Wednesday, December 30, 2020

Resolve to become a better person

Instead of the usual New Year's Resolutions, how about a Moral Plan to become a better person? That's the subject of my Project Syndicate column, just out, co-authored with Agata Sagan:

https://t.co/KIBdKRbMJi
(https://twitter.com/PeterSinger/status/1344228570781007872?s=02)

William James's colleague saved Wonder Woman's life

Really, kinda. G.H. Palmer brought James to Harvard and taught young William Marston, whose suicidal impulse was checked by philosophy.

Here's a story I'd like to see on the big screen. But thanks to the negative buzz around WW 1984, I've discovered Jill Lepore's compelling account of the real story behind "Diana Prince"...

"What checked Marston’s hand as he held the vial [of poison acid] was the study of existence itself. There was one course he loved: Philosophy A: Ancient Philosophy. It was taught by George Herbert Palmer, the frail, weak-eyed, sixty-nine-year-old Alford Professor of Philosophy and chairman of Harvard’s Philosophy Department. Palmer had thin, long white hair, bushy black eyebrows, blue eyes, and a walrus mustache. He lived at 11 Quincy Street, where he pined for his wife, Alice Freeman Palmer, who had been president of Wellesley College, an advocate for female education, and a suffragist. She’d died in 1902. He refused to stop mourning her. “To leave the dead wholly dead is rude,” he pointed out, quite reasonably.14 Early in his career, Palmer had made a luminous translation of the Odyssey—its aim, he said, was to reveal “that the story, unlike a bare record of fact, is throughout, like poetry, illuminated with an underglow of joy”—but his chief contribution to the advancement of philosophy was having convinced William James, Josiah Royce, and George Santayana to join what became known as “the Great Department”: Harvard’s faculty of philosophy.15 The key to teaching, Palmer believed, is moral imagination, “the ability to put myself in another’s place, think his thoughts, and state strongly his convictions even when they are not my own.” He “lectured in blank verse and made Greek hedonism a vital, living thing,” Marston said.16 In the fall of 1911, Philosophy A began with a history of philosophy itself. “According to Aristotle,” Palmer told his class, as Marston sat, rapt, “the rise of philosophy has three influential causes: freedom, leisure, and wonder.” For weeks, he raved about the Greeks: they, to Palmer, were geniuses of dialectics and rhetoric. After Thanksgiving, he lectured on Plato’s Republic; by December, he was expounding on how man was “a rational being in a sensuous physical body,” underscoring, as he often did, that by “man,” he meant men and women both. He eyed his class of Harvard men sternly. “Girls are also human beings,” he told them, “a point often overlooked!!”17 The equality of women was chief among Palmer’s intellectual and political commitments, and it was a way, too, that he remembered his wife. George Herbert Palmer, who saved Marston’s life, was faculty sponsor of the Harvard Men’s League for Woman Suffrage."

"The Secret History of Wonder Woman" by Jill Lepore https://a.co/hJ0TTzx

Sunday, December 27, 2020

Off-Grid

Man Living Off-Grid in His Incredible Self-Built Cabin

https://youtu.be/ZZmWfvLGjVw


Phil.Oliver@mtsu.edu
👣Solvitur ambulando
💭Sapere aude

Thursday, December 17, 2020

Carl Sagan

Open your eyes to the wisdom in this incredible speech by Carl Sagan. ✨ #COSMOS https://t.co/e2bfKYtMh8
(https://twitter.com/COSMOSonTV/status/1339631631867506688?s=02)

Barack Obama's 2020 Best Books

As 2020 comes to a close, I wanted to share my annual lists of favorites. I'll start by sharing my favorite books this year, deliberately omitting what I think is a pretty good book – A Promised Land – by a certain 44th president. I hope you enjoy reading these as much as I did. https://t.co/UHk4RA9dow
(https://twitter.com/BarackObama/status/1339631669104570370?s=02)

Books for dark times

Jill Lepore, @WakeDivDean, and other writers, thinkers, and professors share the books that guide them through dark times. https://t.co/3hDH5MadiA
(https://twitter.com/NewYorker/status/1339550508789489669?s=02)

Tolstoy’s bicycle

Tolstoy's bicycle, back in the days of the bicycle license https://t.co/7akN2dd0xv
(https://twitter.com/AgnesCallard/status/1339423859762728963?s=02)

Hall of Famers

The seven Negro Leagues elevated to Major League status featured 35 Hall of Famers. https://t.co/XopGDhd56R
(https://twitter.com/MLB/status/1339395541118066694?s=02)

Old mitts

My grandfather's mitts from the Negro Leagues. Felt like a good day to share them. @mlb https://t.co/CpijprC0xS
(https://twitter.com/LaurenceWHolmes/status/1339303550116130816?s=02)

Monday, December 14, 2020

Instagram’s Favorite New Yorker Cartoons of 2020

"Those meetings really could all have been emails..."

"Boy, Time really flies when everyday is joyless and exactly the same."

"Yes, I came back. I always come back."

et al
https://www.newyorker.com/culture/2020-in-review/instagrams-favorite-new-yorker-cartoons-of-2020?utm_source=onsite-share&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=onsite-share&utm_brand=the-new-yorker

Sunday, December 6, 2020

5 Best Science Books of 2020

The Best Science Books of 2020. "We chose books that make science a meeting place for all, through whatever means, so long as they inspire, excite, challenge and open up new ways of thinking." @AnneOsbourn1 chair of judging @royalsociety prize. https://t.co/gozwCCLvro
(https://twitter.com/five_books/status/1335433791314272256?s=02)

Tuesday, December 1, 2020

Monday, November 30, 2020

“XI” by Wendell Berry

The need comes on me now
to speak across the years
to those who finally will live here
after the present ruin, in the absence
of most of my kind who by now
are dead, or have given their minds
to machines and become strange,
"over-qualified" for the hard
handwork that must be done
to remake, so far as humans
can remake, all that humans
have unmade. To you, whoever
you may be, I say: Come,
meaning to stay. Come,
willing to learn what this place,
like no other, will ask of you
and your children, if you mean
to stay. "This land responds
to good treatment," I heard
my father say time and again
in his passion to renew, to make
whole, what ill use had broken.
And so to you, whose lives
taken from the life of this place
I cannot foretell, I say:
Come, and treat it well.

from This Day


https://www.garrisonkeillor.com/radio/twa-the-writers-almanac-for-november-30-2020/

Saturday, November 28, 2020

“The Tables Turned” by William Wordsworth

UP! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you'll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun, above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless—
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

https://www.garrisonkeillor.com/radio/twa-the-writers-almanac-for-november-27-2020/

Wednesday, November 11, 2020

Thursday, October 29, 2020

the speed of thought

"I suspect that the mind, like the feet, works at about three miles an hour. If this is so, then modern life is moving faster than the speed of thought, or thoughtfulness."

Rebecca Solnit's classic manifesto for walking and how it vitalizes the mind: https://t.co/9lpAM3EqsT
(https://twitter.com/brainpicker/status/1321798442218303489?s=02)

"The Fire of Life": a philosopher's late appreciation of poetry

 Has it really been over three months since my last post here? How time flies, when you're busy posting to three other blogs almost daily. Some of those posts have noted and celebrated life's delightful springs, at some point I should go back and replicate them here. But time and life are short, as Richard Rorty noted in this late-life lament. It reminds me that Charles Darwin also looked back with regret at not having devoted more time to poetry (and music). 

The Fire of Life
BY RICHARD RORTY

Introduction
"I now wish that I had spent somewhat more of my life with verse. This is not because I fear having missed out on truths that are incapable of statement in prose. There are no such truths; there is nothing about death that Swinburne and Landor knew but Epicurus and Heidegger failed to grasp. Rather, it is because I would have lived more fully if I had been able to rattle off more old chestnuts – just as I would have if I had made more close friends."


In an essay called "Pragmatism and Romanticism" I tried to restate the argument of Shelley's "Defense of Poetry." At the heart of Romanticism, I said, was the claim that reason can only follow paths that the imagination has first broken. No words, no reasoning. No imagination, no new words. No such words, no moral or intellectual progress.

I ended that essay by contrasting the poet's ability to give us a richer language with the philosopher's attempt to acquire non-linguistic access to the really real. Plato's dream of such access was itself a great poetic achievement. But by Shelley's time, I argued, it had been dreamt out. We are now more able than Plato was to acknowledge our finitude — to admit that we shall never be in touch with something greater than ourselves. We hope instead that human life here on earth will become richer as the centuries go by because the language used by our remote descendants will have more resources than ours did. Our vocabulary will stand to theirs as that of our primitive ancestors stands to ours.

In that essay, as in previous writings, I used "poetry" in an extended sense. I stretched Harold Bloom's term "strong poet" to cover prose writers who had invented new language games for us to play — people like Plato, Newton, Marx, Darwin, and Freud as well as versifiers like Milton and Blake. These games might involve mathematical equations, or inductive arguments, or dramatic narratives, or (in the case of the versifiers) prosodic innovation. But the distinction between prose and verse was irrelevant to my philosophical purposes.

Shortly after finishing "Pragmatism and Romanticism," I was diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer. Some months after I learned the bad news, I was sitting around having coffee with my elder son and a visiting cousin. My cousin (who is a Baptist minister) asked me whether I had found my thoughts turning toward religious topics, and I said no. "Well, what about philosophy?" my son asked. "No," I replied, neither the philosophy I had written nor that which I had read seemed to have any particular bearing on my situation. I had no quarrel with Epicurus's argument that it is irrational to fear death, nor with Heidegger's suggestion that ontotheology originates in an attempt to evade our mortality. But neither ataraxia (freedom from disturbance) nor Sein zum Tode (being toward death) seemed in point.

"Hasn't anything you've read been of any use?" my son persisted. "Yes," I found myself blurting out, "poetry." "Which poems?" he asked. I quoted two old chestnuts that I had recently dredged up from memory and been oddly cheered by, the most quoted lines of Swinburne's "Garden of  Proserpine":


We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.

and Landor's "On His Seventy-Fifth Birthday":


Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life,
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

I found comfort in those slow meanders and those stuttering embers. I suspect that no comparable effect could have been produced by prose. Not just imagery, but also rhyme and rhythm were needed to do the job. In lines such as these, all three conspire to produce a degree of compression, and thus of  impact, that only verse can achieve. Compared to the shaped charges contrived by versifiers, even the best prose is scattershot.

Though various bits of verse have meant a great deal to me at particular moments in my life, I have never been able to write any myself (except for scribbling sonnets during dull faculty meetings — a form of  doodling). Nor do I keep up with the work of contemporary poets. When I do read verse, it is mostly favorites from adolescence. I suspect that my ambivalent relation to poetry, in this narrower sense, is a result of Oedipal complications produced by having had a poet for a father. (See James Rorty, Children of the Sun (Macmillan, 1926).)

However that may be, I now wish that I had spent somewhat more of my life with verse. This is not because I fear having missed out on truths that are incapable of statement in prose. There are no such truths; there is nothing about death that Swinburne and Landor knew but Epicurus and Heidegger failed to grasp. Rather, it is because I would have lived more fully if I had been able to rattle off more old chestnuts — just as I would have if I had made more close friends. Cultures with richer vocabularies are more fully human — farther removed from the beasts — than those with poorer ones; individual men and women are more fully human when their memories are amply stocked with verses.

Poetryfoundation.org
Originally Published: November 18th, 2007
==
Richard Rorty was an American philosopher best known for revitalizing the school of American pragmatism. The author of several books, including Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (1979), Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity (1989); Objectivity, Relativism, and Truth (1990); and Achieving Our Country (1997). Rorty received a MacArthur “genius” grant and a...
Read Full Biography

Tuesday, July 21, 2020

Tweet from Bookcase Credibility (@BCredibility)

Bookcase Credibility (@BCredibility) tweeted at 5:46 PM on Tue, Jul 21, 2020: Credibility Crooners: Tom Wright v Francis Collins. Religion and science have rarely clashed as dramatically as they do here. We have seen Tom's majestic book roost before and though Francis puts up a fierce fight he is doomed. He goes down playing, like the band on the Titanic. https://t.co/FFhBhdUfHo (https://twitter.com/BCredibility/status/1285707667386904579?s=02) Get the official Twitter app at https://twitter.com/download?s=13

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

Emerson's evolutionary religion



LISTEN

Friday, July 3, 2020

Dining (not drinking) with Willy James



Wednesday, July 1, 2020

Opening Day!

The first day of class is always exciting, even if it's a mini-semester in July and even if it's "remote"... but remote doesn't have to mean distant (except geographically). Looking forward to Zooming with you this evening, MALA 6050 "Evolution in America" students.

Our morning dogwalk was delayed by the rain, so I took the opportunity to make this little video out back in my Little House (shed, shack, cabin, "man cave") while we waited for the weather to clear. File this under "Introductions" (and "Opening Day" of course).


Saturday, June 27, 2020

W.V.O. Quine


It is so epically badly written I’ve always wondered why the editor let it be published. And why Quine couldn’t see it himself. I wonder if he just never read an autobiography or memoir?
1
1
Of that pair, surely Sellars was the odder. But their being together in close quarters might have amplified each’s strangeness. Quine was also apparently a fantastic banjo player.

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