To Love Strong and Do Right: Or, When I Nearly Peed My Pants

This post feels hard to start. I can't let on to too many details (which is already part of the problem) but I hope to write. I need to write. So let me try.

For the past couple of years I've been thinking and writing about many of the same topics: Academic philosophy. Graduate school. Relationships (that start and end). What I'm doing with my life and what I want to do. Where I'll be when I do it. About a year and a half ago I noticed that the nature of my posts was starting to change. Rather than reflecting on the philosophy that I was reading and writing about how it relates to real life, I started to simply write about real life. This blog went from somewhat academically-informed to pseudo self-help insights from a twenty-something-year-old.  That slow distancing from academic philosophy in my blogging reflected a slow separation from academic philosophy in my personal life.  I stopped reading philosophy because I got bored with reading philosophy. Even the stuff that was aimed at me--as a member of the target audience of academic researchers interested in Nietzsche, rhetoric, and writing styles, for instance--was painful to get through. When I would force myself to go to public talks or conference presentations, I found myself getting frustrated and angry. Even the stuff by feminist philosophers seemed to be too insular, too arrogant, or the comments and questions that followed too self-aggrandizing or too antagonistic (and I lost all hope for other philosophy that didn't even try or pretend to be relevant to life and interests outside of academic philosophy). The summary of my relationship with philosophy over the past year goes something like this: I haven't been feeling very inspired. Like a stale marriage, philosophy, it has seemed, just got too far removed from my life. I'm around it all the time. I force myself to keep working at it. I try to make it exciting and plan fun activities whenever I can. Overall, though, we're probably heading down the path toward a divorce. But that's not the part that's hard to write.

In the past couple of weeks my life has taken an unexpected turn. It's not the kind of turn that would immediately change everything in my life like a terrible car accident, getting married, or winning the lottery. However, it could have been. And nevertheless, this event has changed my life in a different way. On the surface, for those who aren't receiving phone calls from me every few days, it very likely appears as though nothing has changed at all. But for me, something very, very big has occurred that has forced me to look deeply, carefully, and lovingly at my life. I've been taking stock of where I am, what I am doing, where I am going, and where I want to be. Same old, same old, right? Wrong. Because this time it's serious. Rather than just musing about the possibilities in a free-floating kind of way that is kept afloat by a low-level, ever-present anxiety about the unknowns of one's future, this is is a type of reflection that takes priorities, values, needs, goals, and dreams very seriously into account. It's the kind of thinking that functions as if you just realized that you're heading into some rapids and you don't have a raft. You start thinking, "How the hell do I get a raft?" or "I need to get off of this river."

These types of moments call for a real practical kind of reflection. One person referred to it as a moment for "course correction." You realize that you are in a place where you don't want to be and never wanted to be. And you come to the painful realization that instead of boldly walking toward your next goal you have been timidly dancing around in circles like a child who has to pee. My apologies for taking this image too far, but these past couple of weeks have been the metaphorical moment when I nearly pissed my pants. Fortunately, I found a really nasty bathroom. It was unpleasant to say the very least, but I'm lucky I could find a bathroom before it was too late. Again, no one need be the wiser about the fact that I almost peed my pants since I'm not walking around with that embarrassing mess all over me. In the public eye, when things are smoothly humming along, "going to bathroom" is one of those things that we have the privilege of forgetting that everyone does. But my goodness, now I know for sure that the next time I'm dancing around in circles it better be out of joy for putting my skills to good use, following my passion, living each day filled with gratitude, and having confidence that if I ever have to pee that badly again that I've already cleaned up my own bathroom, installed a skylight, and decorated the counters with fresh wildflowers. (Sorry. I've been known to take metaphors to the extreme.)

This delicate little branch has been around my neck for over a week now. In that time, it's taken on a symbolic meaning as a reminder to love strong and do right.

With great surprise, and also an unexpected amount of relief, my recent experiences have reinvigorated a deep appreciation in me for philosophy. After all of my years of doing philosophy while saying that it can be incredibly helpful and therapeutic by providing ways for people to think through their experiences and understand them in new ways, this return to philosophy was almost instinctual. In fact, I might even say it was necessary. I started to talk and process and think about what I was going through in ways that called into question the cultural values that perpetuate a kind of shaming silence about our experiences (and how this silence reinforces politically and ethically problematic structures that also maintain an unfortunate--if not unjust--status quo). Suddenly, I was very grateful that I had the tools within myself to understand my own situation in a philosophical way that helped me see how there are identifiable reasons that would typically seem "unrelated" but that are part of why this has been such a difficult situation. Thankful for my own ability to see a picture that went beyond pitiful-ol'-me-who-unexpectedly-had-to-pee, I was reminded that there are many, many, many important issues that affect lots of people's lives in profound ways. Rather than embracing the notion that "ignorance is bliss" and acting like these things don't affect us or the people we know and love, I remembered just how important it is to raise awareness and encourage a kind of public discourse that empowers, supports, and honestly addresses people in thoughtful and helpful ways. In short, thanks to the difficulty of recent events in my life, I have suddenly felt very much inspired to do philosophy.

As part of my effort to build up a better bathroom for myself and others, I'm refocusing my energy on what I'm good at, what I value most, and how I can best use the skill set that I have been gifted through my experiences. (Did I say I would quit with the metaphor? No. Is it confusing if you don't know what I'm talking about? Probably. Here's a hint: "bathroom" refers to a number of things so don't think about it too hard. Just keep reading...I'm almost done anyway.) I don't know if this means that I will be doing professional academic philosophy. But I really want it to mean that I find a way to help people think about their experiences in ways that inform practical ways of living that are empowering, therapeutic, and transformative on social, political, and personal levels. In other words, my goal is find a way to keep doing philosophy that remains true to the real reasons why I got into it in the first place. That way may be known by a different name but I want philifesophy to be at the heart of it.

Amor Fati

There are many things that I don't get very well. I don't understand how or if the mass of the planet and the speed of the earth's rotation compel me to stay stagnant to counter how much I'm already moving, or if the gravity of the sun which keeps our little ball in orbit affects my moods more than the rise and fall of its good mornings and good-byes do. Maybe it's the the tug of our growing and fading moon which hovers around so silently yet stirs up the crashing of waves that pulls my spine upright as I exhale the fog of my mind away. Perhaps it's as simple as the tectonic plates that move at the rate of a fingernail's pace that won't let my heart feel fully grounded. In precisely one year, I've taken a wide revolution around the sun while ten million breaths have come and gone, and after it all, I'm still right where I had begun. I've found myself here again. The air remains crisp, sometimes too thin to bear, but upon this return--  

Improving The Golden Rule By Going Platinum

Sometimes it hits me that I am getting older. And one thing I've noticed from my experience of getting older is that I've realized just how many little drops of wisdom my father has given me over the years. I didn't notice how they were adding up with time, but there are a few key phrases that he has said enough to make them stick in my mind as, "Things my Dad always said." One of my favorites is something that he got from his father, which actually reflects a key idea in Taoism: "Don't force something or you might break it." While it think that his father mentioned it with respect to fixing cars, it applies to lots of other things, too, from opening paint cans to being in relationships. Another is, "Always follow the highest that you know." Of course it's not about drugs--it is about taking the moral high road and doing what you know should be done in any given situation. Finally, one thing that my dad has always said, which may be most familiar to others since many of us have heard it from our mothers and fathers, preschool teachers and even religious texts, is this: "Treat others they way that you would want to be treated." It's also phrased something like this: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." It's known as The Golden Rule.

I love my father. And I'm not trying to continue my rebellious streak at the ripe old age of 25, but over the recent past I've been thinking about The Golden Rule and I'm getting to a point where I can see more clearly how it doesn't quite hit the mark.

Here's why:

Although The Golden Rule is supposed to teach us compassion and kindness for others, to orient our actions based on how we would like to be treated maintains a focus that first and foremost considers ourselves before it considers others. It says, "What about me? How would I like to be treated? What would I want others to do for me?" Of course, since The Golden Rule is intended to guide us in how we treat others, this is one step in direction that moves us away from simply serving our own interests. It helps us not act as self-centered, inconsiderate children who haven't learned good manners. But it takes our own interests as the ground that informs our actions and then applies that to others. It still focused on ourselves. Me. I. It's still pretty immature after all.

It was nearly eight years ago when I heard of a different take on the The Golden Rule. An older friend of mine, another sort of parent figure, suggested that instead of treating others how we would like to be treated, we should treat others how they would like to be treated. He referred to it as The Platinum Rule.

 
Aside from the epistemological difficulties of actually knowing how another person would want to be treated and the potential risks of acting in ways that could be read as paternalistic and condescending, I think there is a really great kernel of wisdom to be found in The Platinum Rule. Ultimately, I think it serves the same purpose as The Golden Rule, namely, to encourage us to act in ways that reflect compassion, care, and respect. But it just does it so much better.

Perhaps The Platinum Rule hasn't quite caught on with the masses because it is more difficult. It requires that we put in more effort and real consideration to reflect from another person's position, to take the time to understand their needs, to get to know them well enough so that we can actually treat them with respect in the way that they would like and need to be treated. It demands that we step outside of ourselves,our own interests, and perhaps even our own comfort zones and do things in ways that we perhaps wouldn't typically do them. Maybe we wouldn't even think about doing them in such and such a way. But that is why it requires and demonstrates a greater commitment to serving the other and taking care of his or her needs first. That is why it shows a deeper level of care and concern. By seeing through the eyes of another person and stretching our notions of what it means to show love and respect, our actions may no longer reflect how we would prefer to act or how we would prefer to be shown love and respect. They testify, "I'm doing this for you because I know that you would like me to do thus," even it if doesn't jive with my usual M.O. or how I, myself, would like to be shown that I am cared for and loved. While it may be quite possible that the needs and desires and preferences of different people are not totally divergent from one another, actions that follow The Platinum Rule can stand on their own, completely independent from the thought, "I wish that you would also do this for me."

For lots of people, myself included, showing and expressing our love, gratitude, respect, and care for other people can be a hard thing to get good at.  That's why it's helpful to have some basic guidelines that generally cultivate us into being better people: listen to the other person; inquire about their life and how they are doing; accompany them at their side through challenges and hard times; celebrate their joys and victories with them; let them know that you see that they are special and valuable and worthy of being loved, even if they already know it for themselves; let them know when you are thinking of them; check in and say 'hello' just to say 'hello.' But even with fairly standard codes of generally good conduct, it takes more to be able to really love and care for another person. It takes more than good manners (although they are certainly part of it). It requires patience, vulnerability, openness, empathy, generosity, and growth.

It requires genuine love to actually express genuine love. 

These are not traits that we can develop very easily or very quickly, nor are they qualities that we can really embody for everyone whom we encounter. But perhaps for those closest to us, we can work to push ourselves further to really become better, more loving, more giving people. We can start by learning a new principle about understanding and meeting others needs on their own terms and trying to grow into that. And when someone says, "I'm going Platinum, baby!" we can celebrate the possibility that they are not simply ambitious rap artists, but rather ambitious friends and loved ones who mean to indicate to us their commitment and dedication to being better friends and loved ones.

For myself, no matter how old I get, I know that there is always more room to grow. And in this respect, I hope that we all continue to do so.

Whole-Hearted Vulnerability

If there is one theme that I have followed in my personal and professional and philosophical life, it is that of vulnerability. Being open and willing to be imperfect, to be dependent on and affected by others, to recognize that we are shaped by our experiences and that we close ourselves off to those experiences when we seek to control everything, especially in the effort to avert "difficult," "hard," or even painful emotions--this is the stuff of life.

For the past few months, I have been reading philosophical texts on embodiment, phenomenology, and affect. I am studying notions of intercorporeal existence, authentic love and radical generosity in the face of alterity, and psychosomatic examples of aphasia as not just a refusal to speak, but a more existential refusal of the ontological relations we have with others and the world. In other words, we are not independent, autonomous, isolated beings who can be characterized as pure minds or mechanistic machine-bodies. Rather, we exist--in body, mind, psyche, and even biochemically--in relation to others, history, culture, nature, and the world. When the conversation turns to ethics, many philosophers suggest that this leads us to notions of freedom, responsibility, and forgiveness.

All of this reminds me of my thought process during the summer before coming to graduate school. As I was familiarizing myself with theories in feminist philosophy and more "Continental" thinkers like the existentialists, there was a distinct moment when I thought, "Hasn't all of this stuff on interrelationality already been said, like thousands of years ago?" I was pretty sure that it had been, at least by one person (Seriously, though, I know there are many more).

Over 2,500 years ago, the Buddha's key insights were that nothing is permanent and all things are interdependent. This means that there is a transitory nature to reality and everything that *is* comes out of a conditional, dependent arising. There is nothing eternal, independent, or separate--no soul, no essence, no simple "I" to be found. Once again, I will say that I am grateful that I was assigned to teach "Asian Philosophies" this semester, in part because I am able to have conversations with my students about what these insights mean for us in terms of our daily lives. We've talked about reframing our values, our participation in global economic markets, and even our conceptions of mental health by way of non-attachment, compassionate understanding, "seeing more clearly" the nature of things, and bearing witness to the parts of life that often lead us into dis-ease, anxiety, fear, and unhappiness--the hard facts like sickness, old age, and death. We talk about alleviating "dukkha," which is very roughly translated as "suffering," through compassion, wisdom, and non-attachment. Through practicing a bit of mindfulness and meditation, we have tried to recognize when we are motivated out of fear, aversion, confusion, or craving, even as students who need good grades to get good jobs, or boyfriends and girlfriends who might get cheated on, or (like me) food lovers who have to face that the key-lime gelato simply can't last forever. It's been a good class. I've learned a lot.

And now, I finally had time to watch this video. Some of my more "whole-hearted" friends and family members were passing it around a couple of months ago, but the delay in my viewing is not important. The message is still a good one. She's not a Continentalist philosopher who speaks with impenetrable language, and she's probably not enlightened like the Buddha, but I do think that she, as a social worker, is touching on something very fundamental about our human experiences. Turns out there may be many paths to some basics of life.

As Dr. Brene Brown notes, we live best when we feel loved, worthy, and connected to others. And yet, this is hard because it requires that we also make ourselves vulnerable. In fact, we have to face that vulnerability with an honest, courageous authenticity. And when our vulnerability enables us to feel gratitude, joy, and love in life, it also means that we must risk feeling other emotions as well, including disappointment, rejection, and being misunderstood.

Maybe there is some comfort in knowing that almost all of the people who think on this theme seem to agree on one thing: Ironically enough, it is by making oneself vulnerable that one finds the strength to deal with more difficult experiences. And more ironic still, if one's strength stems from vulnerability, one might actually be met with even greater love, belonging, and connection with others, which in turn might make even the most difficult experiences in life more manageable, or less difficult.

As great as this is, I wonder how much the less "whole-hearted" get it? Especially after trying to talk to a room of thirty 19-21 year olds for the past thirteen weeks about these ideas and frequently having to myself admit that I have hit some brick pedagogical walls when they admit that they just don't get it, these insights seem less like the kind of stuff that can be taught. We can talk about it, but that does not mean that it will be heard and understood, although I wish it would. I have the sense that these sort of things have to be figured out and experienced for oneself. And that might take some time. Probably more than a semester. Perhaps even a lifetime.

So, here's to the practice and the journey!

Heroic Imaginings, and Reality Checks

Reading Nietzsche has been very slow going for me because he makes me think, and as in this case, I sometimes indulge in these thoughts by writing. When I read Nietzsche, it seems that he is speaking directly to me, to right where I am in this moment. How could it be that just as I am remembering one of the most significant people who has shaped me, and more specifically, the truly incredible amount of love, devotion, and commitment that this one human being has shown me, Nietzsche writes about heroes, delusion, and vanity? Lest that seems like too harsh of a connection, hold on. More on this in a bit...

As an example of Nietzsche's impeccable timing and insight, I just saw "The Adjustment Bureau," which has been praised for its philosophical musings on free will and determinism but which, thanks to the personally peculiar intersections of casting, plot, and script, actually raised bewildering questions in me like, "Is all of this, my feelings, my thoughts, and even me seeing this particular movie right now, some coincidence?? Is it fate?" Though this film may not be the most salient example of inspirational art, Nietzsche notes that the metaphysical need is so strong, even in free spirits, that "the highest effects of art easily produce a reverberation of a long-silenced, or even broken metaphysical string." As the strange "coincidences" of the movie shake me, so too does the timeliness of Nietzsche's words. Might even the fact that I have been reading Nietzsche be part of a great playing out of destiny?! Is this, perhaps, evidence of Nietzsche great skill for contradiction? Or does it mark his brilliance? Responding to my situation of wonder--or doubt--or longing--Nietzsche writes, "If he becomes aware of his condition [of the metaphysical need], he may feel a deep stab in his heart and sigh for the man who will lead back to him the lost beloved, be she called religion or metaphysics. In such moments, his intellectual character is being tested" (Section 153, Human, All Too Human). Am I, in identifying so strongly with a movie and considering my experiences and latest wonderings as perhaps a strange series of fated events, actually demonstrating Nietzsche's point? Is this an exposure of my metaphysical longing?

This situation is a very complicated. Let's go back to heroes, delusion, and vanity.

Some people are truly inspirational. They achieve miraculous things and seem to evidence superhuman capacities to give, to heal, to lead, to love. Many of their stories give life to history. (Name your hero, and note that they may equally turn out to be another's tyrant.) They are the people whose character traits provide resources for great myths and compelling movies. These are heroes who save lives or countries by virtue of their courage, their unbelievable physical and emotional strength. These are heroes who express inexhaustible depths of love and passion, who will do anything, especially sacrifice their own life, for the one they love. They are those who, in everyone's eyes, are simply larger than life, and because of this, they inspire awe, amazement, admiration. They might motivate others to live like them, to emulate their qualities. Or more often, they are praised out of another's vanity. In a sense, their incredible feats of love, strength, power inspire fear and inadequacy in others, so they are set apart as miraculous exceptions. We worship them out of our vanity, our self-love, because, as Nietzsche writes, "it does not hurt only if we think of it as very remote from ourselves, as a miracle (even Goethe, who was without envy, called Shakespeare his star of the farthest height, recalling to us that line, "Die Sterne, die begehrt man nicht"--one does not covet the stars)." I have known and been loved by one of these stars.

But while there are these heroes who have loved from the most devoted and unwavering depths, the source of their magical power is also in need of explanation. Are they really "super human," or, perhaps, are they themselves the most caught up in the fantastic stories of myths and movies? Perhaps they are borderline figures who simply believe themselves to be heroes. Borderline delusional. Borderline magical because they actually believe in themselves so much that they are, or become, just as incredible as they imagine themselves to be. Whereas one might be tempted to criticize such fantastic faith in oneself as a heroic figure, Nietzsche notes that such valuations, if they turn out to be criticisms, are likely misguided. This is because seeming can become being.

Nietzsche writes, "If someone wants to seem to be something, stubbornly and for a long time, he eventually finds it hard to be anything else. The profession of almost every man, even the artist, begins with hypocrisy, as he imitates from the outside, copies what is effective. The man who always wears the mask of a friendly countenance eventually has to gain power over benevolent moods without which the friendliness cannot be forced--and eventually then these moods gain power over him, and he is benevolent" (Section 51). Is it possible that in playing the part and going through the motions, one could act so compellingly that she actually convinces herself of the truth of the very idea that she aims to embody? Most importantly, could this go beyond mere "convincing" and enter into actual being? Can one cultivate these abilities? These feelings??

In the next section Nietzsche goes on to explain that "all great deceivers" undergo the same process where "the belief in themselves overcomes them." Without coming out of this condition of self deception, what some might call faith, these individuals can inspire others. In love as well as in religion, but one might also say sports, theater, politics, and sometimes even life in general, "Self-deception must be present, so that both kinds of deceivers can have a grand effect. For men will believe something is true, if it is evident that others believe in it firmly." The effect, then, is the most significant element. Not the cause, not the root of one's undying love, but rather the effect it has on oneself and another. Tragic lovers are inspirational not simply because they love so deeply, but because they themselves believe so firmly in their capacity to do so. And they inspire us to believe in them as well.

But despite the effects that such people might inspire, there is a risk to all of this as well insofar as "delusions often have the value of curatives, which are actually poisonous. Yet in the case of every 'genius' who believes in his divinity, the poison at last becomes apparent, to the degree that the 'genius' grows old" (Section 164). Though it is the belief in one's greatness that can actually lead one to such great heights that set him apart from all others, in some (Nietzsche gives Napoleon as an example, and some might point to Nietzsche himself as an example, as well) "this same belief turned into an almost mad fatalism, robbed him of his quick, penetrating eye, and became the cause of his downfall." Eventually, it seems, one's conviction can lead to their demise. One's passion is more thoroughly deflated when it is unrealized...or proves to be unrealizable. If one does not, or cannot, live up to one's own expectation, if faith does not beat "fate," then the ultimate disappointment unravels to reveal the greatest weakness. This is a problem for the heroic, self-deceptive believer. The hero is, after all, a very tragic figure.

But what about those who believed? What about those who felt so inspired and wanted to believe in these heroic figures? What happens when the heroic lover falters? What happens when the great leaders fall? At times, we might suffer from our own disillusionment about ourselves, but these heroic figures can also be parents, friends, teachers and lovers in whom we did believe, and perhaps still want to believe.

From all of this we can learn that there is some necessity in error, illusion, delusion. Sometimes, it is necessary for life. Always, it tests our character and strength.