“Desire Needs A Direction”

Tom Jacobs mulls our fascination with the North Pole:

As the cardinal point on our cartographic and libidinous compasses, the North Pole anchors what might otherwise be a wild, chaotic instability: desire needs a direction. That’s why Santa lives there, of course: as a figure representing either the culmination of capitalism or the purest form of the gift economy, we can only imagine him living elsewhere, at the extremities of the world. 

In a world increasingly cubicled and time-clocked, the North Pole (still?) offers a material monument that is at once abstract and enticingly material monument to pursue and seek. A monument to obtain and conquer. The remoteness and near-impossibility of “obtaining” or “conquering” it is part of its obvious allure.

The Master Cheater, Ctd

Macy Halford responds to the "master cheater," who confessed to authoring thousands of academic papers and student applications:

Like the Gordon Gekkos of the world, he will thrive on gaming an imperfect system (which he will continue to believe is the real problem) in which, thanks to gamers like him, it is nearly impossible to succeed honestly; and because it will be so difficult to succeed honestly, people will accept him as a necessary evil. They will call him a "tutor," in much the same way that high-class prostitutes are called "escorts." Carey Mulligan will see him on TV and curse, but Shia LeBeouf will swoon. In other words, he will be legitimate.

The Pope And The Male HIV-Positive Prostitute

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[Re-posted from yesterday]

He really should be more careful. When pressed on the church's absolute prohibition of condoms, and asked if there could be an exception, his Holiness thought of male prostitutes for some reason:

"There may be a basis in the case of some individuals, as perhaps when a male prostitute uses a condom, where this can be a first step in the direction of a moralization, a first assumption of responsibility," Benedict said.

What this exception to the rule suggests is that sexual morality is not always black and white. Benedict has chosen a case where transmission of new life (barring a real miracle) is already impossible, and where wearing a condom (i.e. not risking infection of a sexual partner) is more responsible than not. The Vatican insists that the general doctrine remains the same.

But what this exception suggests, I think, is that condoms are ok in some circumstances for gays because there is – duh – a moral distinction between fucking someone and knowingly infecting him with a serious disease and fucking someone while avoiding infecting him with a serious disease. Now, this might seem like the bleeding obvious to anyone with a shred of moral sense – but until now, the Vatican has never dealt with such nuances, and certainly not advocated any form of gay sex that might be more moral than other forms of gay sex.

This latter point is revolutionary, in fact, as the Vatican's rather panicked official response suggests.

Yes, I know Benedict is talking of a prostitute; but once you introduce a spectrum of moral choices for the homosexual, you have to discuss a morality for homosexuals. Previously, it was simply: whatever you do is so vile none of can be moral. Now, it appears to be: even in a sexual encounter between a prostitute and his john there is a spectrum of moral conduct.

And so Pandora's box opens. If it represents a "moralization" when a male prostitute wears a condom, would it be another step in his moralization to give up prostitution for a non-mercenary sexual and emotional relationship? In such a relationship, would it be more moral for such a man to disclose his HIV status or not? If he does, would it not be more moral for him to wear a condom in sex than not?

We all know the answer to these questions. They're obvious. The new thing here is that the Church has stumbled backward into acknowledging that gay men exist, that within our lives as gay men, there are constant gradations of moral choices; and so Catholic teaching must apply to us in the gray areas of moral and sexual choices and nuances. Until now, no such guidance was really provided except general prohibition: y'all be celibate, and if you're miserable and alone, so was Jesus on the cross. Now, by conceding one small gradation of moral life, that between a rubbered prostitute and a bareback prostitute, the Pope has moved from his arid abstractions to real morality that might be able to guide real people.

Of course, in a magnificently perverse way, this teaching privileges homosexuals. It's okay for a gay prostitute to wear a condom because he was never going to procreate anyway. But for a poor straight couple in Africa, where the husband is HIV-positive and the wife HIV-negative, nothing must come in the way of being open to procreation … even if that means the infection of someone you love with a terminal disease.

It's then you realize that the Vatican's problem is not just homophobia. It's heterophobia as well.

Who Needs 500 Friends Anyway?

Ben Parr profiles a new social networking site:

Path calls itself “The Personal Network” because it’s determined to go against the example set by Twitter’s follower model; you are limited to just 50 friends on Path. It chose the 50 number based on the theories of Oxford professor of evolutionary psychology Robin Dunbar, who claims that 150 is the maximum number of social relationships any human can handle.

Face Of The Day

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Members of a Haitian Ministry of Health body collection team place cotton balls around the face of Nixon Merise,24, as they prepare to remove his body from his home to their vehicle for disposal of it and other victims of the cholera epidemic on November 20, 2010 in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. They placed cotton balls and gauze around his face to keep fluids from flowing out. Doctors say poor sanitary conditions after January's earthquake made the country vulnerable to cholera, which is caused by bacteria transmitted through contaminated water or food. By Joe Raedle/Getty Images.

Wreathed In A Fog Of Smugness

Arch atheist PZ Myers condescends to the religious rituals he witnesses while making a pilgrimage to the Lady of Guadalupe, "the sacred Catholic heart of Mexico":

We left the subway station to join a trudging, milling mob on a hike to the basilica, which wended its way through a narrow tunnel lined with ramshackle booths where people tried to sell us all kinds of iconographic kitsch. That, I expected.

The surprise came when a horde dressed as Aztecs, half-naked with giant elaborate feathered headdresses, painted or wearing fierce masks of skulls or leopards, came charging through, forcing everyone to move off to the side to allow them to pass. They were chanting and pounding drums and waving censers about, so the whole group was wreathed in a fog of incense. […]

The syncretism is fascinating, and so far Mexico has been a delight, rich in character and history, and I've got to come back and spend more time here.But that religion is so fluid and flexible and complex doesn't make it right, and the obsessive, fanatical weirdness of this unique version of Catholicism is the product of its unfamiliarity; if you step back and look at it with eyes unfilmed by tradition, every religious ceremony looks this bizarre, and every religion thrives on hope built on despair… and some try to maximize the suffering to reinforce devotion. At least the modern Aztecs draw the line before raising obsidian knives and chopping out hearts nowadays; they seemed to be having more fun than the bloody kneed Catholics.

"Bizarre", "weird": the adjectives reflect Myers's projection, not the "fluid and flexible and complex" phenomena he also sees in front of him. You could, of course, inquire further into the resilient, mysterious and clearly powerful rituals he is witnessing. But that would require his admission that there is much human conduct here he doesn't understand – instead of the assertion that it is religion and that he therefore knows all he needs to know about it.

Death As Metamorphosis

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In a previously unpublished interview from 2006, Lila Azam Zanganeh talked with John Updike, about why he appreciated Nabokov's work:

[I]t’s true there’s a lot of dying, a lot of death in Nabokov. The end of Lolita, almost every character in it is either dead or going to die. But I take dying to be for a lepidopterist like him a kind of entry into immortality, just the way a butterfly on its pin, becomes deathless, in a sense, and is preserved. [In Nabokov's novel The Eye] … he describes the transition from life to death. And it’s a kind of metamorphosis rather than a termination.

(Photo by Flickrite Fishgirl7)

Save Pluto!

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Astronomer Adam Frank addresses the kerfuffle about removing Pluto from the pantheon of planets:

"Why did you do it?" people ask, (especially kids with big pleading eyes). "Why did you whack Pluto?" There is such real pathos in the way the question gets asked, as if the entire cadre of professional astronomers had just choked humanity's favorite puppy. My first instinct is to reply "Sheesh! It’s a rock. Get over it!" I have learned with time,  however, that my Jersey-tuned sensibilities in this regard aren't going to help anyone.

After pondering the problem for some time, I believe our collective grief over Pluto's demise as a planet is not because of its link to a dopey Disney dog but because of something deeper: a hunger for order and simplicity.

in the last 20 years something remarkable has happened in our understanding of solar systems and, in some deep recess of our collective imaginations, we just don't like it.

We have come of age. We have grown up. Instead of the tidy vision we were taught as 0743 pluto children, with 9 planets moving along their color coded orbits, we now know that solar systems can be very messy places.

From studies of other solar systems (discovered only since 1995), we know that giant Jupiter-sized planets can live right up against their stars in orbits so close it would make Mercury blush. We know that rather than the stately circles our planets move along, some of these systems have giant planets winging back and forth on wildly cigar-shaped orbits (ellipses) that can play hell with smaller Earth-sized worlds tossing them into the frozen depths of space just (perhaps) as life was getting going. And in our own corner of the galaxy, this solar system that once seemed so orderly and compact (even with that untidy asteroid belt) is now populated by all manner of malformed worldlets.

(Artist's reconstruction of Pluto (seen at center from one of its moons) courtesy of NASA, ESA and G. Bacon (STScI))

A Poem For Sunday

"Birthday" by Henri Cole ran in The Atlantic in July, 2005:

When I was a boy, we called it punishment
to be locked up in a room. God's apparent
abdication from the affairs of the world
seemed unforgivable. This morning,
climbing five stories to my apartment,
I remember my father's angry voice
mixed up with anxiety & love. As always,
the possibility of home—at best an ideal—
remains illusory, so I read Plato, for whom love
has not been punctured. I sprawl on the carpet,
like a worm composting, understanding things
about which I have no empirical knowledge.
Though the door is locked, I am free.
Like an outdated map, my borders are changing.