I.
I have been following the recent (often acrimonious) exchange between Stephen Alexander and Simon Solomon in the comments section of Torpedo the Ark following the post titled 'Why Me Contra So What' (6 Feb 2026): click here.
And whilst I have no wish to become embroiled in what is clearly a lovers' spat between the two as much as it is a philosophical debate, I thought it might be helpful to offer some objective third party observations.
Ultimately, what we see unfolding here is a textbook clash between a defender of secular reason (Alexander) and a defender of sacred wisdom (Solomon). What complicates matters somewhat is that Alexander understands reason from a Nietzschean perspective (as a gay science), whilst Solomon wishes to ground his faith in analytic psychology which he regards as a form of empiricism.
II.
Whilst Solomon appears the more learned of the two - dropping not one, not two, but four Ancient Greek terms for fate early into the discussion and providing a wealth of textual support for his arguments - I feel that Alexander nevertheless holds his ground and presents his case in a more concise and open manner (even if it is sometimes shot through with sarcasm as well as scepticism).
Both men, it seems to me, are unnecessarily aggressive; although as they both graduated from the Philosophy Department at Warwick University in the 1990s, that is perhaps understandable. Whilst Alexander retains a veneer of calm and coolness, he still manages to weaponise such in order to antagonise the more hot-under-the-collar figure of Solomon.
It's hard to say who is the most dismissive and condescending, but whilst Alexander is more mocking, Solomon is certainly more abusive and also more pedantic - in a debate of this kind, Simon, a spelling error really doesn't matter.
Solomon also likes to pathologise his opponent; that is to say, instead of refuting Alexander's logic, he attempts to discredit it by
suggesting it is a symptom of mental or emotional deficiency: You only think that way because you're a damaged individual! He doesn't want to win the argument, but shame his opponent and expose them as an inferior (and possibly a fraud).
To be fair to Solomon, however, I think his defensiveness stems from a perceived threat to his identity founded upon the mysterious and imaginative sensibility of the poet. Thus, when Alexander reduces his compellingly
empirical experiences to mere statistical inevitability, Solomon is offended at the core of his being.
The odd thing is that whilst neither seems particularly fond of the other, their familiarity suggests they are long-term friends.
III.
Were I to move from my role as unofficial moderator to unofficial adjudicator and choose between the two - in terms not so much of their ideas, but their writing style and public persona - I'd probably have to favour the somewhat mercurial figure of Alexander.
For the latter writes with a lot less seriousness and doesn't sermonise in an ex-cathedra manner like Solomon; there's more sunlight and fresh air in Alexander's texts and less metaphysical solemnity. His use of slang and colloquialism can be a little wearisome at times - when he tries a little too hard to be the cheeky chappie - but, again, I prefer his playful irony to Solomon's haughtiness.
Thanks to short, pithy sentences, it's easy to follow Alexander's arguments. Solomon's construction of a complex textual labyrinth, on the other hand, can leave one feeling a little lost and confused (although, to be fair, Solomon does produce some very powerful and very beautiful turns of phrase).
Just as there are times when one wants to tell Alexander to knock off the performative game and be serious, so too are there times when one wishes one could tell Solomon that the fate of the world's soul isn't always hanging in the balance and he isn't the guardian of ineffable mystery.
If he isn't careful, Solomon is, ironically, in danger of something Jung often warned about: inflation, i.e., over-identification with an archetype; in this case that of the Sage or Poet-Priest.
He should thus be grateful to Alexander, for the latter occupies the role of his shadow; i.e. the one who obliges him to confront those parts of himself he has repressed in order to construct an ideal (if somewhat monstrous) post-Romantic persona.
Thanks, Ron. You do Ron Ron Ro da do Ron Ron us both an interesting service (though in my case, I think, sometimes a disservice)! Leaving aside your striking desire to enforce my 'gratitude' to Stephen and disappointingly one-sided concluding paragraph (if you're going to speculate about repression, you need to do the decent thing and do so even-handedly), I did have to smile over your inference that philosophy study at Warwick in the 1990s imbued its alumni with a kind of combative attack-mindedness. I also liked your perceptive ideas of weaponised veneers and hostility masquerading as coolness.
ReplyDeleteI think 'abusiveness' is a word that gets over-used these days, and I don't necessarily accept it's applicable to me in this case - in fact, I am calling out perceived double-standards and hypocrisy, as I have done for some time now on TTA. Certainly, I will argue 'personally' where I feel it's warranted. At the same time, you are right to sound a degree of caution re the dangers of archetypal inflation - though the corrosive power of secular scepticism, and its susceptibility to narcissistic promiscuity, is, I suggest, just as present a danger in this case.
We're all 'damaged individuals', aren't we, but I think you're over-egging the pudding in this case. As a Hillmanian (Stephen wittily but foolishly calls me a 'Hillmaniac'), the term 'pathology', I would stress, is no kind of dirty word to me. If one just treats it for its etymology, it means the 'language of the suffering soul'. Where pathology is, therefore, poets need to follow.
My one query is why you feel you have to 'adjudicate' (i.e choose between) the two of us. I would suggest doing the more Jungian thing and try to hold the tension of any ideational contrariety. That way, you don't get trapped in one-sidedly positioning one writer as the shadow of the other (which puts the other in the ego position).
Finally, why should life and writing always be 'easy to follow'? While I often admire and envy Stephen's agile wit with ideas, I tend to prefer, like Rilke, density and difficulty. Any style, of course, has its limits. What do you think he has to learn from me?
PS Though I find your analysis mostly compassionately balanced (leaving aside your one-sided final paragraph), I also don't give much credence to 'objective observations' - every human/writer has a specific/subjective viewpoint, hence an agenda (and of course an unconscious).
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