In my online journal, I commented offhandedly that Parmenides' saying, "And it is all common to me / From where I am to begin; for to there shall I come back again," sounded much like the Christian "dust-to-dust" theme. Dr. Bowery responded that Parmenides' philosophy was, indeed, "Philosophy as a preparation for dying."
A friend and mentor, who's also a professor in the geology department here at Baylor, told me this Tuesday that he no longer cared about this world. He continued, "If God told me I had cancer and would die later today, I would say, 'Ok - but why not now?'" Our relationship is developed enough that I can say things I'd normally consider disrespectful, so I told him, "But how can you say this world has no value to you?" and prompted him to admit that he placed value on many people (his wife, his kids, his grandkids) in the world. I said that if I 'knew' there was a heaven, I would want to leave earth, but I would definitely have reservations. There is so much to this world.
Where should the balance be? Should I be preparing for death itself, or for what comes after death, or for what comes before death? When one (like myself) doesn't know what comes next - and when I don't know what this prep course is preparing me for - how can I really take anything to heart? For now, I think it's best if I don't prepare for death (sorry, Parmenides). By using my philosophical search to prepare me for life instead, I think I'm preparing for death indirectly. I believe in fate, and I think if I follow my fate, which I believe I do without choosing to do so, I will be prepared for death when I come to it. It's a go-with-the-flow thing.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Courage in War - Another Reason Why I Don't Get Aristotle
War's been on my mind a lot this week - I'm sure my annoying compilation of questions in class was a tip-off. This week alone, I've been reading a war book (The Things They Carried), listening to war songs (everything recorded by Billy Joel, you know it's true), watching war movies (Friendly Fire), listening to anti-war activists, reading up on our two current wars. Willing myself away from the topic of war failed to make the subject go away, so I just tried to embrace it. This is also impossible.
I like to think I can tackle any deep, philosophical or spiritual subject; but apparently the one thing I can't really handle is war. This is probably because 1) I could never fight, I'm too much of a coward - and somehow I just know my lovely liberal values would become complete moot on a battlefield ("I got soul but I'm not a soldier"); and 2) war doesn't make sense to me, not intellectually, but emotionally - as in, how the hell could you actually live with killing someone? Even if there was a reason? Even if you thought it was 'right'?
A friend shared Carl Sagan's "Pale Blue Dot" speech with me, and it just enveloped me in intense sadness. There's a line in which he says, "Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot." All the glory and triumph and terrible art of war is one big cosmic joke to whoever's watching us. And that whoever is not Aristotle, so I went to read what Aristotle has to say about courage, because when I think of war, courage is the virtue that comes to mind.
He says danger is at its "greatest and finest" in war - I don't know what that means. Discussing the balance between too much and too little of the virtue of courage, he says that the overly courageous person is either a madman or faking it (134). It's odd that he picks the former category for the Celts. The Celts seem to have owned much of Europe when Aristotle was alive, so they were pretty damn good at fighting, probably not just an entirely insane race of people. I also wouldn't call the Mongols or Romans madmen, I would just call them good, maybe even courageous, fighters.
But then he says that courage is mostly confidence and partially fear - not equally midway between overconfidence and complete fear (137). Then he says, "the person who is undisturbed in face of fearsome things...is courageous." After he weeds out several different kinds of non-courage, he's basically nullified the honor of every soldier who ever lived. Why would one need to be undisturbed by fearsome things to be courageous? Isn't that lack of fear just a putting-off of fear? Do not soldiers who win Silver Stars still end up with PTSD? I was surprised to find this fairly honest government site about the mental effects of serving in Afghanistan and Iraq, and I can only conclude that these soldiers are simply normal people being subjected to conditions not meant for normal people.
Maybe it's just because Aristotle bores me that I feel obliged to discredit everything he says, but here, he's really just not getting through to me. I don't know enough to issue this opinion, but I just don't see how a courageous person can do anything but stifle their fear for the moment - maybe forget fear, or be too busy to be afraid - but I don't know any Vietnam, Gulf War, or current soldier who doesn't talk about what was really terrifying about their experience with war. So few people will ever see or understand what Aristotle sees as 'true' courage in war, but I think we can all understand that war is fearsome. And to me, one who remains undisturbed by killing and death seems to be more ill than courageous.
I like to think I can tackle any deep, philosophical or spiritual subject; but apparently the one thing I can't really handle is war. This is probably because 1) I could never fight, I'm too much of a coward - and somehow I just know my lovely liberal values would become complete moot on a battlefield ("I got soul but I'm not a soldier"); and 2) war doesn't make sense to me, not intellectually, but emotionally - as in, how the hell could you actually live with killing someone? Even if there was a reason? Even if you thought it was 'right'?
A friend shared Carl Sagan's "Pale Blue Dot" speech with me, and it just enveloped me in intense sadness. There's a line in which he says, "Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot." All the glory and triumph and terrible art of war is one big cosmic joke to whoever's watching us. And that whoever is not Aristotle, so I went to read what Aristotle has to say about courage, because when I think of war, courage is the virtue that comes to mind.
He says danger is at its "greatest and finest" in war - I don't know what that means. Discussing the balance between too much and too little of the virtue of courage, he says that the overly courageous person is either a madman or faking it (134). It's odd that he picks the former category for the Celts. The Celts seem to have owned much of Europe when Aristotle was alive, so they were pretty damn good at fighting, probably not just an entirely insane race of people. I also wouldn't call the Mongols or Romans madmen, I would just call them good, maybe even courageous, fighters.
But then he says that courage is mostly confidence and partially fear - not equally midway between overconfidence and complete fear (137). Then he says, "the person who is undisturbed in face of fearsome things...is courageous." After he weeds out several different kinds of non-courage, he's basically nullified the honor of every soldier who ever lived. Why would one need to be undisturbed by fearsome things to be courageous? Isn't that lack of fear just a putting-off of fear? Do not soldiers who win Silver Stars still end up with PTSD? I was surprised to find this fairly honest government site about the mental effects of serving in Afghanistan and Iraq, and I can only conclude that these soldiers are simply normal people being subjected to conditions not meant for normal people.
Maybe it's just because Aristotle bores me that I feel obliged to discredit everything he says, but here, he's really just not getting through to me. I don't know enough to issue this opinion, but I just don't see how a courageous person can do anything but stifle their fear for the moment - maybe forget fear, or be too busy to be afraid - but I don't know any Vietnam, Gulf War, or current soldier who doesn't talk about what was really terrifying about their experience with war. So few people will ever see or understand what Aristotle sees as 'true' courage in war, but I think we can all understand that war is fearsome. And to me, one who remains undisturbed by killing and death seems to be more ill than courageous.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Intellect vs. Morality at Baylor
In class on Thursday, our small group spent a great deal of time discussing whether Baylor emphasizes instruction on intellect or character more (definitely a digression, but still philosophically relevant!). I said with great conviction that I felt I had grown more intellectually than morally at Baylor. After long consideration, I've decided I was wrong. I could learn to be an intellectual at virtually any school; Baylor has pushed me much farther toward moral virtue than I've ever been by any school.
This afternoon, my literature instructor asked each student in class to write a paragraph response to our reading thus far on The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien, a partially-nonfiction story about Vietnam soldiers. She read each student's response aloud, including mine: I wrote that I felt humbled, that I had known some who had gone to and died in Iraq, but that they had chosen to enlist. No one these days agonizes over a draft notice. How over-privileged I am, I said, to live in a time when what kids want to do is dictated partly by their needs and partly by their wishes, but rarely by another's needs or wishes. And how fortunate we are that our generation is being shot down, but not destroyed, by Iraq and Afghanistan. I couldn't possibly live as I do while 3% of the world died around me, as certainly did in World War II. There's nothing like a war story to make you feel like shit, I finished. She was noticeably moved and paused for a moment. I'm glad she didn't glance up in my direction, or she would have seen me trying and failing to control my tears. But her ironic response made me laugh: "Does anyone have any war stories they'd like to share?"
I wouldn't say Baylor professors are out to make us feel like shit; but of the twenty instructors I've had at Baylor, I can say that at least half of them were concerned with and spoke about moral issues in class. (And compared to my last college, that's a 100% increase.) This English instructor saw the moral value in my comment on humility, and let the class discuss the subject of war to help instill humility in us. She cleverly manipulated the situation so that we could learn the moral virtue of humility from an intellectual work of literature, and she didn't even have to say anything! Sometimes I don't understand how instructors can be so brilliant. I'm not sucking up, I just really can't believe it.
I'm not Christian; but I truly appreciate instructors who attempt to find the moral value in the intellectual material - here's where that disparity between moral and intellectual virtue comes in. One astronomy instructor made a good portion of the class cry when he addressed our smallness compared to the vastness of the universe. A history professor, who had until this moment shown no signs of having a personality, teared up telling us he hoped what we were learning taught us gratefulness. An anthropology instructor, on the other hand, told us why she could not talk about moral issues in class. Even when morality is not addressed in a class, many instructors feel the need to explain why it is not.
I feel that Baylor pulls intellectual and moral virtue together and delivers it as one package. Morality is balanced by intellection: If you want to be a Christian, you should still know about other religions. If you want to be a Marxist, you still have to study capitalism. If you want to be a conservative, you still have to hear the liberal speak his mind. Baylor hands us an education rich in morality and intellectual virtue. Even if it's not my morals Baylor tries to instill inside me, I appreciate the implication that there really should be some morals inside each of us.
This afternoon, my literature instructor asked each student in class to write a paragraph response to our reading thus far on The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien, a partially-nonfiction story about Vietnam soldiers. She read each student's response aloud, including mine: I wrote that I felt humbled, that I had known some who had gone to and died in Iraq, but that they had chosen to enlist. No one these days agonizes over a draft notice. How over-privileged I am, I said, to live in a time when what kids want to do is dictated partly by their needs and partly by their wishes, but rarely by another's needs or wishes. And how fortunate we are that our generation is being shot down, but not destroyed, by Iraq and Afghanistan. I couldn't possibly live as I do while 3% of the world died around me, as certainly did in World War II. There's nothing like a war story to make you feel like shit, I finished. She was noticeably moved and paused for a moment. I'm glad she didn't glance up in my direction, or she would have seen me trying and failing to control my tears. But her ironic response made me laugh: "Does anyone have any war stories they'd like to share?"
I wouldn't say Baylor professors are out to make us feel like shit; but of the twenty instructors I've had at Baylor, I can say that at least half of them were concerned with and spoke about moral issues in class. (And compared to my last college, that's a 100% increase.) This English instructor saw the moral value in my comment on humility, and let the class discuss the subject of war to help instill humility in us. She cleverly manipulated the situation so that we could learn the moral virtue of humility from an intellectual work of literature, and she didn't even have to say anything! Sometimes I don't understand how instructors can be so brilliant. I'm not sucking up, I just really can't believe it.
I'm not Christian; but I truly appreciate instructors who attempt to find the moral value in the intellectual material - here's where that disparity between moral and intellectual virtue comes in. One astronomy instructor made a good portion of the class cry when he addressed our smallness compared to the vastness of the universe. A history professor, who had until this moment shown no signs of having a personality, teared up telling us he hoped what we were learning taught us gratefulness. An anthropology instructor, on the other hand, told us why she could not talk about moral issues in class. Even when morality is not addressed in a class, many instructors feel the need to explain why it is not.
I feel that Baylor pulls intellectual and moral virtue together and delivers it as one package. Morality is balanced by intellection: If you want to be a Christian, you should still know about other religions. If you want to be a Marxist, you still have to study capitalism. If you want to be a conservative, you still have to hear the liberal speak his mind. Baylor hands us an education rich in morality and intellectual virtue. Even if it's not my morals Baylor tries to instill inside me, I appreciate the implication that there really should be some morals inside each of us.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
"A circle, understand?" No. No, I don't.
I'm giving a presentation tomorrow for a literature class, and our topic is the Sandra Cisneros book, The House on Mango Street. The coming-of-age novel is a treasure box of subtlety, written by an adult from a child's perspective. One thing we are emphasizing (and overemphasizing) in our presentation is personal reflection on the book, and I figured this would be a good opportunity to blog!
I read and re-read this book about four times before today (it's about 100 short pages long), and each time, I stopped on this line:
"When you leave you must remember to come back for the others. A circle, understand? You will always be Esperanza [that's the protagonist's name]. You will always be Mango Street. You can't erase what you know. You can't forget who you are."
It's not literary genius, but it's powerful enough to stop my reading groove four times in a row. I'm trying to apply it to myself. I come from a small Washington town to a "big Texas city" - I know, it's just Waco, but give me a break, I knew everyone in my graduating class. And I'll be honest, even if I don't want to, I'll always be Naselle (the town in which I grew up). I can't forget who I am.
But this quote also reminded me of one of Heraclitus' fragments: "Beginning and end are common in the circumference of the circle." On first reading, I thought it was about as insightful as one of those Yogi Berra quotes like, "When you come to a fork in the road, take it." But now I read it as expressing that everything's beginning is also its end; that these marks are just ways of expressing life, which is really just a cycle we don't recognize as a cycle.
Doesn't it seem cathartic to think of life as just a circle? That there is no such thing as a tangent; that all things travel on the same path, and always ends up where they start? That path you wanted to take that didn't work - oh, well, that's just another step on your circle. The circle of life, and all that. (Stay tuned for upcoming philosophy blog entry on The Lion King.)
Well, that's why I can't help thinking it's all just a nice little mental invention of man, an attempt to retain sanity. I think I believe too firmly in the truth of mistakes, that there's just times when we have to fail. Perhaps life is a circle; but if it is, then there's a hundred other circles intertwined in mine, and that's why I sometimes wander far off from my path. I've often gotten stuck on another circle; and I've often felt that fearful feeling of failure, like when you exit the freeway and realize you took the wrong exit. "God damn it, I'm going to spend the next ten minutes on entrance ramps, what a waste." Except in life, it's more like ten years.
Oh, well. The one who wanders is not lost.
I read and re-read this book about four times before today (it's about 100 short pages long), and each time, I stopped on this line:
"When you leave you must remember to come back for the others. A circle, understand? You will always be Esperanza [that's the protagonist's name]. You will always be Mango Street. You can't erase what you know. You can't forget who you are."
It's not literary genius, but it's powerful enough to stop my reading groove four times in a row. I'm trying to apply it to myself. I come from a small Washington town to a "big Texas city" - I know, it's just Waco, but give me a break, I knew everyone in my graduating class. And I'll be honest, even if I don't want to, I'll always be Naselle (the town in which I grew up). I can't forget who I am.
But this quote also reminded me of one of Heraclitus' fragments: "Beginning and end are common in the circumference of the circle." On first reading, I thought it was about as insightful as one of those Yogi Berra quotes like, "When you come to a fork in the road, take it." But now I read it as expressing that everything's beginning is also its end; that these marks are just ways of expressing life, which is really just a cycle we don't recognize as a cycle.
Doesn't it seem cathartic to think of life as just a circle? That there is no such thing as a tangent; that all things travel on the same path, and always ends up where they start? That path you wanted to take that didn't work - oh, well, that's just another step on your circle. The circle of life, and all that. (Stay tuned for upcoming philosophy blog entry on The Lion King.)
Well, that's why I can't help thinking it's all just a nice little mental invention of man, an attempt to retain sanity. I think I believe too firmly in the truth of mistakes, that there's just times when we have to fail. Perhaps life is a circle; but if it is, then there's a hundred other circles intertwined in mine, and that's why I sometimes wander far off from my path. I've often gotten stuck on another circle; and I've often felt that fearful feeling of failure, like when you exit the freeway and realize you took the wrong exit. "God damn it, I'm going to spend the next ten minutes on entrance ramps, what a waste." Except in life, it's more like ten years.
Oh, well. The one who wanders is not lost.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
I feel like Parmenides!
While rereading the beginning of Parmenides' poem, I was struck by the thought that I feel very much like Parmenides. Perhaps I've reached aporia.
My mom said recently that I don’t seem to have any idea what the hell I’m doing. She was exactly right. I have no fucking clue where I'm going in life, though I do have a good feeling that where I've been in the past was not the best path for me. I know that Christianity ("the opinions of mortals, in which there is no true assurance") didn't not work for me, as I expected it to, and that I need to veer in some other direction.
So fate has dragged me, like Parmenides, against my will, into an excellent state of knowing jack shit. (I feel like the antagonist who gets grabbed by what seem to resemble shades, at the end of Ghost, the 1990 movie.) But at least fate has kindly and explicitly informed me that I know jack shit. I truly enjoy this whole "Scio me nescire" (I know that I know nothing) thing. And fate also left me one last tool in my box, which is the ability to discern what did not work for me, so I don’t have to repeat the same mistakes.
I recently reflected that every philosophy I’ve picked up has been a direct response to what has just transpired in my life. This is critically important, and somewhat comforting, because my emotional, psychological, and mental well-being, truly everything, is subject to my circumstances. So, I conclude that I should just allow myself to settle down on whatever spaces the dice take me to, like a game of Monopoly. I’m just a piece in the game. I’m not running the game. I didn't even pick what kind of piece I got to be (why do Republicans always pick the iron?). I’m just jumping around to space after space. Some of those spaces are more expensive than others - Christianity is my Boardwalk. I’m not sure what space I’ll be on at the end of the game, but I do know that ultimately, it’s up to fate to take me where it wants me to go.
So I suppose if fate wants me to be the next Uri Geller, then bend spoons I shall, as fucking stupid as it may sound. And I think that’s somewhat calming.
My mom said recently that I don’t seem to have any idea what the hell I’m doing. She was exactly right. I have no fucking clue where I'm going in life, though I do have a good feeling that where I've been in the past was not the best path for me. I know that Christianity ("the opinions of mortals, in which there is no true assurance") didn't not work for me, as I expected it to, and that I need to veer in some other direction.
So fate has dragged me, like Parmenides, against my will, into an excellent state of knowing jack shit. (I feel like the antagonist who gets grabbed by what seem to resemble shades, at the end of Ghost, the 1990 movie.) But at least fate has kindly and explicitly informed me that I know jack shit. I truly enjoy this whole "Scio me nescire" (I know that I know nothing) thing. And fate also left me one last tool in my box, which is the ability to discern what did not work for me, so I don’t have to repeat the same mistakes.
I recently reflected that every philosophy I’ve picked up has been a direct response to what has just transpired in my life. This is critically important, and somewhat comforting, because my emotional, psychological, and mental well-being, truly everything, is subject to my circumstances. So, I conclude that I should just allow myself to settle down on whatever spaces the dice take me to, like a game of Monopoly. I’m just a piece in the game. I’m not running the game. I didn't even pick what kind of piece I got to be (why do Republicans always pick the iron?). I’m just jumping around to space after space. Some of those spaces are more expensive than others - Christianity is my Boardwalk. I’m not sure what space I’ll be on at the end of the game, but I do know that ultimately, it’s up to fate to take me where it wants me to go.
So I suppose if fate wants me to be the next Uri Geller, then bend spoons I shall, as fucking stupid as it may sound. And I think that’s somewhat calming.
Friday, April 2, 2010
"I'm a philosopher 'cause I've got my own hat."
I just wrote a PERSONAL blog about an Austin moral philosopher's visit to my favorite tv show, the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson.
I really wanted to post it as an official class post, but I couldn't find any connection with what we're talking about in class. Still, it's very intensely about my feelings on philosophy, and the guest is a philosopher from around here in Texas, so I thought I'd at least mention it to my ridiculously small audience. Enjoy.
Click here to go see the post.
Warning to philosophers: please try not to be offended.
I really wanted to post it as an official class post, but I couldn't find any connection with what we're talking about in class. Still, it's very intensely about my feelings on philosophy, and the guest is a philosopher from around here in Texas, so I thought I'd at least mention it to my ridiculously small audience. Enjoy.
Click here to go see the post.
Warning to philosophers: please try not to be offended.
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