Tag: wisdom

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Father’s Day and Dad Jokes:

Fresno Bee, June 18, 2023

Let’s love our fathers, even as we hug their dad bods and laugh at their dumb jokes

When I first heard the phrase “dad joke” I was confused. My father is funny. But he rarely tells jokes. I soon learned that a dad joke is actually just a bad joke. And it doesn’t have to be told by a dad. T

he phrase “dad joke” emerged about a decade ago. Merriam-Webster added it to the dictionary in 2019. They define it as an “endearingly corny or unfunny” joke. A dad joke is a corny quip rather than a long story with a punch line.

Here’s an example. “Why do cows wear bells?… Because their horns don’t work.” These cheesy gags typically involve puns and word play. Like: “It takes guts to be an organ donor.” The response is often a polite forced laugh or even a groan.

Some dads may believe these quips are hilarious. But other dads tell them with a sense of irony. For the ironic dad, a cornball joke is like an ugly Christmas sweater: the lamer, the better.

Growing up, I associated bad jokes with my Uncle Bernie, who was a walking encyclopedia of one-liners. We used to call them Bernie jokes. Those jokes were not endearing. Frankly, they were annoying. Bernie was not ironic or subtle. And his corny jokes often became irritating. It’s annoying to have to fake a laugh every time a jokester corners you at a family reunion.

Of course, we loved Bernie despite his wisecracks. Love and humor are subjective. If a stranger on a plane shares a dad joke (“Wearing a watch on a plane really makes time fly”), you may wish you had driven. But if a beloved elder shares the same stale joke with an ironic wink, you may be charmed.

It’s not the joke that matters as much as the person telling it and our relationship with the joker. Dad jokes are endearing because we love our fathers despite their dorkiness.

But isn’t there something sad about what this says about our image of fatherhood? These days, the stereotypical dad is a nerd with a flabby “dad bod” and a lame sense of humor. That image is a bit insulting. It’s not inevitable that fathers are soft around the middle and full of dumb jokes. Of course, we love our fathers despite their goofiness and pot bellies. But can’t we imagine a better ideal?

Which brings me back to my own father and his subtle sense of humor. He is a sincere and caring man. But he also has a playful side. Unlike Uncle Bernie, he doesn’t force himself on you or interrupt the conversation with dumb one-liners. Instead, he’s a careful and responsive listener. His light-hearted comments are in tune with the social flow. Instead of trying to take over by telling a joke, he plays along.

A good sense of humor depends upon empathy and responsiveness. The wittiest people have a knack for making appropriate comments. They say the right thing at the right time, and in the right way. They are good at “reading the room.” They do not insist on being the center of attention, like a clown or buffoon. Nor are they boorish and boring, unable to enjoy the playful fun of human interaction.

With this in mind, we might imagine how important a good sense of humor is in the art of fathering. The best fathers listen with empathy. They are wise. But they don’t use their wisdom to dominate their children. The best fathers are playful without being clownish, and sincere without being boring.

They are witty without insisting, and kind without condescending. They love their children and want them to thrive. They are strong and reliable. But they can also be soft, when they need to be. And in a world that is often serious and overwhelming, they have a knack for lightening things up.

As we celebrate Father’s Day it helps to clarify the ideal. No actual father lives up to the paradigm. No real father embodies the ideal of good humor, kindness, strength, and wisdom. But we can try. And when our fathers fail to be perfect we can forgive them for their faults, even as we hug their dad bods and laugh at their dumb jokes.

Read more at: https://www.fresnobee.com/opinion/readers-opinion/article276466451.html#storylink=cpy

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How old is too old? The promise and perils of gerontocracy

Fresno Bee, Nov. 27, 2022

Is Joe Biden getting too old to be president? There is wisdom in a gracious exit

How old is too old? After Nancy Pelosi announced she was stepping down, at age 82, as the leader of House Democrats, people wondered whether President Biden should follow her lead. Biden turned 80 this week. He is the oldest president we’ve ever had. If he runs for re-election, he would be 86 at the end of a second term.

Some pundits asked whether Biden’s age would affect his ability to do the job. It is natural to wonder about the vitality of octogenarians. We should also consider the question of fairness and the importance of generational shifts. It is wise for older folks to prepare to pass the torch.

There is some truth to the claim that age is just a number. Some 90-year-olds are healthy, smart and engaged. Aging is a matter of probabilities. The odds stack up against us as the years pass. Good genes and good habits can change those odds. There is no on/off switch that suddenly clicks at 80. But vision, hearing, mobility and memory do tend to decline over time.

And yet, there is also some truth to the idea that we gain wisdom as we age. This is not true of everyone. But we can learn from experience. The passage of time provides a sense of perspective and proportion. What appears as a novel crisis for a 20-year-old is “more of the same” for someone who is 80.

Most traditions imagine that wisdom and old age are connected. Plato suggested that as the burning desires of youth are quenched, the mind is set free to focus on higher things. Confucius said something similar. According to Confucius, it is not until we reach 70 that virtue and desire come together. The sages of the ancient world were old folks with a faraway look in their eyes.

Some cultures also value “gerontocracy,” which is a fancy word for rule by elders. This may work well, if our elders are wise and civic-minded. But gerontocracy may also create a system in which crabby old geezers cling to power, refusing to make way for new ideas.

Aristotle was critical of gerontocracy for that reason. He criticized the idea of lifetime tenure for judges, for example. He said, “there is old age of mind as well as of body.” He suggested that some people may be too old to judge wisely. A

nd what about fairness? If one generation dominates leadership positions, is that fair to those in other generations? When Nancy Pelosi announced she was stepping down, she said, “the hour has come for a new generation to lead.”

This is a nice way of putting it. There comes a time, when elders need to make way for the next generation. There is no alarm clock that tells us when that moment has arrived. But it is wise to keep the succession process in mind and to plan for passing the torch.

One rationale for this generational hand-off has to do with creativity and innovation. Human beings are creatures of habit. We tend to prefer the stability of well-worn ruts. But in politics, business, and art, those ruts can become quagmires. Organizations need fresh ideas and new blood.

And what about the ambitions of those who are waiting in the wings? The understudies need their chance to shine. But when the old guard hogs the limelight, the back-ups never get to learn how to play the lead.

This applies to all fields of human endeavor, including sports. In the NFL, the generation of Aaron Rodgers and Tom Brady is ending. It’s sad to watch former heroes fall into mediocrity. And the second stringers need playing time in order to get good at the game.

Of course, we understand why Brady, Rodgers, Pelosi, and Biden want to stay in the game. It’s fun to play. And they have talents they want to share. There is also a crew of agents and sycophants who have vested interests in keeping the old guard in place.

But as Ecclesiastes puts it, “for everything there is a season.” It is wise to make a graceful early exit than to linger too long at the party, while clinging to fading glory.

Read more at: https://www.fresnobee.com/opinion/readers-opinion/article269144787.html#storylink=cpy

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Tyranny from Plato to Trump

I’m pleased to announce the publication of my new book, Tyranny from Plato to Trump: Fools, Sycophants, and Citizens.

The book offers insight into the perennial problem of tyranny. Tyrants seek to grab power. They are supported by sycophants. And cheered on by fools. This is a political problem as well as a social and spiritual problem. There are tyrants in our families and in our businesses. There is also a tyrannical tendency in our souls. The same is true of the tendency to suck up to the powerful. And each of us can behave moronically, more interested in amusement than ethics or truth.

The cure is spiritual and political. We benefit from self-examination. And we need social and political guardrails that prevent tyrants from consolidating power.

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The Wisdom of WTF

Sometimes you just have to say “WTF.”  In an imperfect world there is wisdom in a shrug of indifference.   

I’ve been thinking about this when considering student responses to a scandal that recently rocked my university involving the Chancellor of the California State University, who was our former President.  What’s remarkable is that most of my students don’t seem to care.  When I discussed this in class, most shrugged it off.

Some may think those students are callous and clueless.  But I’m not so sure.  A shrug is a strategy of self-preservation in a world of alienation.  To say “WTF” is to express disbelief at how stupid things are.  Sometimes it is an outburst of anger.  Sometimes it is a cry of despair.  Almost always it is an expression of alienation.

The world is too big for us to comprehend.  The forces that buffet us are beyond our control.  The omnipresence of alienation poses a challenge for the human spirit.

One of my mentors, the philosopher John Lachs, describes this in a recent book as the peculiar unhappiness of the modern world:

Huge institutions surround and engulf us: we feel powerless to influence their course… We are lost in their bowels and experience much social life as a sort of homelessness.  The devastating sense of the meaninglessness of what we do and of our own unimportance moves us alternately to shoulder-shrugging indifference and to personal despair. 

An obvious solution is to reform our institutions and make them more friendly and transparent.  But even that work is mostly beyond our control.  It also helps to understand that alienation is, as Lachs puts it, “the cost of comfort.”  Even though we are alienated, the modern world provides us with previously unimaginable health, wealth, and power.

And so we take the good with the bad.  And on occasion we sigh and say, “WTF.” 

Outrages abound.  Powerful leaders make huge mistakes.  Democracies elect buffoons.  Ecosystems are in crisis.  War is on the horizon.  Poverty continues.  And the pandemic plods along.

We fret and fume about all of this.  And our anxiety increases.  There is mostly nothing any individual can do solve these problems.  So there is wisdom learning to say “WTF.”

Alienation has a long history.  Karl Marx thought capitalism was built upon alienation.  The existentialist of the 20th Century saw it everywhere.  Human beings do not feel at home in the world.  We are estranged from one another and even from ourselves. 

Alienation is a common theme in literature and film.  In The Catcher in the Rye, Holden Caulfield thinks everyone around him is phony.  In The Matrix Morpheus tells Neo, “You are a slave.  Like everyone else you were born into bondage. Into a prison that you cannot taste or see or touch. A prison for your mind.” 

Alienation appears when we are stuck in traffic.  We experience it when prices rise and paychecks shrink.  It occurs when we work on our tax returns.  The world’s systems are indifferent to us.  We are cogs in a machine over which we have no control.

Alienation gives birth to resentment and anger.  It is part of the discontent fueling “the great resignation” (as I discussed in a recent column).  It fuels suicide and addiction. 

It even helps explain conspiracy theories.  The conspiracy believer is trying to make sense of a world that makes no sense.

And so instead of beating your head against the wall, learn to shrug it off.  We say “WTF” because we know we deserve better; but also, because we know there’s not much we can do about any of this.

Sometimes “WTF” is a cynical abdication of responsibility.  Imagine, for example, saying “WTF” as you jump off a cliff.  So we must be careful not to let “WTF” give rise to nihilism.

To avoid that we should recognize solidarity in the shrug of indifference.  You and I both know that the world is out of joint.  But at least we’re in this together.  The process of making meaning often begins when we look at our neighbor and say “WTF.”  From there we can begin to make things better, one shrug at a time. 

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On the Importance of Looking Up

The new Netflix film “Don’t Look Up” has a lot of people talking.  It is a black comedy, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Meryl Streep, and Jennifer Lawrence. It’s about corporate greed, bureaucratic incompetence, and the apocalypse.  Its bleak conclusion gets you thinking about the dangers of power, narcissism, and willful ignorance. 

The movie’s fans see it as a cautionary allegory about climate change, science denial, and clueless amateurs running the government.  Some worry that its gloomy ending may encourage despair.  Others hope it will be a call to action. 

Reviews of the film reflect our polarization.  Conservatives claim it is another example of Hollywood preaching a liberal gospel.  One critic in the National Review suggested it is the worst film of 2021.  He lambasted is as a “better-than-you comedy” that “reveals the nastiness of liberals.”  Another critic in the Washington Examiner said it was a “lazy anti-Trump comedy.” 

More subtle criticism came from New York Magazine, where a sympathetic commentator accused the film of oversimplifying the climate crisis.  He said liberals “need to stop telling themselves self-flattering fairy tales.”

I suppose the point is that we are all in this together.  Narcissism and stupidity cross party lines.  Hollywood is part of the problem.  The film seems to recognize this.  It shows how the cult of celebrity corrupts everyone, even the neurotic scientist played by DiCaprio. 

At any rate, this is an allegory, not a documentary.  Allegories simplify reality. They tell memorable stories that get people talking.  In this regard, the film succeeds.  It provokes conversations about life, death, politics, and American culture. 

This conversation should extend to the very idea of “looking up.”  The film’s title calls to mind Plato’s famous “allegory of the cave.”  In Plato story, we are prisoners chained in a cave.  We are not permitted to turn around and see reality.  Even when we are set free, most of us refuse to turn around. Plato suggests the masses would go so far as to kill truth-tellers and educators, who like Socrates are trying to get us to look up.

Plato’s allegory is about willful ignorance. Plato warns that most people don’t want to know the truth.  We deliberately choose not to look up.  We are happy with our illusions.  We don’t want to confront reality.  We keep our heads down, preferring slavery over enlightenment.

In the film, this idea becomes the slogan of the political party led by Streep’s character, President Orleans.  The party encourages people not to look up at the comet hurtling toward earth.  This is a parody of our culture’s struggle with science denial, “fake news,” and “alternative facts.”  It also implies authoritarianism.  “Don’t look up” also means “mind your own business” and don’t criticize the elites.

The philosophical solution to all of this is the pursuit of wisdom.  We ought to look up.  It won’t be easy or comfortable.  We may discover things that confuse us or make us unhappy.  But it is better to live in the light than in the darkness.

One of the questions raised by the film is whether you would want to know how and when you are going to die.  The scientists in the film know the exact time of the apocalypse.  And there is a supercomputer using big data to predict how people will die. 

What would you do with this knowledge?  Would knowledge of your death cause despair?  Would you prefer to remain in ignorance about your death?

A modest hopeful appears toward the end of the film when DiCaprio’s character responds to knowledge of his death by changing his life.  He refutes the computer’s prediction about his death, thereby reclaiming some modest dignity.

This is the kind of dignity that knowledge provides.  When we look up and confront reality, we can take charge of how we live and how we die.  To live in ignorance is to live as a prisoner.  The truth sets us free. 

Knowing the truth won’t change the indifferent reality of the cosmos.  Knowing the truth won’t stop a comet or cure you of Covid.  But knowledge allows us to live responsibly and, if necessary, to die with dignity.  It is tempting in a crisis to bury our heads in the sand.  But wisdom is only available to those who look up.