Arguments presented here are -- er... shall we say -- disarmingly naive. Their caliber reminds one of the statistic that the higher the IQ the lower the chance of being religious. Thus, for instance, neither lady appears to understand the debate regarding the concept of the "selfish gene".
Ladies: the gene is "selfish" not because it makes us selfish but because it is only interested in propagating itself (it is itself "selfish", but as it is an unthinking thing, that's only a metaphor, ok?). Now, in order to propagate itself, the gene may need us, its unwitting carriers, to behave altruistically from time to time; which, please, believe me, all of us do, the religious and the irreligious alike, although, I suppose, if one wanted to be mean about it, one could argue perhaps that religiously motivated altruism isn't really altruistic, but a self-interested pursuit of salvation? This would mean that only we atheists can be truly altruistic?
(By the way, it seems to me that the whole brouhaha regarding the altruism puzzle exaggerates greatly the frequency of the phenomenon: cases of altruism are highly notable precisely because they are so... rare. Sorry).
The final notion of the review that atheists lack spiritual life -- "long, long conversations with oneself" -- is untrue, untutored and -- intentionally offensive. It is calculated to put atheists on defense ("prove to me you have an internal life!"). And it is silly. What is spiritual about "and He shall smite them with a rod of iron"?
Jul 4, 2010
May 24, 2010
How John's mind works
John H. of Bronte Capital writes a good financial blog -- one of the best out there, when he has the time to write it, that is, which, to our chagrin is not often enough. It is also a task from which, alas, he has lately allowed himself to be diverted to make the sort of blog entries of which the blogosphere has far too many already: you know, the sort that sport millions of hits and tens of thousands of comments, but whose point is something windy along the lines of "all Japanese/not-all Japanese are Nazis" or "Hillary wears/does not wear army boots". (The basic publicity concept being: if you violently stir the beehive, the bees will fly).
His most recent beehive-stirring-post is an exercise in political sermonery -- of which, we should think, the internet already had more than enough -- and true to the sermon genre -- it is copiously tinged with self-loathing.
The sermonery upbraids the Thai middle classes for denying the poor their vote and then -- shooting them.
(Fair enough, I suppose, about the shooting bit, though in their defense, I suppose, it could be said that the Thai government was acting in defense of private property, a principle which a financial adviser like John should not take lightly if he values his job. But John wheezes on the voting: he mistakes the right to vote for a moral principle. The view is unexamined -- a surprising thing in a man who examines so well the books of banks. I mean, can there really possibly be a natural universal human right to vote? The answer should be plain: voting is a practical mechanism we resort to because it works, not because it is somehow divinely instituted. In Thailand it has not worked for quite some time: what could possibly be the point of voting yet again?)
But I don't wish to debate any of that. Rather, I am moved by something else: when he condemns the Thai middle class, he speaks of people like me. His point is this: in the course of researching an investment idea he'd talked to a lot of Thai middle class, liked them and -- is now riven with self-loathing for having liked them -- now that they have rejected the results of the ballot box (he says) and have shot at demonstrators. I feel moved to reassure John: there is no need for self-loathing: he bears no responsibility for the crimes of the Thai middle class, whether real or imagined. They are people like him in some way; but all people are like him in some way.
John's Thai outburst is interesting in many ways. First, it is interesting to see how compartmentalized his mind is: a cool, rational, skeptical financial man can turn out to be a hot, passionate, "principled" political animal; "principles" in this context meaning something rather special: i.e. "strongly held beliefs of uncertain universality". The more uncertain a principle, the stronger the emotional commitment required to hold on to it.
Second, the post underscores the surprising proximity of moral opprobrium and self-loathing: John was inspired to write his post by the fact that he had identified with Thai middle class. Was John equally firebrand about the Burmese military shooting monks three years ago? Probably not, I imagine: he'd not identified himself with the Burmese military; therefore, there was no temptation for self-flagellation; therefore there were no condemnatory articles. Moral opprobrium would seem a kind of narcissistic navel-gazing, then.
And third: it shows that the best of minds are never safe from the rhetorical temptations of demagoguery (says Lord Vader: "the dark side... is easier... faster"). John can discuss dispassionately aspects of silicon wafer production; but disagree with his political views and you are confronted by cheap rhetoric. "Should we shoot people because they make less than $500 a year?", he asks at one point. How can we convince John that he is obliged to live up to a higher standard of discourse? That for someone of his stature this kind of discourse is simply not allowed?
His most recent beehive-stirring-post is an exercise in political sermonery -- of which, we should think, the internet already had more than enough -- and true to the sermon genre -- it is copiously tinged with self-loathing.
The sermonery upbraids the Thai middle classes for denying the poor their vote and then -- shooting them.
(Fair enough, I suppose, about the shooting bit, though in their defense, I suppose, it could be said that the Thai government was acting in defense of private property, a principle which a financial adviser like John should not take lightly if he values his job. But John wheezes on the voting: he mistakes the right to vote for a moral principle. The view is unexamined -- a surprising thing in a man who examines so well the books of banks. I mean, can there really possibly be a natural universal human right to vote? The answer should be plain: voting is a practical mechanism we resort to because it works, not because it is somehow divinely instituted. In Thailand it has not worked for quite some time: what could possibly be the point of voting yet again?)
But I don't wish to debate any of that. Rather, I am moved by something else: when he condemns the Thai middle class, he speaks of people like me. His point is this: in the course of researching an investment idea he'd talked to a lot of Thai middle class, liked them and -- is now riven with self-loathing for having liked them -- now that they have rejected the results of the ballot box (he says) and have shot at demonstrators. I feel moved to reassure John: there is no need for self-loathing: he bears no responsibility for the crimes of the Thai middle class, whether real or imagined. They are people like him in some way; but all people are like him in some way.
John's Thai outburst is interesting in many ways. First, it is interesting to see how compartmentalized his mind is: a cool, rational, skeptical financial man can turn out to be a hot, passionate, "principled" political animal; "principles" in this context meaning something rather special: i.e. "strongly held beliefs of uncertain universality". The more uncertain a principle, the stronger the emotional commitment required to hold on to it.
Second, the post underscores the surprising proximity of moral opprobrium and self-loathing: John was inspired to write his post by the fact that he had identified with Thai middle class. Was John equally firebrand about the Burmese military shooting monks three years ago? Probably not, I imagine: he'd not identified himself with the Burmese military; therefore, there was no temptation for self-flagellation; therefore there were no condemnatory articles. Moral opprobrium would seem a kind of narcissistic navel-gazing, then.
And third: it shows that the best of minds are never safe from the rhetorical temptations of demagoguery (says Lord Vader: "the dark side... is easier... faster"). John can discuss dispassionately aspects of silicon wafer production; but disagree with his political views and you are confronted by cheap rhetoric. "Should we shoot people because they make less than $500 a year?", he asks at one point. How can we convince John that he is obliged to live up to a higher standard of discourse? That for someone of his stature this kind of discourse is simply not allowed?
Mar 7, 2010
On Beauty (2)
Some observations on Taiwan and the Taiwanese
The food at my breakfast place is great; so is its bustling atmosphere. But what impresses me most is the speed with which the food is cooked, served, and paid for. The workers do all the math in their heads, at lightening speed: take, pass on, and fulfill orders, wrap, bag and serve, and calculate what was consumed, total due, change to be made. Instantly. What a difference with Thailand where everything is slow and where adding two two-digit numbers requires repeat use of calculator (since so often mistakes are made on its first use, one has to calculate and then -- recalculate: 55 + 22 = 77; I am not making this up).
So: this is my first observation: these people are smart. It could be genetic -- the settlement of Taiwan was a gene-selecting process, the dummies, one assumes, stayed behind; or perhaps just didn't make it in the scramble of the settlement (throughout 17th and early 18th centuries there were about 8 men to every woman here, presumably the women preferred the smart guys and the dummies failed to reproduce); or it could be cultural -- Taiwanese, being Chinese, believe in education and rote learning; my sister's daughter must memorize the Mendeleyev chart for her high school entrance exam (do I hear you ask: what is Mendeleyev?); or it could simply be the function of a better government which provides better schools; which in turn insist on students memorizing the multiplication table. Whatever the causes, god save the Thais if they ever have to compete with the Taiwanese on anything like a level playing field.
(To some extent, they already do: prices -- other than of real estate -- are about the same in both countries; yet wages in Taiwan are about five times higher. If the difference is due to higher productivity, then Taiwanese breakfast places should be expected to serve food five times as fast. Direct observation bears this out).
The second observation: these people are ugly. The women have neither breasts, nor hips, nor buttocks. All faces are flat, all buddies tubby, all legs short -- the calves especially. The skin is often dull and mottled. This is not to condemn them: my best friends are ugly and I find their ugliness endearing; it is to state the obvious fact. Among South East Asians, Taiwanese stand out for their marked absence of good looks. This has nothing to do with racial prejudice: all Asians can see this obvious fact -- the Taiwanese themselves included. "If you see an ugly, poorly dressed girl, she's Taiwanese", they themselves say. Yes, as everywhere, some people are better looking than others, but generally, the standard is low. Good looking Taiwanese are almost always waishengren -- usually northern Chinese, but there are a few chaozhouren, too; unless they are aborigines. You can walk safely Taipei's streets: you will not be struck by sudden passion at first sight.
The causes of this deficit of good looks are mysterious. Was Taiwan (Fujian?) subject to differential migration? (Did pretty people find it easier to survive on the mainland and therefore experience less pressure to migrate?) Was there -- in an environment of arranged marriages -- a breeding preference for health, intelligence, and brawn which discounted value of good looks? (Since Mommy didn't care if her son's bride is good looking? Indeed, perhaps preferred one who isn't?)
The second suggestion -- that beauty has been bred out of the Taiwanese -- seems to have some evidence in its favor: the Taiwanese are not just ugly; they also lack the most basic aesthetic skills. It is as if they were... beauty-blind. They normally do not dress up; but when they do -- such as when they go to national theater -- the results are so bad that they are -- funny. My dearest friends live in ugly apartments, sit on indifferent furniture, wear non-descript clothing, and when we all go shopping for porcelain together, they appreciate high price ("this stuff is expensive") and a good bargain ("I haggled 35% off this thing!"); they notice neither the color nor the shape nor the workmanship.
As a result, when the Taiwanese do make a fortune, as many do, their standard of living does not improve: they may move to a bigger house, and that house may be in a better neighborhood, but it will be just as uncomfortable and as ugly-furnished as the one before.
Yet, the second suggestion -- that sensitivity to beauty has been bred out of the Taiwanese -- cannot be entirely true: the Taiwanese are not blind to human good looks. Which is my third notable observation about the Taiwanese. All foreigners like to visit Taiwan because the Taiwanese are so famously hospitable. (This virtue was common among all Chinese prior to the cultural revolution; Russell's famous description of the hospitality of Penkingese ca. 1930 still applies to the Taiwanese, even if it does not to the Pekingese anymore). But the good-looking foreigners -- even the mildly so -- are loved to death here: wined and dined, served, cared for and entertained. Seeing one, the Taiwanese will exclaim: oh, he is so good looking! He looks like a movie star!
It is as if, in the arms race which goes on among men, the Taiwanese have decided to specialize entirely in intelligence and hard work to the exclusion of good looks; and they have invested all their assets there. For all this, there remains with them the ability to perceive good looks in others; they have not managed to breed out the mechanism of beauty perception; when they see human beauty, they do recognize it; indeed, they are struck by it; and they then set out to secure through their native great charm and profligate gift-giving.
So: this is my first observation: these people are smart. It could be genetic -- the settlement of Taiwan was a gene-selecting process, the dummies, one assumes, stayed behind; or perhaps just didn't make it in the scramble of the settlement (throughout 17th and early 18th centuries there were about 8 men to every woman here, presumably the women preferred the smart guys and the dummies failed to reproduce); or it could be cultural -- Taiwanese, being Chinese, believe in education and rote learning; my sister's daughter must memorize the Mendeleyev chart for her high school entrance exam (do I hear you ask: what is Mendeleyev?); or it could simply be the function of a better government which provides better schools; which in turn insist on students memorizing the multiplication table. Whatever the causes, god save the Thais if they ever have to compete with the Taiwanese on anything like a level playing field.
(To some extent, they already do: prices -- other than of real estate -- are about the same in both countries; yet wages in Taiwan are about five times higher. If the difference is due to higher productivity, then Taiwanese breakfast places should be expected to serve food five times as fast. Direct observation bears this out).
The second observation: these people are ugly. The women have neither breasts, nor hips, nor buttocks. All faces are flat, all buddies tubby, all legs short -- the calves especially. The skin is often dull and mottled. This is not to condemn them: my best friends are ugly and I find their ugliness endearing; it is to state the obvious fact. Among South East Asians, Taiwanese stand out for their marked absence of good looks. This has nothing to do with racial prejudice: all Asians can see this obvious fact -- the Taiwanese themselves included. "If you see an ugly, poorly dressed girl, she's Taiwanese", they themselves say. Yes, as everywhere, some people are better looking than others, but generally, the standard is low. Good looking Taiwanese are almost always waishengren -- usually northern Chinese, but there are a few chaozhouren, too; unless they are aborigines. You can walk safely Taipei's streets: you will not be struck by sudden passion at first sight.
The causes of this deficit of good looks are mysterious. Was Taiwan (Fujian?) subject to differential migration? (Did pretty people find it easier to survive on the mainland and therefore experience less pressure to migrate?) Was there -- in an environment of arranged marriages -- a breeding preference for health, intelligence, and brawn which discounted value of good looks? (Since Mommy didn't care if her son's bride is good looking? Indeed, perhaps preferred one who isn't?)
The second suggestion -- that beauty has been bred out of the Taiwanese -- seems to have some evidence in its favor: the Taiwanese are not just ugly; they also lack the most basic aesthetic skills. It is as if they were... beauty-blind. They normally do not dress up; but when they do -- such as when they go to national theater -- the results are so bad that they are -- funny. My dearest friends live in ugly apartments, sit on indifferent furniture, wear non-descript clothing, and when we all go shopping for porcelain together, they appreciate high price ("this stuff is expensive") and a good bargain ("I haggled 35% off this thing!"); they notice neither the color nor the shape nor the workmanship.
As a result, when the Taiwanese do make a fortune, as many do, their standard of living does not improve: they may move to a bigger house, and that house may be in a better neighborhood, but it will be just as uncomfortable and as ugly-furnished as the one before.
Yet, the second suggestion -- that sensitivity to beauty has been bred out of the Taiwanese -- cannot be entirely true: the Taiwanese are not blind to human good looks. Which is my third notable observation about the Taiwanese. All foreigners like to visit Taiwan because the Taiwanese are so famously hospitable. (This virtue was common among all Chinese prior to the cultural revolution; Russell's famous description of the hospitality of Penkingese ca. 1930 still applies to the Taiwanese, even if it does not to the Pekingese anymore). But the good-looking foreigners -- even the mildly so -- are loved to death here: wined and dined, served, cared for and entertained. Seeing one, the Taiwanese will exclaim: oh, he is so good looking! He looks like a movie star!
It is as if, in the arms race which goes on among men, the Taiwanese have decided to specialize entirely in intelligence and hard work to the exclusion of good looks; and they have invested all their assets there. For all this, there remains with them the ability to perceive good looks in others; they have not managed to breed out the mechanism of beauty perception; when they see human beauty, they do recognize it; indeed, they are struck by it; and they then set out to secure through their native great charm and profligate gift-giving.
Mar 5, 2010
Beauty is a totalitarian tool
Beauty is a tool of totalitarian power. It controls minds; and is rare enough to be easily monopolized.
Feb 6, 2010
Talking with Chris (or the virtues of loneliness)
Chris is 60, thrice divorced, and, since a year ago, single for the first time in his life. I say "for the first time" because he'd never until now experienced any extended period in which he lived by himself. He'd moved from Mom's straight to his first wife's, from her to his second, and so forth. But now he is alone. To his surprise, he's discovering it is a nice way to live.
Feb 5, 2010
On beauty (1)
On beauty and injustice
"He... has beauty which... makes me ugly", says Iago about Cassio. Beauty -- not penis -- envy drives one of our literary canon's most diabolical intrigues.
Here, in a nutshell, is our modern aesthetics, too. The thesis that beauty is relative is pronounced most strongly by those who know themselves to be ugly. The same people produce ugly works demanding that we appreciate them. The plot is Iagonian: to overthrow what makes them look ugly. The strategy is two pronged: on the one hand, active vandalism, on the other -- verbal denial.
Democracy perhaps makes the success of the plot inevitable. At most 20% of us are good looking, the rest -- are at best plain: the theory that the beautiful are not at all beautiful but only seem that way is bound to be a smash hit.
Good old feudal injustice did not have to deny beauty: the powerful did not have to deny beauty since it was attainable: they could have it through force of arms (Yudishthira: "The cause of all war is beauty") or expenditure of resources (His Holiness to Michelangelo: "Thou shalt paint for no other man but me"). Why, by acquiring beautiful females they could in successive generations become beautiful themselves. (The looks of the ruling class over time approach its aesthetic ideal). But democracy limits the rulers' ability to sequester beauty; and it gives voice to those who can never dream of achieving it.
Beauty being unjust -- so few of us can have it -- can perhaps only be formally highly regarded in unjust societies; any society which is even remotely egalitarian will have to pretend that beauty is not important; or, as we have recently started to do, that it does not even exist.
Here, in a nutshell, is our modern aesthetics, too. The thesis that beauty is relative is pronounced most strongly by those who know themselves to be ugly. The same people produce ugly works demanding that we appreciate them. The plot is Iagonian: to overthrow what makes them look ugly. The strategy is two pronged: on the one hand, active vandalism, on the other -- verbal denial.
Democracy perhaps makes the success of the plot inevitable. At most 20% of us are good looking, the rest -- are at best plain: the theory that the beautiful are not at all beautiful but only seem that way is bound to be a smash hit.
Good old feudal injustice did not have to deny beauty: the powerful did not have to deny beauty since it was attainable: they could have it through force of arms (Yudishthira: "The cause of all war is beauty") or expenditure of resources (His Holiness to Michelangelo: "Thou shalt paint for no other man but me"). Why, by acquiring beautiful females they could in successive generations become beautiful themselves. (The looks of the ruling class over time approach its aesthetic ideal). But democracy limits the rulers' ability to sequester beauty; and it gives voice to those who can never dream of achieving it.
Beauty being unjust -- so few of us can have it -- can perhaps only be formally highly regarded in unjust societies; any society which is even remotely egalitarian will have to pretend that beauty is not important; or, as we have recently started to do, that it does not even exist.
Jan 13, 2010
Talking with Chris (or what to do about boring girls)
Chris has worked all his life to build up a good gene-investment portfolio. He has six well-made children (healthy, good looking, intelligent) by three different, quality women (healthy, good looking, hard working, filial) of every different genetic stock (some European, some Asian). Should a disaster -- a flu epidemic, say -- strike the general population, at least some of his genes should survive while mine are headed directly for extinction.
Chris feels defensive about it, explaining why his women left him, and how he is not to blame. But one wonders: is there something going on here even Chris does not realize?
It's been 9 months since his last wife left him, and 7 since he's picked up a new girlfriend. She's much like his last wife: good looking, decent, hard working, and filial. Because she is filial, she won't move in with him, which is what he's complaining about. Chris is 60, but, if the girl were to move in with him, I think he'd reproduce again, diversifying even further his gene portfolior. I want to share my life with someone, he says. He means: I want to keep diversifying my gene portfolio.
His advice for me is to stay away from whores. There are so many nice girls around, he says.
There are.
The problem with the nice girls is that they all want ""relationship": they want someone to spend inordinate amounts of time with them, holding their hands, and talking to them, and this I cannot do. These girls are simply too boring -- all conversations with them are for me one way -- me talking, them listening because I know that nothing new can ever emerge out of their mouths.
This bores me; but, well, I am a generous fellow and, I suppose, could put up with boredom if the sex were great. But -- worse -- this situation irritates them. You are so intelligent, they say at first, full of amazement at my brains, but then, gradually, but not all too slowly, they begin to resent the fact that all the talking is one way, as if it were my fault that they had nothing original to say. They don't only want someone to hold their hand, they also want someone to listen to their drivel.
God.
It gets worse, of course. Few people are naturally happy and free of personality foibles; these last often emerge only in the close proximity of cohabitation; getting used to them, or "ironing things out", as people say, takes a long time and requires hard work. So, for me, any relationship is bound not only to be boring but also require hard work. Then the sex peters out. What could possibly be the point? Why not just pay for the sex instead and be done with it?
Chris's way to deal with the problem is to engage in serial monogamy: marry a girl for 10 years, play at mom and dad, and then, when he gets bored and the sex peters out, quit and move on. I wish I had his patience for personal foibles; and I wish I were not so well read and so easily bored with the untutored opinions of the uninformed. I wish girls didn't bore me to tears.
Chris feels defensive about it, explaining why his women left him, and how he is not to blame. But one wonders: is there something going on here even Chris does not realize?
It's been 9 months since his last wife left him, and 7 since he's picked up a new girlfriend. She's much like his last wife: good looking, decent, hard working, and filial. Because she is filial, she won't move in with him, which is what he's complaining about. Chris is 60, but, if the girl were to move in with him, I think he'd reproduce again, diversifying even further his gene portfolior. I want to share my life with someone, he says. He means: I want to keep diversifying my gene portfolio.
His advice for me is to stay away from whores. There are so many nice girls around, he says.
There are.
The problem with the nice girls is that they all want ""relationship": they want someone to spend inordinate amounts of time with them, holding their hands, and talking to them, and this I cannot do. These girls are simply too boring -- all conversations with them are for me one way -- me talking, them listening because I know that nothing new can ever emerge out of their mouths.
This bores me; but, well, I am a generous fellow and, I suppose, could put up with boredom if the sex were great. But -- worse -- this situation irritates them. You are so intelligent, they say at first, full of amazement at my brains, but then, gradually, but not all too slowly, they begin to resent the fact that all the talking is one way, as if it were my fault that they had nothing original to say. They don't only want someone to hold their hand, they also want someone to listen to their drivel.
God.
It gets worse, of course. Few people are naturally happy and free of personality foibles; these last often emerge only in the close proximity of cohabitation; getting used to them, or "ironing things out", as people say, takes a long time and requires hard work. So, for me, any relationship is bound not only to be boring but also require hard work. Then the sex peters out. What could possibly be the point? Why not just pay for the sex instead and be done with it?
Chris's way to deal with the problem is to engage in serial monogamy: marry a girl for 10 years, play at mom and dad, and then, when he gets bored and the sex peters out, quit and move on. I wish I had his patience for personal foibles; and I wish I were not so well read and so easily bored with the untutored opinions of the uninformed. I wish girls didn't bore me to tears.
Jan 5, 2010
Some thoughts on filial piety
My aunt came and stayed for four days around new year's.
I had invited her because the new year's is the anniversary of her son's death and she said she didn't want to be alone during that time. Out of desperation, and acting on past experience, I refused to put her up at home and instead arranged for her to stay in a hut next door: that way at least at night -- and in the morning, until, driven out by hunger I emerged from my bedroom -- I could be left in peace. Even so, she came over at daybreak and laid a siege to me till late at night, talking at me incessantly.
Most of the talk may have seemed harmless enough: she mainly repeated old jokes and anecdotes (all of which I had heard countless times already) or recounted to me major news events she heard on the radio or read in the press (which, of course, by then I had heard or read myself); but she disturbed my work -- she'd talk to me even though she could see I was doing something; and, worse, disturbed my peace -- those moments when I sat outside to enjoy the balmy weather and the peace and quiet of my garden.
It would have been alright, I suppose, if I had been allowed to ignore her words -- tune them out, somehow; but my aunt expected me to hear her words, process them, and make a reply, doing which placed on me a tremendous amount of pressure. I had spent years of sacrifice and hard work to cut myself off from people who bore me. Why must it be my duty now to be bored by my own aunt?
It is a truth generally held that it is my filial duty to help my aunt; the logic of this argument says that I owe her, in her gradually more and more helpless old age, the care she'd given me when I was a helpless child. Very well, then: I am happy to help her financially; and, further, I am prepared to sacrifice a great amount of my time in just helping her accomplishing ordinary life tasks -- drive her places, help her shop and move things, arrange her drivers, show her how to pay her bills, etc. But does it really need to be my duty to suffer her incessant talking?
Can there really be such a thing as right to be entertained? Or the corresponding duty to entertain?
More importantly: why does my aunt need somebody to talk at in order to feel better?
It's worse of course when she offers life advice: it is she who needs my help, not I who needs hers; what makes her think that I am remotely interested in her advice? Or wish to explain anything about my personal life?
I had invited her because the new year's is the anniversary of her son's death and she said she didn't want to be alone during that time. Out of desperation, and acting on past experience, I refused to put her up at home and instead arranged for her to stay in a hut next door: that way at least at night -- and in the morning, until, driven out by hunger I emerged from my bedroom -- I could be left in peace. Even so, she came over at daybreak and laid a siege to me till late at night, talking at me incessantly.
Most of the talk may have seemed harmless enough: she mainly repeated old jokes and anecdotes (all of which I had heard countless times already) or recounted to me major news events she heard on the radio or read in the press (which, of course, by then I had heard or read myself); but she disturbed my work -- she'd talk to me even though she could see I was doing something; and, worse, disturbed my peace -- those moments when I sat outside to enjoy the balmy weather and the peace and quiet of my garden.
It would have been alright, I suppose, if I had been allowed to ignore her words -- tune them out, somehow; but my aunt expected me to hear her words, process them, and make a reply, doing which placed on me a tremendous amount of pressure. I had spent years of sacrifice and hard work to cut myself off from people who bore me. Why must it be my duty now to be bored by my own aunt?
It is a truth generally held that it is my filial duty to help my aunt; the logic of this argument says that I owe her, in her gradually more and more helpless old age, the care she'd given me when I was a helpless child. Very well, then: I am happy to help her financially; and, further, I am prepared to sacrifice a great amount of my time in just helping her accomplishing ordinary life tasks -- drive her places, help her shop and move things, arrange her drivers, show her how to pay her bills, etc. But does it really need to be my duty to suffer her incessant talking?
Can there really be such a thing as right to be entertained? Or the corresponding duty to entertain?
More importantly: why does my aunt need somebody to talk at in order to feel better?
It's worse of course when she offers life advice: it is she who needs my help, not I who needs hers; what makes her think that I am remotely interested in her advice? Or wish to explain anything about my personal life?
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