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Interesting. PG provides a thought provoking opinion, and he's a fine writer. However, I think this idea is a bit naive. Sure, maybe he came to realize depressing, moody short stories weren't his thing, but I damn near guarantee his imitation of said stories was crucial to his learning how to write half-way decently. The vast majority of philosophers are not good writers. A few stand out as fine men of letters, Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, Cioran, and some others, but the vast majority of them are more concerned with the clear step-wise elucidation of an argument which, while important, rarely leads to an enjoyable or noteworthy result in the domain of literary style and is frequently bland and dry. There is some special enjoyment one derives out of the works of the like of Russell and Frege, but it relates to the crystalline nature of their ideas, not the genius of their literary style. Take for instance the rhetorical technique Paul utilizes in the first graph--the repetitions of Mistake n. x. Mistake n. x. Mistake n. x...etc. That sort of structure, and indeed the casual tone, is pretty rare in academic philosophy, and in academic computer science. Where is it more common? In the efforts of short story writers, informal essayists and other such literary folk. I do agree that its natural to imitate what you like, and beneficial, but there's something to be said for imitating things you are averse to as well--they present more of a challenge because you have to overcome your natural dislike for the thing and really evaluate it--you have to question your own opinion of it, have to see if you can uncover any diamonds in the muck, have to see if, even if you dislike it, you have the chops to pull it off. In short, you grow as a person. Sure, the same thing happens when you make an easy picnic of your studies and imitations, but its silly to discount the value of forcing yourself to engage with views opposite your own, or things you are naturally disinclined toward. I think Paul makes the mistake of assuming his conclusion in this essay before reaching it. He seems to have decided that none of his history copying these things he didn't like was valuable from the start, when, if he reflected a bit more, I'm sure he'd be able to find that, in fact, those were important links in the chain in some sense, and not total wastes of time. That being said, he is correct that we need to determine value for ourselves and to come up with our own metrics and schemes of judgement. However, there is still value in the old pantheon--in the recommendations of all the men who walked before us, in all those stuffy critics and analysts babblings. After all, giants are giant for a reason. While it's important, as Paul says, to get over blindly accepting as good or special what everyone else considers good or special, it's just as important to be able to understand why these things are considered special in a particular domain. You have to learn your own predilections--but you also have to learn the rules, the history, the techniques, and the value scales coupled with a field of art--the master is he who can bridge the two, he who engages in tradition while changing it, he who plays by the rules while making his own. |
I never understood this claim. I have to assume that people are letting their judgement of the content affect the judgement of the writing style. Plenty of canonical philosophers were absolutely beautiful writers - Plato, Hume, Nietzsche. Modern analytic philosophers are almost fanatical in their adherence to simple, straightforward language. The result might not be beautiful, but I certainly don't think you can call it "bad" either. Some philosophers may be bad writers (Hegel is a pain), but on the whole they seem to be mostly good writers. It's all that they do, after all.
>After all, giants are giant for a reason.
Well... are they? All of them? I think you can make this claim with a good deal of confidence about math and science, because we have a pretty strict set of rules for evaluating good and bad work. But do you really think that everyone in the artistic canon has a good reason to be there? What about all the still-living artists who have only recently been "canonized" via a flurry of academic attention (writers like DeLillo and Pynchon would be good examples). Are we confident that we'll still be talking about those guys 200 years from now? If not, how far back in time do we have to go before we can confidently say, "these giants have a reason to be giants?"
I'm not endorsing pure aesthetic relativism, nor am I saying that none of the canonical artists deserve to be there. I'm just saying that I've never heard a convincing explanation of why the canon is a good judge of, well, anything.