This eternal paradox has taken centre stage in our modern world – yet because we cannot see it, we never think of it. Well Gustav Jung gave it a stab, but left it at that. The pity is that he did not go further, but then he had a reputation and a career to think of.
I do not.
Which is why this takes our understanding a few steps further. To be truthful, that is all that is needed. But why take a step in a direction that we cannot even see? It’s nonsense.
But believe me when I say it makes very real sense to do so. Read on…
This was supposed to be a sort of review and reprise of George Orwell’s “The Decline Of The English Murder,” only my point of view is very different to his. Which makes his essays the more appealing to me. Add Orwell’s beautiful and evocative writing and you have a blissful read.
Not that murders are blissful, but that’s the point of murders – and the point of Orwell looking at their decline. Orwell’s books were written to be read by those who enjoy reading, those who read the story as much for the writing as the story itself. But that is what makes literature; if it’s only a story thinly interwoven by lumpy descriptions, it’s pulp fiction.
It’s not a problem for the Dutch alone, but when it comes to walking their dogs, it’s usually a case of the dog walking the Dutch. When a dog’s pulling at the lead, the dog is telling the walker that the dog is boss. It’s not very helpful in a world where the busy road next to them has cars travelling at 60km/h (40mph). Oh, and it’s a 30km/h zone… but again, that’s not something limited to the Dutch alone. But these are problems we’ve created for ourselves.
This trend was not a marker of intelligence: The researchers looked at each student’s ACT score (1) and found that among students with the same ACT score, the more attractive ones did significantly better in class.
They also found that male professors were more likely than female professors to give higher grades to pretty women.
Here’s the kicker: When these same students took online courses, the deviation disappeared completely.
Most professors are men. If you don’t believe me, just nip over to Linkedin and do a quick search. You’ll discover that most of them are. This doesn’t mean that women aren’t intelligent, humans are human after all. What it does mean is that humans – men and women – are partial when it comes to the truth. They want their version of the truth and that’s an end of the matter.
There are well over a dozen posts on the topic of the Subconscious, and twenty on my private blog. Yet in all of them I haven’t discussed the subject directly. However, there was a purpose in this: none of us can perceive our subconscious in any way. My rambling around the subject has been on account of this problem: putting the situation backwards meant that it’s been possible to describe the outward manifestation of the subconscious without speaking about it directly.
After all, nobody can see it, so speaking about it directly will imply that I am stark raving mad. Well, no few people think that already; the problem being that in telling me that I am mad, they inevitably demonstrate the nature of the subconscious. They do this by hanging themselves with their own rope (1).
I was chatting with a friend on Facebook, which led me to post his earlier than planned.
It was two weeks ago that I visited the Museum de Fundatie in Zwolle, and their exhibition “Zie de Mens, 100 Jaar, 100 Gezichten” – See the man, 100 years, 100 portraits. I hadn’t really intended to go, it is modern art, after all. There were one or two pictures that were worth seeing – Isaac Israël’s portrait of a woman standing in front of van Gogh’s sunflowers most certainly was, and is to be the focus of an upcoming post.
This post deals with the freedom a painter has when it comes to putting a brush onto canvas. I mean, it is possible to paint practically anything and people from Picasso to Jackson Pollock have pushed the boundaries well beyond the sensible, leave alone the intelligible. Thankfully, this is an exhibition focussing on portraiture.
Letters are everywhere we go now. A letter is, after all, a depiction, an image of a sound – albeit that this is abstracted from reality in every conceivable manner. Only the vowels have the faintest recollection of the sounds they represent. For the child in the mainstream school, this dislocation is total and complete: teaching a five year old to read will instil this capacity at a time when there is no conscious capacity to reflect. Thus the knowledge of reading will be both unquestioned, and more importantly, unthought of.