Good morning. I hope your holiday or break has been
pleasant thus far! Ours has been, except
that it's too cold. The high in
Minneapolis yesterday was
-3.
Hmmm. I seem to have received a strong hint. I've talked about what to do with all the
written material Krystin left (me) and how I'd like to assemble it and edit it
into something useful and helpful for people.
My mother-in-law (with prompting from Kathy) gave me for Christmas a
gift certificate for The Loft, the local and highly-reputed establishment that
offers a wide array of classes on writing.
I guess I'll be taking a class on writing biography or something like
it.
A winter project, if
it isn't too soon for me (emotionally) to begin sorting through all that
narrative.
* * *
I've come to understand why I have had the reaction to
national politics that I've had this year.
It's my insula, according to Robert Sapolsky, a Stanford
neuroendocrinologist.
The insula
is that portion of the brain responsible for registering disgust and repulsion
(such as smelling or eating rotten food).
In non-humans, the palate provokes the insula; in humans, however, the
insula can be activated by "moral disgust" as well as by the
tongue.
For
example, if someone backstabs you in a game, the magnitude of your insula’s
activation predicts how outraged you’ll feel, and how vengeful you’ll act. Our insula responds mainly to the
disgustingness of sentient, intentional harm—if the person stabbed in the back
believes a computer was to blame, her insula remains quiet. And if we’re sufficiently morally disgusted,
we even feel sick to our stomachs. Our
brains fail to distinguish between literal disgust at a fetid taste and
metaphorical disgust at a rotten act.
Sapolsky
says that evolution endowed the insula with this additional function in humans;
"it duct taped moral disgust onto the insula's existing
repertoire." He allows that there
is an advantage to a morality-bound insula:
"Righting moral wrongs can demand great sacrifice, and it would be
hard to work up a head of steam for that if moral transgressions were mere
detached abstractions. A stomach
churning with outrage can supply the visceral fuel that makes moral imperatives
feverishly vital."
The
drawback is that if disgust is your standard of judging others, "if it
makes you puke, then you must rebuke," then it can quickly become hatred
or discrimination. Different can become
deplorable, Sapolsky observes. A gay
marriage is a loving relationship to some; to others it is an abomination. (Or an interracial marriage, or atheism, or
eating meat is a moral outrage. Pick
your dislike.) As we know from history,
however, "moral disgust is mired in time, place, and parochialism."
It is not
difficult to translate the actions of the insula into politics. Sapolsky writes: "All despots know this, and rely on
activating their minions’ insulas by making the objects of their personal
outrage into something more broadly disgusting:
drug smugglers and rapists; blasphemers and infidels; vermin and
malignancies." He tells us that the
insula doesn't react to abstract beliefs, so those who want to whip up a frenzy
among followers make the object of the hatred specific, such as illegal
immigrants. How much of this have we
seen in the last year? It's my insula that
makes me want to retch when I read the news.
* * *
Kathy and
I took her mom to see the new touring edition of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera. It was an acceptable production; I wouldn't
call it great, even though the audience gave the lead female and male vocalists
a standing ovation. (As I have observed
previously, audiences seem to give just about all performances a standing
ovation. Not all of them deserve it.)
I had seen
Phantom performed once before, in
London in 2001. From what I can recall,
the London production was better.
Kathy's mom had seen it twice before; Kathy had seen it once. Kathy's mom and I very much like the music;
Kathy concluded, following the performance, that except for Jesus Christ, Superstar (of the Webber
shows she's seen), she just doesn't care that much for Webber's music. Everyone we know liked Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, but neither of us has
seen it.
It will be
interesting to see how well Webber's pieces survive. Superstar
was released in 1970, Evita in
1976 (one of my favorites), Cats in
1981, Phantom in 1986, to list a few,
and as of 2017 they seem to be in continuous production, off and on. Some opera buffs regard Webber as lightweight
and the music as forgettable, but I don't agree.
* * *
I was
reminded of my perceptions of high school when I read some recent research on
how people judge themselves.
A group of
researchers at the State University of New York at Buffalo looked at another
facet of the "does money buy happiness?" question. They did a thorough literature review (nearly
100 references) and conducted a series of experiments of their own. They open their journal article as follows:
Despite
widespread belief that having money buys happiness, research has consistently
shown only a small effect of money on happiness in developed countries, such as
the United States. In fact, placing
central importance on materialistic values or financial aspirations has been
linked to a host of negative outcomes, including lower self-esteem and life
satisfaction; more anxiety, depressive symptoms, and physical health problems;
and more maladaptive behaviors compared with placing relatively less importance
on materialism or financial goals (citations omitted).
They note that some people are made happier with more
money; others are not. Who is it that is
not, they ask? Their conclusion is that
it's when one's standard of self-worth
is based on money (financial success) that the harm ensues. There is research suggesting that self-esteem
is important for almost everyone; these authors contend that contingent
self-esteem, predicated on accomplishing something (like financial success),
makes people "likely to feel anxious, stressed, and to be hindered from
satisfying basic psychological needs."
In other words, if your self-esteem is based on external factors or
standards, rather than an inward judgment about yourself, you are likely to be
troubled.
The
authors discuss "contingencies of self worth," which are simply
external standards by which one judges
oneself (and others). One of them is
financial success but there are many others.
The "domains of contingency" that people use vary.
For
example, if a person considers academic competence to be an important part of
his or her self-concept, then when a close other performs well academically,
the individual might feel worse about himself or herself in comparison. In contrast, if academics is not a domain
that is highly relevant to oneself, then a close other’s superior academic
performance should not lead to feelings of threat and lowered self-evaluations.
People
tend to experience more emotional ups and downs in response to events that
occur in domains of contingency. For
example, college students who strongly based their self-worth on academics
showed greater drops in their state self-esteem on days when they received
worse-than-expected exam and paper grades. . . . Effects of [contingencies of self worth] have
been demonstrated in other domains as well.
Participants who based their self-worth on others’ approval and received
negative feedback about their likeability showed lower state self-esteem, less
positive affect, and more negative affect than those who based their self-worth
less in this domain. Other studies have shown that when negative relationship
events occur,
those
[who value themselves in terms of their relationships] experience more negative
emotions, which in turn predicts greater fluctuations in their
self-esteem.
Furthermore, individuals who experienced a recent romantic
breakup
reported greater emotional distress and obsessive pursuit of their ex-partners
the more they based their self worth on being in a relationship. Thus, the
extant literature suggests that when self-worth is staked in a domain, people
are more impacted by events that occur in the domain and react in ways to
alleviate distress and to protect their self-esteem from further threat.
We
. . . predicted that individuals who strongly based their self-worth on
financial success would be the ones most likely to compare their financial
status with others, perhaps to monitor how well they are meeting standards of
financial success relative to others.
Their
studies bore out the prediction. The
logic of this research seems clear. I am
reminded of my high school perceptions:
my assessment of my self worth seemed to be contingent on becoming a
member of the more affluent group of classmates I encountered. I wonder if this is a minor case of the owl
of Minerva spreading its wings only with the falling of the dusk: do these assessments change as one gets older
(and perhaps wiser)? My standards for
evaluating my self worth now are certainly not the same ones I had 40 years
ago. In my case, the standards have
dropped! I no longer feel compelled to
evaluate myself by external standards that I don't like or don't think
important. If I evaluated myself by
financial success, compared to a significant majority of my friends, I'd have
been stressed out and anxious for decades.
* * *
There was an interesting exchange between a politician I thoroughly
dislike and a Harvard professor I'd never heard of (which is most Harvard
professors). In response to Mr. Trump's
decision, Professor Chaplin, chair of the American Studies program, tweeted
that the United States — created by the international community through the
Peace of Paris, in 1783 — was betraying the very same community by backing out
of the Paris climate agreement."
Texas Senator Ted Cruz
tweeted back "Just sad. Tenured chair at Harvard, doesn't seem to know how
USA was created. Not a treaty. Declaration+Revolutionary
War+Constitution=USA." The treaties
signed in 1783 brought an end to the Revolutionary war as well as settling
other minor disputes involving France, Spain, and the Netherlands.
Professor Chaplin didn't back down.
"Sad. US Senator, Harvard Law degree. Doesn't know that national
statehood requires international recognition." Neither did Cruz. "Lefty academics @ my alma mater think
USA was 'created by int'l community.'" No--USA created by force, the blood
of patriots & We the People."
"Treaty of Paris simply memorialized that fact, of our total
victory at Yorktown. Her claim is like saying a plastic globe created the
earth."
At that point the
"colloquy" ended. It pains me
greatly to say it, but I think Senator Cruz has the better argument. I am reasonably certain that Britain and
France and Spain and the rest of the world would have begun trade relationships
and diplomatic relations with the new United States at some point soon after Yorktown. The Treaty of Paris ratified the results but
probably wasn't critical for the birth of the nation. I note there was never any peace treaty that
ended the Korean conflict, but South Korea goes about its business.
* * *
Here's an interesting
thought.
When we
procrastinate, we are, in a sense, favoring one person at the expense of
another: We’re offloading the
obligations of our present self onto a future self who feels disconnected from
the flesh and blood we are now. The more
disconnected that other self feels, researchers have found, the easier it is to
let present self off the hook.
* * *
I was
interested in the urging? suggestion? insistence? of Pope Francis that a few of
the words of the Lord's Prayer be changed.
Although not religious, I was confirmed as a Lutheran (in one of the
two, now one, mainstream versions) and I can certainly recite the Lord's
Prayer.
As you may
know, the Pope would like to see the phrase "and lead us not into
temptation, . . ." changed to "and let us not fall into temptation, .
. ." Why, the Pope asked, would a
loving God the Father tempt his faithful into sin? He urges his translation because the current
version too strongly suggests God leads people down the path of iniquity. The Pope told an Italian TV station that
"It’s not a good translation. . . .
It is I who fall, it is not God who throws me into temptation and then
sees how I fell."
A guy named George Grimbilas (a portfolio manager with The
Lazard Funds) wrote an article in the New
Criterion titled "Lead us not into mistranslation." The New
Criterion is a "monthly review of the arts and intellectual life"
that leans conservative (in an intellectual fashion, not like the wackos
currently dominating most of the "conservative" side of the national
political spectrum). Mr. Grimbilas, as
far as I can tell, has no academic connection nor any bona fides as a scholar
of Greek, but he must have been trained in the language and continued his
interest. Either that or he's just full
of malarkey, but I presume the New
Criterion wouldn't have published his piece if he were.
Mr. Grimbilas noted the Pope's recommendation to alter the
language of the prayer and concurs with the Pope's desire that no one in the
role of father—whether heavenly or earthly—would purposely lead offspring into
situations of temptation. Unfortunately,
he concludes, the Pope's wishes, that the Father would not do such a thing,
isn't supported by the original language of the prayer. Mr. Grimbilas says that it is one thing to
worry about the difficulties of translating the Latin Vulgate into English and
other languages, but quite another to translate the prayer directly from the
Bible. (The Vulgate is the
"4th-century Latin translation of the Bible that became the Catholic
Church's officially promulgated Latin version of the Bible during the 16th
century.") Mr. Grimbilas argues:
For a prayer as central to Christianity
as the Our Father, why not just go directly to the Greek of the Gospels for our
English translation?
The Greek text of Matthew 6:13 reads,
“καὶ μὴ εἰσενέγκῃς” (and do not lead: a negated
prohibitive aorist subjunctive of the transitive verb “εἰσφέρω,” to carry x
to) “ἡμᾶς” (us) “εἰς πειρασμόν” (to temptation, or trial) “ἀλλὰ” (but) “ῥῦσαι”
(protect: aorist imperative) “ἡμᾶς” (us) “ἀπὸ τοῦ πονηροῦ” (from evil). No matter how much one tortures the Greek and
searches the lexica, there is no evidence for rendering “μὴ εἰσενέγκῃς” as “do
not let us fall,” or even, “do not let us make an error.
As Elliott observed when he read the foregoing, anyone who
can write "a negated prohibitive aorist subjunctive of the transitive
verb" either knows what he's talking about or he's a first-rate BS artist.
So, Mr. Grimbilas concludes, while the Pope's sentiments
may be beneficent, the plain words of the Greek (and the Vulgate) don't support
his contention that "lead us into temptation" is a bad
translation. (I want quickly to note
that I do *not* read Greek, so I cannot vouch for the accuracy of his
analysis.)
What Mr.
Grimbilas goes on to contend, apart from the translation itself, is that both
Hebrew scripture as well as the books of the Gospel make it clear that God does
indeed subject people to tests of their faith.
So "lead us not into temptation" implores God not to lead believers
into sin. Pope Francis doesn't like that
proposition.
One
question that occurred to me was whether the Greek itself was a translation
from an original text, likely Aramaic.
Apparently not. Drawing on a
website about which I would normally have grave reservations, here's the
commentary of one scholar from Zola Levitt Ministries ("We hold to a
strictly literal and inerrant Bible interpretation, salvation through Christ
alone, a soon pre-tribulation Rapture of all believers and the establishment of
a thousand-year kingdom on Earth. The
evangelism of the unbelievers and the exhortation of the believers take
precedence over all other activities of this ministry.") Thomas McCall, a multiply-degreed theologian
with Zola Levitt, offers this summary.
The
oldest known manuscripts of Matthew and Mark are in Greek. According to recent
scholarship, Greek fragments of these two Gospels have been verified as dating
from as early as the 60s A.D. Some
scholars have argued that these Gospels were originally written in Aramaic and
later translated into Greek. If that is
the case, no extant copies or fragments of the Aramaic text have been found.
The only evidence we have is that the original text of Matthew and Mark was in Greek.
.
. .
The
tradition about Mark is that Mark wrote his Gospel under the guidance and
encouragement of the Apostle Peter.
After the early years of the Christian movement, Peter apparently worked
among the Jewish people of the Diaspora (Jews living outside of Israel),
including Babylon, as indicated in his epistles. There is also the tradition that Peter spent
his last years in Rome, although there is nothing in the Scriptures to support
this. In either case, Peter and Mark
would have communicated primarily in Greek, rather than in Hebrew or Aramaic,
since that was the common language among Diaspora Jews, as well as of most
Gentiles. Thus, there seems to be no
reason why Mark would not have written his Gospel in Greek as he recorded
Peter’s recollections of the events described.
Wikipedia
lends support to Dr. McCall's position.
Most
biblical scholars adhere to the view that the Greek text of the New Testament
is the original version. However, there
does exist an alternative view which maintains that it is a translation from an
Aramaic original, a position known as Peshitta Primacy (also known in primarily
non-scholarly circles as "Aramaic primacy"). Although this view has its adherents, the
vast majority of scholars dispute this position citing linguistic, historical,
and textual inconsistencies. At any
rate, since most of the texts are written by diaspora Jews such as Paul the
Apostle and his possibly Gentile companion, Luke, and to a large extent
addressed directly to Christian communities in Greek-speaking cities (often
communities consisting largely of Paul's converts, which appear to have been
non-Jewish in the majority), and since the style of their Greek is impeccable,
a Greek original is more probable than a translation.
Even
Mark, whose Greek is heavily influenced by his Semitic substratum, seems to
presuppose a non-Hebrew audience. Thus, he explains Jewish customs (e.g. Mark
7:3-4, see also Mark 7), and he translates Aramaic phrases into Greek. . . .
An article
in Quartz (no author) concurred with Mr.
Grimbilas's analysis of the translation but goes on to suggest that
Francis’
thinking here is in line with most modern translators. Translations are best understood not as
perfect representations of the original, but as living documents that reflect the
culture and teachings of the day—and in this case, interpretations of theology
dictated by the current pope. Theologians or translators who agree are not
likely to be upset by the pope’s suggestion.
But
millions of Catholics might have to slightly revise the deeply ingrained memory
of the Lord’s Prayer.
It's not
just Catholics. It's Lutherans as
well. I don't know what form of the
prayer the other Christian churches use.
Personally,
I like Francis's approach better. But
then again, I have never liked the vengeful God of the Old Testament (even
though I don't believe any of it has any meaning for my life).
(It's a
whole other topic, but is it really true that "translations are best
understood not as perfect representations of the original, but as living
documents that reflect the culture and teachings of the day"? Is that true for translations of the Greek
playwrights, Cicero and Virgil, Thomas Aquinas, and so on? They should be translated to fit the 21st
century? I had no idea.)
* * *
One forever
reads (and, as one gets older, tends to believe) that the next generation is
worse at or on (common sense, math, spelling, thinking, pick your measure), a
decline exacerbated by a parallel decline in the quality of schools. Personally, I've never thought that one
generation is somehow "dumber" than the one before it—that's a
complaint that goes back to the ancient Greeks—and here's a little piece of
good news on that front.
A massive
study (U.S.) found that kids going into first grade in 2013 "had
significantly better reading skills than similar students had just 12 years
earlier." Given the size (2,358
schools, 44 states, 364,738 children), I'm inclined to credit the results. It's good news, bad news, however: within the results were the discovery that
low-achieving students improved in basic reading—but the gap between them and
high-achieving students widened on advanced reading skills.
One small
piece of evidence that kids are not getting dumber. Which probably no one really thinks anyway.
Gary
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