nemorathwald (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nemorathwald) wrote2021-11-17 03:13 pm
nemorathwald) wrote2021-11-17 03:13 pm
When To Be Impressed By Antiquity
There are multiple reasons to draw parallels with the past, and not all are useful.
While narrating my audiobook, I read a chapter in which there were footnotes. In these footnotes, the author described parallels between a four-step method he was presenting, and ancient ideas from Vajrayana Buddhism called the Four Naljors. I'm impressed with these parallels; I really am. But it doesn't belong in persuasive writing. I prefer these footnotes to be extracted into an Appendix. The chapter must serve to persuade, and these parallels are persuasively irrelevant to everyone but Buddhists.
The way I feel about these historical analogues depends on what they serve to accomplish.
There is a common mindset which is more likely to get on board with something if it is claimed it has an ancient origin. When real authentic antiquities are lacking, they tend to need what David Chapman termed "invented traditions". Depending on the target audience, that will either make them suspicious of the book I am narrating, or impress them in the wrong context.
When writing a persuasive book, an author must be careful of the context in which they present antiquity, to prevent misleading readers by implicitly encouraging them to be unduly impressed by the trappings of ancient pomp in which it's dressed up.
Here is another example. In an episode of Michael Taft's Deconstructing Yourself Podcast about Buddhism, Ken McLeod said that the Sanskrit word "vajra" when found in ancient Asian religious texts might not be translated as "diamond", but as "thunderbolt". Then he explained what that might imply. He and the podcast host then did that verbal tic which I call "PIMAN" (podcast interview mutual-appreciation noises). A host and guest both say "uh-huh, yeah" a few times (and on a spiritual podcast, the sound "mmmmmmm" which is an expression of satisfied appreciation). That's PIMAN. And then they just... move on.
I understand that Michael Taft and Ken McLeod both had mental experiences while meditating, and were looking to the past for clues of what sorts of mental experiences founders of Buddhism had in ancient times, which might guide them to explore similar mental operations. They are not attempting to be historians. That's fine so far as it goes. But I find myself curious about more. Ancientness is left under-examined and under-served by this style of discussion. What is happening? Are we mining a golden age for lost truths? Like Nicholas Cage re-interpreting a part of a treasure map that Thomas Jefferson drew on the back of the Constitution? Nothing works that way.
The legitimizing context is the wrong context for the information in the footnotes. So what's the right context? History. The book's footnotes should be presented as history, to encourage the reader to experience the info as neat. "Neat info" is different from "legitimizing info". If it's neat, there is enjoyment and open-ended curiosity. If instead ancient things are presented as legitimizing, this creates a finality which inhibits curiosity.
On a recent episode of the Ex Urbe Ad Astra podcast, historian Ada Palmer went into depth about using the myth of a golden age to grant legitimacy. The guest on that episode, historian David Perry, said his father was famous for saying "The sources always say yes." Don't go trying to find something in history, or you'll always find it, because you'll neglect all the counter-evidence. Ada Palmer and David Perry succeed in their role as historians to the extent that they avoid fixating pattern. On the one hand, we do learn lessons from history! On the other hand, there is no wistful certainty that any given research project into history must reveal something of interest.
I'm halfway through "Reading Lucretius In The Renaissance" by Ada Palmer. She does not allow herself to assume marginalia in hundreds of copies of De rerum natura teaches us something about atheism. The statistical analysis shows that a lot of marginalia means ... nothing. They thought it was nonsense and passed it down through the centuries only because they were transcribing it just to learn Latin. They do not assume Lucretius was on to something, and in point of fact, she takes great pains to disabuse us of the flattering notion that these historical figures were atheists. Quite the contrary. And yet marginalia in Machiavelli's and Voltaire's copies of De rerum natura show it gave people dangerous ideas!
On that same episode of the Deconstructing Yourself Podcast, Ken McLeod and Michael Taft gave an anecdote about asking a spiritual seeker to name some personage that can feel inspiring, and the seeker replied "Pikachu". They did not quite know what to do with someone being inspired by Pikachu. But why is Pikachu not a transmitter of big ideas? As Ada Palmer points out, anime is a great source of ideas! Maybe translating Sanskrit also gives Ken McLeod the seeds of big ideas? It seems that Vajrayana Buddhism can plant the seeds of big ideas in the audiobook I'm narrating.
I don't know enough about "Buddhist lineages" to say anything confidently about it, but there are definitely "the seeds of ideas".
Historical figures did not know how their work would profoundly inspire science and free thought in ways they did not intend, and indeed, they would be uncomfortable if they knew. If a future of societal fluidity listens to my podcast, "Fluidity Audiobooks", only to dig through it for clues to the wisdom of a lost age, I would be disappointed. Instead, most likely they will reject it, but they will get seeds of ideas, and be inspired to build something on it. Something that would make me uncomfortable. Well, that's how it has always worked. I should be so lucky. Ideas that percolated through Sanskrit and the Norse Eddas and Lucretius and everyone else, down to you and me, Ada Palmer and David Perry, Michael Taft and Ken McLeod, mutating at every step. "The seeds of ideas" is the closest thing to a "lineage" that I imagine leaving for the future.
While narrating my audiobook, I read a chapter in which there were footnotes. In these footnotes, the author described parallels between a four-step method he was presenting, and ancient ideas from Vajrayana Buddhism called the Four Naljors. I'm impressed with these parallels; I really am. But it doesn't belong in persuasive writing. I prefer these footnotes to be extracted into an Appendix. The chapter must serve to persuade, and these parallels are persuasively irrelevant to everyone but Buddhists.
The way I feel about these historical analogues depends on what they serve to accomplish.
There is a common mindset which is more likely to get on board with something if it is claimed it has an ancient origin. When real authentic antiquities are lacking, they tend to need what David Chapman termed "invented traditions". Depending on the target audience, that will either make them suspicious of the book I am narrating, or impress them in the wrong context.
When writing a persuasive book, an author must be careful of the context in which they present antiquity, to prevent misleading readers by implicitly encouraging them to be unduly impressed by the trappings of ancient pomp in which it's dressed up.
Here is another example. In an episode of Michael Taft's Deconstructing Yourself Podcast about Buddhism, Ken McLeod said that the Sanskrit word "vajra" when found in ancient Asian religious texts might not be translated as "diamond", but as "thunderbolt". Then he explained what that might imply. He and the podcast host then did that verbal tic which I call "PIMAN" (podcast interview mutual-appreciation noises). A host and guest both say "uh-huh, yeah" a few times (and on a spiritual podcast, the sound "mmmmmmm" which is an expression of satisfied appreciation). That's PIMAN. And then they just... move on.
I understand that Michael Taft and Ken McLeod both had mental experiences while meditating, and were looking to the past for clues of what sorts of mental experiences founders of Buddhism had in ancient times, which might guide them to explore similar mental operations. They are not attempting to be historians. That's fine so far as it goes. But I find myself curious about more. Ancientness is left under-examined and under-served by this style of discussion. What is happening? Are we mining a golden age for lost truths? Like Nicholas Cage re-interpreting a part of a treasure map that Thomas Jefferson drew on the back of the Constitution? Nothing works that way.
The legitimizing context is the wrong context for the information in the footnotes. So what's the right context? History. The book's footnotes should be presented as history, to encourage the reader to experience the info as neat. "Neat info" is different from "legitimizing info". If it's neat, there is enjoyment and open-ended curiosity. If instead ancient things are presented as legitimizing, this creates a finality which inhibits curiosity.
On a recent episode of the Ex Urbe Ad Astra podcast, historian Ada Palmer went into depth about using the myth of a golden age to grant legitimacy. The guest on that episode, historian David Perry, said his father was famous for saying "The sources always say yes." Don't go trying to find something in history, or you'll always find it, because you'll neglect all the counter-evidence. Ada Palmer and David Perry succeed in their role as historians to the extent that they avoid fixating pattern. On the one hand, we do learn lessons from history! On the other hand, there is no wistful certainty that any given research project into history must reveal something of interest.
I'm halfway through "Reading Lucretius In The Renaissance" by Ada Palmer. She does not allow herself to assume marginalia in hundreds of copies of De rerum natura teaches us something about atheism. The statistical analysis shows that a lot of marginalia means ... nothing. They thought it was nonsense and passed it down through the centuries only because they were transcribing it just to learn Latin. They do not assume Lucretius was on to something, and in point of fact, she takes great pains to disabuse us of the flattering notion that these historical figures were atheists. Quite the contrary. And yet marginalia in Machiavelli's and Voltaire's copies of De rerum natura show it gave people dangerous ideas!
On that same episode of the Deconstructing Yourself Podcast, Ken McLeod and Michael Taft gave an anecdote about asking a spiritual seeker to name some personage that can feel inspiring, and the seeker replied "Pikachu". They did not quite know what to do with someone being inspired by Pikachu. But why is Pikachu not a transmitter of big ideas? As Ada Palmer points out, anime is a great source of ideas! Maybe translating Sanskrit also gives Ken McLeod the seeds of big ideas? It seems that Vajrayana Buddhism can plant the seeds of big ideas in the audiobook I'm narrating.
I don't know enough about "Buddhist lineages" to say anything confidently about it, but there are definitely "the seeds of ideas".
Historical figures did not know how their work would profoundly inspire science and free thought in ways they did not intend, and indeed, they would be uncomfortable if they knew. If a future of societal fluidity listens to my podcast, "Fluidity Audiobooks", only to dig through it for clues to the wisdom of a lost age, I would be disappointed. Instead, most likely they will reject it, but they will get seeds of ideas, and be inspired to build something on it. Something that would make me uncomfortable. Well, that's how it has always worked. I should be so lucky. Ideas that percolated through Sanskrit and the Norse Eddas and Lucretius and everyone else, down to you and me, Ada Palmer and David Perry, Michael Taft and Ken McLeod, mutating at every step. "The seeds of ideas" is the closest thing to a "lineage" that I imagine leaving for the future.