On Reading Schmitt

I’m reading Carl Schmitt’s The Concept of the Political. Although familiar with his ideas, I confess that I have never read this his most-influential work before. And… well, so far I still don’t like it. Everything makes perfect sense, yes! But it’s one of those things that makes sense precisely because it conforms to the current standard notion of common sense… in politics. And that, in my opinion, is quite problematic.

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1911: Bertrand Russell’s Miraculous Year

A miracle of love

At the end of August 1911, Bertrand Russell wrote a letter to his good friend Lucy Martin Donnelly in which he describes his emotional state as “happier than” he has ever been “for many years.” The reason, his recent encounter with Lady Ottoline Morrell, the unorthodox wife of British MP Phillip Morrell.

Newlywed Russell met Lady Ottoline while canvassing for her husband’s campaign in January 1910. Although Morrell lost his election bid that year, Russell kept in touch with the couple. Later on, in March 1911, Russell was invited to give some lectures in Paris and, in his way back, he visited the Morrells in London, spending the night at their house. According to Russell’s own account, Phillip left earlier that night leaving his beautiful wife alone with Bertie, who did not waste his time to let her know about his feelings. As he explains in his Autobiography, they did not consummate their passion that night but agreed to do so “as soon as possible.”

Russell’s encounter and relationship with Lady Ottoline happened at a moment in his life in which he was at the top of his scientific achievements (just finished his Principia) and, at the same time, in the search for new frontiers for his philosophizing. The vivacious and liberal Ottoline provided Russell with an excuse to abandon the practice of philosophy he himself contributed so much to establish in the previous decade. Also, his acquaintance with her facilitated his decision to enthusiastically embrace as his intellectual heir an ”unknown German” student he would later meet in Cambridge mid October that same year.

An intellectual miracle

On October 18, 1911, around 4:30 in the afternoon, Russel was getting ready to give a lecture at a meeting of the People’s Suffrage Federation, in which G. K. Chesterton was expected to give a lecture as well. Suddenly, a stranger knocked on his flat at Cambridge, asking to meet Mr. Bertrand Russell. The stranger was a very short man with a thick German accent who, Russel would later recount, spoke “very little English” and refused “to speak German.” Although busy and in a hurry—the fact that Chesterton was expected to speak that same night did not help at all—Russell remained calm and agreed to listen to this “unknown German.” What happened thereafter would be the topic of a letter Russell would send to his “Beloved” Ottoline the same evening:

He turned out to be a man who had learnt engineering at Charlottenburg, but during his course had acquired, by himself, a passion for the philosophy of mathematics, and has now come to Cambridge with the purpose to hear me.

Actually, the “unknown German” wasn’t German at all but Austrian. He wasn’t studying at Charlottenburg but at Manchester (although he has graduated from Charlottenburg as a mechanical engineer three years before), majoring in aeronautical engineering. His name was Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein, and his encounter with Russell would change the lives of them both as much as the history of philosophy.

Disenchanted with engineering, the young Wittgenstein had read both Russell’s The Principles of Mathematics and Frege’s Grundgesetze der Arithmetik, which convinced him that aeronautical probably wasn’t his real vocation. He first approached Frege in Jena who, recognizing his talent, recommended him to pay a visit to Russell instead. So, that fall, Wittgenstein decided to take the train from Manchester to Cambridge and to knock on Russell’s door to ask him, point blank, whether he had any talent for philosophy.

Lucky for Wittgenstein, Russell was having serious doubts about his future in philosophy. In a letter from that time, he would talk about his “uneasiness about philosophy altogether.” He would argue that up to that point most of his work had been highly technical and academical. Now, his spirit was not longer interested in that kind of  ”technical,” high-end” philosophical work, but rather in a more “popular,” down to earth form of it. So, when Wittgenstein entered Russell’s life, he was already searching for a disciple who could take from him the load of revolutionizing everything, of building a new philosophical foundation on which every aspect of human knowledge could be built upon. Meeting the young Asutrian gave Russell the disciple he was searching for, the “ideal pupil” twho “gives passionate admiration with vehement and very intelligent dissent.”

Wrapping up

After 1911, Russell would suffer a transformation. From the rather cold academic only interested in intellectual pursuits, he would become a social reformer and a literary celebrity. Also, he would see his passion for uncovering the secrets of human production of knowledge mutate into a passion for understanding humanity’s search for meaning in life and into a need for social change. And all this began, no doubt of it, because of these two random and miraculous encounters that set in motion the processes that transformed one of the greatest philosophers of the 20th century into one of the more successful and stylistically sophisticated social reformers of that same century. And although as time went by Russell would grow apart from both Lady Ottoline and Wittgenstein, their presence in his life would always be there haunting him since that crucial year of 1911—Russell’s miraculous year.

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Žižek, Bosteels y Buck-Morss sobre cristianismo, activismo y ética

Como parte de la conferencia Communism, a New Beginning?, Slavoj Žižek, Bruno Bosteels y Susan Buck-Morss se reunieron hoy en Cooper Union, Nueva York, para discutir la intersección de la ética, la religión y la política en el marco de la crisis mundial. Aunque no estuve en persona, pude disfrutarlas a través del canal virtual provisto por Verso.

La primera ponencia fue la de Bosteels, quien habló sobre el núcleo ateo del cristianismo. Su presentación se apoyó fundamentalmente en las ideas del filósofo argentino León Rozitchner, fallecido recientemente. La tesis central de Bosteels, según pude entender, aunque no podría decir si la misma parte de ideas originalmente adelantadas por Rozitchner o no, es que el cristianismo ofrece una plantilla de transformación y conversión, un modelo de la manera como aparatos ideológicos (usando la frase althussereana que Buck-Morss utilizó en su comentario sobre Bosteels) pueden operar para construir un sujeto revolucionario o militante sobre el cual construir o adelantar un nuevo orden mundial. Esta por supuesto es una idea vieja, y Bosteels lo reconoce al mencionar los trabajos de Badiou sobre el apóstol Pablo, y del mismo  Žižek (y podríamos mencionar a Eagleton también, sobre el mismo Pablo). Desconozco el trabajo de Rozitchner, y confieso que luego de escuchar a Bosteels voy a ponerlo en mi lista de lecturas obligadas, sin embargo, hay algo que no convence con su planteamiento. Para mí, hay un esfuerzo no tan velado por romantizar el cristianismo, su poder proselitista y su militantismo.  Primero, hay un claro esfuerzo por hacerlo algo excepcional, lo que es bastante cuestionable. Segundo, al romantizarlo, corremos el peligro de olvidar lo que en esencia es el resultado de toda forma de dogmatismo: conversión a la fuerza, universalización con la punta de una espada. Buck-Morss fue directo a este punto cuando le recordó a Bosteels que la conversión del imperio romano en un imperio santo fue algo totalmente contingente (Costantino, durante la Batalla de Puente Milvio, interpretó una visión que él tuvo sobre el resultado de la batalla como un presagio que le incitaba a adoptar la cruz como una condición para obtener la victoria, lo que de hecho sucedió tal como la supuesta visión le presagiaba—algo que él interpretó, según la versión oficial de la iglesia, como evidencia de que el Dios cristiano era el dios verdadero). Debo aclarar que la esencia de esta tesis tiene que ver con cierta corriente teórica, que Bosteels toma de su maestro Badiou, preocupada con la noción del llamado sujeto revolucionario. Sujeto en el sentido de individuos que funcionan dentro de un sistema social cuyas reglas e instituciones ha internalizado al punto de hacérseles totalmente intuitivas—es decir, dicho de manera super-simplificada, un sujeto que construye la realidad de acuerdo a cierto aparato ideológico particular que sirve como punto de referencia para sus acciones y su noción de sentido común. Lo que Bosteels pareciera implicar es que el cristianismo provee un modelo de como lograr esa transformación del sujeto, y un modelo que es esencialmente benigno, no-violento y/o democrático… lo que es claramente una postura romántica y anti-histórica además de claramente ideológica. En su comentario, Buck-Morss le recordó a Bosteels que detrás de ese acto de conversión ideológica, en apariencia benigno, había la prerrogativa imperial de poder decidir qué hacer con el inconforme, el que se negara a convertirse; la respuesta, obviamente, era la picota (y habría que recordar que durante la conquista americana, la conversión de los nativos no se hizo por convencimiento en ese modo romántico sugerido por apologistas como Bosteels, sino por amenaza: te conviertes o mueres como una rata infiel). Como respuesta a Buck-Morss, Bosteels argumentó, y lo hizo varias veces, con la idea de “collateral advantage” (en oposición a “collateral damage”), que en castellano podríamos traducir como “ventajas colaterales”; es decir, usar el modelo proselitista cristiano como un instrumento para convertir el sujeto moderno en el sujeto revolucionario. Una visión utilitaria de la lucha política donde se usaría una táctica cuestionable siempre y cuando esta produzca el fin deseado (la transformación del sujeto capitalista en el sujeto revolucionario y así por el estilo). En definitiva, aunque me gustaría leer con más cuidado la presentación en el futuro, mi primera reacción sobre esta idea del núcleo ateo cristiano es de sincera sospecha.

La ponencia de Buck-Morss fue, en mi opinión, más útil en cuanto que no devino en una larga arenga teórica sino que se mantuvo fiel a sus raíces materialistas e históricas—en otras palabras, dar una respuesta a lo que está sucediendo en las calles del mundo hoy día. Su presentación se titulaba A Commonist Ethics, haciendo el contraste entre comunismo y comonismo, el segundo como referencia a la raíces comunales que vemos en el Marx del manuscrito de 1844 en contraste con el Marx de los últimos años, más virulento y dogmático. Buck-Morss comenzó su ponencia con algo de teoría, partiendo de las ideas de Adorno quien hace un contraste entre lo óntico versus lo ontológico. Lo óntico, en términos heideggerianos, se refiere a lo que hay, aquí y ahora, en forma concreta, experiencial; mientras que lo ontológico, por otro lado, se refiere a la estructura profunda de lo que hay, es decir, al conocimiento sobre el ser (Dasein), sobre su esencia o naturaleza. Partiendo de esta idea, en resumen, Buck-Morss busca hacer la distinción entre dos formas de ver la situación mundial hoy, entre dos formas de hacer teoría o reflexión política, e incluso, de aproximarse a la práctica (¿qué hacer?). Por un lado, existe la actitud algo cínica y distante de aquellos que ven el problema de la crisis mundial y las posibles alternativas como un problema ontológico; es decir, como un problema cuya naturaleza profunda debe dilucidarse y entenderse antes de poder intentar una solución práctica. Desde esta perspectiva, los eventos de los últimos meses, la primavera árabe, el verano europeo y el ¿otoño de Wall Street?, es decir, los movimientos de protesta y agitación social que han conmocionado el planeta en los últimos meses, son esencialmente actos inútiles e intrascendentes, ya que par decidir ¿qué hacer?, primero hay que resolver la estructura profunda de lo que hay, un paso que algunos consideran aún incompleto. Esa precedencia de la teoría sobre la praxis o, mejor dicho, sobre la observación directa de lo que ocurre aquí y ahora, es lo que es central a la crítica de Buck-Morss—en mi opinión al menos.  Como dijo ella al final, en el marxismo original, lo preeminente era lo óntico, la observación de lo que hay aquí y ahora, por encima de lo ontológico o, dicho de otro modo, por encima de la reflexión teórica dentro de un sistema de referencia particular: sea hegeliano, lacaniano, gramsciano, etc., algún “ismo”.

En ese sentido, lo que ella pareciera proponer es una vuelta a una ética comonalista y pragmática que se centre no en lo que uno es (“what you are“), sino en lo que uno hace (“what you do“). Para ella, esta ética debe hacer uso de la crítica pero en su sentido más primitivo, como una reflexión directa sobre los eventos de la vida diaria más que sobre especulaciones teóricas. Igualmente, la misma debe evitar lo que ha plagado mucho del pensamiento de izquierda en los últimos años; es decir, esa visión antagonista schmittiana que pone como pre-condición para la lucha social la adopción de una distinción política axiomática: la de amigos vs. enemigos—Carl Schmitt, en su libro El concepto de lo político, se refería a esta distinción como “criterio” o “categoría política” y, además, él creía que la misma constituía la base sobre la que se construye la noción misma de lo político—en torno al cual se articula una meta revolucionaria que define el éxito simplemente como la eliminación del Otro, del enemigo, sin dar indicios sobre la manera cómo se construirá ese mundo alterno donde ese Otro ya no existe.  (Esto es evidente cuando vemos lo que ocurrió en la URSS y en Cuba, donde la revolución fue efectiva en la eliminación del Otro pero luego devino totalmente incapaz, una vez que el Otro dejo de existir como eje articulatorio, de construir un mundo alternativo donde la meta revolucionario de crear un nuevo hombre libre y auto-suficiente jamás se hizo realidad—y es muy probable que sea lo que ocurra en Venezuela, que trata de replicar la experiencia cubana en ese sentido). Eso, pareciera sugerir Buck-Morss, implica  la necesidad de hallar un espacio para una visión agonista (en el sentido de opuesto a antagonista) alternativa, una visión más amplia que no esté sujeta a las limitadas categorías positivistas marxistas de proletariado, lucha de clases, etc., sin negar su efectividad (como herramientas de análisis) pero adaptándolas a una realidad diferente y más compleja.

Por cierto, como buen pragmatista, Buck-Morss propuso una re-definición de libertad como una pragmática de lo contingente (“a pragmatics of the suddenly possible”), proponiendo, en mi interpretación, que la experiencia transformadora revolucionaria debe estar abierta a lo que, en apariencia, es históricamente inadmisible o imposible en un momento dado. En fin, las ponencias estuvieron bien interesantes.

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Dennis Ritchie, RIP

Ritchie (right) and Thompson (left) at The White House - imageI’ve just learned of Dennis Ritchie’s passing. It’s most likely that not a lot of people today know who he was. At the same time, it’s also very much likely that his legacy has touched or affected every single person on Earth, some way or another. Ritchie was the creator of C, perhaps the most influential programming language in the history of computing—by the way, a history that has spanned for only few a decades. Also, he was, alongside Ken Thompson, one of the fathers of Unix, the one operating system that revolutionized the way people did computation up to the time—that is, the early 1970s.

Ritchie was part of a generation of computer pioneers who established the foundation of modern day programming languages and system design. As Cade Metz correctly pointed out on Wired, Dennis Ritchie was “The Shoulders Steve Jobs Stood On.” Sadly, Jobs was a celebrity, a visionary of the commercialization and commoditization of computers, a successful entrepreneur—though a mediocre programmer and designer.

Contrary to what the media said last week, Steve Jobs never created any of the technologies he incorporated into his products. All he did was to transform other people’s ideas into marketable commodities by increasing their value added. In my opinion, he certainly was a good used-car salesman. He took second hand ideas, just like used-cars—the technologies and products other people have created elsewhere—put them in a very nice package and sold them as if they were his own. That is, in my opinion, the truth behind Jobs’ success. Whatever he did, he wouldn’t have never been able to do it without the hard work and scientific ingenuity of people like Dennis Ritchie, Ken Thompson, David Gries, Alan Turing, Steve Wozniak, Niklaus Wirth, Brian Kernighan, and a long list of true geniuses and pioneers.

So, Metz’s totally right. I don’t deny Jobs some credit. However, Ritchie’s generation is the real thing… the true pioneers and visionaries on whose shoulders people like Steve Jobs and Bill Gates stood on to make their magic of creating billions and billions of dollars by selling the same ideas plus some value added. They all are the true geniuses behind Jobs’ and Gates’ apparent success.

So long, Dennis! We are going to miss you indeed.

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Two Digressions about Borges, Wittgenstein and the Aesthetic Experience

I. Borges and Shi Huang Ti

In his tale “Las murallas y los libros,” Borges tells the story of Shi Huang Ti (or Quin Shi Huang), the Chinese emperor who built the first Great Wall, also remembered for ordering the burning of books and the burying of all intellectuals. According to Borges, Shi Huang Ti ordered the burning of all history records in order to delete any incriminating memory of his own birth, since it was believed then that his mother was already pregnant at the time she became his father’s concubine.

Anyhow, in his tale, Borges argues that the attempted burning of history records is only part of the story. The other part is the building of the Wall. So, according to the Argentinean, Shi Huang Ti ordered the construction of the Wall because he also wanted to keep death afar. In a way, by deleting history and keeping everybody isolated from the rest of the world, Shi Huang Ti thought he would be able to achieve immortality by re-creating the world. How? By the the magical powers of naming things. As first emperor and the originator of history, Shi Huang Ti was also the founding father of language, the divine provider of words.

Or, maybe, goes on Borges, Shi Huang Ti thought that by eliminating history and forcing all intellectuals—the keepers of knowledge, of language—to build his Wall, he would force history to repeat itself as well, and according to his own design. Later on in the future, he might have thought, another emperor would come who might destroy Shi Huang Ti’s Great Wall and delete any memories of his Empire, becoming with this act Shi Huang Ti’s mirror image in time.

Or, perhaps, by eliminating history and leaving only his wall—a simple form made out of rocks and mortar—Shi Huang Ti wanted to convey us the sublime aesthetic experience. Borges explains:

…podríamos inferir que todas ls formas tienen su virtud en sí mismas y no en un “contenido” conjetural. Esto concordaría con la tesis de Benedetto Croce [intuition as the basis of aesthetic experience]; ya Pater, en 1877, afirmó que todas las artes aspiran a la condición de la música, que no es otra cosa que forma. La música, los estados de felicidad, la mitología, las caras trabajadas por el tiempo, ciertos crepúsculos y ciertos lugares, quieren decirnos algo, o algo dijeron que no hubiéramos debido perder, o están por decir algo; esta inminencia de una revelación, que no se produce, es, quizá, el hecho estético. [in English]

II. Wittgenstein’s Tractatus

Wittgenstein says in his Tractatus: “Not how the world is, is the mystical, but that it is.” So, the Wall’s being is the mystical, its form, not the how it came to be. Similarly, in the same place, Wittgenstein also says that ethics and aesthetics can’t be expressed in words (or propositions), much the same way music—according to Croce and (Walter) Pater—can’t be translated into words. I wonder if both Borges and Witt are talking about the same kind of aesthetic experience?

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Telepathy at its best

When I was in college, I took this differential equations (DE) class that I really enjoyed. I remember that a very fun exercise we used to do was to calculate the rate of decay of radioactive materials. In a nutshell, radioactive materials are extremely unstable, their nuclei are constantly changing, and with every change they loose some energy. This process continues until their nuclei changes so much that they become a different element, a more stable one.

Traditionally, radioactive decay is governed by a set of well-known rules. These rules are represented with a particular type of differential equation, which is what we used to deal with in our DE class. One interesting aspect of this equation is that it includes three constants. In physics, constants are much like universals, things that are invariable, they don’t change no matter what and stay the same forever. Essentially, physical constants are believed to be free from any form of external influence. Based on this equation and its constants, we have always been able to compute how long a radioactive particle will last, before it becomes something else. Since this rate of change was thought to be unchangeable, as long as the basic constants hold true, we will always be able to estimate the lifespan of any radioactive material. Something that has, of course, very significant implications—from cancer treatment to atomic clocks and carbon dating.

Well, that’s what I learned from my DE class. Surprisingly, I just found out that this is not true anymore. A group of scientists recently discovered that this rate of decay is not as stable as I was taught. As a matter of fact, rather than being independent of any external influence, the decay rate seems to depend on solar activity. So, whenever the sun is actively producing flares, the decay rate changes—it slows down. Why?

As far as I know, scientists don’t know yet. The culprit seems to be neutrinos, a quantum particle that is generated inside our Sun. Neutrinos are believed to be unstoppable—they can pass through anything in the universe, including our bodies, almost without being disturbed or affected. Of course, the main problem is precisely that—since neutrinos can travel almost unaffected, how’s it possible that they can interfere with the natural process of radioactive decay? Well, we don’t know yet.

Nonetheless, what caught my attention about this phenomenon is the fact that it is a good example of telepathic communication—which is basically a mystical way of talking about the well known physical phenomenon of action at a distance. Somehow, our Sun is communicating with radioactive material here on Earth, affecting the rate these materials can change. Of course, I’m not talking about some mystical mechanism, but an unknown process that allow information to travel from one point to another, creating mayhem in its way. Since we don’t know yet how this mechanism actually works, how this action at a distance functions, we may well call it something like telepathy.

Anyway, this kind of apparently telepathic process is not new. For instance, we know that a similar phenomenon occurs when the Sun heats up our car’s interior. But we all know these days the reasons why something so anti-intuitive like that happens. In the past, things were not that clear. Such processes were believed to be as magical as the one affecting radioactive material today. Then, Gods were believed to be the culprits of phenomena of this sort and some telepathic or telekinetic mechanism was thought to be the how. Fortunately, we know better now.

UPDATE: Just found this recent paper about this same phenomenon, clarifying the way how neutrinos may operate.
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Terry Eagleton on faith

In a recent article, Terry Eagleton takes to task Westerners’ anxiety towards Islam. For him, what scares Western civilization about Islam is not suicide-bombers or building-crashing airplanes but the scandalous apprehension generated by a comeback to a world ruled by (religious) faith. Faith—or rather (religious) conviction—is then what lies at the core of Western Islamophobia. He explains:

Western societies deal with belief primarily by reducing it to a private affair. It becomes a kind of hobby or personal eccentricity, rather like collecting Javanese parrots or engaging in sado-masochistic pursuits. It is not even something that happens between consenting adults, but is as much one’s own affair as flossing your teeth. It thus has no collective or political dimension at all. It is not a force for the transformation of reality but a refuge from it, like Madonna’s Kabbalah or Tom Cruise’s Scientology. Belief is what you do in your spare time. As the old joke has it, the moment it starts to interfere with your everyday life, it’s time to give it up.

Islam, by contrast, makes no such absolute distinctions between the personal, the moral, the political and the religious. In the more fundamentalist versions of the creed, this can result in a dangerously illiberal spirit. In more enlightened versions of it, it refuses to carve up reality into separate categories.

It’s true. Today’s secular Western societies have been devoid of what Eagleton himself—in his The Meaning of Life—calls “esoteric” truths. After centuries of religious wars and intolerance, we have come to terms with the idea of separating “the personal, the moral, the political and the religious.” However, this was not a capricious outcome. Instead, it was the result of a long march, a calamitous quest for a better way to organize our society that did not rely solely on the precarious foundation of religious conviction.

It’s true as well that after being devoid of a common spiritual dimension, the West was only left with pure hedonism. So, we live our lives in a constant search for ways to fill this our spiritual void with “material things” that, much like drugs, keep us going from one fix to the next. However, it is a case of pure casuistry to reduce this situation to a point in which it becomes a choice between either pointing our head toward a mystical wall in pray, or pointing it at a huge flat TV in idiotic stupor. Things are, in reality, a little bit more complicated.

I think that Eagleton gives religious faith too much of a credit. Faith, in the sense he talks about, is not simply to be concerned about “complex ideas” such as “the origins of the world, the purpose of life, or what it means to live a rich, fulfilled, fully human existence,” but also to be concerned about them in a certain way. As a Catholic, he knows well what our Church means with the word faith, which is to be concerned about those complex things but in the way the Church dictates.

As a child growing in a Catholic country, I was forced to learn my catechism by heart. Thus, I remember my first encounter with the word faith. And I remember it was sort of disappointing. In Part 1, Chapter 3, Article 2 we have this definition (highlights are mine):

[166] Faith is a personal act – the free response of the human person to the initiative of God who reveals himself. But faith is not an isolated act. No one can believe alone, just as no one can live alone. You have not given yourself faith as you have not given yourself life. the believer has received faith from others and should hand it on to others. Our love for Jesus and for our neighbour impels us to speak to others about our faith. Each believer is thus a link in the great chain of believers. I cannot believe without being carried by the faith of others, and by my faith I help support others in the faith.

[167] “I believe” (Apostles’ Creed) is the faith of the Church professed personally by each believer, principally during Baptism. “We believe” (Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed) is the faith of the Church confessed by the bishops assembled in council or more generally by the liturgical assembly of believers. “I believe” is also the Church, our mother, responding to God by faith as she teaches us to say both “I believe” and “We believe”.

In this matter, what I learned during my Catholic school years was that faith is nothing but a suspension of disbelief in the Church—a blind acceptance of the authority of the Church and its irrevocable teachings. It is the incontestable acceptance of whatever the Church tells you to believe or, more truly, whatever the people in charge of the Church at a particular time tells you to believe.

So, this sense of a voluntary communal sharing of a faith that Eagleton sees in modern day Muslims is all but illusory—as illusory as it was for medieval Christians. Many Muslims come to their faith not by conviction but by compulsion—as most Christians did during the Dark Ages—and continue to do so in so many places around America. It’s true that religious faith, as it happens with all ideology, may serve as a social bond, an international link that unites people from all nationalities. However, the trick does not come gratis.

In his infamous The Antichrist, Friedrich Nietzsche was very much aware of the dangers of faith as an ideological artifact. There, he describes faith as “closing one’s eyes upon one’s self once for all, to avoid suffering the sight of incurable falsehood.” The real issue with faith, he argues, was power. “When Theologians,” he explains,”working through the ‘conscience’ of princes (or of people—), stretch out their hand for power, there is never any doubt as to the fundamental issue: the will to make an end.” So, although Eagleton is right in saying that we Westerners live lives of “pragmatic self-interest” rather than “lives of conviction,” the only difference with many Muslim communities is one of emphasis: they live lives of conviction that serves to the pragmatic self-interest (“the will to make an end”) of their religious (or complicit civilian) masters. At the end, neither we serve to our own self-interest—we do have masters too—nor do they.

♦♦

Looking at Eagleton’s recent writings, I should add that I am afraid he’s walking a very unsafe path. Here I should mention a story from Ray Monk’s biography of Austrian philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein. During WWI, Wittgenstein volunteered to fight on the side of the Tripe Alliance. One day, during a walk in Galicia, he entered a bookstore in which he found a copy of Leon Tolstoy’s The gospel in Brief. Wittgenstein was totally taken by the book’s ideas on some sort of Anarchist version of Christianity—one in which Christianity is not much something you believe in but a way of living. For months, he ponders on his readings, internalizing Tolstoy’s basic premise that the way how Christianity heals the soul is not by the intellectual act of believing but by the practice of it. Then, in very similar circumstances and a few weeks later, Wittgenstein found another book that came to complement Tolstoy’s. The book in question was the same I mentioned above: Nietzsche’s The Antichrist. According to Monk, Wittgenstein saw in the latter a reaffirmation about the former. As Monk explains: Wittgenstein, as Nietzsche did before him, did not see the issue about Christianity on whether it was true or false but on “whether it offers some help in dealing with an otherwise unbearable and meaningless existence.” Help on facing the trouble of living is what makes religious conviction such an attractive healer—particularly, by helping in dealing with the complicated issue of evil. And this ability of making evil bearable is what makes religious faith such an effective form of ideology.

At this point we should remember William James, the pragmatic American psychologist and philosopher. In his Varieties of Religious Experiences, James takes at discussing how people is affected by the awareness of evil in themselves and in the world. For that, he argues that people usually respond to this awareness of evil in two different ways—one healthy and the other one morbid. The healthy is the one that interests us the most. For James, the healthy-minded person responds by minimizing the impact of the actuality of sin and/or evil—that is, by looking for strategies (e.g., Catholic confessions) that allow him/her to walk away from the uneasiness this actuality produces. A clear strategy of self-deceit.

Personally, I don’t see any difference between living a life under the ideological compulsion of materialistic things, or living one that dictates the search for esoteric sources of truth that may keep us away from the madness of actual, day-to-day evil. As Marx himself suggested once, they are both essentially two instances of the same kind of illusory escapism. If one is to live a life the way Socrates taught—that is, an examined life—, why should it be under the umbrella of mysticism? why should it be under the pretension of some sort of “theological instinct”, as Nietzsche put it once? I do not buy this argument that we only have two options—either we are people of faith or we are incurable hedonists. As Žižek argues in his analysis of The Matrix, on having to chose between the red pill and the blue pill, I demand the third pill!

Žižek’s The Pervet Guide to Cinema

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Žižek y el londonazo

Slavoj Žižek recién acaba de publicar este artículo donde comenta lo ocurrido en las pasadas semanas en las calles de Londres, que se ha visto convulsionada por saqueos y protestas violentas. Situación esta que, al parecer, fue incitada por el asesinato de un joven inglés de origen afro-caribeño de nombre Mark Duggan.

Para Žižek, lo más resaltante y, a la vez, preocupante de todos estos sucesos es su total carencia de propósito, más allá del acto inmediato e irracional de destruir y/o saquear. En ese sentido, los sucesos de Londres parecieran ser un eco de lo ocurrido en París hace seis años: “As with the car burnings in the Paris banlieues in 2005″, explica Žižek,”the UK rioters had no message to deliver”. Citando al filósofo francés Alain Badiou, Žižek advierte que esto es una consecuencia de vivir en una época en la cual la oposición al sistema es incapaz de articularse, de elaborar un mensaje de emancipación claro y coherente a través del cual construir una alternativa, y que, por ende, se descubre “sin palabras”, con la opción única de la “violencia sin propósito” que hemos visto recientemente.

Yo me atrevería a ir más lejos en el tiempo, y ver en todos estos sucesos de Londres y Paris, de Atenas y Madrid, ecos de lo ocurrido en Latinoamérica en los 80s. Una de las imágenes más vividas que tengo de esa época son los sucesos ocurridos en febrero de 1989 en Venezuela, cuando miles de personas salieron a las calles de las principales ciudades a saquear y protestar las terribles condiciones impuestas en el país por el paquete del Fondo Monetario Internacional. El Caracazo, que es como lo recordamos los venezolanos, cambió la historia del país de manera radical.

Yo mismo fui testigo presencial de lo ocurrido en una de las principales ciudades de la región central del país. Allí, con mis propios ojos, presencié la manera como las tensiones y frustraciones provocadas por el deterioro de las condiciones materiales de la mayoría de la población creo ese estado de impotencia y desazón que culminara en brotes espontáneos de violencia sin control. Miles de personas, en su mayoría de las clases más bajas, salieron a las calles a saquear y destruir comercios y supermercados, muchos de ellos ubicados en los mismos barrios y vecindarios en donde esa misma mayoría tenía su residencia. Como en el caso de Londres y París, la mayor parte de los disturbios ocurrieron en las zonas más empobrecidas y alienadas, lo que significa que en muchos casos la violencia estuvo dirigida en contra de los mismos residentes de esas zonas con una mejor situación socioeconómica. De hecho, recuerdo que el efecto más inmediato de esto fue que muchos barrios y vecindarios populares se quedaron sin abastos o mercados, dejándolos a merced de especuladores u obligándolos a transportarse largas distancias para poder adquirir sus productos más básicos.

De nuevo, como en el caso de los sucesos de Londres y París, lo que más me impresionó de estos eventos fue su total falta de propósito. Por varios días, lo ocurrido en Venezuela no fue sino una suerte de noche de Walpurgis, o, parafraseando a Rubén Darío, un carnaval de aroma de humo y de visión de destrucción. Recuerdo que vi hombres y mujeres, jóvenes y ancianos, niños, todas las edades, corriendo por la calles, participando, llevando a cuestas no sólo comida o zapatos sino también televisores, neveras, etc. La carencia no era tanto material como espiritual, a mi modo de ver. Hambre no era por lo tanto el motor principal, la mayor motivación. Como explica Žižek, lo ocurrido en Venezuela fue el resultado de la contradicción generada por vivir en un sistema que sólo te reconoce como consumidor pero que al mismo tiempo te niega el ejercicio mismo de esa función. Mientras los medios le vendían al “pueblo” el televisor de 40 pulgadas a todo color, junto al mensaje de que “puede ser tuyo en cualquier momento”, de que “eres libre porque tienes la oportunidad de comprarlo”, la realidad de la calle le insistía que con el miserable salario de su trabajo o la mellada ganancia de su puesto de venta en la calle, nunca alcanzaría a tenerlo a menos que fuera “bajo la mesa”, a la fuerza. Žižek explica:

The riots should be situated in relation to another type of violence that the liberal majority today perceives as a threat to our way of life: terrorist attacks and suicide bombings. In both instances, violence and counter-violence are caught up in a vicious circle, each generating the forces it tries to combat. In both cases, we are dealing with blind passages à l’acte, in which violence is an implicit admission of impotence. The difference is that, in contrast to the riots in the UK or in Paris, terrorist attacks are carried out in service of the absolute Meaning provided by religion.

Ese sentimiento de impotencia fue el que creo las condiciones para lo que ocurrió en Venezuela en 1989, y para lo que devino más tarde, el reforzamiento del populismo personalista que azota al continente hoy día. Y esa es una lección que los europeos y estadounidenses deberían tener muy presente. Del mismo modo, una lección para aquellos que queremos buscar alternativas más democráticas y justas al sistema hegemónico-ideológico que rige el mundo de hoy. Si somos incapaces de re-configurar el espacio en que vivimos de manera de permitir cambios radicales y profundos, proveyendo una matriz de significado alternativa, entonces la religión, como ideología que ha servido siempre muy bien a su amo, los poderosos, los ricos, etc., va a ser, como está ocurriendo hoy en los EEUU y en otros lugares del mundo, la que constituya el (viejo) nuevo aparato hegemónico con el que se someterá al ciudadano del siglo XXI.

Como advierte Žižek en otro lugar (el libro Iraq: The Borrowed Kettle), la idea no puede ser desmantelar el legado de milenios de historia humana, incluido en particular el legado de Europa, negando así logros muy importantes como la democracia, la tolerancia religiosa, los derechos humanos, etc. etc. La idea es reinventarlo todo, pero a través de un cuestionamiento implacable de las bases, los fundamentos sobre las que se sostiene ese legado, no sólo para subvertirlas sino también para obligarlas a renacer en condiciones más propicias que las ahora existentes. En tiempos de impotencia transformadora y vacuidad semántica, debemos seguir el consejo de uno de los filósofos de la emancipación suramericana, el maestro Simón Rodríguezo inventamos o erramos.

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Fermat’s Last Theorem


Teenagers usually dream about becoming a movie star or hitting the road as a member of a very cool rock band. I, for good or for bad, never did that. My dreams, crazy as they sound, used to be things like progressing Einstein’s unified field theory or, less ambitious, solving Pierre Fermat‘s last theorem. Of course, I never did either. 20+ years later, although Einstein’s problem remains for the most part unsolved, Fermat’s, to my chagrin, is not—yep, it was (sadly to me) solved in 1994 by British Mathematician Andrew Wiles.

Anyway, we celebrate today 410 years since Fermat’s birthday (on August 17, 1601). Google did not want the occasion to pass unnoticed, so they came up with a very nice Doodle that commemorates Fermat’s greatest unfinished achievement. Certainly, not that bad for a provincial lawyer.

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Cantinflas… un siglo y contando

He olvidado mencionar que el pasado 12 de agosto se celebraron los 100 años del nacimiento de quien fuera uno de los comediantes más importantes de Latinoamérica. Me refiero, por supuesto, a Mario Moreno “Cantinflas”.

Aunque su papel preferido fue el del pelado mal vestido y mal hablado que todos recordamos, el hombre de carne y hueso fue un tipo bien centrado (su visión de empresario lo llevó a cofundar Posa Films) a quien la gente humilde de México adoraba por su bondad y por su interés hacia los niños necesitados.

Tristemente, la mayoría de las películas de Cantinflas no están en manos latinoamericanas sino de la Columbia Pictures, con quien su socio, el ruso Jacques Gelman (el otro fundador de Posa Films), había firmado un contrato que le concedía los derechos exclusivos de distribución a nivel mundial. Hace unos diez años, la Columbia le ganó los derechos al hijo de Cantinflas en una corte estadounidense.

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