No room for additional guests
No room for additional guests
I’m mostly a cyclist. I’d always rather bike than drive, and usually rather bike than walk. But sometimes, I do go for a walk, and this weekend I went for a hike on the Pomo Canyon trail in the Sonoma Coast State park. When I got there and walked past the no-bikes, no-dogs, no-horses sign, and it changed my mental state: the fact that I would not have watch out for anything other than pedestrians let me relax much more than I would on a multi-use trail. After a mile, I was zoned out into nature, watching a group of deer standing in the foggy morning mist, birds fluttering from bush to bush. It was a great escape from the hectic day to day of work and parenting two small children.
Then, “Excuse me!” from behind. Here comes two bicyclists, asking me to get out of the way. In the moment I was stunned, and just stepped off into the grass to let them go by. I didn’t get a very good look at them, but it was evident that they were not just people with bicycles but invested cyclists: gravel bikes, handlebar bags, Lycra. I have all that gear, and more. But I’d never think to bring it here.
On the way back out, past the no-bikes sign, I got a bit angrier. It’s a pretty prominent and unambiguous sign. When I got home and looked at the park map, it’s a fairly small park, and there are no multi-use trails, except for hiker-horse. There was was no other way in or out, or any way to mistakenly biking on a hiking-only trail. I became quite angry. Surprisingly angry.
A cyclist might think – as those cyclists apparently did – “Like, all you had to do was step aside into a grassy field for a minute, what’s the big deal?” I am a cyclist, and so I asked myself that question. The degree of my anger seemed strange even to me.
I kept mulling it over, and I realized how important and precious hiker-only status is. Not that every trail should be that way, or maybe even most trails, but it is very important that it exists somewhere. Enough somewheres so that if you want to seek it out, it’s there. It’s the same reason why National Wilderness Areas, without motor vehicles, exist as a subset of National Forest and BLM land. It’s really important to create the quietude, somewhere, where a person can go for a walk and know that there will be no vehicles or animals. As Aaron Teasdale, writing for Sierra magazine put it: “Just knowing bikers could be coming around the corner can add an ambient tension to a hike. Mountain bikers often tell hikers that to avoid problems all they have to do is stay alert, but that state of perpetual vigilance interferes with our ability to relax and appreciate the natural world.” If you read the rest of that piece it’s clear that Teasdale, like me, is quite sympathetic to bikes in the wilderness, but shares the view that hiker-only spaces are legitimate and important need.
My anger was also caused by the fact that the people who were violating this rule were cyclists who, of all people, should recognize the importance of use designations, because cyclists are so often on the wrong end of this dynamic. Recall what it’s like, biking in a designated bike lane, and then there’s person who has parked their car in that bike lane, or is driving through it. You have to get out of the way, even though you ought not to have to get out of the way. My anger towards cars in bike lanes, and my anger towards bikes on hiker-only trails, are species of the same genus. Another variety would be, as a mountain biker, encountering a motorcycle on your favorite hike-bike-horse trail. Teasdale again:
There’s a technological hierarchy of backcountry trail users, with the more mechanized negatively impacting the less mechanized. Social scientists call it an “asymmetric relationship.” . . . The [more mechanized] typically don’t mind encountering the lower ones, but the reverse is not true, especially as the number of users increase.
The generalized proposition from me is that it’s obnoxious when there is a planning and political process to allocate a specific strip of land for a particular form of transit, and then there’s somebody who thinks that they are special, those rules don’t apply to them, and they can bring a bigger, faster, more convenient vehicle. It’s selfish and antisocial.
So, please do not bike on hiker-only trails.
When I was younger, to the extent that I thought about the future, it was in a detached way. It would be a time where things would be weird and different, but not particularly concerning. I now have a four-year-old daughter and one-year-old son. Having children has in some ways made me more focused on the present moment; the alternative is tomato-sauce handprints on the kitchen walls. But it has also made the concepts of history and future more concrete for me. Looking back to when I was four, the world of 1980 is quite different: no cell phones, only the palest glimmers of possibility for same-sex marriage and the internet, and a looming threat of nuclear war. That past is now a foreign country, but it is one that I’ve visited and which is very real for me. The slow voyage into the present makes the idea of arriving forty years in the future more concrete.
The default destination for what the world is going to look like in 2060 is not so great. As an individual I am clearly out of control about the world my children will be living in when they reach the age I am now. At our house, I can provide a stable and caring home environment, but I can’t personally provide my children with a stable planetary environment. I can buy an air filter for our house, but I can’t filter out the smoke outside from climate-fueled wildfires. I can show my kids videos of the Great Barrier Reef on YouTube, but I can’t prevent its total ecological collapse during their lifetime. My family is teaching them to speak German, and taken them on trips to meet their German relatives, but I can’t personally ensure that an environmentally stable way to get to Germany will exist in 2060. This month is the driest in California in 150 years. These things are due to critical flaws in the way we live. Any they are minor inconveniences compared to large areas of the Earth becoming literally uninhabitable because they are too hot for humans or the crops they depend on.
If I have become more radical politically as a parent, it is partly because I was originally trained as a scientist, and so I trust the work and interpretation of the scientific community when it says that deep social changes are necessary for survival of our species. You can pick random dates and deadlines for action: 12 years from now or back in 1979, but the real deadline is always now. As Kate Marvel writes, “We have both no time and more time. Climate change isn’t a cliff we fall off, but a slope we slide down. And, true, we’ve chosen to throw ourselves headlong down the hill at breakneck speed. But we can always choose to begin the long, slow, brutal climb back up.” I’m not quite up to the level of mayor Heidi Harmon’s “I have two kids, and they’re going to fucking die if we don’t fix all this,” but it’s not far off. There’s gradations of exactly how much to panic, since too much panic might favor last-ditch, high-risk solutionism like geoengineering, instead of the safe but more difficult solution of changing our society. For it how we conceive of ourselves that is one of the most critical factors in addressing climate change; it is instructive that climate models now have variants based on “shared socioeconomic pathways” to show how political choices will have climatological consequences. The 2020 Democratic Primary is one of those political choices.
Greenpeace has gone through and scored every Green New Deal or equivalent plan for all the democratic candidates, to give an indication of how they would face the climate crisis. Bernie is the only A+. Warren is an A, Pete’s a B+, Bloomberg and Klobuchar are C+. The Center for Biological Diversity Action Fund has done a similar scoring for the environment (including climate) and separate one for climate specifically. On both, Bernie comes out on top, with the only A and the only 10/10 respectively. By contrast Klobuchar would be “would be an unmitigated disaster for the environment” (a political outcome that is probably related to Cargill’s long-standing support of her) and Buttigieg’s “climate plan fails to contain critical interim targets” and is “one of the more limited plans in terms of resources”.
If your children are going to be on a plane flying into a storm of historically epic proportions, do you want the A flight plan or the A+ flight plan? I choose A+. Giving a letter score for such massive plans is, of course, reductionist, but it’s also clear from a wide variety of sources that Bernie’s Green New Deal is the plan to beat.
Warren, as is often the case, presents a plan that is almost as radical as Bernie’s, but their worldviews are different. As she has stated it, “He’s a socialist,” she’ll say, “and I believe in markets.” I think that’s a gross oversimplification as to Bernie’s position (lots of socialists believe in markets, and with the exception of his Meidner plan, most of Bernie’s policies are more social democracy than democratic socialism), but also is an unnecessary reduction of the scope of possible solutions for the climate emergency. To say “I believe in markets” is like saying “I believe in chainsaws” – both are quite useful for certain purposes, not for others, and tend to injure people when used indiscriminately. In the case of climate change, which is arguably the largest market failure in human history, markets aren’t enough of a solution. Warren is more of a Teddy Roosevelt figure, one who (taken in a most ideal, sanitized sense) campaigns against corruption. Bernie is more of an FDR figure, one who is more willing to shift economic productivity around for a common good. Given the scale and nature of the climate crisis, the FDR approach strikes me as more appropriate. What is even more salient for the “Bernie is ok but I prefer Warren” voter, though, is Warren is very unlikely to win the nomination on the first round. As I write this after the Nevada primary, FiveThirtyEight now gives her a 1% chance of winning a plurality of pledged delegates. Bernie has a 68% chance. However, because of the DNC’s undemocratic convention system, if no candidate has a majority on the first round, the second round then becomes superdelegate roulette, which is what Bloomberg is betting on. So at this point the game mostly seems to be that a vote for Bernie is a vote for Bernie, and a vote for anyone else is a vote to let a random assortment of DNC party bosses to choose someone. I didn’t make these rules, but that’s the way the game looks to me going into Super Tuesday.
Since it’s a question so perennial it’s almost a meme, I’d like to answer: “how are you going to pay for a Green New Deal?”. The first answer to that is that it’s not getting any cheaper: right now is the least expensive time to deal with climate change. It is cheaper to shore up the foundation of your house rather than wait to rebuild it after it has collapsed.
The second answer, as CUNY professor and Roosevelt Fellow J.W. Mason argues, is that paying for the Green New Deal would be an economic benefit even setting aside the fact that it prevents the end of the world. This is because, with historically low labor force participation and wage growth, almost any “measure you can think of suggests that the economy is running well below potential even today, and that there is enough slack for a substantial program of public investment without the need to reduce production of anything else.” Imagine a society where some of the most common jobs are manufacturing solar panels, windvanes, electric cars, and lithium ion batteries rather than driving a truck or working retail at Walmart.
A third answer is that, historically, Bernie’s plan is in a direct line of planned projects around common goals, even where the benefits are hard to price: the TVA, the Hoover Dam, the Apollo Project, the National Interstate Highway System, Social Security, or the Second World War. We stopped doing projects on that scale for 50 years, for ideological reasons – a neoliberal-conservative consensus, that no agreement could be reached on what common projects to pursue, and so therefore we ought to abandon the idea of common projects entirely. But if we cannot even agree that avoid killing off our own species as a common project . . . well, perhaps we’re running out of time as a species. However, there’s a good chance that, in the course of saving ourselves from extinction, Americans will come to better understand our ability to cooperate on other projects of common benefit.
In this particular time and place, the climate crisis strikes me personally as the most important common project. However, it is not the only one. It is not enough to provide just my own children with housing, healthcare, and education. For me, true wealth is to be able to walk out your front door and explore and participate in a world where everyone has those things. In my hometown of Oakland, there is one homeless camp per square mile. In camps in California, medieval diseases are making a comeback. It’s great to know that my kids might go to college for free, but it’s better to know that they will live in a society where everyone is getting a college education. At this point in history it seems like it takes that much education in order to be able to understand how our society even functions. Social housing, single payer healthcare, and college for all are the clearest, simplest solutions to these problems.
In the United States, both moderates and conservatives deploy what economist (and World War II hero) Albert O. Hirschman called “The Rhetoric of Reaction”: perversity (reforms and progress will have the opposite effect), futility (a problem is intractable, and trying to solve it is a waste of resources), and jeopardy (some other pre-existing freedom will be given up). However, the experience of continental Europe on addressing housing affordability and social housing, healthcare and higher education indicates that making these things universal works. To the extent they involve large outlays of money it is because they have large benefits, and often are an excellent value. What’s really perverse, futile, and full of jeopardy is leaving each individual person to try to obtain these human rights (which is to say: things necessary to obtain a basic level of dignity) on their own. Medicare for All would lead to the biggest take-home pay raise in a generation for most workers. The student-loan forgiveness Bernie has floated is often floated as a $1.6 trillion expense (although there are reasons to think it might be less, since many of the loans would default anyway) is just about the same as the cost of the Afghan war where no one is quite sure what we accomplished.
There is one moral channel in my mind that wants all of these things for others out of empathy, an understanding that each person has an experience like mine that is worthy of a dignified existence in a livable environment, with healthcare, housing, and education. There the things that have made my life enjoyable and livable. Another cold and rational channel in my mind also wants them, but for more selfish reasons. Sick people get other people sick, the uneducated vote for Trump, unhoused people camp under freeway underpasses and in public parks. In a space between these two rationales lies the understanding that scarcity begets scarcity: people who do not have what they need to function are, well, not going to function. I do not feel any need to choose among these various channels of moral reasoning, since they lead to the same place. It would be like trying to decide whether I drive carefully to avoid damaging my car, or the avoid damaging other people’s cars.
Nevertheless, just beneath most public discourse in America is a flavor of social Darwinism that seems to think there has be a choice between taking care of others and taking care of oneself. It’s a hope that if you bulldoze the unhoused, ask the poor to fund their own education, and tie healthcare to work, and incarcerate more than any other county on Earth, out of all that pressure will evolve a nation of upright citizens who take care of themselves. This is a “gated community” approach to running a society, with barriers to separate the worthy from the unworthy. Sometimes it might be a literal wall, but often the walls are social or legal, like the historical redlining boundaries that have been replaced by school districts, or differential methods of policing by neighborhood, the socioeconomic wall of having zero wealth, or the social enclosure that occurs among those who graduate from elite universities and populate Wall Street and presidential administrations.
The apotheosis of this “us versus them” strategy is nuclear missile silos converted into apartment-bunkers for the ultra-wealthy, perhaps with guards wearing disciplinary collars to keep them in line, as an escape when society breaks down under pressure from the climate crisis. There are always weirdo survivalists who prepare for the end times, but I don’t remember hearing about so many of them being hedge fund managers before. There is also a flavor of the gated community mindset that exists in the professional-managerial mind, a wish for the “basket of deplorables” that occupy the red flyover states to disappear into a hole, which of course they will not.
The gated community approach is putting a cork in a dam that needs to be rebuilt. It’s like trying to flee to Versailles. We’re all stuck together on this planet that’s rapidly becoming uninhabitable from our own activities. Maybe things are ok for you personally at the moment (especially if you are a white member of the professional-managerial class in America), but it’s important to recognize the fundamental flaws of economic individualism. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, sometimes factories move to Mexico. Maybe you’ve insulated yourself for now from economic risk with a great mutual fund portfolio, but you can’t insulate everyone you know. More importantly, the many Americans who feel left outside the gates of American society (like the 57% who can’t afford a surprise $500 expense) will turn to the political as a solution: either a strongman like Trump to protect them, or a deep social safety net and workplace fairness like Sanders is offering.
Research has shown that threats, whether perceived or real, and including economic threats, tend to make people more authoritarian. Another way of framing it is that they lead to social “tightness”. So conversely, reducing threats should make some people (like Obama to Trump voters) less authoritarian. As a Democratic voter, some threats you can’t really address for a Trump voter because they aren’t true threats, or they involve human rights of others: these are issues like fear of immigrants or LGBTQ+ equality. No Democratic candidate is going to try to compete with Trump on those grounds, because it would be immoral to do so. But the threats of losing your job, not making enough to feed your family, debt from education, trouble finding affordable housing, and not having healthcare: those are real economic threats that can all be addressed, and Bernie is the candidate best suited to doing so.
A Sanders presidency represents, for me, a possibility that American society will come to realize itself as one that is capable of accomplishing common projects, and avoid stratification into classes that consider themselves to have different inherent qualities, fates, and survival strategies. We all made it off the savannahs (supplanting every other mammal except our pets and livestock in the process) by virtue of our human abilities to work together, use language, and create a joint plan to solve problems. No one hunts a wooly mammoth alone. The best way to ensure your children and grandchildren survive the climate crisis is to ensure everyone survives the climate crisis. The best way to ensure that your grandchildren will have healthcare and good schooling is to ensure that everyone does.
Most of what I’ve written so far has little to do with Sanders as a person, but rather about his worldview. I do wish that much of what he stands for was institutionalized into a political party, rather than in a person. However, he is nevertheless an extraordinary person and politician, and for me it largely comes down to his consistent humanism, an attentiveness to the everyday problems of ordinary people. I don’t know if this is actually what goes on in Bernie’s mind, but he seems like he is trying to make every decision from the Rawls’ original position, the view of a person who does not know what place in the society they will occupy. Most poeple can’t or won’t do that, because they in fact they do occupy a specific position. Bernie seems like he honestly wants to take power, not to have it himself, but because he wants to give it to the forgotten and less powerful. His campaign slogan, “Not me. Us.” is carefully worded to be anti-egotistical.
So much of organizing people is about agency problems: how do you delegate power to someone else, without having them abuse that power for personal gain? This forms a lot of the basis of how both governments and corporations are structured, and I think we need to do more work on how governmental power is allocated, through stuff like participatory budgeting. For now, though, one of the best things we can hope for are politicians who approach what they do with the attitude of a civil servant, an egoless understanding that they are acting for regular people. Bernie seems more like this than just about anyone else in American politics. As AOC said of Bernie: “He is a real one. And in politics, that is nearly impossible to find.”
“Great,” you say. “But you’re just being an unrealistic idealist. Americans will never go for it.” This is electability. Every Bernie argument seems to be, at least in part, about electability. It’s not enough to decide that Bernie is what one wants, but that it’s what others want also. If Bernie can’t win, then it’s not just that there’s no Medicare For All, but there’s four more years of Trump.
First, I can’t promise you certainty, Bernie can’t, and no one else standing on a debate stage can either, nor can their supporters. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something. Like any other reasonable person, I would rather not be Jonathan Chait. This is certainly one of the major lessons of 2016, in which polls and betting markets had Trump at 20% electability on the night before the election. Electability is also a feedback loop, which varies widely based upon perceived success: it’s voters who want to vote based upon what other voters think, but all the other voters are doing the same thing. Most people thought Biden was most electable until a few weeks ago; after a few primaries where he did well, now most people think Sanders is the most electable. There’s at least as much reason to think Sanders is electable as anyone else from all the polling information available, so if he aligns with your values (A+ flight plan into the turbulence of the climate crisis!) you might as well be like “I’m voting for this guy!”. Maybe some other voters who are looking to see what other voters think will follow your lead. Rather than being blown about by the winds of public opinion, you can be the wind. You cannot know who is most electable in advance, especially on this set of facts, although Bernie looks the best at this point. You can definitely know what values you want to see in office.
The second response is that Bernie at this point has the momentum, and it makes more sense to me to pile on to the person with momentum. If this were a football game, going into Super Tuesday it looks like Bernie has now broken loose with the ball, and rather than asking for a lateral pass to some other candidate you think might do better, it is better to starting blocking for him. This avoids a brokered convention where, in the words of V.O. Key, often “animosities [between factions] reach such intensity that deadlock ensues and whatever party unity is achieved by the convention is mere façade”. The most likely way to avoid that is voting for Bernie, who is the only clear front-runner. If you’re really into someone else other than Bernie (as per my first point above), great, stick with them! But if you just want to win against Trump, momentum is important, having a clear winner going into the convention would help that, and voting for Bernie is the most likely to make that happen. I think that gives more salient information than polls.
Also, If no one has 50% of the delegates going into the convention (the “first ballot”) then there will be a second ballot with unelected superdelegates. That’s undemocratic on principle, but it would also be bad for the Democratic party, especially on these facts where it seems like the party elites would be taking the nomination from Sanders to give it to one of the many moderates. As David Plouffe, Obama’s 2008 campaign manager, put it: “Whoever is the plurality leader…we’re really going to take the nomination away from them in Milwaukee? I’m not sure the party recovers from that for decades…The party bosses have decided the person who got the most delegates is now not going to be the nominee? Like, parties don’t recover from that for a long time.” If Bernie comes in with over 50% of the delegates, there’s no second ballot, no superdelegates, and no contested convention.
The third response is Bernie’s campaign has a larger base of support. Sanders has by far the most individual donors, polls by far ahead of everyone else, and, in the words of Jennifer Medina and Astead W. Herndon for the New York Times in the wake of the Nevada caucuses, “Only Mr. Sanders, with his uncompromising message that working-class Americans affected by injustice can unite across ethnic identity, has shown traction in both predominantly white Iowa and New Hampshire and the more black and brown Nevada.” Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor had this analysis back in December: “[u]nder normal circumstances, the multiracial working class is invisible . . . But these voters are crucial to understanding the resilience of the Sanders campaign, which has been fueled by small dollar donations from more than one million people, a feat none of his opponents has matched . . . Mr. Sanders is the top recipient for donations by teachers, farmers, servers, social workers, retail workers, construction workers, truckers, nurses and drivers as of September.”
Fourth, to the idea that “Sanders is too far left to be elected” is that it flattens out American politics and political history into a single left-right dimension. It’s a useful dimension, certainly, since it can help you think about how hierarchical you like your society. But to grade politicians on a linear scale from left to right creates a mythical “moderate middle” that doesn’t exist. To the extent it does exist in the way that politicians self-identify, those politicians don’t have a great record recently, and Bernie is not George McGovern. At a minimum, it makes sense to consider voters on a two-dimensional scale of cultural and economic values (and even that must oversimplify things). As the Democracy Fund’s Voter Study Group notes, “the Obama to Trump voter was overwhelmingly a populist — liberal on economic issues, conservative on race issues.” This is a lot of the working class, which the Democratic party walked away from starting in the late 1970s, not the other way around. It’s possible to admire Obama personally while also realizing that his presidency did not live up to the promises of 2008 in terms of the lives of ordinary people, and recognize him as a continuation of Bill Clinton’s neoliberal political tradition, which is to the right of Richard Nixon. Since Bill Clinton, the working class has kind of been floating around politically, looking for representation. For a while the Democratic ploy worked, because the Republican party was even worse for workers. Trump, at least at a level of rhetoric, changed that.
It would be immoral to concede to Trump on any kind of cultural politics, where he basically is a walking EEOC nightmare, discriminating on the basis of disability, national origin, religion, race, and sex. Any Democratic nominee will fight him on those grounds, but 2016 showed that is not enough. It is on the question of economic anxiety (which is not a special province of white people, since people of color often are “the other swing voter” that finds neither party inspiring), territory abandoned by the Democratic mainstream, where only Bernie can credibly confront Trump. Every other candidate exudes a veneer of managerial-professional superiority (or in Bloomberg’s case, billionaire bullshit) when they talk about economic anxiety. Bernie still sounds like the son of a paint salesman, and the voters you need to beat Trump are more like paint salesmen than lawyers or McKinsey consultants. Sanders also brings in people who haven’t participated in politics before, with twice as many first time caucus-goers in Nevada as the next-best candidate.
The final and perhaps most important reason Bernie seems “left” is that the country has drifted left since the Great Recession. It is just to say the Democratic Party’s leadership has taken a forty-year rightward detour while a lot of the country stayed put. Accordingly, Bernie seems a likely candidate for regime change, along the lines of FDR ending the Gilded Age to instantiate the New Deal, or Reagan ending the New Deal in favor of neoliberalism. That idea may worry former Clinton and Obama staffers that might not have a role in a Sanders administration, but it gives me hope for the future of the country, and the world my children will live in.
This is a 24 hour overnight bike trip, starting and ending in East San Francisco Bay, to Black Mountain Backpack Camp on the peninsula.
I took Capital Corridor to Santa Clara on day one (San Jose Diridon would actually be better). There’s not that many trains, so check the schedule (carefully! unlike me) beforehand.
Day one was very unremarkable, through the South Bay suburbs and then up a big road climb to the campsite on Montebello Road. Don’t trust Google if it says you can go through Rancho San Antonio, since that includes three miles of pedestrian-only trails.
Day two was a return over the Dumbarton Bridge to Fremont BART. This was a much more fun day, with some very exciting mountain biking, long descent down Alpine Road, passing through Stanford University and through the wildlife preserves on either side of the Dumbarton Bridge. Fremont has done a very nice job signing the almost the entire way from the bottom of the Dumbarton Bridge to Fremont part.
This is mostly a road trip, but day two has some moderately serious mountain biking. I did it on a touring bike with 35mm tires and moderate mountain biking skills. If you’re not prepared to go over trails that have some ruts roots and rocks on them, then you may want to find another way down it does not go on the Alpine trail.
Although I didn’t plan it this way, what I did – Amtrak->Montebello (uphill)->Black Mountain->Alpine (downhill)->Dumbarton/BART – probably makes the most sense rather than the reverse. More road uphill, more dirt downhill.
When you’re leaving the campsite, keep your warm clothes handy, because you will need them for the descent on Alpine Road.
This was a weekend when my wife, our two kids, and her parents went away for a few days. That gave me a break from family life, and an opportunity to be able to go bikepacking by myself. I live in Oakland, California, and had been to a lot of the best-known campgrounds near me on other bike overnights. A friend recently mentioned that the Black Mountain Backpack Camp in the mid-Peninsula regional open space was a very nice spot – it only had four campsites, with four campers per site, so it would never be particularly crowded. Like most camping sites in the Bay Area, it tends to book up; but I used the fact that I don’t work on Fridays to book a Friday night.Continue reading Bike overnight: East Bay to Black Mountain Backpack Camp
This is a review of The Rorty Reader.
I came across Rorty when I was doing research on the subject of human rights. After reading four other books on the subject (Nussbaum, Sunstein, Bietz, Morsink) I came across a reference to Rorty’s “Human Rights, Rationality, and Sentimentality” Amnesty Lecture and read it. Overall the experience was like playing four games of chess (other authors) and then being hit by a snowball in the face (Rorty).
One of my first reactions was “why was I not previously informed of this man’s existence?” Part of the reason is that I was a science major; but nevertheless it seems like I should at least have heard of him in passing and been vaguely familiar with his ideas. Another initial reaction was “how did this man end up this way?” Not as a value judgement, but just as matter of pure curiosity: he was both alien and made perfect sense at the same time.
Really my first recommendation, if you’re considering reading this book, is to go spend twenty minutes reading the Amnesty Lecture. It’s in this book, but it’s also easily available on the internet. My personal reaction was to check out this book from the library to get a more whole picture of who Rorty is and what his influences were. Voparil’s introduction is readable and helpful to put the works in succession and biographical sequence. Because there is so much to read in the world I partially read the first half of this book, but read more or less solidly through the last half, and ended up buying his book Achieving Our Country, which I hope to read soon.
In the end, for me, the primary interest in Rorty is the combination of his study of language as a tool, his skill as a writer, and his interest in making the world a less cruel place. For those reasons, I find his late writings more compelling, when he started to cut loose from purely academic-philosophical tasks in favor of those that are more generally humanistic and political. If you are not a professional philosopher, or at the very least were not a philosophy major or otherwise have not read a lot of Wittgenstein, Quine, et al, you may still find that you need to keep Wikipedia handy to fill in meaning into the various references he makes, even in the more “political” writings. Because Rorty is such a commanding, voice-filled writer (as compared to, say, Rawls, who writes with all the verve and style of board game rules), the overall effect is to pique interest in what the writers that Rorty refers to signify. Rorty’s name- dropping creates a desire to make that whole web of Rorty’s understanding your own, rather than to confuse or disorient. Rorty’s skill in writing and interest in storytelling should be a model for any person inclined towards making philosophy relevant outside of a siloed academic context.
Like most people apparently — or so says the introduction — I find that I don’t agree with everything Rorty writes. In particular, as a person who studied biology, and for whom the context of humans-as-animals helps in making sense of the world, I find Rorty’s desire to cut loose all human behavior from “natural” causes . . . well, disorienting, and seemingly wrong. (If Rorty weren’t gone I would have loved to read a review by him of, say, Sapolsky’s Behave). But then there is the other half of what he writes where I am learning something, a way of thinking, that is new and that I haven’t considered before. And for the half where I disagree, Rorty often has reasons, framings, not so much as to why a naturalistic way of thinking is wrong, but as to why it is not useful . . . and often I have to concede that is is at least partly right.
Anyway, go read the Amnesty Lecture already if you haven’t. Then go read some book — this one or another — by Rorty. He should be more widely read.
A couple of experiences related to human rights recently got me thinking about what the basis is for their existence, and how to think about them as individuals, as political constructs, and his philosophical constructs. I hope to put together an essay that actually makes sense on that topic, but in the meantime here’s my thoughts on four of the books I’ve read as background reading.
Martha Nussbaum: Creating Capabilities (2011)
Of the four books listed here, I think this is the most useful for me personally. Two key concepts I got from this book are:
(1) They can be both a political construct and a philosophical construct.
(2) As a political construct, human rights can be an “overlapping consensus”, as a conclusion that can be arrived at from different philosophical constructs: as an Aristotelian observing humans as animals, a Mill-style utilitarian, from various religious traditions, as a Marxist, et cetera.
Ironically, these are not the two concepts of the book is really about. They’re just two concepts that Nussbaum goes over as she is making her way to her primary thesis, which is to describe her “species” of human rights, which is the Capabilities Approach. The capabilities approach I think is a helpful incremental addition to human rights theory, in that it adapts it slightly to make it more inclusive, especially in dealing with people with disabilities and nonhuman animals.
Nussbaum also gives excellent ripostes to arguments that human rights are a sort of cultural imperialism, partly from the way the Universal declaration as drafted, but also that the overlapping consensus extends to other cultures whose values mirror many of those are found in human rights. More importantly, she points out to the reality that the international adoption of human rights instruments is been stronger and a lot of non-Western countries than it has in Western countries (especially the United States as to social economic rights), with India and South Africa as the two most notable examples, using human rights in part as anticolonial political constructs.
Richard Rorty’s Human Rights, Rationality and Sentimentality (pdf) is also very much worth reading. I don’t really agree with his lack of grounding of human rights in some empirical reality – I think human rights does line up with actual common human needs in most cases – but he makes excellent points about how the purpose of human rights should be more pragmatic and about changing the world, rather than about establishing a perfectly coherent account. In this way I find he lines up a little bit with Martha Nussbaum, in that he prioritizes the political use of human rights over philosophical construction. For another way of saying it would be, that neither one of them is particularly bothered that they can’t give a unified logical explanation for why human rights are what they are, because they actually make people’s lives better. I do think, however, that Nussbaum gives the more coherent account with the use of “overlapping consensus” because for different people there are very real groundings in human rights that cause them to be persuaded that they are worthwhile. Continue reading Human Rights Reading: Nussbaum, Sunstein, Morsink, Beitz
At first it was the smell of burning leaves, a very nostalgic smell for me, evocative of Indiana in October, back when I was a kid and you could still burn leaf piles. I had never experienced that smell in California before, in eighteen years of living here. I chalked it up to the weirdness of city living: with so many people, who knows what odd things someone might be doing somewhere.
Half an hour later, the sounds of helicopters made it clear that it wasn’t a renegade neighbor burning a backyard leaf pile. A text from my wife around the same time filled in the remaining details: there was a grass fire about a mile from our house, next to a highway. She seen it while driving to an exercise class and called it in. Soon I was watching online video with the local news channel: ten fire vehicles lined up along the side of the road next to a charred football-field sized patch. The 1991 Oakland fire was a smallish grass fire that was put out and then sprang back to life, a fact that is now deeply ingrained into fire management here. Oakland fire personnel were walking through the surrounding area with hoses, saturating it. Most likely some of them would be there for hours, watching vigilantly for any rekindling.
As the day progressed, the fall-in-Indiana smell turned into a New-Delhi-smog smell. That smell evokes fond memories of India; but also memories of upper respiratory infections on two separate occasions when I passed through Delhi. That acrid smoke was from strong winds had started not just that little Oakland fire, but from the now-infamous Camp Fire. A huge smoke plumes trails off of it, like a long gray scarf of doom blowing across the state and out into the ocean.
[Note: this is a long (but entertaining) story. If you’re just here for the pictures, here’s the gallery , or scroll to the bottom]
Preface: April 2017. This trip happened in July and August of 2017, but its story began in April. My wife and I had a one-year old, and had recently decided to have a second child. I could foresee the fun of being a family of four, but I was definitely not looking forward to the first year of having two very young children: lots of diapers to change, and not a lot of leaving the house for adventures.
Around that time Suzanne and I were sitting in our living room after our daughter had gone to bed, each doing our own thing. I was reading something about cycling, and I said aloud “I miss bike touring.”
Suzanne and I had gone on a bike touring honeymoon five years earlier, and we had plans to go touring with our children. A newborn, however, is not amenable to that, since most medical advice is to wait until one year old before subjecting a child to the bumps and vibrations of cycling. So when I said “I miss bike touring” it was with a degree of wistfulness, knowing that would probably be a few more years before I could do so again.
Today I learned how bees carry pollen after I took pictures of some in our front yard: it’s that yellow glob on this guy’s rear flank. I also learned (Wikipedia: Honey Bee Defense) that honey bees kill intruding wasps by “balling” them, surrounding them to overheat the wasps and deprive them of oxygen. Stingers are mostly reserved for vertebrates.