Current Mood: Quixotic
Listening To: N/A
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Perspective
I am terrified of my own perspective. It is twisted with the prejudice of human nature, a vile and blinded beast. The truth is a lone black hole amongst a constellation of ideological inconsistencies. Those who seek it are drawn towards it, yet it cannot be seen. It is largely unprocurable by human thought, which is unworthy of the full scope of its magnitude. A man can only try to eliminate the false apparitions of what other men follow as truth, for he knows that it is invisible. Whittling away pieces of the massive log of collective human beliefs, his sharpened blade of logic closes in on the figure of truth. And then, with a final slice, he realizes that there is nothing left but chips upon the floor, for truth is amorphous. Seeing this, he must accept that all people are too poisoned with subjectivity to catch the full form of the ghost that is truth. He goes about his life in the manner that he pleases, but is never so arrogant as to enforce upon others what he interprets the truth to be, for he knows that no man can fully comprehend it. He returns to such questions occasionally for entertainment of the mind, but understands that he must be content with conclusions that are ever undefined.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Everything Happens for a Reason
No.
Nothing happens for a reason. “Everything happens for a reason” is like a bad cold. It floats mindlessly around the Internet, constantly re-used by people who haven’t the first inkling of what philosophy is. It’s like an old tie that’s been to the thrift store 8 different times. It’s a cute little citation, but it’s wrong. Nothing happens for a reason. There isn’t a reason that things happen, they just happen and people find reasons to apply to the situation. People seek patterns— they seek understanding. When they can’t find what they’re looking for they make it up, hence religion. Sometimes they make up the reasons and then force things to happen for those reasons. That’s cheating. It’s a controlled experiment, an event that is predetermined by human hands. That is not where this platitude applies. It applies to the things beyond our control. As far as that goes, there is no reason for anything, at least that science can determine. It is possible that something lurks in the dark that makes the reasons. But what are the reasons for its reasons? It’s an argument that is confusing, open-ended, and impractical. Perhaps so for a reason.
Nothing happens for a reason. “Everything happens for a reason” is like a bad cold. It floats mindlessly around the Internet, constantly re-used by people who haven’t the first inkling of what philosophy is. It’s like an old tie that’s been to the thrift store 8 different times. It’s a cute little citation, but it’s wrong. Nothing happens for a reason. There isn’t a reason that things happen, they just happen and people find reasons to apply to the situation. People seek patterns— they seek understanding. When they can’t find what they’re looking for they make it up, hence religion. Sometimes they make up the reasons and then force things to happen for those reasons. That’s cheating. It’s a controlled experiment, an event that is predetermined by human hands. That is not where this platitude applies. It applies to the things beyond our control. As far as that goes, there is no reason for anything, at least that science can determine. It is possible that something lurks in the dark that makes the reasons. But what are the reasons for its reasons? It’s an argument that is confusing, open-ended, and impractical. Perhaps so for a reason.
Current Mood: Restless
Listening To: N/A
Monday, July 20, 2009
Apollo 11
04 13 24 48 CDR (TRANQ) – THAT’S ONE SMALL STEP FOR MAN, ONE GIANT LEAP FOR MANKIND.
So reads the line from the Apollo 11 Air-to-Ground voice transcript. It was a simple line, one concocted only shortly before it was thrust into history. A short thought, an idea passing through the stream of consciousness of a humble man from Ohio, who found himself separated from eternal fame by a single rung on a ladder.
Like the first flight at Kitty Hawk, it was something so sudden. It was the advancement of the human race in a breath. The holding of a breath. That boot was there, hovering just inches above the dust, dust untouched by anything but the elements of space. Untouched, it sat peacefully for billions of years, long before all known forms of life had begun to evolve from nothing. Until that one small step, until ten parallel imprints from the left boot of Neil Armstrong changed everything. From the ancient peoples to Galileo to the engineers of the 20th century, the moon beckoned, and humanity, slowly gathering understanding of the natural world, finally answered. Years of calculation, decades of engineering, millennia of science and explorative wonder funneled to that fraction of a second. So short and simple, so quiet in the emptiness of space…yet so undeniably significant, so immeasurably powerful. And there it was, that foot, on the surface of the moon.
Today, forty years since the first boot dropped from that rung and lightly pressed into that fine, white powder, the moon is still there. Forty years later, those imprints are still etched into its surface, and the image of their creation is etched into the memory of its witnesses. Wars have been fought since then, millions have died and millions more born. The continuing turmoil of the human race has dragged along. From POWs in Vietnam to vacationers in Hawaii; from New York City to Ainsworth, Nebraska, every person has at some point gazed up at the moon. For some, it provides a moment of escape; some find solace, wonder, or peace…or, quite literally, a guiding light.
To me it is like a personal friend. The moon and I have our similarities. At 00°41′15″N, 23°26′00″E precisely on its surface lies a plaque. On that plaque is a signature, one of four; it is that of the first human being to set foot on the moon. That same signature is penned on a nondescript piece of scrap paper on a shelf in my room. There, next to the autograph of John Glenn and a photo of my grandfather with both, it sits in a simple wooden frame. To others it is worth money, but to me it is much more valuable than that. It silently reminds me of what is possible. It reminds me of all that has been accomplished, and of the possibility of what can be. There is no final frontier; nothing is final in this universe, and there will always be more to explore.
Most nights the moon passes over unnoticed, while its faint light washes over the frame on the shelf in my room. But some nights, like tonight, forty years since that signature was planted in the Sea of Tranquility, I notice its presence. I can look up at that moon, as a boy from Wapakoneta did two generations ago, somehow knowing that as long as the adventurous spirit is alive, the possibility for another giant leap will never disappear. And maybe, just maybe, I will be the one to take the small step.
So reads the line from the Apollo 11 Air-to-Ground voice transcript. It was a simple line, one concocted only shortly before it was thrust into history. A short thought, an idea passing through the stream of consciousness of a humble man from Ohio, who found himself separated from eternal fame by a single rung on a ladder.
Like the first flight at Kitty Hawk, it was something so sudden. It was the advancement of the human race in a breath. The holding of a breath. That boot was there, hovering just inches above the dust, dust untouched by anything but the elements of space. Untouched, it sat peacefully for billions of years, long before all known forms of life had begun to evolve from nothing. Until that one small step, until ten parallel imprints from the left boot of Neil Armstrong changed everything. From the ancient peoples to Galileo to the engineers of the 20th century, the moon beckoned, and humanity, slowly gathering understanding of the natural world, finally answered. Years of calculation, decades of engineering, millennia of science and explorative wonder funneled to that fraction of a second. So short and simple, so quiet in the emptiness of space…yet so undeniably significant, so immeasurably powerful. And there it was, that foot, on the surface of the moon.
Today, forty years since the first boot dropped from that rung and lightly pressed into that fine, white powder, the moon is still there. Forty years later, those imprints are still etched into its surface, and the image of their creation is etched into the memory of its witnesses. Wars have been fought since then, millions have died and millions more born. The continuing turmoil of the human race has dragged along. From POWs in Vietnam to vacationers in Hawaii; from New York City to Ainsworth, Nebraska, every person has at some point gazed up at the moon. For some, it provides a moment of escape; some find solace, wonder, or peace…or, quite literally, a guiding light.
To me it is like a personal friend. The moon and I have our similarities. At 00°41′15″N, 23°26′00″E precisely on its surface lies a plaque. On that plaque is a signature, one of four; it is that of the first human being to set foot on the moon. That same signature is penned on a nondescript piece of scrap paper on a shelf in my room. There, next to the autograph of John Glenn and a photo of my grandfather with both, it sits in a simple wooden frame. To others it is worth money, but to me it is much more valuable than that. It silently reminds me of what is possible. It reminds me of all that has been accomplished, and of the possibility of what can be. There is no final frontier; nothing is final in this universe, and there will always be more to explore.
Most nights the moon passes over unnoticed, while its faint light washes over the frame on the shelf in my room. But some nights, like tonight, forty years since that signature was planted in the Sea of Tranquility, I notice its presence. I can look up at that moon, as a boy from Wapakoneta did two generations ago, somehow knowing that as long as the adventurous spirit is alive, the possibility for another giant leap will never disappear. And maybe, just maybe, I will be the one to take the small step.
Current Mood: Tranquil
Listening To: "Apollo 13" by James Horner
Monday, June 1, 2009
People And Places
People and places are the same to me. They are individual, and they possess both a physical being and a spiritual essence. I enjoy visiting places, and maybe staying for awhile. I also enjoy meeting people, and maybe sitting down to talk for a time. People and places have fascinating stories. They exist exist in parallel, undiscovered until your paths cross. I like to hear their stories, and learn from them.
But I have a particular ability that mars the glassy surface of these stories. I can see under that surface to the dark, cold area below. I have a tendency to analyze things, from physical, psychological, and philosophical standpoints. When you look too hard, you find things you don't want to see. I see personality flaws. I see things that retract from the attractiveness of a setting. I guess over-analysis is less of an ability and more of a flaw itself. When prescribed an antibiotic, taking an overdose can kill. Too much of a good thing is never a good thing.
The problem with this constant over-analysis is that everything has flaws to be uncovered. The Grand Canyon has beauty in the highest caliber, but it is desolate and alone. Pleasanton is a home, a place with memories and a place to rest, but the people are conceited and cold. Even the brilliant and adamantine diamond is flawed with the weakness of its own natural strength. Nothing is perfect; everything has its weak points.
Because of this, I am restless. I cannot stay with the same people for too long because I am disappointed by the inevitable discovery that they are imperfect. I cannot be in one place for long before I discover its shortcomings. This is not specific to any person or place, but rather a consistent observance from the unconscious.
I sometimes think that it would be best if I left my things and took to the road for a few years. It wouldn't be wasted time. Or, perhaps, I could join the military and move from base to base around the world. I'd like to go to different universities, live in different cities, countries, work with different people. I want to stay long enough to see the good, but leave before I detect the flaws. The world through the eyes of the traveler is much more beautiful and peaceful than from the perspective of we who stand still. Children visit the zoo for a day and find joy in seeing the animals, but the animals remain confined in their condition.
I want to go somewhere else. I am not sure if it should be outside the country, the state, or simply to the other side of the street, but I have to move. I do not know what I am moving towards or away from; I have no goal but to exist. I do not know how long I should wander, or to where, or to whom, but I know that I cannot stand still.
But I have a particular ability that mars the glassy surface of these stories. I can see under that surface to the dark, cold area below. I have a tendency to analyze things, from physical, psychological, and philosophical standpoints. When you look too hard, you find things you don't want to see. I see personality flaws. I see things that retract from the attractiveness of a setting. I guess over-analysis is less of an ability and more of a flaw itself. When prescribed an antibiotic, taking an overdose can kill. Too much of a good thing is never a good thing.
The problem with this constant over-analysis is that everything has flaws to be uncovered. The Grand Canyon has beauty in the highest caliber, but it is desolate and alone. Pleasanton is a home, a place with memories and a place to rest, but the people are conceited and cold. Even the brilliant and adamantine diamond is flawed with the weakness of its own natural strength. Nothing is perfect; everything has its weak points.
Because of this, I am restless. I cannot stay with the same people for too long because I am disappointed by the inevitable discovery that they are imperfect. I cannot be in one place for long before I discover its shortcomings. This is not specific to any person or place, but rather a consistent observance from the unconscious.
I sometimes think that it would be best if I left my things and took to the road for a few years. It wouldn't be wasted time. Or, perhaps, I could join the military and move from base to base around the world. I'd like to go to different universities, live in different cities, countries, work with different people. I want to stay long enough to see the good, but leave before I detect the flaws. The world through the eyes of the traveler is much more beautiful and peaceful than from the perspective of we who stand still. Children visit the zoo for a day and find joy in seeing the animals, but the animals remain confined in their condition.
I want to go somewhere else. I am not sure if it should be outside the country, the state, or simply to the other side of the street, but I have to move. I do not know what I am moving towards or away from; I have no goal but to exist. I do not know how long I should wander, or to where, or to whom, but I know that I cannot stand still.
Current Mood: Indifferent
Listening To: "Chicago" by Sufjan Stevens
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Moderation
Everything in moderation. Eric says it all the time, and I agree. Over-indulgence is a common vice. Everyone is over-indulgent of something at some point, but when it becomes a habit, or even a ritual, it breaks the rule of moderation. And the rule of moderation is really just a virtuous principle of common sense.
I say this for clarification. Sometimes we frown upon guilty pleasures in life. Guilty of what? Who knows, maybe of simply being counter to widely held social ideals. Not everyone sees this but some, myself in particular, look at things such as intoxication, recreational drug use, or even things like skipping classes or eating too much dessert as “bad.” I could go into great philosophically dense cross-examinations of “bad” and “good,” but that is missing the point—some just do not agree with these indulgences. But what I think is not important to you, and shouldn’t be. We should feel free to live life the way we want to, and to indulge as we please.
However, moderation is a virtue. Virtues are as the dictionary puts it, “qualities of being morally good or righteous.” They are as objective as philosophical reasoning can get. The lack of this virtue would indubitably lead to a boring life, but the excess is more dangerous. Drinking too much alcohol continually, or skipping classes every day will obviously lead to problems.
Not only is the excess of this virtue problematic, but it also destroys the virtue itself. “Indulging” is usually thought of as rewarding and pleasurable. But too much of anything can desensitize you to that reward, and the pleasure in it fades. I do this all the time—I find a really good song or album and buy it, listen to it repeatedly for a week, and then…I don’t seem to like it as much anymore. People who love a particular sport will many times ruin it by playing it competitively, draining the fun out of it with hours of training and repetition each day. Over-indulgence causes desensitization.
Now, are those who are consistently overindulgent stupid? No. They are ignorant. Stupidity is something that has more permanence than ignorance. Ignorance is an analogical state of darkness, a condition that can be overturned by simply turning on the light. Stupidity is an unofficial mental capacity that stupid people never seem to be able to overcome. This is entirely subjective of course, but I think it takes the edge off of some insults. For example, the statement “young and stupid,” which I have referred to before, should instead be altered to “young and ignorant.” The stupid are ignorant, but that is not commutative.
I have witnessed quite a bit of over-indulgence this year, which is why I bring this up. Vices of virtues cause respectability to decrease if not just slightly. Technically if someone were not virtuous they would not be respectable at all, so there has to be an incremental decrease for vices somewhere on the moral scale. I don’t hate people for it—but don’t push your limits. Everything in moderation.
I say this for clarification. Sometimes we frown upon guilty pleasures in life. Guilty of what? Who knows, maybe of simply being counter to widely held social ideals. Not everyone sees this but some, myself in particular, look at things such as intoxication, recreational drug use, or even things like skipping classes or eating too much dessert as “bad.” I could go into great philosophically dense cross-examinations of “bad” and “good,” but that is missing the point—some just do not agree with these indulgences. But what I think is not important to you, and shouldn’t be. We should feel free to live life the way we want to, and to indulge as we please.
However, moderation is a virtue. Virtues are as the dictionary puts it, “qualities of being morally good or righteous.” They are as objective as philosophical reasoning can get. The lack of this virtue would indubitably lead to a boring life, but the excess is more dangerous. Drinking too much alcohol continually, or skipping classes every day will obviously lead to problems.
Not only is the excess of this virtue problematic, but it also destroys the virtue itself. “Indulging” is usually thought of as rewarding and pleasurable. But too much of anything can desensitize you to that reward, and the pleasure in it fades. I do this all the time—I find a really good song or album and buy it, listen to it repeatedly for a week, and then…I don’t seem to like it as much anymore. People who love a particular sport will many times ruin it by playing it competitively, draining the fun out of it with hours of training and repetition each day. Over-indulgence causes desensitization.
Now, are those who are consistently overindulgent stupid? No. They are ignorant. Stupidity is something that has more permanence than ignorance. Ignorance is an analogical state of darkness, a condition that can be overturned by simply turning on the light. Stupidity is an unofficial mental capacity that stupid people never seem to be able to overcome. This is entirely subjective of course, but I think it takes the edge off of some insults. For example, the statement “young and stupid,” which I have referred to before, should instead be altered to “young and ignorant.” The stupid are ignorant, but that is not commutative.
I have witnessed quite a bit of over-indulgence this year, which is why I bring this up. Vices of virtues cause respectability to decrease if not just slightly. Technically if someone were not virtuous they would not be respectable at all, so there has to be an incremental decrease for vices somewhere on the moral scale. I don’t hate people for it—but don’t push your limits. Everything in moderation.
Current Mood: Calm
Listening To: "Forever Young" by Alphaville
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Summer Again
And so concludes the first year of college. That was by far the shortest school year I have experienced yet...on the calendar, of course, but it seemed to move faster than normal. Things usually are kind of foggy from the first part of the year around finals, but I recall very clearly the course of this run. In fact, I remember exactly what I wrote at the beginning of my college experience. But here we are again, back on the solstice side of the solar system. Welcome to summer.
I'm not looking forward to this summer as I have in years past. The break will be nice, sure, but the magic, magnetic attraction to summer isn't quite as strong. Summer has always been a clearly defined period, when you have nothing to do, a nothing that has substance, a good nothing. It was a nothing that was something, something to look forward to, a reason for excitement in the bore of the last few weeks of school. It was a reason to watch the calendar, to sit and stare at the clock on the wall in class as it moved at a suspiciously slow pace. There was nothing ahead but pools, block parties, and lazy afternoons.
It seems to me that this summer will be different. It's different for some of you, but many of us are out of class a month earlier than in the K-12 phase. I'm all for an extra few weeks of break, but there's something wrong about it. If you graduate early it's a good feeling because of your accomplishment, but you miss the excitement of goin' out there on the field and throwing your hat up in the air with your colleagues. It's the same thing here--there is no more yearbook signing, no class pizza parties, no running from the final bell. It seems less innocent. It's still warm, the shadows are long, and the sunroofs are still open...but it's not as relaxing. It's not that defined period anymore, but more of a transition that bleeds one year into the next. There's still work to do, in jobs and in classes.
Maybe you feel differently, I don't know. A lot of people are looking forward to these experiences, I'm sure. Some are interested in getting a job and getting their own income, some will be happy to burn a few credits in summer classes, and some are excited to ship off to military training (although I can't fathom why.) But I'm guess I'm getting at is that things have changed. You don't realize what you have until it is gone, to sum it up in a cliché. I'll just miss the way things used to be. It is pointless to be a trout in the stream of things, because regardless of how hard you thrash, the flow is overpoweringly unidirectional. I'm not trying to fight it, I'm just reminiscent.
Conversely, I am ready for all of the pools, block parties, lazy afternoons, and ice cream I can cram in between other "mature, responsible college student" activities. Everything will still be there, I suppose. Let's do it.
"Summer nights and my radio,
that's all we need, baby...
Don'tcha know?"
-Van Halen
Current Mood: Calm
Listening To: "Growing Up" by Bruce Springsteen
Cold War of Philosophy (One of Many)
What is life? Is it a series of free experiences that gauges the future from the past? Or is it a heavily structured process based on social and scientific laws? The question is persistent: is life a clean canvas, an unwritten story open for thought and soul to flow onto by the imaginative pigments and penmanship of the empiricist? Or is it the construction of a tower, the creation of a design—a process based instead on equations, logical methods, and research-proven techniques of the rationalist? It appears to be a two-pronged fork: as an example, students choosing their major veer towards the right-brained intuitiveness and subjectivity of art, or the left-brained analytic processes and objectivity of math and science. Empiricism versus rationalism is a battle between two giants of philosophy. In the polarization of ideas, however, it is overlooked that there is a possibility of a third route. That route is an unbeaten path between the paved roads of romanticism and reason, one unexplorable by the oversized tanks by right and wrong, but only by the lone motorcycle of truth. That truth is that experience and reason may coexist with equal importance in life.
“To be is to do,” are the words of Immanuel Kant. Experience is important in life because it is life—it would be nonexistent without experience. The simplest days spent on the couch, at school and at the dinner table with family are filled with as much experience as are the greatest days of our lives spent on tropical beaches and mountaintops with spectacular views. Empiricists use these experiences to build themselves and their ideas. To fully immerse oneself in life is to fill that capacity for experience, and to experience is to learn. It is using this method that Pirsig was able to conceive so many philosophical questions—the simple yet immersive experience of his cross-country trip with his son contained the spark needed to ignite the gunpowder of imagination. Anyone may become a philosopher with their experiences as material. Past successes and failures, along with the power of the human imagination, can create a future that only exists in dreams in the present. “It is beyond a doubt,” Kant said, “that all our knowledge begins with experience.”
But there is a catch. Kant continued, “…although all our knowledge begins with experience, it does not follow that it arises from experience.” Therefore, experience is important, but not the sole principle upon which our lives are built. While the romanticists open their arms to the influence of experience and the flow of the holistic approach, the rationalists beg to differ. It is generally agreed upon that life is a series of experiences, but those who follow this romantic philosophy too freely are dangerous. Romanticism is too irrational, too unpredictable and devious. Die-hard romanticists are dreamers, detached from reality and any seriousness in life. Those who have no structure or constraints can easily fall to vices and be overcome with self-interest, become the criminals, the greedy, and the pathetic.
Quite to the contrary, the rationalists shun the frolicsome, mystical indecisiveness of the empiricists and instead revert to established universal laws. Many of the principles upon which modern science, mathematics, medicine, and engineering are based have been proven effective. Reason is the concrete component that contributes to the creation of concrete things, and is therefore more beneficial to humanity than something that is abstract. According to rationalists, it is better to use the established methods to pinpoint a solid future, rather than firing blindly and hoping to hit something, whatever that something may be. Motorcycle maintenance would certainly not be possible without the logic of reverse engineering and the very tangible knowledge presented in instruction manuals. Humans need structure not only to advance but also to survive—with no social structure the world would be absolute chaos. It seems that humanity would exist as a less turbulent and more perfected race with reason as its exclusive principle.
As with experience, however, there are arguments against reason as that single principle. To empiricists, reason is too concrete—too gray and colorless, too predictable. Rational thinking to them does not leave room for creativity or emotion, only what is controlled and predefined. Rationalism is a machine. Also, even reason, as concrete and correct as it seems, may itself be a false floor. Pirsig suggested that even the most widely used and apparently solid laws of reason are “ghosts.” Because scientific laws have been thoroughly researched and consequently taught, they are believed to be the absolute truth, when in fact the possibility that they may be wrong is still very real. People were once inseparable from the scientific “laws” that the Earth is the center of the universe, or that it is flat, but in time those laws were proven to be incorrect. In fact, it took somewhat empirical thought processes to break the attachment to those ideas, and to establish new ones in accordance with modern reasoning. In that sense, reason is as much of a product of the human imagination as free experience. The true “reason,” assuming it exists, may be something just out of reach—the asymptote of an equation that we build upon while we learn, a goal that we unconsciously strive for. The building blocks of that equation are our experiences, and the entire rational philosophy is reduced itself to empiricism.
With both philosophies being validated and simultaneously nullified, one pondering this debate is left in a state of ambivalence. When in this philosophical limbo, one would feel pressured to agree with one side or the other, when that may not in fact be necessary at all. As Pirsig stated, “Persons tend to think and feel exclusively in one mode or the other… and as far as I know, no one now living has any real reconciliation of these truths or modes.” The reconciliation is the third path, the necessary key to a philosophical compromise. It is possible that the empiricists and rationalists will remain on opposite sides of the 38th parallel of thought. They will remain in their nuclear bunkers, as did the Capitalists and Communists, respectively—as enemies, engrossed in their own ideals. In the world of philosophy, though, black and white should not exist but as various shades of grey. The truth of the matter is that experience and reason both exist in life. Though it may be overlooked, artists utilize some sort of process in their work, as engineers integrate creativity into theirs. Left-brain and right-brain are irrelevant in the big picture—they are still part of the greater function of one brain. It is necessary for them to coexist, and with equal importance. Without reason, experience is unguided and precarious, but without experience, reason is nothing more than a dead, rigid structure. The debate is simply a turbulent surface to a vast ocean below that is calm and homogeneous.
Perhaps experience changes us. Perhaps it is the awl that constantly chips away at the marble, refining the details of our being from the day we are born until the very last minutes of our lives. Like fragments of rock, the small bits of ineptitude that are removed each day by our experiences will never be a part of us again. We cannot glue shavings of marble back on, should they be mistakenly removed. Likewise, once we have experienced something, it is permanently part of our past. When we are born, we are a simple block. Now, no two blocks are the same—each has unique swirls, chips, and rough spots—predispositions, if you will, to what we may become. They will always remain with us, but it is experience that truly defines us. By the time we die, our experiences have sculpted from that block a distinct figure, a statue of our lives. Perhaps that statue is the very face of reason, that reason is not the basis on which our lives are lived like its proponents suggest, but rather the goal that is approached through experience. As Kant said: “All our knowledge begins with the senses, proceeds then to the understanding, and ends with reason. There is nothing higher than reason.” But maybe that’s all wrong—it could be that reason is the method through which that statue is sculpted, and experience is the artistic license. Perhaps everything is predefined, with the final figure in the blueprints, and a few mistakes as experiences in the construction. Regardless, the key conjunction between the two should not be “or,” but rather “and.” In any case, both exist. Really the epic battle between empiricism and rationalism is nothing more than a Cold War—two very different ideas, each with valid points, staring into each other’s steely eyes in a circular dispute. Both are right, both are wrong, and both just are. That is the importance of experience and reason in life. They are life.
Current Mood: Relaxed
Listening To: "How to Disappear Completely" by Radiohead
“To be is to do,” are the words of Immanuel Kant. Experience is important in life because it is life—it would be nonexistent without experience. The simplest days spent on the couch, at school and at the dinner table with family are filled with as much experience as are the greatest days of our lives spent on tropical beaches and mountaintops with spectacular views. Empiricists use these experiences to build themselves and their ideas. To fully immerse oneself in life is to fill that capacity for experience, and to experience is to learn. It is using this method that Pirsig was able to conceive so many philosophical questions—the simple yet immersive experience of his cross-country trip with his son contained the spark needed to ignite the gunpowder of imagination. Anyone may become a philosopher with their experiences as material. Past successes and failures, along with the power of the human imagination, can create a future that only exists in dreams in the present. “It is beyond a doubt,” Kant said, “that all our knowledge begins with experience.”
But there is a catch. Kant continued, “…although all our knowledge begins with experience, it does not follow that it arises from experience.” Therefore, experience is important, but not the sole principle upon which our lives are built. While the romanticists open their arms to the influence of experience and the flow of the holistic approach, the rationalists beg to differ. It is generally agreed upon that life is a series of experiences, but those who follow this romantic philosophy too freely are dangerous. Romanticism is too irrational, too unpredictable and devious. Die-hard romanticists are dreamers, detached from reality and any seriousness in life. Those who have no structure or constraints can easily fall to vices and be overcome with self-interest, become the criminals, the greedy, and the pathetic.
Quite to the contrary, the rationalists shun the frolicsome, mystical indecisiveness of the empiricists and instead revert to established universal laws. Many of the principles upon which modern science, mathematics, medicine, and engineering are based have been proven effective. Reason is the concrete component that contributes to the creation of concrete things, and is therefore more beneficial to humanity than something that is abstract. According to rationalists, it is better to use the established methods to pinpoint a solid future, rather than firing blindly and hoping to hit something, whatever that something may be. Motorcycle maintenance would certainly not be possible without the logic of reverse engineering and the very tangible knowledge presented in instruction manuals. Humans need structure not only to advance but also to survive—with no social structure the world would be absolute chaos. It seems that humanity would exist as a less turbulent and more perfected race with reason as its exclusive principle.
As with experience, however, there are arguments against reason as that single principle. To empiricists, reason is too concrete—too gray and colorless, too predictable. Rational thinking to them does not leave room for creativity or emotion, only what is controlled and predefined. Rationalism is a machine. Also, even reason, as concrete and correct as it seems, may itself be a false floor. Pirsig suggested that even the most widely used and apparently solid laws of reason are “ghosts.” Because scientific laws have been thoroughly researched and consequently taught, they are believed to be the absolute truth, when in fact the possibility that they may be wrong is still very real. People were once inseparable from the scientific “laws” that the Earth is the center of the universe, or that it is flat, but in time those laws were proven to be incorrect. In fact, it took somewhat empirical thought processes to break the attachment to those ideas, and to establish new ones in accordance with modern reasoning. In that sense, reason is as much of a product of the human imagination as free experience. The true “reason,” assuming it exists, may be something just out of reach—the asymptote of an equation that we build upon while we learn, a goal that we unconsciously strive for. The building blocks of that equation are our experiences, and the entire rational philosophy is reduced itself to empiricism.
With both philosophies being validated and simultaneously nullified, one pondering this debate is left in a state of ambivalence. When in this philosophical limbo, one would feel pressured to agree with one side or the other, when that may not in fact be necessary at all. As Pirsig stated, “Persons tend to think and feel exclusively in one mode or the other… and as far as I know, no one now living has any real reconciliation of these truths or modes.” The reconciliation is the third path, the necessary key to a philosophical compromise. It is possible that the empiricists and rationalists will remain on opposite sides of the 38th parallel of thought. They will remain in their nuclear bunkers, as did the Capitalists and Communists, respectively—as enemies, engrossed in their own ideals. In the world of philosophy, though, black and white should not exist but as various shades of grey. The truth of the matter is that experience and reason both exist in life. Though it may be overlooked, artists utilize some sort of process in their work, as engineers integrate creativity into theirs. Left-brain and right-brain are irrelevant in the big picture—they are still part of the greater function of one brain. It is necessary for them to coexist, and with equal importance. Without reason, experience is unguided and precarious, but without experience, reason is nothing more than a dead, rigid structure. The debate is simply a turbulent surface to a vast ocean below that is calm and homogeneous.
Perhaps experience changes us. Perhaps it is the awl that constantly chips away at the marble, refining the details of our being from the day we are born until the very last minutes of our lives. Like fragments of rock, the small bits of ineptitude that are removed each day by our experiences will never be a part of us again. We cannot glue shavings of marble back on, should they be mistakenly removed. Likewise, once we have experienced something, it is permanently part of our past. When we are born, we are a simple block. Now, no two blocks are the same—each has unique swirls, chips, and rough spots—predispositions, if you will, to what we may become. They will always remain with us, but it is experience that truly defines us. By the time we die, our experiences have sculpted from that block a distinct figure, a statue of our lives. Perhaps that statue is the very face of reason, that reason is not the basis on which our lives are lived like its proponents suggest, but rather the goal that is approached through experience. As Kant said: “All our knowledge begins with the senses, proceeds then to the understanding, and ends with reason. There is nothing higher than reason.” But maybe that’s all wrong—it could be that reason is the method through which that statue is sculpted, and experience is the artistic license. Perhaps everything is predefined, with the final figure in the blueprints, and a few mistakes as experiences in the construction. Regardless, the key conjunction between the two should not be “or,” but rather “and.” In any case, both exist. Really the epic battle between empiricism and rationalism is nothing more than a Cold War—two very different ideas, each with valid points, staring into each other’s steely eyes in a circular dispute. Both are right, both are wrong, and both just are. That is the importance of experience and reason in life. They are life.
Current Mood: Relaxed
Listening To: "How to Disappear Completely" by Radiohead
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