rattus rattus’ blog

Have you ever seen an optical illusion?

Really? How do you know?

How do you say nothing? How do you explain silence? Can you paint no colors? What could illustrate the unknown? Can one lie?

What would a blogger blog about his inability to blog? The Man Who Couldn’t Blog likes to tell you in his blog but he can’t blog which is why he can and why his blog is such a marvelous blog about no blogging.

Why don’t the newscasters cry
when they read about people who die

Why don’t human ecologists cry when they give their talks, when they take part in conferences and discussions, or when they present their posters?

At least they could be decent enough
to put just a tear in their eyes

Why don’t we cry?

Well mama said
It’s just make believe
You can’t believe everything you see
So baby close your eyes to the lullabies
On the news tonight

Quotes from Jack Johnson‘s song The News.

Even promoting Slavoj Zizek is probably bound to lead oneself into the realms of self-contradiction. What helps is that Zizek himself is refreshingly honest and open about being a liar, a human being, yet a “monster” — his words, too.

There is a wonderful documentary film about Slavoj Zizek called “Zizek!” by Astra Taylor, released 2005, which well illustrates Zizek’s playful attitude towards life’s paradoxes and otherwise. Lauded and recommended though rarely shown in cinemas.

I hate writing. … my whole economy of writing is in fact based on an obsessional ritual to avoid the actual act of writing.
— Slavoj Zizek, author of quite a number of books

In a recent discussion about Sustainability and Global Change a student asked a few renowned scientists what we can do if the current unsustainable development may not be stopped or reversed in time. After a bit of discussion the researchers came to the conclusion: Think globally, act locally.

No, I am not criticizing it (I am just lying). I wonder what it means. I am asking what those who dare to answer with this slogan want to say. More so, what do they say? What is it they are demonstrating?

Who were the ones that explained us that global thinking tends to fail miserably? At least, a good number of ecological catastrophes serves as endorsement.

What does thinking globally mean anyway? Is there a global thinking without acting? Is the act of thinking globally a local act?
Whether globally or locally we act and we think in networks of causes and effects. Are local networks less complex than global networks? If so, at what level of complexity may we stop? What is the opposite? If I am to act locally how do I know what is local and what is global? What does acting globally mean? Who decides? And is this decision an act? A local one?

What about recommendations, rules, laws, and limits? Are they global or local? In which contexts do they operate? Who is held responsible?

Of course, I am responsible for my local actions, am I not? Who is responsible for my global thinking? Me, too. That’s what we think. So, why are there laws? What does it mean that I do act in contexts of habits, traditions, ethics, and for instance European laws?

And how comes my actions are bound by the fact that an American company does not care about how their computers are produced by a company in Taiwan both of which my local dealer can’t get hold of even though it entirely broke down yesterday only 3 months after I bought it?

Do you know what the answer is? — Think globally, act locally! And the other way round.

Yesterday, at the end of a series of lectures on human ecology, a lecturer uttered just after her own talk when the audience had left, that it is a pity that lecturers get so little feedback from the students, especially during one’s talk.

When I heard that my liar’s heart began to jump, my ears got spocky and my eyes made themselves ready to gleam into the bitter darkness of self-reference.

Fortunately, the lecturer did not hesitate to provide us with some possible explanations: It was late in the evening. It was the end of term. And, students are used to be quiet, they are rarely asked for feedback anyway, so how should they know.

When you have lost your key Paul Watzlawick unforgettably — I thought — showed us how ridicule it is to look for it where the lantern is shining instead of the place where you probably have lost it.

Apparently, self-reference hurts like hell. Maybe, I should have been nice by adding some more far away explanations: The lecture hall is to blame. The chairs, the tables, the light, and the air, they are all bad (and they are). Students do not know the importance of drinking during lectures. They have never learned to concentrate. They are distracting each other. They are having too much fun at nights. Or, yes, I have heard that often: They are just more stupid these days. No, it’s not their fault. It’s because primary school is bad, and the parents are to blame, too, of course.

Enough.

If someone is asking for feedback she or he should be prepared to learn about themselves. If a lecturer is talking to an audience there is always feedback, especially if there is none (that is “none” in the sense of the one who is bemoaning it).

Of course, many explanations can be found. All are somehow involved. And mine are lies anyway. But for the sake of it, here are some explanations that lecturers may want to avoid like the plague:

• Lecturers are talking too fast, or not loud enough.
• The slides are badly prepared, and they are shown too fast.
• The information provided is asking for too much of the students.
• The contents are too dense and too complicated.
• Concepts have been simplified too much, so they lost their coherence.
• Or, maybe, part of the contents is plain wrong.
• The talk is peppered with technical terms.
• The lecturers’ gestures signal uncertainty and weariness.
• They are reading out instead of talking freely.
• They are not looking at the students but on their laptops.
• Lecturers are simply not asking for feedback.
• If there is feedback they are not answering in an encouraging manner.
• And, I am sure, others can come up with more.

One explanation is left to me, though:
I believe they are no liars. It’s just me.

By the way, your feedback is welcome.

In a nice lecture series on human ecology (PDFs) I recently asked the lecturers and the audience what we can agree upon. My question was provoked since many lecturers repeatedly stressed the importance of diversity and tolerance. Anyway, my question was at most answered by silence.

So, I asked: “Can we agree upon the fact that we should agree upon something,” which in fact led to quite a discussion about what we might agree upon (for instance a discussion of indicators of sustainable development). One argument chased another only until someone asked why after all we have to agree upon something. Well, of course, they clearly see a need for diversity and alternatives, also in regard to strategies and opinions.

I then asked: “You mean we should agree that we should not agree?”

If you accuse someone of accusing someone what exactly are you doing?

[For what it’s worth, this question sprang to my mind after seeing the mind-boggling film “Manderlay” by Lars von Trier.]

A few months ago, a close friend of mine pointed out to me that I did something wrong. Disgruntled, I objected: “I can’t believe you are blaming me!” — Well, maybe I shouldn’t have.

If I am blaming someone for blaming someone I might as well blame myself of blaming someone for blaming someone. And so on. We better stop here and now.

Epictetus said: “To accuse others for one’s own misfortunes is a sign of want of education.” Indeed, probably many are to agree. Do not accuse someone of accusing someone.

So, next time we hear of dictatorial governments that are intolerant of any opposition, when we hear of racial or religious intolerance, or worse, we shall be good and brave: We will tolerate intolerance. That’s the way we have been taught. Do not accuse others for your own misfortunes. Be not intolerant of intolerance.

How could we ever counter intolerance?