Monthly Archive for August, 2008

Georgia On My Mind

I’ve only just got out of Georgia. I’m glad I went — the National Guard is too depleted to do much down there, and the guns I was running might make a difference for the militias — but I’m really thankful to be back. For a while I wasn’t sure I’d make it.

More…

Without Limits

Just as TKB and The Reactionary Epicurean are disputing the level of barbarism entailed in the Olympics, I come upon this gem from Simon Barnes at The Times. When it comes to the subject of doping, TKB takes The Economist as her crib to applaud gene doping, while the Transhumanist Epicurean agrees that gene doping consists of using our “God-given Reason (a part of our Nature) to tweak our God-given Bodies (another part of our Nature)”. Where Barnes goes further than them, however, is in his presentation of the arguments for allowing even those performance enhancers that will cause long term damage to the athlete’s health and life expectancy: “Normally, someone who knowingly does something dangerous in order to achieve great things is regarded as a bit of a hero…so isn’t someone who knowingly takes a dangerous drug to win a gold medal for his country also a hero?” I would agree with his logic if it weren’t for the nagging feeling that the real beauty of the Olympics is that, whatever we pretend, it is not a celebration of the collectivist spirit. It’s about the triumph of the individual will, whatever coloured labels those individuals stick on their backs in return for a bit of cash and support. Indeed, it’s the athletes whose lives do become enslaved to the good of the nation whose stories most sully the reputation of the Games.

Nonetheless, one can be sympathetic to Barnes’ point on individualistic grounds. The achievement of excellence at extreme personal cost is truly heroic according to our traditional conceptions, even when it entails no shared benefits beyond the agent. That’s why Achilles is the foundational hero of the West, and even Macbeth compels our sympathy. Pushing your body to the limit has always been par for the course for athletes - hence the high injury rate - and no one has ever denied that overly building up one aspect of your physique will actually damage your life expectancy. Just look what happens when supermen retire and run to seed. More seriously, we allow people to make their own choice between health and buzz when we let them buy cigarettes and alcohol (yes, you can sell yourself into slavery). But where Simon Barnes is at his most compelling is in his very first paragraph. ‘The worst decision sport ever made was to start testing for drugs. Once they began to catch the cheats, all hell broke out and we began to lose the faith…Now the world is full of people declaring that they don’t care who wins what at the Olympic Games, because “they’re all on something”.’ Constant obsession about drugs takes the magic out of sport. The Tour de France, after all, was created precisely as a superhuman contest that no one was ever expected to endure without boosting their performance artificially - in the good old days, long before doping tests, the athletes were all known to be on cocaine, but people still wondered at and lauded them, because their achievements were so unnatural as to be miraculous. Once we accept that we can’t stop people doping, the less active 99.99% of us might just be content to sit back in our armchairs and watch the sheer spectacle of athletes transgressing the frail limitations of this too too solid flesh.

Which leads me back to the real point at issue between TKB and the Epicurean. For TKB, the Olympics represents “a collective unwillingness to abandon the mud from which we rose”. But her opponent counters that “they represent striving and excellence, not wallowing in our filth. Tacky, contrived, commercialized striving to be sure; but striving nonetheless.” This is precisely why the Olympics is a mark of a civilised world. I say this grudgingly - as a hopelessly nerdy, library-inhabiting child, I watched the sporty girls with a mixture of disdain and envy, asking myself why anyone could take pride in success on the netball field when reading Milton was evidently of far more practical value, because it was a real tool for understanding the world and living the examined life. Yet it’s precisely in celebrating skills without immediate practical value that we demonstrate that we have developed beyond “pagan exhibitions of all that fascinates the reptilian brain within us”. The practical benefits that sports training can bring - teamwork, leadership, confidence and so forth - can only be discovered and harnessed after we’ve historically developed such training for its own sake, as any civilised society should the arts. This isn’t entirely modernistic either, for modernism has always enshrined a cult of utility. To the modernist, human experience only makes sense if there is a practical, evolutionary explanation for it. We no longer live in the pagan world in which one’s skill at the javelin directly correlates to the amount of food on one’s plate, although the biological determinists would surely have us return there. So at the Olympic level, such skills serve a purely aesthetic celebration. And if that aesthetic is one of transgressing humanity, then the Olympics must be an essentially transhumanist celebration.

Orwell uncovered, day by day

Welcome to the blogosphere, George Orwell! Just a quick note to remind of all you out there to keep an eye on http://orwelldiaries.wordpress.com to read all that remains of George Orwell’s personal and political diaries, day by day. In the words of the site’s founders: 

‘The Orwell Prize, Britain’s pre-eminent prize for political writing, is publishing George Orwell’s diaries as a blog. From 9th August 2008, Orwell’s domestic and political diaries (from 9th August 1938 until October 1942) will be posted in real-time, exactly 70 years after the entries were written.’

The entries start from today, thanks to Orwell’s executors, A.M.Heath. Here’s a question: if Orwell were alive and actively blogging today, who would be on his blogroll?

Chairman Dave’s Little Black Book

Anyone who cares about social decay should be heartened to see Michael Gove, the British Conservative Shadow Secretary for Children, Schools and Families speak out against the endemic pornographication of the female body in “Lads Mags” and “men’s magazines”. David Cameron, the Conservative leader, has dropped in a fair few references to our culture of sexualisation in his time as well. Being a Tory, he hasn’t even made the mistake of advocating censorship, but rather throws around concepts of “commercial responsibility” and “social awareness”.

It’s a shame, then, that “commercial responsibility” hasn’t started a little closer to home. Samantha Cameron, David’s elegant wife, is Creative Director of Smythson of Bond Street, London’s most exclusive stationary shop. It’s not a haunt I usually inhabit, but my sister has expensive tastes, so I recently trotted along, as firmly instructed by a birthday wishlist, to rub shoulders with the Duchesses and design divas gasping over bijou party invitations and business cards. Imagine my shock, in such illustrious surroundings, on seeing a display stack of a very special kind of gentleman’s notebook. For a mere £40.00, you can treat the man of your choice to a little black telephone book divided into three sections: Redheads (A-Z), Brunettes (A-Z), Blondes (A-Z). The shop assistant tells me that it’s one of Smythson’s most popular sellers. Now, I’m all for allowing politician’s spouses to retain an apolitical role, with an independent life. Samantha Cameron has never tried to make herself a public figure. But I’m sure David would agree with me that it’s a sad world in which a man’s record in casual sexual encounters remains a mark of such admirable prowess that it’s worth keeping a record in a beautifully bound Smythson quality leather product.

But how much would it cost to cover the Irish in gold leaf?

My apologies for the continued lightness of posting — I’ve been wrapping up a couple of projects this week, and tomorrow will be spent on the road. Should get back up to speed over the weekend; watch this space for thoughts about Sesame Street gender theory and/or Midwestern diners and/or “Mad Men” and/or surveillance-based law enforcement and/or my take on pomObama (which I don’t think is a trope we’ve heard the last of yet).

In the meantime, you should go check out War or Car?, one of the best efforts to make statistics real I’ve seen in a very long time. And by “make statistics real” I mean “DINOSAURS.” Pay it a call.