Those Philosophical Thinkers

 

When the background to our lives changes, our words may no longer work as they used to, and possibilities for seeing and understanding each other and the world may be lost. Sometimes, when it matters most, what another person is doing (what we are doing) can be obscure and dark. This is when philosophy comes into its own.

- Metaphysical Animals

What could appeal to me more than a romp around Oxford in the 1930s - 1950s, visiting one of the best bookshops, Blackwell's and the Oxford colleges for lectures and meetings, studying philosophy with those thinkers of the time, discovering how these four women entered daringly into a man's world and stood their own, becoming philosophers, showing they have the brains and courage to stand up the new standards of logical positivism and other newer versions of philosophy that fitted life's meaning into equations but choosing to leave morality out of the equations. These women (Elizabeth Anscombe, Iris Murdoch, Mary Midgely, and Philippa Foot) wanted to go back to moral philosophy teaching - about how to live a good life, asking what is moral and good, what is truth? Back to Plato and Aristotle. 

Side note, I was thrilled to read the recap of the debate in the Oxford Socratic Club with President C.S. Lewis and Elizabeth Anscombe on her criticism of one chapter (on naturalism) of Lewis's book that had just been published, Miracles. That debate has become a widely spread false story that her critique made him scuttle away and write children's books after that. Lewis invited debate, he encouraged it. He thrived on debating and was one of the best. He might have been caught in a good argument in that debate, and he proceeded to modify/edit that chapter in Miracles. Elizabeth, a Catholic, even noted in a letter to Wittgenstein afterwards that Lewis was more civil that she expected. 

WWII came along and cleared out the Oxford scenes so that as the men left for war, the old male tutors and the women who all stayed continued their education and the old ways of philosophy were able to be resurrected. At least for a time...

Philosophy asks the impossible questions. 

I enjoyed Iris Murdoch's first philosophical question at the age of 6 - "The snowdrop hangs its head, why?" "A thought provoking question," she reflected as an adult, "a good introduction to a world which is full of mysteries."

I've grown to love the idea of living into the unanswered questions and thereby embracing mystery. Rainer Maria Rilke introduced me to this amazingly poignant idea of how to live with questions in Letters to a Young Poet. Perhaps that seems lazy or passive, but it is actually an invitation to be actively watching and observing when you might live into an unanswered questions. One day, Rilke wrote, you may just live into the answer. But you must be awake to notice it.

This is where philosophy comes in. Our world shows us the shadow things, the crumbling is before us. We have deep questions. We want a nicely summed up answer, even though we know that isn't likely going to occur. In fact, it may only raise more questions. This, we don't like. However, this is what we should participate with, in a philosophical sense.

We can take consolation in philosophy, following the ideas of Boethius, who was wrongfully imprisoned and put to death. He wrote Consolations of Philosophy in 524 whilst in prison. In this slim book, he has a conversation with the "nurse" philosophy. Why would he turn to philosophy in his last weeks/days? Because it can tackle the toughest questions about life, circumstances, fortune, good and evil, fate, free will. It's a way to ask God these tough questions, just like Job did, and approach Him, not necessarily expecting answers, but taking comfort in the exploration along with knowing you don't have to rely on answers, but only God and His goodness. 

Hidden away in peace
And sure of your strong-built walls,
You will lead a life serene
And smile at the raging storm.

(Consolations of Philosophy, Boethius)

Reading one book leads to many other books, providing branches outward to other books and thinkers. That's exactly what this book did and it's one of my favourite things when that happens.

Joy is the Fundamental Thing

 

Man is more himself, man is more manlike, when joy is the fundamental thing in him, and grief the superficial. Melancholy should be an innocent interlude, a tender and fugitive frame of mind; praise should be the permanent pulsation of the soul. Pessimism is at best an emotional half-holiday; joy is the uproarious labour by which all things lives.

- Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton

This is the second time I have copied this passage out my hand today, because I love it so much. It is a brief summation of the way I hope and pray the I live all the time, being my best self by way of joy. Joy is the big secret of Christianity. Joy is where all things collide with beautiful sparkle of the eternal. Nothing, no circumstances can crush joy - it does not depend on emotion or a daily event happening or not. It is connection with God. It is being more you, deeper in who you are, through God.

Orthodoxy is the spiritual journey Chesterton traces to explain, in his metaphorical, imaginative, and paradoxical ways, how he built the case and came to believe. He gives this wonderful image at the beginning of a man leaving in his sailboat from the shores of England to discover the new religion - the thing he's been searching for. Through all the exploring, he ends up landing on the same shore he left from, the same England, yet with new eyes of discovery. This is his journey of how everything he was searching for he found in Christianity, which had been there all along. He found that it filled the hole that nothing else could fill.

This passage makes makes me delight. It makes me feel whimsical. It opens my mind to the possibilities of life that is alive with joy, and has some small interludes of melancholy when life turns that way, which acts as a springboard into the joy of praise for all the blessings of being alive.

Somehow, with the grace of God, I managed to complete leading a class study of Orthodoxy and came out alive. It is a tough book, but well worth the effort, and it's not too long (under 200 pages). Though I have read it several times since college, it is a challenge. It's one thing to read it on your own and get the general ideas and take away some important key points, whilst skipping the need to fully understand every aspect. It's another thing to lead a class who has never read Chesterton before and perhaps did not enjoy his way of writing. I spent a lot of time digging into this book and learned so much. It's always the great benefit of leading a book study - I become the one in fact who gains so much from all the preparation I did. It is something I love doing. And we all got through! I hope more than anything, to convey interesting ideas to explore more deeply, thanks to Chesterton. 

Joy, which was the small publicity of the pagan, is the gigantic secret of the Christian.

Ah yes, joy is the nugget so fundamental to Christianity. It is the secret that might be forgotten most often. Jesus kind of hid his joy whilst here on earth, yet perhaps displaying snippets of it when he spent time with friends at the wedding (where he chose to perform a miracle so the enjoyment of friends could continue) and many dinner parties he attended. I love the way Chesterton ends the book with joy, and the idea of Jesus's mirth. Something we can imagine with a swelling of joy within ourselves.

Praise for Pausing

 

Two books I have recently picked up to read have been an encouraging presence to remind me to pause and appreciate. One about nature. One about monastic life around the world. Each one with the reminders that unplugging from the world for a bit is good. To appreciate nature and the creation we've been given. And what a quiet, contemplative life looks like in different monastic traditions around the world.

In The Interior Silence by Sarah Sands, we are travelling the world to different monasteries (Japan, Bhutan, England, Italy, Egypt, etc) and learning about why each place is special and set apart from the busy, distracted world that surrounds them. Some are high up in a desolate mountain peak, some are well outside a busy city in the countryside. It is a sort of tourist guide to monasteries, as our author is only staying at each place for a night or two. I would be so curious to learn about how a week or more changes the perspectives and priorities, with reflections on how it has impacted deeper thinking and inner joy from feeling closer to the Creator. The overall resounding theme of each place is simplicity. How can one live in the world but not be of the world? How can one live without the heavy burdens of worries, cares, and other difficult things we carry? And regarding the physical carrying of burdens, monks don't have possessions. So there is this counter-cultural reminder of all the stuff we have and how much we don't need. I felt the urge many times to off load many of my possessions in a fell swoop.

I enjoyed getting to learn about the places she went and how different they are culturally, especially Bhutan and Egypt. I am fascinated. Those two are dramatically different, of course, but equally fascinating. I love the notion of visiting ancient places, like in Egypt, the pyramids in the distance, and a visit to Alexandria. Modern and bustling these places are, built over much of the ancient traces. It reminds me that we are all building and treading over the bones of the dead. And the wisdom of Bhutan, perhaps extreme to a point no other nation will ever want to follow (or are they ahead of us?), in measuring happiness and limiting tourism. Closing themselves off to some extent. I am not sure how that works geopolitically, but the idea of protecting the landscape, the lifestyle, the culture, and promoting values of living simply are appealing, even if viewed as backwards by most modern nations. I am listening in those quiet moments. I am delighted to visit several (from my armchair) places of peace and contemplation, of simplicity and living out generosity. 

In The Brief Life of Flowers by Fiona Stafford is beautifully written. Each chapter is focused on a different flower and she begins with lovely descriptions of a location and the flower thriving. We are reminded that flowers usually represent the fragility of life, and yet they also at the same time show us how new life springs up with every season. It's a beautiful illustration of the both/and philosophy rather than an either/or view of something. We can embrace both aspects of flowers and appreciate them for their gifts in nature. The author beckons us to look at history through the eyes of the flowers, including how they were used in remedies (or how they might poisonous - looking at you, Foxgloves), and draws in many art and literary connections to the flowers, which I love anytime poets and the literary world can be connected. 

Since we are beyond midsummer, I will share this lovely passage from the chapter on roses:

Walls, sheds and garages disappear under mountainous rambling roses, which hang like suspended avalanches of pink and cream. Roses and shoot up trees to make midsummer fireworks of bright white-gold star showers, or stay close tot he ground releasing cascades of soft, small spheres over a terrace or rockery.

I first saw this book at the Oxford Botanic Garden this Spring, which is a perfect place to see such a book and read about such fascinating plants. It will always make me think of that wonderful, old botanic garden I love to visit.