ON B.S.
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In his book, ON BULLSHIT (Princeton University Press, 2005), the American philosopher Harry G. Frankfurt echoes Descartes’ words on common sense when he writes, “One of the most salient features of our culture is that there is so much bullshit. Everyone knows this.” If we don’t talk about it, he goes on, it may be because “most people are rather confident of their ability to recognize it and to avoid being taken in by it.” Further down: “The realm of advertising and public relations, and the nowadays closely related realm of politics, are replete with instances of bullshit so unmitigated that they can serve among the most indisputable and classic paradigms of the concept.”
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Among the synonyms of bullshit, Frankfurt cites: “humbug, balderdash, claptrap, hokum, drivel, buncombe, imposture, and quackery.” For some reason he fails to include baloney and propaganda.
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In her book THE MIGHTY AND THE ALMIGHTY: REFLECTIONS ON AMERICA, GOD, AND WORLD AFFAIRS (New York, 2006), Madeleine Albright, former U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations and, under Clinton, the first woman Secretary of State, writes that the central message of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism (“involved in most political upheavals today”) are “compassion and peace.” Leave it to the b.s. of sermonizers and speechifiers to pervert compassion to slaughter and peace to war.
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The Romans used to say, “Si vis pacem para bellum” (if you want peace, prepare for war”). But the Romans were decent enough not to involve the Almighty in their imperial ambitions and bloodthirsty disposition.
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George Orwell, himself an expert on b.s., went further when he coined the slogan, included in his science fiction novel, 1984, “PEACE IS WAR.”
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B.s. is not a favorite topic of discussion among us perhaps because we are such gargantuan consumers of it. Instead, we prefer to focus and emphasize Turkish b.s., thus implying we are devoid of it.
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Consider the content of our weekly one-hour TV programs: nothing but singing floozies and hoodlums, sermonizing bishops, and speechifying bosses (mostly about Comrade Panchoonie’s favorite subject: raising funds for this or that worthy cause). On the positive side, since the programs last only 45 minutes (60 minutes minus 15 minutes of commercials) the speeches and sermons are drastically edited.
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The Romans had another saying: “Ride si sapis” (if you are wise, laugh).
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Monday, June 12, 2006
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“Armenians survive by cannibalizing one another,” Zarian tells us; and I suspect they will go on cannibalizing until the day laboratory tests reveal they contain dangerous levels of carcinogens.
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A nation that relies on propaganda digs its own grave.
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To be a sermonizer or speechifier means to speak of immortality during the day and to work as a gravedigger under cover of darkness.
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I am beginning to identify men not as members of this or that race, color and creed, but as either dupes or deceivers.
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When tolerance allows deceivers to deceive and dupes to be duped, is it really tolerance or conspiracy?
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A dogmatist is a failure who has been successful only in suppressing his own doubts.
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Whenever you understand them better than they understand themselves, they say you don’t understand them.
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To be insecure, or in Saroyan’s expression, “without foundation” (dabansez in Turkish), means to be eager and willing to swallow the most absurd propaganda line provided it flatters the ego.
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We call wise the man who has acquired the skill to hide his foolishness.
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I would have gone away, if only they had ignored me. By insulting me they challenged me to reiterate my position and to make a more convincing case.
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We are taught to respect a man’s convictions or beliefs, provided he is sincere. But according to Harry G. Frankfurt in his book ON BULLSHIT: “Our natures are, indeed, elusively insubstantial – notoriously less stable and less inherent than the natures of other things. And insofar as this is the case, sincerity itself is bullshit.” Frankfurt is right: if sincerity were a reliable criterion, we would have to respect suicidal terrorists and fanatics.
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Tuesday, June 13, 2006
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If I have not said this before I will say it now: I have been wrong most of my life and the chances are I am wrong today. I am certainly wrong in thinking that what I write matters and that it may even make a difference.
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Illusions don’t die; they adapt and reappear under a different disguise. Once upon a time I thought I was the center of the world. Once upon a time I was also led to believe Armenians were God’s chosen people. The ancient Greeks would say that it is for this egocentric arrogance (hubris) that we were punished (Nemesis).
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Why do I go on writing? I wish I knew. My only tentative explanation: writing has become a habit and habits are easier to keep than to give up.
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In so far as I make assertions, I am very probably wrong. But in so far as I question the validity of the assertions in which I believed, I am very probably right.
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Title of a poem by Francis Jammes (1868-1938), French poet and mystic: “Priere pour aller au Paradis avec les anes” (Prayer for going to Heaven with the donkeys”).
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In Michel Houellebecq’s THE POSSIBILITY OF AN ISLAND (New York, 2005) I come across the following phrase: “…bullshit [is] the death of civilization.”
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Wednesday, June 14, 2006
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Learning or understanding something you didn’t understand before means changing your mind about one or more things. Even animals learn. Only corpses don’t change their minds. Show me a man who has not changed his mind during the last ten or twenty years and I will show you a living corpse.
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There is a type of imbecile who believes in his own assertions simply because he made them in the presence of witnesses.
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A good friend of mine once said to me, “The reason why you are not popular is that you don’t write about sex and violence.” It is true, nothing I write is marketable. If anything, it’s the exact opposite, and I consider that sufficient reason to persevere.
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Some very complex problems solve themselves; some easy problems resist all solutions; and some solutions create more problems. There are only three of the many perversities of life. Get used to them.
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If he is a perennial underdog but speaks with the arrogance of a top dog, he must be an Armenian.
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Some readers disagree with me because what I say does not apply to them. Perhaps I should subtitle everything I write, “If the shoe fits…”
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