The times, they are a-changin’ – we’re just a little behind the curve. So, for lack of local fashion hotspots, I’ve cobbled together a brief primer on a few magazines (both American and International) that offer me some stylistic solace (albeit in fantasy more often than reality…). Here are my top three sources for sartorial inspiration:

Man About Town

Man About Town was first launched in 1952 by John Taylor, who shaped the magazine into onethat, in his own words, “helps you to be good…at being bad” (he also noted that its contents were limited to “women and various other bad habits”). As fate (and a completely disinterested male populace) would have it, Taylor was forced to shut the magazine down in 1967. But, in 2007 it was resuscitated by editorial wunderkind Huw Gwyther (founder of Man About Town‘s older-sister fashion magazine, Wonderland). This biannual publication (now in its 6th Issue – Spring/Summer 2010) will, without doubt, overwhelm you with its 250+ (matte-finished!) pages of male-focused, fashionably progressive, and intelligently decadent contents. With internationally acclaimed photographers such as Hedi Slimane, paired with subjects as sartorially savvy as Jamie Hince (of the Kills), how can you resist a peek? Based in the UK, the editors begin each issue with a brief statement regarding the current Issue’s…purpose. In the last Man About Town edition, the editors cheekily implore the reader thusly: “We sincerely hope that in the pursuit of our own interests, we have found something that will interest you. On that note, by the next publication, we hope this issue has become terribly irrelevant. Only then do we know if we have succeeded.”

So pick up Issue 6: The Paris Issue at your local bookstore and indulge in an perfectly-coiffed extravagant experience. The cover’s coyly suggestive subtitle says it all: “Pardon My French: on Clothes, cars, food, drinks, cigarettes, women… and various other bad habits.”

Arena Homme +

Arena Homme + was intended to be the avant-garde offshoot of the minds behind the now-defunctBritish men’s magazine Arena (a “lad mag,” in the vein of GQ, FHM, and other magazines of a similar ilk). But, under the creative leadership of writer/editor Jo-Ann Furnis, this biannual fashion bible has established itself as the pinnacle of publications devoted solely to contemporary men’s clothing and accessories (far outlasting its parent-publication,Arena). Its exquisitely crafted, cinematic spreads are lush portrayals of an idyllic world where fashion and art are seamlessly (and inextricably) interwoven. Longtime collaborators include the world-renowned fashion photographers Bruce Weber and Nicola Formichetti (a talented visionary who has worked with Dazed Magazine, V& VMan, AnOther, and whose recent collaborations with Lady GaGa – cringe all you want – have garnered her much praise and/or condemnation, depending on your own aesthetic proclivities…). Arena Homme + is published twice a year in order to directly coincide with the Spring/Summer and Autumn/Winter designer collections.

L’Uomo Vogue

Part of the dynastic Vogue fashion-kingdom, this publication is the Italian men’s version of Vogue Hommes International. Though a bit less daring in its stylistic sensibilities (especially relative to the previous two magazines), L’Uomo Vogue exudes a classically-founded appreciation for smart-fitting suits and tastefully accessorized high fashion. The models found within its 300-page portfolios are more likely to reflect your quintessential “Man’s Man”: tufts of graying hair, scruffy beards, and wizened faces, wrinkled with age – a stark contrast (and welcome relief) to the waif-ish rockstars that have inundated the pages of Man About Town and Arena Homme +. These men carry themselves (and the elegantly-tailored clothes they don) with an air of distinguished, fashionable self-assurance. But here’s the catch: L’Uomo Vogue is devoid of any English writing. So, pick up a copy, carefully pore over the images, but don’t expect to glean much from the editorials.

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Originally published in Indy Spectator (6 July 2010 Issue)

To subscribe to Indy Spectator, visit indyspectator.com

The late 19^th and early 20^th centuries were rife with groundbreaking philosophical, scientific, and psychological ideas (not to mention the astoundingly prolific authors and artists of the era…). Entirely new schools of thought were born, imaginative literary genres were formed, and new artistic ideas were being tested. Of that vast menagerie, we will be dealing exclusively with three of the era’s greatest (philosophical) minds. The American philosopher and psychologist William James was popularizing the relatively new theory of Pragmatism, while simultaneously conducting a rigorous study of religious experiences (and their validity in the world of objective knowledge). In the early 1900′s Bertrand Russell was busy wrestling with the seeming irrelevance of religious thought in a world where rationality could uncover truth, free from the sentimental baggage of a belief system. At the same time, G.K. Chesterton was using his literary dexterity to engage in countless bouts of verbal jousting, astute social criticism, and, in his spare time, he was busy writing several long-form works of uncharacteristic (for him) academic rigour.

All three of these men were involved in overlapping and inter-related circles of discourse. Chesterton and Russell engaged in friendly public arguments and were a part of the English intellectual elite. James, across the pond, was surrounded by his own group of academic friends (and friendly adversaries). Though in their writings none of them directly mention the others, the content and context provides ample material to compare, contrast, synthesize, and compartmentalize their divergent (and often convergent) philosophical impulses.

To kick things off, we will delve into Bertrand Russell’s essay, Mysticism & Logic, in which he discusses his unabashed abhorrence of subjectivity’s encroachment upon reason. Next, William James will provide a counterbalance to Russell’s pessimism by arguing for the use of individual temperament in forming a philosophical premise. Mr. Chesterton will then be used to tentatively back up James’ position (before undermining the very foundation that James’ opinions are built upon). Fortunate for William James, he will be given the last word as we work through some of the philosophical implications of The Varieties of Religious Experience.

I first came across Bertrand Russell’s writings while reading a book by the late David Foster Wallace about mathematical ephemera and the absurd – yet very real – idea of infinity. Russell, who was a man of many interests, poured his great (and “great” is a horrific understatement) intellect into an entire cornucopia of academic disciplines (history, logic, mathematics, philosophy, political theory, etc. ad nauseum). I was instantly captivated by his intuitive (he would hate the fact that I use that term) grasp of religion and its effects on scientific advancement and philosophical progress.

In his 1914 essay, “Mysticism & Logic” (contained within a collection of his essays titled Mysticism & Logic), Russell traced the “divorce between science and philosophy” back to Plato’s famous Cave Allegory. It was there, in the dark, shadowed cave, that philosophers began legislating the “good” – which turned out to be a blinding, intrusive sun. He continues, “The man of science, whatever his hopes may be, must lay them aside while he studies nature; and the philosopher, if he is to achieve truth must do the same”. Russell does not attempt to completely dispatch with “hopes” (if you wish, we can replace “hopes” with any of the following substitutions: opinions, temperaments, sentimental reasons). No, he merely wants them relegated to the realm of the postscript: they should “only legitimately appear when the truth has been ascertained”. They (those irrational hopes) are best discussed as philosophical and/or scientific afterthoughts.

He softens his approach a bit by offering this half-hearted concession: “They can and should appear as determining our feeling towards the truth, and our manner of ordering our lives in view of the truth, but not as themselves dictating what the truth is to be”. See? It sounds like he’s welcoming them into the intellectual realm, but in actuality he’s rendered them utterly powerless – especially in the face of cold, sterile rationale.

William James, the American psychologist, philosopher, and scientist, would urge us to read Mr. Russell’s words with caution. In James’ 1907 series of lectures on Pragmatism he argues that one’s individual temperament is the single most important component of a philosopher’s intellectual arsenal:

“The history of philosophy is to a great extent that of a certain clash of human temperaments…Of whatever temperament a professional philosopher is, he tries when philosophizing to sink the fact of his temperament. Temperament is no conventionally recognized reason, so he urges impersonal reasons only for his conclusions. Yet his temperament really gives him a stronger bias than any of his more strictly objective premises. It loads the evidence for him one way or the other, making for a more sentimental or a more hard-hearted view of the universe, just as this fact or that principle would. He trusts his temperament.”

Russell’s assertion of “an opposition between instinct and reason” is astute, but, in James’ view, ultimately misguided (or, at best, incomplete). James would agree that the relationship between the two can often be tumultuous, but he would never let it be presumed that reason automatically trumps temperament. Such a brash judgement would, inevitably, lead to “a certain insincerity in our philosophic discussions: the potentest of all our premises [i.e. one's temperament] is never mentioned.”

Russell describes reason as a “harmonizing, controlling force rather than a creative one,” but James would counter that Russell’s beloved “reason” and scientific loyalty to observed facts is not based in reality any more than the theologian’s systematic doctrines. This world of logical necessities, rational purity, and reasonable simplicity is, in James’ words, “far less an account of the actual world than a clear addition built upon it, a classic sanctuary in which the rationalist fancy may take refuge…It is no explanation for our concrete universe, it is another thing altogether, a substitute for it, a remedy, a way of escape.” A world built entirely upon Russell’s reasons and rationality is no less a fabrication than one built upon the mystic’s religious beliefs.

Russell contends that through scientific philosophy we may be able to come to a more objective, rational view of the world we inhabit. But, as James reminds us: “The actual universe is a thing wide open, but rationalism makes systems, and systems must be closed.”

At this juncture I would like to introduce a few relevant thoughts from the esteemed author and thinker, G.K. Chesterton. Although by no means an expert in the field of philosophical discourse, his insights into the conflict between pure rationality and truth are both pertinent and enlightening. Though his tone may be a tad ironic and amateurish in quality, his aptness for elucidation of high-minded rhetoric into concrete examples will prove most useful.

In his book, Orthodoxy, penned in 1908, Chesterton includes a chapter on “The Maniac.” This section describes the madman as an individual “who has lost everything except his reason.” Reason alone, devoid of temperament (or opinion, sentiment, etc.), serves only to limit one’s knowledge – not, contrary to Russell’s conviction, to expand it. Chesterton uses “poetry” as a sort of literary foil to counter the idea of pure reason. Poetry, in the context of his book, represents the inherent sanity of imagination and human insight:

“Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite…The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits.”

In direct concurrence with James’ admonition to utilize our temperaments (when tackling philosophical questions), Chesterton re-emphasizes the unavoidable dead-end of Russell’s impersonal, calculating manner of thinking. And, consequently, your manner of thinking inexorably becomes your manner of living.

Chesterton comments that “a small circle is quite as infinite as a large circle; but, though it is quite as infinite, it is not so large.” Those people who hold only rationally-based facts to be true are confining themselves to a world much smaller than those who accept that the world may consist of more than meets the logician’s eye (no matter how keen and well-trained that eye may be). Therefore it would be impossible for their view of the universe to be as complete (and profound) as the view held by the open-minded, pragmatic observer (note: Chesterton would disagree with the “pragmatic” label, and we’ll cover that in a moment).

So, Chesterton has described, albeit without the employment of technical jargon and with much sensationalistic flair, the condition of the purely rational man: insanity. If rationality is what drives men mad, what is it that keeps them sane? Chesterton succinctly replies: “Mysticism keeps men sane.”  One cannot fully experience life detached from one’s own temperament. Your opinions and feelings necessarily and positively contribute to a more whole and accurate understanding of the machinations of the universe. But, Mr. Chesterton doesn’t stop there.

He continues in his chapter “The Suicide of Thought” by decrying the use of pragmatic thought as a means of determining truth, and, most importantly, belief in an Absolute. Here is where he errs and diverges from James’ approach: “The pragmatist tells a man to think what he must think and never mind the Absolute…The pragmatist, who professes to be specially human, makes nonsense of the human sense of actual fact.”

Contrarily, James describes pragmatism as a means to prove that an Absolute must exist. In the closing chapter of Pragmatism, James claims that if universal conceptions have use, then “the meaning will be true if the use squares well with life’s other uses. Well, the use of the Absolute is proved by the whole course of men’s religious history.”  Chesterton’s position on pragmatism fails to take into account the psychological realm that James uses to prove religion’s (or mysticism’s) absolute validity.

In his collection of lectures delivered in 1901-2, entitled The Varieties of Religious Experience, James draws a comparison between the mystic/religious experience and the ability of one’s subconscious to manifest itself in our lives. Starting with this scientific approach, he suggests that what is felt during such an experience, due to its “objective appearances” in the individual’s life, is “a sense of something, not merely apparently, but literally true.” The mystical/religious experience actually affects the individual’s reality. It isn’t something far-fetched, or a sign of mental illness. These irrational (to Russell, at least) experiences are potentially useful in a very rational way: “Religion, in her fullest exercise of function, is not a mere illumination of facts already elsewhere given, not a mere passion, like love, which views things in a rosier light. It is indeed that, as we have seen abundantly. But it is something more, namely, a postulator of new facts as well.”

To further complete his claim, James observes: “That which produces effects within another reality must be termed a reality itself, so I feel as if we had no philosophic excuse for calling the unseen or mystical world unreal…God is real since he produces real effects.”

Now comes an interesting lack of commentary from Mr. James: nowhere does he mention whether or not this “real” God is someone/thing that humanity should…worship, serve, submit to, or in any way interact with.

This silence allows us to re-open a door that Bertrand Russell first explored in his 1903 essay, “A Free Man’s Worship” (also found within the essay collection, Mysticism & Logic). Here, Russell prompts us to “resign ourselves to the outward rule of Fate and to recognize that the non-human world is unworthy of worship.”  Oddly, he never asks for us to recognize that the non-human world is non-existent. Instead, he refers to it as man-made and artificial. He calls (preaches?) for complete renunciation of “the tyranny of the non-human power,” and asks, “Shall we worship Force?…Shall our God exist and be evil, or shall he be recognized as the creation of our own consciousnesses?”

The rhetoric that Russell is using to dissuade us of our religious convictions (or, as he would prefer it stated, our religious bondage) is uncharacteristically subjective, deeply temperamental, and eerily reminiscent of Mr. Chesterton’s arguments for exactly the opposite. But this comparison doesn’t hold up for long – in the Preface for the Mysticism & Logic essay collection, Russell writes (14 years later): “The position advocated in ‘A Free Man’s Worship’ is not quite identical with that which I hold now: I feel less convinced than I did of the objectivity of good and evil.”  No longer is he willing to treat God as a potential evil – no, now God is truly non-existent.

In conclusion, I do not endeavour to persuade you to side with the results of either Mr. James or Mr. Russell. Instead, I would like to judge which of the two was most effective in his employment of philosophical inquiry. Was it James’ rationally temperamental approach that was more optimally suited for delving into the murky depths of religious thought? Or was it Russell’s razor-sharp logician’s wits that were savvy enough to penetrate the mysteries of belief and mysticism?

Bertrand Russell was a lifelong skeptic and unwavering atheist. His convictions allowed him to bravely march down many fruitful paths, leading to brilliant discoveries in mathematics, analytic philosophy, logical constructions, as well as being a world-class historian. Now, I am by no means an expert on Bertrand Russell, nor am I even worthy of the title “amateur philosopher,” but, throughout all I’ve read of Russell’s intellectual feats, there seems to be a hollowness, an overabundance of arrogance, and a bitter lack of humanity in his voice. Maybe I’ve misread him completely (though I fear I have not…).

On the other side, though, is William James, whose writings ring with desperate sincerity. His conclusions often come across as pleas for someone to contradict him – because feedback was his lifeblood. His voice is fraught with vulnerable, childlike hopefulness that what he’s written (or lectured on, or argued) will encourage more discourse, more knowledge, more flairs of temperamental dialogue. His mind could function perfectly within the confines of objective academia, but his passion and spirit sought out the utterly subjective whims of G.K. Chesterton’s poetic idylls.

And that willingness to be open – open to failure, open to criticism, open to irrational opinions, even open to faith. These attributes should count as paramount among those invaluable characteristics of the discerning, truth-seeking philosopher. These are the traits that should mark the individual who is optimally suited for the (gentle & rational) dissection of any religion and/or belief-system (especially within an academic context).

n+1

The Intellectual Situation

Each issue begins with a cerebral jolt of intellectual stimulation, aptly titled…”The Intellectual Situation.” In the most recent edition of the journal, the authors focus on several symbiotically related topics, among them: “Webism: Internet as a Social Movement”  and “Addled: What’s Killing the New York Times.”  This section (which never lists an author – it is the combined work of n+1‘s founding editors) pulls no punches and never tries to word its criticism gently. It is a full-frontal assault on the status quo state-of-mind we so willingly accept as reality.

Politics

Here, Benjamin Kunkel (author of Indecision, and frequent contributor to the New Yorker among other literary magazines) expounds upon the idea of Full Employment (defined by him as “a living wage; and the responsibility of the state to ensure jobs whenever business does not”). There is a refreshing naiveté (though sometimes a tad bit too idealistic, and accompanied by some subtle Marxist tendencies) in his analysis of the labor market, capitalism (“no social order is ever overcome until all its productive capacities…have been fulfilled. Turning away from profitability as the index of social health, we might a attain a nearly steady-state of civilization”), and the current financial crisis (“the financialization of the world economy delivered more volatility than growth”).

Essays

The proceeding portion begins with a startling and anonymously-submitted article, both terrifying and enthralling, on Narcoterror in Mexico. With the exception of the aforementioned article, this section is usually devoted to essays by various authors (including a chapter from Elif Batuman’s The Possessed - refer back to the April 3rd edition of IndySpectator for a full review of the book) on wildly divergent topics (P. Diddy, Octomom, etc.) relating to pop-culture and its effects, both positive and negative, on how we think and relate to the seemingly inconsequential and/or irrelevant celebrity-celebrating media.

Fiction, Reviews & Letters

Next, are two short fiction stories (one of which has since been turned into a full-fledged novel), followed by a section devoted to literature reviews.  The issue wraps up with a few published letters from readers, some of which are just as worthwhile to read as the articles themselves (see: James Wood’s brilliant critique of n+1‘s own critical misinterpretations regarding the state of contemporary literature).

I know this was long, and maybe not as cheery as many of the other IndySpectator emails, but, seriously, pick up a copy of n+1, slowly devour its heady contents, and you’ll be delightfully surprised at how alive and well the American intellectual scene truly is. Esteemed journalist A.O. Scott summed up n+1‘s goal best: “What they are trying to do is organize a generational struggle against laziness and cynicism, to raise once again the banners of creative enthusiasm and intellectual engagement.” Become a part of their revolution now by subscribing at nplusonemag.com.

“Theory is dead, and long live theory. The designated mourners have tenure, anyway, so they’ll be around a bit. As for the rest of us, an opening has emerged, in the novel and in intellect. What to do with it?” –from n+1 Intellectual Situation, 2005

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Originally published in Indy Spectator (24 May 2010 Issue)

To subscribe to Indy Spectator, visit indyspectator.com

As a writer, Wallace was the antithesis of literary asceticism. His novels were bulging with footnotes, parentheses-within-parantheses, and an amalgamation of pseudo-hieroglyphic symbols. This book is nothing like that.  Its sentences are succinct and straightforward – no highbrow literary acrobatics are employed.

Clocking in at 137 pages (with, often, no more than one sentence per page), the reader could easily sit down and consume the book in under thirty minutes. But digesting its message…that could take months (for him, it took 40 years).

“This is Water” is, ultimately, a call to contemplation – without ever regressing into the trite, contrived, or cynical. He is hopeful, yet an astute realist in regards to his societal observations (and, frequently, admonishments).  His commencement address offers us a challenge: to live life with (pardon the cringe-inducing cliche…) thoughtful, hard-fought compassion.

The book’s power is in its simplicity: don’t plod through your adult life on auto-pilot; diverge from your default setting of self-centric arrogance; make the choice to Think. He proposes that “There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship.”  He is careful not to recommend what we worship, but, rather, he warns of what not to worship.

He closes with the following: “None of this is about morality, or religion, or dogma, or big fancy questions about life after death. The capital-T truth is about life before death. It is about making it to thirty, or maybe even fifty, without wanting to shoot yourself in the head.”

Read the book, be atypically introspective, and try to live life without reverting to your “default” rat-race mode of thinking.

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Originally published in Indy Spectator (10 May 2010 Issue).

To subscribe to Indy Spectator, visit indyspectator.com

Elif draws her stories from essays and articles she’s written for The New Yorker, Harper’s Magazine, and n+1.

The book is subtitled “Adventures with Russian books and the People who read them,” and she stays true to this as she winds her own history into the lives of Tolstoy, Babel, Checkov, Pushkin, and many others.

She deftly maneuvers her stories in and around a dazzling literary, cultural, and geographical landscape. She touches on topics as absurdly divergent as Urban Outfitters, Anna Karenina, and Uzbek poetry.  There are moments, though, where her meandering narrative style becomes a bit overzealous and off-track. After 20-odd pages on Samarkand it veered into a rather boring digression regarding watermelons (yes, somehow watermelons are relevant to Russian literary masterpieces)…but, she quickly steered away from what could have been a suffocating conclusion and ended with a brilliant chapter devoted to Dostoyevsky’s novella, “The Possessed.”

This collection of stories contains more than just pithy observations (“free wills are constantly obstructing one another so that, inevitably, what emerges is something that no one willed”) and clever anecdotes (“Air travel is like death: everything is taken from you”)- they imbue the reader with a sense of shared experience and mutual enlightenment.

After finishing a chapter you feel as if you’ve just listened in on an eloquently-taught  Russian literature course, and, simultaneously, there is this sense of vague satisfaction… as if you’d helped her learn everything she had just finished teaching you.

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Originally published in Indy Spectator (5 April 2010 Issue).

To subscribe to Indy Spectator, visit indyspectator.com

When I heard the news I was on my honeymoon, skipping through Europe with a whimsical smile on my face. Distraction was easy. I could excuse my ignorance by feigning naivete. Now, I’m home and unable (unwilling?) to escape the news and stories and photos and reports. They’re everywhere. Unavoidable.

So, what is there for me – a twentysomething newlywed student-barista – to do?

I can cry, sure. I can even scream, discuss, and wax on eloquently about what the government should or should not do.

Instead, I stumbled unwittingly upon World Next Door‘s coverage of the earthquake (and its aftermath) in Haiti.

Now, I can no longer tramp around, to and from work and school, unaware of reality. I’m forced to examine these devastated human beings through the grisly, loving lens of Barry’s writing and photography. I can see their tears, blood, sadness, and – somehow – hope. I can see much more than I wish to see. Barry doesn’t allow you to close your eyes. No, he makes you peer deeply into the Haitians’ eyes, and then he makes you look out from within them.

What if Christianity – all of the sudden! – was at the top of it all? Would it still be able to function? Would it even need to exist?

Contemporary religion has survived by always being against everything else.  Its masochistic tendencies have rendered it useless on its own.  It needs a battle.  It needs to have its back against the wall.

Its ability to make every little occurrence or happening look like an Attack On Religion is one of its few well-articulated virtues.  Christianity grew out of the need to rally together true victims: victims of real oppression, not “victims” of a no-prayer-in-schools-&-no-”in-God-we-trust” court ruling.

American Christians aren’t victims.  They are antagonists.

Now, don’t get me wrong- there are real, honest-to-God victims out there.  Many of them are even Christian victims.  (Many more of them are victims of Christianity, but thats another conversation…).  But these victims can only dream of living in America.  Compared to their Hell, America is Heaven!

So, why do we who have more freedoms (religious and otherwise) and privileges than Anywhere else in the world find it so irresistible to whine and bemoan our “secularizing” nation?

The more freedom we are granted, the more freedom we demand.

The mammoth scope of our “religious freedom” is so far-reaching and all-accepting that Christians are forced to scream about the intricacies and fine-print.

We never appreciate what we have.  We can’t even see it.  We’re blinded by our unrighteous outrage (and the idea that because God created the world to serve Him, the world should then fulfill its destiny by serving Christianity’s every whim and want).

Where did this obscene arrogance come from?!  To call it delusional would be an understatement – Its a god-killing fantasy about a world addicted to… them.

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