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repugnant wisdom
Thursday, April 11 2002
A gentleman named Dr. Leon Kass heads a bioethics panel making recommendations to our president about such controversial subjects as cloning and stem cell research. As one might expect, Dr. Kass isn't exactly bursting with revolutionary ideas on the subject. Indeed, his politics and his morality conform perfectly to the simple black and white orthodoxy of the American (as opposed to say, the Afghan or Isræli) religious right. Like his brother-in-moralizing William Bennett, Dr. Kass has even written a book setting forth his moralistic principles. This book is entitled The Wisdom of Repugnance and its chief thesis is, reportedly, that if something makes you feel icked-out or uncomfortable, you should interpret this visceral reaction as wisdom and be influenced by it. What this means for you and me is that American bioethics policy is now one of avoiding the approval of things that are grotty, have cooties, or possess the capacity to gag one with a spoon. It doesn't take much effort to shoot holes in such a simplistic middle-brow (or, perhaps, middle-school) morality, but indulge me for a moment.
How could one raise child in such a moral framework? If this child should find himself disgusted by broccoli and spinach, what could a parent possibly say to make the child eat such icky vegetables? Similarly, when I'm confronted by the appalling sight of a squalling infant covered with icecream, might I be acting in a morally-correct manner if I were to hurl said child down the nearest garbage chute? The problem with elevating repugnance to the status of morality is that no two people are repelled by the same thing, and in fact we're repelled by different things at different parts of our lives. There was a time when lime green leisure suits were not repugnant. Most of us remember being horrified upon learning how babies are made. Plenty of people in this country still think that the mixing of the races is an affront to God and the mere thought of it makes them sick to their stomachs. Participants didn't know it at the time, but it was the wisdom of their repugnance that drove normally upstanding white folks to join lynch mobs.
More often than not, repugnance is actually a manifestation of a discomfort with the unfamiliar. In other words, repugnance can usually be diagnosed as a symptom of ignorance. A good example of this is the way people routinely dismiss emerging forms of music as repugnant. Indeed, few Americans over 40 are anything but repelled by sushi, electronica, and exotic facial piercings. Most Americans over 60 consider both marijuana and gay marriage abominations; unfortunately these people vote (or misvote) in large numbers.
Again, this would all be very funny if it were taking place in a dream, but such idiots have real power in this country. And I'm sure things will get worse before they get better, especially with all the political capital our primate-in-chief has left to burn. Thanks a lot Osama! Until you came along, George W. Bush was one very lucky village idiot. Now, not only is he a great statesman of Churchillian proportions, but his oratory stands with the best of Hemingway.
I've been watching the new VH1 All Stars Jams channel on Time Warner Cable. It's so new that it hasn't even been commercialized yet. For the time being at least, I'm free to sit around watching vintage videos commercial-free. They're all appealing, but each for its own unique reason. Some are just fascinating kitsch, such as homoerotic late-80s post-blues hair metal of Motley Crue and Poison. Some seem ahead of their time, even after all these years and all the changes of fashion sense (Fleetwood Mac, for example). Some of "videos" aren't even really videos, since they clearly predate the modern notion of the video. Most examples from this latter category are beset with grotesquely botched attempts at lip-syncing.
Then there are some that are horrifying for no simple reason and still you can't avert your eyes. Tonight I was working on my Flash chat's new MP3 player, testing it with some Foo Fighter MP3s. I had the teevee on and it was tuned to VH1's All Stars Jams channel.
Eddy Money's "If I Could Walk On Water" was on, and what can I say? A hard-faced woman was dressed in an impossibly-short skirt one moment, short pants resembling diapers the next, bitching at the camera while Eddy pleaded with all the blue collar earnestness he could muster. In the background, Eddy's band of mullet heads rocked a world that, one could clearly tell, would never be free. It was the spoon by which I was gagged.
During tonight's walk in Prospect Park, I was finally able to catch the extinguishing of the World Trade Center memorial spotlights. Interestingly, they didn't just kick off in an instant, but faded out over the course of a couple seconds.
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