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Lava Light

The georgeous wave-lava photography of Lava Light Gallery in Kona.

Conservative poets

Huh. There's an anthology of politically conservative poetry?

HT

Joan Houlihan on criticism

The outstanding poetry critic Joan Houlihan is interviewed here. Snip:

The present situation of poetry is thriving but only in the way that weeds thrive. People often complain that I am too narrow, that I should “let a thousand flowers bloom,” that time will decide which ones remain. Well, yes, time will do that. But we’ll be dead then. Also, to drag out the analogy, a thousand flowers are blooming right alongside ten thousand weeds. In the meantime, what are we supposed to read without feeling bored or disgusted? There’s the problem of sheer numbers (and the ongoing wonder at why there are so many people going into poetry. Do we really need more poets?), and there’s also the problem of, shall we say, variable quality (some choose to call this “eclecticism” or “wide-ranging aesthetic practice” which is different). These two problems—quantity and quality— are related, and the critic’s main task is two-fold: to evaluate and to educate. I do not often see reviews or essays with that two-fold task at the center. I think the present situation of poetry (both its too-muchness and its wildly ranging quality) is directly related to the present situation of criticism—there’s not enough vigorous weeding.

Friday photo

Unlike the others, this calendar features all seven days!

Gabriel Kolko on the New Deal

Kolko is marvelous on Progressivism and the New Deal. H/T BHL.

Are you the definitive authority on what you are?

I’ve heavily criticized Ron Paul and others by observing, among other things, that they are not actually libertarians, notwithstanding their use of that word. Some readers have complained to me that I’m just arbitrarily deciding what qualifies as a libertarian, and they have suggested that if a person labels himself a libertarian, then that is what he or she is. I have to disagree.

When we use a word for a collection of beliefs or behaviors—“Christian,” “Democrat,” “conservative,” “alcoholic,” “Packers fan”—we are describing a collection of ideas or actions. We are not ascribing to that person a subjective state of mind. A person can be rightly called an alcoholic without knowing that he is one—just as he might wrongly believe that he is an alcoholic. There is a truth of the matter about such a thing, which is open to inquiry and deliberation. Likewise, a person might rightly be called a Democrat even if that person has never heard of the Democratic party, because the substance of his political beliefs is allied with the Democratic platform, or whatever set of beliefs constitutes the state of being a Democrat. Historians and theologians often debate over whether, say, Thomas Jefferson was a Christian, because while he rejected the divinity of Christ, he pledged himself to Jesus’ ethical teachings. There is therefore a fact of the matter about whether Jefferson was, in fact, a Christian, and it is sensible to discuss that question.

Of course, any such discussion will require a participant to have a definition of the term “Christian,” or in my case, “libertarian,” and the validity of those criteria are then open to debate. But that doesn’t change the fact that a person’s say-so is not the definitive criterion of whether that person is a libertarian, or a Christian, or a Democrat, or an alcoholic. I’ve explained here (part one, part two, part three, part four) what I believe constitute the distinguishing characteristics of libertarianism, conservatism, and modern liberalism. And you can see why I would say that Ron Paul is not a libertarian. Of course, as I’ve pointed out, he does not even describe himself as one, but rightly calls himself a conservative.

There are differences within the libertarian world, of course—there are anarchists and minarchists, for example, both of which fall within the category of libertarian. But for exactly the same reason, some beliefs are simply outside of that category, and a person who believes those things while claiming to be a libertarian—or even who simultaneously happens to agree with certain policy conclusions that libertarians reach—is mistaken about his belief that he is a libertarian. Self-labeling is not sufficient to make a person a libertarian. Maybe you are the definitive authority on how sincere you are, but you are not the definitive authority on what your beliefs make you.

I addressed this issue here, also.

Worst history books in print

How can I have missed this? Our old friend Thomas DiLorenzo managed to break into the HNN list of the five worst history books in print with his masterpiece, The Real Lincoln.

No doubt just proof of the Jaffaite conspiracy to silence the troof about Amerikkka's evil racist tyrant.

When Tartuffe has an RPG

Iranian girls beat up cleric who tells them to cover up. Here's hoping they survive the experience.

Hitchens' Mortality

Hitchens’ Mortality is not a very good book. The author was too sick and died too soon to fully develop the book about his decline that he had planned; the result is a 100 page tome padded out with large font, some rough notes Hitchens made for himself, a dull introduction by the editor, and a touching afterword by Hitchens’ widow. Stripped of these, it would be short even by Hitchens standards. And most of it was already published in Vanity Fair.

It also must be admitted that Hitchens was not the great writer that fans often say. He was certainly head and shoulder above the drek that is today's standard fare, and Hitch-22 rocketed up to my top-ten-of-all-time, but his writing was at times self-indulgent, and he had a terrible fondness for cliché. This last seems surprising, given how often Hitchens railed against cliché; he does so again in this book. Yet he habitually employed them, while adding some self-deprecating remark or attribution to someone else, transforming it into a sort of self-conscious smirk: “Avoid stock expressions (like the plague as William Safire used to say)….” Still, when he was on, he was very on—and he could phrase a point so memorably and precisely that he practically split the bullseyed arrow.

Hitchens had two real virtues. First, he had a brilliant memory and style of expression in speaking. Even extempore, he was able to conjure up a depth and breadth of knowledge that would typically obliterate any opponent—often with such restrained calm that only the audience would notice. Hitchens’ real masterpieces aren’t written; they’re spoken. That’s why the audio version of Hitch-22 is such a joy; hearing his words in his own voice is unbeatable. His second gift was a fearless will to stand for his beliefs and to address himself, not to his often-shameless contemporary detractors, but to the projected reader of a century hence. This was his best writing advice: speak not to today’s readers but to the readers of the next century. And this practice gave him the strength, even when everyone was against him—and they were usually wrong—to rise above the shouting crowd and speak in a voice tinted with timelessness. He was fearless in this—sometimes practically foolhardy—but that was what I admire most about him.

He was wrong about socialism. He was wrong about some other things, too—Jefferson, for example, was not an atheist. But he was right about religion, he was right about Mother Theresa, and he was right about the Middle East. And whether right or wrong, he stood for his beliefs in the face of mindless group-think on both left and right. Though saddened when this disrupted his friendships, Hitchens rightly prized truth above any personal relationship. He knew and loved the language. And he knew and loved my country, to which he pledged himself on Thomas Jefferson’s birthday—which was also his own. It is a shame that he was unable to complete his final book. But in his masterpiece, Hitch-22, he was able to share himself—the self he so proudly created—with all of us. I will always be grateful for that.

How Matthew Yglesias defended Indian Removal...

....without even realizing it.