These grey days the world is shot in noir, when a hooded jacket means warm security or cold danger, depending on the hour. Rain punches the pavement, beating us down. The leaves are dying and violence is in the air.
The numerous incidents around Grounds and recent deaths at other universities leave us speechless, but the issues nevertheless demand discussion. "The energy of violence," Martin Amis once said, "commits us to a road where nothing does makes sense." It may be impossible to make sense of the senseless. And in the wake of a tragedy, asking "What can we learn from this?" is often more insulting than informative.
But language is the first clue of all human mysteries. How we talk about these things - violence, suicide, sexual assault - reveals less about the subjects but more about ourselves. Our dialogues take two distinct forms: talks about individual responsibility and messages of collective awareness. Often, these conversations lead to confusing contradictions.
Spoken in a politically correct tongue, our personal dialogues seem remote - we talk about responsible drinking, safe sex and late-night precautions without questioning the merits of alcohol, sex or the idea of partying itself. This nonconfrontational attitude highlights that recurring conflict between security and liberty.
We have been generally correct and unanimous in favoring personal freedom. Today the topic is almost beyond disagreement. A plea for civil liberties, "I don't agree with what you're saying, but I'd fight for your right to say it!" is the trump card of all American arguments.
These expanded freedoms of adulthood, however, contain our collegiate discussions. Legal drinking and drug use are protected from more constructive criticism because we respect personal choices. The best safety measures - avoiding parties altogether, not walking in certain places late at night - would sound like restrictive curfews. Colleges have replaced prohibition with admonition; talks about personal safety are largely recommendations.
Eventually, this liberal reasoning culminates in a call for individual responsibility. Our divisive national conflicts (energy, the economy, abortion) are all dissolved with a little personal prudence: If we pull ourselves up by our boots, tighten our belts and zip up our pants, the country would be in great shape. Similarly, our safety is ensured by taking responsibility for ourselves.
The second conversation directly opposes this idea of individual responsibility. Here we will confront the eternal debate of free will. In this argument, I am in no position to take a position. The recurring debates are mainly philosophical polls until science yields the final results. I would like to hold onto my free will until it is taken by the slimy latex hands of neuroscience.
Determinism, embodied by the social sciences, is the basis for many of our discussions about general concepts like 'violence' or 'suicide.' Determinism posits that our decisions are outside of our control; human behavior is based on influences from culture, society and psychological states.
Each viewpoint has its benefits. Under determinism, social phenomenon can be predicted and prevented; free will makes violence a random event. With determinism, though, moral agency is so filtered - a poor upbringing, psychological disorders, environmental effects - that you can hardly blame individuals for violent behavior. It is not their fault.
Our society has made the safe compromise of compatibilism: Within a set context, we exercise free will. Thus we can have both conversations: about individual choices and collective cultures. Some responsibility is placed on the circumstances, the violence of media or video games, but we are still held accountable.
Such compatibilism, however, requires a delicate balance. The ongoing "Let's Get Grounded" campaign, for example, successfully discusses personal choices in given situations. The lessons explore social and psychological trends while empowering individual behavior.
Now, the common problem is when our rhetoric bleeds over our boundaries. A recent example is the dispute regarding Tucker Max. Max is the author of "I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell," a book of escapades describing the thrills of parties and sex. Hence, Max is hit or miss among readers; he was scheduled to appear at the University Sept. 29 but was cancelled for obvious reasons.
A guest article in The Cavalier Daily, "Rethinking Humor," (Sept. 24) took the silver hammer to Max: "The themes that run through his vignettes of partying and hook-ups encourage the objectification of women and hide male privilege." Max is accused, probably rightly, of using humor to reinforce a "rape culture,", a term characteristic of the social sciences.
A University of Chicago and Duke graduate, Max is no dunce. He has adequately responded to previous accusations: "The implication is that women can't think for themselves," said Max in a New York Times article. "I thought women can decide for themselves what they want to do or read or whatever," is his chill statement of free will.
As Max reveals, the debate has become paradoxical, cracking the fragile middle ground of moral agency. If Max contributes to an inflammatory culture, then individuals should just as easily be able to reject that culture. If these misogynist attitudes already exist on college campuses, then one can hardly blame Max for writing books that just profit on popular opinion.
These discussions can easily become dangerous. An appeal to abstract social factors allows innocent individuals to be unjustly accused or wrongdoers to become martyrs. In contrast, stressing the power of individual choice lets victims be blamed for not making smart decisions.
Ultimately, the essential conversation is the one we have with ourselves. To our community, friends and classmates, we can only offer that half-plea, half-prayer: Be safe.
Aaron Eisen is a senior associate editor for The Cavalier Daily.
He can be reached at a.eisen@cavalierdaily.com.
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