timelets

I think it’s not a coincidence, for instance, that so many kids really want to do music and sports, even though we all say, “No, learn how to code. That’s the thing that will actually be helpful to you.” Because music and sports are among the few examples where we actually do this kind of apprenticeship. You do the thing, you get feedback, you try and do the thing again.

One of the things I say is, imagine if we tried to teach baseball the way that we teach science. How do we teach science? What we would do is, we would tell everybody about great baseball games when they were little. Maybe when they were in high school, they could throw the ball a lot to second base. When they were in college, they could reproduce great baseball plays, but they wouldn’t actually get to play the game until they were in graduate school. If you taught baseball that way, you wouldn’t think that people would be as good at baseball.
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I think the current way that we do schooling is a good example of Goodhart’s law. We teach kids — because kids are so good at wanting to be skilled — we teach them how to be good at school, which we think is going to be correlated with the ability to do a wide range of things as an adult. Then it ends up being a separate kind of skill.

...we know and we just take for granted that little kids like two-year-olds — we say that they don’t pay attention, but what we really mean is that they don’t not pay attention. They’re paying attention to everything at once. That’s why two-year-olds are really distractible.

Then, as we get older, we get this more and more focused kind of attention. People vary in how much they end up within that state of focused attention. I think there’re lots of reasons to believe that an industrial schooled society really pushes people in the direction of having very focused attention. We really want people to have very focused attention.

“...from the eminent psychologist Jerome Bruner: “A good story and a well-formed argument are different natural kinds. Both can be used as means for convincing another. Yet what they convince of is fundamentally different: arguments convince one of their truth, stories of their lifelikeness. The one verifies by eventual appeal to procedures for establishing formal and empirical proof. The other establishes not truth but verisimilitude.”

“...from the American novelist and critic Ronald Sukenick: “All fiction can be profitably regarded as argument. When you define fiction by representation you end up confining it to realism at some level and arguing that fiction, as a form of make-believe, is a way of lying to get at the truth, which if not palpably stupid is certainly round-about and restrictive. My approach frees fiction from the obligations of mimesis, popularly, and most often critically, assumed to be its defining quality.”

An important qualification to this argument is that there is not necessarily any single privileged way of reading the conflict in a story, or sometimes even defining what or who it involves. This sounds extreme, but it can be especially true in longer and more complex narratives like the story of Oedipus.


--- Abbott, H. Porter. “The Cambridge Introduction to Narrative (Cambridge Introductions to Literature).”

“Books also had a “shelf life.” In a seventeenth-century bookseller’s shop, they could wait patiently for readers to come and purchase them. But staged plays were big events that happened at set times. They required an immense investment of both funds and labor: a paid company of actors and a theater, which must be built, purchased, or rented. They also needed to bring in the broadest cross-section of society if they were going to meet expenses. This difference in the technology and marketing of these two narrative media has only grown with time. ”

-- Abbott, H. Porter. “The Cambridge Introduction to Narrative (Cambridge Introductions to Literature).”

“...once revealed, the action of the story of the murder of Councilman Stubbs can be described in “terms of a linear chain: A->B->C->D (where D is the Death of Stubbs).
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Characters are, usually, harder to understand than actions. They are themselves some of narrative’s most challenging gaps.
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..we have to move from a horizontal to a vertical analysis, descending into the character to construct a plausible sense of her complexity.”

“The model, then, for the construct“tion of character in fictional narrative might look something like this:

reader/viewer + narrative -> reader/viewer’s construction of a character

How is it that half of America looks at Donald Trump and doesn’t find him morally repellent? He lies, cheats, steals, betrays, and behaves cruelly and corruptly, and more than 70 million Americans find him, at the very least, morally acceptable. Some even see him as heroic, admirable, and wonderful. What has brought us to this state of moral numbness?
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the thinking of Alasdair MacIntyre, the great moral philosopher
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As MacIntyre put it, “The choice between the ethical and the aesthetic is not the choice between good and evil, it is the choice whether or not to choose in terms of good and evil.”
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How do people make decisions about the right thing to do if they are not embedded in a permanent moral order? They do whatever feels right to them at the moment. MacIntyre called this “emotivism,” the idea that “all moral judgments are nothing but expressions of preference, expressions of attitude or feeling.” Emotivism feels natural within capitalist societies, because capitalism is an economic system built around individual consumer preferences.

One of the problems with living in a society with no shared moral order is that we have no way to settle arguments. We have no objective standard by which to determine that one view is right and another view is wrong. So public arguments just go on indefinitely, at greater levels of indignation and polarization. People use self-righteous words to try to get their way, but instead of engaging in moral argument, what they’re really doing is using the language of morality to enforce their own preferences.

If no one can persuade anybody about right and wrong, then there are only two ways to settle our differences: coercion or manipulation.
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Trump speaks the languages we moderns can understand. The language of preference: I want. The language of power: I have the leverage. The languages of self, of gain, of acquisition. He treats even the presidency itself as a piece of personal property he can use to get what he wants. As the political theorist Yuval Levin has observed, there are a lot of people, and Trump is one of them, who don’t seek to be formed by the institutions they enter. They seek instead to use those institutions as a stage to perform on, to display their wonderful selves.

-- David Brooks, 7/8/2025, the Atlantic.
https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2025/07/trump-administration-supporters-good/683441/

There once was an old Bedouin, who, sensing that his death was imminent,
gathered together his three sons and signified his last wishes to
them. To the eldest, he bequeathed half his inheritance, to the second one
quarter, and to the third one sixth. As he said this, he died, leaving his sons
in perplexity, for the inheritance in question consisted of eleven camels.
How were they to respect the old man's will ? Should they kill those of
the camels whose division seemed prescribed, and share the meat among
them ? Was this the required filial piety? Did their father really want them to
prove their love by accepting this loss? Or had he made a mistake, distracted
or weakened by his imminent death ? In fact, at least one error was
obvious, because one-half plus a quarter plus a sixth do not make one.

Yetto inherit on the basis of an interpretation that disqualifies a last wish, is
this not to insult to the dead? And in this case, moreover, how could one
divide ? Who would take away the remainder of the division ? All the ingredients
were there for a fratricidal war. The three brothers nevertheless
decided to try to avoid the war, that is, to wager that a solution could
exist. This means that they went to see the old sage who so often plays a
role in such stories. This old sage, on this occasion, told them that he
could not do anything for them except to offer them what might perhaps
help them: his old camel, skinny and half-blind. The inheritance now
counted twelve camels: the eldest took six of them, the second three, the
youngest two, and the old camel was returned to the old sage.

What did the twelfth camel accomplish ? By its presence, it made possible
what seemed contradictory, simultaneously obeying the father's wishes,
discovering the possi bility of respecting their terms, and not destroying
the value of the inheritance.

--- I.Stengers, Thinking with Whitehead