Friday 12 December 2014

Reopening Lines of Communication Part I: Whistling into the Wind?

The following lines were found in a bottle, bobbing around the harbour of Holyhead in North Wales by a salty old sea-dog who was kind enough to forward them to a Concerned Citizen.

Change is in the air and, as every sane person knows, all change is bad. Except, though even here I have my doubts, possibly underwear.
     To me, however, change means much more than underwear. It means heading west, for this is what I have done; specifically, to Ireland. To Ireland for faith, healing, and to seek our fortune. Crossing the great greygreen mother, to misquote Joyce, or more accurately, if you like, ‘the snotgreen sea’, ‘scrotumtightening sea’. Epi oinopa ponton, in so doing I consciously buck the trend in fortune seeking. Few others would, I think, stop here. Most, the native population hereabouts included, expect the Marxian (Brothers, not Karl) injunction, Go West!, to extend at least as far as the next continent. There are, however, compensations to a foreshortened expedition such as this. A more metaphysical frame of mind than one might otherwise encounter, for one; a decent pint of Guinness expertly drawn from dullthudding Guinness’s barrels, for another.
     Thus it is, amid the turmoil of cardboard boxes and trapped fingers, aching backs and yowling cats, busted boilers and bloody unhelpful rental agents, that now seems like the perfect time for a fresh start. The leaky shower is fixed, the chimney swept, the chances of reconnecting to the twenty-first century fading ever further into the distance thanks to the recalcitrance of the national telecoms provider (fully the equal of the rental folks); BBC Radio 4 is but a dream of long ago. When could be better?
     Outside, a cold, sun-soaked mist rises, redgold, lingering in the field next door; and gradually solidifies into sheep as the day draws on.

     Truthfully, with increasing distance the need for solider connections, in close proximity perhaps too lightly held, presses in more urgently. Far from home, though perhaps not that far, in the quiet of the Irish countryside, the underlying principles of our philosophy of reciprocity stand out against the green hills quite clearly.
     Words return, reopening lines of communication in anticipation.  Let us, then, re-establish contact in warmer tones as befits the season and begin again.

(You may be wondering how, in view of the technological difficulties alluded to above, this communiqué found its way to the World Wide Web and thence to you. The answer is simple. With the aid of a new friend and old revolutionary spirit known locally as Skin-the-Cat, he of the old cabman’s shelter Butt below the bridge. He smuggled it out in a bushel shamrocks bound for the Caribbean Island of Montserrat, where everyday is St Patrick’s day and visitors are liberally garlanded with the things the minute they step off the plane.)

     I should, at the outset, try to make clear the point and purpose of these dispatches. They are first steps in considering what seem to me to be some key philosophical issues with which personalist thinkers ought to – and, in fact frequently do – concern themselves. They are, of course, aimed more specifically at engaging you, friendly reader, in conversation. Such engagements are surely our central concern. In view of that, these are very much opening gambits: thoughts, by no means fully formulated, finalised, or finished off; and any contribution you would care to offer to their further development or clarification would be most welcome.
     Like all philosophers, I am profoundly enamoured of the sound of my own voice, especially when it’s written down. Unlike some, I am also captivated by the sights and sounds of others. A melody of voices and perspectives is, after all, the lifeblood of any healthy philosophy.
     In short, I should very much like to know what you think. Especially if you think I’ve gone wrong. Please do get in touch, either directly or using the website forum inside.

     If you have read any of my previous posts, you may have noticed that, in addition to pizza dough, I am very interested in what we mean when we talk about “persons”. Or should we rather say “people”? “Persons” is a category whereas I am quite sure that if our philosophy is to be of any real value we ought to be talking about you and me and everyone else. How we do that and what we mean when we try are, of course, difficult questions, ones to which, I suspect, we shall frequently return.
     The meaning of the concept “person”, with its long and fascinating history, affects the way we approach and think about almost every other serious philosophical question. One of the most obvious of these is, of course, that old metaphysical saw, the mind/body problem. This, no doubt, is something that you have quite clear ideas about already. The central question remains, however, will it ever be possible to perform a brain transplant, as the late and very legendary Peter Cushing demonstrated, using nothing but a kitchen knife and a large jar of bubbly water? And, what’s more, if we do, will the “patient”inevitably go mad and set fire to the laboratory?
     Along side this particular hobby-horse, I shall also make some effort to address the deep philosophical mysteries. Truth, beauty, and goodness, of course; but also questions of cosmic significance: ‘where are my keys?’; ‘where are my trousers?; and ‘why are you looking at me like that?’.
     One topic which, just lately, has increasingly absorbed my attention concerns the purpose of philosophy. As a mode of thought, as an activity, that is, what is philosophy for? Reading the journals, it often seems as though philosophy has degenerated into a kind of word-game; a sort of academic cryptic crossword. (I do not, I confess, enjoy word-games.) This suggests that philosophy, as it is professionally practised, has two purposes: one, to increase the amount of thoroughly unreadable material being published – i.e. material written specifically to be published rather than read – the other, to produce philosophy graduates. In other words, it doesn’t seem to have any real point at all.
     Except, as I discovered quite recently, the possession of a doctorate in metaphysics does, apparently entitle one to perform medical examinations.

     Such uncommon perquisites notwithstanding – they are so rarely required on this side of the Carpathians – the question remains: does philosophy have a point or purpose? Considering the state of the UK education system and the overweening expectation that all education must ultimately have a financial pay-off, it is not one to be easily ignored. Philosophy is under pressure to justify its existence. Playing around with the so-called “cognitive sciences” is hardly a long-term strategy for survival; one might even wonder whether the study of ethics apart from specific applications in medicine and the business world is particularly worthwhile. A surprising number of people live intelligent and intelligibly moral lives without having a degree in philosophy, or even any interest in the subject. The question, sadly, seems to be “what does philosophy buy us?”
     That, I think, is a good subject for a restart, for this return to questions and conversations: the purpose and point of philosophy. It is a subject which a personalist perspective is well placed to address. So that will be the subject of my next correspondence. And if the icy resistance of a telecoms company to switching on a line finally melts and I find myself online, I might even find out what you think about it too, which would be nice.


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