Anyone who does some reading about Stoicism has encountered books in which it is compared, unfavorably, to Christianity. These books seem to have been written, at the latest, in the 19th and early 20th centuries. More recent books about Stoicism don't make the comparison, and I wonder whether there simply is no longer an interest in doing so. Sometimes, the comparisons that were made seem to be in earnest, and even thoughtful. Sometimes they seem quite partisan, and far less than impartial. They all seem to have certain claims in common, however.
I've sometimes wondered whether Christian thinkers have resented Christianity's great debt to pagan philosophy. Christianity hasn't benefited merely from Stoic influence, of course. It incorporated the thoughts and works of Plato and Aristotle as well; Christian mystics and ascetics spoke and conducted themselves much as the ancient Cynics did. The influence of the school of Epicurus is not as evident, as may be expected.
The early Christian Fathers didn't share in such resentment, though, nor does it seem to have been prevalent in medieval times, or during the the Renaissance when Aristotle was "the Master of All who Know" and he and other pagan thinkers spent their time in Hell in its relatively comfortable first level, according to Dante. Certain of the Fathers, at least, spoke of Plato and others as having approached the truth, a remarkable concession from an otherwise highly intolerant crew. Seneca was considered a kind of Christian, and Marcus Aurelius was said to have regretted or to even have been ignorant of the persecution which took place during his reign. It was in a sense assumed that people who wrote and thought and acted so wisely, as these figures did, could not really have been all that unchristian; indeed, must have been proto or quasi-Christians.
Perhaps this kind of hat-tipping to the pagan thinkers began to disappear as it became clear that such fabrications as the correspondence said to have taken place between Seneca and St. Paul was established as being forged, and other myths such as Plato's friendship with Moses were found to be contrived. I suppose it may have been easier to acknowledge the extent to which Christianity borrowed from the ancients when it was at least arguable that Christianity or "proper" Judaism influenced the works of the old philosophers in some respect.
It seems clear, though, that the New Testament doesn't indicate that Jesus and his disciples discussed or were much concerned with the fundamentals of pagan philosophy which became the fundamentals of Christian theology. So some justification was required when the equivalent of Plato's forms and Aristotle's First Mover and natural law and universal law began to appear in defenses and explanations of the Christian religion. Perhaps the acknowledgement simply became more grudging or reluctant.
We see Stoicism sometimes described as the noblest of the moral codes pagan antiquity managed to formulate. But there is always something wrong with it according to these writers, something which, they maintain, caused it to dissipate though it was at one time the preferred philosophy and even religion of the thoughtful Roman upper and mid-to-upper classes. It was, of course, Christianity that satisfied the need Stoicism could not. Stoicism's subsequent revivals over the centuries in, for example, Justus Lipsius are acknowledged by these writers, but they seem to consider these events as similar to fits or fads.
As might be expected, Stoicism's failure is ascribed to the fact that it's tenets are too stern, cold, abstract, unrealistic. It's claimed that the Stoic view of the emotions and passions was too negative. Most of all, it seems, it's claimed that Stoicism failed to acknowledge or recognize love--which is to say Christian Love. And it's claimed the Stoic view of God was materialistic and distant, despite the efforts of Seneca and Epictetus to portray God as more the personal God of Christianity (more personal, at least, when that characteristic fits the apologist's purpose; the God of the famous proofs is notably vague and abstract).
What Christian Love is supposed to be is an interesting question. The Gospels were written in Greek by men who could not have known Jesus personally. Was the "love" referred to in the Gospels or St. Paul the kind of "love" we may read about in the works of the pagan philosophers? Was the "love" presumably referred to by Jesus the same, or something different?
There are quotes from the early Stoics which seem to support the claims the writers make. However, more recent thinkers have found the Stoic view of the emotions to be far more sophisticated than previously believed, and the therapeutic effect of Stoic practice to be far more effective than previously believed.
It's possible Christianity may be waning now, or that the personal God posited by it an other established religions may be considered less and less credible the more we know of the universe. Stoicism is not so limited, however, though there also seems to be nothing prohibiting the Stoic from suspecting that God is, in a sense, concerned with human beings and "personal" in that sense. Perhaps it is this flexibility that is one of the reasons it keeps appearing. It's by no means defunct, and I suspect it never will be.
A CICERONIAN LAWYER'S MUSINGS ON LAW, PHILOSOPHY, CURRENT AFFAIRS, LITERATURE, HISTORY AND LIVING LIFE SECUNDUM NATURAM
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Weighted Voting (Money for Votes)
Extremely wealthy old man Tom Perkins recently proposed that the votes of those who make more money and so pay more taxes should in effect count for more than those of ordinary folk, here in our Great Republic. Mr. Perkins had, previously, compared those with less than respectful views of the exceedingly wealthy to Nazis, and compared the exceedingly wealthy to Jews persecuted by Nazis. It's unclear whether he is merely an eccentric old rich man we may treat as a figure of fun, like Thurston Howell III or Mr. Maggoo in his unforgettable role as Scrooge, or perhaps Montgomery Burns, or whether he actually takes himself seriously and expects others to do so.
It seems incomprehensible that those who come within what is now called the 1% should feel put upon by anyone. They are in fact very well off, and it is delusional to suggest otherwise. It takes a special kind of self-righteousness to take such a position. One has to wonder, in fact, whether when they make these kinds of complaints they are feeling defensive, as if they know in their hearts that they should not be as enormously wealthy as they are.
He's not the first to propose a weighted system of votes, though. Among those who have are J.S. Mill, normally considered to be a progressive sort for his times. He and like-minded others once made up a band called the Philosophical Radicals, a group of mildly annoyed if not angry young men who involved themselves in politics by advocating for the Parliamentary Reform Bill of 1832 among other things. Mill was eventually elected a member of the House of Commons, though he remained a member of Parliament for a short time only.
It amazes me that Mill could even function after the bizarre childhood he experienced thanks to the machinations of his father James, who sought to turn him into a kind of paragon by forcing him to learn a very large number of things by a very early age. James' efforts resulted in only one nervous breakdown that we know of, and his son remained quite loyal to him, though the son departed from the simple quantitative utilitarianism espoused by his father in various respects.
Mill was also progressive in that he was an advocate of women's rights, a particularly radical position for his time. It's unclear whether he wrote The Subjection of Women himself or with Harriet Taylor, who eventually became Harriet Taylor Mill (Mr. Taylor having been it seems more or less resigned to their romance, and having obligingly died after a time). It's even possible Harriet wrote this essay herself, and that it was published under Mill's name because he had a name, and a well known one.
What Mill proposed, in his Representative Government, differed from the scheme proposed by angry old man Perkins in that it was not so obviously based on wealth. It was more in the nature of a system based on education and experience. So, professionals, professors and such would have a vote worth, say, 4 of the votes of a mere artisan or merchant. It happens that only those with wealth could have obtained the kind of education Mill thought merited a vote worth more than others, so it may have worked out to be a similar proposal.
It isn't entirely surprising that philosophers even in the 19th century took a rather dim view of the common people. There has always been a tendency among philosophers to believe that the common herd must be led, for its own good, by the wise, dating back to Plato. And Mill after his breakdown became close to such as Coleridge and others, and may have held the view that the best form of government would be that of a benign despot or elite until ordinary people could be trusted with their own affairs.
What Perkins proposes though (seriously or not) seems to be based merely on relative wealth. Of course, even "ordinary" people are well educated in comparison to those of the past, and it would be difficult to identify a group of people as wise in these United States. It is easy enough, though, to identify the very rich. The question is, why should the very rich have greater voting power? In what sense does the possession of money and assets establish that one should have a greater voice in determining things government does?
Perkins seems to be drawing a comparison with the way corporations are run. I'm not sure this works, however. Those with more money may buy more shares in a corporation, certainly, and so have more shares to vote. But we must give Mr. Perkins some credit and assume that he is not proposing an equivalent system for our government, in which some people would in effect buy more votes than others.
Is it rather that this system has appeal to him because the wealthy pay more tax? Perhaps he imagines that (assuming they do, proportionately, pay more tax) they thereby make a greater investment in the government, and so should have a greater voice than lesser investors.
But imagining the government is a for-profit corporation or proposing that it be treated as one has its dangers, and one would think the wealthy should be aware of this. Majority shareholders have certain duties to minority shareholders under the law, and officers and directors have duties to shareholders under the law as well. So majority shareholders would be subject to legal action, as would the officers and directors their votes would elect, and surely Mr. Perkins would not want to draw the analogy between corporations and the government that far.
There's also the fact that it seems rather silly to propose that the government should be run like an entity that exists solely for the purpose of making money. We expect our government to do other things, as I think Mr. Perkins would realize if he paused to think for a moment or two. At the least, we want it to maintain a police force to protect ourselves and our property, particularly against the progressives and the common people, that irritating 99% that the 1% think they require protection against.
I suspect the 1% have very little to worry about. While they may be deprived of the right to buy votes outright, money makes our Republic, like the world, go 'round, and in a political system so dependent on money the very rich may buy politicians more easily than they could votes simply by giving them money they require, thereby making them obligated to them in various ways. It isn't likely this system will change anytime soon.
At the end of the day, those like Mr. Perkins who seem to feel offended that they are not well respected or liked by others less fortunate than they are must resign themselves to the fact that they are not sympathetic or heroic figures. There simply is no reason why they should be admired or cossetted merely because they have lots of money, far more than they need, and want to have even more. They may be envied, of course, for their wealth, but that wealth provides them with no status beyond that of being wealthy. That they should feel sorry for themselves or feel they should be pitied is laughable, and renders them absurd.
It seems incomprehensible that those who come within what is now called the 1% should feel put upon by anyone. They are in fact very well off, and it is delusional to suggest otherwise. It takes a special kind of self-righteousness to take such a position. One has to wonder, in fact, whether when they make these kinds of complaints they are feeling defensive, as if they know in their hearts that they should not be as enormously wealthy as they are.
He's not the first to propose a weighted system of votes, though. Among those who have are J.S. Mill, normally considered to be a progressive sort for his times. He and like-minded others once made up a band called the Philosophical Radicals, a group of mildly annoyed if not angry young men who involved themselves in politics by advocating for the Parliamentary Reform Bill of 1832 among other things. Mill was eventually elected a member of the House of Commons, though he remained a member of Parliament for a short time only.
It amazes me that Mill could even function after the bizarre childhood he experienced thanks to the machinations of his father James, who sought to turn him into a kind of paragon by forcing him to learn a very large number of things by a very early age. James' efforts resulted in only one nervous breakdown that we know of, and his son remained quite loyal to him, though the son departed from the simple quantitative utilitarianism espoused by his father in various respects.
Mill was also progressive in that he was an advocate of women's rights, a particularly radical position for his time. It's unclear whether he wrote The Subjection of Women himself or with Harriet Taylor, who eventually became Harriet Taylor Mill (Mr. Taylor having been it seems more or less resigned to their romance, and having obligingly died after a time). It's even possible Harriet wrote this essay herself, and that it was published under Mill's name because he had a name, and a well known one.
What Mill proposed, in his Representative Government, differed from the scheme proposed by angry old man Perkins in that it was not so obviously based on wealth. It was more in the nature of a system based on education and experience. So, professionals, professors and such would have a vote worth, say, 4 of the votes of a mere artisan or merchant. It happens that only those with wealth could have obtained the kind of education Mill thought merited a vote worth more than others, so it may have worked out to be a similar proposal.
It isn't entirely surprising that philosophers even in the 19th century took a rather dim view of the common people. There has always been a tendency among philosophers to believe that the common herd must be led, for its own good, by the wise, dating back to Plato. And Mill after his breakdown became close to such as Coleridge and others, and may have held the view that the best form of government would be that of a benign despot or elite until ordinary people could be trusted with their own affairs.
What Perkins proposes though (seriously or not) seems to be based merely on relative wealth. Of course, even "ordinary" people are well educated in comparison to those of the past, and it would be difficult to identify a group of people as wise in these United States. It is easy enough, though, to identify the very rich. The question is, why should the very rich have greater voting power? In what sense does the possession of money and assets establish that one should have a greater voice in determining things government does?
Perkins seems to be drawing a comparison with the way corporations are run. I'm not sure this works, however. Those with more money may buy more shares in a corporation, certainly, and so have more shares to vote. But we must give Mr. Perkins some credit and assume that he is not proposing an equivalent system for our government, in which some people would in effect buy more votes than others.
Is it rather that this system has appeal to him because the wealthy pay more tax? Perhaps he imagines that (assuming they do, proportionately, pay more tax) they thereby make a greater investment in the government, and so should have a greater voice than lesser investors.
But imagining the government is a for-profit corporation or proposing that it be treated as one has its dangers, and one would think the wealthy should be aware of this. Majority shareholders have certain duties to minority shareholders under the law, and officers and directors have duties to shareholders under the law as well. So majority shareholders would be subject to legal action, as would the officers and directors their votes would elect, and surely Mr. Perkins would not want to draw the analogy between corporations and the government that far.
There's also the fact that it seems rather silly to propose that the government should be run like an entity that exists solely for the purpose of making money. We expect our government to do other things, as I think Mr. Perkins would realize if he paused to think for a moment or two. At the least, we want it to maintain a police force to protect ourselves and our property, particularly against the progressives and the common people, that irritating 99% that the 1% think they require protection against.
I suspect the 1% have very little to worry about. While they may be deprived of the right to buy votes outright, money makes our Republic, like the world, go 'round, and in a political system so dependent on money the very rich may buy politicians more easily than they could votes simply by giving them money they require, thereby making them obligated to them in various ways. It isn't likely this system will change anytime soon.
At the end of the day, those like Mr. Perkins who seem to feel offended that they are not well respected or liked by others less fortunate than they are must resign themselves to the fact that they are not sympathetic or heroic figures. There simply is no reason why they should be admired or cossetted merely because they have lots of money, far more than they need, and want to have even more. They may be envied, of course, for their wealth, but that wealth provides them with no status beyond that of being wealthy. That they should feel sorry for themselves or feel they should be pitied is laughable, and renders them absurd.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Encountering Las Vegas
I had avoided Las Vegas a long time. Virtually everyone I know has been there at one time or another, and have returned to it. But it held no attraction for me. I have no interest in gambling; it seems unreasonable to engage in a pastime which is ultimately for the benefit of the house. The shows seemed for the most part indifferent at best. The stars who perform there are not favorites of mine.
But it was inevitable, I suppose, that I would get there. Now I can say, when asked (and I am, often enough) that I have indeed been to Vegas.
Some of those who've felt it necessary to explain their enjoyment of the place claim that it is an excellent venue in which to watch people. Perhaps it is, if that is what is to be done. But I think people in Chicago and New York are more interesting if one wants to observe. Watching people in Vegas is much like watching people in Disneyworld. Of course, it's often claimed that Las Vegas is a kind of adult Disneyworld, or an adult theme park. Circus Circus, festooned with creepy clowns, plays into that I suppose. The clowns are a mistake, I think. Their very presence would keep me from staying there or even visiting it. It would be difficult for me to retain any kind of self-respect in such a place.
I was there but a short time, and could not see all that's there to see, but I must admit that what I saw was overwhelming. The extravagance inspires something approaching awe. How, one asks oneself, and why, did we human beings create such a place? The size of the resorts with their casinos is most imposing, indeed sometimes staggering. I didn't visit them all, but wandered about the Wynn, the Bellagio, the Venetian, the Mirage, and Caesar's Palace. I remembered Henry James' comment when viewing Roman ruins, something to the effect that people who could build nothing small were as unimpressive as those who could build nothing large. Henry was something of a schlemiel, I think, but size does weigh on the soul after a time.
Perhaps appropriately, the most extravagant, excessive resort I saw was Caesar's Palace. The place is colossal, filled with stores, restaurants, bars, faux Roman statuary, fountains, symbols, not to mention the casino. I couldn't help but wonder if the planners of the resort had Nero's Golden House in mind when it was built. It wouldn't be surprising if that emperor, who pretended to be an artist though mocked by the Arbiter of Elegance, Petronius, built his Domus Aurea to be much the same kind of place. Replicas of the famous statue of Augustus are everywhere. One large replica stands at the entrance from the Strip. The first Roman emperor seems to be gesturing serenely to the large mock hot air balloon emblazoned with the word "Paris" across the way. It stands next to the mock Eiffel Tower, which in turn is next to the mock Arc de Triomphe on which the visage of Gordon Ramsey is displayed.
The carnival-type barkers who accost you along the strip are annoying, especially those trying to hand you cards on which young women in skimpy outfits appear. Somewhat more surprising to see was the gentleman laying on the sidewalk, surrounded by yellow-uniformed police on bicycles. I hope it wasn't a heart attack, and that he was merely flat out drunk.
Las Vegas is, in fact, a very good place to eat and drink, as it is possible to do so quite well, and I confess I enjoy doing both well. The buffets the big hotels put on are famous, and I attended one which had such a variety of food in such abundance that it would make Trimalchio cringe with shame.
What I feel about Las Vegas is that it is a ridiculous place, truly absurd, but there is a kind of magnificence to its absurdity. Absurdity can be amusing when it isn't taken seriously. It's as if a group of people got together and decided to create a vast joke-city exhibiting the most excessive caricatures of famous landmarks and art humanity has constructed and crafted over thousands of years, where people could gather to laugh at the joke while eating good food and drinking good booze. No doubt this speaks to the decadent in me, but I liked it. And yes, like a tipsy MacArthur, I shall return to laugh again.
But it was inevitable, I suppose, that I would get there. Now I can say, when asked (and I am, often enough) that I have indeed been to Vegas.
Some of those who've felt it necessary to explain their enjoyment of the place claim that it is an excellent venue in which to watch people. Perhaps it is, if that is what is to be done. But I think people in Chicago and New York are more interesting if one wants to observe. Watching people in Vegas is much like watching people in Disneyworld. Of course, it's often claimed that Las Vegas is a kind of adult Disneyworld, or an adult theme park. Circus Circus, festooned with creepy clowns, plays into that I suppose. The clowns are a mistake, I think. Their very presence would keep me from staying there or even visiting it. It would be difficult for me to retain any kind of self-respect in such a place.
I was there but a short time, and could not see all that's there to see, but I must admit that what I saw was overwhelming. The extravagance inspires something approaching awe. How, one asks oneself, and why, did we human beings create such a place? The size of the resorts with their casinos is most imposing, indeed sometimes staggering. I didn't visit them all, but wandered about the Wynn, the Bellagio, the Venetian, the Mirage, and Caesar's Palace. I remembered Henry James' comment when viewing Roman ruins, something to the effect that people who could build nothing small were as unimpressive as those who could build nothing large. Henry was something of a schlemiel, I think, but size does weigh on the soul after a time.
Perhaps appropriately, the most extravagant, excessive resort I saw was Caesar's Palace. The place is colossal, filled with stores, restaurants, bars, faux Roman statuary, fountains, symbols, not to mention the casino. I couldn't help but wonder if the planners of the resort had Nero's Golden House in mind when it was built. It wouldn't be surprising if that emperor, who pretended to be an artist though mocked by the Arbiter of Elegance, Petronius, built his Domus Aurea to be much the same kind of place. Replicas of the famous statue of Augustus are everywhere. One large replica stands at the entrance from the Strip. The first Roman emperor seems to be gesturing serenely to the large mock hot air balloon emblazoned with the word "Paris" across the way. It stands next to the mock Eiffel Tower, which in turn is next to the mock Arc de Triomphe on which the visage of Gordon Ramsey is displayed.
The carnival-type barkers who accost you along the strip are annoying, especially those trying to hand you cards on which young women in skimpy outfits appear. Somewhat more surprising to see was the gentleman laying on the sidewalk, surrounded by yellow-uniformed police on bicycles. I hope it wasn't a heart attack, and that he was merely flat out drunk.
Las Vegas is, in fact, a very good place to eat and drink, as it is possible to do so quite well, and I confess I enjoy doing both well. The buffets the big hotels put on are famous, and I attended one which had such a variety of food in such abundance that it would make Trimalchio cringe with shame.
What I feel about Las Vegas is that it is a ridiculous place, truly absurd, but there is a kind of magnificence to its absurdity. Absurdity can be amusing when it isn't taken seriously. It's as if a group of people got together and decided to create a vast joke-city exhibiting the most excessive caricatures of famous landmarks and art humanity has constructed and crafted over thousands of years, where people could gather to laugh at the joke while eating good food and drinking good booze. No doubt this speaks to the decadent in me, but I liked it. And yes, like a tipsy MacArthur, I shall return to laugh again.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
The Will to Will the Will Away (A Rant)
There were once so many wills in philosophy, and are so many ills in life. Are they related? Is the relationship causal, or is it merely that we associate them with each other? The Will to Power, Will to Believe, the Will that is the World. Will must have been a big thing back in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and was evidently such a big thing that it was thought necessary to define not merely life but the universe as a function of will. Or perhaps it was a case of there being a philosophical sucker born every minute, eager to reduce all to a single--will? Desire? Need? Urge?
It hardly matters, as long as it is something, some single thing, preferably, something simple and dramatic. Something, that is to say, that will sell by assuring, comforting, by making things easy. The World as Shills and Simplification, by Ciceronianus, Esquire, J.D. We used to, and still do, long for the One Answer, the Prime Mover, the Magic Elixir. That which will tell us what to do and what it's all about. Will is a particularly convenient Answer, as it is personal in the sense that it's human; what we strive for, what we need, what we want. What could be better than that?
Some find it in religion, some in philosophy. It seemed that philosophy had for a time renounced its pretensions to know what is really real, what it's all about, but I think that time is ending. Now, perhaps, those who are called quietists are rendered silent, and some philosophers will seek to take their place in the great circus, the carnival of life, the spectacle, from the Latin spectaculum. It's a most appropriate derivation, the Romans using that word to describe especially the shows put on in the arena, beast fights, executions, and gladiatorial contests. The Spectacle of the Real. Brought to you by speculation, of course.
This wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, as in the absence of philosophers others have rushed to take their place in the business of Will. Politicians, pundits and priests (well, clergy let us say, ministers, pastors, some self-appointed). These latter don't even seek to plausibly maintain their bold assertions, as lawyers do according to Aaron Burr ("The law is whatever is boldly asserted and plausibly maintained"--those were happier, simpler times), and as philosophers would do, presumably. Or let us in any case hope so, and that the effects of quietism will at least work to mitigate the Sturm und Drang that has characterized the Great Discoverers of Reality in the past.
Sadly, thinking, and especially thinking critically, is both difficult and humbling. Humbling because honesty requires that we apply it to our own pretensions. As such it is something we avoid, as much as possible, in all things. Those who work themselves into a frenzy over our President, shrieking "tyranny," have abandoned thought as it would require them to consider what tyranny actually is; far better to shriek. Those who attach themselves to heroes, idols, cannot think, for in doing so they would understand that all should be questioned, the great as well as the small should be subject to scrutiny which would mean there would be no heroes, just other people--a dismal prospect for many of us. Those who seek the Answer and, worse, believe they've found it won't think either, I'm afraid, as by thinking they'll doubt and those who know the Answer don't doubt.
Undoubtedly we're creatures who have urges and desires, and whether they're to be satisfied and the extent they should be satisfied is a matter for judgment in particular circumstances. Whether it's necessary to reduce them all to one in particular is something I question, particularly when it is power that becomes the alleged basis for our lives--that sort of thing sets hearts pounding and feet marching. That's in the nature of an urge, I suppose, but it isn't at all clear to me that our urges should triumph over much of anything and certainly not our reason. There is nothing inherently wrong with them, but to declare them as fundamental in some philosophical sense is simply to abandon responsibility for our conduct. It is, in short, an excuse. An excuse not to think.
We are perpetually dissatisfied and that dissatisfaction is caused by great, and thoughtless, expectations. Disappointed that the universe doesn't meet those expectations we do just about all we can do except recognize there is no basis for such expectations and so no reason for our disappointment. That's due in part, I believe, to the fact we overestimate the significance and effectiveness of our Will, which is to say, broadly speaking, what we want. Want what we will, there are times, many times, when we won't get what we want. This should teach us something about ourselves, but teaches us nothing about the universe beyond the fact we're a very small part of it.
It hardly matters, as long as it is something, some single thing, preferably, something simple and dramatic. Something, that is to say, that will sell by assuring, comforting, by making things easy. The World as Shills and Simplification, by Ciceronianus, Esquire, J.D. We used to, and still do, long for the One Answer, the Prime Mover, the Magic Elixir. That which will tell us what to do and what it's all about. Will is a particularly convenient Answer, as it is personal in the sense that it's human; what we strive for, what we need, what we want. What could be better than that?
Some find it in religion, some in philosophy. It seemed that philosophy had for a time renounced its pretensions to know what is really real, what it's all about, but I think that time is ending. Now, perhaps, those who are called quietists are rendered silent, and some philosophers will seek to take their place in the great circus, the carnival of life, the spectacle, from the Latin spectaculum. It's a most appropriate derivation, the Romans using that word to describe especially the shows put on in the arena, beast fights, executions, and gladiatorial contests. The Spectacle of the Real. Brought to you by speculation, of course.
This wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, as in the absence of philosophers others have rushed to take their place in the business of Will. Politicians, pundits and priests (well, clergy let us say, ministers, pastors, some self-appointed). These latter don't even seek to plausibly maintain their bold assertions, as lawyers do according to Aaron Burr ("The law is whatever is boldly asserted and plausibly maintained"--those were happier, simpler times), and as philosophers would do, presumably. Or let us in any case hope so, and that the effects of quietism will at least work to mitigate the Sturm und Drang that has characterized the Great Discoverers of Reality in the past.
Sadly, thinking, and especially thinking critically, is both difficult and humbling. Humbling because honesty requires that we apply it to our own pretensions. As such it is something we avoid, as much as possible, in all things. Those who work themselves into a frenzy over our President, shrieking "tyranny," have abandoned thought as it would require them to consider what tyranny actually is; far better to shriek. Those who attach themselves to heroes, idols, cannot think, for in doing so they would understand that all should be questioned, the great as well as the small should be subject to scrutiny which would mean there would be no heroes, just other people--a dismal prospect for many of us. Those who seek the Answer and, worse, believe they've found it won't think either, I'm afraid, as by thinking they'll doubt and those who know the Answer don't doubt.
Undoubtedly we're creatures who have urges and desires, and whether they're to be satisfied and the extent they should be satisfied is a matter for judgment in particular circumstances. Whether it's necessary to reduce them all to one in particular is something I question, particularly when it is power that becomes the alleged basis for our lives--that sort of thing sets hearts pounding and feet marching. That's in the nature of an urge, I suppose, but it isn't at all clear to me that our urges should triumph over much of anything and certainly not our reason. There is nothing inherently wrong with them, but to declare them as fundamental in some philosophical sense is simply to abandon responsibility for our conduct. It is, in short, an excuse. An excuse not to think.
We are perpetually dissatisfied and that dissatisfaction is caused by great, and thoughtless, expectations. Disappointed that the universe doesn't meet those expectations we do just about all we can do except recognize there is no basis for such expectations and so no reason for our disappointment. That's due in part, I believe, to the fact we overestimate the significance and effectiveness of our Will, which is to say, broadly speaking, what we want. Want what we will, there are times, many times, when we won't get what we want. This should teach us something about ourselves, but teaches us nothing about the universe beyond the fact we're a very small part of it.
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