Assorted Observations (1.V.26)

Our eyes on the distant, we become far-sighted; our fingers clutching the petty,  petty.

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The pain you felt, and still feel, from the insult you received is far in excess of the pleasure felt, and forgotten, by the one who insulted you. You keep it alive; you can let it die. Let go, move on, live now!

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If you endlessly post pictures of yourself, you take the ‘face’ in Facebook too seriously.

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My wife of 43 years is easy to live with. Just as important, but rather more surprising, is that she finds me easy to live with.

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There is a sense in which we inhabit our bodies, and there is a sense in which our bodies are our vehicles.  Habitat or vehicle? Combining the comparisons, I’ll suggest that our bodies are mobile homes.  ‘Mobile’ captures our viatory status. ‘Home’ our rootedness.   But don’t expect either to last long.

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Henry David Thoreau tells us in Walden that as a youth he “inhabited his body with inexpressible satisfaction.” Perhaps he was lucky to die young as people did in the 19th century.

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Warring metaphors. Plato has Socrates say that the body is the prison house of the soul.  Here if anywhere is a clear case of a house that is not a home. Thoreauvian satisfaction does not characterize such residency in such a domicile. But as I said, Henry David’s “inexpressible satisfaction” would not have lasted into dotage.  But to conclude on a Platonic note, no home in this world is a true home.

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My overall life strategy is mainly avoidant, thus neither confrontational nor self-effacing. Independent, quietly self-assertive, conciliatory, pan-optic and syn-optic. More a seer than a doer.

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It is so easy to love oneself! Why then is it so difficult to love others?  Because I am myself?  No doubt I am. Who else would I be? But I am also not myself in that I observe myself, judge myself, and within limits make myself.  I am object to myself as subject.  I am an object of self-observation and also an object of self-evaluation. Of scrutiny and of approbation and disapprobation. I am also the raw material of my self-improvement projects. My selfhood is a unity of these dualities. Still, my  otherness to myself is more intimately mine and thus more easy to love than my otherness to you — which I also need to be me.   This may be part of the explanation why self-love is easier than other-love.

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Self-esteem sans phrase is axiologically neutral.  It is  a value only when it is a result of  achievement. Empty self-esteem, grounded in nothing, is a disvalue and ought not be promoted in children or in adults.  Barack Hussein Obama and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez come to mind as examples of individuals whose self-esteem is far in excess of accomplishment.  But I rank the community organizer and adjunct professor above the bar tender.

Lack of self-esteem is likewise axiologically neutral; a certain amount of it is valuable if it reflects self-knowledge of real defects and limitations.  It is a disvalue if it debilitates and prevents accomplishment.

Know thyself to esteem thyself in the measure appropriate.

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Disagreement runs deep. Not only do the philosophers disagree about the world, their disciples and commentators disagree about what each has said about the world.  And the anti-philosophers? They too disagree, but  about what is wrong with philosophy, besides failing to note that they themselves philosophize.

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If the philosophy room is too smoky, the door is unlocked. You are free to go. But the door is very special: if you proffer a justification of your egress, it will automatically lock you in. Just walk away, Renee.

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“If you didn’t eat so much, you wouldn’t be so hungry.” In one sense, hunger signals the real need for nutrition. In another, it signals the artificial need to fill a stomach distended by inordinate eating. Do we eat because we are hungry, or are we hungry because we eat?  Primarily the first, secondarily the second.

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First and foremost, food is fuel.  When you gas up your rig, do you inject the gasoline under pressure so as to distend the tank and increase its capacity?

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You say philosophy bakes no bread? I say: Man does not live by bread alone, nor by bed alone. There’s more to life than food, sleep, and sex.

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“He pretends to be what he is not.” But how much  of genuine aspiration is contained in this pretension? He who fakes it until he makes it is no mere pretender. On the other hand, much of what passes itself off as aspiration is mere pretension.

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A modicum of phoniness is fitting in a world phenomenal.  Seeming is not being, but if there were no being in seeming it would be nothing at all. It is unseemly in a world of seeming to take everything at face value or to wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve.

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How generous are you if you can easily afford to be generous? How generous is my ‘generous donation’ if it is but one per cent of my monetary surplus? A donation is a giving, but I don’t give of self, but only of pelf, and of pelf a portion with which I can easily part.

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Philosophy is as dubious a vocation as is the vocation to the priesthood or indeed the calling to anything ‘higher.’ Aspiration or pretension? Hubris? An Icarian reaching for the unattainable that justifiably elicits the scorn of the earth-bound and the ‘practical’?  I say No, but opinions differ.

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Some say the Bible is inerrant in every particular. Is this type of  inerrantism a form of presuppositionalism? You would be hard-pressed to make a rational case for the claim, let alone prove it.   But what you cannot prove you can always presuppose. And you are free to do so. What you must not do is to think that to argue in a circle is to proffer a proof.

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We are all affected by the “climate of opinion” as by the actual weather. People believe what others believe because the others believe it. Conformity in belief and behavior is conducive to social success. We go along to get along. The rebel too is subject to the weather. Tied to what he rejects, reacting against it, he is defined by it. He ineptly and unwittingly defines himself by opposing that which he opposes.  But rebels too seek the like-minded so as to form a comforting conformist cohort.  The beatnik in black has his beret and his bible.  In the late’50s, Kerouac’s On the Road was touted as the “bible of the beat generation.”

What is Left to Do?

Nothing much.

Put  my affairs in order, complete my projects as best I can, prepare for death, and die. I have done my best. I have lived the life I wanted to live. I have been my own man. I have succeeded at what I set out to do when I was 20. In the words of my journal from those days: “to live a philosophical life in a tumultuous uncertain world is my goal.” I pulled it off, and am pulling it off. Favored by Fortuna‘s smile, I gratefully acknowledge the role of luck and the role of others in every success. I did it my way, but I got lucky and my way was partially paved by others.

How much time do I have left? Maybe 15 years, maybe 15 hours.  The clock is running and the format is sudden death. When the flag falls it falls for the last time. You can’t file for an extension or take an incomplete. I keep in mind an old aphorism of mine:

How should we look at things? As if for the first time — and the last.

 

 

Random Jottings on the Day before Thanksgiving

Sehnsucht.  The far-off in time or space can arouse our longing for the  metaphysical Elsewhere. A lonely saguaro standing sentinel on a distant ridge . . . .

When I met him, I was young and he was younger. Now I am old and he is dead.  This life is too dream-like to be real, and too real to be a dream.

He died in a hospital bed, not with his boots on. “This is funny,” are said to have been Doc Holliday’s last words.

A race is not run all at once, but step by step. So too in life: it is lived day by day, hour by hour. This is a comforting truth.  Can you get through the next hour?

For my kind of life, she’s been the right kind of wife: tamquam alter idem.

It takes a spiritual being to affirm that spirit is nothing but an efflux of brain chemistry and that what is ultimately real is matter alone.

Can there be moral seriousness without some doctrine of immortality?  Yes? Are you serious?

Given that we are ineluctably both truth-seekers and moral strivers, could the world in itself be ultimately unintelligible and purposeless? If it is then man is no microcosm but a cosmic joke.

The ultimate joke would a joke without a teller.

If might makes right, then there is no right. To say that might makes right is to say that the notion of right is illusory.

If it won’t matter tomorrow, how much does it matter today? If it won’t exist tomorrow, how much does it exist today? Does existence come in degrees?

Is salvation of individuality or from individuality?  Christian versus Hindu views. If the former, it ought to  involve a transformation into a higher individuality and not a mere perpetuation of the petty earthly self.

Some friendships ought to be left in the boneyard of memory where they belong. “Let sleeping dogs lie.” But if the friendship was rooted in something deep, fruitful re-awakening may be possible.

‘Pastime’

Whatever we are here for, we are not here to pass time. Our time is to be used and used well. You say it doesn't matter how we spend our time since nothing matters? That may or may not be so.  But it matters which.  If something does matter and you live as if nothing matters you may end up not only having wasted your time but  your eternity as well. So time  spent getting to the bottom of this question is time well spent. 

List and Precision Obsession

You are list-obsessive if you write down an already completed task just so you can cross it off your list. You are precision-obsessive if you point out that a task, completed or not, is not the sort of thing that can be crossed off a list.

An admirable concern for precision can veer off into pedantry, punctiliousness, preciosity.