If there's any part of Literary Kicks that I'm sure is going well as the site celebrates its 20th birthday, it's Philosophy Weekend. These weekend essays consistently get the most enthusiastic feedback, the most comments, and the most Facebook/Twitter shares of all my blog posts. I'm really very happy that this section of the site has taken off.
But these essays are also the hardest to write, and sometimes -- like, well, this weekend -- I just can't bring it. This weekend, I've driven 500 miles, worked for several hours on my grueling day job, went to a poetry/book party at my Mom's apartment, and played basketball in the hot sun. I'd love to write an excellent blog post too, but I've been sitting here trying all Sunday afternoon ... and I just can't come up with the goods.
It's because words are such effective tools of communication that we sometimes fail to realize how often we communicate without them. A conversation is sometimes a physical exchange. These conversations carry meaning that can only exist in the physical realm.
We signify to each other with words, with gestures, with emotional expressions. We also signify with commitments, with actions, and when this occurs (as it constantly does in our everyday lives) we are able to see that logical meaning is itself a physical thing. We can't say what we want to say without putting our bodies into it.
For example: my wife and I go to a wedding of a friend of hers who we haven't seen in a while. We both like the bride and groom a lot, and we used to enjoy hanging out with them, but tonight we barely get to talk to the marrying couple because they are so busy running around being the bride and groom. Still, we are glad we came to the wedding, because we are able to express something to the couple by being there. They know that we are there because we want to celebrate their marriage, and this recognition (which might not take place till weeks later when they see their wedding photos) amounts to a happy conversation that could not have been carried out if we were not there. We could have sent a card, and the card could have had many more words on it than we had a chance to speak. But the card would have expressed not more meaning but less than we expressed by being there.
I observed a strange reaction among my friends -- especially my fellow liberals -- when a new insurgent group calling itself "The Islamic State in Iraq and Syria" began capturing towns and small cities in war-torn Iraq.
There's really nothing new about this insurgent group, which represents the same Sunni coalition that lost power with the fall of Saddam Hussein and has been trying to get it back ever since. But all of a sudden, several of my friends were up in arms about the insurgency. Why? Because they're fundamentalists.
Indeed, the new insurgency is using Islamic fundamentalism as a way to gain support (and frighten Brits and Americans). It's a smart strategic move: calls to religion have always been useful recruiting tools in time of war. But what amazes me is that some of my American friends are more offended by the fact that the new insurgents are religious than by the fact that they are rampaging through towns murdering political opponents with their families.
The atrocities are perfectly acceptable, apparently ... as long as they don't start bringing sharia into it.
I’m still taking a break from the lengthy weekend posts. What I’ve got for you today is three enigmatic quotes.
”An ant can look up at you, too, and even threaten you with its arms. Of course, my dog does not know I am human, he sees me as dog, though I do not leap up at a fence. I am a strong dog. But I do not leave my mouth hanging open when I walk along. Even on a hot day, I do not leave my tongue hanging out. But I bark at him: "No! No!”” — Lydis Davis, Varieties of Disturbance
I recently listed Ludwig Wittgenstein as one of three essential philosophers who can add surprising clarity and vital new perspective to frustrating debates about ethics, political ideology and the practical problems of our planet. What’s most essential about Wittgenstein is not the conclusions he has drawn about ethics and politics. It's the dynamic and truthful way of thinking that his method represents.
Ludwig Wittgenstein is unique among the great Western philosophers. He is the only major thinker to have become famous as a philosopher twice: first for laying out a belief system and then for returning to destroy his earlier work. Indeed, the remarkable fact that he spent the second (and greater) half of his career refuting everything he achieved in the first half is itself an example of the sublime conductivity of his thought process. It takes a hell of an open mind to do that. And a whole lot of courage.
"The philosopher's treatment of a question is like the treatment of an illness." -- Ludwig Wittgenstein
Last weekend I proposed that three well-known modern philosophers hold a key to great discoveries that can help cure a horrific disease that currently plagues our planet. The three philosophers are Ludwig Wittgenstein, William James and Carl Jung, and the illness they can help address is the one whimsically illustrated in the image above: our deeply ingrained militarism.
Of course I know this illustration is kitschy and ridiculous, which is exactly why I’m using it. I'm hoping it will bring a smile, because arguments about militarism and pacifism tend to be dreadfully serious and often angry, which then discourages and dissuades us from discussing the problem at all. This blocks us from directly addressing a surreal malady, a curable condition that rages freely around us, spreading misery, destroying lives and resources, stoking the fires of racism and ethnic hatred, empowering genocidal maniacs, preventing friendly open commerce and discourse around the world.
If we intend to fight the plague of militarism, we must do it with a loving smile, and without hatred or judgement. World peace is both possible and probable, but we’ll never achieve it by treating deeply committed militarists and guerrophiles as our enemy. Instead, we must cure militarism and guerrophilia as if it were a disease. Ludwig Wittgenstein, William James and Carl Jung are the three doctors (mad scientists, perhaps, but it's a madness we need to embrace) whose fresh and wonderful philosophical writings can guide us towards this goal.
I sometimes wonder if pacifism needs the kind of bedrock philosophy that more popular ideologies like conservativism and communism have.
A firm rooting in philosophy helps an ideology stand its ground firmly. I've noticed that American conservatives are very quick to cite John Locke or David Hume, along with (variously) Aristotle, St. Thomas Aquinas, Friedrich Nietzsche, Ayn Rand, Robert Nozick. I disagree with most conservative positions, but I have to admit that conservatives do a good job of constructing a consistent metaphysical, epistemological and ethical framework to support their beliefs.
Communists, likewise, are quick to cite Jean-Jacques Rousseau or Voltaire or Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel along with (variously) Plato, Immanuel Kant, Jean-Paul Sartre, Jacques Derrida, Slavoj Zizek. The original Communist Karl Marx talked a good metaphysical game, and the tendency to wax philosophical has continued to inform Marxist culture.
Who are the go-to philosophers for pacifists? We don't seem to have any.
When I write about the damages caused by rampant militarism, I'm afraid some readers think I'm just making noise, just enjoying the sound of my own voice. I wish to assure everybody who reads my blog that I would never bother writing about a political problem if I didn't think the problem had a real and viable solution.
It's not really your fault if you've become so discouraged with political debate that you've decided antiwar activism is just another form of noise. Perhaps you've thought hard about the future of our planet and concluded that we're simply stuck with the problems that have plagued us so terribly in the past. Maybe you subscribe to the widespread belief that war and mass violence are so deeply enmeshed in basic human nature that we must continue to allow military masterminds to spend our money, waste our resources, kill strangers in our name. If so, I believe you're missing something important that's changing around you.
But how can I write about pacifism without sounding like a naive, hope-filled fool? And how can I bolster my arguments for pacifism when there are so many common misunderstandings about what pacifists believe? These are the problems that have been bugging me recently -- bugging me so much that I have thought seriously about killing this whole Philosophy Weekend series, and giving up on my mission to tackle the toughest ethical and practical questions that matter so much in the world today. I often feel so hopeless that I can't imagine going on.
I've got to recharge the old battery this weekend. Hope I don't get the red and black cables mixed up.
Every once in a while I find myself wondering why I run a blog series called Philosophy Weekend that doesn't necessarily resemble anybody else's idea of what philosophy is, and maybe also doesn't necessarily resemble anyone's idea of what a weekend is.
I was in one of these questioning moods a few days ago when I watched an excellent film on late-night cable TV that gave me the insight I needed at the moment: Happy-Go-Lucky by Mike Leigh.
I love Mike Leigh's humble, amusing movies, which are almost always about ordinary British people dealing with ordinary problems. In Secrets and Lies, an adult woman finds the mother who gave her up for adoption. Nuts in May takes place in a nature camp where a boisterous partier sets up a tent next to two stern hippies. Vera Drake is about a woman who secretly performs illegal abortions. Leigh's masterwork Topsy-Turvy imagines the backstage action behind Gilbert and Sullivan's premiere of "The Mikado".
A Mike Leigh movie doesn't look or feel like anybody else's movie. The sets and performances aim to be completely natural, and his sensitive performers don't overact for the cameras but rather move and speak like real people do: polite, hesitant, often unsure of themselves. In a typical schlocky Hollywood movie, a married couple having an argument will often yell at the tops of their lungs, even when they're standing face-to-face only inches away from each other. In a Mike Leigh movie, a married couple having an argument looks like a real married couple having an argument. When a Mike Leigh film suddenly explodes into a sneaky emotional climax (as they tend to do) we are reminded of the communicative power of a quiet speaking voice.
Happy-Go-Lucky is a classic Mike Leigh setup. Poppy, a London schoolteacher played by Sally Hawkins, has a strange quirk: she's relentlessly cheerful, gabby, upbeat. Everywhere she goes, she compulsively cracks jokes, breaks rules, calls attention to herself. She knows that people find her energy level odd amd annoying, and she also knows that her manic style amounts to one of many life choices she's implicitly made that have not worked out particularly well.
She finds her opposite when she signs up for driving lessons with a tense driving instructor played by Eddie Marsan. He objects to her chattiness, asks her to wear proper footwear, makes racist remarks about other drivers. The confrontation that finally erupts between this dour man and this ebullient woman is the transformative event in this film, as Poppy learns the full impact of her behavior on others, and comes to realize what her quirky commitment to joyful living is grounded in.