Search This Blog

Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts

Wednesday 17 December 2014

Best quotations from The Simpsons

1. “Marriage is like a coffin and each kid is another nail”

2. “It takes two to lie: one to lie and one to listen”

3.  Bart: "Grandpa, why don't you tell a story?"
     Lisa: "Yeah Grandpa, you lived a long and interesting life."
     Grandpa: "That's a lie and you know it"

4. Marge: "Homer, is this the way you pictured married life?"
    Homer: "Yeah, pretty much, except we drove round in a van solving mysteries"

5. Homer: "We're proud of you, Boy.
    Bart: "Thanks Dad. Part of this d-minus belongs to God"

6. "Life is just one crushing defeat after another until you just wish Flanders was dead"

7. "You tried your best and you failed miserably. The lesson is: Never try”

8. “If you pray to the wrong god, you might just make the right one madder and madder”

9. "When I look at people I don't see colours; I just see crackpot religions"

10 "Weaseling out of things is important to learn. It’s what separates us from the animals         … except the weasel"

11 Marge: "It's Patty who chose a life of celibacy. Selma had celibacy thrust upon her"

12 Vendor: "Hot dogs, get your hot dogs!"
    Homer: "I'll take one"
    Marge: "What, do you follow my husband around to sell him hot dogs?"
    Vendor: "Lady, he's putting my kids through college."

13 "How is education supposed to make me feel smarter? Besides, every time I learn something new, it pushes some old stuff out of my brain. Remember when I took that home winemaking course, and I forgot how to drive?"

14 "Lisa, you've got the brains and talent to go as far as you want, and when you do I'll be right there to borrow money.”

15 “I'm not normally a praying man, but if you're up there, please save me, Superman!”

16 “Son, if you really want something in this life, you have to work for it. Now quiet! They're about to announce the lottery numbers.”

17 “What’s the point of going out? We’re just gonna wind up back home anyway.”

18 "Cheating is the gift man gives himself."

19 "Books are useless! I only ever read one book, To Kill A Mockingbird, and it gave me absolutely no insight on how to kill mockingbirds!"

20 "It's not easy to juggle a pregnant wife and a troubled child, but somehow I managed to fit in eight hours of TV a day."

21 "To alcohol! The cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems."

22 "Oh, loneliness and cheeseburgers are a dangerous mix."

23  Moe: "Homer, lighten up! You're making Happy Hour bitterly ironic."

24 "I don't get mad, I get stabby"

25 "I've been called ugly, pug ugly, fugly, pug fugly, but never ugly ugly."

26 "There's only one fat guy that brings us presents and his name ain't Santa".
      Bart Simpson, son of Father Homer Christmas.

27 "Last night's Itchy & Scratchy was, without a doubt, the worst episode ever. Rest assured I was on the internet within minutes registering my disgust throughout the world."

28 "When will I learn? The answers to life’s problems aren’t at the bottom of a bottle, they’re on TV!"

 

Tuesday 4 February 2014

A force called Kohli


He's in inexorable form, but his best is still ahead of him, and that is a forbidding thought for the bowlers he comes up against
Martin Crowe in Cricinfo
February 4, 2014
 

Cheteshwar Pujara embraces Virat Kohli after bringing up his hundred, South Africa v India, 1st Test, Johannesburg, 3rd day, December 20, 2013
Kohli and Pujara hold the key to India's fortunes in the Tests against New Zealand © Associated Press 
Enlarge
Related Links
Series/Tournaments: India tour of New Zealand
Teams: India | New Zealand
"The day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
- Anaïs Nin
When I consider this wonderful insight from the great American author, I wonder about what it takes to fulfil one's own "greatness", to blossom, bringing alive the very depths of one's soul. When I read Nin again and she says, "Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage", I start to understand what can truly take us forward, beyond the ordinary, into the realm of greatness.
India are a vast energy, a thriving modern-day eruption. They are forcing their will on the world, in particular on the cricket world. Sachin Tendulkar did it for nearly two and half decades with a keen eye and trusty blade, transfixing all of us with his serenity and his strokes. He was the king of great. Around him emerged more versions of it - Rahul Dravid andVirender Sehwag, for example. Yet it was Sachin who spread the word loud and afar.
And with his departure rises Virat Kohli. In some ways this young giant is a combination of all those three, learning a bit from them all to shape his own unique creation. He is the next chosen one. He exudes the intensity of Rahul, the audacity of Virender, and the extraordinary range of Sachin. That doesn't make him better, simply sui generis, his own unique kind.
In many ways, he follows the essence of life: loving what he does and doing what he loves, and learning all he can, often at a rapid pace. Kohli has gone from pupil to teacher quickly, and his next level is to become a master. That he will achieve. It's in his eyes.
I watched this young 19-year-old when he joined Royal Challengers Bangalore in 2008, for the inaugural IPL. He was bursting to impress. Often he fell victim to his own seduction, his growing, glowing image, mixed in with his confusion about who to bat and be like, as he had so many choices. I often encouraged him to simply play straighter, be wiser in shot selection, put the odds more in his favour. Alas, he was too young, and rather than listen to a crusty old stager from god knows where, he was intent on being like the heroes of the day and indulging in the new rage of sending the ball into orbit.
Over time, he found that his own style and his stamp and signature were more than enough for him to hold his own. His ownership of the No. 3 position in the Indian one-day team has secured his legacy long term; now he just needs to go to the well day in and day out, to cement it.
His badge is one of courage. He is fiercely focused. He is often fiery and emotional, possibly a product of his upbringing in Delhi. Yes, a fire burns within, sometimes wildly. His aggressive streetfighting qualities are worn on his sleeve. He looks for a fight. He singles out opposition for face-to-face interrogation; he even confronts officials.
He will need to learn rapidly that to be a true leader and role model to millions all over the globe, the ugly stuff needs to be tamed, even put away, while retaining the right to find that balance of challenge and the correct conduct. It's an important lesson, one Sachin and Rahul will have taughtn him, yet his own restlessness is still dominant. Someone needs to guide him on this vital code.
At present he is a beacon in this rebuilding team, while some of those around him who have come in to fill the void left by the big three struggle to cope. Already he is the leader of the batting line-up, with just 22 Tests to his name, and so a huge responsibility beckons.
Kohli's audacity is shameless. He is bold and beautiful in his shot selection and his style. When in the mood he can carve anyone apart, just as Sehwag did when awoken. Kohli will need to be reminded of Sehwag, that temporary loss of form that came in patches and grew to become one patch at the end. He needs to keep working the engine and stoking the fire. He will, without question.
Not unsurprisingly, Kohli will have learned mostly from Sachin, and even if it isn't so obvious, it's slowly becoming clearer. His stance is more closed than Sachin's, resulting in the leg-side stroke played around the pad, yet it is straightening year by year. By the time he reaches full throttle in a couple of years he will be perfectly aligned, as the master was. His last-second tap of the bat as the bowler gathers is such a classic and vital element from the Sachin book. This last tap sends a spark of electricity through his body and his eyes, then feet, then through his flowing vortex sword, all coming alive as one. Every ball is treated with puissance, a mighty force.
 
 
Kohli's audacity is shameless. He is bold and beautiful in his shot selection and his style. When in the mood he can carve anyone apart, just as Sehwag did when awoken
 
Kohli is forming an unprecedented record in one-dayers for scoring hundreds. The quest to do so in Test cricket is at hand. He has five so far in 37 innings, and should rightly correct that ratio, to one every six innings at least, as time unfolds. Natural, too, will be the desire to score double-hundreds, big daddies as they have become known. His positioning at four will be the ideal stage in which to show a prowess even Sachin would be proud of.
Helping his cause will be the indestructible Cheteshwar Pujara. They are the same age and have the same hunger to carry India as Dravid and Tendulkar did. They will bat together, carrying each other in the vein of the finest combos in the game. Pujara doesn't have the same range of strokes as Kohli, yet he has a vast reservoir of concentration and resolve. Kohli will pass his final exam, that of scoring the huge scores, by watching his more studious partner. This will complete his finishing-school education. From there, Kohli will master the world.
How will New Zealand dismiss these two in the coming weeks? Higher energy. They have to hit the Indian top order with absolute precision, pace, swing and accuracy, on or just outside stump. They must bowl one side of the wicket, use two lengths - the shoulder-high bouncer with muscle, and the one that hits the top of off stump with pump.
Muscle and pump. Anything else will be dispatched or manipulated. And they will need patience from session to session. Dismissing either Pujara or Kohli in under two hours' batting is a dagger in India's heart. If it doesn't come early on, the energy must not drop. This, in essence, is how you win Test matches.
Richard Hadlee did it with support from honest, resilient lieutenants and a surface with enough juice. He found his arousal level and paced it through the day. His last spell of the day could be just as telling and exacting as his first. This is the mentality Tim Southee, Trent Boult, Neil Wagner and Corey Anderson will need to execute in the two Tests ahead. If they don't, then they'd better learn fast.
It will be a fascinating series. Sadly, just as it hots up it will be over. It's a waste. Another example of wayward administration, but let's not go there. Instead, let's go to the Tests looking to experience a new breed of excellence: Kohli and Pujara against Kane Williamson and Ross Taylor.
Whoever scores the most hundreds between the four will hold the upper hand, for they will deny and dent the ability of the opposition's attack to clear out both innings to win. Whichever pair fails to notch the big scores or partnerships will allow the opposition the chance to penetrate the lesser mortals who surround these elite.
All four are in mesmeric form. It won't help the sleep patterns of the bowlers opposing them. Yet I am predicting the locals will sleep better in their own beds. For India the nightmare might just continue.
But then again there is that maturing force called Virat Kohli.

Friday 27 December 2013

Why Atheists need rituals too

To move many away from religion, atheism has to weave itself into the social fabric and shed its image of dour grumpiness
A billboard sponsored by the American Atheists organisation in New York
A billboard sponsored by the American Atheists organisation in New York. Photograph: Richard Levine/Demotix/Corbis
The last time I put my own atheism through the spin cycle rather than simply wiping it clean was when I wanted to make a ceremony after the birth of my third child. Would it be a blessing? From who? What does the common notion of a new baby as a gift mean? How would we make it meaningful to the people we invited who were from different faiths? And, importantly, what would it look like?
One of the problems I have with the New Atheism is that it fixates on ethics, ignoring aesthetics at its peril. It tends also towards atomisation, relying on abstracts such as "civic law" to conjure a collective experience. But I love ritual, because it is through ritual that we remake and strengthen our social bonds. As I write, down the road there is a memorial being held for Lou Reed, hosted by the local Unitarian church. Most people there will have no belief in God but will feel glad to be part of a shared appreciation of a man whose god was rock'n'roll.
When it came to making a ceremony, I really did not want the austerity of some humanist events I have attended, where I feel the sensual world is rejected. This is what I mean about aesthetics. Do we cede them to the religious and just look like a bunch of Calvinists? I found myself turning to flowers, flames and incense. Is there anything more beautiful than the offerings made all over the world, of tiny flames and blossom on leaves floating on water?
Already, I am revealing a kind of neo-paganism that hardcore rationalist will find unacceptable. But they find most human things unacceptable. For me, not believing in God does not mean one has to forgo poetry, magic, the chaos of ritual, the remaking of shared bonds. I fear ultra-orthodox atheism has come to resemble a rigid and patriarchal faith itself.
This is not about reclaiming "feeling" as female and reason as male. Put simply, it seems to be fundamentally human to seek narratives, find patterns and create rituals to include others in the meanings we make. If we want a more secular society – and we most certainly do – there is nothing wrong with making it look and feel good.
Yet as I attend yet another overpoweringly religious funeral of a woman who was not religious – as I did recently – I see that people do not know what else to do. They turn to organised religion's hatch 'em, match 'em and dispatch 'em certainties. For while humanists work hard to create new ceremonies, many find them vapid. Funerals are problematic, as one is bound by law to dispose of the body in a certain way. I always remember the startled look of the platitudinous young vicar who visited our house after my grandad died, when my mum said, "Don't come round here with your mumbo-jumbo. If I had my way I'd put him in the vegetable patch with some lime on him."
Unless someone has planned their own funeral it can be difficult, but naming or partnership ceremonies are a chance to think about what it is we are celebrating. A new person, love, being part of a community. For my daughter's, we pieced together what we wanted, but I found some of the humanist suggestions strange. "Odd parents" for godparents? No thanks. I guess it's just a matter of taste.
What, then, makes ceremony powerful? It is the recognition of common humanity; and it is very hard to do this without borrowing from traditional symbols. We need to create a space outside of everyday life to do this. We can call it sacred space but the demarcation of special times or spaces is not the prerogative only of the religious. One of the best ceremonies of late was the opening of the Olympics, where Danny Boyle created a massive spectacle that communicated shared values in a non-religious way. It was big-budget joy. Most of us don't have such a budget but there has to be some nuance here. We may not have God. We may find the fuzziness of new age thinking with its emphasis on "nature" and "spirit" impure, but to dismiss the human need to express transcendence and connection with others as stupid is itself stupid.
Our ceremony had flowers and fires and Dylan, a Baptist minister and the Jabberwocky, half-Mexican siblings and symbols, a Catholic grandparent reading her prayer, a Muslim godparent and kids off their heads on helium at the party. A right old mishmash, then, but our mishmash.
In saying this I realise I am not a good atheist. Rather like mothering, perhaps I can only be a good enough one. But to move many away from religion, a viable atheism has to weave itself into the social fabric and shed this image of dour grumpiness. What can be richer than the celebration of our common humanity? Here is magic, colour, poetry. Life.

Thursday 21 November 2013

Teaching philosophy to children? It's a great idea


Studying philosophy cultivates doubt without helplessness, and confidence without hubris. I’ve watched children evolve to be more rational and open-minded because of it
Primary school
'I quickly saw that kids, too, have the capacity to enquire philosophically from an early age'. Photograph: Christopher Furlong/Getty Images
Recently I’ve seen a spate of articles along the lines of "what philosophy can do for you", focusing on the high results that philosophy students score on standardised tests, the marketability of philosophical skills, and the impressive earning potential of philosophy graduates. I’ve even seen pitches like: "If you want to succeed in business, don’t get an MBA. Study philosophy instead." I find this strange, because career advancement and commercial success are the most peripheral of the benefits of philosophy.
In my university days, still uncertain of my future directions, I came across an unforgettable quote by Alex Pozdnyakov, a philosophy student on the other side of the world: “I have this strange phrase I use when people ask me why I chose philosophy. I tell them I wanted to become a professional human being.”
Perfect, I thought. That’s what I want to be.
Since then, training in various jobs has made me into various kinds of professional, but no training has shaped my humanity as deeply as philosophy has. No other discipline has inspired such wonder about the world, or furnished me with thinking tools so universally applicable to the puzzles that confront us as human beings.
When I started running philosophy workshops for primary school children, I quickly saw that kids, too, have the capacity to enquire philosophically from an early age. They’re nimble in playing with ideas and deft in building on each other’s arguments. They’re endlessly inquisitive, wondering about values (“What’s the most treasured object in the world?”), metaphysics (“Is the earth a coincidence?”), language (“If cavemen just went ‘ugh-ugh-ugh’, how did we learn to speak?”) and epistemology (“Since you can have dreams inside dreams, how can you know when you’re dreaming?”).
In small groups, they’ve discussed artificial intelligence, environmental ethics, interspecies communication and authenticity in art. They’ve contemplated the existence of free will, the limits of knowledge, the possibility of justice and countless other problems from the history of philosophical thought. By continually questioning, challenging and evaluating ideas, the children have been able to see for themselves why some arguments fail while others bear up under scrutiny.
Studying philosophy cultivates doubt without helplessness, and confidence without hubris. I’ve watched kids evolve to be more rational, sceptical and open-minded, and I’ve seen them interact in more fair-minded and collaborative ways. As one 10-year-old said, “I’ve started to actually solve arguments and problems with philosophy. And it works better than violence or anything else.”
Over 400 years ago, the French writer Michel de Montaigne asked: “Since philosophy is the art which teaches us how to live, and since children need to learn it as much as we do at other ages, why do we not instruct them in it?” We urgently need to ask ourselves the same question today.
The central place of Theory of Knowledge in the International Baccalaureate (a globally recognised high school diploma) reflects a worldwide appreciation for the importance of philosophy – a discipline that underpins all other academic disciplines. A growing international movement is inviting young children to philosophise in primary schools in the USA, the UK and elsewhere – but Australia is lagging.
Although philosophy features on the high school curriculum in most Australian states, only a very few primary schools dedicate class time to broad philosophical enquiry or to the explicit teaching of critical and creative thinking.
If it were more widely embraced, the practice of philosophical enquiry in primary schools could make schooling a lot more meaningful and engaging for students. It would certainly promote the development of reasoned argument and higher-order thinking – skills which underlie learning in most other domains (including literacy and numeracy) and which are essential for responsible civic engagement.
By setting children on a path of philosophical enquiry early in life, we could offer them irreplaceable gifts: an awareness of life’s moral, aesthetic and political dimensions; the capacity to articulate thoughts clearly and evaluate them honestly; and the confidence to exercise independent judgement and self-correction. What’s more, an early introduction to philosophical dialogue would foster a greater respect for diversity and a deeper empathy for the experiences of others, as well as a crucial understanding of how to use reason to resolve disagreements.
The benefits to students would be there for the taking, if only philosophy educators in Australia could access appropriate funding and institutional support. Such support is provided by charitable organisations like the Philosophy Foundation in the UK and theSquire Foundation in the USA, which lead the way in embedding philosophy in primary school curricula. Unless funding is made available here to pay expert philosophy practitioners or to provide classroom teachers with rigorous training, our kids are condemned to forgo the many rich rewards that philosophy promises – or to suffer from the variable level of professionalism that characterises many volunteer-run educational programs.
Here’s something to think about on World Philosophy Day: while academic achievement, career advancement and financial success are no trifling things, they’re simply visible husks that may grow around a philosophical life. The hidden kernel is made of freedom, clarity of thought, and a professional mastery of what it means to be human. These are qualities we should seek for all our children, no matter what they grow up to become.

Thursday 24 October 2013

Six of the best: the traits your child needs to succeed

Hilary Wilce in The Independent

What makes a child do well in school? When I ask parents that question, they always have lots of great answers: a high IQ, a terrific school, well-run lessons, skilled teachers, a creative curriculum, high expectations.


Although all these things help, the real secret of great learning lies elsewhere – inside children themselves. Increasingly, researchers are discovering that what children bring to the classroom matters every bit – and in many ways more – than what the classroom can offer them.

Children with the attitude and disposition that encourage good learning will flourish even in a mediocre school, while those who come with a mindset that hampers learning won't be able to make much of even the best educational opportunities.

Numerous studies in the US and elsewhere show that test scores leap, often by more than 10 per cent, when children are encouraged to develop good attitudes towards themselves and their learning. As a result, schools around the world are starting to offer programmes to help their students develop key character strengths.

A recent "positive education" conference at Wellington College in Berkshire drew participants from America, Singapore and Australia to discuss how teachers can help students "grow" their inner cores.

But parents have been left out of this learning loop, and often don't realise that there is far more to securing a good education for their children than simply bagging a place at the best school in the neighbourhood – schools and teachers can only turn children into terrific learners if those children's parents are laying down the foundations at home that will encourage pupils to step up to the challenges of the classroom.

There is growing evidence that character traits such as resilience, persistence, optimism and courage actively contribute to improved academic grades. And there are six key qualities that parents can foster in their children that will help them do their very best in school. These are:

1. Joie de vivre
The ability to love and appreciate life might sound wishy-washy in the hard world of exam results, but love and security feed a host of qualities that great learners need. These include the ability to be open and receptive, to be willing and to feel connected.

Meanwhile, cultivating an attitude of appreciation means being able to enjoy the journey of learning, wonder at nature, relish a good story, feel good about achievements, and enjoy the companionship of the classroom. All of which, in turn, feed confidence, excitement and curiosity back into the learning loop.

2. Resilience
For years, resilience has been known to be essential for great learning. Martin Seligman, the US psychology professor who has studied this extensively, has shown that it helps children think more flexibly and realistically, be more creative and ward off depression and anxiety.
Resilient children give things a try. They understand that learning has plenty of setbacks and that they can overcome them. Resilient children talk to themselves differently from non- resilient ones, and don't turn mistakes into catastrophes ("I've failed my maths test, it's a disaster. I'll never get maths!"). Instead, they look at a wider, more positive picture ("Ugh, that was a horrible test, and I screwed up, but I didn't do enough work. Next time I'll do more revision, and it'll probably be a better paper as well").

3. Self-discipline
There are many famous pieces of research that show that children's ability to control their impulses appears to lead to better health, wealth and mental happiness in later life. In school, self-discipline is central.

Great learners need to listen, absorb and think. They need to keep going through difficult patches, stick at hard tasks, manage their time well and keep mental focus. Children who bounce about the classroom shouting the first answer that comes into their heads will never be great learners.

Of course, a joyless, overly controlled child will never be one either. Balance matters. All children need to develop a functioning "internal locus of control".

4. Honesty
Honesty matters for great learning because its opposites – deception and self-deception – hinder progress. Great learners don't say "I'm brilliant at science" but, "I'm OK on photosynthesis, but not sure I've nailed atomic structure yet." And this needs to start early.
The pre-schooler who speaks up and asks what a word means in a story, rather than pretending to know, is already on the way to being a skilful learner. Honesty allows children to build good links with teachers and mentors. It grows confidence, attracts goodwill, and gives children an infallible compass with which to steer their learning.

5. Courage
Learning anything – piano, physics, tennis – is about approaching the unknown, and stepping up to new challenges. Great learners are just as frightened of this as others, but can overcome their fear and find focus.

They are able to try, fail, and try again. They can also navigate school life skilfully. Children need moral courage to turn away from distractions and to be willing to be seen as "a geek" if they want to study, while developing courage also helps them to stand their ground through the temptations of the teenage years.

6. Kindness
Great learners are kind to themselves. They understand that learning is sometimes hard, and not always possible to get right, but keep a "good" voice going in their heads to encourage themselves on.

A kind disposition also draws other people to them and bolsters their learning through the help and support of others, as well as allowing them to work productively in teams and groups. A kind disposition also feeds listening and empathy, which in turn foster deeper, more complex learning.

All these character qualities are great for learning – and also for life. Research shows that they help people build more confidence, face challenges better, earn more money, have more satisfying careers, build stronger relationships, and keep depression and anxiety at bay. Yet, sadly, figures also show that increasing numbers of children are growing up with less ability to control their moods, direct their actions, or show empathy and self-mastery, while many mental health problems, including eating disorders and self-harm, are on the rise.
Our children badly need us to help them develop stronger, more flexible backbones, and all the qualities that contribute to a strong inner core can be actively fostered and encouraged by parents (parents and schools working together is even better). Just as muscles grow stronger with regular exercise, so character traits are strengthened by thoughtful encouragement and reinforcement.

Hilary Wilce is an education writer, consultant and parent coach. Her new book, 'Backbone: How to Build the Character Your Child Needs to Succeed' (Endeavour Press, £2.99) is now available

Saturday 18 May 2013

Medical intervention is not always the answer to mental health issues









by Frank Furedi

 The fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders has just been published and the contents of this book should really be of interest to you. The DSM is not simply a medical handbook that provides a list of conditions worthy of the diagnosis of mental illness. It is also a secular bible that instructs people how to make sense of their predicament through the language of medicine.

With every edition of the DSM, the number of conditions diagnosed as a problem suitable for psychiatric intervention expands. You, dear reader, may be suffering from a mental illness that you never knew existed. So if like me you really get angry now and then, the DSM suggests that you may be suffering from “disruptive mood dysregulation disorder”. Or if you have the occasional senior moment, you may well be afflicted with the new diagnosis of “mild neurocognitive disorder”. And if you really feel anxious and scared about experiencing pain and discomfort, you may have “somatic symptom disorder”.
The eccentric loner, the shy stranger lacking in social skills, the naughty child, anyone who eats too much or the sexually confused teenager have all become candidates for the psychiatrist’s couch. What’s important about the DSM is that it provides a language and narrative through which the problems of existence become medicalised. And in a world where a medical diagnosis represents a claim for resources, what the DSM says really matters. The verdict of the DSM not only affects insurance and drug companies interested in their bottom line but also anxious parents who rely on a diagnosis to gain special help for their child.
Not surprisingly, the latest edition of the DSM has become a subject of controversy. Different groups of medics and psychiatrists have questioned the scientific reliability of some of the new diagnostic categories. Some have queried the dropping of the category of Asperger’s syndromeand the decision to include it under a general autism diagnosis. Others argue that the psychiatric lobby has become a captive of the pharmaceutical industry. But what is not at issue is the ethos of medicalisation promoted through this influential manual.
The term medicalisation refers to the cultural process through which a range of human experience is reinterpreted through the language of medicine. In recent decades, many everyday experiences have become redefined as issues of health that require medical intervention. Through reinterpreting existential problems such as loneliness, shyness, fear, anxiety, loss of control or grief as medical ones, the meaning people attach to them fundamentally alters.
Medical problems require treatment and rely on professional intervention to cure the patient’s illness. But why should grief or shyness or even anger be treated as a disease? And why should professionals possess a monopoly on how to interpret the pain and disappointment that people experience at different stages of their lives? The real threat posed by the expansion of mental health diagnosis is that it takes away from people the confidence that they need to make sense and give meaning to their personal experience.
The problem is not that professional advice is always misguided, but that it short-circuits the process through which people can learn how to deal with problems through their own experience. Intuition and insight gained from experience are continually compromised by professional knowledge. This has the unintentional consequence of estranging people from their own feelings and instincts since such reactions require the affirmation of the expert. In such circumstances, people’s capacity to handle relationships and to have confidence in their relationships diminishes further. In turn, this creates new opportunities for professional intervention in everyday life.
The manner in which emotional problems have become diagnosed as a form of disorder raises questions about the ability of the individual to deal with disappointment, misfortune, adversity or even the challenge of everyday life. And, sadly, when people are continually invited to make sense of their troubles through the medium of therapeutics, it severely undermines their resilience.
Once the diagnosis of illness is systematically offered as an interpretative guide for making sense of distress, people are far more likely to perceive themselves as ill. That is one reason why in Western society the number of people diagnosed as suffering from mental illness has risen exponentially. The explanation for this trend lies not in the fields of epidemiology, but in the realm of culture that invites people to classify themselves as infirm.
Recently, the British Psychological Society’s division of clinical psychology has attacked the psychiatric profession for offering a biomedical model for understanding mental distress. But its criticism was not directed at the ethos of medicalisation as such, but only at the tendency to associate mental illness with biological causes. What it offered was an alternative model of medicalisation – one where mental illness was represented as the outcome of social and psychological cause. It seems that medicalisation has become so deeply entrenched that even critics of the DSM accept its premise.
The problems of life can be painful. But this experience of existential agony must not be rebranded as an illness. Medicalisation empties experience of its creative content and assigns human beings the status of permanent patients. The promiscuous expansion of diagnosis also trivialises mental illness. Learning to distinguish between normal suffering and illness is a mark of a mature and confident culture.
Frank Furedi is a sociologist whose books include ‘Therapy Culture’

Saturday 5 January 2013

David Nicholls: The half hour that changed my life


Recently I became confused about my age. For some reason I came to believe that I was 46 years old, instead of 45. The error was pointed out to me, and once I’d got over the embarrassment of forgetting my own age (not the kind of mistake I’d make at 19 or 27 or even 36), I had a brief moment of elation. In some way, hadn’t I gained an extra year, a whole 12 months of time that I’d mislaid? What could I do with my precious 46th year? Take up the violin, train for a marathon, learn carpentry or juggling or Spanish?
What I really wanted to do was read.
I’ve been a compulsive reader for as long as I can remember. For the best part of my childhood I visited the local library three or four times a week, hunching in the stacks on a foam rubber stool and devouring children’s fiction, classics, salacious thrillers, horror and sci-fi, books about cinema and origami and natural history, to the point where my parents encouraged me to read a little less. I loved television and movies, too, but the solitary act of reading was always my greatest pleasure. Books were an obsession – an education, an escape and inspiration.
So why, as an adult, was I reading so little, less than even 10 years ago? Of course the multiple distractions of modern life, the increasing demands of work and a new family all played a part, along with the bleeps and trills of technology, the constant tap on the shoulder that comes from texts, emails, mobile phones, because God forbid that I should call someone back or reply to an email a whole hour later.
If reading is simply the act of consuming text, then in fact I was probably reading more than ever, but for the most part it was nonsense, jabber and jargon. Like most people who work in front of a screen, I’d developed a terrible internet tick, cycling endlessly around the same websites, reading the same urgent “breaking news” 10 times a day, peering pointlessly at film premiere reports, gossip and Twitter feuds, movie trailers, updating iTunes and Adobe Acrobat for the 25th time, habits that devoured hours of my day, the hours that presumably I once gave to reading books. 
I was still buying books, far more than I could ever possibly read, but buying them is not the same as reading them, or loving them. All they did was furnish the room. The piles got higher, the irritation and guilt and regret increased. Reading was like sunbathing – something that I only did for two weeks in August.
About a year ago I decided to do something about all this. Along with the usual vows about exercise and fresh vegetables, caffeine and alcohol, I resolved to set my alarm one half-hour earlier, to sit up straight and read again. Unusually for a resolution, I’m pleased to say that I have stuck to that routine, and now those first 30 minutes of solitary reading are all too often the best part of my day.
I’ve read missing classics and new authors. I’ve finally devoured those writers who’ve been repeatedly recommended to me – Patrick Leigh Fermor, Alice Munro, Elizabeth Taylor, Marilynne Robinson – and, yes, they are wonderful. I’ve managed to reread some of Cheever’s brilliant short stories, and rediscovered writers who’ve unaccountably fallen off the literary map, like the great US writer John Williams or the neglected H E Bates. It’s not just fiction, either – there’s the brilliant journalism of John Jeremiah Sullivan, contrasting histories of cinema by David Thomson and Mark Cousins. Robert Macfarlane’s fascinating mix of geology, mythology and natural history. The unread pile still teeters precariously, but at least I’ve made a start.
Of course, there have been lapses along the way. I’ve slipped back into sleep more than once during The Portrait of a Lady, and there have been one or two hangover-induced lie-ins. Getting up earlier means going to sleep earlier, which isn’t always much fun. And I’ve yet to conquer my shaming addiction to electronics. I still find it absurdly difficult to concentrate on a novel if there’s a phone or computer to hand; I have taken to locking them outside the room like noisy pets. Thirty minutes is also a fairly puny amount of time. I’ve tried to turn off the TV and extend the hours into the evening, but reading a book – even a great book – after 9pm has the same effect on me as a chloroformed handkerchief. Mornings remain the best time, especially in spring or summer when the house is quiet, reading as the sun comes up.
“Just half an hour a day can change your life.” It’s the sort of dubious claim you find in the back of a magazine, and I’m aware of a zealot’s shrillness in all of this. I know that for every reader who has lost the habit or can’t find the time, there are people who’ve never enjoyed reading and question the value of literature, either as entertainment or education, or believe that a love of books, and of fiction in particular, is sentimental or frivolous. Given an extra half-hour a day, I know that some people would much prefer to be jogging or bantering on social networks or simply sleeping some more. “No one reaches the end of their life and wishes they’d spent more time on Twitter” is a claim I’ve heard before, but perhaps that won’t always be the case.
But to allow the zealot his voice again, think of what you might be missing by not finding the time to read. Allowing for a steady pace of a page a minute, you could easily take in a short story by Chekhov or Raymond Carver or Richard Yates every morning of next week.
An Alice Munro might take two days, but it will be worth it. The Great Gatsby could be read in four mornings or, if that’s too obvious, there is always Tender is the Night, a much better book I think. Other novellas – there’s The Good Soldier or The End of the Affair or Franny and Zooey or Goodbye, Columbus. Or something more recent – Denis Johnson’s Train Dreams, a small masterpiece and the best book I read last year. Or something lighter; have you ever read Ian Fleming? Casino Royale ’s a terrifically invigorating book to read before breakfast. Or why not start something more ambitious: Anna Karenina or Bleak House or Les Misèrables might last you into March, but Great Expectations or Persuasion or Madame Bovary will take half that time.
And then there are the Man Booker nominations, and the fine new work that’s coming out of independent presses, and the book of that film you saw, and travel writing before you go away, and poetry and, come to think of it, isn’t now the perfect time to read a really good biography of Napoleon?

Friday 7 December 2012

What good luck to miss out on a £64m lottery win

 

The national lottery symbol
'If I fantasise about winning the lottery, it doesn’t take long before all sorts of worrisome potential consequences occur to me.' Photograph: Danny Lawson/PA
 
What would you do if you discovered that you were the owner of the lottery ticket that won £64m, but you didn't claim it in time?

It would be nice to think you were big enough simply to be pleased that you had become the country's biggest philanthropist of the year by mistake, since at 11pm on Wednesday night, the unclaimed prize was handed over to charity. But I think most of us would be haunted by thoughts of what might have been for the rest of our lives.

Perhaps, but you don't need to have just missed out on a fortune to have dreams of "maybe … ". Life is full of what-ifs, many of which could easily have been realities, had just a few things been different.

Bitter regret is the consequence of being more confident than we should be about where those alternative paths would have led us. The truth is that we will never know. What looks like good fortune can easily turn out to be an incredible stroke of bad luck and vice versa. Albert Camus got in a car going back to Paris instead of getting the train, only to be killed in a fatal road crash. Then there are the passengers who were running late the day of the London bombings of July 2005 and missed the tube or train journey that would have killed them.

If we find it hard to believe that winning millions might not be so lucky after all, we just don't have a good enough imagination. If I fantasise about winning the lottery, it doesn't take long before all sorts of worrisome potential consequences occur to me. I think about how I might spread the love, and worry that it would take away the incentive for someone to work at what might really give them satisfaction; or that they might spend the cash on things like cosmetic surgery or drugs that are no good for them in the long run. Meanwhile, of course, I trust myself to spend wisely, unaware of all the ways in which I too might screw up my life by making bad choices.

The point is not to convince ourselves that wealth brings misery, which is just an idea the rest of us cling on to make ourselves feel better. It's simply that we don't know what would happen in any given case, and so we should not mourn for an alternative future (or past), the outcome of which is mysterious.

If we really do want to turn our near-miss into a positive, then we should take it as a lesson about how fickle fate is. We often don't notice how many of the things that have gone right for us depended on chance events that could have been otherwise. If I think about my choice of university and subject, or meeting my business and life partners, things that set the course of my life, it is frightening how easily none of them could have happened at all.

My greatest consolation would come from an article I researched several years ago, in which I chased up seven members of two rock bands that had very nearly, but not quite, made the big time. For one, it probably came down to no more than a technical hiccup, meaning Simon Bates never played their single on the then biggest radio show in the country. All accepted that it would have been great to have broken through, although one was convinced it would have killed him, so seduced was he by the rock'n'roll life. But all had made their peace with their near misses and could see now that what really mattered was continuing to do what they loved. I thought I had written a great piece, but it never got used. Another "nearly" moment.

We can't control whether we are rewarded for our endeavours, with cash or recognition. It is not up to us how much cash or time we get on Earth, but it is down to us how we spend it.