Morley has finally made her movie. 8 years after Joyce Vincent’s death and 5 after her discovery by a media public that was just about starting to get the concept of internet content and shared news. At the time they hadn’t gotten blogs or Livejournals yet. The citizen journalists hadn’t really been born by then yet, the internet had not favoured revolutions or changed our way of interacting on such fundamental levels yet.

One reasoning always comes up when you start reading about this woman and her isolation: this would not happen today. Today we have G+, we have Twitter, we have Facebook. Someone would notice. Today, absence would be impossible to miss.

I fundamentally believe that this is a guilty lie that we are telling ourselves to mask our own uncomfortable thoughts. Because there isn’t one person in our Facebook lists that we could immediately think of and say “Hey, it’s been a while since I heard from him.”

Isn’t the truth of the matter somewhere completely else?

What if it wasn’t in the loss of our sense of community today, where we can only dream of neighbours taking care of each others or where community is more often the theatre of conflicting interests rather than exchange and support. If we dare to move beyond the fear of blaming the victim Joyce Vincent here, the truth might be somewhere in between. Maybe she wished to isolate herself the way she did and people/our modern society just made it that much easier.

Moving beyond the nagging feeling that someone should have done something – which goes from blaming the immediate neighbours, to the social services, to the electricity company that didn’t check her bills etc. – you quickly realise that the best system, the best social service, the best support net of friends or family cannot save you if you won’t let them. But again, this is only part of the equation of truth here. The other part is much more painful. Intervening in other’s people’s lives takes strength. It takes time. It is inconvenient and disruptive to your own life and worries. It’s messy, and it’s unbearable at times and you will be rebuked and pushed back more times than taken for a good samaritan.

Why that is?

Because truly, today weakness is not interesting. Showing weakness, showing emotion is a liberty that isn’t rewarded particularly well. Even less in the working place, but the same goes for friendships. Rare are the ones that can really support a crying friend and so, we don’t dare to give oursleves this opening. This weak spot. This blemish on our armour. Because we are much more afraid of what our friends might think of us than we are of dying alone.

Facebook et al. didn’t help with that. Facebook makes that even worse.

It has never been easier to project something completely different from what you are feeling to the outside world than over the internet. Facebook has given us more possibilities to appear happy, fulfilled and well rather than made it easier to span together.
Sure, true friends are more easily reached and average friends can be kept close without having to put in the time to really connect. It’s made it possible to be with people without actually being with them and caring for them. Modern social & friendship media has taken out the ‘messy’ of life. How easy is it today to ignore a digital message by someone? Much easier than a personal visit and a proper face that will tell you that they’re worried about you.

No. Joyce Carol Vincent would have died the same way today. Because in the end, she had isolated herself from the people she knew. That the people around her that didn’t know her, had not realised her passing, is a different story. I doubt that it really is a story of neglect or disinterest. Much rather of hard times, maybe even respect for someone else’s privacy. And someone who for whatever reason was at a point in her life where new decisions had to be made. She needed a clean slate to make them.

Joyce Carol Vincent never got to make those choices. That’s why Morley’s title for the documentary is so fitting: Dreams of a life.

Often we have dreams that we cannot realise, dreams that remain on our mental top shelf and develop a life apart and sometimes life ends without them ever seeing the light of day.

It doesn’t make them anything less, or anything more.

I profoundly believe that Joyce Carol Vincent is not defined by her death, her own neglect or the fact that nobody missed her for three years. I believe that the traces she left in other people’s lives transcend her dying alone in whatever circumstance. People – through Morley’s insistence and meddling in Vincent’s life – remember her for who she was, care for her memories, and isn’t that what really matters after all?

Whatever really waits for us after death, we cannot take anything with us and we cannot change the unchangeable. But we can strive to leave parts of us with other people. Leave our essence with them and hope that it’s enough to become a change in their lives in turn.

I ran across this picture a while ago and made it into my Kindle screensaver. (Sounds odd? Don’t know how to do that? Well, you’re in luck, here’s a guide and here a repository of rather neat screensavers for the kindle.)
It’s been with me for a while now. Almost a year to be honest. And considering the hours I’ve spent carrying Amélie in a sling or wrap and reading on my Kindle, the message has left an impression.

I do think that this is just as valuable to dad’s as a manifesto as it is to mothers, because trust me, they worry just as much as women do, but it has a profound message and I thought I’d share.

Have you ‘stopped, taken stock and breathed’ today?

Just ‘savour each moment, laugh, tickle, kiss and cuddle’. It’s love. And we can all do with love. It’s almost Christmas after all.

Now, I have been guilty of ranting against Steven Pinker in the past (“A Crisis of Consciousness”-Series). One could even say that I have made this blog the spectacle of Steven Pinker’s descent into unfathomable depths of my contempt when in 2007 his article series in the TIMES ended up being less about consciousness, and more about politics of consciousness, less about finding new sources for human ethos, but more about abolishing Christianity.

Pinker is back in the general eye of the reader with a new book: The Better Angels of Our Nature. While I don’t wish to enter any kind of debate on the book itself – even though I am always wary of argumentation that starts out stating that we’re nearing our Golden Age – I would urge anyone to read the synthesized version and application of considerations taken from the book and applied to the here and now: the author’s article in The Guardian “If it bleeds, it misleads: on violence and misery the Cassandras are wrong” (1st of November 2011).

There are quite a few things wrong with this article. Not so much on what Pinker’s saying, but how he is saying it and a much more fundamental argumentative way. It seems that the brilliant writer that he used to be, the unsung hero of so many well constructed reasonings has swapped his gift for some rather badly thought up interpretations and has lost his way with words.

My main problem with his article is the complete lack of distinction between the feeling of insecurity of a group versus the factual decrease in the number of deaths in wars. The fact that fewer people die in wars is balanced against the general feeling of insecurity of ‘the people’ (which I personally read as ‘the civilised western societies from the northern hemisphere’).  If our everyday society of the western world feels more insecure today than they did 10 years ago, then there really isn’t any proper way to dispute that. Feelings are subjective and they can’t be altered with reason or facts. People feel less secure today than 10, 20 or 30 years ago. Through that alone this situation becomes a fact. The statistical number of less deaths in wars, less wars, less conflicts etc. cannot alter that for the simple reason that both facts have not much to do with one another. It’s like watching someone fit a square into a round hole. Painful.

I would even argue that the wars far off, raise the feeling of cohesion of a societial group rather than threaten it. To come to a proper balance or argument, you would have to set the general criminal rates in a country, a suburn, a city, a region etc. against the general feeling of insecurity of that area and see if it matches.

Enter: the big bad, dulling and manipulative mainstream media. For Pinker, they are at the source of the non-sequitur that the changes in our societies (approaching the null-line of ‘free’ and ‘secure’) should make us all feel better about our societies and much more secure, are none other than the mass media. While I am not unreceptive to the idea of a general media manipulation, this argument does nothing to help balance what Pinker’s already unbalanced. The important thing here is not the wars or open conflicts, but how immediate they are to us. The individual. The building unit of a group.
Through the media these conflicts become more and more immediate. The social network habitus is doing its part in this, as we were all able to witness with the Arab Spring.Going back and applying this reflection onto the past, anybody realises that a lot of conflicts, even battles from the big wars weren’t reported back home immediately, but rather weeks after having taken place. This is also part of the reason why WWI has been such a traumatic event. Battles were stalemates and would drag on. It was the first time where people could get the feeling of being at home, while on the Western front children were killing themselves in the muds of the Somme. Or, who from the greater public in 1870 knew anything about knew anything about the battle of Sedan and Napoleon III subsequent capture until days after it had happened? Today we are taken as witnesses of Muhammar al-Gadaffi’s last moments in the public limelight before the mob exhibits his dead body for everyone (and I mean everyone) to see.
As always, judging from what can be remembered, because it was written down, then moving on to use that as a basis to reconstruc what  actually has happened, is a method that will never give a proper picture of the past.

But, Steven Pinker has learnt from past mistakes. There is no mention of terrorism as a reality. And that is the main flaw of this article. Wouldn’t that be absolutely fundamental to any kind of argumentation involving aspects of feeling insecure in our modern society? It would be. This feeling of insecurity that ‘the people’ are feeling is in fact a direct result of the terrorism of the last 10 to 20 years and any textbook on the matter would tell you so. Again, Pinker is incapable of moving past his Amero-centric view on the world and the slightest possibility of seeing the part-victory global terrorism has already gained on us and particularly our civil liberties. Even if it was the only way to limit its validity. Even if it was the only way for our modern society to find a way our of the insecurity. (Btw, when will a sociologue declare that what the rating agencies are doing is nothing more than economical terrorism?)

The fundamental misuse of the Cassandra myth in the title is a sad symbol of Pinker’s errors in setting up his reasoning.

Cassandra was right in what she saw. She could forsee the future. That was Apollo’s blessing. Her curse for refusing him was that nobody would ever believe her.

Oh, the irony.

This is an old issue of mine: why are people afraid to have an opinion about something they obviously care about?
The answer is probably simpler than we are led to believe and it has nothing to do with being too absorbed, having to much information on a subject – due to the mass of information in the mass media century – or the fact that they can’t be bothered.

In a time where people with conviction blow up market places and bomb refugee camps and after a century where convictions killed millions of people, it is clear that the image of a person with convictions and a strong belief system – and I don’t mean faith here – has been tainted. Today it equals with ‘being zelous’, ‘being intolerant’ or simply with ‘being suspicious’. But that’s not the only reason.

People have become afraid of expressing their opinions and beliefs because the aggressions or disadvantages that they fear being subjected to could test their system. This, of course, ultimately lead to an underlying agreement that certain discussions or debates are off limits. And since debate – in this mindset – is necessarily conceived as a negative thing, every way a person will try to discuss will be interpreted as a casus belli if the enunciation doesn’t present the four-step attenuation markers, such as subjective tense (also known as I-sentences… “I feel…”, “I think…”), conditional tense, question form and a “…don’t you think?” at the end.

Having an opinion, having conviction and explaining what led to these convictions should be something that can withstand questioning. Even more clearer: it should be something we ourselves question everyday and expose it to further outside questioning, because an opinion that remains unquestioned and un-argued will always just remain an opinion, as opposed to a vision or something that could potentially change the world.

There is a series of sayings that push us to suspect opinions and favour a more active approach to life (and a lot of them are rooted in Judeo-Christian culture): “Make it happen”, “Just do it”, “Actions count more than words”, “Do or don’t, there is no trying…” etc.
Actions however need basis. Physical basis for once. You cannot act on air, and when it comes to change for instance you need an object to change. But what if we took conviction and opinion to be the actual basis of action? What if arguing your opinion and conviction is in itself the first act? Then ‘having an opinion’ and confessing to it publicly could become that much more than just ‘having a philosophy’.

Keep it simple.

It’s an art.

I’ve been struggling with this. A lot. For a long time. While I may seem to be very ‘straight to the point’ and quite guided, my mind is a constant firecracker, spawning little sparks of intuitions and thoughts and it has taken a lot of learning to work with it (instead of against it and trying to constantly change it. I am sure that I would have been a perfect candidate for a Ritalin dose in today’s school system).To learn to focus on one spark only, maybe two. To really focus on one argument, one question in a discussion and keep in tune, instead of blasting off.

But of course focusing does only so much, when you can’t stop or turn down the sequence in your head or your inner dialogue. So, most of the time I am discussing things with my husband while in the background two other train of thoughts are battling it out and I am planning the meals for the week ahead.

That is also the hidden reason why J has no patience with me showing him things on the computer. I simply move too fast and am doing three things at the same time. It makes me a lousy explanator, but a great supporter when something about his MBP is not working as he wishes.

For me, keeping it simple, cutting myself off and really listen to what is being said in my own head is a challenge.

It’s an art.

No. The fact that there are certain techniques involved doesn’t mean that it excludes the artistic value. My techniques are artistic in their very core. Technic and techniques comes from the greek word techné litteraly meaning ‘art’.

Reaching peace of mind. True silence that will allow you or me to create what we can, is work.

And yet, everyone is an artist at it.

There probably isn’t anybody in this world who doesn’t dream about changing something in their lives. It can be as small as finally finding a better way to deal with clutter and go as big as becoming a better human being.

Dream about it… talk about it… think about it and paint the future ‘changed’ state in a way that is appealing.

A lot of steps can make up what eventually can become a scary thing: change. If we could see into the future and only have a clear view of what this change can bring into our life… if we just could have some kind of positive reassurance that we are doing the right thing… yes, that would make it all so much easier. But the truly scary part about change isn’t so much the uncertainty, it’s the going out and making it happen part that is so hard. So hard in fact that in numerous situations, we prefer to play it safe. Putting ourselves out there in the world, is a hard gamble. Exposing who we are, what we wish for, running the constant danger of being rejected, of finding doubt where we need assurance and relief, it certainly isn’t something that will bring power or strength. Or so it would seem.

But if we try to look at it from another direction, then maybe change can be the one thing that saves us from becoming what we never wanted. (…) Look at a child that learns to walk. There isn’t anything particular running through their mind when they take the smallest, but surely one of the most important steps of their lives: the first one.
A first step always holds a promise. For the toddler it holds a whole life full of danger, full of injury, full of pain, but also full of discovery, fully of phantasy, full of exhilarating sensations, full of … new.

So many occasions come and go, but each and every one of them are a possibility to take a step. A new step, the next step, a faltering one, an assured one. And of course it is a dangerous thing. While toddlers run into a lot of physical dangers while starting their path in this world, as grown ups the pain becomes more hidden, more subtle and so much more devastating. Because we’re supposed to just ‘deal with it’, just ‘get on with it’. Because in a society that only considers a person in terms of performance and buying power, there is no space for ‘not dealing’ and ‘not getting on with it’. Through these eyes, only losers can’t deal with rejection, only underachievers dwell on the bad and the fear.

Reality obviously has a different face. It talks of the hard moments when you don’t know the direction for that first path. When you have the impression of being in a wrong path, but don’t know how to turn back. It talks of uncertainty and of failure. Of never feeling good enough, of never being enough.

Popular belief suggests that knowing what you want is the first step. But that also suggests that you know where to go.

Maybe knowing what you don’t want (such as persisting in a fearful state of mind or an undecided one for instance) is the better way to go. And sometimes it will take a lot of uncertain steps, steps that might seem wrong or out of place or useless to achieve that long sought after change that we wish for and dream about. Change in most cases doesn’t come with a label and it certainly doesn’t come in one giant heap. It takes a first step. And that first step, try to take it without thinking. Just as the child takes that first step into a new and larger world full of wonders and who know what could happen once the first one is done?

There are no missed chances in life, only a perspective guided by regret sees something lost in an unrealised act that is pure potentiality.

At one moment or another in our lives we come to that point where we get that nagging feeling of having missed a chance. It can be anything from meeting someone who could have helped us to missing out on a wonderful bargain to the big chances of a new job perspective or a life changing experience. In deliberation we always work with that unity of ‘a chance to…’ and when we weigh the pros and cons of a decision, there’s always that player called ‘a missed chance’ that we measure up and calculate our future luck with. It instils dread, fear even, that idea that we could miss our on something. Something different, something new, something that is potentially so many things.

There is no such thing as a missed chance.

I am aware that this is a rather bold statement, some might even find it plain wrong, others might be revolted by it, because they are so used to that idea.

The truth of the matter however is that the truly missed chances are extremely rare. Much rarer than we’d think.

What is a chance? And when is it really gone? When have we truly missed it?

There are so many good words on how you have to make your own chances, how you need to seize the moments that across the history of human through have drizzled down on us until they form a certain pressure that puts us on edge, turned towards the future constantly waiting for that chance, or turned towards the past constantly analysing our decisions and separating them into ‘missed chances’ and ‘used chances’.
Life isn’t that straight forward and if a chance came with a clear label, which fool would walk by it and miss it on purpose?

If we analyse the concept of a ‘chance’, then one element becomes apparent rather quickly: a chance is never empty. It’s a chance to act, to do something. Thus it is always like to a certain theory of action. A second element is that a ‘a chance’ almost always leads to a decision. Obviously by it being linked to action, the decision mostly is about doing one thing or another and that leads to the third element which is change. There rarely is a ‘chance’ that does not involve some degree of change.

But the concept of chance is just a short way of stating a situation. It’s an abbreviation. For what ?

If we look a bit closer a the first element stated above, then we quickly realise that action requires assessment: action cannot be done without aim, goal or orientation. That’s what differentiates action from actionism, doing for doing’s sake. What is left out in the way we use ‘a chance’ in our deliberations today is the second part of the equation of reality: doing one thing means not doing something else.
Put this way, the ‘missed chance’ gets back its true value of a moment of decision and with that value, it isn’t any different from any other decision. The added value of change most often veils that fact. Even if in hindsight we are aware that we decided on one thing rather than on another, at the moment of decision, the fear of missing something, missing a chance, has the dangerous quality of making us miss that fundamental second part. In hindsight we barely see the chance anymore, focused on the decision. But that is only one kind of ‘missed chances’.
Another kind is the one we only see in hindsight. And aren’t these the most bitter ones? The moments when we go back and analyse and think that we make a wrong choice, thus missing that elusive thing that was a chance.
Both visions are askew and limiting. An old motto states that we are our decisions. Put in front of the backdrop of the above analysis, this suddenly becomes a true statement. Every single decision, may we qualify it through our vision on time as good or bad, shapes the here and now, the person that we are now and thus also said vision on our past. The smallest change would change the person that we are today and it also would change our vision on the past and so forth. This basic reality takes on a prominent role in the rather popular rules of time travel and its paradoxes. (Cf. the concept of the butterfly effect in chaos theory and its use in pop culture such as The Butterfly Effect [movie] or in time traveller Hiro’s story arc in Season 6 of  the TV series Heroes )
But in everyday life, where we don’t go back in time to change our lives or the lives of others, to shape ourselves to our own wishes, all we’re left with is the future and while our mind is so tempted to turn back and divide our decisions into good ones and bad ones, into missed chances, misfortunes, missed encounters and mistakes.

I’ve stated that there is no such thing as a missed chance. Usually self-examination, understanding our actions, serves the purpose of learning which then ultimately should lead to avoiding mistakes or repeating bad behaviour. In the case of a ‘missed chance’ such introspection falls flat, because there is not an iota that is changeable about it, or it wouldn’t be a ‘missed chance’.

Everything that is based on the concept of ’seizing or using that chance’ and its twin of ‘missing a chance’ is next to useless as a lesson. The same chance can never present itself and we can’t go back. All that a self-analysis of that nature accomplishes is that it makes living with our decisions that much harder. This is particularly the case since we only ever consider our failures that way. Nobody ever sees a positively missed chance at misfortune for instance. This is reinforced by the nature of pure potentiality of the so called ‘missed chance’. In truth, we have no idea how the other decision could have turned out. It could have just as probably led to disappointment as ‘missing the chance’ could have led us to happiness. It’s our visions from the present that accounts for that. Be are further along the way when we do an introspection and analyse our past, have understood more, have experienced more and that lets us have a clearer view so to speak. Using that clearer view and more knowledge to devalue our own decisions however can only ever lead to a bitter consideration of ourselves and our past.

I would advocate for trust rather than a chance. Trust in ourselves. That we make our decisions to the best of our knowledge at the time and that they are the deep expression of our reality. That we do what we can to lead a sound life. Turning ourselves constantly towards the past, reminiscing about what would have been the better choice, not only blocks the present, but ultimately scares us to stand up to the future.

If Human Sciences, are not proper sciences, then where will we stop to devalue human thought and its history? Can you even argue with people who can only accept their own ground of discussion? Why the study of philosophy and thus thought, truly is the only science around.

This week a rather interesting and revealing discussion broke out on my Twitter Feed. The initial kick-off was given by a list of ‘The best 100 scientific Twitterers’ and a revised edition as a twitter list published by @terrorzicke (Name ist Programm – her nick is program).
As member of the Human Sciences, obviously, a friend of mine immediately asked why there were no philosophers (or Scientists in the Liberal Arts for that matter) to be found on her ‘scientific’ list. The crude and simple answer that she reinforced through the subsequent (heated) argumentation was, that Human Sciences are not sciences. (Best laughable tweet out of that discussion: “Geisteswissenschaften kreisen im Gegensatz zu den Naturwissenschaften im Grunde um sich selbst.”  “Human Sciences revolve – to the contrary of natural sciences – only around themselves”)

I won’t go into the depths of that lion pit. It’s pretty much useless to try and reason with people who allow themselves opinions on things they clearly have no idea of. It would be more interesting to try and reason with a cup of coffee. At least, if there is no response, you get a decent shot of caffeine out of it.
I’ll only put one thought out there and it’s one that becomes quite clear if you’ve ever interested yourself for neurological sciences.
There are a lot of ‘natural’ things out there that we can study and analyse in many different ways. The purely materialistic, descriptive way, being one of them – the purely scientific way in the above cited way of thinking. The analysis of the language in which this is made however would already be a ‘human scientist’ way of looking at things.
Without the ordering and the reflection of philosophy which goes beyond the raw material, all we would have is nothing more than a huge stack of information such as the colour red solicits a neuron fire with such and such intensity taking into account the context and situation. But how it is that we can reference that red, or what it means for a thing to be red (even though scientifically speaking the colour red doesn’t exist) which will then lead us to the problem of accidental properties as opposed to essential ones, the theory of individuation and personal identity and so forth… all these questions are philosophical ones and per the cited definition ‘not scientific’.

It is a common misconception that within the confines of Human Sciences anything goes. People from the outside think that we continuously weave our insignificant web of thoughts around a comfortable glass of wine and a good laugh within our own idiosyncratic language, pleasuring ourselves in our own brain juice.
‘Scientificity’ realises itself within the confines of a method. If the method is faulty, no physicist can work. Neither can a philosopher or a linguist or a literate. Far away is the concept that ‘anything goes’. You might gain great popularity among a certain crowd by being without a method (Derrida for instance), but the fame is temporary. (Not one of Derrida’s direct students is still working with his thought. Parts of his method of deconstruction – which isn’t a method truly – but not the complete version and for the next generation of students Derrida will be a relic, not a school anymore.)

As someone who edits texts that have never before seen a printed edition, texts that remain unheard and inaccessible for the scientific community of Medievalists, I work with quantifiable method and scientific means such as distribution, probability, semantic quantities etc. to near myself as closely as ever possible to the original text which is most cases is lost. If you imagine that for the more popular texts you have between 30 and 50 surviving manuscripts and thus potentially 30 to 50 different versions of a text, it becomes immediately apparent why the claim that this can’t by any means be considered science is laughable. Not only do I have to go through that very materialistic part of my work, but after years of that exploring the material support of the text in question (it’s just the characters and the vellum really), I then proceed to the interpretation of the text itself, trying to explain what it’s all about. And only in a third last step do I examine that theory against the ‘bigger picture’ (does it make sense in itself? does it apply to opponents at the time it was written? what do we learn from it in terms of overall realisation? etc.)
In my particular case, as Historians of Philosophy, we are the badly loved kid of all the departments. For the historians, we’re not really historians; for the philosophers, we’re not really philosophers and for the editors, we know way to much to gain quick money with us. Truth of the matter is: we are everything and nothing. We need to have all the instruments a historian needs, all the knowledge and methods a philosopher does and we need to have a decent technical approach to texts and their transmission through the ages. We do it all, and yet, nobody takes us seriously.
So, it’s been long that I have taken anybody for full who claims that this is not science.

In some definitions ‘science’ is defined by the fact that you open up new grounds or that you create the basis for thought and study. It’s clear that with my work, I do just that. Without text editions, our look on a certain period will always remain limited, because the huge cellars of the major libraries of Europe are filled will texts that have never been read by a larger public after the 16th century.

Interestingly enough of course, none of those arguments which my friend made in said Twitter debate were accepted. Neither were mine. To the question why the person was ignoring me in particular, it was said that ‘who protects their tweets doesn’t want to be heart’.

Now, that brings me to another small truth, this time about our modern means of communication. Today, we’re always supposed to be online, always supposed to be linked to that behemoth internet, and if we don’t reply immediately to an email or a text, something is clearly wrong. And yes, if you are stupid enough to protect your privacy because you want to know who is following you, you do not want to be heard.
Yes, I protect my updates, I also protect my Facebook profile, but because the majority of users have lost all sense of the truth that on the opposite side of them sits a real person in front of that PC screen.

The fact that Terrorzicke didn’t want to see what I had to say to her (it would have been easy enough for her to ask for authorisation, it takes one click after all), just shows what happens to people when they don’t want to be reasoned with: they become a caricature of themselves.

Protecting myself from complete exposure over the internet doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be heard, it rather tells you that when I accept you, I have properly seen you and want to enter into contact without. You’re not just another one of the mass that I don’t care about. And it will tell you that I don’t like to be spammed and have a pretty solid knowledge of spammers, useless twittbots and the like.

It becomes very apparent, that people who cannot even reconstruct an act of volition without error, cannot be asked to qualify what is scientific and what is not. And that is why this whole discussion is pointless. Who doesn’t want to hear, will never hear, not matter how loud we shout it.
Human thought will always be an exhilarating subject of study, while the measures of ‘scientificity’ will always be subject to the last and current fashion of the times in which they are uttered.

In times of the internet and the quick use of any copy/paste function, where the transmission of thoughts and discussions is so immediate, does the term of Plagiarism even still make sense?

This week two topics concerning cheating in writing (also known as: Plagiarism) have hit the major media. They are – at first sight – diametrically opposed, but reveal a lot about how we see the art of creation, the writing business and how web 2.0 and modern means of communication are shaping our intellectual food and why it is that we are starving.

The first case involved star philosopher Bernard-Henri Lévy, a French self-made thinker (in every sense of the term applicable)¹ who has construed his career on said media exposition for the last decades. His latest book ‘On War in philosophy’ – which with the according exposure and the current need for answers on this topic – has been longingly awaited by the chic well-meaning, slightly world removed circles of professional brow frowners of the current Zeitgeist circles ². It is only a small ironical value of that BHL (his official trademark) has now been beaten down by the same feuilltons that usually hail him and applaud every undertaking that the great mind publicises ³. Yes, the man has been proven to be unable to do proper research. He can be seen citing a fictitious writer and his slightly less fictitious texts in his latest work. Less fictitious? The author in question is an invention by a French satritical writer Frédèric Pagès from a renowned satire paper called Le Canard Enchaîné (The Chained Duck) and was meant to wear the armour of champion of the 20th century Anti-Katian movement. The character of Jean-Baptiste Botul had so much success upon his invention that the journalist then went on to publish the invented oeuvre.
Apart from BHL missing the very basic sense and curiosity – which should and can be expected from a ’professional thinker’ – to solidify his own thought based on his sources (it would have taken him a simple Google search to unverify this quoted author), the interesting point here, is not the King’s dethronement. At least not for me. It’s as usual the scene around the throne that interests me more.

The moment in the book where this fictitious source ⁴ was used (or so they tell me, because I confess to not having it read yet), is a critical one: it quotes back to a conference the dear BHL had given last year at the Ecole Normale Supérieure ⁵, using it as what science calls an argument of authority for his own thought and he is quoting a real text written by a satirical journalist (who per se has nothing to say on the matter of wars, thought or metaphysics) who himself has invented a well thought out author with a fitting biography. Now Frédèric Pagès didn’t have in mind to gully people into thinking this was true thought by an actual thinker when he published the works of conferences by Jean-Baptiste Botul. However, BHL’s quoting – even if it’s a funny story – validates the thoughts within these conferences supposedly given in Brazil after the end of WWII.

The point to be made here is the following: No matter how a thought, a critique or a stance came into the world, through satire, through joke, it’s validity isn’t given by it’s author alone, their standing or by the measure that modern booklists give them, but by their applicability to the world. Clearly, something must have sounded right in BHL’s ears to have quoted it that way.

The second event has been breaking across the internet and the major media in Germany. About three weeks ago a certain Helene Hegemann (18) has published her first novel: Axolotl Roadkill. The feuilltons and critics hailed the book as the best portrayal of the current young generation, the generation of the zero years (ie. 2000 to 2009), a new ‘Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo’ for a new generation, even though it’s content merely shows – using a crude and current language which involves barely anything above the belt line – the general loss of orientation of kids today. Helene Hegemann is no Christiane F., she lacks the genuine problems that allowed other artists to be inspired by her fate. (cf. for instance Cristiane F., the album by David Bowie or the movie). In all truth, all these two girls have in common is that they both showed us their state of mind. Where the one from the 70ies was in no area of her life adapting or working things out and spiralling deeper and deeper into drug addiction and the follow up tragedies, the other one at the start of a new decade of a new millennium shows how much she really has adapted herself to the world and how it works.  Not a single so-called intellectual writer has dared to ask the proper questions, the only newspaper that didn’t review the book was the Zürich based Tagesanzeiger, they found the book apparently too bland and polished ⁶.

It took a simple blogger. A citizen journalist to find out that Hegemann had copied most parts of her first novel off the internet and a particular blog. A fact that the editor immediately declared a detail which the author however failed to mention anywhere. The journalists that had cherished her before… did not drop her. They were ready for the 360 for her new found prodigy, suggesting in all earnestly (the editor and author later confirmed that idea) that copying and using like that was part of the new generation’s ways of communicating, of appreciating the world and that it was completely acceptable for youngsters today. And that’s where the big division is taking place. Nobody seems to want to believe the feuilltonists at this point, because the internet is exploding with people crying outrage ⁷.

Why is that? Because plagiarism is a crime? Because we have a right to what we create? Because… they should know better?

For me personally plagiarism is the worst possible kind of intellectual cannibalism (there are nuances in my head, yes) and just as with real cannibalism, some people might find it acceptable, others might not even consider the idea, for people that live from what they write and accomplish with words, the ethical dimensions are similar to real cannibalism. In a time where students at university think that research means ‘looking it up on google’ and where plagiarism is becoming the standard (in the Philosophy Dept. with three profs alone here in Geneva, there are at least 3 cases per semester), who honestly can be shocked about a girl copying her novel?

It’s the main paradigm of post-modernism that nothing in the world can be reinvented, that everything has been said and thought and that we are all just quoting, thus rendering true art as an act of creation obsolete. This has been the first step to devalue and invalidate the creative act and it is the first paving stone of the road we are on now.

The main question to ask is obviously how the critics can hold on to their prodigal kid by claiming that copying is actually ‘ok’ as long as it’s a ‘thing that kids just do’?

The answer is pretty simple: because plagiarism only makes sense in a written world. Where the written (and printed) word has meaning and a certain authoritative value.
The internet has a colloquial sense to it, and kids today are much more geared towards conversation and immediateness. It’s no wonder they are so in-to-the-net. It satisfies the basic need of every kid or teenager or tween: I want it now and I want it all ⁸. Add to that that an author in the internet or of a blog is a very abstract entity. The fact that bits and bytes represent the text don’t help. A text in printing ink just is so much more imposing and… real.

Two cases, two countries that seemingly have nothing to do with one another. In my view they do. Whereas in BHL’s case, the scientific research, everything is given to the authority of the text, in Hegemann’s case, a novel, nothing is given to the source and there is no argument of authority other than the one of the critics who elevated her. In both cases the reader is left under-nourrished and disappointed.

We buy books and pay authors for various reasons. But no matter what the context is, be it scientific, intellectual or fiction, we pay them for their creativity. We pay them because they spent time on something that we haven’t thought of or don’t have the time to, they created something. They thought and had a will to do something with it.
The discussion about plagiarism, what it is and what it isn’t, what it should be and what it can’t be is an ongoing one. The latest book on the subject has only just come out ⁹. As readers, we live from the illusion that we are reading something new. Whether it’s true or not, is secondary. When German philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer ¹⁰ stated that when we read a text, we throw ourselves (as the complete being with our social realisation etc.) in front of the progression of the text, that we assume and accept the text as an authority that has to tell us something, he revealed the non-dictum that others fail to see today. Texts are universes. They are very talkative universes. They manipulate, they play with Gadamer’s basic assumption, they shock and they hurt ¹¹. And we all take it. We take it because we believe that the authors have done their work. They have created something. For us.

It’s when we realise that they have cheated and lied that the whole building collapses on itself. Not only does writing become insignificant – limited to the simple machinality of a couple of keystrokes between ctrl+c and ctrl+v -, but ultimately reading is nothing more than listening to the constant jabber of everyday life when it should be elevating us, should inspire us and should make us dream or think.

ADDENDUM: Meanwhile, the Book Expo of Leipzig as nominated Axolotl Roadkill for their 2010 book prize (45.000 Euro). Looking at the standing now, it might not win, but who knows. To not completely throw out their chances, the editor has now issued a nervous telegram stating that in the fourth edition of the book, a ‘list of sources’ would be included. I’ve been fortunate enough to take a look at it and it’s seven pages long and presents itself as an evident alibi. The last paragraph of said list states: “Dieser Roman folgt in Passagen dem ästhetischen Prinzip der Intertextualität und kann daher weitere Zitate enthalten.” which translates to this: This novel follows in certain passages the aestetical principle of intertexuality and may thus contain more quotations (than listed here).
Intertextuality, dear friends, is a scientific concept that became popular in the late 60ies and early 70ies (under Kristeva and the rising movement of psychoanalytical thought in literature and critique of structuralism ie. poststructuralism. It’s not an aestetic principle, it’s a variation of what I referred to as the postmodern principle (“nothing can be said without quoting anything”). Intertextuality uses any given text as a marking point. It doesn’t necessarily quote it, it doesn’t necessarily plagiarise it and it certainly doesn’t use it in a cannibalistic sense. Shame on the editor who obviously were looking for a new child prodigy and through people weren’t intelligent enough to notice their foul play and now try to hide behind scientific concepts that they have no idea of. The King is truly naked.

There is a silence that destroys you. That annihilates everything you stand for, everything you fought for, all the pains you’ve endured and that made you. This kind of silence is a rejection of everything that you are and you’ve been. It’s a weird thing that silence which is the absence of something – namely talk, speech, exchange, connection etc. – can take on such violent forms. But there are situations in life where the things unsaid reveal much more about ourselves than the ones that we actually dare or care to voice.
In this kind of silence there is no peace, there’s only conjecture, construction, frustration and ultimately loss. Without word, there can be no understanding.

But then there are those other kinds of silences and one in particular can build things so much greater than words or explanation ever could. Sometimes, the “denial of words”-silence might mutate – without any real interference – into this latter kind, we could call it new silence.
It might take years or just a few hours. But ultimately that silence, that breaking of connection might spawn a new understanding. Thankfully enough as humans, we are able to forget and even the greatest horrors in life may lose their burning pain. They certainly leave their marks and they shape as much as anything else who we are and what we dream of, but with time, they’re shifted into the backgrounds of that huge scene of our consciousness. And one day we’ll wake up and our first thought isn’t that memory that broke our hearts, or that anger that made us forget all those important lessons of charity, forgiveness and love. We simply get over it. Over and beyond. Over and past it.

That’s the precise moment where the destructive silence can take on another twist and force and turn into forgiveness. Slowly. But once we’ve achieved that, whatever deserved explanation or laying out suddenly doesn’t need anymore clarification and things just become what they are, what they were more precisely.

Sometimes, a silence is a chance. And usually, as with anything, it takes two. One to be silent and the other to accept it.

I myself have just overcome such a silence of several years where no words could overcome what needed to be processed. Where projected ideas about past and future were blocking the way and view of the truth and the facts. I’ve fought that silence, have hated it, have loathed the person subjecting me to it, because of their inability to see me, hear me and accept me. And that silence has broken my heart on many occasions because I was forced into it. Because there was no ear, no possibility, no heart to listen.

And then one day, I just moved on. Laid it down at the altar of all sacrifices and got on with life. Not truly thinking that such things could indeed be overcome. Not for me. Redemption was for others. Or rather I didn’t trust myself to really get over it. I thought that something would always remain of that unspeakable pain.
Experiences and prayers later, suddenly there it was again, that thought that maybe, just maybe … or not? For years, it went on like that. Until one final day, the silence was no more. Without force or willing, but with a gentle turn of fates, suddenly the words flowed and whatever we thought needed saying suddenly had no power over us anymore.

Sometimes, a silence builds new things without us even noticing, without us even consciously working on doing it. Sometimes, those silences are bought with the pain of years past and sometimes what they build is a new house for our soul to live in.