John Holbo drills down to the contradiction in the Peterson/Shapiro axis

Jordan Peterson, Ben Shapiro, and Dave Rubin walk into a podcast and…it’s all one big joke! John Holbo thinks it’s funny, anyway. The three of them engage in their usual pseudo-philosophical babble — I’ll include a tiny sample of their long-winded gassing here, but there’s more at the link. Even more if you go to the original source, but I wouldn’t want to inflict that kind of pain on anyone.

Peterson: Here’s the idea. Imagine that you are in some sense the embodiment of that paternal spirit that has characterized mankind since the dawn of time. It’s locked in you, it’s part of your potential. That’s coded in part biologically, but it’s also coded sociologically, in the air and the mythos and the stories we tell each other … [snip out some stuff about Christianity]. It [the image] starts to force you to develop. The socialization. The stress of that transforms you biologically. That won’t be unlocked until you place yourself in the position … [snip more stuff about Christianity] … you actually produce a psycho-physiological-spiritual transformation that matures you into the representation of the Father on earth.

It must be nice to just wave your hands and claim that some complex phenomenon is coded biologically, without ever having to do the work to justify it. But here, Holbo is more interested in that idea that you’re the embodiment of a paternal spirit that also isn’t justified with evidence. You’re expected to accept it because feelings, and of course Ben Feelings Don’t Care About Facts Shapiro concurs.

The discussion concerns, so to speak, the status of certain feelings. You have a feeling that a certain image of positive masculinity (paternalistic, dominant) is valid, exemplary, normatively binding.

So: what is the status of this feeling?

Peterson speculates, on the basis of evolutionary psychology, that: facts care about his feeling. Shapiro backs him up by arguing that Aquinas and Leibniz concur. There has to be a reason why things are as they are, including our feelings about positive masculinity. There must be something underlying it! (My feeling can’t be resting on nothing. That would imply I am like a snowflake, liable to melt. Abzu forbid!)

Note: this is only masculine feelings. Facts care about guy feelings. It’s a priori!

To be fair, Peterson doesn’t claim certainty. But, to be fairer: the whole thing seems so transparently Just-So-Story-ish wishful and (to spin it in the most charitable way) wildly indulgent in rank speculation. (And Leibniz!) The conspicuously uncritical quality of it, especially in light of Shapiro’s famous catch-phrase?

Well, I thought it was funny.

Hey, I thought it was hilarious! But then, if you find entertainment in contradictions and pretentious foolishness stated with pompous certainty, then Peterson and Shapiro are world-class comedians.

Nuke college athletics from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.

It’s one disgusting story after another, now that the Feds have flipped over the rock of college admissions. Deadspin has all kinds of grisly details on how athletics was used as a gateway for cheaters, including lots of face-palming transcripts.

The grift was to pay a coach or program big bucks to lie and say the prospective student was a worthy athlete, which allowed them be admitted under more lax standards.

Why are student athletes given special privileges, anyway?

Shut these programs down. All students should be admitted on their academic potential, not how well they can throw a ball. Fire all the coaches. Make sports a non-competitive extra-curricular activity. Burn the stadiums down. Jesus christ, at the very least we’ve got to make our admissions departments more accountable.

I’m getting a bit worked up reading about this scam. I’m going to have to close up my laptop and go spend some time with my spiders. They, at least, are incorruptible and honest.

Some memories never fade

March 11 is my day to feel depressed. I could never forget her birthday, because it was two days after mine, and she was my baby sister, 11 years younger than I am. I remember how she’d hold my hand as we walked down to the store for candy to celebrate, and how she would pop her head out the door and sing-song about how I had a girl friend when I was walking home from school with, OK, a girl, and sure, I would marry her several years later, but that was just premature. And embarrassing, as little sisters can be.

And then she died, and I’m stuck thinking of her every March, and more often. Dammit. Why doesn’t grief ever die?

One last walk to the candy store? I’ll get you whatever you want, I promise.

The storm is over!

And our local walkway is clear (thanks, Ted!).

Unfortunately, the university has not caught up. The snowplows have dammed it all in and the sidewalks are a foot deep with snow, as I discovered when I tried to walk in to feed the spiders. Nope, not gonna happen today. They’ve been cut off from a loving, caring world and are trapped alone in their incubators. I know they are just resting patiently and bravely, waiting for rescue, while scheming about how they’re going to capture and kill the next living thing they see.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes!

I was loafing about yesterday, and one of the things I saw was a torrent of nice comments about the fact that I’m getting even older — so many that I’m acknowledging them all now with one broad spectrum thank you. Thanks!

Here’s what I did to celebrate: carrot cake with cream cheese frosting and caramel ice cream. I’d share, but you can’t get here now through all the drifting snow from our last snowstorm.

My wife is a harsh taskmistress

We have another big snowstorm blowing through, so she’s getting worried. She decides that this morning “we” need to drag out the roof rake and scrape off the heavier accumulations.

“But I’ve got a heart condition,” I said. Usually that’s enough.

Nope. Needs to be done.

I broke out the newest excuse: “But my vestibular instability!”

Didn’t work. She said she’d watch me through the window in case I staggered and fell into a crevasse.

So that’s how I ended up slowly circumnavigating around the house through thigh- and waist-deep snow drifts, wielding a 6- or 7-meter aluminum pole with a metal rake at the end, making snow thump down off the roof, only falling face-first twice, and eventually sinking into a mountain of snow to freeze to death and lie there entombed in ice until the spring. The blog will be on indefinite hiatus.

It’s peaceful in here. Quiet. No computers, no phones. All appetites suspended. Try it, you might like it.

Kree, Skrulls, Flerken, and Marvel — and a fine time was had by all

I had a hot date last night: dinner at the Stone’s Throw Cafe, followed by a short walk to the Morris Theater (everything is nearby in a small town), where we watched Captain Marvel. there was a good crowd there. Another virtue of small town living is that even when the new blockbuster comes to town, it’s no problem getting in — show up ten minutes before, maybe there’ll be a short line, but you’ll slide right through and get a good seat. We parked ourselves way up front, maybe the third row or so.

And then we saw the show.

No spoilers, don’t worry.

First, a criticism: the beginning was very non-linear, jumping about rather confusingly in the Vers/Carol Danvers story. For a while I was wondering if this was going to be a time-travel story, which would annoy me a lot, but then about a third of the way through it all clicked and Marvel’s origins suddenly fell into place. If you’re not familiar with Captain Marvel lore, as I wasn’t, bear with it, it will eventually all make sense.

But then, I’m used to disjointed comic book stories. In my youth, when I was really into comic books, I couldn’t often afford to buy them off the rack, and instead would go down to the local Goodwill store where they’d have a pile of old comic books they mainly wanted to get rid of, so they’d sell them at 20 for a dollar (I was so annoyed when they raised the price to 10 for a dollar). Forget continuity, I’d come to the end of a Fantastic Four cliffhanger and then the next comic in my pile would be a Baby Huey or something. Adapt or die, man.

Minor spoiler: Baby Huey does not show up in this movie.

Anyway, once I got on track it was a good, fun story. It’s not a deep cinematic masterpiece, but as long as your expectations are focused on appreciating a solid genre story, you’ll have a fine time. In particular what I liked about the movie is that it really returns to superhero movie roots: she’s a good person with super powers who cares about other people, including aliens, and exhibits empathy. It reminded me a lot of that first Superman movie with Christopher Reeve — it inspired hope in humanity rather than the usual angsty “let’s watch people fuck up a miraculous opportunity and suffer while demolishing a city”. I kinda need that now and then, because I already have a tendency to lapse into grimdark attitudes.

It’s a good sign for the next big blockbuster out of the MCU, because the Infinity War thingie fully embraced the grimdarkness with a depressing ending, and all the trailers for the Endgame movie are similarly discouraging. Captain Marvel is going to be key to wrapping up that story line, I think, and she’s bringing light and hope. Or at least, she better.

Another good sign: we sat through the end credits (it’s an MCU movie, you have to), and when it finally went black and got up to leave, the entire theater was still full, and everyone was smiling and talking happily. This was also a community event, with little kids in the audience, college students, old geezers like me, and you could just tell from everyone’s expressions that they’d had a good time. It’s a relax and feel good sort of movie.

Also, about the cat…a lot of reviews are talking up the role of Goose the cat. That’s fine, but while he has a few crucial moments, it’s not a big central part of the story. I also wouldn’t call it comic relief. Goose has some anatomical elements that made me very happy, but otherwise, despite the different coloration, he made me think of my cat: dangerously hostile and with peculiar digestive habits. I’m thinking of trying that trick of holding her up, aiming her at my enemies, and giving her a little squeeze.

Maybe we’ve adopted a flerken, rather than a cat. Holy crap, suddenly everything clicked again and it makes so much sense!

Also, a video review!

The Peterson/Zizek debacle to come

Jordan Peterson and Slavoj Zizek are going to have a debate next month. I have a hard time imagining a more hellish prospect.

First, it’s a debate — regular readers know how much I’ve come to despise debate. They might as well make it a wrestling match or a tiddly-winks contest for all the relevance it will have. It will settle nothing, and just allow a couple of blowhards to shout past each other.

Second, it’s Peterson, a bloviating airhead with nothing but his biases to trot about. I want his 15 minutes of fame to end soon.

Third, Zizek. You can read the opinion of a man who totally favors Zizek; I’m not impressed at all. If he can’t resolve his own personal contradictions, why should I care about his philosophy? (Yeah, I know, a lot of philosophers seem to be colossal assholes, who still manage to say interesting things — Zizek is just one who has also put his personality front and center.)

But also, Zizek is going to lose this debate, not because he will do a poorer job of defending his position, but because a debate is never about who makes the most logical, best supported argument. Most of the audience will be there because of Peterson’s inexplicable popularity, and they will not be budged from their cultish idolatry, and they will totally shut off their brains while Zizek speaks. It’s going to be an ugly mess of childish assertions against a professional obscurantist, and the child will triumph with his audience of man-babies.

Zizek was nuts to consent to this, which is another reason to doubt his competence in performing in this circus.

What else do you hate? Asking for a friend.

There’s another common theme in comments to that video about Ethan Van Sciver: oh, no, he’s not using right-wing rage to promote himself. Uh, yes, he is. That’s what his entire channel is about, claiming that the SJWs are coming to take your comic books away. They’re killing your movies. They’re turning women into merciless, man-hating lesbians. He’s using the Fox News/Donald Trump model of engagement.

It’s all about anger as a tool.

In other words, anger is a powerful tool in the worlds of both politics and media. Anger is why narratives about people being “outraged,” written with the intent of actually making readers feel an outrage over that (real or imagined) outrage, are so popular in political media. A lot has happened since Ryan published his study in 2012, but the state of politics and media would seem to only bolster his conclusions.
Keeping audiences lathered into a perpetual state of outrage is good politics and good business. Look no further than Fox News for proof.
Was there ever really a “War on Christmas” involving mass calls to ban Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and the song Baby, It’s Cold Outside? No. Is Purdue University trying to ban the word “man”? Also no. Does Sen. Cory Booker (D-NJ) want to steal your steak? Not at all. Is Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-NY) proposing that we “get rid of children?” Absolutely not.

Are the SJWs coming to rip the comic books out of your hands, replacing them with feminist tracts, full of flat-chested old ladies in loose clothing? Nope.

Although this idea of fanning the flames of hatred to drive traffic to your site has some merit. I’ve been doing it lately. Why do you think I’ve been posting all this stuff about spiders? It’s to get you seething and coming back for more.

Is it working?