Steven Pinker and Me

Steven Pinker and Me

I first came across Pinker about ten years ago. I  no longer remember the name of the book he wrote. I just vaguely recall that it was an important book and dealt with cognitive science. It was also the first time I was introduced to the field of study. Then from time to time I saw his name linked with Norm Chomsky as a foil. Today, I read in Newsweek that he just published  a thick book called "The Better Angels of Our Nature". One paragraph in the book review stood out because it encapsulated, perhaps too neatly, human nature while explaining Pinker's thesis that contrary to facile impressions, violence in the human world  has gone down. I felt compelled to share that paragraph with my fellow Mitchongs (those who have already read the book review, please read no further) in the hopes that it may shed some light on our behavior and others. Understanding leads to tolerance, hopefully.

"Human nature, he says, consists of a constant pull of good and evil. He includes five 'inner demons'-sadism, revenge, dominance, violence in pursuit of a practical benefit, and violence in pursuit of an ideology-that struggle with four 'better angels': self-control, empathy, morality, and reason. Over the years, Pinker says, the forces of civilization have increasingly given the good in us the upper hand." (0ctober 10&17, 2011 double issue, p.72)

I don't know about you, but the paragraph resonates strongly with me. In case you wonder, I have four "inner demons" and three "better angels" listed by Pinker. No wonder my angels are outgunned and I have been miserable and struggling to stay sane and out of jail.

Somebody asked me the other day what qualities I most like about myself and others. I was about to give him the usual suspects like honesty, courage, compassion, and all that shit, but then I took a look at him and saw he was not really, keenly interested in my answer ( his eyes were wandering; he just made small talks disguised as real conversation), so I blurted out with a smirk, a sneer, and a hoary laugh: "mystery and danger." That got him, he said, "come again?" I brusquely got up. "You heard me." was my parting shot. Life is a fucking jungle, full of wild animals. Some animals avoid you or pay you no attention. Others you have to watch out for because they are hiding and ambushing you. You cannot let your guard down while living or walking in a thick jungle, otherwise you just get killed. 

Yes, mystery and danger. I am talking rot and rubbish. I ain't no danger to nobody but myself. Last week, I became 62 years of age. Nobody remembered my birthday. Nobody gave a fucking damn. No card. No present. So I went to the neighborhood convenience store and bought myself a six-pack, a jar of unsalted peanuts, a can of sardines, and a bag of rice. I came home, put the rice in the rice-cooker. Thirty minutes later, I plopped down in the sofa in front of a TV and ate my dinner, all alone and feeling mysterious and dangerous. 

I used to have a very young girlfriend. She was only good for sex and nothing else, dumb as an ox and completely unlettered. I dumped her after two months. I was tired of talking nonsense to her and hearing nonsense from her. Sex without real communication can make you feel like a real animal. You had better believe it, take it from Grandpa. I now am dating more age-appropriate women. They don't have much in the Department of Looks, but they usually have money and they appreciate whatever attention I give them. Actually, I don't like women that much. I mean I don't enjoy dating. Too expensive and too time-consuming. I'd rather read if I feel lonely. 

Shit, a reader of my blog just shot me an emai professing concern and astonishment over what I wrote above and then slyly asked if it was factual. I fired back a reply, "use your imagination, if you have any." Gosh, I am 62 years old, overweight, ugly, impotent, impoverished, impolite, impolitic, and dying. I am a very lonely man. I ain't got no girlfriend, old or young. I was just bragging to boost my ego, to regain my balance. Words are my friends. They are my toy and tool to navigate through this loneliness of mine. Don't feel sorry for me. Without lonelines and a sense of impending death, I cannot write. The othe day I learned the virtue of patience and silence. Keep your cool, old chap. I kept telling myself, be cool, old chap, even if you have the clap. Just be cool, okay? You get to bed now and close your eyes. Have no fear of bad dreams. They are merely the vehicle by which your mind is curing itself.
(to be continued)

Wissai