Thoughts on Two Essays: Peter Singer’s, "What Should a Billionaire Give?", and George Gessert’s, "An Orgy of Power".

[This was originally written for an exercise in an essay class, as were some of the other blogs found herein.]

I’d like to say a little about Peter Singer’s, "What Should a Billionaire Give?", and George Gessert’s, "An Orgy of Power". Both essays take moral positions on controversial subjects, and argue well for their points of view.

In "What Should a Billionaire Give?", Singer is largely putting things into perspective regarding charitable actions. How much should a billionaire give, and by extension what should each of us with more modest means contribute? He immediately and effectively draws scenarios that cause us to question our behavior. Singer ranges through a heady mix of thoughts drawn from philosophers and successful businessmen to the everyday person.

One definition of philosophy is ‘way of life’. By that token, we are all philosophers. Each of us makes decisions everyday as to the best way to conduct ourselves. Some philosophies are more institutional than others, looking for guidance from religion, politics, family and a host of other references. Some philosophy is as simple as doing what one thinks is necessary to survive. Most of us can relate to that idea. How many people have said, “A person’s gotta eat.”

But do they? As the author notes, millions of people throughout the world struggle to find enough food, medicine and shelter. The juxtaposition of a billionaire on one hand and millions of destitute people on the other is a powerful image, despite our frequent ability to quickly move to another subject as soon as it is brought up. Singer would prefer we stuck around and pay attention as he uses ethical reasoning and statistics to show just how much we can do to help others if we choose to do so.

Tellingly, Singer imagines the top ten percent of America’s taxpayers using a sliding scale formula for donating a portion of their respective incomes. Arguably, these people would still be moderately to fantastically well off after their donations, entailing a massive improvement in the welfare of people around the world. Singer has written a commendable, utilitarian essay.

Gessert, in his essay, "An Orgy of Power", takes on another subject that most people would prefer not to think about, including the author. Torture. He describes not just the morality of torture, but its historical application in America. Most interestingly to me, he discusses the effects of torture not just on the victims and their families, but on the torturers themselves. The act of torture is both the outcome of dark impulses and a breeder of more darkness. Torturers become distorted by their activity. Gessert’s quotation of Jean Amery, a Nazi torture victim, is compelling and suggests an author worth seeking in his own right. He also observes that Machiavelli, a model for many seeking political power and a victim of torture, may have been corrupted by his experience, emerging convinced of the inherent evil of mankind.

Gessert writes this in the wake of 911 and the revelations of torture committed by our country at Abu Ghraib and other locations around the world. His writing is eloquent and timely more than a year later as we ready ourselves to elect a new president. The Republican candidate, John McCain, is a victim of torture himself, and an icon of courage. He most often takes a position against torture, a posture at odds with many of his Republican colleagues. Despite that; he is more hawk than dove. Has he been altered in a way similar to Gessert’s speculation of Machiavelli? Not obviously, but that conversation has been managed carefully by McCain, and as noted above, most people would prefer not to talk about it.

Short Reading Response for “Middle or Blue Period” by Dorothy Parker

My first thought when reading this essay turned out to be my second, and fourth thought as well. That being, this is the spiritual forebear of the Seinfeld television show. Not much happens. Parker uses allusion to describe what it feels like to become middle aged by way of sidelong glances, pleas and rant. She talks to herself about the subject, and sometimes talks instead to the embodiment of middle age using italicized text.

I was prepared to write it off quickly as an interesting diversion, because the style and subject seem so familiar. I suppose that would be unfair. Ruminations of middle-age accompanied by striations of sorrow, acceptance and renewed rejection may be commonplace, but Parker helped open the door to this type of writing and it is well done. Perhaps, it could be described as an extended soliloquy to oneself, and by virtue of publication, to the reader as well. If I hadn't read so many similar things to this piece, I would be more enthusiastic.

The writing is very stream of consciousness, which means it must find a resonance in its audience. Some people dislike this kind of writing, period. Not myself, I like it. I indulge in it as well. For some reason, this piece resonates incompletely with me. It vibrates like a fly against a window, or wax paper rustling with the wind as a door opens in a butcher shop, something that was more common in Dorothy's time and place than here in Madison circa 2008.

It is a lament whose refrain reappears throughout her text, but in different guises. In the first paragraph, she says, “Like a hole in the head I need another birthday.” This is not cryptic, but I can relate to it. Later, she pleads with the personification of middle-age, “...Please, just another minute...I can't quite...” In all ways other than in certain aspects of understanding and emotional maturity, getting older sucks. On the other hand, I am trying to make progress in my life, and dwelling on aging is the last thing that I need to engage in. That explains some of my lack of enthusiasm for this essay.

One thing I do like about this essay, which also applies to other things Parker has written is that she is a woman who wrote under the heavy shadow of patriarchy. This is not so much a matter of style, as it is an acknowledgment of character. She didn't shut up and sit quietly despite society's insistence that she do so. One of the dispatcher's at the cab shop where I work makes an announcement that invokes the same feeling. Sometimes, when he gives an address on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, rather than using the completely acceptable abbreviation of MLK, he will make a long name even longer by adding the appropriate honorifics. So we hear, “There's a call at Doty Street and The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior Boulevard.”

My chest swells with rare pride. Those extra words convey something that our society often minimizes. I could give a rat's ass whether someone calls themselves a doctor or reverend. I tired of using those titles years ago. But, I know what the words “The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior” mean to me, and I'm happy to hear and say them. I get a little of the same feeling when I hear the words Senator Barack Obama. And I feel the importance of Dorothy Parker. I wish she were here to offer some perspective on Hilary Clinton. I have a feeling Parker would be choking as viscerally on Hilary's dissembling nature as I am. I want people of all descriptions to look to as examples, but the mere fact of their difference is not enough. And not everything they produce has the same effect on me. Parker's essay, “The Middle or Blue Period” comes from an inspiring source, but does little for me. It's not bad. In fact, it's good. But to draw me into a state of excitation, I need more than that.

An Idea From George Orwell's "Such, Such Were the Joys..."

"The weakness of a child is that it starts with a blank sheet." - Orwell

We've all heard how impressionable children are, and that we should protect them. That's a good idea in general, unless of course, the point is to make them into little copies of ourselves, or into automatons, mindlessly doing our bidding. Yes children are impressionable and can be easy to manipulate. That increases the responsibility of any adult in proximity to a child. In some respects; parents, teachers and other authorities that a child spends much time around bear the most responsibility. But all adults should recognize their obligation to respect and protect children.

This doesn't mean an adult must drop everything each time an opportunity for providing guidance to a youngster arises. It does mean there are moments when an adult should reassure, educate or merely speak in a respectful manner to a child. This often helps the child cultivate a sense of self-respect and their worthwhile place in society. Dragging a kid into your religion or political sphere is not an example of this. Note: I am not talking about parents here. Adults are often selfish in their interaction with children, unnecessarily talking down to, or seeking to influence the impressionable.

When, as in the case of Orwell's essay; the role of adult calcifies, and society does not value the individual child, bad things happen. If we are lucky, the child becomes a creative anti-authoritarian. If not, the child often becomes oppressive like the adult example, or worse. Privilege is no guarantee of safety for the child. They may suffer fewer hardships, but they still feel the weight of requirement from adults and struggle with the issue of how much to conform. This stifles the ability to get an individual sense of the world, and reduces the capacity for empathy toward others. A good example of this tragedy is our president, George W. Bush. However one interprets his qualities, it's clear they came from the culture within which he was raised. Cautionary tales begin at home.

Short Reading Response to "Alas, Poor Richard" by James Baldwin

James Baldwin's essay “Alas, Poor Richard” describes his relationship with Richard Wright. Wright and Baldwin were two of the most respected black authors of the twentieth century. Baldwin has many interesting things to say about their relationship, Wright's relationships with others, and race relations both in the U.S. and abroad. Along the way Baldwin offers up many fascinating prosicals.(i)

Early on in his essay, Baldwin writes, “The writer's greed is appalling. He wants, or seems to want, everything and practically everybody; in another sense, and at the same time, he needs no one at all; and families, friends, and lovers find this extremely hard to take.” Writing is largely a solitary venture. Solitude is not always necessary; the writer may be at home or sitting in a coffeehouse among friends. But the writer's attention is somewhere else when composing, and the internality doesn't end there. There are those frequent moments of observation, argument and juxtaposition within the mind of the writer. Often the only part of the process to be shared is the argumentative, as the writer tries to work out her thoughts in public, or tries prematurely to convince someone of their premise without the veneer of publication. When a writer writes, they are motivated in some way by the thought of an audience. It is possible to write only for oneself, but the question of audience changes rather than disappears. Voice is tied into this, as voice is the taking of a position or the developing of a tone, which will necessarily not be agreeable with everyone.

There's a confessional moment and one that resonates later in his description of Wright. In it, Baldwin offers a window that ties race into this observation. He states, “For who has not hated his black brother? Simply because he is black, because he is brother.” This is a reference to self-loathing within the black community. This topic has been fairly well covered in other essays and papers, but is not an area I'm well read in. I am familiar with myself and with people in general. Self loathing is a big problem. There are so many ways to feel guilt, deserved and otherwise. Guilt contorts, and limits potential. Imagine Wright, a ground-breaking, black author writing visceral prose, grappling with the vast criticism and acclaim coming his way from both black and white Americans.

He goes overseas to a seemingly more accepting population, only to find his demons cause him to push people from him. Compounding this is the response he receives from black Africans, who view him as white in culture and pale skinned to boot. Baldwin writes, “An American Negro, however deep his sympathies, or however bright his rage, ceases to be black when he faces a black man from Africa.” His legitimacy, which existed in his prose, was denied by his experience. The black faces he sees are a reminder of his limited place in the world. There is no symmetry, only contradiction.

James Baldwin writes convincingly about this contradiction even as he admits he still struggles to get out from under the disapproval of Wright. By this time, Wright has died. Baldwin strives to speak about the man and the issues of race in a balanced way despite standing so close his subjects. Largely, he succeeds.

In the last paragraph, Baldwin writes, “The experience of the American Negro, if it is ever faced and assessed...” You may wonder what the context of that partial quote is about. It is not necessarily an incomplete thought. It's a meta-question. America has never faced its history in a way that allows it to put the aftermath of slavery in perspective. Some people think everything is just fine, and others think nothing has improved. Neither view is right. The truth is we have stagnated.

(i) - A section of prose, occasionally shorter than a sentence, and almost certainly shorter than a paragraph. I made up that word. Why let other people have all the fun.

Shy

There are some elements of being shy that are brought up less often than others. Partly because shyness is an umbrella under which a few similar tendencies are stored. Is someone reluctant to talk, mistrustful of themselves or others, depressed or merely self-sufficient? It's more complex than we think. In fact, it's more complex than I have just suggested. I will restrain myself mostly to one element of some subset of these tendencies.

What do you do when you very much want to be in a relationship, but feel diminished by past betrayals of trust? You may see a new interesting person, and feel your eyes widen, your breath deepen and your brain quicken. The sensation of an explorer about to step off the ship into a new world, where adventure waits and routine dissipates. This is often not a mere reaction to the person's physical attributes, but also the way in which they inhabit their body, their voice and the light of intelligence in their eyes. That light is not always indicative of some massive brain, but can be a breadth of experience or an openness to new experience.

When you are shy; you tend to remember the stilted conversations, the disappointments and the much more common experience of never starting that conversation. Sometimes blurting is an option, especially if you learn how to do it without calamity. In the best outcome, the blurt gives way to the more relaxed types of speech. I should mention that the frontiers described here are not always romantic ones, though they may be the most difficult.

And what do you talk about, especially if both people are shy? Too often it's a review of past relationships or insecurities, that while ok, doesn't really lead anywhere, or offer a diving board to the deep end of the pool. At other times, someone sensitive or observant enough to be intrigued by the shy person shares their own thoughts up to a point, then stops. There are many dark rooms that are kept shut for a reason. If they open up to you, it may be harder to padlock Pandora's box again later. Then you become the uncomfortable reminder of what they have been avoiding.

Having been through that a few times, I am reluctant to experience it again. It's not entirely rational, but there it is. I will never be the kind of guy who goes only for an image, and hopefully never the sort that settles for a safe and predictable relationship lacking exploration. Still, I am drawn to whom I am drawn. The somehow beautiful, sensitive and intelligent. Perhaps with eyes that, nice as they are, show fatigue, and across whose face emotions flicker uncontrolled at least part of the time.

Ahh...The Decline of Delivery Pizza

There was a time growing up when I held nothing in such high esteem as a delicious pizza brought to our door, where we fell about it like friendly hounds. Washing it down with cola was obligatory. Oops, excuse me. I swallowed some air and one of my fingers. Not being on my writing hand; it is an acceptable loss. We cooked almost all of our meals at home. Eating out, or getting delivery was a treat. That made eating junk food some kind of Holy Grail.

When I was twelve, a friend and I once shared a free Quarter Pounder at McDonald's. When done, we were still bored and broke, so we went across the street to look for balls on the golf course. When we found some, lacking clubs, we were likely to wing them across the street. On the days we were most unaware of our citizenship, golf balls bounced off the sides of cars, and we ran to our next expression of entropy.

In the present, I rarely consort with golf balls. And I can pretty much eat out--or in--anytime I want. It is precisely this kind of discipline which allows me to consider myself an expert on delivery pizza. It can be summed up like this: consistency is not the strength of pizza joints. That isn't to say pizza lacks consistency. It's just the contrast near-cheese and floor sweepings provide when compared with food that contains at least one vitamin and/or mineral is striking.

Here's the scoop; the best frozen pizzas are as good or better than three-quarters of delivery pizza. Once baked with the care which they deserve (what, you don't have a pizza oven?) balance your paper plate on one knee while you watch American Idol. Laugh as Simon mistakes saleability for talent. When your cousin, Sara, gets back from the tryouts with a sad look on her face, fix her one of the good pizzas. Here in Madison, Wisconsin, that can mean an Emil's or a Park Plaza pizza. Sit her down to enjoy something pizza chains can't seem to get right. And turn off the TV so your cousin can eat in peace.