The Supremes have issued their long-awaited decision regarding the Affordable Care Act, and we hear lamentations from the Republicans and praise from the Democrats, pontifications from pundits, and little else. It has been a long and depressing process for anyone of sense, I believe, and one can't help but feel glad it's over, regardless of the outcome. In these dark times, the hyperbolic responses of those on the Right are predictable but still disturbing. How this era (O tempora!) cries out for calm deliberation.
It is quite correct for the majority to note that courts have no business assessing policy, and should not indulge in questioning the wisdom of legislation. The majority also appropriately rejected the rather tortured effort to justify the individual manadate under the Commerce Clause. This was in my opinion what is being called these days "a nonstarter." A clumsy word employed increasingly in our dundering, heavy-handed society. Far too infrequently, even the law meshes with common sense, and the claim that citizens of our Glorious Republic may be induced under threat of penalty to engage in commerce by Congress through its power to regulate commerce defies common sense just as much as legal precedent. So, kudos to the majority for noting this and ruling accordingly.
I'm less comfortable, though, with its determination that what has consistently been called a penalty (and is still being called a penalty by the White House in spite of the Court's decision) is nonetheless a tax, and when considered as such is a constitutional exercise of the Congress' taxing power. But I suppose the majority takes the position that this is an instance where the law simply does not mesh with common sense.
Those who supported and voted for the law presumably were loath to describe the mandate as a tax due to the fact that the mere thought of a tax sends many of us into a frenzy. So it's likely that it has never been (and still is not) described as a tax for political reasons, which given the current climate is all the reason our politicians require, or respect. Nevertheless, there are diffences in the law between a penalty and a tax, and those differences can be significant. For example, those differences may, as in this case, establish whether or not a law is constitutional.
The law is certainly best defended as a tax. Our government has successfully taxed all manner of things, and the courts hesitate to declare them unlawful. I find it hard to understand why the law was not adopted as an exercise of the taxing power in the first place. We're regularly taxed "for our own good" despite the fact we don't want to be--sometimes, the tax really is for our own good. But I suppose this is to make the error of thinking like a lawyer, not like a politician (or I suppose I should say like a politician who is also a lawyer, or was one, at least; there are so many of these unnatural creatures).
Another odd thing regarding the outcome of the decision if not the decision itself is the speculation being indulged in to the effect that the Chief Justice sided with the majority because he wanted to "save" the Court from being politicized. This is a kind of fantasy, I believe, which is probably only briefly entrancing some of our pundits, who think that Justices Scalia and Thomas are far too political. But the Court has always been political, as have many of the Justices of the past (Douglas comes most immediately to mind as a politically liberal Justice). I tend to think the Justices, and their close relatives, should keep their mouths and their wallets shut myself particularly as to matters which have or likely will come before them. But this kind of wisdom and dignity is not to be expected today, and perhaps has never existed.
The decision is a curious, confusing thing.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Sunday, June 24, 2012
An Old Chaos of the Sun
We live in that old chaos, said Wallace Stevens in his poem Sunday Morning. Is that enough for us? That seems to be the question debated somewhat leisurely in that work, but profoundly enough, even with coffee and oranges.
There's nothing complacent about that debate. That it even takes place in the manner it does establishes that the poem is of the 20th century. The rather disturbingly dramatic pathos displayed by certain artists and thinkers of the 19th century in the face of the realization that we humans may not be the special favorites of the divine isn't evident. I think of the histrionics of the characters of Dostoevsky and the yapping of Nietzsche and can't help but feel embarrassed. Despair and defiance seem childish responses to the vastness of the universe and our tiny place in it. In Stevens' poem we have cool appraisal of our "predicament." We are, at least, adults in the universe, if only temporarily.
Do we need paradise? Is this world enough for us, or are we fated to long for something more, something not just better but best? Some of us at least seem to need the best; perhaps even some of us expect it as our due. So we look for it or forward to it. Heaven or higher knowledge, good or beauty, beyond that available to us in this world which we refuse to accept despite the fact that we are so completely a part of it, one kind of organism among many. We're much more sophisticated than the others we know of so far, it's true; we may find we are much less sophisticated than others we become aware of in the future. Will they be more privileged than we humans as a result and have a greater claim to God's favor?
Our belief we're exceptional has rendered us monotonous. Although we should know better now as we understand we are not the center of the universe and that it does not revolve around us for our delight we make the same assumptions and ask the same questions we did when we thought that way from ignorance. To a great extent, we come to the same answers, or no answers at all.
I think Stevens in his poem comes to the conclusion that the world is indeed enough, or should be. Perhaps that's what he and Hemingway fought about that drunken evening in Key West. In any case, that seems to be the adult response. Neither despair nor defiance is reasonable. If there is more than this, it's likely it will be another version or aspect of this (the universe). If there is something that is not a part of the universe, to which we will have access, it is necessarily unknown to us now. We can only know that which we can know and we can only know what we have experienced or others have and told us about. We may feel what we call transcendence, but feeling it we feel whatever it is as parts of the universe and thus it is part of the universe as well.
The universe is remarkable indeed; we may never be done exploring it. Understanding it and our part in it is a monumental task, but it is a task we can engage in and we can progress in that task in a manner which is measurable. Paradise is something we can't attain in this life, but we can obtain and accomplish some things, and should do so.
There's nothing complacent about that debate. That it even takes place in the manner it does establishes that the poem is of the 20th century. The rather disturbingly dramatic pathos displayed by certain artists and thinkers of the 19th century in the face of the realization that we humans may not be the special favorites of the divine isn't evident. I think of the histrionics of the characters of Dostoevsky and the yapping of Nietzsche and can't help but feel embarrassed. Despair and defiance seem childish responses to the vastness of the universe and our tiny place in it. In Stevens' poem we have cool appraisal of our "predicament." We are, at least, adults in the universe, if only temporarily.
Do we need paradise? Is this world enough for us, or are we fated to long for something more, something not just better but best? Some of us at least seem to need the best; perhaps even some of us expect it as our due. So we look for it or forward to it. Heaven or higher knowledge, good or beauty, beyond that available to us in this world which we refuse to accept despite the fact that we are so completely a part of it, one kind of organism among many. We're much more sophisticated than the others we know of so far, it's true; we may find we are much less sophisticated than others we become aware of in the future. Will they be more privileged than we humans as a result and have a greater claim to God's favor?
Our belief we're exceptional has rendered us monotonous. Although we should know better now as we understand we are not the center of the universe and that it does not revolve around us for our delight we make the same assumptions and ask the same questions we did when we thought that way from ignorance. To a great extent, we come to the same answers, or no answers at all.
I think Stevens in his poem comes to the conclusion that the world is indeed enough, or should be. Perhaps that's what he and Hemingway fought about that drunken evening in Key West. In any case, that seems to be the adult response. Neither despair nor defiance is reasonable. If there is more than this, it's likely it will be another version or aspect of this (the universe). If there is something that is not a part of the universe, to which we will have access, it is necessarily unknown to us now. We can only know that which we can know and we can only know what we have experienced or others have and told us about. We may feel what we call transcendence, but feeling it we feel whatever it is as parts of the universe and thus it is part of the universe as well.
The universe is remarkable indeed; we may never be done exploring it. Understanding it and our part in it is a monumental task, but it is a task we can engage in and we can progress in that task in a manner which is measurable. Paradise is something we can't attain in this life, but we can obtain and accomplish some things, and should do so.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
The Best Government Money Can Buy
We had it, according to Mark Twain, quite some time ago, and will have it again. He could be amusing at times, could old Sam, and perceptive as well when he was not pandering to his readers by commenting buffoonishly on noisy, dirty, smelly foreigners in such works as Innocents Abroad (I was reminded of this sad characteristic while reading Mencken's fine essay on Puritanism in American literature).
That Twain felt we had in his time such a government reminds us that things are not all that different, our Supreme Court's decision in Citizens United notwithstanding. I can't but feel that there lurks in liberal criticism of that decision a petulance born of the belief that there are simply not enough liberally-minded corporations readily available to foot Democratic bills as there are conservative ones to pay for Republican campaigns. Regardless, though, it is always a concern when money figures so prominently in the election of officials of any kind. It's not clear to me, however, that the view of the majority of the Supremes that corporations are people for purposes of free speech as well as for other purposes adds that much to the corruption of our politics.
Of greater concern I think is the rejection of limitations on financial contributions to the efforts of our leaders and those who wish to lead us to induce us to vote for them or those things they hold dear. Corporations have been treated as persons in the law for so many years for so many reasons that maintaining they are not for other, particular purposes is somewhat awkward. Limiting financial contributions is relatively clear and simple, would likely reduce the opportunity for corruption and would seem to have no clear adverse impact of any significant kind. It may make it more difficult for our politicians and their minions to bombard us with increasingly trite, simplistic and hyperbolic propaganda, but this would not be a bad thing.
This brings us to the rather perplexing view which is translated into the phrase that "money is speech." It clearly is not in itself. It can, though, facilitate the ability of some not only to speak, but to speak very loudly and frequently in many different locations to many people. Is this facilitation itself free speech, to be accorded constitutional protection?
Consider the law applicable to restrictions on the constitutional right to free speech. Consider, in other words, those circumstances in which it has been held that government has wrongfully limited that right. I think it would be accurate to state that money is not often a factor, except to the extent that it somehow figures in action which results in the prohibition or limitation of speech itself. That unconstitutional limitation rightfully relates to the content of speech or the act of speaking, however, not to the quantity of speech.
If one is prohibited from saying something by government, or speaking at all, that is or should be significant in the law. If one is prohibited not from saying something, but from having access to unlimited amounts of money from particular donors which will allow you to say it again and again, at all times and in all places through media of all kinds, and hiring professionals to say that something in the most persuasive manner, that is or should be something quite different as far as the law is concerned.
Of course, we can only truly avoid being led by the nose by our politicians and their lackeys by thinking analytically. But that would mean spending money on educating people to do so. That wouldn't make money thought, but it would be a thoughtful use of money (I should never have read Chesterton; I can't avoid these cloying little gibes at times, and blame it all on him). Unfortunately, thinking is often something those who have the money would rather we not do.
That Twain felt we had in his time such a government reminds us that things are not all that different, our Supreme Court's decision in Citizens United notwithstanding. I can't but feel that there lurks in liberal criticism of that decision a petulance born of the belief that there are simply not enough liberally-minded corporations readily available to foot Democratic bills as there are conservative ones to pay for Republican campaigns. Regardless, though, it is always a concern when money figures so prominently in the election of officials of any kind. It's not clear to me, however, that the view of the majority of the Supremes that corporations are people for purposes of free speech as well as for other purposes adds that much to the corruption of our politics.
Of greater concern I think is the rejection of limitations on financial contributions to the efforts of our leaders and those who wish to lead us to induce us to vote for them or those things they hold dear. Corporations have been treated as persons in the law for so many years for so many reasons that maintaining they are not for other, particular purposes is somewhat awkward. Limiting financial contributions is relatively clear and simple, would likely reduce the opportunity for corruption and would seem to have no clear adverse impact of any significant kind. It may make it more difficult for our politicians and their minions to bombard us with increasingly trite, simplistic and hyperbolic propaganda, but this would not be a bad thing.
This brings us to the rather perplexing view which is translated into the phrase that "money is speech." It clearly is not in itself. It can, though, facilitate the ability of some not only to speak, but to speak very loudly and frequently in many different locations to many people. Is this facilitation itself free speech, to be accorded constitutional protection?
Consider the law applicable to restrictions on the constitutional right to free speech. Consider, in other words, those circumstances in which it has been held that government has wrongfully limited that right. I think it would be accurate to state that money is not often a factor, except to the extent that it somehow figures in action which results in the prohibition or limitation of speech itself. That unconstitutional limitation rightfully relates to the content of speech or the act of speaking, however, not to the quantity of speech.
If one is prohibited from saying something by government, or speaking at all, that is or should be significant in the law. If one is prohibited not from saying something, but from having access to unlimited amounts of money from particular donors which will allow you to say it again and again, at all times and in all places through media of all kinds, and hiring professionals to say that something in the most persuasive manner, that is or should be something quite different as far as the law is concerned.
Of course, we can only truly avoid being led by the nose by our politicians and their lackeys by thinking analytically. But that would mean spending money on educating people to do so. That wouldn't make money thought, but it would be a thoughtful use of money (I should never have read Chesterton; I can't avoid these cloying little gibes at times, and blame it all on him). Unfortunately, thinking is often something those who have the money would rather we not do.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
The Unknown God
According to the book known as "The Acts of the Apostles" St. Paul famously noted that the Athenians had an altar dedicated to "the unknown god" and expounded on it to their edification, using it as an example of pagan superstition or pagan piety, depending on just what translation is being read. I personally find the notion more Roman than Greek. The thorough, prudent Romans it seems to me would be more likely to see to it that an unknown, that is to say un-named, god be worshipped--just in case that worship should be appropriate or required for one reason or another.
The Roman religion as we know it, before it became Greek, was most practical, though the gods or spirits they were devoted to were often ill-defined. This has sometimes been claimed to indicate that they lacked imagination, unlike the Greeks, whose gods they would assimilate. The gods of the popular religion of ancient Greece certainly were fanciful, but if they're considered indicative of imagination I think that imagination is not particularly imaginative, as it consisted of extrapolation from human characteristics well known to any of us.
Though the gods were undefined in ancient Roman religion the means by which they were to be worshipped were detailed, even rigorous, and the rituals were to be carefully performed, without error. This precision was owed to the divine. If there was error, then they had no effect and were to be repeated. The Emperor Julian is said to have repeated a particular rite when interrupted, and it is doubtful that at the time he did so the rite in question involved one of the ancient Roman divinities, as it would have taken place in the 4th century CE. So the need to perform the rite properly seems to have survived if not the god or spirit itself.
It seems that the more a conception of God is such that the characteristics ascribed to God are unknown, the more reasonable that conception becomes. To the extent that God's characteristics are well known, it seems those characteristics are necessarily shared by humans. For those of us who find it difficult to be impressed by a human-god, or feel that a human-god doesn't quite rise to the level of a God of a vast universe, this is unsatisfying. This I think is why we find that what is called the "God of the philosophers" and the God most referred to by theologians, even Christian theologians, is quite abstract, and may even be said to be unknown, or unknowable, as a result. In any event, a human-god is clearly a god of a kind which is limited, as it is one which is the special concern if not creation of our race on our tiny little planet in our tiny little solar system.
It's interesting that the more abstract our conception of God, the less likely it is that God will be a "jealous" god, or angry god, or demanding god. It's difficult to ascribe to the God of the universe a keen interest in our sex lives, or in the manner in which we dress, or whether we act or do not act in certain ways on certain days. Intolerant gods are little gods. They're not great in any sense.
But little gods may be what we humans need until we have rid ourselves of our overwhelming selfishness. As long as we look upon the universe as ours alone, as long as we think of ourselves as determining the universe, the divine will always be human.
The Roman religion as we know it, before it became Greek, was most practical, though the gods or spirits they were devoted to were often ill-defined. This has sometimes been claimed to indicate that they lacked imagination, unlike the Greeks, whose gods they would assimilate. The gods of the popular religion of ancient Greece certainly were fanciful, but if they're considered indicative of imagination I think that imagination is not particularly imaginative, as it consisted of extrapolation from human characteristics well known to any of us.
Though the gods were undefined in ancient Roman religion the means by which they were to be worshipped were detailed, even rigorous, and the rituals were to be carefully performed, without error. This precision was owed to the divine. If there was error, then they had no effect and were to be repeated. The Emperor Julian is said to have repeated a particular rite when interrupted, and it is doubtful that at the time he did so the rite in question involved one of the ancient Roman divinities, as it would have taken place in the 4th century CE. So the need to perform the rite properly seems to have survived if not the god or spirit itself.
It seems that the more a conception of God is such that the characteristics ascribed to God are unknown, the more reasonable that conception becomes. To the extent that God's characteristics are well known, it seems those characteristics are necessarily shared by humans. For those of us who find it difficult to be impressed by a human-god, or feel that a human-god doesn't quite rise to the level of a God of a vast universe, this is unsatisfying. This I think is why we find that what is called the "God of the philosophers" and the God most referred to by theologians, even Christian theologians, is quite abstract, and may even be said to be unknown, or unknowable, as a result. In any event, a human-god is clearly a god of a kind which is limited, as it is one which is the special concern if not creation of our race on our tiny little planet in our tiny little solar system.
It's interesting that the more abstract our conception of God, the less likely it is that God will be a "jealous" god, or angry god, or demanding god. It's difficult to ascribe to the God of the universe a keen interest in our sex lives, or in the manner in which we dress, or whether we act or do not act in certain ways on certain days. Intolerant gods are little gods. They're not great in any sense.
But little gods may be what we humans need until we have rid ourselves of our overwhelming selfishness. As long as we look upon the universe as ours alone, as long as we think of ourselves as determining the universe, the divine will always be human.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Why I (Still) am not a Philosopher
Or, perhaps, Why I Continue not to be a Philosopher. Then again, something like Why I Most Definitely am not a Philosopher, or Why I Certainly am not a Philosopher, or Why I'm no Philosopher or Why I Cannot be a Philosopher would serve as titles, as well, to this no doubt less than interesting because highly personal post.
I posted about this in the past, you see, and that should serve as an explanation of the words "still" and "continue not to be" if nothing else. In that post, I speculated that a lack of patience and a stubborn disposition against matters which seem to have no immediate application to "ordinary day-to-day life" might be causes of my failings (at least that's what I recall of the post; I'm not going to read it again because, of course, I lack the patience to do so).
Now, however, I think there is more involved, in addition to my impatience and what I suppose a real philosopher would refer to as my naive views regarding some basic metaphysical questions. I simply cannot deal with the kind of concepts philosophers apparently address on a regular basis. This has become clear to me due to my return, after an absence, to a philosophy forum I've spent a significant amount of time in, which has resulted in a renewed determination to depart from it yet again this time, I hope (and suspect others hope as well) never to return.
"Deal with" covers quite a bit of ground, in my case. It can mean something as simple as reading, to a certain extent. People start using words like "being" and "essence" and "the self" and "becoming" and "protention" and something inside me seems to scream "Stop! Stop reading this! Now!" Such words seem to not exactly frighten me, but to revolt me. Reading them for me is like eating something I strongly dislike and have no need to eat. One simply stops eating in that case, if one has any sense, makes a polite excuse and departs for home or perhaps the restroom.
Expressing strong dislike simply angers those who enjoy the food or concepts in question. It may be said that in the one case matters of taste are involved, regarding which there can be no dispute, but in the case of philosophical concepts there can be and perhaps even should be dispute aplenty. That may be so, though I feel taste does figure in a person's like or dislike for certain philosophy and philosophers. But if it is so, it has become clear to me that I can't usefully participate in such disputes. Life, I have found, is far too short to subject myself to the recriminations which result, for all I know justifiably. I may be unable to comprehend such things, though I continue to suspect that those who can could, if pressed, communicate their thoughts regarding them in language a dullard like me would be able to understand, and even to suspect that if they did so nothing very remarkable would be made apparent. Regardless, it's not for me.
I will continue to read those philosophers I can understand, albeit dimly. I may even discuss them and their thoughts in this blog, for my own edification if not for that of others. But I hope to otherwise stay off the wagon, as it were. We shall see.
I posted about this in the past, you see, and that should serve as an explanation of the words "still" and "continue not to be" if nothing else. In that post, I speculated that a lack of patience and a stubborn disposition against matters which seem to have no immediate application to "ordinary day-to-day life" might be causes of my failings (at least that's what I recall of the post; I'm not going to read it again because, of course, I lack the patience to do so).
Now, however, I think there is more involved, in addition to my impatience and what I suppose a real philosopher would refer to as my naive views regarding some basic metaphysical questions. I simply cannot deal with the kind of concepts philosophers apparently address on a regular basis. This has become clear to me due to my return, after an absence, to a philosophy forum I've spent a significant amount of time in, which has resulted in a renewed determination to depart from it yet again this time, I hope (and suspect others hope as well) never to return.
"Deal with" covers quite a bit of ground, in my case. It can mean something as simple as reading, to a certain extent. People start using words like "being" and "essence" and "the self" and "becoming" and "protention" and something inside me seems to scream "Stop! Stop reading this! Now!" Such words seem to not exactly frighten me, but to revolt me. Reading them for me is like eating something I strongly dislike and have no need to eat. One simply stops eating in that case, if one has any sense, makes a polite excuse and departs for home or perhaps the restroom.
Expressing strong dislike simply angers those who enjoy the food or concepts in question. It may be said that in the one case matters of taste are involved, regarding which there can be no dispute, but in the case of philosophical concepts there can be and perhaps even should be dispute aplenty. That may be so, though I feel taste does figure in a person's like or dislike for certain philosophy and philosophers. But if it is so, it has become clear to me that I can't usefully participate in such disputes. Life, I have found, is far too short to subject myself to the recriminations which result, for all I know justifiably. I may be unable to comprehend such things, though I continue to suspect that those who can could, if pressed, communicate their thoughts regarding them in language a dullard like me would be able to understand, and even to suspect that if they did so nothing very remarkable would be made apparent. Regardless, it's not for me.
I will continue to read those philosophers I can understand, albeit dimly. I may even discuss them and their thoughts in this blog, for my own edification if not for that of others. But I hope to otherwise stay off the wagon, as it were. We shall see.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Time Out of Mind
According to Cicero, "there is nothing so absurd but some philosopher has said it." I'm not sure just what it was that prompted this comment. I like to think that there are limits to absurdity, or at least limits to the deliberate promulgation of absurdities as fact, but I confess I'm given to wonder now and then.
Consider, though: there are, or apparently were, philosophers who are or were unconvinced of the existence of an "external world" independent from our minds (dealt with in prior posts) or perhaps more properly that its existence cannot not be demonstrated to their (and therefore appropriate) satisfaction, and that mind and body are in some sense separate, and that Forms of absolute, perfect reality exist regarding which that which we experience is but a poor facsimile, and that we can't know just what "things in themselves" (like, for example, the computer on which I'm typing at this moment) really are; so, perhaps Cicero was right.
I'm doing some reading at the moment regarding the question whether the past is real. Some philosophers feel it isn't. Some, unsurprisingly, think it is. Most of us common folk, I think, would maintain that it was, but is not now. Most of us would probably assert that in the past, Roman legions marched around Europe, dinosaurs walked the earth, galleys manned by slaves were used for ocean transport. However, that is no longer the case. So, Roman legions, dinosaurs and such galleys certainly were real, but as they no longer exist, they can't be said to be real now.
A philosopher may be inclined to say, however, that we have no business referring to the past as real in any sense if it no longer exists, or that we can't state anything regarding what happened in the past, past events, past people, without purporting to come to conclusions regarding that which does not exist, which we cannot do legitimately. How can we rely on our memories, or even records of the past? There is no way to verify them, properly.
Some might question this kind of view, though. There is now evidence that certain animals existed which no longer exist. There are buildings we see which must somehow have come into existence, unless we're satisfied in thinking that they suddenly appear at the time we first encounter them. There are people we knew who are no longer present. Isn't it reasonable to infer from such evidence that there was or were some animals, things, people but now there are not?
Time is I think a particularly difficult subject for philosophers to analyze and explicate now, because physics has significantly preempted the field, or at least complicated it. In the realm of physics, there be dragons I certainly cannot slay, in any event. Physics may eventually ascertain that the past continues to exist in some sense, or can be retrieved, or perhaps indicate that there is a possibility of time travel to the past (if it has not already done so). However, until that occurs, just what can be said about the past? What is it?
In answering that question, I'd be inclined to apply some variant of Peirce's pragmatic maxim (he formulated several versions of it). This would entail defining it by reference to its practical consequences. The past is something that we recall, sometimes with pleasure, sometimes sadly. It thereby and in other ways can effect us and our dispositions and our lives. It can be used as a reference. We can make decisions regarding what is transpiring now based on what has taken place in the past. The world we interact it was in many respects shaped by the past; is a result of the past, and knowing the past can help us understand the world, ourselves and our fellow participants in the world.
The past is clearly something we think about, and something that influences us and how we live and act now. In that sense, it is clearly real now, i.e. it is a part of our world, our reality. Isn't that sufficient for our purposes? Why could or should it be "real" in some other sense? In what way does it matter whether if is "real" in some other sense (again, given the extent of our abilities and knowledge in the realm of physics at this time)?
No doubt I'm just demonstrating yet again why it is I'm not a philosopher; but once more I wonder why it is we devote ourselves to questions the answers to which, and problems the resolution of which, seemingly will make no difference to how we live, and what we do.
Consider, though: there are, or apparently were, philosophers who are or were unconvinced of the existence of an "external world" independent from our minds (dealt with in prior posts) or perhaps more properly that its existence cannot not be demonstrated to their (and therefore appropriate) satisfaction, and that mind and body are in some sense separate, and that Forms of absolute, perfect reality exist regarding which that which we experience is but a poor facsimile, and that we can't know just what "things in themselves" (like, for example, the computer on which I'm typing at this moment) really are; so, perhaps Cicero was right.
I'm doing some reading at the moment regarding the question whether the past is real. Some philosophers feel it isn't. Some, unsurprisingly, think it is. Most of us common folk, I think, would maintain that it was, but is not now. Most of us would probably assert that in the past, Roman legions marched around Europe, dinosaurs walked the earth, galleys manned by slaves were used for ocean transport. However, that is no longer the case. So, Roman legions, dinosaurs and such galleys certainly were real, but as they no longer exist, they can't be said to be real now.
A philosopher may be inclined to say, however, that we have no business referring to the past as real in any sense if it no longer exists, or that we can't state anything regarding what happened in the past, past events, past people, without purporting to come to conclusions regarding that which does not exist, which we cannot do legitimately. How can we rely on our memories, or even records of the past? There is no way to verify them, properly.
Some might question this kind of view, though. There is now evidence that certain animals existed which no longer exist. There are buildings we see which must somehow have come into existence, unless we're satisfied in thinking that they suddenly appear at the time we first encounter them. There are people we knew who are no longer present. Isn't it reasonable to infer from such evidence that there was or were some animals, things, people but now there are not?
Time is I think a particularly difficult subject for philosophers to analyze and explicate now, because physics has significantly preempted the field, or at least complicated it. In the realm of physics, there be dragons I certainly cannot slay, in any event. Physics may eventually ascertain that the past continues to exist in some sense, or can be retrieved, or perhaps indicate that there is a possibility of time travel to the past (if it has not already done so). However, until that occurs, just what can be said about the past? What is it?
In answering that question, I'd be inclined to apply some variant of Peirce's pragmatic maxim (he formulated several versions of it). This would entail defining it by reference to its practical consequences. The past is something that we recall, sometimes with pleasure, sometimes sadly. It thereby and in other ways can effect us and our dispositions and our lives. It can be used as a reference. We can make decisions regarding what is transpiring now based on what has taken place in the past. The world we interact it was in many respects shaped by the past; is a result of the past, and knowing the past can help us understand the world, ourselves and our fellow participants in the world.
The past is clearly something we think about, and something that influences us and how we live and act now. In that sense, it is clearly real now, i.e. it is a part of our world, our reality. Isn't that sufficient for our purposes? Why could or should it be "real" in some other sense? In what way does it matter whether if is "real" in some other sense (again, given the extent of our abilities and knowledge in the realm of physics at this time)?
No doubt I'm just demonstrating yet again why it is I'm not a philosopher; but once more I wonder why it is we devote ourselves to questions the answers to which, and problems the resolution of which, seemingly will make no difference to how we live, and what we do.
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