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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