Re: A Sensibility of Worth

John O. writes:
<<Of course the past informs the present. But so does the present, in its
own way. And it's just as easy for me to write, with the same random
confidence, that:

<<"Watching, for instance, *Survivor*, might even be more conducive to being
a part of the times in which I live than reading Shakespeare."

<< In any case, I certainly do not think it's a case of either/or. Neither
sentence is demonstrably true, I suspect. And none of this really has
anything to do with "worth," which once again remains a complex problem --
since there are all sorts of reasons why something can be worthwhile, and
only a small number of those reasons have anything to do with how long those
things might last. >>

And of course I agree.

Though his talk about about "worth" seems to miss that I tried rather
explicitly to tie the worth I was talking about to one specific, though
difficult to elucidate, sense of the word.

And then:
<<Robbie's "trust" in "the scrutiny of a generation of critics and
academicians and trusted friends" is charming and loyal, but it doesn't make
reading Shakespeare this rainy afternoon any more "worthwhile" for me than
listening to Steely Dan or Tom Waits (neither of which are likely to have a
fraction of Willy's shelf life). It reamains quite possible that this
afternoon my experience with these new works will have as much worth for me,
will be as moving or as thought-provoking or as beautiful to me here on this
rainy afternoon in this condo, as moments spent with any old ones, including
the old ones I love so dearly. >>

First, I wrote that my trust in "the scrutiny of a generation of critics and
academicians and trusted friends" was the lesser trust (the greater being in
the scrutiny of much greater periods of time), so it is not clear to me why
you would call this charming and loyal if not the carelessness of one eager
to find fault.

And of course I never said (and don't believe I ever suggested) anything to
contradict your taking Steely Dan or Tom Waits to be more worthwhile for you
on this rainy afternoon. Of course that can happen, for you as for me. My
claim was not one of a particular rainy afternoon, but of all afternoons;
which is another way of saying that if it were up to me to preserve the
works of Shakespeare or to preserve the works of Steely Dan and Tom Waits,
and it was necessary that I choose, and whatever I did not choose would be
lost forever, my decision would be an easy one. This doesn't mean that on
no rainy afternoon will I ever prefer to listen to Waits than to read
Shakespeare, but is a judgment of a very specific sort of worth -- not the
only sort of worth, which fact I have already made quite clear, but of a
specific sort, and one which I expect you have a similar sense of.

And while I may be braver, more foolish, and -- as you're careful to point
out -- younger than you, I was not filling you in on my "bunny-profile,"
arbitrarily listing my likes and dislikes. My participation in the larger
parent-conversation of this one began as a response to wide suggestions of
the increasing level of inaccessability of books like the Catcher in the
Rye, and even of Shakespeare's being on his way out. I was speaking in
defense of the sustained value of these and even older books, asserting that
there's no sign of critical failure in the sustainability of books far more
ancient. All of my comments after that, including those that led to
discussion of my reading habits, were responses to Jim or Matt or yourself.
When the coversation evolved and shifted, as it has certainly done, I was
not the primary engine of its change.

Your further talk, which is centered around my use of the word "sensible,"
seems to take the position that I had a desire (and surely one that clearly
indicates psychological needs or defects) to explain why my pleasures are
sensible, when in fact I said that I was explaining why my HABITS are
sensible TO ME -- and did even this as direct responses to suggestions that
concerned them, and which themselves followed my responses to the separate
issue of a loss of literary sensibility over time. Nowhere in this did I
arbitarily explain why my pleasures and desires were sensible, or ought to
be considered sensible, or suggest somehow that the sensibility of my joys
are "the important thing," or that I have a "peculiar need to defend [my]
own subjective aesthetic." Any sense of a "pleading rationality" was your
own projection.

Your psychologizing of me is certainly no less superficial or shallow than
Scottie's of you (and I might suspect much more) -- but yours stands apart
for lacking the redeeming humor.

-Robbie
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Received on Sun Dec 14 19:48:49 2003