so all such ventures are Sisyphean. In the process, we learn one of Life’s few known constants: that we must “Stand Up for Ourselves”. It is by acquiring this virtue, upon which all other virtues are contingent, that we are able to retain our dignity when we inevitably fail.

The Third Stage is a reintegration, but not, as in the case of a bildungsroman, into a Society, but rather into Ourselves. Recognizing that we shall never “fit in”, yet that we cannot escape, we learn to exist within a Society which contradicts us while retaining our dignity in the contradiction. It is because the only constancy available to us is in this act of standing up on behalf of ourselves and our own views that the Individual comes to take precedence over all illusions of status and social value. Because courage is always necessary, the conscience becomes a Universal.

The examples corroborating this narrative are so multifarious that I might fill an entire book of my own with them. Suffice it to say that, of the few men whom MacIntyre references who articulated this intuition, his scholarship misrepresents them. Nietzsche and Kierkegaard, in spite of doctrinal differences, arrive at one and the same conclusion. Yet in spite of citing many of Nietzsche’s own favourite sources MacIntyre dismisses Nietzsche, and MacIntyre’s philosophy might be considered symptomatic of Nietzsche’s first stage with very brief intimations of the second. Regarding Kierkegaard, conversely, the kinship MacIntyre seems to feel with his fellow Christian is overshadowed by a dubious negligence of the finer points of Kierkegaard’s work, especially regarding the Knight of Pure Faith and the inevitable disparity between internal and external life.

Ultimately, MacIntyre’s philosophy is a doctrine of conformism. While he is effective in disarming certain forms of conformism, exposing them for what they are, such as political “protest”, (which is, after all, no more than an attempt to adapt the external to the internal) he also propagates and reinforces various modes of conformity which are even more disastrous, simply because adapting the internal to the external is even more barbaric and demoralizing. (Even George Lucas, another great modern student of mythology, intuits the authoritarian consequences of forcing people to agree in spite of partisan reservations.) Both responses are failures to live with the inherent contradiction between the internal and the external worlds, which Albert Camus called the Absurd and which Carl Jung established as the imperative for psychological individuation.

MacIntyre’s scholarship is fundamentally typical; he forgets Camus in favour of Sartre, just as he forgets Jung in favour of Freud, shamelessly identifying each individual only as representative of his respective group, for that reduction lies at the heart of MacIntyre’s sociology. In demonstrating an unwavering allegiance to the Analytical School, professing its blessings openly, he does not avail himself of the blessings of its opposing school(s), and it comes as small surprise that no convincing antitheses to his admittedly partisan presumptions have yet reached his desk.

 

[({Dm.R.G.)}]

Reaffirmations for Summer 2020: Idealism and Distress.

You know: when you talk about Idealism, you’re talking about just how great and awesome Life would be if only everyone did just a little more. A little here, a little there. To be a little bit more open, or a little bit more kind. To work a little harder, so that those who have to pick up lots of slack enjoy a life that’s easier by far than what they would have had to do instead. Usually, the Idealists are the sorts of people who WOULD do all these things, and they often have to push themselves so much each day to make things work for those around them. Since the Idealists often excel in these qualities, it is predictable that those who fall behind might grow envious of them, and if those shortcomings might be rationalized and recast as virtues, the Idealist might even be portrayed as intrusive. Yet one conceit which is entirely beyond justification is the accusation of self-interest. It may be true that such a change as the Idealist envisions would be of inestimable relief to one’s Self, which stands to benefit by a far greater margin than those who disadvantage themselves ever so slightly. Yet the simple fact that their disadvantage is so minor and the Idealist’s advantage is so great is precisely what renders the transformation Just, for such a set of affairs may only come to pass when, up until this time, the Idealist has had to shoulder an unreasonable burden on behalf of the average person.

[({Dm.A.A.)}]

The Damsel in Distress is one of the oldest archetypes for a reason, since she represents the birth of the boy’s moral development. She presents him with a challenge: given power over a helpless embodiment of femininity, one doubling as sex object and mother figure, he has the choice whether to inflict harm or healing. While boys who grow up on hero myths might easily inherit a feeling of entitlement to those whom they rescue, the deal works, since the rescue is executed and the greater evil assuaged by the Hero, however self-interested the intent.

The simple act of choosing heroism over exploitation is an exercise in self-restraint, courage, and conviction, all invariably heroic qualities, not because they cannot be corrupted towards ill ends, but rather because higher goals cannot be attained without them, and these higher goals are not mere pretensions but rather expressions of the longings of the most piteous and helpless victims.

The Damsel in Distress is not disgraced by her powerlessness, since most often it is the fate of those possessing a more mysterious power: that of vulnerability and innocence. The Damsel in Distress redeems the Hero’s cumbersome and heavy-handed masculinity, but only by being totally vulnerable to him, grotesque though this predicament might appear, and rightfully so, for it was produced by the exploitative means of her villainous captor. The very distinction between the role of captor and liberator, by one’s own choice, establishes the boy as a man, superior in dignity.

At that point, though, the challenge falls to the maiden, for she undergoes the same sort of transformation. If she feels no debt of gratitude towards him, or, feeling it, she acts against it, she has remained a girl, a child of the Universe, entitled to her own innocence but not much else. Her rescuer is like a Father Figure to her, whose love must be unconditional by default, so that she owes him nothing in return, and if he should argue otherwise, he becomes a tyrannical abuser, no better than her ogrish captors.

In this context, it is no surprise if she should seek the company of her fellow girls, who coddle her and assure her that, since she was innocent to begin with, she owes her savior nothing, for he was simply preserving the Natural Order of Things, and, if his intent were self-interested, then she ought to be commended for deceiving him towards beneficent means, and the test of his character will ultimately lie in his absence of personal passion, regardless of whether such a feeling of entitlement would precede or follow the Heroic Act. 

Yet clearly such a matriarchal conceit does not live up to the ideals of any Goddess of Justice, for it forces all men to renounce their own bodies completely in service to weak women, feeble and restrained not only of body but of Heart and Mind, the latter by their own Nature and Volition, disincentivizing many men and producing not only more villains but, among women, a greater tolerance for villainous, barbaric “men” without “creepy” ulterior agendas.

It should be obvious, however, that such agendas represent not so much a hidden evil but a biological longing for moral order, one which redeems the human body as a Source of Moral Authority. The woman who rewards her Saviour with Love becomes akin to a Goddess in her own right, whereas the other remains a temptress and a child. Just as the boy who takes advantage of the Damsel fails a test of Manhood, the girl who does not honour his sacrifice fails to mature into a Woman. Their reciprocity is dependent upon the trust the boy places in the girl by setting her free, as well as the respect she shows for his hopes for the two of them.

In Actual Life, these sorts of relationships govern all good business, for while we all must fend for ourselves we are tasked with doing so by noble means, noble means which, since they are essential, cannot be separated from practical life by being sublimated as ascetic martyrdom. In business, we all want something, but we must be willing to risk loss in order to empower our associates, that they might reciprocate. 

This risk is no more an invitation to say “No” than the bondage of the Damsel in Distress is a form of consent. Disappointments in business are not the results of lofty expectations but of treacheries; the lofty expectation is, in fact, the End in and of Itself, the Goal without the pursuit of which nothing good gets done. 

When I throw the ball to you, you do not call me arrogant for expecting you to catch it, and though I part with it willingly, it is not with the expectation that you might do with it whatever you will, but rather that you will serve the team as I intended for you to. So it is in Love, and this is but one function of the Hero’s encounter with the Damsel in Distress. These stories are not merely the sublimation of perverse heterosexual fantasies; they are tests in refinement for deep-seated and inextricable biological impulses. Maturity for the Man lies in the boy’s ability to set the girl free; maturity for the Woman lies in her ability to reward him. All else is simply conjecture; the moment that we begin to deconstruct the intent of the Hero,

“… the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought;

And enterprises of great pith and moment,

With this regard, their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.”

The Good Life always comes at a price.

[({Dm.A.A.)}]

The IRONY of ANARCHY:

It’s always ironic when, in the aftermath of a publicized act of police brutality, some people find license to publicize their own gripes about law enforcement. Not only does this trivialize the tragedy, but it also engenders an even more dangerous prejudice than whatever it was that produced the brutality, unless of course we presume that all forms of brutality sprout from the same primeval Source.

There is of course a peculiar place that a lynching holds in the hearts and minds of ordinary people. All forms of street violence are disturbing, not only because they are threatening, but because they are insulting to Humanity. French Philosopher Gilles Deleuze described something known as the “shame in being human” we experience when we see people behaving with excessive harshness, as though we internalized their own guilt for them, by association within the species. In instances such as these, we witness a side of Human Nature which we do not customarily expect. What we see often incites rage within us, but only to the same extent that we are ourselves prone to it; Jungian Psychology refers to this as “Shadow Projection”; outside of this irrational rage we are confined to shock and indignation.

One sees a young man getting beaten up outside a Cleveland hotel in broad daylight as bystanders cheer his assailant on. Do they know what he did to deserve this? Or do they presume that he “had it coming”, much as women often presume that men who are single are single “for a reason”, thereby perpetuating those men’s condition? When one witnesses behaviour such as this, though it is not always tantamount to a child getting murdered by gangs, it reveals what could be called the “Natural” state of Humanity, as opposed to its purportedly Civilized State.

Lynchings are especially disturbing not because they are acts of murder, but because they are carried out by a mob, operating outside of Legal Due Process. Even if the victim is condemned by Law to Death, we expect Law to do more for him. What is offended is not only the Pride in Being Human; it is the expectation that Law will redeem us. When one witnesses an abuse of police power, the tragedy is only secondarily the loss of Human Life; people die on the streets every day, and their deaths are celebrated, often publically, by their assailants. This is Reality.

What sets acts of Police Brutality apart is in that they are errors of Enforcement. Intuitively, perhaps instinctively, we recognize the Law as one of our forms of Saving Grace. We EXPECT for Law to protect us from not only one another but ourselves, for we know that, without it, the State of Nature would prevail, and those who retained the luxury of civilized thought would swiftly fall prey to unimaginable acts of predation by the planet’s Leading Carnivore: Man. It is for this reason that we hold Agents of Enforcement to a Higher Standard; they represent all civilized interests.

When we witness an act of Police Brutality, it says nothing about the Police. What we are witnessing is thoroughly typical HUMAN Behaviour, carried out without the bounds of Due Process, but using the full force of Law Enforcement in its service. In the wake of such a tragedy, the only sensible recourse is to unify in SUPPORT of the Law and those who continue to enforce it with conscientiousness and dexterity. It is only by doing so that we preserve Individual Rights, which are, after all, social constructs, and it is only by doing so that we preserve Individual Accountability, thereby resisting the primal temptation to so identify with a group that these prejudicial reactions are likely to recur. It is therefore ironic that, in the aftermath of a publicized act of police brutality, and in the wake of a tragedy which is most properly called a Miscarriage of Justice, there are some of those among us who would think to supplant the Law Itself, as though the failure of People to live up to our own Civilized Standards were the product of Civilization and NOT intrinsic to Nature. No serious anarchist is without a gun and a vendetta.

[({R.G.)}]

PARAS!TE: FULL REV!EW.

THE ETHOS:

In the eighteenth century, during the European Enlightenment, morality plays took a turn in favour of revolutionary views, the likes of which Marx and his followers adopted to varying degrees of success and atrocious failure in the centuries that followed. Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni is a prime example of this subversive trend; the librettist who wrote those ingenious lyrics which Mozart set to music later moved to the United States. Retelling the tale of Don Juan, the four-hour epic depicts an ignoble nobleman who terrorizes peasants who are extremely civilized. (Of course, our own Slavoj Zizek might take issue with the term “civilized”, but in so doing he represents part of the problem I describe.) Admittedly, most of what Don Giovanni does throughout those four hours might even pass for admirable achievement in our present day, but only because so many men are either self-absorbed or easily pushed over. His only sins that stand the scrutiny of time are rape and murder, though one must keep in mind that, according to the old morality, the former would be hardly worse than the remainder of his lechery, since personal consent was less important, even during the Enlightenment, than conformism to standards, and even the most radical Enlightenment thinker wouldn’t have dared to suggest that chastity, as a social imperative, was simply the product of envy.

By illustrating the poor in a noble light and the noble in a poor light, the greatest dramatists of the Enlightenment managed to draw a sharp distinction between social hierarchy and moral hierarchy. Nobility was not a quality either exclusive to nor guaranteed within the Nobles, even if it was in fact the Noble Class which had produced it as a standard. So long as you could romanticize peasants as behaving like chivalrous princes, contending with a lecherous rich man, you could not only expose the corruption which wealth is heir to but also you could begin to Universalize Nobility as a standard transcending social station. The Cardinal Virtues are not simply behaviours which the Priesthood adopts because the Church can afford to sponsor them; they are archetypes that live within the very Heart of Human Nature, planted there by God, available to any thinking man. Rafael, the Angel of Forgiveness, is no different in quintessence from Guanyin, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, of whom the Dalai Lama is the avatar. Goodness and Evil transcend cultural boundaries, and they are untethered by the mortal norms of class.

This flame was not so easily extinguished by modernity as we might suspect. While Breaking Bad might have set the stage for shows like Ozark, wherein every character is deplorable, its artistic achievement was twofold: that it not only presented a sympathetic villain, but it established such a stark contrast between his villainous fate and his heroic beginnings that viewers could not help but to end up blaming the same man they were rooting for. This was precisely Vince Gilligan’s goal: to teach viewers that “actions have consequences”. His genius was in creating villains so engaging that there was no sympathy left by the end; we had already expended it.

Even more successful artistically to this end, if not commercially, is the prequel Better Call Saul. As Jimmy McGill transforms into Saul Goodman, his stoic counterpart Mike becomes a hitman. The central themes are usually conveyed by Mike himself, who doubles as a Wise Old Man and as a Gatekeeper, eventually becoming a tragic hero. One of Mike’s earliest monologues, addressed to an upstart criminal named Pryce, (an I.T. specialist who decides to sell stolen pharmaceuticals for a profit,) is upon the difference between a “criminal” and a “bad guy”. “You took something that wasn’t yours, and you sold it for a profit, which now makes you a criminal. Good one? Bad one? That’s up to you.” Mike recognizes that our moral standing in Life is independent of our legal standing. It follows logically that it is also independent of our economic standing, especially if economics can be reduced to social standing in an institution such as the Law. Mike repeatedly refuses money, even when his family’s in dire straits, when he believes that he has not earned it. This sets him apart from Ignacio Varga, who can sympathize with Mike’s robbery of a drug lord’s trucks, but not with the vendetta which motivated it. Nacho Varga doesn’t have the sorts of responsibilities which Mike has, since Mike acts also as a provider for his widowed daughter-in-law and his granddaughter, whereas Nacho’s father has always planned for Nacho to inherit a thoroughly decent family business. Mike simply retains his devotion to the Spirit of the Law, even after having quit his post as a cop in an extremely corrupt precinct. Ignacio, who has chosen to defy his father’s wishes by allying himself with the Cartel, ends up fending for life, enabling a string of murders and injuries in his wake. When he receives a blood transfusion from one of a pair of iconic Cartel twins, it represents both the duality of his nature and his transformation into a drug lord.

THE PATHOS:

By far, the evilest villain in the film Parasite turns out to have been the patriarch of the parasitic family. Not only does he do nothing to stop his family from committing the original con, acting as far less than the stoic source of moral fortitude and equanimity which his initial character foil, Mr. Park, exhibits, but his profound envy for this gentleman sparks a neurosis which, over a very short time, escalates into the most senseless act of murder. It is by no mistake that the two men wear the feathers of Native Americans at the climax of the film, for what they represent is that rage which, either robbed of civilizing grace or having never seen it, lashes out with infantile destruction at the alien world of wealth and sophistication. What the patriarch of the parasitic family represents is self-entitlement, expressed as the raw will to destroy that which it desires. Mr. Kim wants to live Mr. Park’s life; he even goes so far as to covet the wife. Yet it is his negligence, his heavy-handed arrogance, one alien to seasoned criminals, (the likes of which we see in Breaking Bad, for instance, or even Death Note,) that dooms his family, for when they have the perfect opportunity to plan their grand ascension to the plane of wealth instead they waste it, pilfering the secrets of their hosts, intoxicating themselves in a manner only native to the unaristocratic. They know neither the reserve to leave the door unanswered when the old housekeeper comes to knock, nor do they feel the shame and the disgust which would in such a matter warrant sympathy for her and her husband. It is because they fail to answer for their sins against the family, creeping about within the dark, that Kim bears witness to the act of love between Park and his blushing wife. Park and his wife are also envious, their act of love modeled after some fantasy of rundown life, but it’s a fantasy that has been planted by the daughter of the Kims, and they do nothing but to act it out in what they falsely think is privacy. The Parks are kind enough to hide their civilized disgust when they discover panties in the back of their own car, and it is nothing short of this that lands the parasitic patriarch his gig at the expense of someone younger and more qualified, if not yet “needy”, so to speak. Yet how can this Mr. Kim deplore them for what they should say in privacy? It is offense to which he only walks by his own secret path, rather than a directed insult. What he hates is not what his host DOES, but rather what the host PERCEIVES, and in that rests the seeds of a psychosis, for the narcissist, refusing to perceive his own foul stench, hates most the thought that others turn their noses up at it behind his back. It is for this reason that Mr. Kim winds up living down in the crawlspace, in the place of the same maniac who nearly killed his son and stabbed the hosts nearly to death. It seems that all is lost during the struggle between the recluse and the Kims’ son, but as it turns out it’s the early victim who will live to tell the tale. At that moment when the ritual of decency is interrupted by an act of madness, Mr. Park behaves the most responsibly, lifting the car keys from beneath the carcass of the man who nearly killed his wife and child. There is no question at this moment that Park is the Better Man, but as the stench of his assailant fills his nostrils Mr. Kim is so reminded of this stark superiority between them that he is possessed, as if by Cain, to kill the father right before the wife. Kim’s wife and son survive, but at that moment the Parks’ lives are over, where before there had been yet a feeble hope at dignity and even healing. Let us not forget that all of this went on without the Park’s say-so or knowledge; they had no idea, thinking themselves kind. Their one sin was living that one life which all the others wanted; their one error was permitting others even partial access to this life. A rational man would rejoice, knowing that at least someone kindly had been able to enjoy what he was yet to know. Yet madness works in other ways. Kim’s lust for “simple” Mrs. Park is clear when he first holds her hand, and hearing Mr. Park fondle her breast and all the while denounce his stink engenders jealousy the likes of which not even I can fathom. A True Man would sooner have confessed to all his sins in that one moment than to let the ruse go on. But the coward had no recourse but to crawl back into poverty, a circumstance that would arouse our pity but not our solidarity, for in that moment it was chosen by the victim. Kim had the capacity for murder then, but he had not the plan to do so, leaving it up to his son’s device. The women in the family, by this point, came to recognize the lodgers underground as equals, where before their senseless rivalry for ample resources had doomed them nearly to exposure. Yet the lies the daughter wove came back to haunt them, for just as the ladies of the family were ready to thus offer up their peace, the lady of the Parks came carrying a cake which had been baked not just to celebrate the birthday of her son but to help him to cope with trauma, a trauma fabricated by the Kims. It’s in this moment that their son tries to murder the lodgers, all for wanting what he had, just as his father kills their host for having only what they wanted. Hence the madman becomes the latter foil for Kim.

THE LOGOS:

One of the peculiar qualities of the Park family which is typical of underdeveloped characters (in developed countries) is just how little we truly know about them. This fact renders it impossible to blame them without making irrational inferences from outside the text, which would be a major faux pas in the Post-Derridean contemporary world. For instance, we cannot call them “capitalists” in the Marxist sense any more so than we might call Andy Bernard’s ancestors “slave owners”; though neoliberal Oscar Martinez would love to be able to prove Nellie’s inflated claims to be factual, Bernard is accurate in describing his ancestors as “moral middlemen”: conscientious, hardworking participants in a corrupt Social Order which, by a Kantian estimation, required them to conform in spite of personal reservations and subjective doubts. As far as we are aware, the Host Family in Parasite is most likely tantamount to this, only because most people in their estimated income bracket (presuming upon the quality of their luxuries) are in the same position: they are not business owners, so they are not capitalists in the Marxist sense. If they were brought up in a “bubble”, they surpass in dignity those nouveau riche who have had to “work to get there”. While it is charming and sadly endearing to hear people from the ghetto share their dreams of wealth and power (and one often does, as I have, having spent a lot of time in urban sectors and encountered many locals,) one recalls that, were they better educated, they would not speak so proudly of their entrepreneurial dreams and realities. By the most economically left-leaning, liberal definition available, the one supplied by the notorious Karl Marx, those who manage to move up the social ladder by their will and work alone are in fact MORE corrupt than those who are born into “privilege”, since such upward mobility requires them to make a PROFIT, which Marx systematically proves to be directly proportional to and, in fact, synonymous with, exploitation, selling out their fellows in the process. This process of “selling out” is precisely what the Kim family demonstrates. Conversely, the Park family exhibits behaviours which are far more emblematic of another archetype, that of the Child: Innocence. While their patriarch exhibits the stoic condescension of his station, his actual choices, though they always portend unrelenting cosmic retribution, are invariably advantageous to the Kims, whom he grows to trust as much as his childlike wife does. The Parks, though they retain internal feelings of disgust, never allow these personal biases to skew their public behaviour, extending an attitude of trusting compassion even to their hired help, except for when they are MISLED, calculatedly, to make cancellations. While this ideal is one to which we might feel rightfully entitled, it’s not a frequent fact, so we ought to be grateful to the Parks, for they exhibit all these graces willingly and willfully. To the same extent as it is “easy” for them to be good, it is just as easy for them to be evil, and their choices therefore act as the definitive arbiter in the revelation of their character. If the Kim family finds within the depths of that character a private contempt, it is only because the Kims have betrayed the trust of the Parks by creeping into their private, innermost lives. When government entities in countries purported to be Leftist behave in this manner, Snowden supporters worldwide profess that the government betrayed both the People and its own Ideals for them.

If Parasite is a metaphor, then who are we to read it just one way? Are the Kims not, in fact, more akin to the capitalists in the works of Marx than the Parks are? Foremost anti-capitalist Slavoj Zizek holds a similar interpretation of subtext in The Sound of Music, insisting that the more subtle viewer will notice extremely proto-Fascist tendencies in the villagers who serve as that film’s protagonists, whereas the Germans they defy are tantamount to a Nazi’s conception of the Jewish Elite. If we can systematically demonstrate that the Kims exhibit the violent, sociopathic, and exploitative tendencies of a nineteenth-century Industrialist, then how can we continue to sympathize with them, as liberals?

Hidden Leeches: So, Who Were the Parasites?

Of course, here the director himself offers a counterintuitive interpretation of his own work, by suggesting that the Parks were Parasites as WELL. Of course, such an observation could never absolve either party of its crimes, for crimes are often crimes not just against an “exploited party” but also against an Overlying Law; if anything, being equated with the Parks in dignity gives Mr. Kim far less excuse for envy, unless he cares nothing for dignity itself. Yet such a degree of sophistication in moral calculation is probably lost already upon any class of people that calls the Parks “parasites”.

The most narcissistic delusion is that of Godhood, and since a God can deny his own delusions from a position of Divine Authority, any man who believes himself to be a God is the most hopeless case in this regard. What is the significance of Divinity? A Deity is like a genie without the shackles; he or she can will anything into existence, at least enough so as to satisfy his or her own needs. It is only in Buddhism that the Gods are considered unhappy in direct proportion to their power, and that is only because Buddhism rejects power.

A self-made man is a God Incarnate: an entity who fashions, by his or her own volition alone, the entirety of his or her own conditions. It does not take a Freud or Jung to see this grandiosity for what it is. Yet, somehow, when we see people relying upon other people, we treat them as though they were less than human, as though human beings were Gods and Goddesses. While cooking and driving are hardly metaphysical powers, (I, myself, possess at least one of them) it’s not a mark of shame to hire a private cook or a driver. This is because human beings are communal creatures; as Alasdair MacIntyre said, (and as I quote, quite shamelessly, for I agree with him*:) we are “dependent, rational animals”. The Parks are not exploiting the Kims by providing them with a source of income in exchange for a service. While the most cursory reading of Marx would call this “exchange-value” into question, the seemingly generous NATURE of the Parks, already exposed by their willful and “easy” goodness, leaves it up to them to decide how MUCH to pay the Kims, and it leaves it up to us to infer that it’s probably a “fair amount”, hardly synonymous with exploitation.

*Not only do I quote him because I agree with him; I am also unashamed in doing so, because I agree with him that there is nothing to be ashamed of herein.

Post-Shamanic Human Beings form societies based upon the division of specialized labour, and while this division lends itself to hierarchical structures it also makes possible a state of interdependence wherein ethics and commerce, working hand in hand, ensure both the production and the distribution of resources which possess Marx’s “use-value”. Yet the lingering credibility of Marx, especially in the current Zeitgeist, is not in his depth of research into the statistics of the prior centuries, an academic rigour the likes of which we do not find in millennials. It’s rather in the shocking accounts of factory conditions that Marx sets his morality play, in terms so plain and detached that they prefigure the ominous stylings of Realism and Modernist Theatre. At first blush, the Kim family’s living circumstances seem most reminiscent of these stark conditions. Yet no tragedy is complete without a villain and a tragic hero. In the case of the Kims, they are both, because of their choices.

Since ethics remain ethics irrespective of personal conditions, and as we have demonstrated that the most liberally sound people are those who do not change social class, wherever they may be situated, it would be daft to agree with Mrs. Kim’s drunken assertion that the Park family’s kindness is inauthentic because it comes easily as a function of privileged wealth. Our only warrant would lie in an even baser presumption: that people only do good things to feel good, and only when it requires neither effort nor sacrifice. When you see how instinctive depravity is for the Kims, it’s unsurprising.

The Sins of Kim:

We know very little about the Parks, but we know almost all there is to know about the Kims. The son betrays his best friend in the first half hour of the film, if I am not mistaken, seducing a young girl whose death he eventually brings about, thinking only of his own alienation. This same son, an adolescent boy scarcely older than Yagami Light, takes it upon himself to murder a man far less fortunate than he, who in turn attempts to kill his “Gods” upstairs. The Kim family’s matriarch shows no recrimination in getting members of their fellow working class fired to make room for narcissistic dreams of upward mobility. Where is that sense of Marxist Solidarity in the Sub-basement, when for the first time the Kims have to confront the impact of their enterprise upon an even lower class? Are these the sorts of people to presume that wealth is heir to malice? If so, it’s clearly the poor characters who are living in a bubble, unaware of even themselves, for it would take just one look in the mirror (provided by the character foil of the Squatters) to see that, in this Universe, wealth is not inversely proportional to loyalty and kindness, but directly so. The poor people are the most murderous, the wealthy are the most generous, and if this were not so, we wouldn’t need to stoop to the childish claim that it’s “easy for them to be good”. Yes: it WOULD be easy, except that the Kims, simply by CONTENDING this, make no attempt to BE good, sealing by this excuse the fates of all involved. Their power is neither that of privilege nor labour, but of duplicity and ruthlessness. While it seems tautological at first to use their claims against them, since it was precisely that same claim about privileged morality that I sought to disprove, a simple accounting of willful immorality ought to expose that claim for what it is: a pragmatic LIE, one believed by the liar, as all narcissistic fantasies are. It’s iconic, therefore, that the one member of the Kim family who dies, rightfully, is the daughter, for of all of them this counterfeiter is the most blatant con artist, without whom none of the criminal enterprise would have worked. If you can be fooled into sympathizing with her family, you are among the naïve.

The Park Family is the only family which lives a Good Life, both morally and financially. Yet hundreds of years of progressive theater and Leftist economics prove that this is not always the case. Often, rich people suck, and poor people rock. Yet what you find in the Parks is a consummation devoutly to be wished. Critics who grow queasy at the sight of a Westerner interpreting Korean economics and reinterpreting Modern Korean Art would do well to recount the North Koreans who protest Modern Art; dissent can be manufactured under authoritarian regimes. While we DESERVE artistic license, Nature does not entitle us to it. By the same token, while Nature does not entitle everyone to the Good Life, financially, we all DESERVE it, insofar as we are willing to work towards it MORALLY. The Parks do not exploit anyone to get ahead, so they are not capitalists. Yet they use their wealth in a thoroughly moral fashion, suggesting, with dramatic irony, that it would be wasted upon their hired help, though they themselves never seem to believe this, even inviting their employees to their son’s birthday party. The Parks cannot be expected to give it all up to charity and to join a protest in the streets, and this is precisely BECAUSE they live in South Korea, whose closest neighbor to the North would gobble up a Leftist uprising in a jiffy. (Probably taking a full accounting of resistors to the fight, ensuring that their families would be cursed for future generations.) As a Moldovan citizen born in Moscow in 1991, believe me when I say that I am NOT just your typical white American in holding this position. The complacency of the Kims is only natural, and, in Asian fashion, they elevate Nature to an Art. If you still believe that they should be Marxists instead, consider how much sympathy the poorest of the poor characters – the Squatters – have for North Korean propaganda.

IN SUMMARY:

Bong Joon-ho’s submagnum opus Parasite is not a film about “class” any more so than the O.J. Simpson trial was about a red-handed glove. (Of course, that trial was hardly about “race” either, by the same token.) Parasite is a film about parasitism, envy, sociopathy, madness, and the murder of innocents for socioeconomic, ideological reasons. The truest tragedy is that the men who wrote and created the film don’t even seem to recognize what they have done. Mr. Kim bewails his own sin and resolves himself to his retribution. The lingering sympathy that conventional viewers apparently feel for him is symptomatic of a far more devious sociopathy.

[({Dm.A.A.||R.G.)}]

Data Structures and Systems Theory: a Short Memoir.

Josh is a good young man. His autism does not define him except insofar as it is both a blessing and a curse to him. A graduate from the University of California at Irvine, as well as an aspiring cartoonist with an ingenious imagination, he has trouble shaking surprise from others when they learn the identity of his alma mater. When he took Professor Stegman’s Data Structures class at Palomar College, he probably did not expect to make many friends. Ordinarily, he tends towards shyness and reports recurrent social rejection by his peers. Nonetheless, an exceptionally creative mind such as his, all ready having accomplished much academically, did not either expect that he would be facing expulsion under false auspices. Yet this was precisely what happened, as I bore personal witness to, towards the end of the Spring semester of 2018. Josh, having failed once more to make friends in class that might lend him a helping hand, referred instead to his own research, via the Internet, in finishing one of five or six laboratory assignments that would each determine nine per cent of his grade. Unfortunately, he was not alone. Several other students who shared the class with him, UNBEKNOWNST TO JOSH HIMSELF, had the same idea, so they all ended up referring to the same source. I know not whether or not these students were likewise charged with plagiarism. Professor Stegman refused to tell Josh who they were. This is puzzling, because it puts Josh in a situation where, were he guilty, he would all ready have known their identities from conspiracy with them. Conversely, if he is innocent, then he will have no knowledge of their identities, and as such he will have no means of proving his innocence to his instructor. The only sensible reason for Professor Stegman’s privacy is, therefore, that Stegman believes that Josh might prove his own guilt definitively by referring to their identities, which ostensibly only a guilty, uninformed Josh might have had access to. This creates a sort of schizophrenic double-bind; if Josh should happen to discover their identities, he will prove himself guilty, but if he fails to do so, he is guilty by default. Not only has the principle of “innocent until proven guilty” been reversed; he cannot even prove his own innocence, nor shake the guilty verdict by any means whatsoever!!

I decided to investigate this Data Structures class for myself. As per usual, employment obligations have set me behind drastically, and I found myself, enflamed by morbid curiosity, reviewing the lengthy Syllabus for the course. Enclosed within the text file is this chilling paragraph:

“Although you are allowed to help other students, you are never under any obligation to do so. If you feel uncomfortable answering a student’s question for any reason, please do not attempt to answer the question. Instead, suggest that the student see the instructor.”

In the absence of an available instructor of sound mind, a number of students referred to an other monarch, one that had served them to excess previously: the Internet. Of course, Stegman’s philosophy (read “dogma”) of helpfulness in the academic environment and project is the very summary of Ignorance, whether by a Buddhist standard or one from the West. There is obviously a moral obligation for all of us to share the knowledge that we’ve acquired if it was never intended exclusively for us. Furthermore, discomfort in the abject sense does not assuage this matter, but it aggravates it. The principal substitute for ethical behavior is of course emotivism, the tendency to simply “inform” one’s decisions by affect alone.

Stegman’s philosophy reminded me of my most recent visit to the Open Lab. I was disappointed not only by the absence of my favourite tutors but by the presence of a congested crowd. Plenty of young, ambitious students were working on their various codes. Some of them were even in my class, and I had good reason to believe that they were working on the same Lab Assignment that I am about to fail right now. (Most probably regardless of whether or not I keep writing this desperate plaint.) A great deal of them were working in teams. The most bizarre aspect of the situation was this, however: that not one of the people that I even tried to speak with who were part of these teams showed any sign of willingness to talk to me. They dismissed me based on prejudice, an observation I can state for a fact because of the simply fact that I had no prejudice in approaching them. It may be true that the female programmers I tried to speak with I came to first, since they reminded me of my favourite tutor Rachel, whose intuitive sensitivity to others’ styles of learning and needs to learn made her extremely popular as a teacher. That notwithstanding, I was open and direct in both my questions and my declarations. Yet the program would not run; they were not having it. So instead I got help from my only friend in that Data Structures class: Michael Hermes, a brilliant, level-headed whiz-kid who had Asperger’s Syndrome. Why do I feel the need to point that last part out? Put plainly: it’s ironic that under the monarchy of ablism and rugged individualism the one helping hand that I could grasp came from the Disabled Class. So to speak, of course.

I explained to Michael’s Nurse Celia that I was distracted by the crowd and hence found concentration difficult to muster. She understood; she is empathic. When everyone in the classroom forms an exclusive clique, all of their conversations serve the obverse of a social purpose for the Outsider. Interestingly enough, it was this same tendency that helped me to understand the Java programming language, if only insofar as I could comprehend how private and public classes interact. Michael’s smiled at the analogy, which was really a connection I made between Data Structures and that ancient Medieval Principle of Systems Theory. Michael said rolled with the metaphor, comparing private classes to introverts and public classes to extraverts. I reversed the analogy, insisting upon an irony I’d observed time and time again: that extraverted people tend to be more private because they define themselves so much by the exclusive groups that they’re a part of. Michael smiled in tacit agreement. An introvert would be able to read his silence as concession, though I still remember the shock of hearing my old Debate Professor comparing this simple observation, the very essence of any kind of love, Platonic onwards, between human beings, to assault. To this day, I am haunted by the fear that others have of silent consent, only because it means that extraverted thinking has become so monarchical that it has robbed life of Life.

The Fisher believes in Contemporary Systems Theory, at least insofar as she will praise Malcolm Gladwell for his observations. Whilst I have enough Debater left in me to tear the Outliers to shreds, I rest assured that all is well, for she is not apparently fanatical of temperament. It’s ironic: the same philosophy that suggests that we would all get by with a little help from our friends is what makes it so difficult to make friends. I found a friend in Michael, as I had in Josh, because we were all clinical loners who did not possess the SKILL to discriminate between people who were so kind as to reach out to us, whether to help or for help, and most often both. Conversely, I’ve found all too many ladder-climbing chimpanzees who want to keep to their own academic tribes and to perpetuate the In-Group/Out-Group conflict. It is quite redundant, though I rest assured they won’t get far. It hurts me to observe them from this height, however, not just out of pity for their lowly ways, but all so out of bitter recollections of the times they shook me down. Nobody likes a lofty outlier. Not even Malcolm Gladwell.

[({Dm.A.A.)}]

A Call to Reform in Test-Taking:

There is a bug programmed into our educational system, chiefly owing to the fact that we are obligated to sit next to one an other whilst we are being tested, but we are not permitted to examine one an other’s work. Imagine, for instance, a REASONABLY Intelligent student. He is seated next to a troubled student. This latter student is good at memorizing dates and places, but he is absolutely insane. He is completing the same test as is his aforementioned peer, but while he’s doing this his mind is scattered all over the classroom. At one moment, it’s on the clock. Then it’s on the girl that sits in front of him. Then it’s on the teacher. Then it’s on page two. Then it is on page three. Then it is on his parents, or his favorite sports team, or the weather, and how all of these MIGHT change in time.

The more intelligent of the two students is, of course, downloading all of this emotional stimuli, directly. He simply has no means of processing it without actually:

1.     Talking to his classmate.

2.     Observing the classmate’s work, especially each time that the latter changes pages.

3.     Taking a bathroom break, or otherwise moving to an other desk, so as to weigh the stimuli against an other set of stimuli, finding one’s “self” as a control group.

The troubled student gets an A. The Intelligent student gets expelled.

Dm.A.A.

What They Did and Why it Sucks: RateMyProfessor Cuts Down on Spice.

What They Did and Why it Sucks: RateMyProfessor Cuts Down on Spice.

What They Did:

RateMyProfessor.com removed the optional Hotness rating that had all ways spiced up this idiosyncratic, student-focused website, allowing students to recount not only their academic, intellectual but their affective, romantic experiences under a given instructor’s tutelage. In addition to praising, blaming, and slandering one’s teachers, a premise so subversive to the Ideals of Academia that the site was frighteningly gauche (that’s French for “Left”, as in Leftist, meaning traditionally antiauthoritarian) to begin with, students could warn you whether or not the man or woman in question was an eyesore. Given recent criticism by female professors, the site subtly removed the Hotness Rating option, as well as the red chili pepper that had tokenized it.

WHY IT SUCKS:

1.       The entire premise for RateMyProfessor.com was to empower the student voice, not to restrain it. Supposing that any one of the variety of personal attributes that are considered attractive to the mid-brain would have no consequence upon the psyche of the student is not only naïve, but Totalitarian in an Orwellian way.

2.     It was a Professor that spearheaded the act of censorship, not a student.

3.      The entire premise for RateMyProfessor.com was subversive TO BEGIN WITH. No idealistic scholar would dare besmirch the name of any educator, loth to blame others for his or her own scholastic shortcomings. To try to introduce some sort of MORAL AUTHORITY to this website is RIDICULOUS, because that would suggest that RATING our PROFESSORS is NOT a subversive act of Will, but rather an Objective Account that we are ENTITLED TO within certain CONSTRAINTS. Will any educated man or woman believe this lie?

4.     Hotness IS A JOKE. It’s ridiculous to suggest that:

a.     It could be objective.

b.     It needs to be objective.

c.      It would be a criterion for serious scholastic decisions.

d.     It ought ONLY to be a criterion for serious scholastic decisions.

e.     It would affect one gender group moreso than others.

f.       Claims that it would have such an effect could be substantiated objectively, especially in the ABSENCE of the censored information.

g.     Students would NOT be entitled to this censored information in revisiting the site’s decision.

h.      Professors should feel self-conscious about it based upon the irrational fear that being “unattractive” would lose them worthy students in desperate need of Learning.

i.       All of these facts would somehow IMPLY the ethical grounds for censorship, a violation of the Is-Ought Problem. (That facts alone do not dictate ethics.)

5.     The greatest psychoanalytic shortcoming of the last hundred years is the undervaluation of Eros, which finds its expression in perverse ways. See Marie-Louise von Franz and the entire history of Romance and Chivalry, as well as the threats against it posed by barbarically one-sided special interest and “rights” groups.

6.     RateMyProfessor.com is supposed to be an independent company rather than an academic institution. Do “checks and balances” mean anything to you? How about “Corporate Fascism”?? Perhaps you need to go back to school. But then again: perhaps that will not help.

7.      If none of this matters, not even from the perspective of a long-time student, what motive would remain to salvage a professor’s students other than money?

8.      There is no teleological progress made by this decision; people simply cannot TAKE A JOKE, and they supplement their own ethical shortcomings with emotive political complaints: a step BACKWARDS.

Honestly, it never affected me much. It was just funny and curious. I all so was in love with someone who became a Professor. I was hoping to know she would be remembered as much for her beauty as for her intelligence, since the former is a power that gives life whereas the latter led to her untimely death. You can be beautiful and make the most of it, even when others hate or take advantage of it. What truly kills people is academic intellect, for its very nature is so cutting, incisive, and impersonal that, to quote Jung, it “fears and rejects with horror any sign of living sympathy, and partly because a sympathetic understanding might permit contact with an alien spirit to become a serious experience.”

Dm.A.A.