David McElroy

I was honored to be the guest Friday night on the YouTube livestream of Aya Katz. The link is embedded below, but I also encourage you to check out some of her other videos.

In our wide-ranging conversation, we talked about my experiences in politics but we spent most of our time trying to find some sense of how best to change the world around us. I argue that art has the best chance of changing the culture — and thus changing the political establishment — but Aya is less optimistic that we can change the world in this way.

Who’s right? We might not know for years, but she’s still trying to prod me toward trying to make more films — which I already know I ought to be doing.

Aya Katz is linguist, primatologist, writer and artist. She has a PhD in linguistics and also has a law degree, which allowed her to practice law in Texas for nine years. She has a human daughter, but in many of her videos, you can see her chimpanzee named Bow, who lives with her. You can find her YouTube channel here and her novels and non-fiction works on Amazon here.

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We no longer live in the Age of Reason. Or even the Age of Enlightenment. Today, we live in what might be called the Age of Entertainment.

Those who don’t entertain the public are marginalized or trivialized. It’s easier than ever to publish or broadcast to almost everybody in the world, but what good is that when the cultural norm is for consumers to dive into mindless entertainment and trivia? What good is it to publish if few will read? What good is it to speak if almost nobody will hear?

What good is reasoned argument if few are willing to think?

There was a time when I was certain I could rationally explain to any person why he was wrong about anything. I was confident in the power of reason. I also assumed that other people wanted to know the truth if they were mistaken. I believed that if I showed people the morality of individual freedom — of voluntary self-ownership by every individual — I could change the world.

And more than anything else, I assumed that I was right about everything. I’ve slowly had to accept that my reasoned assumptions were wrong — about almost everything.

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When I was around 10 years old, I got interested in drawing. Although my parents had divorced and my father had custody, I still saw my mother at times. She was delighted with my newfound interest in art.

My father didn’t think much of the idea, but my mother got a full-time artist — one of her old college friends — to come to our house in Anniston, Ala., and talk with me about how I could develop my skills. Nothing came of that and I barely thought of it for years.

I’ve been thinking lately that this was one of the first skirmishes in an inner war — one that has been both intellectual and spiritual — that’s gone on inside me ever since I was a child. My parents represented very different approaches to intellect and life and philosophy.

Neither approach is wrong or evil. Each has its advantages and disadvantages. Part of me is ruled by one and another part is ruled by the other. They’re both essential parts of me.

But for most of my life, I’ve followed my father’s rational and factual approach. It was about making direct arguments and seeing the world in concrete and practical terms. My mother’s approach was more artistic and abstract. Even mystical. It was about intuition and following what felt right.

It’s easier to make it in the world if you’re able to live by my father’s rules. But I’m slowly concluding that this pragmatic approach will never work for me. I’ve admitted this before. Several times. But I keep getting scared of the alternative.

I’m terrified to say this, but I fear that I’ll never have any peace until I follow my mother’s more intuitive and abstract path — right over the artistic cliff into the world of creation.

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