Half Past Noon

James K.A. Smith posts an extended passage from The Guardian which takes genre writing to ask, quite harshly. A sample:

One doesn’t wants to decry authors who are certainly outstanding in their field (constructing a page-turner requires narrative skill); neither does one want to sneer at the tastes of book-buyers, for whom reading at all in this age of distraction is an increasingly fought-for pleasure. …. But genre fiction is, by definition, generic. Mina’s disdain, in her comments, for pushing boundaries of form is palpable. The genre writer’s first responsibility is to the genre itself: they must fulfil readers’ expectations for convention, or they have failed. It’s easy to see how this becomes part of a capitalist enterprise, which requires market ‘product’ and fears innovation as a ‘risky sell’. At a time when capitalism is scouring livelihoods, however, we must empower writers such as Kelman to speak out against it, and put forth new ways of expressing and thinking about ourselves. This is far from being just a Scottish issue.

Austin should hopefully have more to contribute here, but I wanted to jump in and offer a few comments first.

To begin, I don’t really understand how writing, say, a fantasy novel is any different than writing a sonnet. Both forms are bound by a set of rules that may be bent but not truly broken. And since both forms are “abstract” (to a degree), they can be easily abused by bad writers. (We’ve all seen trashy novels and heard terrible poetry.) But in the hands of a skilled writer, both forms can be used to illuminate something new and something beautiful in our world.

Moving on, my experience with “literary fiction” has been anything but “empowering” and “illuminating.” Aside from the acclaimed “great authors” (i.e. Alice Munro, Marilynne Robinson, etc.), the literary fiction I’ve encountered has tended to be liveless, dull, and far too heady. I say this not to knock literary fiction: there are many great writers in that scene, and I know that my experience does not speak to the whole. However, I do take issue with the assumption that “literary” writing is by definition superior to genre writing. Could it be, for example, that J.K. Rowling is better at speaking to the human condition than James Kalman? Does being a “fantasy” writer limit Rowling’s abilities? Does being a “literary” writer enhance Kalman’s?

Finally, and what I always come back to, is the historical record of “classic” authors whose works could be fairly slotted into genres. The list is a very long one, but all I really need to do is throw out the name “Jane Austen” and my case is made. Could it be that dismissing others’ writing as “genre writing” is merely a capitulation to our times? To a modernistic impulse to categorize everything?

Don’t even try to tell me you don’t want to see this because I won’t believe you.

So, Sandy and I watched Julie & Julia on Tuesday night and loved it. (Austin, Ephron was definitely on for this one. Two thumbs up on her simple but enjoyable paralleling of two lives.) They managed to add some humanity to Julia Child’s character (it could have easily been a stodgy retelling), twinning the main characters without pushing anything too much. Well worth seeing.

Yet, I do have one complaint. And even though I’m trying very hard to move away from cynicism and negativity, I’m going to voice it.

Halfway through the movie Julie’s husband runs off, frustrated by her cooking obsession. It touches off some apocalyptic moments for Julie, as she begins to see how selfish she’s been. This realization is topped off by her asking a best friend, “Am I really a bitch?” To which her friend says, “Yes. But aren’t all women bitches?” (or something along those lines—I don’t have the exact quote, but that’s the spirit of it)

Yet, it doesn’t really feel like Julie’s been a bitch. A tad bit obsessed, sure, but Ephron never really makes us think of Julie that way. Instead we’re very sympathetic, almost disbelieving. “Well, yes, of course you’re a bitch, because every woman’s a bitch so you’re just like the rest of us!”

Had Ephron actually managed to convince us that Julie was indeed a foul person, the movie would have been Picture of the Year worthy. As it was, that moment of character non-transformation falls flat and left me with a tinge of dissatisfaction.

To begin, I should make it clear that the comments made below are as abstract and vague as possible, particularly when they relate to my own experience and work. (As an employee, it’s not really appropriate for me to be more specific or direct.)

I feel your frustration, Gabe. Everyone wants to do something they love and, more importantly, wants to be good at doing something they love. This is what most movies about corporate America now revel in, from Office Spacea to In Good Company to Julie & Julia (which is indirectly about corporate America).

Yet, I do have trouble with something you said:

My only problem is that I don’t want to be a businessman, I want to build houses.

This isn’t said to be mean (at all—I promise!), but I think that’s comparable to a pastor saying, “I don’t want to deal with people’s personal problems. I just want to preach good sermons.” Or to a teacher declaring, “I don’t want to deal with crummy students. I just want to further my research and write more books.”

Hiring a manager might seem like a waste of time and effort. After all, managers often don’t know as much about doing the work as the labourers. But I think that’s missing a key component of what such a manager ought to do. Essentially, he’s on the job (or should be) as an advocate for both the customer (homeowner, etc.) and for the labourer. He’s not trying to bleed money from the customer; he’s ensuring that the job gets done well, in good time, and without undue stress for the customer. On the other hand, he’s not there to rip off the labourer. Rather, he’s there to ensure that the labourer gets paid for his work and that he’s able to do his job without too much hassle.

This may be idealistic, but I think it’s what contractors ought to aim for.

What’s more, I don’t think that this is an impersonal, bottom-dollar-only perspective. Is profit important? Definitely. A worker is due his wages, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him striving to be more efficient and make more money on the job. But another key component is service. Or, if you want to put it another way, the people. The reason you, the contractor, need to be as much of a businessman as a housebuilder is because the customer needs you to be that. Otherwise, you’re not providing them the service they require. You’re saving them money (since you know where to get materials and you likely get a better deal on them), time (since they obviously need to focus their attention on other matters, too), and stress.

To put it in a different context, that’s why you paid to go to college. You could have read all those books and skipped that education, but then you would have lost the benefit of someone else walking you through texts, passing on the benefit of their experience, and giving you the most integral parts of education. (At least, that’s what you hope!)

Or, to go back to the pastoral example, what if the pastor merely preached sermons and gave you books to read when you needed advice?

Gabe, I do have comments on your post, but first, you all need to welcome Tuesday by watching this video.

(Make sure you watch it all the way to the end.)

HT: FAIL Blog (of course!)

Here’s an article by Jack Layton (leader of Canada’s New Democratic Party) defending Canada’s health care system.

Reading this, I have two comments. First, I want to say that—despite my strong opposition to public health care—I do want to see a more gracious, more compassionate approach to health care. My opposition to public systems should be viewed in this light: my experience with Canada’s system(s) has not impressed me with a sense of love or compassion. (I’d also suggest that my anecdotal evidence is every bit as valid as statistical evidence. In fact, I’d argue that statistics are anecdotes of a different nature: they tell their own story with their own biases and their own blind spots, just like I do.)

Second, I don’t think we should accept “second best” for the time being. If we want to fix something—and if we’re actually serious about that aim, not just abstractly enjoying a few “what ifs”—then why not go for broke? Why not get the church involved, why not actively pursue a missional approach to this problem?

Wouldn’t that be more successful, anyway?

Sorry, I got waylaid by health care debates. I should have known better, particularly since I never have anything constructive to say about that topic. Back to Medaille (where at least I’ve achieved a degree of level-headedness).

The Economics of Distributism II: Political Economy as a Science

Medaille kicks off talking about how economists have longed to make their craft (economics) a “perfect” science. He quotes Friedman:

As Milton Friedman puts it, “Positive economics is in principle independent of any particular ethical position or normative judgments. As [J. N.] Keynes says, it deals with ‘what is,’ not with ‘what ought to be.’”

I start with this because I think it’s important to qualify that most of the Christian free market capitalists I know would strongly disagree with Friedman here. In fact, this is something my father taught us early on in life: economics alone doesn’t save you, nor can we live as if economics can’t be touched by our biblical worldview.

Why is this important? Because here we come to one of the downsides of adopting a general label (like “capitalist” or “Reformed” etc.). Labels, as Davey and I have discussed, are inevitable and certainly not all-evil. But I think it’s important to remember that these labels we fight over and try to define are never to be accepted wholly. They must always be accepted with exceptions, because the world never fits in any of those little boxes. Should we even bother with labels? Of course! As Davey pointed out to me, to try and make for yourself an independent patchwork quilt of beliefs is a fruitless and even dangerous exercise. But when we seek to defend such labels, we should do so while noting their weaknesses, while noting where our life experience or other influences have persuaded us to disagree.

Conversely, when we seek to attack another label, we ought to employ the same tactics. Take, for example, my attacks on socialized medicine. Take them as an example NOT because it’s a good one, but because it’s the opposite. I would have been better off focus on specific criticisms, specific things instead of spouting off. (And no, this isn’t an invitation to revisit the topic. Please no.)

Back to the article.

I don’t have much to contribute about the rest. His point about statistics (that they involve judgments and can’t be trusted as objective numbers) is a good one. The final conclusion? Every “humane” science must be concerned with the end of man, which is to say, before we try and decide what economic system is best, we must first wrestle with the question of what is the chief end of man.

Nothing new, and I might add that this isn’t something that the Christian free market capitalists I know would disagree with. (Again.) Perhaps the next post will bring something more controversial.

And finally, we can note that nearly all of modern economics, whether neoclassical, Keynesian, Socialist or Austrian, is built on a mistake about science; in the attempt to make their discipline “scientific” in the mold of physics, they abandoned the only thing that can make a humane science “scientific,” namely the principle of justice and particularly distributive justice.

I was struck by this quote, because it reminded me of Eugen Rosenstock-Huessy’s essay (originally from Out of Revolution) “I Am an Impure Thinker.” In it, ERH contends that much of modern science—specifically physics and metaphysics, the “foundations” of modern science—are concerned solely with dead things. They fail to interact with our world in a “lifely” way. His answer to this problem is simple: “To veer between Ego and It is the secret of man’s soul.” In other words, the key to making our way in science (or in any endeavour) is to find a balance between making it personal (Ego) and studying it in the abstract (It).

I begin with this because, to be honest, I like what ERH says about science better than what Medaille says. Perhaps it’s because I quite understand his claim that “the only thing that can make a humane science ’scientific’ … [is] the principle of justice.” Perhaps it’s because I don’t know what “distributive justice” is supposed to mean. At any rate, I’m uncomfortable with the groundwork that Medaille lays at the beginning of this post. (Not in a “I hate justice!” kind of way, but just in a “I wish I knew more clearly what he meant” kind of way. I promise I’m not being purposefully dense. Here in Canada, for example, we have something called the Human Rights Tribunal which seeks out justice for the victims of “hate speech” and seeks to punish individuals who voice politically incorrect opinions. In their minds, that’s justice.)

Indeed, the theories of Hayek have been tested just as much as have the theories of Karl Marx, and with about the same results: more government power, less economic freedom; under neither did the state whither away, but became an all-encompassing behemoth.

I can buy that, for now. I’m sure that capitalists could offer objections to this, but I’m not well-read enough to do more than accept Medaille’s assertion. However, I do know that Christian economists—even the capitalists (*gasp!*)—would be quick to point out that there is no economic system that can lead to freedom on its own. Without the Gospel, any form of economic planning or justice will quickly lead to slavery. Which is why, I think, Eugen declares we must veer between Ego and It.

In Keynesian states, people cease to be citizens and become mere clients of the state, where even their most ordinary needs are the subject of one or more governmental bureaucracies, and where even ordinary local problems are pushed up to be the responsibility of the most distant levels of government.

Aha! Canada! (Enough said.)

So, in the end I’m willing to buy Medaille’s argument that capitalism does not work. However, I’m not really buying it on the merit of his argument: as a blog post, his examples are necessarily truncated and I’m quite sure that many objections could fairly be made by someone more familiar with the topic than I. The reason I’m willing to buy it is because, in the comments, he describes himself as someone who doesn’t want to ignore history:

But I like to delve into things. I would like to know why a system like Keynesianism gets better results than pure capitalism, when it shouldn’t work at all. Yet work it has, and you and I have lived our whole lives under it, in a time of not only great prosperity and peace, but relative equality (until the last 10 years or so.) This is remarkable. You keep telling me that capitalism works, and I keep asking “When?” “Where?” The system you praise might not ever have existed, but the closer we get to it, the more misery results.

Count me as curious, then: I look forward to seeing distributism explained.

Philip Marchand has a fascinating article here (National Post – The Afterword blog) where he argues that Michael Jackson “had a grudge against adulthood” and actually lived out the “American man-child” stereotype found in many classic American novels (from Catcher in the Rye to Moby Dick).

An excerpt:

When Michael Jackson told Oprah Winfrey that he liked to tuck children into bed and that it was all innocent and sweet, viewers no doubt snickered in disbelief. Yet Jackson could have cited, as precedent, Ishmael’s relationship with the cannibal harpooner Queequeg. In Melville’s novel, the two share a bed, and Ishmael proclaims, “In our hearts’ honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg — a cosy, loving pair.” Even with Queequeg’s “now and then affectionately throwing his brown tattooed legs over mine, and then drawing them back,” Ishmael would be horrified to think others might label this as homosexuality. It was all sweet and innocent.