Posts Tagged 'philosophy'

Disappointed in the sun

Photo by Todd Kesselman

By Harry van Versendaal

It’s hard to be philosophical about the situation in Greece these days, but if Simon Critchley is right that “philosophy begins in disappointment,” then maybe we should give it a chance.

The 50-year-old philosopher was born in Britain and is an exponent of so-called “continental” philosophy – a bit of a rarity in the Anglo-Saxon world, which is famously allergic to the esoteric and nonanalytical explorations of their continental peers. Author of, among others, “Very Little… Almost Nothing,” “On Humour,” and “The Book of Dead Philosophers,” Critchley currently teaches at the New School for Social Research in New York and is the man behind “The Stone,” the New York Times’ extremely popular philosophy forum. “How to Stop Living and Start Worrying,” a collection of interviews with Critchley, was recently released by Polity Press.

Recently, Critchley visited Athens to give a brief lecture on violence at the industrial premises of EDW, a brand-new multidisciplinary venue in the up-and-coming Kerameikos district. He talked to Kathimerini English Edition about politics, violence and, one of his “top 5 philosophers,” Friedrich Nietzsche.

You visited Greece in the midst of a major economic, social and political crisis. Does philosophy have anything to offer to someone who has lost their job or house?

Absolutely. I take no pleasure in people losing their jobs and homes. But the fact is that people and in particular their governments in Greece and all across the European Union and elsewhere were living a lie, a kind of dream. It is sometimes extremely painful to wake up. The wisdom of ancient Greek philosophical traditions is essential here. Diogenes the Cynic threw away his cup when he saw someone drinking with their hands. Pleasure for Epicurus was a barley cake and a beaker of water. “Give me a pot of cheese,” he said, “and I will dine like a king.”

Do you see liberal democracy as a successful project? What are its main failures? Are there any alternatives?

I am not a very good liberal and the wrong person to ask about the success or otherwise of liberal democracy. It’s main current failure is the massive disconnection between the political class and those who that class are meant to represent. My alternative would be small-scale federalism based on direct democracy, or as close to that as possible.

What do you think of the EU project?

Not that much. It has prevented a war between France and Germany for the past 60 years, but I remain skeptical of its political ambitions. I agree with Paul Krugman that Greece’s entry into the euro effectively undermined national sovereignty.

You have lived in the United States for seven years now. How does it compare to Europe?

I don’t really live in the US. I live in Brooklyn and work in Manhattan. I love this city because it is a city of foreigners where everyone is a visitor, a metic and no one is a native. I can’t speak about the US as a whole.

You have said that philosophy begins in disappointment. What is the meaning of that phrase? Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Would you argue for a Nietzschean-style re-evaluation of values, as it were?

I remain very close to Nietzsche, in particular on the question of pessimism and optimism. For Nietzsche, rightly I think, there was something deeply nihilistic about the naive scientific belief in progress. Ancient Greek tragedy, by contrast, is an affirmation of life that succeeds by staring the worst in the face without flinching. Philosophy might begin with disappointment, but it doesn’t end there. It culminates in ethical commitment and political resistance, in my view.

On violence

In your Athens talk, you discussed violence. Most people in the audience seemed to suggest that the world we live in is a more violent world, compared to the past. Do you agree?

The world is a dark and violent place. Is it more violent that in the past? it is very hard to tell and it is also unclear what is often meant by violence. There is physical violence, of course, but also what we might call the “soft” violence of language itself and the violence of what often passes for peace.

You also said violence is never justified, but it is sometimes necessary. Can you explain further?

My view, but this is part of a much longer argument that comes out of a personal commitment to the ethics and politics of nonviolence, is that violence is sometimes necessary, but never justified. As a character in Jean-Luc Godard’s movie “Notre musique” puts it, “To kill a human being to defend an idea is not to defend an idea, it is to kill a human being.”

Left-wing discourse in Greece likes to justify physical violence as a rightful response to systemic violence, as it were. Do we risk losing the meaning of violence here?

Like I said, violence is sometimes necessary. But I am not one of those people who supports virile, heroic acts of political violence. But it is always important to remember that violence is a phenomenon with a history and that history is one of the cycles of violence and counter-violence that seems to catch subjects in a repetitive loop. My hope is that this loop can be broken.

Advertisements

No title please, we’re Dutch

By Harry van Versendaal

This time, it came painfully late. Andres Iniesta’s volley in the 116th minute of the World Cup final made sure the Dutch returned home from Johannesburg empty-handed.

It was a typical finish to a very untypical tournament for the Dutch. Long synonymous with daring, free-flowing, attacking football, the men in orange arrived in South Africa with an uncomfortably teutonic philosophy: Win by any means. (In fact it was the Germans who played like the Dutch this time, with their refreshing display of fascinating, modern football.)

Bert van Marwijk, the squad’s unassuming coach, made no secret of the new dogma. Total football is dead, he proclaimed ahead of the Brazil clash in the quarterfinals which ironically saw the Selecao, the tournament’s second favorites behind Spain, lose in classic Dutch fashion. After scoring a goal early in the first half, a complacent Brazilian side played as if it were already through to the next stage. Following a rather messy win against Uruguay in the semifinals, van Marwijk explained himself in simple, Rehhagelesque words: “I like good football. But I also like winning.”

Fans of Holland’s total football and its later-day reincarnation were dismayed at van Marwijk’s Calvinist-style rejection of unnecessary beauty for the sake of defensive pragmatism. The typically outspoken Johan Cruyff – the most famous exponent of Holland’s “totaalvoetbal” in the 1960s and 70s and, interestingly, the man who exported the trend from Amsterdam’s Ajax to Barcelona – also complained that Holland had lost its soul. “I thought that my country would never renounce their style,” he grumbled after an artless, and at times brutal, final on Sunday which saw the Netherlands collect a record nine yellow cards before being reduced to 10 men. “I was wrong. Of course I’m not hanging all 11 of them by the same rope – but almost. They didn’t want the ball,” the Dutch football icon said.

The truth is that sharp playmaker Wesley Sneijder, dashing winger Arjen Robben and (Holland’s biggest disappointment in this Word Cup) quicksilver striker Robin van Persie are the only players in the team that can make your heart beat faster. The three, none of whom play in the Dutch league, are stylistically miles away from the two midfield destroyers Mark van Bommel and Nigel de Jong, hailed by many commentators as the true heart of this squad. De Jong’s karate kick into the chest of Xabi Alonso, one of the haunting images of this final, was emblematic of the cynical, unusually head-shaved Nederland.

Still, you can hardly blame the coach for wanting to break with a past of beautiful tragedy. As Mike de Vries wrote in Guardian’s sport blog: “Success in itself is a kind of beauty and it is a beauty the Dutch as a World Cup nation has never experienced.” Although playing by far the fanciest football, Dutch teams always seemed to collapse in their most crucial games, as if they came with some sort of self-destruct button – most painfully, in the 1974 World Cup final defeat to Germany. “There is a deep unsolved trauma around this 1974-defeat. Like an unpunished crime,” a Dutch psychoanalyst tells David Winner, a British observer of Holland’s football tradition, in “Brilliant Orange: The Neurotic Genius of Dutch Football,” a captivating analysis of the “Dutch syndrome,” defined as a peculiar mixture of football ingenuity and chronic underachievement. It’s enough to say that in terms of trophies, Holland, widely regarded as the best team not to have won the World Cup, ranks next to Greece, each having won a single European Championship title.

Some see more in van Marwijk’s allergy to useless flair than a mere sickness of witnessing Holland lose with style. For sociologist Paul Scheffer, Dutch play in South Africa reflected his nation’s transformation from a progressive, open-minded society to a more self-absorbed, fearful one. “We are more insecure, conservative. You could also call it realism. We have become aware of our vulnerability, so we have a more sober idea of what we can do, what we can be. The more free-floating, high-minded idea of what we represent in the world has got lost a bit in the last 10 years,” the Amsterdam-based professor told the Guardian. “Of course you lose something that was nice but you lose also something that was irritating – I never liked all that moralism.”

Whatever the causes, the Dutch decided it was time for some ugly wins. They arrived in South Africa having scored eight straight victories in the qualifying rounds and then went on to win all six games up to the final. Performances were mostly solid but far from breathtaking. If there is one player that aptly summed up the character of the team, that would be Liverpool’s wide midfielder Dirk Kuyt: industrious, combative, banal.

In the end, the betrayal of the artistic legacy bequeathed by the football generations of Cruyff, Marco van Basten and Dennis Bergkamp for the sake of a safety-first attitude was not enough to fend off the curse of the two lost finals in 1974 and 1978 – nor the psychic powers of Paul the octopus. “This ugly, vulgar, hard, hermetic, hardly eye-catching, hardly football style, yes it served the Dutch to unsettle Spain. If with this they got satisfaction, fine, but they ended up losing. They were playing anti-football,” Cruyff said.

As Iniesta struck his shot past goalie Maarten Stekelenburg deep into extra time, the fluorescent orange crowds must have experienced a strong sense of deja vu. Only this time, losing did not seem to hurt as much – perhaps the only good thing about losing ugly.




Latest Tweets

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 31 other followers

Advertisements