Archive for November, 2017

‘I think I have to leave the country,’ #GarrisonKeillor says after firing https://t.co/0QeRToeoCw ‘“I am sorry for all the poets whose work I won’t be reading on the radio’-me too. Be well, do good work…

November 30, 2017

https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

from Twitter https://twitter.com/OSOPHER

Advertisements

And just like that, the Writers Almanac itself is history. I don’t know if Garrison @g_keillor is guilty as charged, but I’m grateful for all his good work over the years. I hope he’ll be well.

November 30, 2017

https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

from Twitter https://twitter.com/OSOPHER

I’ve just posted on my Blog about: Russell’s delight https://t.co/upaBBi4RbD

November 30, 2017

https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

from Twitter https://twitter.com/OSOPHER

Russell’s delight

November 30, 2017

Near the end of chapter 3 in Conquest of Happiness Bertrand Russell writes: “They do not , on the average, have so much as  two children per marriage; they do not enjoy life enough to wish to beget children… Those whose outlook on life causes them to feel so little happiness that they do not care to beget children are biologically doomed.”

That struck a nerve, in class. Several students said they do not intend to have children, though none admitted to not enjoying life.

I’m trying to recall my own feelings about the prospect of parenting when I was a 20-year old undergraduate. I think I had every intention then of doing it eventually, someday, but certainly not anytime soon. And that’s how it happened: late marriage, later family, and yet all too soon now the nest will be empty again. I can’t imagine what those years would have been like without our girls, and don’t want to. I share Russell’s attitude about the complexity, the delights, and the deep gratification of “parental feeling”:

There is, first and foremost, sheer animal affection, and delight in watching what is charming in the ways of the young. Next, there is the sense of inescapable responsibility, providing a purpose for daily activities which skepticism does not easily question. Then there is an egoistic element, which is very dangerous: the hope that one’s children may succeed where one has failed, that they may carry on one’s work when death or senility puts an end to one’s own efforts, and, in any case, that they will supply a biological escape from death, making one’s own life part of the whole stream, and not a mere stagnant puddle without any overflow into the future. All this I experienced, and for some years it filled my life with happiness and peace. Autobiography

I was trying to talk in class about that dangerous “egoistic element,” about the value of that feeling of being tangibly invested in our children’s future, hoping to make a constructive contribution to their flourishing and caring about it in more personal terms than I imagine the childless do… but at the same time resisting the selfish impulse to (as Emerson put it) “make another you. One’s enough.” 

In other words, the kids are alright. “Cannot we let people be themselves and enjoy life in their own way?” So, maybe two, maybe one, maybe none: there are enough of us, we can afford a few happily childless adults. I’m just glad I’m not one of them.
==
Our concluding Russellian topics today, in Happiness, as we near the end of Conquest: family, work, and what he oddly calls “impersonal interests” – I call them personal delights or enthusiasms, “those minor interests which fill [our] leisure and afford relaxation from the tenseness of more serious preoccupations.”

Our avocational interests may seem minor, but they can have a major impact on the quality of our lives and the extent of our happiness, and not just our own. Noticing how others embrace the sources of their own delight is an important step on the road to a deeper empathy, a step away from mutual blindness, hostility, and aggression. Or so I have long contended.

What objects of enthusiasm can imaginably promise so much?
Any we can imagine, and then someóbaseball, say, or the Beatles,
beer, Great Britain, literature, science, science fiction, Monet,
Mozart, Kentucky whiskey, Tennessee walking horses, walking,
running, tilling the soil, raising kids, healing, praying,
meditating, thinking, teaching, learning, and on and on. Whatever
disparate items may show up on anyone’s list (these are a few
that crop up in my own family circle), their crucial essence is
to point at, but not to replicate or make transparent to others’
grasp, the depths of experience and personal significance they
attempt to name. I can tell you that I love baseball, but I
cannot begin to convey precisely why or how or the extent to
which baseball is important for my peculiar ways of experiencing
and living in the world. By the same token your account of the
joys of macramÈ, soccer, or cat-dancing will leave me in the
dark. But it is a darkness rimmed by the glow of a phenomenon we
should all recognize and treasure. Springs of Delight

“Raising kids” is on my list, and Russell said it was on his. But he paints a bleak picture of family life, c.1930. Were relations between parents and children really as unhappy (99%!) as he says they were, with so many demanding and despotically possessive parents, so many rude, disrespectful and churlish children? Expectations must have been very different on both ends, and tough economic times (though they probably wouldn’t have noticed this in the Russell manor) tend to breed generational tension. But still.
Russell’s remarks on women again give some discomfort, especially the claim that women in general have a harder time cultivating “impersonl interests.” But his point that for lots of women the choice to pursue a vocation imposes spousally-unmatched domestic compromises is still relevant, even after the choice for most has become no choice at all. As for the quality of domestic life, and speaking as a former Dad-at-home, the charge that it can make you “fussy and small-minded” may be true to an extent, but it’s definitely not gender-specific. And  “spinsterhood”? Is that still a thing?

I agree with Russell, feeling “part of the stream of life” is for many of us inseparable from family. I don’t agree, though, that “death ends all” for the childless. We can invest ourselves emotionally and tangibly in the future of our species, whether or not our own “germ-plasm” is afloat downstream.

“The production of satisfactory children is a difficult constructive work capable of affording profound satisfaction.” Yes, but don’t take too much credit for the production process – especially if you employ a nurse and nanny. And consider Uncle Albert’s observation: “Being both a father and a teacher I know we can teach our children nothing.”

As for work: I do feel sorry for those whose work does not challenge, who must “prostitute” themselves to corporate “Philistines,” or who simply find themselves devoting long hours to labor that seems Sisyphean at best. But as we’ve noted, he coped and found happiness. We shouldn’t quit either. (But maybe some of us should quit one rock and seek another, they’re not all the same.)
Speaking of Einstein and his “cosmic religious feeling” (and Spinoza’s “bliss”.. though for me it immediately conjures neither of them, but Sagan instead): Russell is again at his best when he evokes the cosmic perspective [NdT], with its appreciation of the calendrical brevity of life and its mind-opening, soul-expanding promise that “if you have attained to this outlook, a certain deep happiness will never leave you.” With this outlook, when I can manage to muster it, I too am in church and in the spirit of A Free Man’s Worship.

Podcast
11.__.15. 5:40/6:34, 31/59

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2zRQdGW

I took the Pro-Truth Pledge! https://t.co/lqJePkYowr #ProTruthPledge via @ProTruthPledge

November 29, 2017

https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

from Twitter https://twitter.com/OSOPHER

I’ve just posted on my Blog about: Wittgenstein, Arendt, Rawls, Turing, Searle, Singer https://t.co/m5GlPEcUsR

November 29, 2017

https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

from Twitter https://twitter.com/OSOPHER

Wittgenstein, Arendt, Rawls, Turing, Searle, Singer

November 29, 2017

It’s our penultimate semester class date, with Ludwig Wittgenstein, Hannah Arendt, Karl Popper, Thomas Kuhn, Philippa Foot, and Judith Jarvis Thomson today in CoPhi.



Wittgenstein was one odd duck. Or rabbit. Or duckrabbit. What do you see, and how do you see it? Why do you see it that way? He thought these were questions worth investigating, in his posthumous Philosophical Investigations. I’m more inclined to follow the instruction of proposition 7 in his pre-humous Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus: “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.” Famous premature last words.


“Raised in a prominent Viennese family, Ludwig Wittgenstein studied engineering in Germany and England, but became interested in the foundations of mathematics and pursued philosophical studies with Moore at Cambridge before entering the Austrian army during World War I. The notebooks he kept as a soldier became the basis for his Tractatus, which later earned him a doctorate and exerted a lasting influence on the philosophers of the Vienna circle. After giving away his inherited fortune, working as a village schoolteacher in Austria, and designing his sister’s Vienna home, Wittgenstein returned to Cambridge, where he developed a new conception of the philosophical task. His impassioned teaching during this period influenced a new generation of philosophers…”


The Tractatus said we can’t speak meaningfully about our most important questions in ethics and religion (and maybe language), and so should hold our tongues. That may sound like Freddy Ayer’s “nonsense,” but Wittgenstein was not being dismissive, he was courting mysticism. He presumed that language fails to mirror reality because we cannot verify their correspondence, cannot faithfully and flawlessly replicate in words the facts and meanings that lie beyond them.

The Philosophical Investigations takes a linguistic turn. “The meaning of a word is its use in the language,” not its relation to something non-linguistic in the world. The uses of words are discovered and decreed in our “language games,” which include but crucially are not limited to the games philosophers play about truth. Those games can get us stuck like a fly in a bottle, and he wanted to pop the cork. “Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language.”

How do you avoid linguistic captivity in the first place? Not by inventing your own private language. Language is intrinsically public, and only other users of our language can call us out for the  language errors we don’t catch. A private language is too much like Leibniz’ private monadic theaters of mind, too much like a game of solitaire played with improvised rules.

But rules presuppose other rule-followers, and language games presuppose other players. So the question is how do we break the spell of language, when it bewitches and confuses us? It’s tempting to say “it’s only a game,” we can always play a different one. Can we?  “A picture held us captive. And we could not get outside it, for it lay in our language and language seemed to repeat it to us inexorably.” Won’t language always hold us captive in this sense?

The Investigations thus seem to bring Wittgenstein full circle, back to the concluding counsel of the Tractatus. “So in the end, when one is doing philosophy, one gets to the point where one would like just to emit an inarticulate sound.” I know what he means, I often feel that way when doing philosophy, and especially when watching others do philosophy. But now and then someone will say or write something that provokes an “ah-ha!” moment, and language seems less captor than liberator. Richard Rorty’s Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature had that effect on many of my peers in grad school, with its proposal that the pictures holding us captive in philosophy are optional. We can just decide to give up the picture of words as mirrors? That’s a game-changer.

“Language is a labyrinth of paths. You approach from one side and know your way about; you approach the same place from another side and no longer know your way about.” And vice versa. Peripatetics know this. You aren’t necessarily lost, in language, you’re exploring. Try another path. Start another conversation. Read another book. Write another sentence.

  Hannah Arendt covered Adolf Eichmann’s war crimes trial for The New Yorker in 1963 (“Eichmann in Jerusalem“), finding him the very epitome of banality, “an ordinary man who chose not to think too hard about what he was doing.” The banality of evil resides in the hearts and minds of heartless, thoughtless functionaries. “The trouble with Eichmann was precisely that so many were like him, and that the many were neither perverted nor sadistic, that they were, and still are, terribly and terrifyingly normal.” And they pay that “normality” forward, to catastrophic and tragic result. “The sad truth is that most evil is done by people who never make up their minds to be good or evil.”

The Origins of Totalitarianism has suddenly again become must-reading. “The essence of totalitarian government, and perhaps the nature of every bureaucracy, is to make functionaries and mere cogs in the administrative machinery out of men, and thus to dehumanize them…. The ideal subject of totalitarian rule is not the convinced Nazi or the dedicated communist, but people for whom the distinction between fact and fiction, true and false, no longer exists…  one could make people believe the most fantastic statements one day, and trust that if the next day they were given irrefutable proof of their falsehood, they would take refuge in cynicism; instead of deserting the leaders who had lied to them, they would protest that they had known all along that the statement was a lie and would admire the leaders for their superior tactical cleverness.”


 John RawlsAlan TuringJohn Searle (who’s lately joined an ignoble list of alleged philosopher/harassers, but that’s another topic), and Peter Singer round out our introductory tour of western philosophy.

Rawls’ “stroke of genius” was his Original Position thought experiment, seeking fairness and justice (for Rawls justice is fairness) via the imaginative contrivance of a “veil of ignorance.” The idea is to acknowledge and lessen the undue influence of special interest pleading in our politics, allowing only those inequalities of wealth, status, privilege, opportunity, and resources that benefit all. The least well-off must be better off, when the veil is lifted, than otherwise. [SoL video]

Alan Turing’s Imitation Game, “proposing the practical test of whether or not we would attribute intelligence to a system whose performance is indistinguishible from that of a human agent,” says if it walks and talks like a smart duck it practically is one. John Searle countered with the Chinese Room, which “purports to show that even effective computer simulations do not embody genuine intelligence, since rule-governed processes need not rely upon understanding by those who perform them.”

But some philosophers remain convinced that  we might someday use computers to achieve virtual immortality. That didn’t work out so well for Johnny Depp in Transcendence“I can’t feel anything,” says the uploaded semblance of his former self. If that’s the singularity I hope it’s nowhere near, Ray Kurzweil. “Transcending biology” might strip us of our humanity and not replace it with anything better.

Peter Singer says we should always be prepared to sacrifice “one or two of the luxuries that we don’t really need” to help strangers. When you put it that way it doesn’t really sound like “a hard philosophy to live up to,” much as we love our branded shoes and suits, our cars and college funds, and our carnivorous ways. “But that doesn’t mean Singer is wrong about what we ought to do.” We ought to do a great deal more good for those in need than we do, most of us. Maybe we ought to stop eating sentient animals. Certainly we ought to stop inflicting gratuitous pain on all who can feel it. We ought to be less selfish and more cooperative.

Singer “represents the very best tradition in philosophy,” if you agree that “constantly challenging widely held assumptions” like Socrates is the very best tradition. Kwame Anthony Appiah basically agrees, but would modify Singer’s principle to something like: “if you are the best person in the best position to prevent something really awful, and it won’t cost you much to do so, do it.” [Singer slides]

Since it’s our last regular class date prior to next week’s exam, this is a good time to echo what  Professor James said about conclusions.  In the words of his favorite pluralistic mystic, “there is no conclusion. What has concluded, that we might conclude in regard to it? There are no fortunes to be told, and there is no advice to be given. — Farewell!”

Actually there is one important bit of advice all philosophers will endorse:

Albert Einstein
Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning. #Einstein

And then there’s some good advice about how to prepare for an exam.

[4.25.17] And since it’s poet Ted Kooser’s birthday I’ll add one more thing. Like Anthony Trollope, who said “A small daily task, if it be really daily, will beat the labors of a spasmodic Hercules,” Kooser had a habit of “rising early every morning so he could write for an hour and a half before going to the office.” He wrote seven books that way, and became poet laureate. So the advice (which James also gave, notwithstanding his parting reluctance to say so) is: form good daily work habits and stick to ’em. “How we spend our days is how we spend our lives.” -Annie Dillard

Good luck! 

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2zPXxTv

I’ve just posted on my Blog about: Blindness https://t.co/xsP1liU3ye

November 28, 2017

https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

from Twitter https://twitter.com/OSOPHER

Blindness

November 28, 2017

Foggy morning. Visibility is limited. But that’s always so, until we notice and correct for our condition.

William James said “On a Certain Blindness in Human Beings,” which we’re looking at in Happiness, was one of his own most important and gratifying essays. It calls out our self-inflicted and obtuse “ancestral blindness” in failing to grasp or even acknowledge the interior lives of others. It celebrates the often-inexpressible delight of being human and having a human interior. It pleads for mutual respect and toleration, in recognizing that each of us possesses a singular station and perspective. It says my pursuit of happiness must empathize with yours, or else it becomes as egoistic and dumb as it is blind.

It anticipates Carl Sagan’s cosmic wonder at our uniqueness. “Every one of us is, in the cosmic perspective, precious. If a human disagrees with you, let him live. In a hundred billion galaxies, you will not find another.”

It shares Richard Dawkins’s deep biologically-informed gratitude for life. “The potential people who could have been here in my place but who will in fact never see the light of day outnumber the sand grains of Arabia.” We’re so lucky to have the opportunity to open our eyes on this sumptuous planet, so tragically short-sighted not to.

It celebrates the self, every self, all selves,

celebratory of the self as a locus of intrinsically valuable experiences… he appreciates the marvelous diversity of ways in which human beings find the world interesting and important, ways that “make life worth living.” The fact that one person’s very reason for being leaves another cold and uninterested is at the heart of what he considers the enduring mystery of happiness and is part of the larger mystery of life. William James’s “Springs of Delight”

It concludes with a stern “Hands off” warning: “neither the whole of truth, nor the whole of
good, is revealed to any single observer, although each observer
gains a partial superiority of insight from the peculiar position
in which he stands.”

Failure to respect a multiplicity of
interpretive insights would be an instance of the deplorable but
natural “blindness” by which we so frequently misconstrue one
another. James did advance a striking vision; but one great fact
about him, and the most arresting thing about it, is that his
vision (like Emerson’s “thousand-eyed present”) defies every conceivable attempt to
reduce it to a single point of view, including his own. It is “self-reliant” only to a point. I read it as an ultimately optimistic vision. We’re blind, but we can (if we will) see that we are, and therein lies our hope.

“Take our dogs and ourselves, connected as we are by a tie more intimate than most ties in this world…” This passage resonates more for me today than it might, having just said a sorrowful farewell to our constant canine companion of the past dozen years. How often old Angel sat at my feet, doubtless rehearsing (in her way) something like James’s fox-terrier’s lament:  “To sit there like a senseless statue, when you might be taking [her] to walk and throwing sticks for [her] to catch! What queer disease is this that comes over you every day, of holding things and staring at them like that for hours together, paralyzed of motion and vacant of all conscious life?” Sorry, old girl. You tolerated so much, asked for so little, provided so much joy.

Joy’s the word, as Stevenson said, “the personal poetry, the enchanted atmosphere, that rainbow work of fancy” we miss if we objectify and neutralize things by reducing them to their surface externality. Our springs of delight lie beneath the surface, our inner lives are out of sight. We’re each tasked to “find out where the joy resides” and honor it. In the case of departed friends, it resides in pleasant precious memory. Pixar’s Coco gets it right: remember.

11.3.15. 6 am/6:13, 59/75
Podcast

via Blogger http://ift.tt/2BigDxO

I’ve just posted on my Blog about: Russell, Ayer, Sartre, de Beauvoir, Camus https://t.co/2cNweAsfc5

November 27, 2017

https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

from Twitter https://twitter.com/OSOPHER