Janet Malcolm at The New York Review of Books:

In a letter of 1989 to his friend Lucas Myers, published in Letters of Ted Hughes,²Hughes writes about how “pitifully little” he is producing and goes on to

wonder sometimes if things might have gone differently without the events of 63 & 69 [the years of Plath’s and Wevill’s suicides]. I have an idea of those two episodes as giant steel doors shutting down over great parts of myself, leaving me that much less, just what was left, to live on. No doubt a more resolute artist would have penetrated the steel doors—but I believe big physical changes happen at those times, big self-anaesthesias. Maybe life isn’t long enough to wake up from them.

Hughes’s feeling of not writing enough is common among writers, sometimes even among the most prolific. In Hughes’s case it was certainly delusory. The posthumous volume of Hughes’s collected poems is over a thousand pages long and there are five volumes of prose and seven volumes of translations. But without question Hughes suffered blows greater than those it is given to most writers to suffer. His life had been ruined not just once, but twice. It has the character not of actual human existence but of a dark fable about a hero born under a malign star.

That it was Bate of all people who was chosen to write Hughes’s biography only heightens our sense of Hughes’s preternatural unluckiness; though the choice might not have surprised him. Ancient stories about innocents delivered into the hands of enemies disguised as friends were well known to him, as was The Aspern Papers. He emerges from his letters as a man blessed with a brilliant mind and a warm and open nature, who seemed to take a deeper interest in other people’s feelings and wishes than the rest of us are able to do and who never said anything trite or obvious or pious or self-serving.

more here.

From the Routledge website:

What sparked your own interest in this area of philosophy?

My earliest philosophical interests – interests that developed even before I was aware of philosophy as an academic field – had to do with politics.Perhaps this is due to the fact that I entered teenage during the Reagan era in the US, and at that time it was difficult to escape philosophical questions about the political world. The television, movies, and especially the music I was encountering all were driven by political concerns.By the time I was 16, I was convinced that the world was soon to be destroyed by madmen with inordinate political power.The question was whether anything at all could be done, and if so, what.This introduced me to the idea of political critique, which naturally raised philosophical issues about what proper criticism is.In a way, then, my political concerns as a teenager brought me not only to political philosophy, but to broader philosophical questions about reasoning, argument, disagreement, and knowledge.When I began studying philosophy as an undergraduate, I was fascinated by two quite different books, Mill’s On Liberty and Robert Paul Wolff’s In Defense of Anarchism. In college, I began thinking, with Wolff, that some form of democracy was the only fitting response to the anarchist’s challenge to political authority.But whereas Wolff famously concludes that no proper version of democracy is practically feasible, I started thinking, with Mill, that individual liberty and autonomy requires there to be a social environment that enables and encourages free thinking and the open expression of heresies; and I also began to think that this kind of social environment can persist only under conditions of democratic governance.As a professional philosopher, my central research is focused on the relations of democracy to epistemology – the ways in which the project of collective self-government is related to the projects of forming, sustaining, and exchanging warranted beliefs.It seems strange to think that a few overly-anxious teenage years could be so formative.

More here.

Julia Shaw in Scientific American:

There are three main reasons why people confess to crimes they did not commit.

The first is that they are voluntarily giving a false confession. Sometimes people confess to crimes because they want notoriety or they want to cover for someone else. For example, a gang member may confess to a crime committed by a higher-ranking gangster. They may also lie by admitting to a lesser crime than the one they are being charged with. Confess to a robbery and avoid a murder charge, for example. It’s a sneaky but effective way of creating an alibi.

The second is that they are being compliant. They are going along with the situation and are giving the interrogator what they think he or she wants to hear. They are guessing, like Brendan claims he did. Since police are keen on closing cases, they generally want to hear a confession. The thing with compliant confessions is that the person might say they committed a crime but might not actually believe it. Why might someone be compliant? They might be overwhelmed by the situation and want to escape it as soon as possible. One easy way to escape a hard line of questioning is to confess.

Third, they may have difficulty separating fact from fiction. This means that people can come to actually believe they committed a crime they did not commit, and they might even say they remember it happening.

More here.

David Bollier in Evonomics:

“Picture a pasture open to all.”

For at least a generation, the very idea of the commons has been marginalized and dismissed as a misguided way to manage resources: the so-called tragedy of the commons. In a short but influential essay published in Science in 1968, ecologist Garrett Hardin gave the story a fresh formulation and a memorable tagline.

“The tragedy of the commons develops in this way,” wrote Hardin, proposing to his readers that they envision an open pasture:

It is to be expected that each herdsman will try to keep as many cattle as possible in the commons. Such an arrangement may work reasonably satisfactorily for centuries because tribal wars, poaching and disease keep the numbers of both man and beast well below the carrying capacity of the land. Finally, however, comes the day of reckoning, that is, the day when the long-desired goal of social stability becomes a reality. At this point, the inherent logic of the commons remorselessly generates tragedy. As a rational being, each herdsman seeks to maximize his gain. Explicitly or implicitly, more or less consciously, he asks, “What is the utility to me of adding one more animal to my herd?”

The rational herdsman concludes that the only sensible course for him to pursue is to add another animal to his herd. And another…. But this is the conclusion reached by each and every rational herdsman sharing a commons. Therein is the tragedy. Each man is locked into a system that compels him to increase his herd with- out limit—in a world that is limited. Ruin is the destination toward which all men rush, each pursuing his own best interest in a society that believes in the freedom of the commons. Freedom in a commons brings ruin to all.

More here.

Postscript

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you’ll park and capture it
More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.
.

by Seamus Heany
from The Spirit Level
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1996.
.
.

Maggie Koerth-Baker in Nature:

In 1990, when James Danckert was 18, his older brother Paul crashed his car into a tree. He was pulled from the wreckage with multiple injuries, including head trauma. The recovery proved difficult. Paul had been a drummer, but even after a broken wrist had healed, drumming no longer made him happy. Over and over, Danckert remembers, Paul complained bitterly that he was just — bored. “There was no hint of apathy about it at all,” says Danckert. “It was deeply frustrating and unsatisfying for him to be deeply bored by things he used to love.” A few years later, when Danckert was training to become a clinical neuropsychologist, he found himself working with about 20 young men who had also suffered traumatic brain injury. Thinking of his brother, he asked them whether they, too, got bored more easily than they had before. “And every single one of them,” he says, “said yes.” Those experiences helped to launch Danckert on his current research path. Now a cognitive neuroscientist at the University of Waterloo in Canada, he is one of a small but growing number of investigators engaged in a serious scientific study of boredom.

There is no universally accepted definition of boredom. But whatever it is, researchers argue, it is not simply another name for depression or apathy. It seems to be a specific mental state that people find unpleasant — a lack of stimulation that leaves them craving relief, with a host of behavioural, medical and social consequences. In studies of binge-eating, for example, boredom is one of the most frequent triggers, along with feelings of depression and anxiety^{1, 2}. In a study of distractibility using a driving simulator, people prone to boredom typically drove at higher speeds than other participants, took longer to respond to unexpected hazards and drifted more frequently over the centre line³. And in a 2003 survey, US teenagers who said that they were often bored were 50% more likely than their less-frequently bored peers to later take up smoking, drinking and illegal drugs⁴.

More here.

Zaid Jilani in The Intercept:

America’s celebrations of Martin Luther King Jr. typically focus on his civil rights activism: the nonviolent actions that led to the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

The last few years of King’s life, by contrast, are generally overlooked. When he was assassinated in 1968, King was in the midst of waging a radical campaign against economic inequality and poverty, while protesting vigorously against the Vietnam War.

This was a campaign whose intellectual roots were found in a younger King, who grew uneasy with the excesses of capitalism around him even as he focused on civil rights issues. In the summer of 1952, he wrote a letter detailing these concerns to Coretta Scott, whom he began dating earlier in the spring. In that letter, he concluded that “capitalism has outlived its usefulness”:

I imagine you already know that I am much more socialistic in my economic theory than capitalistic. And yet I am not so opposed to capitalism that I have failed to see its relative merits. It started out with a noble and high motive, viz, to block the trade monopolies of nobles, but like most human systems, it falls victim to the very thing it was revolting against. So today capitalism has outlived its usefulness. It has brought about a system that takes necessities from the masses to give luxuries to the classes.

Government officials tracked his growing radicalism, and feared it.

More here. Also see this shameful and shocking letter the FBI sent to MLK, Jr.

Massimo Pigliucci in The Philosopher's Magazine:

My biology colleague Jerry Coyne has recently published his new book: Faith vs Fact — Why Science and Religion are Incompatible, and my philosophy colleague Russell Blackford has just penned a glowing review of it, entitled “Against accommodationism: How science undermines religion.” I have known Jerry for a long time, and I’m familiar with his writings on the matter, but I have not read the book, so this essay is intended as a response to Blackford and to the general issue of “accommodationism.” Should I have time and stamina I will eventually go back to Faith vs Fact and comment on it directly on a separate occasion.

First: what is accommodationism? Having being accused a number of times of being an accommodationist (a word ominously reminiscent of “collaborationist,” but maybe I’m just paranoid), I think I have a sense of what Blackford, Coyne, and others are reacting to. These authors think that science undermines religion, and that if someone (like me) claims that that is actually not the case (with a huge caveat to come in a minute), then that someone is an accommodationist. And very likely he is also intellectually dishonest, unnecessarily deferential to religion, politically expedient, or all of the above.

Second, notice that accommodationists usually are atheists, because a religious person who accepts scientific findings (as opposed to, say, a fundamentalist creationist) is just that, a religious person who accepts science — like the majority of people on the planet.

Third, it is good to bear in mind that accommodationists readily agree that science directly contradicts (i.e., it is logicallyincompatible with) a number of claims made by a number of religious people (this is the above mentioned huge caveat). If someone believes that the earth is a few thousand years old, say, or that the Grand Canyon was formed during a single flood, they are flatly wrong. You can either be a young earth creationist or someone who accepts the findings of modern science, but not both. The two are utterly, irreducibly incompatible with each other.

Well, then, so what’s left to say on the issue? A lot, as it turns out.

More here.

Simon Head in the New York Review of Books:

In 2003 I wrote in my The New Ruthless Economy that one of the great imponderables of the twenty-first century was how long it would take for the deteriorating economic circumstances of most Americans to become a dominant political issue. It has taken over ten years but it is now happening, and its most dramatic manifestation to date is the rise of Bernie Sanders. While many political commentators seem to have concluded that Hillary Clinton is the presumptive Democratic nominee, polls taken as recently as the third week of December show Sanders to be ahead by more than ten points in New Hampshire and within single-figure striking distance of her in Iowa, the other early primary state.

Though he continues to receive far less attention in the national media than Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump, Sanders is posing a powerful challenge not only to the Democratic establishment aligned with Hillary Clinton, but also the school of thought that assumes that the Democrats need an establishment candidate like Clinton to run a viable campaign for president. Why this should be happening right now is a mystery for historians to unravel. It could be the delayed effect of the Great Recession of 2007-2008, or of economists Thomas Piketty and Emmanuel Saez’s unmasking of the vast concentration of wealth among the top 1 percent and the 0.1 percent of Americans, or just the cumulative effect of years of disappointment for many American workers.

Such mass progressive awakenings have happened before. I remember taking part in antiwar demonstrations on the East and West coasts in the Fall and Winter of 1967–1968. I noticed that significant numbers of solid middle-class citizens were joining in, sometimes with strollers, children, and dogs in tow. I felt at the time that this was the writing on the wall for Lyndon Johnson, as indeed it turned out to be.

More here.

Cas Muddle at Eurozine:

There is no denying that 2015 was a great year for Viktor Orbán, the illiberal prime minister of Hungary, who made the most of Europe’s tragedies to transform himself from political pariah to ideological leader. While Time chose his nemesis, German chancellor Angela Merkel, as Person of the Year, driven by convention and wishful thinking it seems, Politico declared “the conservative subversive” the most influential person in the European Union.

Although Merkel remains much more powerful than Orbán within Europe, I would still argue that 2015 went to the Mighty Magyar. While Merkel was at the centre of both major crises last year, i.e. the Greek economic crisis and the refugee crisis, she was only partially successful in pushing through her position – both times being abandoned by several EU leaders and being undermined from within the Union, particularly by her increasingly (far) right Bavarian “ally”, the Christian Social Union (CSU).

In contrast, Orbán started the year in the margins, being increasingly criticized, though never sanctioned, for his illiberal policies in Hungary. When he used the terrorist attack on Charlie Hebdo, in January 2015, to start an ideological attack on multiculturalism in Europe, he was scolded. Similarly, his authoritarian stand against refugees in Hungary initially received more critique than support, particularly when he started to build a fence, but this changed quickly.

more here.

Clay Risen at The Morning News:

The nation’s capital wasn’t the only place teetering on the edge of violence. Memphis remained surprisingly calm, but in the middle of the state, four thousand Tennessee National Guardsmen deployed in northern Nashville after reports of vandalism and looting began pouring into police headquarters. Farther east, in Raleigh, North Carolina, a march near predominantly black Shaw University descended into a window-smashing spree, and police sealed off the area. Cops used tear gas in Jackson, Mississippi, after a mob started breaking car windows and set a reporter’s car on fire. Molotov cocktails ignited a furniture store in Houston. Hartford, Connecticut, and Tallahassee, Florida, experienced minor riots, while police battled with youths throwing bottles and rocks in two separate sections of Newark.

But with Memphis intact, the real concern shifted to New York. Ever since the 1965 Watts riot, the media, the public, and the city and federal governments had assumed that the Big Apple was in for a major conflagration—“the mother of confrontations between black youths and the police force,” as New York magazine later characterized it. Almost as soon as the news of King’s death hit the airwaves, Harlem residents were out in the streets. Music-store owners pointed speakers out their front doors, playing recordings of King’s speeches. Like the crowds in Washington, most people were looking for comfort, conversation, and more news. But others were expressing their anger in more direct ways, harassing motorists and roughing up pedestrians.

more here.

Tom Overton at The London Review of Books:

In ‘Stubbing Wharfe’, a poem from Birthday Letters, Ted Hughes writes about sitting with Sylvia Plath in a pub ‘Between the canal and the river’ in Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire:

This gloomy memorial of a valley,
The fallen-in grave of its history,
A gorge of ruined mills and abandoned chapels,
The fouled nest of the Industrial Revolution
That had flown.

Hughes was born in Mytholmroyd, his birth registered in Hebden. Plath is buried on the other side of the Calder Valley, at Heptonstall.

Bernard Ingham once described Hebden as ‘the lesbian Capital of Great Britain’; in 2001 he lamented the influx of ‘trendies, yuppies and weirdos’. In 2014, the BBC’s Evan Davis made a wilfully eccentric argument for rebranding it as the UK’s second city (population: 4200), because of the number of ‘professional couples’ who’ve settled there so they can commute to the ‘Northern Powerhouse’. Jez Lewis’s 2010 film Shed Your Tears and Walk Away documented the rates of suicide and drug addiction among those left behind by the gentrification. Meanwhile, the ability of the wuthering heights above the town to handle the run-off of rainwater is being compromised by a millionaire landowner burning moorland for grouse-shooting.

more here.

Mark Haddon in The Telegraph:

My son’s nine-year-old friend Yahya said it most succinctly. Why is life in the first person? We think. We feel. We are aware of ourselves and the world around us. We have consciousness. We are made of the same raw materials as bacteria, as earth, as rock, as the great dark nebulae of dust that swim between the stars, as the stars themselves. But somehow, a vanishingly small fraction of that brute stuff (you, me, chimpanzees maybe, chickens possibly, worms probably not) has been cunningly arranged into objects which experience what the American philosopher William James calls “subjective life”. How is that possible? Why do most of us feel that we are something more than molecules? Why are even ardent materialists haunted by the sense of being something insubstantial inhabiting a physical vessel? The ancient Egyptians had a sophisticated model of a five-part soul attached to an earthly body. Doubtless simpler models go back much, much further. It is a puzzle which, in its manifold cognate forms, has fascinated, divided and defined human culture for at least as long as we have been able to write about these things. What do we mean by the soul? Does it live on after death? Can we be reincarnated in the body of someone not yet born? When does consciousness begin and when does it end?

When I was nine years old I was obsessed by a question similar to Yahya’s. Why am I me? It seemed extraordinary that of all possible times and places I was born in England in 1962. It gave me a thrilling shiver to think that I had narrowly escaped one of the terrifying lives I knew children lived in other centuries and in other parts of the world. I knew, even then, that there was something wrong with the question. It wasn’t possible for me to be anyone else. I was this body. I wasn’t a blob of spiritual jam which had been squirted into a material doughnut when I entered the world. It was this life which had made me. But that knowledge didn’t drive out the conviction that I was on the inside looking out. Turning this paradox over and over in my mind I felt as if I’d stumbled on a missed stitch in the fabric of the universe and that if I tugged and worried at it for long enough I might be able to tease out a loose strand and discover what the world was made of.

More here.

Peter Andrey Smith in The New York Times:

No problem in forensic science has been investigated more, and understood less, than the post-mortem interval. Medical investigators calculate the interval between death and the discovery of a body using three cardinal measurements: temperature (algor mortis), stiffness (rigor mortis) and the settling of blood (livor mortis). These factors vary depending on a person’s distribution of visceral fat, as well as their clothing, the ambient air temperature and other factors. After two days or so, though, these observations are no longer trustworthy. Schmidt keeps a copy of a statistical opus on post-mortem intervals, in which Claus Henssge and his co-authors warn against extrapolating much beyond 48 hours, but he takes an even more pessimistic view. “Post-mortem interval is one of the most pseudoscientific bits of information out there that, and I hate to use this, will never die.”

…Biologists now suspect that opportunistic micro-organisms that feed on corpses persist in trace quantities everywhere on earth. But when a person dies, the body begins to digest itself, and these mysterious organisms rapidly emerge and assemble on decomposing mammal flesh. (The microbiologist Jack Gilbert compares them to shore-bound pirates, lying in wait for the next shipwreck.) This hypothesis draws largely from a detailed study led by Jessica Metcalf, a biologist at the University of Colorado, Boulder, who late last year confirmed that communities of the same bacteria, fungi and other eukaryotes bloomed at regular intervals after death, like a microbial clock. In dead mice and in donated human remains, under varying soil conditions and across a range of temperature fluctuations, the model predicted time of death accurately across experiments.

More here.

Minimum Wage

My mother and I are on the front porch lighting
each other’s cigarettes
as if we were on a ten-minute break from our jobs
at being a mother and son,
just ten minutes to steal a moment
of freedom before clocking back in,
before putting the aprons back on, the paper hats,
washing our hands twice and then standing
behind the counter again,
hoping for tips, hoping the customers
will be nice, will say some kind word, the cool
front yard before us and the dog
sin the back yard shitting on everything.
We are hunched over, two extras
on the set of “The Night of the Hunter.” I am pulling
a second cigarette out of the pack,
a swimmer rising from a pool of other swimmers.
Soon we will go back inside and sit
in the yellow kitchen and drink the rest of the coffee
and what is coming to kill us will pour milk into mine
and sugar into hers. Some kitchens
are full of mothers and sons with no mouths, no eyes,
and no hands, but our mouths are like the mouths of fire-
eaters and our eyes are like the million
yes of flies. Our hands are like the hands of the living.
.

by Matthew Dickman
from The New Yorker
Oct. 12, 2015
.
.

GMB Akash. Passengers Without Ticket.

From the series “Nothing To Hold On To”.

More here, here, and here.