CSotD: Ways of Knowing
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One of the courses I took in college was called "Ways of Knowing," thinly disguised metaphysics I filed in the "I say it's spinach and I say to hell with it" category, but all our courses within the major were required, so my opinion didn't matter.
However, about second semester senior year, the impact of all those required courses came together in a flood of "Now I get it!" that was quite impressive, and it takes a lot to impress 21-year-olds on the verge of being proclaimed officially smart.
Which brings us to this Juxtaposition because, thanks to connectivity, we're all smart today, without having had to wade through a bunch of required courses to learn how to collect and evaluate information.
So here we are, such that Jill's friends — who may only be "friends" she lived next to several years and several houses ago — have no sense of propriety, of what is appropriate to share and what is "Not Of General Interest."
I capitalize that phrase because, in "Cheaper By the Dozen," (book or movie) it is what pater familias Frank Gilbreth would declare at meal times, in shutting down topics that he did not want discussed at the table.
Or at all, as in the case of the children asking about getting a dog.
But if cutting off the subject of a family dog was misuse of authority, there is some value in learning discretion and appropriate social behavior.
Much of the sequel — "Belles on Their Toes" — was about the emergence of women in the 1920s from the false shelter of too much "discretion," and Lillian Gilbreth's blossoming as an expert and genius in her own right.
But a lot of that first book is about Lillian trying to get Frank to ease up on his daughters and trust that the family lessons on good manners would get them through issues of bobbed hair, short skirts and scandalous dancing.
But, unlike the Gilbreth children, not everyone has been taught how to think and what to share, skills that not only help prevent them from falling for ridiculous nonsense (as seen in today's Retail), but let them develop boundaries enough to know what other people care about, even if they haven't learned how to navigate that old thing of keeping quiet and having people think you're a fool rather than opening your mouth and removing all doubt.
Which brings us to Pros & Cons, and the odd idea that perhaps Stan, generally the least thoughtful person of the trio, is the only one who still knows how to think at all.
As I've said before, my grandfather spoke of how much more developed their audial memories were at the turn of the 20th century, of how, when a vaudeville show came to the Upper Peninsula, they would attend it and would walk out of the theater knowing the songs.
Once songs became available on records, he contended, our brains lost the need and therefore the capacity to remember entire verses and choruses so adroitly.
Stan's question might have, a generation ago, set the three friends to reminiscing and connecting and pondering, but now they simply whip out their portable brains and there's no need to boot up their own more bulky intellectual mainframes.
And without the capacity for conscious thought, a declaration that "Moss has no roots" does not even get "Are you sure?" much less "I wonder if I can get my money back?" but rather "You're so cynical!"
I'd like to think that, if someone asked "Who played the father in 'Cheaper By The Dozen'?" and someone looked it up and said, "Steve Martin," the response would be, "No, no — the real one."
But then, I'm pretty cynical.
Still, it's one thing to argue the relative merits of Hollywood films, in which cynicism plays a role — not unlike opining that Rembrandt's use of light is "better" than that of Thomas Kinkade — and another to point out that moss doesn't have roots (though it does have rhizomes).
Or believing that retracting a story because the reporters didn't follow procedure and so cannot properly document its assertions is proof that the story was wrong and that, therefore, every news story produced by that organization is wrong.
And that organizations which never retract their stories are therefore "right."
Dammit, it is not cynical to wish people would think before they speak or that they would learn to evaluate information before swallowing it whole.
As Ann Telnaes suggests, if Dear Leader has a cunning plan (and it would be cynical to assume otherwise), discouraging people from thinking and evaluating is pretty high among his priorities.
Between cutting off access for all but favored media, and his continual cheapshots at outlets that do not unquestioningly go along with his agenda, Trump encourages the response of "Oh, you're so cynical" from those who would rather believe in moss root than research rhizomes.
And who will respond to "cynics" with links to websites that confirm the value of moss roots, while also featuring stories about Martian slave colonies and asserting that you will not believe how some 1970s starlet looks now.
A Facebook friend in South Africa asks "My goodness America, how are you going to fix your country once this man-child bull-in-a-china-shop ignoramus leaves his post?"
I don't know, but it's nice she assumes that day will come.
This extended piece at the Nib, "My Life With A Pre-Existing Condition," by Nomi Kane provides a more chilling point to ponder: Not how and if we will rebuild, but who will be here to do it.
Much of what the One Percenters are destroying under Trump can be fixed, and will only have set us back a decade or so compared to where we'd have been under sane, responsible government.
But people like Kane may not make it that far, and no amount of moss root will help prevent the immediate threat to them of unbridled, selfish, ignorant policies.
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