Philosophical Musings (Thoughts on Nonsense)

All too often (and I know I’m guilty of this) we seek to generalize or conclude about some aspect or observation of a person or the world – rather than attempt to really grasp (its) essence, at least confront openly and try to understand the parts, the reasons why it is the way it is…most of us automatically summarize and rush to a conclusion, flittingly without further reflection, move on to the next thing. Critical thought or a ‘process of thought’ has gone by the wayside, we merely skim over – speed read our way through life. Near enough is always good enough, basing our judgements on superficial and spurious premises, only adding to the world’s confusion rather than seeking earnestly to find the truth.

A good example of this absence of “thinking” is our use of language. Language is a tool in which to exist in the world. Language is culturally specific, that is to say, it changes, and certain words have a variety of different meanings depending on one’s race, culture or group. Wittgenstein called this Language Games, relative use of terms within particular frameworks can and does, make-up our knowledge of the world.

Language can either set us free or chain us to a dark and false way of existing. Often we engage in these ‘language games’ without thinking about what we are saying, and whether noticing what we say is based on fact, in other terms, communicating things that ‘can’ be described without falling into nonsense.

The 20th century thinker, Ludwig Wittgenstein, believed that confusion in the subject of philosophy lies in our use of language. It was his notion that the purpose of philosophy was to untangle the subjects ‘confusions”, its muddled language, attaining clarity of thought, expression and perspective, leading to understanding.

Most of us are guilty in our misuse of language when it comes to describing those things that are indescribable…in the case of metaphysics, for example, philosophers have expounded on the ‘true nature’ of the universe or the reasons for our existence, creating vast systems of belief, notions of the very core of life. These systems involve describing the human beings ‘true’ nature, and telling us how we feel or should feel, and why one act is wrong and another action, the right and virtuous one. Engaging in describing the indescribable is nothing but nonsense, but because we have forgotten how to think, we accept and ignorantly move on…

For most of us I believe it comes down to basic old laziness. We have forgotten how to think. Taking words and thought at face-value, accepting “received wisdom” without critical thought, without analysing, has made us into passive receptacles, always going with the flow. It is really too hard to think, so we hang back and chill, letting someone else run our minds and lives.

What is nonsense?

According to the Austrian logician, nonsense is an attempt to describe the indescribable.

When reading the newspaper, gazing at the television, listening to people speak, if vigilant, can hear nonsense, that is to say, people describing things that cannot be described. Because of our lack of “thinking” we make assumptions about people’s thoughts or feelings and judge these assumptions as true. When in reality, certainly, we cannot “know” the feelings of other people, but we assume we can. Really, no-one actually “knows” what another person thinks or feels. We assume we know based on certain language games, usually based on spurious evidence, and all these descriptions are, in the cold light of day, pure nonsense.

Psychoanalysis is a pertinent example of using language games to confuse and draw us into (its) game, based on theory, telling us how we feel and why we feel the way we do. Our modern world has pendulum swung from facts to games of assumption and specious knowledge of the unknowable, accepting nonsense because we have lost the aptitude of critical thought.

Why?

It is laziness, perhaps, or possibly unwillingness to go against something seemingly out of our control.

Language is the key to understanding, and using this tool to seek the truth rather than obscure it, is necessary, probably now more than ever.

But this could be, well… all nonsense.

The Mysterious Grandeur of The 12 Apostles.

Although having lived in Victoria, Australia for many years, have never ventured out to see these marvellous rock formations so named The 12 Apostles. Of course have seen pictures on many “Tourism’ advertisements in the newspaper and on television over time; however the opportunity never presented itself to actually witness these natural wonders.

We set-out in the early morning after breakfast along The Great Ocean Road towards Port Campbell, the home of this holy site. The drive was pleasant enough, the scenery a blend of rain forest and cattle-grazing green pastures.

Only a 90 minute journey from Apollo Bay, we arrived to blue skies and moderate winds. Many tourists could be seen walking on the man-made pathways along the edge of the cliffs, peering out over the coastline, gazing in utter amazement, at these strange rock formations of a seeming brittle-like sandstone composition, jutting out from the ocean like Excalibur, like ruins from and ancient civilization.

Because my intent on this trip was to immerse myself into the sight and sounds of the environment, brought out my sketch book and started to draw these unusual rocks. Finding the appropriate position, a comfortable perspective, my pen began to scratch in earnest along the page. During these moments, time slows down to a leisurely crawl; the “outside world” diminishes to almost nothing and all that exists is the object of my study.

Suddenly a tap on the shoulder interrupted my concentration and looking down, a little girl stood there looking up at me, and asked, “Are you an artist?”

Feeling a little off balance, I said, “Sometimes.”

“Can I see your picture?”

Bending down I showed her the half drawn sketch. She blushed and smiled, running off, I assume, in search of her mother. Resuming the drawing, a few minutes later, another tap on the shoulder and this time a middle-aged woman, slightly on the chunky side wearing a bright red ski jacket, asked, “Sorry, can I ask what you’re doing?”

“Trying to draw a different perspective of the rocks.”

I must have sounded a tad annoyed because she said, “Sorry, it looks really good.” Thanking her for the compliment, she strolled off in the opposite direction. I found this question a little strange because I thought it was obvious what I was doing.

Time passed and in the background I could hear an assortment of various languages: German, Japanese, Malaysian and French. Though not understanding any of them, their tone was the same, amazement at these mysterious rocks along a beautiful coastline.

There is something timeless and mysterious about the rocks: The sound of the surf and constant tide, slowly pushing the coastline back further and further inland. At the risk of sounding banal and clichéd, nothing is more true to form than nature’s art; these rocks are individual sculptures, specifically moulded, created by the hands of the sea.

My first experience with The Twelve Apostles was much more than a pleasure; it was an event to remember.

A Lighthouse and a Warm Little Cottage.

It is a wonderful treat to have a two week break in the middle of the school year. Since teaching high school, this time of the season, the winter months, can be breathtaking, so manage to take flight somewhere in this beautiful state in search of new sights, unusual surroundings, intent on moving outside the familiar. I’ve discovered this activity does wonders for one’s general sanity, well being and somehow creates balance to a life that has a tendency to tip too far in a certain direction. Moving out of the neibourhood, at least for a few days, is not the key to happiness, but can provide a rest from the banalities, routines and vagaries of one’s day to day existence.

Arrived in Apollo Bay after sunset in the midst of a rain storm.

The Great Ocean Road is truly a sight to behold, only the beginning of a week of sights to excite the senses and move the soul.

Our cottage is a lovely bed and breakfast. A two-story, re-furbished house…polished wooden floors, wooden staircase leading to a loft-like bedroom over looking the rolling green hills reminiscent of Sussex in England. The countryside is vast with cow’s grazing down towards the east and sheep, appearing like tiny white dots to the south against shades of brown and black while shadows travel leisurely across the landscape. As I stand at the window the outstanding quality about this environment is its silence. After the rain had stopped, however, the faint sound of the ocean’s surf gently echoed in the distance.

Entering the cottage for the first time, strangely, on the wall next to the fire-stove, hangs a large print of one of my favourite J.W. Waterhouse paintings: a little girl dressed in white leans over amongst ancient ruins to smell red and white roses in black vases. Why I call this “strange” is that this was the first Waterhouse painting I ever purchased, giving it to my grandmother as she spent her last months in a small room in my mother’s house. She loved this painting and it seemed to make her happy as it brightened the room. At first startled because I had not seen the painting for years, later it became a kind of comfort, creating a warm feeling in the house.

The next morning, we left the cottage around eleven, driving for only 30 minutes or so, to arrive at the light station.

As luck would have it, the morning was clear and crisp with the sound of the surf and the smell of salt in the air.

The Cape Otaway Light Station had been built in 1848 by orders from the Prime Minister at the time because several shipwrecks had occurred in the area.

On the grounds inland from the white tower, stood the old Head Light Keepers Residence, constructed in 1857; not far away was the Assistant Light Keepers Residence which has been turned into a café for visitors like us. The assistant Residence also was used as a school house for the children and one can actually feel the history as you move from room to room, almost hearing the joyous laughter of the students as they learned their lessons and played precariously next to the cliffs.

As an amateur artist, I had brought my sketch book along, sitting in the café and gazing at the magnificent lighthouse, a beacon of hope for lost sailors. Sipping my coffee and drawing with care, a local man walked up behind me, not saying a word. His presence did not bother me as I continued to draw the lighthouse. Once finished he said, “Most people take a few pictures and leave, grumbling about the admission. It’s good to see someone take the time to “look” at this wonderful place. It’s not a bad picture either, mate.”

I think it was the 19th century art critic and writer, John Ruskin, who advised that to truly experience meaning and the beauty of the sights you come upon when travelling, one should sit still and write about them, draw the landscapes, the buildings, the objects of interest, and the experience will be that much more meaningful and memorable. Drawing the light house did indeed create, personally, something akin to “being in the moment”…my appreciation for the place grew the longer I lingered and studied its details, nuances and history.

Later that night at home in the cottage, I stirred the fire, adding more wood causing the flames to come back to life. Showered, clean, fed, warm and tired, I jumped into bed between washed crisp sheets to then fall into a deep sleep with nothing but the scent of the sea and sweet silence.

May I come in?

The children have all now flown from the nest, grown older, following their respective goals and dreams. For most parents this can be a double edged sword, an irony, really; we want them to leave, but have a difficult time scooting them over the edge. We want them to stay with us forever but desperately need them to go.

When do you know it is time to push them out and create their own families?

Parents tell me that it is a natural process and so do the children.

My friend and I walk most mornings between 6am & 7am… we hear familiar sounds, see the same light appear, a new day born, can at times hear and understand each other’s thoughts. This is a magical time of the day. It is these times we talk freely, the topics ranging from philosophy to knitting.

On this walk she conveyed to me a wonderful tale.

“My brother is a great soul, he makes more money than he can spend, loves his life with his partner because well, all the kid’s have grown and moved away.

This can be hard for some parents whose entire life revolved around their children…a void created, a void needing to be filled.

On a walk one morning he came across a little Cocker Spaniel, acting strange, following him…

In fact the little girl was relentless, following my brother home, and remaining in the front yard, wearing a forlorn expression, hoping to be fed.

Concerned after many weeks, because she was a well behaved and a loving animal, now naming the dog, Stephanie, my brother set upon finding the true owners, and why, in God’s name, would anyone leave a middle aged Cocker Spaniel with so much heart?

It was then my brother, feeling guilty, thinking Stephanie was missed, made a flyer and distributed it around the neibourhood.

LOST DOG – COCKER SPANIEL: BLOND, OLD AND BEAUTIFUL. Please contact…

After a few days someone responded.

An address on the note, my brother followed its directions and met the last owners of little Stephanie.

“We are in a bad way. Can you take our dog into your home? No one wants her, can you take her?”

My brother found the house to be empty of furniture and of life. Most had already moved out and moved on.

Of course my brother agreed to take Stephanie and the previous owners seemed relieved.

However for some reason Stephanie had disappeared, but only for a day.

The next day the little Cocker Spaniel appeared at the front door of my brother’s house with an old and tattered “teddy bear” in her mouth. The dog knew this move was now permanent and set out to find her most valued possession, to then join her in her new home. Stephanie absolutely knew that the move was a sure thing and brought her prized possession, her stuffed teddy bear.

The void my brother’s children had left was now filled with Stephanie.”

I found this story touching because all too often we believe animals to be less than intelligent, devoid of character or soul.

The story of Stephanie confirms that animals do have character and more soul than most.

Small Tales of Love

Fill It Up!

Over the last ten to twenty years, perhaps more, a phenomenon or fascinating chain of events occur because of a particular area of “focused attention”. While in university, for example, studying literature and philosophy, I’d perchance read an article on Neo-Gothic architecture and suddenly I notice that the entire city of Melbourne, more than likely, has the finest examples of this 19th century revival – neo gothic architecture now is everywhere! By focusing my attention on the subject, this opens my awareness, and suddenly I begin to ‘see’ it all around me…

Another example is music. I will focus on a particular group, style, time period, genre or composer to then suddenly begin to hear it on a daily bases, all though by pure chance: hearing Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings in local pubs, over the radio and while visiting a friend’s home… I love this piece of music, and discovering it, listening to the piece’s haunting sounds in my home, it seems to move out into the world…and all at once it is played everywhere.

Another example is specific subjects of study.

In the case this week, my focus of study has been the philosophical discipline of Ethics, more particularly, Aristotle’s wonderful instruction on virtues and his “Doctrine of the Mean”. Rather than launching into an explanation of this doctrine, let me just say that the virtues themselves are worthy to emulate or strive towards.

It is my observation that all of us, whether we are aware of it or not, are in possession of at least one particular virtue. It does not matter whether priest, criminal, despot, poor, rich or in between, we possess one "strength", one virtue...compassion, courage, generosity, kindness, loyalty, humility, perseverance, patience, etc. To be sure, we all have at least one of these strengths and will “present” this virtue in life without even thinking about it because it is part of ourselves, something close to home.

The other day I listened to an acquaintance tell a story that is worthy of re-telling.

He is an American from New York City that has been visiting Australia over the last seven years because he married a good Aussie girl who insists on visiting her parents once a year…fair enough. John is a big guy and very intelligent and this latest trip “down under”, has brought the family a little granddaughter only six years of age.

Last weekend they visited one of our more popular shopping centres, that is, grandma, mum, dad and the little one.

As some men do not like “shopping” per say, my acquaintance felt hungry, a little tired and somewhat grumpy, telling the two, that he was taking the little one to the food court for a feed.

The little girl likes to ‘talk’ (non-stop, he says) and climb on his back like a good six year old would…

Not at all feeling well, he told his daughter in a somewhat stern voice:

“Daddy loves you but today has run out of patience, so I really want you to be good.”

As they sat down at a table, the little girl put her hand against dad’s temple, like a faucet, making a weird noise.

Dad asks, “What are you doing, honey?”

“I’m filling you back up with patience!”

He said that he stopped for a brief moment and looked at his little girl and knew that she was very special.

During the meal, the pet casually leans over and says, “Dad how is your patience?”

He said he just kissed her at this point.

Why I bring this story up in this BLOG, is that short but interesting anecdotes about life are always fun to read and more often educational.

Patience, unfortunately, is not one of my virtues, but one I’m striving towards and to hear that story confirms that patience is one of the most important virtues of them all...