Also compare smokers’ teeth to smelly female genitalia.
Author: Ophelia Benson
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Review of Rebecca Goldstein on Gödel
The consequences of Gödel’s ideas, and the conundrum of the man himself.
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Mere Featherless Bipeds
This article by Carlin Romano raises a lot of very interesting issues. I don’t know nearly enough (by which I mean I know nothing at all) about the subject to judge how fair or accurate any of it is – but the issues raised are interesting in any case, and I propose to mumble over them, so there.
The desire to portray great thinkers as disembodied argument machines remains a powerful force in analytic philosophy. Think of it as a slice of amour-propre, part of the arrogant wish to be seen as timelessly, noncontingently right about everything. It can move acolytes to depict thinker-heroes as dynamos of pure intellect rather than peers: mere featherless bipeds whose thoughts bear clear markings from their beliefs, fears, and weaknesses.
See, that’s an interesting idea whether it’s true or not. The idea of people wanting to be seen as timelessly, noncontingently right about everything – there’s something fascinating about that (as well as very funny, of course). I suppose I’m interested in various forms of déformation professionelle, and especially in academic ones, so the thought of a special need or desire to be a disembodied argument machine makes me sit up and take notice.
It also interests me because it seems to me not altogether mistaken to want to separate the thoughts from the biography. I can think of other reasons philosophers (among other people) would want to do that that aren’t mere vanity – so Romano’s article partly goes against the grain of my thinking, which is to say it challenges some of my assumptions. I don’t always like having my assumptions challenged – when the students at Patrick Henry college (no, I’m not going to stop mentioning that place any time soon, why do you ask?) babble about the joys of subordinating women I don’t find it particularly interesting or thought-provoking – but sometimes I do.
It seems reasonable to want to try to do that, at least, for reasons to do with clarity. As part of an effort to strip away extraneous details in order to get at the thoughts as – in themselves they really are. That may be an absurd, hopeless, impossible, even risky wish, but still I can see why people would want to try – at least I think I can. But the idea that it’s pretty much just presentation of self is…interesting.
I keep thinking of Lydgate. In Middlemarch, you know. Eliot does a brilliant job on him: he’s the classic case of a would-be impersonal, dedicated, above it all scientist who in fact is riddled with unaware vanity.
Like many of his colleagues, Hart largely avoided anecdotes, biography, and detailed sociological evidence because it didn’t fit with proper Oxford philosophical method. Clear, precise, and commonsensical, he kept his personal life out of his books. Lacey’s study consequently hit the jurisprudence community like a Kitty Kelley exposé implanted in a Festschrift.
Not all bad, the keeping the personal life out business. One can get weary of the anecdotes about evenings wandering around Jakarta or Rangoon. I’m just saying.
But Lacey’s achievement triggered an attack on her this year by New York University philosophy professor Thomas Nagel, author of – unsurprisingly – The View From Nowhere. Complained Nagel in the London Review of Books, “I felt that I was learning too much that was none of my business…Nagel also maintains that despite Lacey’s distinguished academic position, she is “not equipped … to deal with the philosophical background. When she talks about the ‘paradox of analysis’ or about the differences between J.L. Austin and Wittgenstein, she is lost.” Upping the insult quotient, Nagel maintains that Lacey “seems to have a weak grasp of what philosophy is,” a claim he repeats several times. False in every respect. Lacey, far more industriously than Nagel, backs her statements throughout.
Now, that interests me because I happen to have read just a couple of days ago a letter from Simon Blackburn and Jeremy Waldron to the LRB protesting exactly the same thing.
We were puzzled and depressed to read Thomas Nagel’s patronising review of Nicola Lacey’s biography of Herbert Hart. In particular, his sweeping claim that the author is ‘lost’ when it comes to philosophical issues is both ungenerous and unsupported.
So the context and explanation Romano gives seems to make sense of something puzzling.
Indeed, Lacey utterly foresees Nagel’s line of insult. She specifically anticipates his assertion that Wittgenstein thought understanding “has to be pursued primarily by reasoning rather than by empirical observation,” noting “Wittgenstein’s emphasis on the embeddedness of language games within social practices.” In her view, Hart, like Nagel, never adopted an approach to reality as reportorial as Wittgenstein’s because it “undermines the pretensions of philosophy as the ‘master discipline’ which illuminates our access to knowledge about the world.”
Now that really interests me, because it’s something I’ve heard before, from people I know who have a somewhat disrespectful view of philosophy – who say it likes to see itself as ‘the queen of the sciences’ and that that self-vision can make philosophers a tad grandiose. I have no idea, myself. I don’t know any philosophers. I live in a tiny fishing village on the edge of an ice shelf in the far far north, and philosophers don’t get up here much. But I have heard people (who do know some philosophers) say so. Thus it’s interesting.
The sad upshot of this latest sighting of the disembodied thinker is that a champion of “philosophy” thinks truth matters less than keeping up appearances.
Ouch.
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Are Philosophers Disembodied Argument Machines?
Carlin Romano on Thomas Nagel on Nicola Lacey on H L A Hart.
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‘Those who are Vulnerable Suffer More’
Asma Jehangir on Pakistan’s judicial system in light of Mukhtaran Mai case.
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Book Meme
Err. I knew it had been awhile, but I didn’t think it had been as long a while as that. Thought it was more than a week, so maybe…ten days or so. No – three weeks. Blimey! How I do lose track sometimes (because I’m busy not losing track other times, or rather of other things – that’s what does it).
But I’m on it now. The book meme, which Norm tagged me with ten days I mean three weeks ago. (Really?! I bet it wasn’t. I bet he moved the post, just to rattle me.)
Total number of books I’ve owned:
What, I’m supposed to have counted them and kept track of the numbers? I don’t know! I have a couple of thousand now.
The last book I bought:
Haven’t bought a book in years – too penniless. I’ll substitute the last book I got out of the library – actually it was several – Philip Larkin’s letters, Mark Lilla’s Reckless Minds, Alvin Plantinga’s God and Other Minds, James Miller’s The Passion of Michel Foucault and a couple of others.
Five books that mean a lot to me:
On Liberty. A Fine Balance. The Secret Garden. Emma. From the Beast to the Blonde.
I’m supposed to tag five people, but I think I’d better not, because it’s been so long – it’s probably not etiquette to tag people, like, two years late.
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Close Reading Redux
Michael Bérubé has a post on that Judith Halberstam article about the putative death of English. Remember that article? The one I had so much innocent fun with last month? Actually (now I look) two sessions of innocent fun – because I wasn’t able to fit all my ridicule and venom into one comment of reasonable length.
Much of my venom was directed at the characterization of close reading as ‘elitist’ – remember that?
But, while Spivak’s investment in the “close reading” and formalism betrays the elitist investments of her proposals for reinvention, I urge a consideration of non-elitist forms of knowledge production upon the otherwise brilliant formulations of The Death of a Discipline. If the close reading represents a commitment to a set of interpretive skills associated with a very particular history of ideas and a very narrow set of literatures, the plot summary indicates a much wider commitments to knowledge production, high and low.
I frothed and gnashed at that – so I’m pleased (though, like the Elephant’s Child, not at all astonished) to see Michael disagreeing too.
When I first read this, I said softly to myself, “no no no no no no no no.” But since that’s not a sufficient argument, let me supplement it by saying that close reading is not, in fact, elitist. Although it was once applied to a particular history of ideas and a very narrow set of literatures, it is not forever tainted by that association. Hey, you can’t use that—don’t you know that Cleanth Brooks once used that on John Donne?
Snicker.
In the right hands (ours, naturally), close reading is a good thing, and we ought to keep on doing it, not least because it remains one of our best defenses against the lies and slander of our attackers. And we should make it clear—much clearer than we have to date—that close readings (or, if you like, skills in advanced literacy) are precisely what English departments have to offer. They’re our distinct product line; they’re what we sell people—and even better, they’re a product that just doesn’t wear out. Once you know how to do one, you can do more of ‘em. And you don’t have to confine yourself to literary works, either. You can go right ahead and do close readings of any kind of “text” whatsoever, in the most expansive sense of that most expansive word.
Exactly. Which is pretty much what N&C is for – close readings of various bits of wool and fluff and dancing around in The Meeja, books, and similar textual-type environments. That was the basic idea of N&C from the beginning: a place to do close readings. I could probably even find the email I sent to my colleague sometime in September 2002 when we were inventing the whole site, saying something along the lines of ‘How about a place to do close readings of whatever comes along?’ And that’s odd, because it happens that in the course of an, ahem, a discussion of a past conversation, PM provided a link to N&C for July 2004 which I read bits of with surprise and interest, as if I’d never seen any of it before (how I wish we had an archive for N&C, but it is Forbidden) – including this one, which is about, precisely, Close Reading – it’s even titled that. But I was going to do this post (this one, the one I’m doing now) talking about close reading, before I saw that one. Apparently there’s some kind of magnetic field shortly after the summer solstice that causes me to write a post about close reading and its connection to Notes and Comment. This is how I said it last year.
And that reminded me, in an almost nostalgic, sentimental way, of the beginning of N&C. In September or October 2002, when we were thinking about and discussing what to include on B&W, what features to add. It reminded me that we didn’t exactly think of N&C as a blog, at first, or even as a blog-like thing. The original idea was that we needed a place to do close readings of nonsense. Sort of Leavisite lit-crit examination of manipulative rhetoric, fancy footwork, evasive tactics, subject-changing, translation, that sort of thing. That was the first thought. I don’t even remember how we got from there to a bloggish sort of thing – whether we just realized, well, that sounds like a blog, or we actually decided, well let’s make it a bloggish sort of thing while we’re at it, since we might as well.
Then I got from there to a close (well, close-ish) reading of the term ‘race’ – which I mention by way of pointing out that close reading (as Michael also points out) is not some artsy-fartsy elitist snob’s night out, it’s a very damn useful and basic activity. If you don’t do it the Patrick Henry colleges and the Bill O’Reillys can just run roughshod all over you merely by throwing around words like ‘spiritual’ or ‘values’ or – listen closely, now – ‘elitist.’
Which of course raises the question, what’s the difference? What is a blog or a blog-like thing, and how does it or would it differ from a place to do close readings of other people’s rhetoric? That’s an interesting question, and I don’t know the answer. It’s not unlike the question ‘What does the word ‘race’ mean, and is it a word that refers to something real that exists in the world, or is it a word that refers to a human idea about or description of something that exists in the real world?’ Then again it’s not all that much like the question, since blogs are clearly a human invention, whereas the word ‘race’ purports to name something in the world, though whether it actually does that or only purports to has been much debated in human history. And then again, again, the question of what a blog is doesn’t matter much, whereas the question of what race means, if anything, has massive implications. People have been slaughtered in wholesale lots on the basis of the reality of that word, which seems unlikely in the case of blogs.
Michael closes with a promise of more fun in the future.
Hey! This post is already too damn long. I was going to proceed from here to do a close reading of Mark Bauerlein’s essay on “Theory’s Empire,” recently posted at Butterflies and Wheels, but I think I’ll give you all a break for once. Stay tuned for John McGowan’s Thursday Guest Post tomorrow, and I’ll be back on Friday with an arbitary but fun value judgment. The close reading of Bauerlein will just have to wait until after the weekend.
That’s the thing about close reading, once you get started it’s hard to stop, and posts get long and longer.
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Remarks on Theory
People have been commenting here and there on Mark Bauerlein’s “Theory’s Empire”, no doubt because of the links on Arts and Letters Daily and (cringe) National Review Online’s The Corner. There’s this colleague of Mark’s for example:
If the original impulse of theory was to shatter orthodoxies and challenge hierarchies (it wasn’t all that, but that’s the mythology), the current incarnation is tediously hegemonic…I’m sure deconstruction was really exciting back in the day, but, well, I don’t live back in the day, and I don’t care…the theory evolved into elaboration for its own sake, turning a corner of literature departments into Philosophy-Lite (“Just as much deep meaning, but a third less logical rigor”). You can see how theory for its own sake could take over…But in the end theory has alienated people from literature rather than drawing them in with all the cool new tools of analysis. Why? Because theory, as it is currently constituted, is no longer about finding things out but rather about obscuring them…Theory is dying a long, slow death because it has become boring and opaque. When it comes to praxis, it’s predictably pseudo-radical. When it comes to literature, it’s predictable. Theory won’t die out entirely because there is a quorum of young scholars who have staked their careers on it (I know someone who says “I am the person who does Lacanian analysis of female saints’ lives; That’s my niche” — and a tiny niche it is…).
Snicker, snerk. Lacanian analysis of female saints’ lives – I wish I’d known about that while we were doing the Dictionary. There’s nothing in there about Lacanian analysis of female saints’ lives, although Lacan is definitely there.
There’s another medievalist, this time one who doesn’t think much of B&W:
Sure, the article is a shameless plug, and it is found on the frequently disappointing Butterflies and Wheels site, but he still acknowledges the institutional nature of theory study.
Now see here – B&W may well be frequently disappointing (all depends what you were looking forward to, dunnit), but the article is not a plug, shameless or otherwise – I asked Mark to write it and he kindly consented; plug doesn’t come into it. Plug, indeed – given the kind of site B&W is, it features a lot of talk about books, doesn’t it! That doesn’t make it plugs. [mutter mutter]
Like a lot of cutting-edge work, theory has always had a strongly smug narcissistic quality about it, and to suggest that in the 90s “the institutional effects of Theory displaced its intellectual nature” ignores that theory has always been strongly institutional — else it would never have gained the slightest foothold in the Academy. The very nature of universities prevents them from ever studying (or observing) anything that is not institutionally oriented. French theorists gained prominence not because they were saying particularly smart or interesting things (though of course some were), but because academe happened to be institutionally headed by francophiles, in the same way that 19th-century German philologists ruled before two world wars made German politically suspect.
Eh? Academe happened to be institutionally headed by francophiles? That’s a bit question-begging, isn’t it? Why did it? Why wasn’t it institutionally headed by slavophiles or magyarophiles?
But no matter. I’m just quibbling (I need a break from plugging). Then there’s this site called, catchily, C8H10N4HO2O2.
Without literature, I’d put myself firmly in the camp of those (Ms. Benson, maybe? I don’t want to put words in her mouth) who mostly think that post-modern ideas about the significance of context to observations might be useful things to keep around, but anyone taking this so far as to suggest this implies there is either (a) no tractably knowable objective reality or (b) actually no objective reality is probably either (1) incredibly silly, (2) sadly deluded, (3) grinding an axe for a pseudoscience, or (4) all of the above…Beyond these goobs, of course, there’s the out and out apologists for unreason, hiding behind postmodernism’s flag. You can’t live long as an atheist without encountering at least one slackjawed evangelical preacher who insists his firm belief in an invisible sky fairy is somehow ‘post-modern’… or justified because post-modernism sez there’s no reality anyway, so he can believe whatever he durn well wants, thank you very much… Or somesuch rot. True story: one of these I met, attempting to answer my ridicule of his rhetoric, responded to me with the line: “You’re such an Enlightenment thinker”… as though, apparently, I was gonna take this as an insult or something.
Yup, I’ve encountered some of them too.
And there’s Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast who finds B&W helpful for dissertation writing.
I do, however, have a new weapon in my battle against such propensities for skillfully written perpetuation of nonsense: It’s my newest favorite blogrolled site, Butterflies and Wheels…The site’s entire mission appears to be an innoculation against poor academic writing, faulty scholarly thinking and reasoning, and ideological monarchs clothed in scientific clothes. It’s a good companion, in my mind, to the book Fashionable Nonsense by Sokal and Bricmont. One gradstudent-relevant point to take from these resources is the importance of not copying the mistakes of our elders in order to be accepted into the academic fold. It is possible to think clearly. It is possible to write well. It is possible to communicate complex scholarly ideas with clarity, honesty, and flair.
Yes – that is indeed our entire mission. And a dang good mission it is, too. (And not as small as it may sound – look how full it’s made these pages in the last almost three years.)
The sun is setting in its usual decorative fashion, and I must scamper off to admire its descent over the silvery waters of Puget Sound. Good night.
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A Culture That Sees Child Abuse Everywhere
Meadow did not single-handedly create abuse-obsession that led to unjust convictions.
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Christian Group Calls Belfast Gay Parade ‘Offensive’
Because they ‘believe what the bible says regarding sodomy.’
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Mark Steyn Says Very Silly Thing
‘There aren’t many examples of successful post-religious societies.’
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David Aaronovitch on Jew-hating on the Left
Part of the Left has lost its political and moral compass.
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Preacher
What was that we were saying about Bible-clutchers who avow their belief that everyone ‘outside’ of JC will get conscious torment for eternity? And about the thought that people who choose to believe that, and sign a statement saying so at the beginning of their college careers, and carry on as usual in a cheerful tranquil manner – have something badly wrong with them; that such people are not, as is so often assumed of ‘devout’ believers, better than other people, but worse?
Well. Last January, some six months before Edgar Ray Killen was convicted and sentenced for the murder of James Chaney, Michael Schwerner, and Andrew Goodman, Jeffrey Goldberg wrote a piece in The New Yorker about a visit to Killen a few years earlier at his house near Philadelphia, Mississippi.
A sign on the narrow road that leads to Edgar Ray Killen’s house, in the low hills southeast of Philadelphia, Mississippi, reads “If You Don’t Believe in God, the Hellfire Awaits You.”
But Killen’s a preacher, so no doubt he does believe in God.
Killen is known around Philadelphia as Preacher. He used to preside over a small church nearby, where he taught the inerrancy of the Bible and the superiority of the Caucasian race, but that day he was apparently caring for his weapons. “My gun’s clean and ready,” he said…The killings took place on Rock Cut Road, a short walk from Killen’s house, and it has long been alleged that Killen, who, according to the F.B.I., was a founder of the local Klavern, organized the murder party. He was indicted on federal charges not long after the killings, but he benefitted at trial from a deadlocked jury. A holdout juror said she could not convict a preacher.
So not only does the Hellfire not await him, but he got four decades of impunity that he otherwise wouldn’t have. How spiritual.
He’d been more talkative a few years earlier in an interview with David Oshinsky for the Times Magazine. “I’m a right-winger who supports the Constitution as written by the Founding Fathers,” he’d said. When Oshinsky asked him about the murders, he replied, “Those boys were Communists who went to a Communist training school. I’m sorry they got themselves killed. But I can’t show remorse for something I didn’t do.”
I’d like to read that interview, but I haven’t found it online. David Oshinsky wrote a very good (horrifying) book, Worse Than Slavery, about Parchman Farm, the state prison in Mississippi and how it and the labor laws of the state functioned to reimpose slavery on the supposed freed slaves after the Civil War. Reading him on Killen would be pretty interesting.
I mentioned a conversation I’d had with Stan Dearman, who was then the editor of the local paper. Dearman had told me that some people in the town were thinking of building a memorial to the murdered civil-rights workers. This prospect sent Killen into a rage. At first, he didn’t even understand. “A memorial?” he asked. “To who? The dead guys?” I nodded. “Never!” he shouted. “It’ll never happen.” After a moment, he asked me to leave. He said, “I’m not a man of violence, but if you don’t get off my property right now, I’m going to shoot you dead.”
And that’s Preacher Killen.
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Pulling Down the Moonshine
Astrology, Science and Culture: Pulling Down the Moon By Roy Willis and Patrick Curry. Berg, Oxford 2004. ISBN 1-85973-687-4. 170 pages including bibliography and index. GBP15.99 paperback.
The subtitle “Pulling Down the Moon” refers to the women diviners of ancient Thessaly who, Plutarch said, can pull down the moon. Roy Willis is a social anthropologist at the University of Edinburgh. Dr Patrick Curry is a social historian and Associate Lecturer at the Sophia Centre for the Study of Cultural Astronomy and Astrology, Bath Spa University College.
In order of increasing controversy, astrology has been seen as a topic of great historical importance, a useful fiction to promote therapy by conversation, a cloud in which meaningful faces can be seen, an expression of underlying world order, and an independent source of knowledge. Underlying these various views is a single issue, namely the merit of astrology as a source of (1) facts and (2) meaning.
Neglect of the distinction between facts and meaning has led to much unproductive debate between astrologers and critics. To improve the debate, astrology urgently needs (and www.astrology-and-science.com attempts to provide) competent reviews of relevant areas. The title Astrology, Science and Culture seems to promise such a review, but ironically (and, these days, inexcusably) the book fails to deliver, all with an aggressive unreadability that is equally inexcusable. It claims that the only real astrology is horary astrology, or divination, which fills the world with magic and meaning. Empirical findings and contrary views (even astrological ones) are dismissed. These and other points are discussed below.
Postmodern impenetrability
According to astrologer Garry Phillipson’s review in the Astrological Journal (2004, 46(4), pp.36-37), Willis and Curry’s book is “epochal.” In thirty years’ time it “will be seen as a key text from the period when astrology was taking its first, tentative, steps back into academia.” (This refers to the recognition in 2000 of Kepler College in Seattle, and in 2002 of the Sophia Centre in Bath, as academic institutions where astrology can be studied for a degree.)
However, Phillipson does warn us that the book is “frequently abstruse.” And that is precisely the problem. Other than the introduction, each chapter is written either by anthropologist Willis (who focusses on ancient roots) or by astrologer/social historian Curry (who attacks science). Both authors are postmodernists, and they seem to want to outdo each other in being obscure and long-winded. Indeed, there seems to be nothing so simple that the authors cannot make it impenetrable. This is a highly unreadable book. After being told that astrology involves “the human dialogical engagement with divinity”, whatever that means, the reader has constantly to struggle with sentences such as:
Here let us note certain fundamental consequences of our dialogical reading of human nature. In its essential, necessary openness — the inherent duality of dialogue which is also, and most fundamentally, a many-voiced plurality — this reading permanently guarantees us against any possibility of collapse into monolithic solipsism.(p.2)
And this is only 10% into the Introduction! Nobody who writes like this can be accused of clear thinking. Willis and Curry’s ideas can in fact be expressed simply and clearly, but they never are. The problem is that, once the impenetrable overburden is removed, the flaws become obvious and the case falls apart. What should have been a useful and informed discourse ends up as a parade of pretentious inutility. Of which more later.
Key point
The authors’ key point is a simple but profound one. They claim that what most astrologers call “astrology” is in fact bogus. Real astrology is horary astrology, or divination, and can never be other than divination. Thus bogus astrology is popular today because it taps into our ancestral urge for divination. In real astrology the world is filled with gods (ie planets), spirits, and magic, that our minds can become attuned to. It brings back mystery and enchantment into our lives and makes the world seem wonderfully meaningful. To achieve this all we need do is believe.
In other words astrology is to do with meaning, not facts, and the present belief in astrology is explained by an earlier belief in divination. The blurb says “this book not only persuasively demonstrates that astrology is far more than a superstitious relic of years gone by, but that it enables a fundamental critique of the scientism of its opponents.” Ironically it does this by assuming what it sets out to prove, namely that real astrology is real religion, a point that many astrologers would vigorously dispute. But this is to get ahead of ourselves.
Rule 1: Reject quantitative methods
To promote their ideas the authors deliberately reject quantitative methods, “daring to privilege sensory quality over a row of digits” (p.1). There are two problems here. First, if we reject the quantitative testing of ideas, we are rejecting a useful adjunct to purely qualitative testing such as checking an idea for consistency or how it compares with alternatives. For example without quantitative methods we might be hard pressed to decide whether the earth is or is not at the centre of the universe, which might affect how we interpret its enchantment. In effect, and ironically, the authors seem to be rejecting the same pluralism (diversity of values and opinion) that they are advocating as the “touchstone of divination” (p.75), the “inherently pluralistic” basis of astrology (p.80), and the “irrevocably pluralistic” basis of postmodernism (p.133). In short the authors seem committed to dietary diversity while forcing readers to live by bread alone.
Second, the authors support their rejection of quantitative methods by misrepresenting them. For example they dismiss tests of astrology by psychologists as “crude attempts to demonstrate that astrological effects are attributable to something else (usually forms of cognitive error) that psychologists are more comfortable with” (p.4). In fact psychologists test astrology simply to see if its claims are true. Should it fail to deliver useful effect sizes (which for factual claims has invariably been the case) they then ask how astrologers could believe in something that is effectively not true. The answer (because human judgement is good at creating wrong impressions like seeing meaning in Barnum statements, a view confirmed by thousands of published studies and dozens of books, none of them cited by Willis and Curry) is here highly inconvenient, not to say fatal.
As when Willis, unacquainted with astrology other than having fabricated newspaper horoscopes while a trainee journalist, an “exercise in deception” (p.5), had his birth chart read and found it “corresponded remarkably well with my inner perceptions” (p.11). This of course is the usual outcome even when the chart happens to be the wrong chart, which is awkward. Just as awkward is Willis’s devoting seven pages (pp.5-11) to an account of his becoming convinced by precisely the kind of astrology that is dismissed here as bogus. Indeed, Willis does not seem to have visited any horary astrologers, ie the kind he presumes to write about, if only to check Martin Luther’s experience that “the divinations of astrology … are wrong so often that there can be nothing less trustworthy” (Garin, Astrology in the Renaissance, Routledge & Kegan Paul 1983:4). To say nothing of Charles Carter’s experience four centuries later that the horary charts cast for him “have usually been downright wrong and never strikingly right” (Astrological Journal December 1962). For some reason Carter’s experience is not mentioned despite its exemplary relevance (Carter was the leading British astrologer of his day).
Rule 2: Embrace bias
Indeed, anything inconvenient is swept aside or distorted. For example the authors seem to see all scientists as bad scientists, obsessed with “crude reductionism”, always implacably opposed to astrology and always bent on disenchanting the world, which allows any inconvenient scientific finding (and there are many) to be dismissed out of hand. They cite an article in the Astrological Journal (1994, 36, pp.60-68) as providing “a good discussion of scientific double standards … in astrological research”, but fail to mention that a later critique (in 36, pp.258-259) noted how the “good discussion” was itself ruined by double standards, a point evident to any informed reader.
Similarly the authors fail to mention that, even in their own anti-materialist camp, it is not hard to find positive views towards science. Indeed the anti-materialist Charles Tart in his book Transpersonal Psychologies (Harper & Row 1975) addresses precisely the same general area as Willis and Curry do, but argues precisely the opposite case with a clarity and open-mindedness that leaves them for dead:
The realm of the spiritual, and the connected realm of altered states of consciousness, is one of the most powerful forces that shape man’s life and destiny. I think attempting to keep these realms and the realm of science separate is dangerous, and I hope we will go on to develop state-specific sciences and similar endeavours that will start building bridges between them. To those who think it can’t be done, I can only reply that we have to find that out by trying, not by limiting ourselves in advance by preconceptions (p.58).
Thus Tart notes the need for “a data base for future sciences is of exceptional importance” (p.27), as is “the need to achieve testability of our theories about spiritual phenomena and ASC [altered states of consciousness] phenomena” (p.35). Which is clearly not what Willis and Curry want to hear.
Similarly the anti-materialist Rupert Sheldrake in his book The Rebirth of Nature: The Greening of Science and God (Century 1990) argues that new developments in science are leading to “a new understanding of nature in which traditional wisdom, personal experience and scientific insight can be mutually enriching.” Indeed, in his later book The Sense of Being Stared At and other aspects of the Extended Mind (Hutchinson 2003), which is a consciousness-related topic as controversial as horary and of greater antiquity, Sheldrake shows how the scientific approach leads to insights unattainable in any other way. All in plain English, after which Willis and Curry’s paralysing prose might easily be mistaken for another Sokal’s hoax.
(Physicist Alan Sokal’s now-famous and deliberately nonsensical 1996 article “Transgressing the Boundaries: Towards a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity”, heavily adulterated with physical clangers and full of incomprensible quotes from postmodernists, was published by the postmodern journal Social Text because, in Sokal’s opinion, it sounded good and flattered editorial preconceptions.)
Despite the privilege supposedly accorded to “sensory quality”, Willis and Curry also ignore qualitative studies of astrology if the outcome is inconvenient. For example sociologists who observe client sessions have noted how astrologers can explain any error via their own infallibility or via a contrary indication previously overlooked. The participants remain unaware of this win-win self-deception, so the end result can hardly fail to reinforce belief in astrology (as in fact happened to Willis). The nearest the authors get to recognising this is “the experience of enchantment does not make it true in an objectivist sense, nor does it need to be” (p.112), which as usual is sufficiently rarefied to obscure what is really happening. More on this later.
Recipe for smokescreens
Even inconvenient philosophical criticisms (for example I.W.Kelly’s “Modern Astrology: A Critique” in Psychological Reports 1997, 81, 1035-1066) are dismissed without examination as “purely ideological” (p.100). Similarly the assertion “science has banished [disembodied spirits], of course, en route to attempting to get rid of human subjectivity too” (p.120) is made with no hint of its conflict with much of the philosophy-of-mind literature. For example philosophers such as Chalmers, Searle, and Nozick would have problems with disembodied spirits but do not deny subjective experience. It seems that readers must be protected from honest discussion of anything that might upset the authors’ ideas.
Ironically, although the authors constantly criticise “reductionist” scientific studies, such studies are made welcome when they seem to support the authors’ position. For example genetic studies are cited to support the idea that we are “all psychically connected, not only to one another, but also to the universe” (p.131); and the idea that we are born with an “innate impulsion to dialogue with a multiverse of intelligent beings, starting with fellow humans and including every animal and plant, every rock and river and ocean; also the clouds in the sky, winds and storms and rain, and all the luminous inhabitants of the starry vault” (p.132). But do we really need genetics to tell us that we interact with our surroundings?
Similarly the authors tend to quote only those philosophers whose views agree with theirs and ignore the rest. In this way all sorts of philosophers including Wittgenstein, Husserl, and Merleau-Ponty, none of whom was interested in astrology, are recruited into laying the groundwork for the authors’ speculations. Furthermore, the selected philosophers are quoted without argument or critical examination of their position, and without noting where we could agree with their position and still not believe in astrology. Readers never get an impartial balancing of views from both sides, which is surely what they are entitled to expect from authors who hold academic positions. In other words the authors are rather like promoters of phlogiston as the only way to think about combustion. (In postmodernist terms phlogiston is as good as oxygen for explaining why fires burn.) Reject quantitative methods, embrace bias, avoid specifics, garnish with impenetrable rhetoric, and the smokescreen is complete.
Varieties of astrology
On pages 65-76 the authors provide a foggy survey of how they see the varieties of astrology, namely sun signs (popular but shallow), horary (divination), neo-Platonic (spiritual), Ptolemaic (astral determinism), scientific (eg Gauquelin), and psychological (currently predominant among working astrologers). The last claims that character/destiny is in our inclining-but-not-compelling stars, so the stars “only ever advise courses of action in relation to a constantly shifting future” (p.75). The authors say the problem with all of these varieties except horary is that they do not engage with gods and therefore by definition lead to disenchantment. That is, they contain a corrupting element of fatalism. Even so, all of them “could best be understood as divinatory [ie engaging with gods], each in its own way” (p.67). So now you see it, now you don’t.
Later (p.122) the authors briefly note that astrologers can have a view of horary precisely opposite to their own. As examples they cite two eminent astrologers of the 1900s, namely Alan Leo (who described it as “the vilest rubbish imaginable”) and Alfred J Pearce (“absurd and unwarrantable”). They could have cited many other astrologers such as Jeff Mayo in 1964 (“sheer nonsense”) and Ingrid Lind in 1962 (“savours of the bead curtain and fortune-telling booth”). These are not your average everyday astrologers — Mayo was principal of the Mayo school, Lind was patron of the Faculty of Astrological Studies, two bodies that were and are reputable and world-famous.
The authors could also have cited Charles Harvey, president of the Astrological Association 1973-1994 and then its patron, who in the Astrological Journal (1994, 36, pp.396-398) condemns the view that almost all astrology is grounded in divination. As usual, Harvey writes with a vigour and clarity (and long experience) entirely missing from Willis and Curry’s book, so he is worth quoting at some length:
Whilst it [the pro-divination view] appears to explain why quantitative research has found so little evidence to support astrologers’ beliefs and experience, it at the same time seems to remove from astrological practice any secure basis for interpretation. … More importantly, we are still left with the question as to how this astrological divination works? How can it be enhanced if the principles upon which its interpretations are based are not true in any testable sense or are of secondary significance? If this were actually the case, then it would be impossible to programme a computer to produce reports which, although imperfect, can often identify many of the key issues in an individual’s life and psychology. Experience shows that some computerised reports can prove remarkably to the point. But perhaps the most potentially problematic and pernicious outcome of allocating an almost exclusively divinatory foundation to astrology is that it encourages the view that there is no systematic way in which astrological interpretation can be improved and enhanced. By such a move the magnificent contributions to astrology this century of, for example, Witte, Ebertin, Addey, Barbault, Liz Greene and Jim Lewis are all too easily marginalised and several whole dimensions of astrology’s universe negated.
Recall also the views of Charles Carter cited previously. One wonders why eminent astrologers should be so hostile if horary were as marvellous as the authors claim.
Divination and consciousness
On horary itself, the authors assert that divinatory chart readings involve “expansive changes in consciousness of both client and astrologer” where they become attuned to the symbolism and “are able to become participants with divine agencies (”daemones“) in a joint negotiation of the client’s destiny” (p.148). Or as Charles Harvey puts it, divinatory chart readings are “not based on anything that is in any normal sense objective, measurable, or factual. [They] do not contain qualities in and of themselves but [are] assigned by the consciousness of the astrologer” (p.397).
Willis and Curry make no attempt to validate their claim except by references to shamanism, ancient beliefs, and any philosopher (no matter how uninterested in astrology) whose views seem even remotely compatible. The result is like supporting the idea of levitation by references to angels and Jules Verne. Incompatible philosophical views (in philosophy there are always incompatible views) are ignored. Human judgement biasses like the Barnum effect are briefly mentioned but are dimissed as irrelevant because astrology is simply the “experience of its truth”, and ascribing it to “something else is not to understand astrology, but to replace it with something else, in keeping with a very different agenda” (p.101). As if ascribing combustion to oxygen is not to understand combustion.
The above “very different agenda” is the supposedly universal aim of all scientists everywhere to discredit astrology by all possible means, as if bona fide scientific study could not possibly occur. On top of this, the authors seem to think we have to accept astrology or not, as if it were impossible to accept part of it and reject the rest. Similarly they refer often to scientists’ rhetoric but never to astrologers’ rhetoric, as if astrologers were incapable of it (any astrology writing will quickly dispel that notion). Nor do they tell us about astrologism, the astrological equivalent of scientism, where for example astrology is the way, the truth and the light, and (given the right technique) is able to explain everything. Ironically, in an article in the Astrological Journal (1994, 36, pp.69-75), Curry uses the same belief in “one way, truth and life” to dismiss both Christianity and the “so-called scientific method.” This is not a book for readers who are expecting credible scholarship.
It boils down to religion
If, as the authors claim, real (ie their) astrology makes the world seem wonderfully meaningful, exactly what does this mean in practical terms? What do paying clients stand to gain? What criteria should we use to compare astrology with its many competitors? Unfortunately the authors do not tell us in a coherent way, as in a shopping list, nor do they tell us how clients might recognise a suitable astrologer (do good outcomes depend on good rapport?). The result is like discussing restaurants without ever visiting one or mentioning food.
However, the authors do say that real astrology is “a specific form of religious life” (p.111) that has no need of “experience of truth in an objectivist sense” (p.112), so it seems that the benefits are generally those of any religion. Real astrology does not need to be true. Like any religion, real astrology values mystery (enchantment) before concrete knowledge (disenchantment), and presumably after priestly status (judging from the authors’ lofty sermonising). Ironically the authors fail to mention that empirical research has already reached the same conclusion about astrology not needing to be true, but no doubt they wished to avoid any hint that such research can actually get it right.
Similarly the authors seem unable to appreciate that both science and religion are responses to our thirst for understanding, so to accept the latter and reject the former (as they do) is hardly reasonable. Which is not to say that others on both sides have not done the same.
Regrettably the authors scarcely mention how the role of divination was hugely disputed in the Renaissance. Thus in 1495 Pico della Mirandola dismissed divinatory astrology as a confusion of real physical planets with stellar divinities. He asked “Shall we accept as divine the things which we have disproved as irrational, imitating the astrologers who refer all the things men do to the stars without reason?”, and so on for twelve volumes (Garin, op cit p.88). In the 12th volume he sees the history of astrology as the progressive influx of ancient religious beliefs into the realm of natural philosophy, a direction that was of course to be reversed two centuries later. In effect Willis and Curry seem to be back in the Renaissance, arguing against Pico in the style of the day. They are of course entitled to see Pico as making a wrong turn, but by the same token readers are entitled to hear Pico’s arguments and their response. No entry on “Renaissance” appears in their index.
Rule 3: Attack via distortion, hypocrisy, and straw men
The chapter on “Science and Astrology” attacks what researchers say in their interview in Phillipson’s Astrology in the Year Zero (Flare, London 2000), also available in expanded form at Astrology and Science. The attack proceeds via the usual selective quoting and distortion. For example the researchers are quoted as asking “Was astrology true?”, which is taken as their “stated starting point” and then dismissed as being impossibly sweeping and akin to asking “is science true?” (p.96). However, their actual starting point, or how they got involved in astrology back in the 1970s, is as follows:
We were intrigued by astrological claims, and by the depth and complexity of the subject. Was astrology true? Could the stars really correlate with human affairs? How could it work? Scientists love challenges like that. The problem was the lack of evidence — a situation no longer true. So we set out to explore the claims in depth. (Phillipson p.124)
In other words a less selective quote tells a different story. Examples of claims to be explored are then philosophised away. For example when the researchers ask “Is it true that positive signs are extraverted?”, testing is dismissed because it ignores context, even though the claim is made not by the researchers but by every astrology textbook. (No matter that the same argument would dismiss the claims of horary astrology such as “first house signifies the querent.”) Similarly, when the researchers note how astrologers show “dramatic disagreement on fundamentals”, this is dismissed because fundamentals also depend on context (p.97). Which is like arguing that traffic accidents can be dismissed because they depend on a particular road and driver.
Ultimately the attack reduces to asserting that real astrology (because religious) is not amenable to the researchers’ scientific approach, which makes the researchers guilty of “naivete, bordering on sheer ignorance, or else hypocrisy” (p.98). But here the hypocrisy lies with the authors, who fail to mention that the researchers insist on exactly the same caveat. Thus when Phillipson asks “Are there some astrological claims to which scientific research might be irrelevant?”, they reply as follows:
Some astrologers claim that scientific research is impersonal or unspiritual or insensitive to deeper truths. … Or they claim that astrology involves subtle factors not yet known to science. In each case they conclude that science is unsuited to astrology, period. But apart from its emphasis on critical evaluation, science requires only that events be observable in some way. … if astrologers can observe the claimed correlations, so can scientific researchers … Does this mean that science must apply to all areas of astrology? Not at all. If no possible observation could rule out a particular claim, then the claim is untestable, and scientific research is irrelevant. It is as simple as that. … Even so, we can still compare astrology to other systems that claim to give direction and purpose to our lives (astrology has no monopoly here), in the same way that we can compare the origin and maintenance of religious beliefs.” (Phillipson p.128)
In other words the scientific approach is relevant only where astrology is testable by observation, or where concrete statements are involved, or where empirical comparisons are being made. Apart from attacking a straw man, Willis and Curry are in effect claiming that real astrology is beyond observation. They are placing astrology on the same level as fantasy, which makes their long-winded obscurities largely redundant. Indeed, having noted that you cannot predict when astrology will successfuly predict, presumably a reflection of stars inclining but not compelling, they add “And being unavoidable, this is no failing!” (p.102), which is placing astrology on the same level as guessing. What took all of 170 paralysing pages could have been said just as plausibly in a few lines. In terms of advancing the debate on astrology, the book adds generously to the noise but little to the signal. Which leads to Rule 4.
Rule 4. Keep well away from the coalface
The authors seem committed to keeping their arguments shrouded in philosophyspeak, like shadow boxing in the blue beyond. Indeed, there seems to be nothing so concrete that they cannot make it vague and abstract, presumably in the hope that this will be mistaken for profundity. For example on page 12 Curry says he “came to astrology early”; it seemed “to offer a Key” and “perfectly suited my character.” But he tired of astrology’s “marginality” and its “lack of certainty.” After several years in academia he realised that science had “as much ultimate uncertainty as astrology” and therefore offered no hope of demystifying it. He then discovered horary, which “contextualized astrology as a kind of divination, a dialogue with the unknown, which opens it up and enlivens it”, whatever that means. In all of this there is no mention of what he actually did to reach that conclusion, or what tests he made or did not make, so readers come away with only impressions and no real understanding. And as with page 12, so with the book. The reader is always kept well away from the coalface by torrents of vagueness and obscurities.
For example (in plain-English translation) the authors argue that science is mechanistic, so it cannot be used to test a non-mechanistic astrology. Conclusion: all existing tests are meaningless. But the argument is implausible. The aim has been to test what an astrologer claims (“people fit their charts”) by asking straightforward questions (“do people fit other people’s charts just as well?”). Or by comparing one view (“what matters is when you think of the question”) with another (“what matters is when I receive your question”). If astrologers can observe support here for their claims then so can anyone including scientists. Issues of mechanism do not come into it. Indeed, a look at any recent well-designed test would be a big help, but the authors seem incapable of being this simple, preferring instead to retreat into obfuscation.
Similarly they never examine an actual study or finding or the various empirical approaches. They never examine how a chart is prepared and interpreted. They never walk you through an actual act of divination. You never get a feel for what divinatory success means, or how frequent it is, yet (as Sheldrake shows for acts of staring) such things should not be difficult. The result is like conducting a war game out of sight of practicalities. The arguments when stripped of their protective fog of philosophyspeak are often ludicrous, as when the authors dismiss the idea of controls because you cannot test astrology if it is absent (p.102), and when they quote the inability of science to determine absolute truth (p.103) as a reason for dismissing the idea that we can tell when an astrology reading is wrong. But the futility does not end there.
Postmodern futility
In the end the authors shoot themselves in the foot. As committed postmodernists they dismiss science as “just one of a plurality of mythological narratives” (p.127). But so is their own view. Didn’t they notice? So their own view can equally be dismissed as a mythological narrative worth no more attention than any other.
For further insight into the futility of postmodernism, listen to what Curry said in 2004 in his Carter Memorial Lecture to the Astrological Association (see Astrological Journal Nov-Dec 2004 pp.7-17): “The researchers will always find a perfectly good reason, in their terms, why your [astrological] result is not valid.” For Curry the reference to “in their terms” allows him to dismiss the reason out of hand, because in postmodernism any set of terms is as good as any other. You can dismiss whatever you want just because you don’t like it, period. Which is like claiming a change of terms will save you if you jump off a cliff. If on the way down you dismiss the researchers as hopeless bigots, and continue to claim your astrological result is valid, then according to Curry the researchers “will simply ignore you.” So what would he have them do, believe that gravity is a silly idea?
