Post No. 15

Everybody seems to have an opinion about everything these days. It’s not like we’ve suddenly become a population of voracious readers … Should all these opinions be given equal consideration?

In our rush to grant each person his or her rights and dignity we overlook the most obvious “thing”: the person’s community. Each one of us is a member of a community whether we like it or not. We have two options – accept the mores of the society we live in or expect our society to live by our rules whenever it comes into direct contact with us. Let me elaborate…

Imagine a shopkeeper whose policy is to allow customers to use any method they prefer to effect payment. He advertises it far and wide and sets up shop. The first customers walk in and they want to buy the green thingamajigs.

“How much?”

“€2.”

Out comes the purse (or wallet), money plonked on the counter, fiscal receipt issued, thanks all round and bob’s your uncle.

The next day a bright spark comes along and reads the “Pay as it suits you” notice in the shop window.

“Three green thingamajigs please.”

The shopkeeper obliges.

“I’ll pay you now for one and the other two over the next two days.”

The shopkeeper, accustomed to people paying him on the spot, reminds himself of the sign he had put up outside and says nothing.

People hear of this and start doing the same. The adventurous types push the limit, as adventurous people are wont to do. Paying-up ideas become wackier by the hour, as everybody has his or her own opinion on how best to pay. The shop owner, bound by his word, has to accept without protest.

Thingamajigs start flying off the shelves but money only lurches in like a drunkard. The shop faces serious cash flow problems (don’t we all? ha ha) which overwhelm it, and the shop owner has to call it a day. Thingamajigs are no longer available and people who need them will have to do without.

The shop owner was playing with fire when he allowed people to pay as they thought fit. He was burnt to a crisp. Although they all paid lip service to the notion of paying, few actually paid up.

He should have enlisted the help of suitably qualified accountants and economists, to explain to him the nitty gritty detail of business and establish a reasonable payment policy. The rules should have been made amply clear and they should have overridden anybody’s opinion. Special cases may require individual attention, but that should be left to the the discretion of the experts. The individual customer is important to the business, of course, but no customer is greater than the business.

People’s opinions, more often than not, are shallow and are the result of little or no thought other than “This suits me now”. This is a direct result of people thinking that the community they live in (and its rules) is incidental to them. It is a picture hung on a wall, beautiful to look at but that’s about all there is to it. They don’t understand that their thoughts, choices and actions directly affect the fabric of their lives and the lives of people around them (remember the shop’s forced closure.)

I leave it to you to decipher who the players in this scenario are

Toodle-oo.

 

Post no. 14 (The Last Supper)

THE Last Supper, by Da Vinci. One Peter Greenaway an English film director/script writer/artist etc etc used the 500 year old (give-or-take) fresco as a backdrop for a special effects light-cum-music show. The idea was to rehash the last supper for the ‘laptop generation’ – whatever that means. The event was the product of a lot of wrangling and compromises. Reception to the idea was *surprise*surprise* a mixed bag. I liked Vittorio Sgarbi’s comment best. It was something to the effect that Greenaway reconsecrated what Dan Brown had deconsecrated (in The Da Vinci Code). You can see some pictures and a short video clip here. He has plans to do the same with various paintings and frescoes, most notably the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. (Can’t wait to see that – if they give him permission to do it, i.e.)

My question is: Why does he have to do it on the original? What he does can be done just as effectively on a full size replica. (In fact that’s what he’s going to do with the last supper). The painting is incidental to the show.

I think that it’s got to do with the “magic” of the real thing. We all know what the leaning tower of Pisa looks like. We’ve seen zillions of pictures of it, yet we go to Pisa, roll around on the grass a bit and take the obligatory photo of us trying to straighten the tower. The same goes for the Big Ben, Eiffel Tower, the Little Mermaid (now if that isn’t a let down I don’t know what is), the Colosseum, etc. I don’t get it. Last year I went to Florence specifically to look at David (again). After wasting more than an hour in the queue I finally laid eyes on his big toe. wow. I walked around him a few times and left. I headed straight for Piazza della Signoria to look at David’s clone. I walked around that a couple of times too. I couldn’t see much of a difference (besides the colour). I was left wondering what all the fuss is about. What I saw in books was much clearer than what I saw face-to-toes. I look up at David and fill in the detail from memory.

Let me get one thing straight. David – as it seems that I have picked on him – is what he is. In no way am I saying that David’s beauty and importance are exaggerated. He – or rather his creator – deserves every last shred and sliver. But meeting him in the marble – “meeting him in the flesh” just doesn’t sound right, does it? – is no Damascene experience. You may argue that the constant bombardment is precisely that which desensitises us to his magnificence. I beg to differ. When you see the statue you don’t see a fraction of what you expect to see. The argument goes for practically anything that’s beautiful to look at or to listen to.

The point of creation is the defining moment of the painting, sculpture, melody, novel, dish, perfume, building. Given an adequate skill level, any painter can reproduce Van Gogh. When people see a replica of a painting they go “Look, Sunflowers by Van Gogh” (and hopefully the original would have been that, but anyway …) I bet that, confronted with the original Mona Lisa and an identical copy, we wouldn’t feel twice the tingling. And if we were shown the replica and told it was the original we’d still feel funny all over.

Well, I wouldn’t. There’s no way I’m ever going to behold the enigmatic smile face to face.

Toodle-oo.

 

Post no. 13

I remember reading a thought experiment called The Invisible Gardener from a book called The Pig that wants to be eaten while clearing the sofa to make the room look nice-ish. (It’s amazing how interesting newspapers and magazines become when you’re throwing them away or clearing out). The “experiment” goes something like this:

Livingstone and Stanley were sitting behind a bush in a clearing in a forest. The clearing looked like a well-kept garden. They had been observing it for two weeks but they hadn’t seen anyone tend to it. Livingstone was maintaining that the clearing was tended by an invisible and intangible gardener who works without anyone knowing. Stanley wanted to know what was the difference between an invisible and intangible gardener and no gardener at all.

Baggini (the author of The Pig) remarks that Stanley’s and Livingstone’s argument can be applied to the existence – or not – of God.

That the existence of God – even of a god at all – be debated is interesting. “Some say tom-ah-toes, some say tom-ay-toes” sort of thing. This dichotomy has reared its head quite often in the past and in its present guise the fork in the road is represented by scientism and religionism (no surprises there).

“Scientism” is generally used pejoratively to mean that all of reality is composed of empirically verifiable physical effects with physical causes- also presumably empirically verifiable. “Religionism” tells us that God exists and consequently all progress – in every field – must be interpreted in the light of this reality.

Who’s right and who’s wrong?

The issue reminds me a bit of Descartes. (Descartes believed in the existence of God so I know I’m not talking about the exact same problem here). The way I see it, his tussle with the dualism of mind and matter runs parallel to the religionism vs scientism match. At the end of the day he came up with a compromise between the two (i.e. mind and matter). He said that mind and matter inhabit two parallel but independent worlds that can be studied without reference to each other… neat sidestep.
Fast forward to more recent times. Cosmologist Lawrence Krauss half-jokingly told a conference, that included theologians, that he didn’t have to listen to them (theologians) because for theology to make any sense it must take into account what cosmologists have found to be true about the universe. Cosmologists, on the other hand, don’t need theologians.

What’s all this got to do with anything?

I think that I can compare Krauss’s cosmology and Descartes matter with a picture. You can study the picture or admire it or even buy it. You don’t need to know anything about how the picture came to be. For all we care the picture made itself. And this is where I see a second comparison. Krauss’s theology, Descartes’s mind and how the picture came to be.

There is a clear demarcation between the picture and the creativity behind it, mind and matter, cosmology and theology. You can touch matter, cosmology is an empirical science, the picture is there for everybody to see. The defining property of these three objects is that they can be somehow measured. The other three – mind, theology and the creativity behind the picture are a bit like Livingstone’s invisible gardener.

I cannot fathom why some people have to talk about the incompatibility of science and religion. If anything I dare say that they are highly compatible as they both claim to be chasing reality – or the truth. In science a set of techniques is used. In religion another set of techniques is used. You use a trawling net to catch tuna and you use a harpoon to catch a whale.

Remember the elephant.

Toodle-oo.

 

Post no. 12

It would be remiss of me not to sprinkle my wisdom on the crisis gripping our tiny island by the short and curlies, so here goes. (I’m talking about the public transport, in case you were wondering what I’m on about.)

My first reaction would be “Throw the lot in a huge cake mix, bake for a few hours and serve with custard.” More astute readers will have seen that the above proposition hits two birds with one stone (I hope I can still use this expression outside the hunting season)
a) Malta without bus and taxi drivers would be a happier place
b) exporting the cake to third world countries would contribute towards alleviating world hunger
Of course, first impressions and reactions are generally mistaken.

I know I’m not going to say anything that will rock anyone’s world here, but I think that the brouhaha kicked up by these not-so-gentle-men is intimately tied to the fact, in the Maltese psyche, that the world owes us a living. Let me explain.

The fuse was lit on a languorous summer Sunday afternoon, when the body that protects the interests of the drivers/owners of hearses, buses, red vans (why are they called minivans?) and white taxis said that unless the government does not go back on his intention to liberalise the acquisition of hearse-owning-and-driving permits, the aforementioned assortment of drivers, owners and similary juicy bites were going to strike.
A prima facie it appears to be a sympathy strike. It was, of course, nothing of the sort. The drivers and owners of buses, red vans and white taxis know that when the hearse-owning-and-driving permits are open to anyone who’s interested, it will be their turn to have their position challenged. A bit like Manic Street Preachers’ “If you tolerate this, your buses will be next”, if you will.
So far these people have been having it good, as the Americans say. They charged what they liked, they worked when and if they felt like etc etc. Now anyone who’s interested in buying a bus and/or a white taxi and/or a red van will soon be free to do so. And – here comes the hard-to-swallow bit for these people – they’ll have to pull up their socks. (Figuratively speaking of course, because for most of them wearing socks would cover the tattoo of a naked woman on their ankle. which explains why most public transport drivers don’t wear socks.)
I have heard that on joining this exalted body you sort of pledge your loyalty by depositing a substantial sum. If you do or think anything that will make life difficult for the other members of this
noble institution – in the present situation, to not participate in the strike – your money is forfeit. I don’t know if this is true. But if it is, it further undelines these people’s belief that they have a right to something without actually working for it.
They don’t want to be challenged. My impression is that they can’t deal with a challenge. And I’ll make a prediction. If a company decides to enter the public transport arena, it can expect to have its vehicles vandalised.
I’ve got to get back to work now. NOT by bus – I use a bicycle.

Toodle-oo.

 

The Elephant

“The Elephant” is one of the most important stories I have been told. It has been a major force in the shaping of my world view and after having decided what direction I’m going to give this blog, I thought that now’s as good a time as any to repeat this story. Come to think of it it’s not a time as good as any … now’s the best time. I shall be coming back to this story quite a bit, so …

Anyway, here goes.

Once upon a time there were three men who had never seen an elephant. As luck would have it – or rather, as convenience for my story would have it – a circus was coming to their village the following week. And the word was that there were going to be performing elephants.

“Why don’t we go and see what this elephant looks like?” asked man no. 1

“Yes. Good idea. I’ll buy us three tickets,” said man no. 2

“OK. But what if we make things a little exciting? A little flutter,” said man no. 3

“A flutter?”

“We’ll blindfold ourselves and get somebody to take us to this elephant and we’ll try to guess what this elephant looks like just by touching it. Whoever guesses – or comes closest – takes the money.”

“Yes. I agree. What a wonderful idea.”

The next day, each of men nos. 1,2 and 3 were blindfolded and led, by their sons, to the elephant. The sons knew of the wager and decided to play a trick on their fathers.

Son 1 placed his father next to the elephant’s head and gave him its ear. “So, dad, what does this elephant look like?”

“Hmmm. This elephant is a flat animal. Like a sail. Probably not very big.”

Son 2 placed his father next to the elephant and placed his hands on the beast’s side. “Dad?”

“I think that the elephant is like a huge wall. A mountain of an animal.”

Son 3 gave the elephant’s tail to his father.

“The elephant must be like a rope. Tiny animal. Nothing bigger than a snake.”

The sons took their fathers next to each other. “Before we take off your blindfold, tell us what you think the elephant looks like.”

“A sail!”

“A wall!”

“A length of rope!”

“A wall! what sort of idiot are you?!”

“Can’t you tell a sail from a bit of string?! You must be thick.”

The exchanges soon changed to blows and it took all the sons’ strength to separate the fathers.

“OK. OK. Let’s take the blindfolds off.”

The three men stared at the elephant. It wasn’t like a sail and it wasn’t like a wall and it wasn’t like a length of rope. They were all wrong and they were all partly right.

Moral of the story: Human activity can only uncover discrete bits of reality, none more valid than the other. We can arrive at the truth only if we acknowledge our limits and encourage interdisciplinarity.

 

Would St Joseph have agreed to this?

Sunday. Morning. Still simmering after a hot summer night. Obligatory cup – mug – of coffee. Go for the paper. Back home. Second mug. Sofa. Wake up.

I always read the headline on the first page then turn over to the last page. This was no extraordinary Sunday.

Front page headline: Magistrate hits back at minister, criticises colleague. OK. Everybody will have his or her 15 minutes of fame.

Back page: Closing road for Msida feast could be dangerous – Mater Dei superintendent. Duh! The function of the wise man is to explain the obvious, not state it. Then there was a sub-headline (I think. I don’t know what they’re called): “They’ll close the road over my dead body” – band club president. Now that’s strange. The first band club president who’d rather see sense prevail over festa fever. But I was to be sorely disappointed. It was simply a mistranslated statement. The article said, among other things:

“They’ll close (the road) over my dead body. You are denying us our right to the feast. Don’t you dare come to Msida, I’m serious …If you don’t like it don’t pass through Msida. We never needed you and we are never going to.”

Also:

When asked about hospital visitors, he said the police would designate times when the road would be open. “If someone doesn’t watch the news or read the newspapers, that it’s [sic] up to him. We don’t get [sic] into it.”

I don’t know if the exemplary president spoke in English for the benefit of the newspaper’s readers or if his wisdom was translated.

Where does he get off?! This man is telling us that he doesn’t care if anyone needs to go to hospital or if anyone needs to visit friends or relatives in hospital. If it interferes in any way with his insignificant little festa it will have to wait. Brilliant. I think – but I could be wrong – that these people should undergo periodical reality checks. Perhaps a refresher course in prioritisation should be thrown in, too.

I would imagine that one of the reasons behind celebrating these festi is to remind us of the spiritual virtues of the village’s patron saint and inspire us to live by them.

St Joseph was humble. He put his life in the back seat and unquestioningly obeyed his orders. He even had to live through the apparent shame of his wife – or were they still betrothed? – becoming pregnant when they shouldn’t have been living together. And he never uttered a word of complaint. I can’t quite picture him kicking up a fuss, if due to [potential] medical exigencies, they’d have to cut back a bit on his party.

The Church is already treading dangerous ground peddling its wares, as it were, in a scientifically-oriented culture. The two are not, repeat not, mutually exclusive, mind you. My remark should be taken in a “public perception” context. I think it should distance itself from such blinkered statements – or at least, if not disassociate itself, issue a statement to the effect that “Although we appreciate the enthusiasm of certain people we have to remind everybody that our first and foremost priority is to encourage consideration towards everybody else.” Of course it’s not up to me to decide – or even suggest – what the Church should say or do …

I think I’d better get off my soap box now as the wife needs it to dust the top of the trophy cabinet *ahem*

Toodle-oo.

 

Market Forces II

I was telling my father what happened to me during one of my visits to Gozo.

“That’s immoral,” he said. “That’s stealing.”

“I told her, later, that we gave him too little for the bag …”

“No. I meant the seller.”

“Why?”

“He was asking you for much more than what the bag was – or is – worth. Hadn’t it been for her and her sister you’d have forked out the money.”

“Yes I would have BUT out of my own free will, so to speak. I wasn’t forced to take the bag AND give him the money.”

“We call his action profiteering – except that bags aren’t in particularly short supply.“

“I’d rather have a profiterole …”

He shook his head in exasperation and continued zapping channels. (For my father the greatest thing ever invented is the television remote control, not the sliced loaf. He can go for days on end without food and water, but I don’t see him lasting longer than 10 minutes without a remote control)

I understood his point but I still couldn’t agree with it. It is true that the hawker tried to sell the bag for more than it was worth, but a) he didn’t mislead me b) he didn’t make me take it c) the bag is not an essential item without which I can’t live.

If anything I am the fool who is easily parted from his money. I should have shopped around a bit before plumping for the first bag I saw. But let’s say that I bought the bag at the price he wanted to sell it to me. I could have come across a similar – or perhaps even identical – bag with a smaller price tag. I would obviously have told everybody about it. In the long run the original seller would have lost more than what he had gained by selling me the bag at an exorbitant price.

“You see,” I told him (my father), “his behaviour is like a parasite’s …”

“Well, you should know. You’ve been sucking me dry since the day you were born.”

“No, really. A parasite lives off its host until it kills it, however, once the host dies, the parasite dies with it. The species only survives because during its stay in the host the parasite manages to smuggle out some eggs or seeds – but that’s beside the point. The point is that a parasite can only take so much off its host. Then it dies. An ideal parasite is one that doesn’t shorten its host’s life expectancy.”

“But then it wouldn’t be a parasite, would it?” He zapped to the National Geographic Channel.

“But that’s beside the point.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. My point is that this person is killing – sort of – his host. He is reducing his ‘client base’. It’s what’s been happening to many local shops. Bookshops, clothes shops, CD and DVD shops … even the grocers”

“Are you all right?” He was looking for a shopping channel, probably.

“With the internet firmly planted in our midst, people are beginning to realise that quite a few shops have taken us on long and expensive rides. So what happens? We scrap the shops and buy everything from the internet. So the shops just wither away and close down. It’s a bit like the survival of the fittest really, if you think about it.”

“But increasing the price of things just because you can is not fair. Look at what’s happening with oil and grain prices the world over. Just because it doesn’t suit some people to grow grain for food they don’t do it. Or, some people are just speculating in oil. Is that fair? Isn’t that survival of the fittest? You can’t say that just because human activity follows a pattern that is seen in nature it is right. Or fair.”

“Hang on a minute. Hold your horses.” Somehow I saw horses on the television. Honestly, the man and his remote are in perfect sync. “I am only talking about “little luxuries” here. I did not say the principle should be applied to essentials as well, even though it does explain the logic behind what we’re seeing.”

“So who, in your opinion, should draw the line? I think that this is an ad hoc line you just drew to save face.”

“No it isn’t… I’m just saying that “biological principles” can explain – and possibly predict – the outcomes of certain goings-on around us. Never did I mention that they SHOULD be extended to the essentials, even though I insist that they could.”

“It’s still immoral.”

“OK.”

Some people are so hard-headed they make diamond look like a marshmallow. Honestly. Reliving the conversation has tired me out. Got to take a rest.

Toodle-oo.

 

Market Forces I

My wife is Gozitan – but you may have already figured that out on your own, given her obvious shrewdness. “Why obvious?” I hear you ask. Well … She married me, didn’t she? Let’s get back to the story …

As you may have read in a previous post, I cycle to work. We scientists cannot just turn up to work empty-handed. We have to accessorise. Even if it’s just a bag to carry past copies of New Scientist and the daily apple, to save on medical bills So I have to strike a balance between a bag that can hold some stuff and not interfere with the cycling. But I don’t like haversacks or backpacks.

During one of our frequent visits to the island where time stays still*, I made it my mission to buy myself a postman’s bag (because a) I decided it fits my style to a T b) I needed to pass the time)

We were having a quiet drink at the Tokk (the “market square” in Rabat) when an olive beauty dangling in a stall caught my eye. I walked up to the owner and asked him to see the bag. It was jam packed with zips, partitions, hidden pockets. A dream.

“How much?”

“€35.”

I had just positioned my lips to tell him to p*** off.

“Do you like anything?” I turned round. Her sister came to the rescue.

“Well, yes. I like that bag but he wants €35 for it.”

She made an outraged-cum-shocked face and turned to the stall owner. “Shame on you. Asking that much for that bag.” She spoke to him in dialect.

“Why didn’t he tell me he was with you? I’d have given him a good deal.”

“OK. I’m telling you now. He’s with me.”

“€28, then”

“No way.” I spun around. That “No way” ended many a day dream. It was Her.

“Ok. What do you want to pay for it, then?”

I blinked, polished my spectacles and cleaned my ears. This was new. A stall owner asking a customer how much she wanted to pay.

“What was your last offer?”

“€28.”

She shook her head. “Exorbitant. We will give you half.”

“OK. €14. Not a penny less.”

“Can’t you see I’m pregnant?”

“OK. €13. Please don’t press me.”

“Does €13 sound fair to you?” she asked me.

I nodded dumbly. I felt sorry for the man. I pulled out the money and held out my hand vaguely between him and Her. He waited for Her nod before accepting it.

I followed them to our table, feeling like Frodo after having got rid of The Ring – he knew he had done something Good, but he hadn’t understood exactly what it was.

There’s a sequel to this incident.

Toodle-oo.

*During the 80s the postal service used to stamp every letter with “Gozo – the island where time stood still” referring to the idyllic image we [Maltese] have of the island. Unless you’re of the “chilling out” persuasion a weekend can feel like 20 years. Personally I love the island, but I know people who wouldn’t go there to save their lives.

 

Blog Readability

You will be pleased to know that my blog’s readability level is ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. This means that none of you has an excuse for not understanding this blog

Toodle-oo

 

Blogofascism

I have just gone through an interview with one Lee Siegel, published in last week’s New Scientist. I had never heard of the bloke before, but NS were kind enough to offer a quick bio of the man, reproduced below (I haven’t asked for their permission to use it, but I’m not making money out of it and I’m not saying I wrote it … )

Lee Siegel coined “blogofascism” to describe the intolerant name-calling on the net. He studied at Columbia University, New York (BA, MA and M.Phil), was an editor at The New Leader and Artnews, then a full-time writer, and went on to win the 2002 National Magazine Award for reviews and criticism. His books include Falling Upwards and Against the Machine: Being human in the age of the electronic mob, published by Spiegel&Grau (US)/Serpent’s Tail(UK).

In a nutshell, during a spell as a culture critic with a magazine, Spiegel’s articles attracted online abuse that his editors refused to remove. To counter the insults he posted some comments, under a nick, that were meant to put him in a good light. When they discovered what he did, he was suspended from his job and shamed. The interview then goes on about what he thinks is bad with the internet as a medium that stunts the growth of our social skills, what can be done to make the internet a better place etc etc.

I was impressed by the fact that he needed to invent the term “blogofascism”. This guy, for expressing an opinion – which he has every right to do, mind you – was abused and insulted by somebody who didn’t agree with him. What’s worse, this was done anonymously.

Whoever insulted Siegel had every right to disagree with what Siegel said, BUT s/he had no right to insult him in the manner s/he did (including calling him a paedophile – now bear in mind that Siegel was the culture critic for this magazine, so it’s hard to see why he was called him a paedophile. It’s not clear whether this incident started the attacks or it was part of the attacks).

A fascist, these days, is more of an insult to anyone holding a different belief and/or opinion rather than a description of a political ideology. This has probably trickled down from Mussolini’s politics that engendered a “superior us and inferior them” mentality. Essentially, anyone who is not like me is a moron, ergo a fascist.

Siegel’s gripe – as I understood it – is that the tool that should have given everyone an equal voice (i.e. the internet) has become a worldwide, and more vicious, version of playground bullying. What’s worse, the bullies have the option of remaining unknown. You can’t confront them and, bizarrely, if you cry foul you automatically become a censor because you are telling people what to say and what to think. Talk of turning the other cheek…

Also, most disturbing, is his claim that people are constantly trying to outdo each other on the insolence stakes. Invective sells blogs and fora (forums), apparently. Although I don’t have any statistics at hand, the idea makes intuitive sense to me. I see a similar downward spiral in the central theme of Golding’s Lord of the Flies, which culminates in the death of Piggy. Worryingly, a few blogs here (Malta, EU) are guilty of “blogofascism” too. I think that they do it just for kicks or – at worst – to be admired for their witty put downs. I don’t believe for a minute that they’re being malicious…

Everyone has a right to his or her opinion as long as it corresponds to mine

OOH … look at the time …

until next time.

Toodle-oo.