Thursday, June 22, 2017

America the Philosophical

"America is philosophical not because of the A.P.A. but in spite of it..." Harsh, but not entirely unfair. Past MTSU Lyceum speaker Carlin Romano* meets critics in the lion's den.



This Author meets Critics session on "America the Philosophical" was organized by the Karl Jaspers Society of North America in conjunction with the 90th Annual Meeting of the American Philosophical Association, Pacific Division in San Francisco, California, April 2, 2016.
*Romano at MTSU-

Monday, June 12, 2017

Bertrand Russell Now

The current edition of Philosophy Now has been commandeered by Russellians:

The following articles by members of the Bertrand Russell Society aim to show why, almost fifty years after his death, he remains both an important figure in the history of philosophy and a role model for those who – in the spirit of Philosophy Now – want to make philosophical inquiry accessible to all.To what extent does Russell continue to have a significant influence on modern times? A generation has passed since Russell’s death, and the number of people who knew him by direct acquaintance is dwindling. Recently, in my capacity as President of the Bertrand Russell Society, I received a call from a woman who had seen a listing for the Society in which my phone number was given. “Are you Bertrand Russell?” she asked me. I was rather taken aback (albeit flattered) that someone could even ask such a question. While I can’t in good faith claim to be Bertrand Russell, I can honestly say I’ve shaken the hand of people who shook his hand. Two degrees of separation!
Tim Madigan is the President of the Bertrand Russell Society and has been known to shave those who do not shave themselves, including himself. For information on the Bertrand Russell Society please see bertrandrussell.org.

Peter Stone reveals the deep and varied passions of the analytic philosopher.
John R. Lenz tells us why Russell thought philosophy worthwhile.
Tim Delaney finds joy in Bertrand Russell’s The Conquest of Happiness.
Tony Simpson tells us how the Russell-Einstein manifesto led to Pugwash.
John Ongley investigates what Bertrand Russell thought about human reason.
Landon D.C. Elkind explains why Russell believed logic can set thought free.

Saturday, June 10, 2017

Tolstoy's blisters

Note to spiritual pilgrims: wear comfortable shoes.
On this day in 1881, Leo Tolstoy (books by this author) set off on a pilgrimage to the Optina-Pustyn monastery.
He was 52 years old, and his two greatest novels, War and Peace (1869) and Anna Karenina (1877), were behind him. He had found himself in a crisis—he was famous, had a family and land and money, but it all seemed empty. He was unable to write, had trouble sleeping, contemplated suicide. He read the great philosophers, but found holes in all of their arguments. He was amazed that the majority of ordinary Russians managed to keep themselves going every day, and he finally decided that it must be their faith. From there, it was a short time until Tolstoy took a walk in the woods and found God. He wrote: "At the thought of God, happy waves of life welled up inside me. Everything came alive, took on meaning. The moment I thought I knew God, I lived. But the moment I forgot him, the moment I stopped believing, I also stopped living."
His wife Sophia was not so thrilled with his conversion. He renounced meat, sex, alcohol, fiction, tobacco, and the temptations of a family. He dressed like a peasant. He wanted to give all of his money away, but Sophia wanted to live what she considered a normal life, not to mention raise their 10 children.
Tolstoy made his first visit to Optina-Pustyn in 1877, a visit in which he apparently exhausted the chief starets—or community elder—with his questions. On this day in 1881 he set off on a second visit, and this time he decided that to be more like the common people, he would walk all the way there, dressed in his peasant coat and wearing shoes made out of bark. He was pleased with his spiritual guidance, but he wasn't used to walking in bark shoes, so by the time he made it to Optina his feet were so covered in blisters that he had to take the train back home. WA
Spiritual transcendence in bad footwear is just about impossible.

Friday, June 2, 2017

American Philosophy: A Love Story

Robert Richardson on John Kaag's American Philosophy: A Love Story.
There is a strange daylight magic in this book. It is part memoir and part flyover of American philosophy, which, says Kaag, “from Jonathan Edwards in the eighteenth century . . . to Cornel West in this one, is about the possibilities of rebirth and renewal” (66). The book is also clearly and beautifully written. I picked it up for a quick look and couldn’t put it down. Not since Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance have I read such a mesmerizing confluence of personal experience and formal thought. A young philosophy professor dangling at the end of a failed marriage, depressed and not at all sure life is worth living, stumbles upon a magnificent abandoned stone library deep in the New Hampshire woods. The lost library is crammed with old rare incredibly valuable books — all the classics of American philosophy and its German, English, and French antecedents. As the narrator struggles with his life (and with the problem of what to do about this hidden treasure) so he struggles with the main lines of American thought from Transcendentalism to Pragmatism and beyond. A female colleague, a Kantian, joins him in his strange mission and in the string of personal experiences that follow, the narrator takes us back and forth from learning to love until he can answer the question is life worth living with a sly “it depends on the liver” (8) and a modestly rapturous “maybe” (235). Kaag’s notion of philosophy is not technical or academic in the usual ways. Heidegger once started a class on Aristotle with a disdainful dismissal of the biographical. Of Aristotle’s life he said “He was born. He thought. He died.” 1 Heidegger had more reason than most to avoid biographical illumination, but his low view of the subject is fairly common in some quarters. Not, however, with John Kaag, who writes “Royce’s lectures on German Idealism began where all philosophy does, in biography” (166). That is to say, in life. And if philosophy couldn’t help us lead better lives, most of us wouldn’t care two pins for it. American Philosophy: A Love Story is saturated with William James’s thought and life. Even so, Kaag is, I think it fair to say, a Roycean; he is drawn more to a life with others — to community — than to individualism, however splendid. But he gives equal time to Emerson, Thoreau, James, Hocking, and so many others (Descartes, Hobbes, T.H Huxley, etc., etc.) that I would advise a beginning student to read this book rather than those of Father Copleston or Will[iam James] Durant for an overview of American thought. And beyond overview, Kaag has many new things for us, the relationship between Emerson and Henry Lee, that between William James and Pauline Goldmark, and that between Ernest Hocking and Pearl Buck. There is a fresh bit on Royce’s last words, another on the origins of Shady Hill School, a reappraisal of Jane Addams and much, much more. American Philosophy: a Love Story is then a brightly written, thoroughly accessible, sometimes moving account of a young life in philosophy. (It is also an adventure story about the discovery of the lost library of Ernest Hocking.) Kaag teaches courage, risk-taking and above all reading. He would, I think, agree with the comment attributed to Borges that “you are not what you write, but what you have read.” And his book goes on my shelf with other books in which philosophy lives, with Jacques Barzun’s A Stroll with William James, Margaret Yourcenar’s Memoirs of Hadrian, Louis Menand’s Metaphysical Club, Stephen Greenblatt’s The Swerve, Richard Rubenstein’s Aristotle’s Children, Mary Renault’s The Last of the Wine and Simone de Beavoir’s Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter. Kaag leaves us with what Goethe, Emerson, and William James all agreed on. In the beginning was not the word, but the deed, the act. The way forward is not twelve steps, or ten or three. It’s just one. Don’t sleep on it, sit on it, stand on it, or take it for a trial spin. Take the step, You have to do what you can, and you have to do it right now.
Robert D. Richardson
WILLIAM JAMES STUDIES VOL. 13 • NO. 1 • SPRING 2017 

Friday, May 19, 2017

Walking promotes divergent thinking

How Does the Brain-Body Connection Affect Creativity?
Humans have a complicated relationship with walking. This wasn’t always so. British paleoanthropologist Mary Leakey identified marks of bipedalism dating back 3.7 million years in Tanzania—it’s an old endeavor indeed. The story of our uprightness was, for most of history, one of survival and thriving. Today the tale of our peculiar relationship to gravity is being written much differently.

Bipedalism conferred onto us two distinct advantages. First, it helped us gaze longer into the landscape than quadrupeds, who must rely on mountaintops and trees to acquire such spatial information. This helped us quickly identify prey and predator, both of our species and others. Our reaction time increased.

Secondly, and more importantly for this story, the ability to walk turned us into efficient communicators. As a social animal the extra distance offered by bipedalism let us signal across large expanses. Creative means of communication developed. Walking and creativity developed together.

Was walking considered a creative endeavor, however? Utilitarian, definitely. Every facet of our existence relied on an ability to travel long distances (as well as, in the early days of agriculture, walk around tending to crops). Today nomadism is romanticized, but for millions of years it was necessary for survival.

The more sedentary the world has become, the more the primitive act of walking is romanticized. Gardens erected by 17th-century British aristocracy were our introduction to what would become public parks—specific locations of recreation and retreat to spend hours meandering through. To celebrate, poets and thinkers poured accolades on our simplest and most profound example of biomechanics... (continues)

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Conservatives are right about one thing

Revisiting Richard Hofstadter's classic Anti-Intellectualism in American Life, as timely and relevant now as in '64. "Let us admit the case of the conservative," John Dewey once wrote. "If we once start thinking no one can guarantee what will be the outcome..." Sapere Aude!

Lea's Lookout

Nice Tennessean story about Laura Lea Knox, 90-year-old daughter of Luke Lea, the benefactor of the land and "lookout" that's become my ritual Sunday morning hike destination.


...both the Warner Parks and Knox came to be in the same year, 1927. And both just celebrated their 90th birthdays. The parks are part of her family roots, a legacy of her of grandfather, Percy Warner, and her great-uncle Edwin Warner. But many people wrongly assume that they were men who gave the land for the acres of green space preserved by our city today. That man was actually her daddy, Col. Luke Lea. He was a lawyer, a soldier, a senator, a newspaper publisher and a man who went to jail and lost every penny of his fortune — but not before he gave 868 acres to the city, protecting the trees and trails from development while the city has boomed around it...

Laura Lea Knox enjoys hiking along the Harpeth Woods 

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Forest-bathing

Robert Macfarlane (@RobGMacfarlane)
Word(s) of the day: "shinrin yoku" - 'forest-bathing'; the calming, restorative power of simply being in a forest or among trees (Japanese). pic.twitter.com/h2dzLQ81PO





Robert Macfarlane (@RobGMacfarlane)
Word of the day: “nuddle” - to walk in a dreamy or preoccupied manner (English, regional). Cf “soodle”, to stroll thoughtfully. pic.twitter.com/2ZQIcR3f2X
Robert Macfarlane (@RobGMacfarlane)
Word of the day: "shadowtackle" - the shifting webwork of shadows cast on a woodland floor by sun, branch & leaf (Gerard Manley Hopkins). pic.twitter.com/304NhzPmnV
Robert Macfarlane (@RobGMacfarlane)
Word of the day: "flâneur", "flâneuse" - a wanderer of the city, sauntering observer of urban others, a "passionate spectator" (Baudelaire). pic.twitter.com/JsPYupXKyj
Robert Macfarlane (@RobGMacfarlane)
Word of the day: "inscendence" - the impulse not to rise above the world (transcendence) but to climb into it, seek its core. (Thomas Berry) pic.twitter.com/u7XsX7nC4q
  17 hours ago
Word of the day: "cynefin" - one's place of true belonging, the habitat with which one feels most attuned (Welsh). Distinct from "hiraeth".

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Hope

Hope is the subject of another terrific book by Rebecca Solnit, Hope in the Dark... and of today's eponymous poem by Lisel Mueller. "It is the singular gift/we cannot destroy in ourselves, the argument that refutes death, the genius that invents the future, all we know of God."

Solnit: “Perfection is a stick with which to beat the possible.” And, "To hope is to give yourself to the future - and that commitment to the future is what makes the present inhabitable.” And, “Hope just means another world might be possible, not promise, not guaranteed. Hope calls for action; action is impossible without hope.”

And, someone concluded his book on William James with:
Hope-the need for it, the possibility of it, the sense of it as the only reputable alternative to inadmissible despair-is the center of his vision as I see it. The prime requisite of hope is confidence that what we do matters and may make all the difference further along the chain of life. Meanwhile, conscience and hope command our respect for the immediately contiguous links who are our contemporaries, and sometimes command as well our intervention to secure their hold (which is also ours) on the communal life of our species. A chain really is no stronger than its weakest link, and James shared the Emersonian sense of life (expressed in the epigraph to "Nature") as a "subtle chain of countless rings." We are all vulnerable, fragile creatures, our luminous time here is brief, and we owe one another support and sympathy. "The truest vision of life I know," wrote Wallace Stegner, "is that bird in the Venerable Bede that flutters from the dark into a lighted hall, and after a while flutters out again into the dark." But the hall's retention of light after our departure, for the use and enjoyment of later migratory transients whose way we have marked, can be our purpose and their deliverance. Meanwhile our human vulnerabilities will always exceed our personal "fortifications," says Anne Lamott, "so the only choice is whether you are most going to resemble Richard Nixon with his neck jammed down into his shoulders, trying to figure out who to blame, or the sea anemone, tentative and brave, trying to connect. . . ." James is with the anemones, and the larks. "What I like best about William James after all," Henry James scholar Sheldon Novick once told an online community of Jamesians, "is the relentless effort to express experience in ordinary language, as rigorous and coherent in its way as Emily Dickinson's poetry," and, in its way, as cheerfully restorative of life: "Hope" is that thing with feathers/That perches in the soul/And sings the tunes without the words/And never stops at all." 

KurzweilAI.net Accelerating Intelligence News