For those who wonder

Noah seems to think that Caveman is a prelude to a treatise on self-help. For those who wonder, est, or Erhard Seminar Training, was the brainchild of a man named Werner Erhard. I don't know what happened at est sessions, that not being exactly my cup of Diet Coke, but they were a phenomenon of the 70s, legendary for lasting forever and not letting anyone go to the bathroom.

I, for one, am against self-help.

I am not rallying in Caveman Pt 1 that you are the creature of your own making, and therefore capable of change by remaking yourself. I am simply observing that, according to some schools of thought, you are the result of your own Narrative. These schools seem never to have heard of DNA, or any of the latest advances in behavioral science. It's nice to live in a vacuum of theory.

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a critical theorist. Read the review of Camille in today's NYTBR -- she and I are on the same wavelength. (Shoot me now!) I believe that art is the expression of humankind's highest achievements, an ennobling of souls, an enrichment of the beholder and the creator, a transcendent act. I do not believe that art is how we hide who we really are so that second-rate critics can tear us apart for the art we didn't create.

Pfft!

As for self-help, well, I'm not particularly against people trying to better themselves. I wish more people would. But I am against the concept of self-esteem valued above accomplishment. Accomplish something, then feel good about it. Now, granted, if you're in some truly objective dump and all you have left is intrinsic human worth, we'll start with self-esteem and work our way up. But if you can afford a three-day est seminar, and have enough self-control not to go to the bathroom during the sessions, you are not exactly in an objective dump. If you have the blues, however, I recommend doing something as a cure. Creating something. Doing something constructive.

I guess I'm an existentialist, if you want to label things. We are how we act. And I'm a friend of the arts. We are how we create. All acts of art share in the ennobling of the human spirit. Or, plant a potato. It's useful, it's time-consuming, and eventually you'll reap potatoes.

I spent all day today working on part 2, which is a very selective history of art. I managed to make it to the middle ages; I give myself a bogey as far as accuracy as concerned. I also spent a little time looking at educational theory. Talk about one wide open nut ready for the cracking! Plato, Rousseau, Dewey, Peirce (who knew?), Montessori, etc., etc., etc., ad infinitum. I'll even admit in print that grasshopper wasn't terribly wrong intuiting that moral training may have something to do with it (except, of course, that horrible word training is the antithesis of teaching).

I also worked out all the money Hen Hud owes me, ready to send in for reimbursement. I even ran all kinds of diagnostics on the old PC, loaded the new EB on the other PC (this one is too tight memorywise), surfed around for some new podcasts to try, and made one hell of a good dinner.

A day of accomplishment. No self-esteem for me. I even consulted VBD to find out what the well-dressed nerd is wearing. Of course, I think they'd better lighten up on the push of the summer camp. "Money money money money money money money money money money money money money."

I am so ready for the next revival of Cabaret.