Thursday, August 20, 2015

Reflections on Academia and Philosophical Methodology

There are many issues with contemporary academia; most scholars seem to acknowledge this, although their particular opinions on the issues and causes vary as much as Justice Kennedy’s opinions on the U.S. Supreme Court. I’ve been thinking about academia alot[1] lately; as a person who fancies himself a philosopher, and as a recent BA graduate, I have been thinking about the nature and interrelation of things such as “academia”, “the intellectual life”, and “philosophy”. Academia seems to maintain it has a monopoly upon the practice, or “profession” and “teaching”, of philosophy. But can “philosophy” really be a day-job? Can “philosophy” really be taught? Or does the nature of teaching philosophy actually corrupt the very nature of what is claimed to be transmitted? In other words, are the phrases “professor of philosophy”, “teacher of philosophy”, and “student of philosophy” actually contradictions in terms? Can “philosophy” be transmitted from teacher to student, or must it be practiced individually by the philosopher? What is the nature of that which is being transmitted from teacher to student, and is it true philosophy, or merely the faint resemblance of true philosophy, the outer appearance of true philosophy obscuring the essential corruption wrought by positivistic historical commentators?
Well if you cannot tell my answer to those questions, then you may need to take rhetoric lessons before you pursue authentic philosophy. In short, I think that philosophy cannot be taught or transmitted, that the very act of transmission properly understood corrupts the nature of the philosophical method, and that to understand philosophy, one must be a philosopher himself, one who analyzes the arguments of others in a dialectic of honesty in pursuit of truth. Such a methodology precludes “teaching” and necessitates active participation—“philosophizing”. Philosophy can only be philosophized among philosophers; it cannot be transmitted from teacher to student in an allegedly “philosophical” tradition, for such a tradition necessarily precludes authentic philosophy. Philosophy is better understood as a verb than a noun; the notion of “teaching” philosophy relies on the concept of philosophy as a positive corpus of thought produced by notable thinkers which can be dissected and fed to malleable students often incapably of true philosophy. Such academic passivity precludes philosophical activity.
The academy presses scholars by capitalist production to “produce” intellectual fruit through rigorous publishing requirements, which strangle genuine insight—that which must wait for the whim of the intellectus. Therefore academia is doomed to be positivist & merely historically descriptive, which has lead to its irrelevance and to the distortion of philosophy and the corruption of the very thinkers’ methodology.
Intellectual ideologies such as Radical Feminism and Neo-Thomism are not based on intellectus or ratio, but on anger and on the desire for bringing about a radical new world which they have envisioned as ideal, not so much as a result of their philosophy but as a goal towards which quasi-argumentative constructs which they would consider “philosophy” have been formulated. Since their conclusions have been preformulated, these “scholars” must conform reality and the free dialectic of truth to their narrow path toward their pre-ordained esoteric revelations. These movements (insofar as they can be classified as coherent “movements”) are not based on the quiet contemplation and intellectual activity of the truly philosophical life, but are falsifications of honest dialectics and are thereby disbarred from the category of authentic philosophy.



[1] I firmly hold that “alot” is a true word, due to continuous popular usage and the nature of verbal contraction as proven time and again with words such as “to-day”. I have accordingly chosen to revert my autocorrect.

Friday, July 10, 2015

In Defense of Marginalia

I have a delightfully diverse collection of old books; I acquired many discarded editions from my college library (my oldest item, a collection of Hindu sacred texts, dates to 1891). Some are in excellent shape, others not so much. But I am privileged to have a fairly large collection of fairly rare volumes.

I keep many on my large bookshelf so that when whim strikes I can take one off and browse for a while. (When I'm busy, they serve to taunt me and my work-a-day life). Today I picked up "The Art of Enjoying Art" by A. Philip McMahon (New York: Whittlesey House, 1938), a thorough volume on art appreciation and theory. But what struck me was a charmingly antediluvian Ex Libris tag on the inside front cover. It reads:
WHEN YOU USE A BOOK
  • Are you careful with it? 
  •  Do you try to keep it clean? 
  •  Do you refrain from writing or marking it? 
  •  Do you resist the temptation to roll up the corners of the pages and tear out little nips? 
  •  If so, good. 
  •  If not, try to think of books as human beings with feelings just like yours. And resolve today to treat books as friends.
While tearing out little nips constitutes a crime against posterity, the insinuation that marking or writing in a book constitutes abuse and a devaluing of the book's "human" dignity is flatly false. Let us for a moment take to heart what the last point commands: "try to think of books as human beings with feelings just like yours...[and] treat books as friends."

How many of you have friends that you merely observe or visually read? Now I'm not talking about "Facebook friends". I"m talking about real, deep, close friends; even best friends. Would you just stand in front of them for hours, awkwardly staring in silence? Or would you enter into a varyingly diverse dialogue of jocularity and empathy? Writing and marking in books serves as a quasi-dialogic exercise between reader and codex. While the book qua codex is unable to speak, the book qua vehicle of human intellection enters into dialogue with the reader on a deeply personal level, if only the reader accepts the invitation to listen, for without listening no dialogue can exist. In the words of Joseph Ratzinger ("The Nature and Mission of Theology" [San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1995], pp. 32-33):
[D]ialogue does not take place simply because people are talking. Mere talk is the deterioration of dialogue that occurs when there has been a failure to reach it. Dialogue first comes into being where there is not only speech but also listening. Moreover, such listening must be the medium of an encounter; this encounter is the condition of an inner contact which leads to mutual comprehension. Reciprocal understanding, finally, deepens and transforms the being of the interlocutors.
The physical constitution of the codex receives the thoughts and ruminations of the attentive reader. Marginalia—book markings worthy of the name—form a dialogue with future generations as well, linking the living with the dead in a communion of thought. The reader thereby enters into a dialogue with the substance of the author's thought, a dialogue that transcends space and time, a metaphysical dialogue expressed through humble scribbles, a meeting of the physical and the metaphysical, of time and eternal truth.

Marginalia do not derogate from the inherent worth of the book anymore than tattoos derogate from the inherent dignity of the human person, body and soul. While they may detract from the value of the book [unless they are of some antiquity], if this is of concern to the private owner (in contrast to the library patron) then the owner is already treating his book not as a human being or friend with feelings, but as a slave, an intelligent subject acquired and sold for monetary gain.

I'm not seriously asserting that slavery exists in such framework, but if the goal is to treat books as human beings then they should not be expected to stay in mint condition until they can be sold. We should engage with them as objects of intelligence, and for many, marginalia serve as a means of dialogic encounter.
 
 
 

Friday, June 26, 2015

Digital Minimalism

I'm consolidating my blogs, so these are my posted artworks from my former blog Digital Minimalism, circa 24 June 2013. I am particularly proud of my IV Seasons set, especially the stark contrast in Winter, although the Allegory of Consumerism is an old classic. I hope that you enjoy my art and my style, and feel free to comment!
 
 
Allegory of Consumerism
 
 
 
 
 
IV Seasons
 
 
Spring


Summer


Fall


Winter

Monday, June 15, 2015

Rain on My Parade

Today was rainy. I went outside thinking what a crappy day it was, but taking a second look, and remembering the writings of Luther Standing Bear on the Lakota view of all weather as a gift of Wakan Tanka, I realized how beautiful the rain-soaked nature really was. Why do we generally despise non-sunny days? Why is "bad weather" even a phrase?

I imagine that regarding rain in particular, we personalize and emotionalize it, viewing it analogically as gloomy tears covering the earth. Why should we view rain this way? Would it not be more healthy, not to mention more hydrospherically accurate, to view rainy days as the life-giving vibrancy of nature?

The Journey Begins

This blog is about living the philosophical life, a life worth living. While we might discuss complex issues or philosophic subtleties, this blog will encompass more than merely academic philosophy, often a philosophy cut off from real inquiry into the nature of the Truea sterile, academic pseudo-philosophy which I have attempted to overcome in the philosophy of law at my blog Beatific Juridical Teleology.

This blog will have a broader scope; that is all I have to say. The philosophical life is not to be planned but to be lived. I hope that Philosophical Living serves both author and reader in living lives ordered to the pursuit of truth in a dialectic of honesty. But leave your ideology boots at the door; the house of truth is easily soiled.