Tag: art

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Meaning, Nihilism, and Hope

Fresno Bee, May 25, 2025

Fertility clinic bombing in Palm Springs sheds light on nihilistic violence 

The bombing of a fertility clinic in Palm Springs last weekend points toward a dark philosophical dead-end. The alleged perpetrator seemed to have a misanthropic, anti-life worldview. According to a report by the LA Times, a website that may be linked to the bomber advocated for “sterilizing this planet of the disease of life.” A speaker there declared, “I’m angry that I exist.” The fertility clinic was likely targeted as a symbol of birth, life and hope.

The root problem here has been described as “anti-life nihilism.” A more familiar term may be pessimism. The 19th Century pessimist, Arthur Schopenhauer, said life was an “unprofitable episode disturbing the blessed calm of non-existence.” He suggested it would be a favor to the next generation to “spare it the burden of existence.”

It is easy to imagine this leading to violence. The Washington Post warns of a rash of nihilistic violence, claiming that “nihilistic extremists are often motivated by a philosophy that seeks to hasten the world’s downfall.” If you think existence is rotten, you may want to annihilate it all. Those who hate life may view life-affirming people with bitter animosity.

But nihilism is not necessarily violent. If life stinks, indifference is as likely as hatred. Disillusionment and despair often give birth to apathy and listlessness. If nothing matters, then why bother with anything?

Various solutions to nihilism have been proposed. Religion is an obvious one. The loving God of Christianity gives meaning and purpose to life despite suffering, sadness and death. In Buddhism, salvation is found in the insight that suffering is caused by attachment to the ever-changing world of experience.

A different approach can be found in art, science and humanism, rooted in ancient Greek philosophy. Greek philosophers argued that human virtue and wisdom were intrinsically valuable, despite the indifference of nature and the gods.

Modernity builds upon this. Scientific knowledge has value in itself. It is amazing to understand the immensity of the cosmos, the history of humanity or the inner workings of cells and atoms. The quest for knowledge makes life worth living. There is always something new to discover and more wisdom to be gleaned. The nihilist gives up on knowledge. One cure is to rediscover the joy of curiosity.

Art also has intrinsic value. We can delight in the music of Mozart, the lyrics of Bob Dylan or the architectural wonders of the world. We can also actively create art. The fun of drawing, singing or writing is freely available. A nihilist might complain that nothing human lasts. But the energy of the creative imagination is an antidote to that complaint.

We can also find value in friendship and love, as well as in natural beauty, physical pleasure or athletic achievement. Social life and purposeful activity provide deep wells of meaning. When nihilists reject life, they reject these basic goods. This indicates a broken spirit lacking in vision, compassion and ambition.

The great American philosopher William James offered a cure for pessimism in an essay entitled “Is Life Worth Living?” He said that pessimism results from too much thinking and not enough active responsibility. The gloomy, world-weary nihilist suffers from what James called “speculative melancholy.” The solution is to stop whining, get out in the world and get to work. We have a choice in the matter of meaning.

If life seems meaningless, remember that you are free to create something better. As James said, “Believe that life is worth living, and your belief will help create the fact.”

As we celebrate Memorial Day, we discover another remedy for nihilism. We can learn from the commitment of those who sacrifice their lives in service to others. We all die. But this gloomy fact need not undermine the will to live. Rather, faith in life is renewed by observing that the best lives are lived in uplifting others.

Pessimism and nihilism are perennial problems. They indicate a deep challenge for the human spirit. We are the only beings in the universe — as far as we know — who wonder whether life is worth living. If we understand our unique capacity to ask this question, we may also realize how wonderful it is to exist as beings who think, question and create.

Read more at: https://www.fresnobee.com/opinion/readers-opinion/article306995306.html#storylink=cpy

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The Ghost of Christmas Future: Artificial Intelligence, Santa Claus, and Holiday Magic

Artificial intelligence is now part of the magic of Christmas and it’s sweetly weird

Fresno Bee, Dec. 15, 2024

Artificial intelligence is now part of the magic of Christmas. I recently made a video call to an AI Santa. Santa sat by a roaring fire and chatted with me about reindeer, elves and his penchant for cookies and cocoa. I asked him to bring world peace for Christmas. He told me I was kind to ask for such a wonderful thing.

This was fun and charming — and a little weird. But this cute example is just the tip of the AI iceberg. In the future, we may routinely call AI friends, coaches and advisors. This will put real people out of business. It is much easier to visit AI Santa than to fight the masses at the mall. Virtual Santa may leave portly white-bearded men out of work.

Beyond the immediate ramifications of AI Santa are deeper questions about imagination and belief — a great Christmastime topic. Christmas calls for the “voluntary suspension of disbelief.” A common theme in Christmas movies is that for Christmas to happen, you must choose to believe.

This is mostly harmless: We suspend belief quite often in culture and the arts. We choose to believe when we enter the world of a novel, a movie or a theater production. At Christmas, voluntary suspension of disbelief kicks into high gear. The imagination’s ability to jump into a fantasy world is what allows art and AI to happen.

When you chat with an AI avatar, you enter the world inside the screen. AI makes this easier and more realistic than cinema or theater. By responding in real time to your presence, AI lures you into an imagined world. As this technology improves, some people could end up mistaking artifice for reality.

Christmas also involves what scholars call “motivated belief,” something we believe because we want it to be true. At some point, kids start to suspect that Santa isn’t real. But kids may play along because they want the Christmas goodies. The myths of Christmas encourage this, telling children that their belief in Santa is part of the process.

We all do this from time to time: Despite the evidence, we believe things that support our desires or preconceptions. It is often benign. But conspiracy theories, cults and superstitions also work this way. These beliefs are supported by an elaborate network of rationalization and confabulation. When they are challenged, the motivated believer explains away the counter-evidence and accuses the challenger of spreading fake news.

At Christmas, the imagination is beguiled by a network of trickery and tomfoolery. To support the Santa story, we make a big show of pretending that all kinds of phony stuff is real — from flying reindeer to elves. Parents construct an elaborate ruse involving the Elf on the Shelf, letters to Santa and a trip to the mall to visit Santa (or a trip to the computer to chat with AI Santa). It all leads up to a big Christmas Eve finale and the magic of Christmas morning.

This is all good fun. But the season of believing opens lots of questions about culture and belief, myth and magic. A culture is, after all, an elaborate game in which we all collaborate. In a sense, culture is “artificial,” a kind of art and artifice in which we construct meaning. Artificial intelligence is the latest and most sophisticated example of how this works.

As long as we understand the difference between what is real and what is phony, it is amusing to play along. But we should worry that in the AI era some people will confuse artifice with reality. It would be tragic if people mistook artificial friendship for the real thing. And it is dangerous when fake news seems as true or real as actual facts.

We need to do our best to keep all of this straight. And perhaps Christmas can help. In this magical season, take time to enjoy the show. Try out AI Santa, or make a wish for world peace. But when the show ends, ask what you’ve learned about the human imagination and about the difference between wishful thinking and the truth.

Read more at: https://www.fresnobee.com/opinion/readers-opinion/article296998234.html#storylink=cpy

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Anxiety is the spice of life

Tranquility is often viewed as the goal of spiritual training. But serenity is not the only thing that matters in life. Conflict is productive. Struggle is exciting. And anxiety is the spice of life.

Arthur Brooks wrote an essay recently pointing out that suffering, unhappiness, and anxiety are unavoidable experiences. He was responding to the apparent growth of mental health disorders, including a recent increase in depression and anxiety. This is alarming. And I don’t intend to minimize the problem.

But there is some wisdom to be learned from the world’s wisdom traditions, and from how we imagine a good life. Here’s the point: life is difficult. The key to living well is not to find a peace place and to avoid conflict and struggle. Rather, the goal is to manage conflict and create a harmonious whole.

Dialing in the virtues

In his essay, Brooks asks us to see that our emotions are not regulated by simple on-off switches. Rather, they are like dials. They can be adjusted upward or downward. The goal of living well is to adjust these dials and to balance our emotions with one another.

I would add that this is also true of the virtues. The four Platonic virtues—justice, courage, moderation, and wisdom—are not binary switches. Rather, they are like dials that are adjusted in relation to the world. The virtues must also be balanced with each other. Aristotle reminds us that the key to happiness is to find the right amount of a virtue, at the right time, and in the right way.

A familiar example involves courage. Would we say that a criminal is couragous when he robs a bank? Not really. Courage does not occur in isolation. It must be connected to the other virtues. Sometimes courage needs to be dialed up: say when you need to defend what’s good and what’s true. But at other times, it needs to be dialed down: when you are selfish, resentful, and mean.

In the Greek tradition, wisdom helps us adjust the dials. But there is no recipe or rule that helps us figure out how best to adjust these dials. This is more art than science, which leads us to a culinary and aesthetic metaphor.

Cooking up wisdom

The challenge—and the fun—of adjusting our dials is obvious for anyone who is familiar with music or with cooking. Consider the process of cooking, eating, and drinking. The pleasures of dining involve contrasts and balance. Red wine is good with pungent cheeses. Hot chilis pair well with lime and sweets. A delicious meal involves the interplay of lots of flavors, textures, and smells. And these unfold over time—from the appetizer to desert.

Life is like a complex meal. There are spicy parts, and mellow times, salt and vinegar, sweetness and light. The key is balance. But also play and innovation.

So too with music. A single note is boring, as is a simple rhythm. Symphonic music and jazz demonstrate the joy and beauty of complex harmonizing. The bass line runs in contrast to the melody. The chords change. Those changes include dissonance, odd little grace notes, and tonic resolution. There are slow movements, staccato outbursts, and groovy backbeats. Sometimes there is a key change. Other times the bridge introduces a whole new concept.

What if we viewed our lives as musical compositions? We would strive for a complex balance of fast and slow, resolution and dissonance. Sometimes life is marked by sad blue notes. Other times it rings like a bold major chord. The goal is to weave it all together with a sense of harmony.

Harmony v. tranquility

The goal of life is not, then, to rest quietly, serenely, and in peace. Some spiritual traditions do seem to point in that direction. We might imagine a monk alone on a mountaintop, sitting in quiet contemplation.

But that vision is other-worldly, and inhuman. It takes us to a summit far removed from the joys and the sorrows, the anxieties and loves of real human life. A life well-lived includes fear, sorrow, and grief. Those are necessarily components of a life that includes ambition, love, and compassion. The key is to dial these things up in the right way and in the right amounts.

If you love others and yourself, there will be anxiety and sadness. Love exposes us. When others hurt, you hurt as well. This is appropriate, and real. If you love yourself, there will also be anxiety. Our goals and ambitions matter. It is good to feel proud of what you’ve achieved and who you are. It is also right to feel resentful when the world turns against you. And it is appropriate to feel sad, when the world disappoints.

The challenge of a life well-lived is to weave anxiety and sadness into a harmonious whole. Life includes a variety of ingredients: joy and worry, sorrow and pride, love and grief. We don’t control everything that life gives us. But we can adjust the dials. Every life will include substantial amounts of bitter seasoning.  The goal is not to stop eating, or to live in quiet serenity. Rather, we ought to aim to create a symphony of the sweet and the spicy.

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Finding Hope Beyond the Political

Or Why We Need Philosophy, Religion, and Art

Political life is limited and ultimately unsatisfying.  When we focus on the external and horizontal dimension of political life, we are bound to be frustrated.  But there are other dimensions and sources of meaning, beyond the political.

The despair of the political

The world is unjust.  Good people often suffer in misery and obscurity.  And bad folks become rich and powerful.  The social and political world is messy and frustrating.  Our imagined ideals fail to become real.  And although progress can be made, there is backlash and unfulfilled expectations. 

We inherit a broken world that conflicts with our idealism.  The dream of justice runs aground on the shards of these fragments.  The more we want to repair these ruins, the more hopeless things appear.  We also disagree about who ruined this world, why it is broken, and how it ought to be fixed. 

This sense of grievance and longing explains why the passion of the political can become shrill, dogmatic, and polarizing.  Political intensity feeds off dissatisfaction.  And when these deep emotions are frustrated long enough, there is the risk of despair.  The passion of the political dwells in the thought that if these ruins cannot be repaired, all is lost. 

Clinging to hope

To fight the despair that haunts politics, political rhetoric is often infused with what Barack Obama called “the audacity of hope.”  The best and most inspiring political speech reminds us of an imagined future in which the ideal will be actualized.

Martin Luther King, Jr. provides a well-known example.  He was aware of the problem of political despair.  In response to the disappointments of the civil rights movement, King said, , “The only healthy answer lies in one’s honest recognition of disappointment even as he still clings to hope, one’s acceptance of finite disappointment even while clinging to infinite hope.”  And: “Our most fruitful course is to stand firm, move forward nonviolently, accept disappointments and cling to hope.”

King warned that disappointment in the face of injustice can lead to bitterness, self-pity, cynicism, nihilism, and other “poisons” of the soul.  His remedy was to “cling to hope.”  This phrase is interesting.  To cling is to hold on, to try to remain committed, even as the storm rages.

Thinking in more than one dimension

As a Christian, King found a source of hope beyond the storm.  King’s hope was oriented toward another dimension, a source of meaning that exists in a realm beyond the political.  This is what Rev. Jeremiah Wright (who inspired Obama’s idea of the audacity of hope) called “the vertical dimension.”

Politics is one dimensional.  It views the self and the other on a merely horizontal dimension, failing to take into account other dimensions of life and experience.   This is bound to be dissatisfying because human beings live in more than one dimension. 

The vertical dimension is often understood in religious terms, as an axis oriented toward the divine.  But secular folks can also discover an inner dimension connected with love, beauty, or other sources of meaning found in the human experience.  The most important of these non-political axes are called art, religion, and philosophy (borrowing a set of concepts from Hegel). 

Now there is a tendency among some thoroughly political (or politicized) folks to reduce art, religion, and philosophy to politics.  Marxists explain the “ideological” in terms of material and economic conditions.  Feminists and race-conscious theorists also sometimes interpret art, religion, and philosophy from a liberatory framework.  Conservatives do this as well, when they think that art, religion, and philosophy ought to support some preferred nationalistic ideal. 

But the wonder of art, religion, and philosophy is that they burst the bounds of any politicized and reductive account of human reality.  The artist, the mystic, and the sage exist in a different dimension, oriented toward values and ideas that are not reducible to questions of justice or power. 

The example of comedy and tragedy

This may sound abstract.  So let’s consider two familiar artforms: the comedic and the tragic.  Comedy can be political.  It can be used both to liberate and to oppress.  But sometimes the comedic reveals the absurdity of existence.  And laughter can be an end-in-itself. 

Tragedy can also be employed for political purposes: to tell a story about oppression or the “triumph of the will.”  But tragedy also transcends the political.  It makes us shudder to wonder about death, evil, pride, murder, and betrayal.  Sophocles has the chorus say in Antigone (line 332): There are terrors and wonders on earth, and none is more terrible or wonderful than we humans. 

When a comedic artist reveals absurdity, we are directed beyond the political dimension toward broader reflection on the human condition.  When we laugh, and play along, we are engaged in a world of imagination, on a dimension apart from the political. The same is true, when we are moved by tragedy to see the terror and the wonder of human existence.  This act of imagination gives us a glimpse of a dimension of experience that is beyond the political. 

This act of imagination can be a source of hope, repair, and reconciliation.  It can also renew the spirit and gives us the energy to return to our struggles with better perspective, and a clearer sense of self. 

Hope beyond politics

Now a critic may suggest that this experience of transcendence comes from a position of “privilege” that is conveniently able to ignore the challenges of political reality.  But the move beyond the political is not an excuse for political indifference.  We are political animals, as Aristotle said.  And we cannot simply ignore injustice and the struggles of political life. 

But we all possess the power of human imagination.  And we can all find consolation and hope when we open our minds to those other dimensions of human experience that transcend the political.

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Singing the Blues in Difficult Times: Art and Creativity in the Pandemic

Fresno Bee, May 31, 2020

The pandemic has left people feeling numb, powerless, and hopeless. One recent article suggests that half of Americans have the blues. People are out of work and struggling to pay the rent. There is political animosity and racial tension.

Reopening things will get some folks back to work. But the economy is still a mess. Political nonsense continues to flow out of D.C. And a second wave of infections and shut-downs is waiting in the wings. We can’t go back to the carefree world we once knew.

This is a good time to turn to the blues, an art form full of nostalgia and despair. As John Lee Hooker sang, “Hard times are here to stay.” The world is out of joint. We dream of going home. But we can’t get there. So we sing.

Great songs, inspired novels, and new art will emerge from this crisis. Art grows from hard times.

The Great Depression gave birth to Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath,” for example. At one point in the story, poor folks chip in for a funeral for a child who died of malnourishment. Steinbeck then offers a simple prayer for the common man. “Pray God some day kind people won’t all be poor. Pray God some day a kid can eat.”

The Depression also inspired Langston Hughes’s dream of an America that didn’t exist. In the 1930s he wrote, “Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, the rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, we, the people, must redeem the land, the mines, the plants, the rivers … and make America again.”

These artists confronted the bleakness of their time with a kind of hope. Rather than weep and wail, artists turn suffering into song. And you don’t have to be a genius to participate in the magic of art. Everyone can make lemons into lemonade. The creative urge is deeply human.

Consider the surge in baking that occurred during quarantine. Stores ran short on flour and yeast. Bread nourishes the body. But there is therapy in the culinary arts. Mixing, kneading, and waiting give shape to bread — and to poetry and life.

Life is made meaningful by creative activities. Joy is found in sharing this with others, telling stories, singing, laughing, crying, and eating together.

We sing, bake, and build because of an upsurge of energy. A kind of spiritual leavening occurs in the active and inspired mind, as ideas and emotions ferment and overflow. The vitality of the mind impels it to create and to communicate.

The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche said that inspired spirits enrich the world out of their overflowing fullness. Art is the expression of will and energy. Suffering becomes meaningful when it is transformed into poetry, prayer and thought.

The blues tradition provides a great example. The blues grew out of the anguish of the African American experience. The novelist Ralph Ellison once explained that the blues express both the agony of life and a toughness of spirit. It offers no solutions or scapegoats. But it turns heartache into song. Ellison wrote, “The blues is an impulse to keep the painful details and episodes of a brutal experience alive in one’s aching consciousness, to finger its jagged grain, and to transcend it.”

When hard times become art, courage and resilience emerge. Langston Hughes described the blues as sadness hardened with laughter. This requires audacity and tenacity. There are tears and loss. But the artist responds with energy and gives birth to something new that is both melancholy and beautiful.

I don’t mean to suggest that everyone ought to become professional artists. Artists are going to be hard-pressed to make a living these days. But one cure for the pandemic blues is to find solace in creativity, whether baking, singing or writing.

Nor do I mean to say that art can solve our problems. We need scientists to find a vaccine. Economists must tackle unemployment. And psychologists are needed to treat clinical depression. Art does not solve problems. Rather, it helps us cope. Art kneads our pain and causes it to ferment and rise up. And somehow this transforms the deep and lowdown blues into food for the soul.