Fugato

Nú fer þetta fyrst að verða áhugavert. Í Blaðinu 19. nóv.:

Fallbeygingar kvenmannsnafna hafa verið mikið í umræðunni síðustu daga. Sigurjón Kjartansson gerir þetta að umtalsefni í DV í gær þar sem hann bendir á að Mogginn hafi birt um daginn umfjöllun um Ilmi Kristjánsdóttur, þar sem sagði „…Stelpurnar með Ilm í fararbroddi.“, Sigurjón hneykslast á blaði allra landsmanna fyrir að gera svona klaufaleg mistök, en telur blaðinu þó til tekna að hafa beygt nafn Silvíu Nóttar á „réttan“ hátt, þ.e. „Silvíu Nætur“, sem er raunar rangt líka. Eins og sést nefnilega berlega á nafninu Ilmur, þá beygjast eiginnöfn oft á annan hátt en samheiti þeirra í málinu. Það á einnig við um nafnið Björt og, merkilegt nokk, nafnið Nótt.

Einhverjir kynnu að ætla sem svo að þar með hafi ég rangt fyrir mér í undangenginni umræðu. En það er ekki svo!

Jæja, allt í lagi. Það er líklega svo.

„Líklega,“ í þeim skilningi að þessi staðhæfing Blaðsins og álit Mannanafna punktur com eru saman sterkar vísbendingar um ríkjandi málhefð. Orðabók Háskólans býður reyndar upp á báðar orðmyndirnar, en kallar orðmyndina „Nóttar“ þar með ekki ranga. Við Sigurjón erum því dálítið einir á báti.

Ef málhefðin reynist hneigjast til „Nóttar,“ þá er síðan áhugavert að velta fyrir sér hvernig það varð raunin. Samkvæmt þjóðskrá og Íslendingabók var þetta nafn fyrst gefið árið 1976; þá fengu tvær stúlkur það, en síðan engin þar til í nóvember 1984. Það voru því líklega örfáir einstaklingar sem bjuggu til hina ríkjandi málhefð um þetta nafn. Það hlýtur að vera óvenjuleg tilurð orðmynda. Það kemur á óvart ef þau ákváðu upp úr þurru að nýja nafnið Nótt skyldi beygjast öðruvísi en gamla orðið nótt; ætli þau hafi haft einhverjar ástæður fyrir því? Eða gert það óvart eins og ég hélt að Blaðið hefði gert? Eða var þetta kannski bara helber prakkaraskapur í þeim?

Hvað sem því líður er gaman að sjá hve hugmyndaríkir sumir eru í að velja nöfn framan við Nótt: í þjóðskrá eru þrjár með nafnið Dagbjört Nótt, tvær heita Hrafntinna Nótt (vonandi báðar skjannaljóshærðar) og ein Helga Nótt! Það er rammíslenskur sumarfílingur í nöfnunum Sóley Nótt og Sunneva Nótt. Og ég vona að hún litla Kristel Nótt taki því með jafnaðargeði þegar hún lærir eftir allmörg ár um eitt frægasta pogrom sögunnar.

En þessi skemmtilegi útúrdúr var auðvitað bara til að slá á gálgafrest hinu óumflýjanlega: það virðist núna líklegt að beyging Blaðsins sé í samræmi við ríkjandi málhefð, villan því mín samkvæmt eigin skilgreiningu, og Blaðið saklaust af því fúski sem ég sakaði það um. Og það sem meira er: hvort sem þetta reynist ríkjandi málhefð eður ei, þá er ekki líklegt heldur öruggt að ég er sjálfur sekur um fúsk: ég hirti ekki um að komast á snoðir um ríkjandi málhefð, heldur gerði ráð fyrir að hún væri sú sem mér þótti sjálfsagt út frá málfræðilegu samræmi að hún væri. Talaði af bjargfastri sannfæringu um nokkuð sem ég hafði ekki raunverulega vissu um. Vanrækti það að kanna málið.

Málvillur eru til, eins og ég skilgreindi þær. Rétt og rangt mál er til. Og vandvirkni og fúsk eru hvort tveggja til, líka í málnotkun. Það á að ætlast til þess að fólk vandi sig. Það á að hía á þá sem fúska. Að þessu sinni var það ég sem fúskaði. Hí á mig. Hí, rækilega, á mig.

Baal, ég vona að þú sért núna á svipinn eins og þessi bráðskemmtilegi skoski tengdafrændi Vanessu á myndinni. Njóttu þess, kæri vin!

Malvilla er gistihús á Máritíus. Ég kann ekki neitt af tungumálum þess lands, en nafn þessa gistihúss hljómar óneitanlega eins og það gæti þýtt „slæm villa.“

Af þessari annars frekar ómarktæku Googlekönnun að dæma virðist fólki tamara að segja “Sylvíu Nóttar” en “Sylvíu Nætur”. Er það þá ekki bara í lagi? Og er það ekki líka í lagi að þér finnist það vera ljótt? Jújú, þér má alveg finnast það vera ljótt. Mér finnst bara asnalegt að þér finnist það vera rangt.

Svo mæltist mínum góða vini Baal í athugasemd við síðasta blogg. Kjarninn í gagnrýni hans virðist vera að mér eigi ekki að finnast nein málnotkun „röng.“ Að málvillur séu ekki til.

Reyndar kallaði ég þessa málnotkun ekki ranga. Ég lagði bara til prófarkarlestur. Baal heldur fram að prófarkarlestur sé það sama og villuleit. Ég hef stundað hann dálítið, og ég held (og vona) að hann sé mun meira; að hann sé leit að hvers konar hnökrum, stagli, samanrugluðum orðtökum (Bibbumálfari), o.s.frv. Fyrir mér gengur prófarkarlestur út á að vanda til ritmáls að öllu leyti.

Ég hafði sem sagt ekki kallað beyginguna „Nóttar“ ranga. Hún er það samt auðvitað. Alveg pípandi röng. Og Baal finnst „vitlaust væl“ í mér að kalla hana það.

Hvers vegna erum við svona ósammála um þetta? Eins og ég hef áður blaðrað um er ein möguleg skýring sú að við Baal leggjum mismunandi merkingu í orð eins og „rangur“ og „villa“ í samhengi málnotkunar. Könnum það.

Mér finnst „rangt“ == „óvart í ósamræmi við ríkjandi málhefð.“ Tungumálið er ekki hannað, það skilgreinist sjálfkrafa af eigin ríkjandi málhefð á hverjum tíma, og málfræði-„reglur“ eru bara tilraun til að lýsa málhefðinni á „reglu“-legan hátt; á þeim flestum eru til undantekningar, og á þær er hvergi minnst í almennum hegningarlögum; þær eru ekki þess háttar reglur. Að „brjóta“ þær þýðir sem sagt bara að vera í ósamræmi við ríkjandi málhefð. Stundum er viljandi gengið í berhögg við ríkjandi málhefð; ég geri það t.d. með því að hafa err á undan ellinu í orðinu „prófarkarlestur“ þótt meirihluti fólks sleppi því erri — það geta aðrir alveg kallað rangt, mér er sama því að ég geri það viljandi og með rökstuðningi (þetta er komið af orðalaginu „að lesa próförk,“ ekki „að lesa prófarkir“). Ég geri þetta vitandi vits. Ég er að vanda mig. Beygingin „Nóttar“ er líka „í ósamræmi við ríkjandi málhefð,“ en óvart og ekki af neinni góðri ástæðu. Þessi beyging var bara mistök, yfirsjón, bommerta; sá sem hana ritaði hugsaði ekki „hvort er nú venjulega beygingin af þessum tveimur sem koma til greina?“ heldur hugsaði bara ekki yfirhöfuð, þ.e. vandaði ekki til verks. Fullyrði ég. Hann gerði mistök. Villu. Rangt.

Baal er nýhættur að vera námsmaður. Það er mun lengra síðan ég var í námi (enda hef ég líka færri gráður). Kannski sér hann þess vegna enn í orðinu „rangt“ einhverja yfirvofandi refsingu, lægri einkunn, fall, vandarhögg einhverra fasista vandsveina. Kannski eru orðin „rangt“ og „villa“ nátengdari hugmyndinni um yfirvald í hans huga en í mínum. Kannski finnst honum ég setja mig á háan hest með notkun þessara orða, sjálfskipa mig einhvern dómara yfir öðrum, eins og ég hafi eitthvert dómsvald umfram það aðhald sem gagnrýnisraddir veita almennt. Kannski finnst honum ég reiða vöndinn til höggs, vera fasisti vandsveinn, vegna þess að ég nota orðalag sem er nátengt slíku fólki í huga hans. Kannski finnst honum það eitt að kalla málnotkun annarra „ranga“ vera svo harkalegt og yfirlætisfullt að það teljist vera vandarhögg valdsins, og ég þá vandsveinn. Og kannski eru þessar ágiskanir allar rangar hjá mér. Baal?

Cristaria molinae, sem Chile-búar kalla „malvilla.“

Sumir vilja meina að hugmyndin um „rétt“ og „rangt“ mál sé elítismi, leið til að telja sér trú um yfirburði yfir aðra. En gildir það þá ekki sömuleiðis um sérhverja birtingarmynd fegurðarskyns eða gildismats? Er ég þá ekki elítisti hvenær sem ég voga mér að finnast eitthvað lélegt? Það er gott og gilt að gera sér grein fyrir áhrifum eigin sjónarhóls, en afstæðishyggjunni hættir til að fara offari í að banna afstöðutöku, strjúka bara hökuskeggið og púa pípuna og segja „jaám, þarna ertu nú svolítið etnósentrískur eða egósentrískur eða x-sentrískur, þetta er náttúrulega bara eitt gildismat og ekkert réttara en hvað annað.“ Mishugur okkar Baals um rétt og rangt mál gæti stafað að hluta af því að annar okkar er mun hallari undir afstæðishyggju en hinn.

Baal gaf ekkert út á punkt minn um að vanda ætti til verka í málfari rétt eins og í ljósmyndun eða leturgerð. Það var einmitt kjarni þess sem ég sagði; Baal réðst á hismið. Orðavalið virðist hafa truflað hann. Kjarninn er (í mínum huga) að orðmyndin í fyrirsögninni var ekki meðvitað val höfundar heldur tilkomið án hugsunar; höfundur var ekki annarrar skoðunar en ég, heldur engrar skoðunar; hann gerði þetta einfaldlega af kæruleysi, hugsunarleysi. Ef hann væri ósammála mér væri það frábært, og enn betra ef hann gæti hjólað í mig með það. En hann var ekki ósammála. Hann var bara ekki að vanda sig. Það er það sem gerir frávik hans frá ríkjandi málhefð að „villu“ — í mínum skilningi þess orðs.

Ég vil að vandað sé til verka í málnotkun rétt eins og í myndrænni framsetningu og tónsköpun og hverju sem er. „Vil“ þýðir að ég gleðst þegar ég sé eitthvað vel gert, og ég verð fyrir vonbrigðum þegar mér finnst fúskað. Þá má ég líka setja út á það, hvort sem um er að ræða ljósmynd eða kvikmynd eða tónlist eða málnotkun, og gagnrýni mín gerir mig ekki (í mínum huga) að neins konar vandsveini, jafnvel þótt ég kalli feilnótur „mistök“ og lélegar ljósmyndir „rangt teknar“ … og málvillur málvillur. Málnotkun er ekki eitthvert sértilfelli sem er undanþegið kröfunni til vandvirkni. Og „krafan“ til vandvirkni kemur ekki fram í nefndum og reglugerðum og refsingum eða annarri íhlutun hins opinbera; hún kemur bara fram í heilbrigðri gagnrýni þeirra sem kæra sig um. Sjálfsagt samþykkir Baal það allt — en það sem hann samþykkir ekki (en ég held fast við) er sú skoðun mín að þeir sem gagnrýna málnotkun megi gjarnan nota orðin „rangt“ og „villa“ án þess að það þurfi að verða neinum til hjartsláttaróreglu.

This being a post on the subject of ego, what better picture to use than my own radiant countenance? To top it off, this picture is taken in a mirror, depicting my asymmetric face the way I see it and nobody else!

(I can’t bear to see that other guy; looks all wrong.)

Incidentally, the hair: no, it is not normally like that.

Aside from the Nigger Tax, David W. Boles writes plenty of other interesting observations and contemplations on his blog. But he has an amusing little quirk: he responds to each and every comment, and almost never fails to express his appreciation for it:

“Beautifully said, Jeff”

“Thank you for sharing your feelings here, Karvain. I appreciate your words”

“Chris — Your story is touching [...]”

“Beltane — It’s nice to hear from you!”

“Marinade — I appreciate your ‘White Trash Tax’ argument!”

“Thanks for the great comment, RuKsak! I appreciate the time you took to press in a kind word.”

“Hi Miss Kimberly! Thank you for your wonderful comment [...]”

“Hi fruey – I appreciate your insight.”

… and all these are just from one blog post! It is certainly well intended, but he does so much of it that I can’t help but find it a little contrived.

We sometimes go over-the-top in niceness not only because we like to be nice, but also because we like to be perceived as being nice. While there is practical value in that, usually what we are after is the validation of our virtues. This is a specific case of our general tendency to seek validation to patch up our insecurities, the parts of our egos that aren’t self-supporting. I wonder if this partly drives David’s very avid declarations of appreciation. That’s not to say that the niceness is ingenuine … just that the avid expression of it is fuelled by the needs of the ego.

A lot of stuff is fuelled by the needs of the ego; many of the things we do have no other basis. That’s not the case with David; he also wants to encourage a dialog on his blog, make others feel welcome, share the ego boost, spread joy. He seems a genuinely good guy, and I’m not dissing him. There is no shame in being partly driven by ego needs. I am. We all are. I am yammering on about it not because it is wrong, but because it is a valuable effect to recognize. Any morsel of understanding of what makes us tick is valuable.

In contrast to David, one acquaintance of mine loudly trumpets out his laughing contempt for almost everyone; homosexuals, fat people, ugly people, redheads. Obviously it starts off tiresome and rapidly gets worse. But why does he do it? Does the contempt bolster his own feeling of superiority by contrast? You bet. He dares to flout social conventions by trumpeting it; does this daring boost his ego? You bet. Is that entirely why he does it? I think so. There is no other value in it. And it fits — he exhibits all the other tired old power plays: assigning pet names and forcing others to respond to them; trying to out-foul-mouth everyone else; vigorous put-downs under the pretense of amicable joking; the works. And to a conscious observer, it is all woefully transparent … but also ineffective. By viewing him as an academic example of this point I’m making, I can be far less irritated by him, smiling to myself knowingly and then ignoring it. (And using that I-see-right-through-you feeling to fatten up my own ego in the process, of course :-) )

This acquaintance of mine is a sharp fellow. He “extrospects” very well, figuring out what makes others tick. But sharp fellows do not always introspect much. I wonder if he will recognize, at some point, that there are more dignified and better-smelling building materials for an ego.

(Ooh, aren’t I superior! :-) )

Symbols of various religions. Your child may have classmates stuck with one of those “other” symbols. Make sure your child treats them right.

If a seven-year-old child, not a close acquaintance, asks you whether you believe in Santa Claus or the tooth fairy, do you tell them the truth?

(I am assuming you do not, in fact, believe in Santa Claus or the tooth fairy)

Maybe you say you do. Maybe you find it a harmless lie about a not-particularly-relevant part of the world, and there is no hurry for the child to know the truth. I might. I don’t know.

How about if the little child asks you something a bit more relevant: whether you believe in God? And it so happens that you don’t?

I had to answer that question for myself this afternoon. A co-worker’s daughter was at our office waiting for him to finish. She was horsing around and asking questions, and this one came out of her.

I hesitated briefly, then said “no, I don’t.” She giggled, asked “really?” and then said I was weird, and that she was certainly determined to believe in him. She then proceeded to horse around some more. I doubt that the experience left her psyche particularly scarred.

Why did I hesitate? I was wondering whether something obligated me to lie to her or refuse to answer the question. By statistics, she is probably being raised believing in God. Am I improperly meddling in her parents’ approach to her upbringing, by telling her truthfully what I believe? Am I giving her trouble? Thoughts too hard to deal with? Should I make a best guess at what her parents want her to believe, and play along with that?

Let’s look at it differently: say I was Jewish, and she asked whether I believed in Jesus Christ being God’s son and part of a Holy Trinity. If I went along with her religion’s version of the world, or carefully avoided letting her know that my version was different, wouldn’t I be belittling my faith, implicitly accepting the idea that my religion’s version of the world was somehow inferior or undesirable or shameful, its existence an inconvenience that shouldn’t be inflicted on such a little child? Expecting a Jew to do this would be quickly found rather unreasonable, wouldn’t you say?

Well, as it happens, my world-view is not Judaism, it is atheism. My conception of the world does not contain a god. Is this world-view inferior and undesirable? Should I be expected to hide it from children who ask? Should I be ashamed of it?

Apparently, to some extent, I still am. I did hesitate, wondering whether telling the truth would be offensive or wrong somehow.

In my society, one is “supposed to be” a Christian. But we are fairly lax about this, thankfully. I do not feel it too often. Not too many years ago, someone close to me heard me say something in which my atheism was implicit, and asked “Wait, you don’t believe in God?” in a bit of a shocked tone. Wide-eyed, I said “well, no.” I was quite surprised; I had not expected this to be news to anyone close to me. This person said “oh well, you’ll grow up out of it.”

Whaaat?

And we atheists are said to be disrespectful of other people’s views.

But putting aside my own right to feel unashamed of my world-view, what about the little girl who asked? Is she better served by hiding from her — for the time being — the fact that opinions differ on the Big Questions? Is that for later? How about the “other-minded” kids she might go to school with, Muslims or Jews or atheists or what-have-you? Are they well served by being placed in an environment where all the “normal” kids are apt to regard “other” religions as a foreign concept, weird, abnormal, shameful? Is that fair?

I say hell no. No pun intended. The sooner kids get to learn about diversity, the sooner they can learn to respect it, and by extension, each other. And the sooner they can begin their own process of challenging their pre-installed givens and deciding for themselves what to believe … a process that not only depends on a person’s mental maturity, but also drives it.

The objective of shielding young children from the complexities of this world is well-intended and valid in itself — but it should be taken in moderation, in a trade-off against the opposing objective of not installing their starting prejudices too firmly.

So I do not regret being truthful with her. If she was old enough to ask that question, she was old enough for a truthful answer to it. Telling children the truth sometimes does good and sometimes does harm, and sometimes does both. I think the truly harmful cases are few and far-between, so I plan to err on the truthful side. Tell it gently and carefully, but do tell the truth. Wherever feasible.

I couldn’t think of any picture that was cleverly appropriate to this post, so instead here is a picture of a plant thingy in the gardens of Farmleigh House, Phoenix Park, Dublin, Ireland.

No, the title of this blog post does not indicate disrespect for anyone. Except of course the people who levy that tax.

What tax? The Nigger Tax. Read it.

I don’t think I have ever (since elementary school anyway) seen anyone dissed so thoroughly on such lousy grounds. I’m not sure how I’d react if I witnessed that tax being levied on someone. Nor how I’d react if it were levied on me. In the latter case I suppose I would probably shrink up and leave, wimpy though that may seem. It is somehow less dignified to demand respect for oneself than for someone else, and anyway I hope the heat of the moment will not blind me to the fact that the tax collector is not worth a second of my time or a joule of my energy.

[Update: Since writing this, I have witnessed that tax levied on someone. My reaction consisted mostly in dislocating my jaw; the tax collectors were gone before I could think of anything more apt.]

We have a history of racial homogeneity in this country, curtailed in recent years by a sharp rise in immigration; it seems likely that such rapid demographic changes would cause a rise in racism. When I loved a young woman of dark-skinned ethnicity (well, dark compared to mine) in another country, I worried about the prospect of her living with me in Iceland; I feared how my countrymen might treat her. But she was treated just fine when she visited. And I have never seen anyone here (or elsewhere) indulge in Nigger Taxation. No doubt it is being done, but it is rare enough — or isolated enough — that I haven’t seen it. That’s a good thing.

But many of us are guilty of a smaller-scale version of the Nigger Tax, and perhaps of its inverse — the Whitey Subsidy, if you will. We treat the people we find attractive better than the people we don’t. If an unattractive woman asks me for a favor, I may well happily do it … but I will do it more happily if an attractive woman asks. And if the favor is so big that I am not sure I am willing … then I am more likely to do it for the beautiful one. There is no point denying this tendency, though I’m hardly proud of it.

We can split the causal relationship in two: I am more likely to do a favor for a friend or someone I like, than for a stranger or someone I don’t particularly like (even if I don’t particularly dislike them either). And an attractive woman (or charismatic man) is more likely to be considered a friend and liked, than an unattractive woman (or uncharismatic man) — other things being equal.

Is that a moral failing? I think that depends on the relative importance of attractiveness vs. other factors — what happens when other things are not equal. If my priorities are straight; if my bias for attractiveness is easily overridden by my appreciation of politeness or amicability or whatever other positive character traits may be apparent … then I’m probably OK, morally speaking.

But the effect is there, and we are often unaware of it. Attractive people are probably generally unaware of it too, when they benefit from it.

[Sidenote: Alexander McCall Smith wrote a book called "Morality for Beautiful Girls" and I don't want to read it because I am certain that it is not as good as its title. Just like the Tom Waits song "Warm Beer and Cold Women" is not as good as its title --- good though it is.]

Maybe I am guilty of mild forms of nigger-taxing when I am not paying attention. I want to try to be more attentive to that. You do the same, ok?

“Accept that some days you are the pigeon, and some days you are the statue.”

— David Brent, Wernham Hogg

The ability to accept being the statue is called “æðruleysi” in Icelandic. What is the English word for that? I can’t recall anything that fits it exactly.

There is dignity in being the statue.

A statue is able to hold its head up high when the guano strikes.

A statue will accept almost anything.

(Much like a doormat, come to think of it.)

Let’s have some of that. Next time the pigeon swoops in … stand perfectly still. Grin and bear it. You know what to be.

Æðruleysi or bust!

Turmoil can cause bad taste.
But clearly bad taste can also cause turmoil.

“I can only imagine that this is what Hiroshima looked like 60 years ago.”

— Mississippi Gov. Haley Barbour, about the damage caused by Hurricane Katrina

Whooops. As disaster characterizations go, this one does not exactly lean on the tasteful side.

In Hiroshima, not counting later deaths (lots of them) from radiation sickness, about 78,150 people were killed.

… on purpose.

Louisiana and Mississippi are in pretty bad shape today, no denying that. Their misfortune is not denied or slighted by appreciating that at least they don’t have 78,150 corpses with no skin on, some of them staggering around crying for water before finally keeling over, and they don’t have the prospect of decades of radiation diseases and deformed babies to worry about. And Katrina wasn’t ordered by the president of any country.

To be fair, in terms of buildings and economic havoc, Hurricane Katrina may well have caused even more damage than the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I don’t know. But surely we all agree — even those who have the stomach to find the bombings justified — that this comparison was best left unraised. Probably Gov. Barbour agrees too; he probably let this out in an unsettled emotional state and is now bleeding profusely from biting his tongue afterwards. I sure hope so.

Political opponents are probably having a field day with his remark, as well as with that of Biloxi Mayor A.J. Holloway, comparing the disaster to the December tsunami in Asia (death toll: 237,000).

In a state of emotional turmoil, we are all prone to blurting out unfortunate, ill-thought-out remarks. I’ve done plenty of that, and will probably do plenty more in the future. Is that tendency a useful measure of a person? It is certainly a lazy one. My first reaction was “what a jackass,” and then I realized that I knew nothing else the man has ever said or done. He may well be a jackass, but at present my basis for concluding that is flimsy.

I hereby publicly challenge myself to be (a) less prone to letting my turmoil affect my taste, and (b) less quick to judge others for the same.

You stand challenged too: the next time you are seriously stirred up, conduct yourself in a manner you can be proud of afterwards. And the next time an opportunity for hasty judgment presents itself — hold your horses.

Uh-oh. Garðar seems to be rejecting me. Calamity!

But apparently he is accepting the person next to me. Oh no! That makes it worse!

Okay, now he’s mulling it over.

This was in a comment on a previous post:

Your disclaimer, that since you have no goal of convincing anyone you get to say whatever you want — do you really believe that when you publish your thoughts for the world to see, you have no desire at all for anyone who reads your thoughts to think “I agree” or “I can relate to that” or “He has a good point” or “I know that feeling”?

Sure. I have that desire. Thankfully I don’t need to indulge it at all times, but it is there, and quite strong. But that doesn’t mean everything I write is written to manipulate my readers’ minds or win them over to my beliefs. Nor is it written to pander to anyone’s beliefs or win anyone’s approval.

The context of my disclaimer matters: I had just criticized another man for writing in a manner poorly suited to the purpose of his writing, by not keeping the nature of his target audience in mind. And I stated that in my own writing on this blog I had neither a particular purpose nor a target audience, so I was not subject to the same criticism. I stand by that. In my first and second posts mentioning astrology, my opinion of it was fairly clear, but I was not attempting to convince anyone to jump on my bandwagon. (The peer pressure of scorn notwithstanding)

I run this blog for my enjoyment, or to share interesting or amusing things, when I feel like it. That’s my only purpose with it.

I obviously do not publish all of my thoughts. In particular, I skip a lot of thoughts that I am not proud of. When I am afraid, or feel I have failed, or feel rejected or dejected, I generally will not post that here. A lot of private goings-on are not topics for online discussion, but some of them I am skipping not because they are nobody’s business, but because they would embarrass me.

I hope I also don’t write for the purpose of self-aggrandization (if I do, please comment to point it out), but sure, I cherry-pick what I write about to make myself look okay in public. I put stuff in my hair before going out, too, and I don’t need to be ashamed of that.

To some extent I do want to feel that people like what I write; I do want the perception of praise or admiration. Of course I do. I don’t want to be lambasted for crappy writing. Of course I don’t.

I want affirmation.

That desire is an interesting topic in its own right, and one I think about a lot these days. We all crave validation, of our wisdom, our looks, our charm, our piano playing, whatever. Acceptance is delicious, especially from people whose opinion we value. Rejection is painful; rejection by people we care about is pure agony. I’ll bet many people who are fired feel terrible not so much because they miss the job or fear unemployment but because the rejection hurts. Likewise for people who “get dumped” from a relationship. Affirmation and rejection can work wonders or wreak havoc in our minds.

But more interestingly, the anticipation of affirmation and rejection is a very significant influence on the way we think and act. Thus it is valuable to give some thought to that.

There are dangers in our craving for validation. We tend, to different degrees, to shy away from saying things and thinking things that would not go over well with those whose validation we want. I have a very-right-wing friend whose very-right-wing friends heckle him for being into organic foods recently. “What next, tie-dyeing? Equal wage for equal work? Collectivization?” It is a credit to him that he got into organic foods at all, because he could probably see this coming. But that’s small. In larger things, the fear of rejection causes serious problems: how many people are torn to shreds by their inner conflict about being homosexual or atheist or Framsóknarmenn or anything else that they know their homophobic, devoutly religious, conservative family just will not accept?

The urge to seek agreement or affirmation tends to keep us out of trouble, but it also discourages us from “thinking different” (if one can even use this term anymore, now that the Apple marketing people have had their way with it). At its extreme, it would make vacuous yes-men out of us. But even without going to extremes, it is influential: the more we shy away from trouble by acquiescing to conventional wisdom, the more we allow our immediate environment — the people we interact with directly — to determine how and what we think, and by extension, what we are. And the less we determine it ourselves, by critical self-reflection and by seeking influences in a wider context.

Going along with things and avoiding disagreement might have spared me this marathon discussion, for example. My exasperation with that marathon might lead me to be less willing to dissent in the future; I need to be wary of that effect.

We should appreciate and enjoy affirmation when we get it (if we deserve it!) … but also ruthlessly recognize when we are letting our desire for it affect our thoughts and choices.

The self-appointed guru has spoken. :-þ