Yesterday at Instapundit I was uncharacteristically drawn into a moronic debate, this one about music. I almost never get into online arguments, because they are utterly pointless. At least a decade ago I realized I had never once lost such an argument; but that never once had my opponent realized he had been vanquished. So why waste one's time and energy?
Instead, I try to hone my neurons and keep the synapses in shape by coming up with a pointed gag or zinger or quasi-infallible aphorism a la Dávila. These are not for the edification of their recipient. Rather, just a regimen to keep my mind, you know, uh, limber.
This mirrors a much larger cultural phenomenon having to do with... with everything, right? I don't want to take this post in that direction. Too big a subject. Suffice it to say that
Engaging in dialogue with those who do not share our assumptions is nothing more than a stupid way to kill time (Dávila).
Agreement is eventually possible between intelligent men because intelligence is a conviction they share.
Intelligence is a train from which few do not deboard, one after the other, in successive stations.
Nearly every idea is an overdrawn check that circulates until it is presented for payment.
What does he mean by this? Let's say I'm a naive metaphysical Darwinian. I have written a check to the First Bank of Natural Selection that claims "humanness" is entirely reducible to selfish genes. The check bounces. It comes back to me with a note, "insufficient funds."
What happened? I'm sure I had sufficient funds to cover the check: my portfolio is quite diversified and includes status, tenure, conventional wisdom, conformity to my peers, the climate of opinion, even some junk metaphysics in a hedge fund.
You forgot one thing: the nature of what is, and how we may know it. How is this possible if Darwinism is true? Not only have you been living on credit, you are actually as bankrupt as California would be if it were honest about its literally unpayable debts.
But here is what I don't understand: this post was supposed to be about music.
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