I’m not sure that I want a dog, but a dog is what I am currently in possession of, and it presents something of a dilemma for me.
Let’s start with the apparent facts.
First, the canine in question was abandoned on a side street of South Korea with its puppy—she was protecting the little guy but not ferociously.
Second, she has obviously been somewhat domesticated: she has been trained to save up her defecations for the walk, she seems to only ever want to eat human food—turning up her abandoned nose at the dry dog food I purchased for her, and she is generally well-mannered.
Third, she is cute in that mangy, street dog kind of way—I’m sure that there is a fashion trend somewhere along the line that could best illustrate what I mean.
Fourth, she has this tendency, whenever I touch her (and this has, for some reason, been a theme amongst myself and female dogs that I could never properly explain) she has a tendency to empty a bit of her bladder on my floor. This is not exactly serious because I was at first worried that I would be cleaning up dog crap, and dog urine is less offensive than dog crap in the cleanup department.
Fifth, my time in South Korea is going to be coming to an end in about six months, and that raises a lot of “what if?” questions about her future when I leave.
Sixth, she requires two walks a day (morning and evening to help empty that problematic bladder as much as possible) and she has basically added an hour of chores to my already pretty packed days.
Seventh, weekends in Korea can be wild times, and I can be away from home for days on end, which means that I would have to find something to do with her in the meantime.
Eighth, the girl that I am currently spending a lot of time with has an aversion to dogs that goes back to a childhood incident wherein she was chased for a very long time by a very big white dog that was apparently trying to injure her—the veracity of the story only called into question by the chase (dogs aren’t known to chase people unless the people want them to) and the fact that the dog was big (the biggest dog I have seen in Korea is an eight-month-old beagle). Now, they do have wild dogs in Korea that are apparently very big and very feral, so we don’t want to discount that fact, and it barely matters whether the story is real or not because the reality is in her very apparent aversion.
Ninth, I am on a budget as it is. My current financial reality is somewhere between “getting by” and “struggling” depending on the day, and there are certain financial realities that owning a dog entails that I’m not sure I am capable of shouldering at the current time.
Tenth, I would like to consider myself a person who is at least capable of some compassion. I have certainly had my moments where the feelings, needs, and realities of others have been disregarded, but those were also extremely important points in my own personal development where certain decisions had to be made for my own sanity. One thing I know I am not a person who is fanatically devoted to animals. I have never had the experience with one that would make me do whatever is necessary for an animal to survive. Don’t get me wrong, there is definitely a point I would go to (and I’m reaching it currently) to secure the well-being of a fellow creature, but if I have to choose between the dog eating and me eating, I would certainly choose me.
All of these things amounts to just about the same thing. There is really only one decision for me to make, and to be perfectly honest I am pretty sure that I have already made it, but the problem that I encounter—here as almost everywhere—is (in the words of the wicked witch of the west) “how to do it.”
Do I just want to drop her off at some shelter?
Do I want to see if any of my foreigner friends would like a cute little companion for their time in a foreign country?
Do I just take her for a walk and not come back with her?
There is a restaurant behind my apartment that serves dog soup, should I see if I could sell her to them?
Do I do what I usually do and wait for the universe to push me in the right direction?
I even suggested in jest to my cohorts a couple of nights ago that perhaps I could slaughter her myself and make my own dog soup as an exercise in seeing how far I could push the cruelty in my heart.
I thank my mom and the sages I have had the benefit to study for the fact that I know the answer is to do what I usually do and wait for the universe to push me in the right direction. A clear path will open itself up. It is apparent that I have put myself in a position where I want to ensure that whoever takes possession of the little girl will be in a position to love her more dearly than I’m sure she was before. She cowers sometimes when you stand over her and it’s clear that she wasn’t exactly fawned over repeatedly. As a matter of fact, I feel like I’m probably the middle ground on the way to a better place for her. She is moving towards positivity. When she was abandoned, that was pretty negative. With me, she has somebody that is willing to provide for her needs, show her some affection, and illustrate the fact that everything is going to be all right. What I want for her next owner is that extreme lover of animals who would do just about anything to have a companion, that person who would ensure beyond their own well being the well being of their pet, and that philanthropist of animal love (not in the unnatural way) who will teach her real love.
I was told that the average Korean approach to having a pet is to want one, but, when it gets too difficult or financially disadvantageous, to get rid of it at the drop of a hat. This is not unusual for the Korean character that is so built on the desire to have things happen quickly that results in extremely rapid changes of mind—Buddhism might be the best thing for Korea with its emphasis on the pace of nature.
Her name is Dog, and I can’t help but run through “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” every time I look at that punum.
It is almost stunning the things that you can get up to when you decide to take a two-hour walk at four o’clock in the morning as you’re walking home from the bar. It is important here to point out that as much as I may or may not find dealing with the issue of Dog tedious, I by no means regret it. I care enough that I being left out on the street is no way to treat a dog, and I am certainly not mistreating the little dear who is being fed, sheltered, walked, petted, and generally taken care of; however, it’s time for her to move on to a better home. Learning is a very large part of my daily routine, and I have certainly learned some things about myself as a result of this ordeal: I am not quite prepared to devote my life to the well-being of something a lot smaller than me (read: dog, cat, human, or otherwise). I CAN do it. I WILL do it if it’s necessary. But if I had my druthers, I’m fine with not.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Good and Bad
Pointless. I am coming to believe and understand that it is pointless to attempt to define what is meant by good and bad. There are only vague concepts, and these things are usually so personal that it barely matters. What is good? Is there a difference between this question and: what is the good? What is bad? What is the bad?
What I see as the major problem here is that both of these terms are temporalized without anybody being immediately aware of it. Good and bad imply the past and the future. If something seems good in the present, it is either because there was some pre-existing condition that makes the whateveritis seem so, or, likewise, a view that the whateveritis will afford us some kind of benefit in the future. The same can be said for something that is bad. Either there was some pre-existing condition that makes some present situation seem bad, or, when observing something there is an overwhelming sense of dread, the future seems bleak. There is never a condition wherein NOW something erupts as either good or bad.
The next major issue with dealing with terms like good and bad is that they are also culturally different. Take the example of women in different areas of the world. A Muslim woman might be keeping herself covered because she is sincere in her belief, and, for her, it seems like a good thing to do. Those women in the modern age who would consider themselves as sexually liberated will have no problem going out and having intercourse with many anonymous partners while at the same time experimenting with mind expanding drugs, and that will be good. In Korea it is good to live at home until you get married. There are a number of thirty-somethings still living with their parents, perhaps sharing a bed with their younger siblings, and this is a good thing. Imagine getting an American man of thirty-something years old to A) live with his parents B) share a bed with a younger sibling. It might be a bit difficult. There are the Mallrat Brodies of the world out there that might not have trouble living at home, but as long as they have their space.
But lets take a step back for a second and see that with these two fairly simply understandings, we can say that good and bad are terms that involve terms that are intimately intertwined with the space-time continuum. What was good in the Incan culture (i.e. sacrificing children to gods, eating guinea pigs, and rejecting gold for the true worth of having a lot of followers) would be somewhat frowned upon in the modern age by most cultures.
(Let’s call this a bit of an aside and a cultural criticism: who’s to say that human sacrifices aren’t made to this very day in the metaphorical sense? Just about everybody everywhere has been brainwashed by culture or advertising or family or religion or economics or whatever, and this could be a sacrifice of the human character in its own way. What is purely human any more? What is not derived from custom and culture? What is not pushed on us by fat cat businessmen attempting to make a buck? What vaguely talented sixteen-year-old girl with a pert rack hasn’t been exploited when given the opportunity? Can we even be said to be human if we don’t think for ourselves?)
Heap on top of this the fact that the discussion of good and bad is a distinctly human distinction. There is no good and bad in nature. Think about a hunt: lionesses head out into the Serengeti. They hunt. They plot their attack on a group of gazelles. They wait. They’re patient. They know what needs to be done. They fail. They don’t bring down any food. Good for the gazelles, right? Now imagine that this situation repeats itself over and over. The lions start to die. The hunting pack shrinks. Food becomes even harder to acquire for the lions. Eventually, they all die. Good things are locked into time and space. In nature, if we can be allowed to use this term, it is actually “good” for the lion to catch the gazelle—perhaps not for the individual gazelle (which is probably the lamest, slowest one of the group anyway). Not only are good and bad terms of spacial and temporal significance, but they are also distinctly human, and beyond all of this they must be constantly qualified by the individual which is experiencing them—what’s bad for one is good for others.
Well… then what’s the point? What’s the point of ever delving into an investigation of something that will necessarily reveal something that can only point the time, place, and individual human that is investigating it?
Sometimes the answers to questions are in the questions themselves, and you should investigate good, the good, bad, and the bad because it will point out the time your in, it will tell you about the place you are in, and it will tell you about yourself. What greater good can there be? When you look honestly at what is good and bad, with the most careful attempt (although fruitless) at objectivity, you will reveal things about your time that you can’t understand in the present, but individuals in the future will be curious; you will reveal things about your place that might seem unimpressive or unimportant to you, but those who come after will be interested; you will reveal things to yourself about yourself, your place in society, your place in your existence, and your reality that you would never have been able to come to an understanding about otherwise.
I’m going to put it here in print that I am convinced that when people stop investigating these things that seem utterly fruitless (what is good? What is bad? What is truth? What is the nature of the human character?) we almost automatically stop advancing as creatures. Humans have been given the faculty to go about their day reasoning, even if only to themselves, and it seems to me that the most appropriate venue for these cogitations is in precisely the place you’d least likely expect it to be: the arena of impossible to answer. The most obvious reason for this is that questions with answers have a tendency to put the search to an end, whereas questions that cannot satisfactorily be answered keep the investigation in motion. Questions without answers pose more questions, and these questions keep the quest going. As a matter of fact, if there is a universal truth or a universal good, it might be in the form of the eternal quest to understand that which is impossible to understand. Religion claims to have answers to impossible questions, be wary; however, it simultaneously poses a question about which it is impossible to know with certainty, and it can therefore not be completely written off. The path of the good, the path of the just, is the path that travels toward the perpetual advancement of the self while causing as little harm (bad) as possible because causing no harm (bad) is impossible (read: failure is inevitable, and, in the words of Epictetus: Pursue the good ardently. But if your efforts fall short, accept the result and move on.)
What I see as the major problem here is that both of these terms are temporalized without anybody being immediately aware of it. Good and bad imply the past and the future. If something seems good in the present, it is either because there was some pre-existing condition that makes the whateveritis seem so, or, likewise, a view that the whateveritis will afford us some kind of benefit in the future. The same can be said for something that is bad. Either there was some pre-existing condition that makes some present situation seem bad, or, when observing something there is an overwhelming sense of dread, the future seems bleak. There is never a condition wherein NOW something erupts as either good or bad.
The next major issue with dealing with terms like good and bad is that they are also culturally different. Take the example of women in different areas of the world. A Muslim woman might be keeping herself covered because she is sincere in her belief, and, for her, it seems like a good thing to do. Those women in the modern age who would consider themselves as sexually liberated will have no problem going out and having intercourse with many anonymous partners while at the same time experimenting with mind expanding drugs, and that will be good. In Korea it is good to live at home until you get married. There are a number of thirty-somethings still living with their parents, perhaps sharing a bed with their younger siblings, and this is a good thing. Imagine getting an American man of thirty-something years old to A) live with his parents B) share a bed with a younger sibling. It might be a bit difficult. There are the Mallrat Brodies of the world out there that might not have trouble living at home, but as long as they have their space.
But lets take a step back for a second and see that with these two fairly simply understandings, we can say that good and bad are terms that involve terms that are intimately intertwined with the space-time continuum. What was good in the Incan culture (i.e. sacrificing children to gods, eating guinea pigs, and rejecting gold for the true worth of having a lot of followers) would be somewhat frowned upon in the modern age by most cultures.
(Let’s call this a bit of an aside and a cultural criticism: who’s to say that human sacrifices aren’t made to this very day in the metaphorical sense? Just about everybody everywhere has been brainwashed by culture or advertising or family or religion or economics or whatever, and this could be a sacrifice of the human character in its own way. What is purely human any more? What is not derived from custom and culture? What is not pushed on us by fat cat businessmen attempting to make a buck? What vaguely talented sixteen-year-old girl with a pert rack hasn’t been exploited when given the opportunity? Can we even be said to be human if we don’t think for ourselves?)
Heap on top of this the fact that the discussion of good and bad is a distinctly human distinction. There is no good and bad in nature. Think about a hunt: lionesses head out into the Serengeti. They hunt. They plot their attack on a group of gazelles. They wait. They’re patient. They know what needs to be done. They fail. They don’t bring down any food. Good for the gazelles, right? Now imagine that this situation repeats itself over and over. The lions start to die. The hunting pack shrinks. Food becomes even harder to acquire for the lions. Eventually, they all die. Good things are locked into time and space. In nature, if we can be allowed to use this term, it is actually “good” for the lion to catch the gazelle—perhaps not for the individual gazelle (which is probably the lamest, slowest one of the group anyway). Not only are good and bad terms of spacial and temporal significance, but they are also distinctly human, and beyond all of this they must be constantly qualified by the individual which is experiencing them—what’s bad for one is good for others.
Well… then what’s the point? What’s the point of ever delving into an investigation of something that will necessarily reveal something that can only point the time, place, and individual human that is investigating it?
Sometimes the answers to questions are in the questions themselves, and you should investigate good, the good, bad, and the bad because it will point out the time your in, it will tell you about the place you are in, and it will tell you about yourself. What greater good can there be? When you look honestly at what is good and bad, with the most careful attempt (although fruitless) at objectivity, you will reveal things about your time that you can’t understand in the present, but individuals in the future will be curious; you will reveal things about your place that might seem unimpressive or unimportant to you, but those who come after will be interested; you will reveal things to yourself about yourself, your place in society, your place in your existence, and your reality that you would never have been able to come to an understanding about otherwise.
I’m going to put it here in print that I am convinced that when people stop investigating these things that seem utterly fruitless (what is good? What is bad? What is truth? What is the nature of the human character?) we almost automatically stop advancing as creatures. Humans have been given the faculty to go about their day reasoning, even if only to themselves, and it seems to me that the most appropriate venue for these cogitations is in precisely the place you’d least likely expect it to be: the arena of impossible to answer. The most obvious reason for this is that questions with answers have a tendency to put the search to an end, whereas questions that cannot satisfactorily be answered keep the investigation in motion. Questions without answers pose more questions, and these questions keep the quest going. As a matter of fact, if there is a universal truth or a universal good, it might be in the form of the eternal quest to understand that which is impossible to understand. Religion claims to have answers to impossible questions, be wary; however, it simultaneously poses a question about which it is impossible to know with certainty, and it can therefore not be completely written off. The path of the good, the path of the just, is the path that travels toward the perpetual advancement of the self while causing as little harm (bad) as possible because causing no harm (bad) is impossible (read: failure is inevitable, and, in the words of Epictetus: Pursue the good ardently. But if your efforts fall short, accept the result and move on.)
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
What is it about thinking?
There are a lot of strands in ol’ duders head… man. Recently, I was sitting there having a beer with a friend of mine—one that was coming towards the end of a string of beers—and he said to me something that I wasn’t sure I agreed with, but something that I have come to understand in a different way.
All he said was:
--People like you and me, we just can’t help it.
Is there such a thing as simply being unable to help it? What part of what we are is pure instinct? What part of us is so practiced that to break the habit of that practice would require something almost cataclysmic?
I have often maintained that there is nothing whatsoever to stop the consciousness from choosing an entirely new way of being, and I’m pretty sure that’s true; however, in order for the decisions that the consciousness makes to become lasting and (perhaps) permanent, there needs to be a thoroughgoing personal discipline to back it up.
So, I started to think about the things that I couldn’t help. I have a drink before I go to bed. It’s almost compulsory these days. I’m not getting belligerent. I’m not hurting anybody. I’m not drinking excessively, but I do have that drink every day. I can’t help wandering. There are some days that I leave my apartment having absolutely no idea where I’m going or why I’m going there, but it is precisely to there that I am going, and I take comfort in that. I can’t help playing guitar. If I went a week without playing some guitar, I might crack because it’s an hour or two a day where I get to practice my instincts, feelings, and auditory senses. I can’t help writing. I recently went four months without writing… much. I did it intentionally because there hasn’t been a period in my life over the course of the last nine years where I didn’t write anything that lasted any more than three months. By the end of the fourth month, I had the shakes and words pouring out of me that made no sense, but simply had to come. I can’t help reading. I am a compulsive reader, constantly involved with, usually, three or four books at once. I always have a toilet book (there is nothing better for an excuse to read for ten or fifteen or twenty… or thirty minutes). I always have something else—generally a work of historical significance because I am a literature nerd who can’t pull himself out of the old school. Generally I have some work of a spiritual bend for daily meditations—I’ve gone through things from Buddhism to Taoism to Stoicism to Christianity, and I plan to make it through whatever –isms and –itys that I can. Finally, I will have a work of philosophy that I’m plodding through slowly.
The question that has popped into my head lately is: what is it about my activities that connects them—apart from the fact, of course, that I am the one doing them?
I can’t help thinking, and by thinking I mean reasoning, investigating, pondering, wondering, criticizing, being skeptical, accepting, and generally wandering through the musical liquor of words, impressions, and ideas.
When I read something that means, I smile. Today I read this from David Hume’s “Treatise of Human Nature,” 1.4.7, paragraph 12:
I cannot forbear having a curiosity to be acquainted with the principles of good and evil, the nature and foundation of government, and the cause of these several passions and inclinations which actuate and govern me. I am uneasy to think I approve of one object and disapprove of another; call one thing beautiful and another deform’d; decide concerning of truth and falshood, reason and folly, without knowing up what principles I proceed. I am concern’d for the condition of the learned world, which lies under such a deplorable ignorance in all these particulars. I feel an ambition to arise in me of contributing to the instruction of mankind, and of acquiring a name by my inventions and discoveries. These sentiments spring up naturally in my present disposition; and shou’d I endeavour to banish them, by attaching myself to any other business or diversion, I feel I shou’d be a loser in point of pleasure; and this is the origin of my philosophy.
To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure why I started reading philosophy, but I know now and knew (somehow) even when I started that it was not to find answers. There are no answers in philosophy. As a matter of fact, Hume tells us: “Philosophy…if just, can present us only with mild and moderate sentiments.”
What the fuck do we study it for?
Precisely for those moderate sentiments.
What does it matter when Derrida says that everything is metaphor?
What does it matter if Camus tells us everything is pointless and the greatest decision we can make every day is the one to NOT commit suicide?
What does Heidegger’s four-fold matter?
What does Ethics matter?
I know (kind of) what I feel, my impressions—at least that I have impressions, and ideas (or at least that they sometimes burst with a severe force through my mind). I know that these things are the result of my investigation into things. I don’t read things to find something. I don’t read in order to know something. I read in order to mull things over. I am consistently skeptical because it keeps my brain limber. I think I actually hate knowing the answers to things. It annoys me. Any time you CAN’T know, that’s where I want to go.
What is time? What are the structures of the human consciousness? What is justice? What is injustice? What is pleasure? What is pain? What does “the” mean? What is an idea? What is good? What is bad? What is beauty? What is art? What does it mean that music is such an important part of the human experience? What is a soul? How do we reason? How do we answer questions that can only be supported by theory, observation and experience—the matter of truth—but no facts?
Theory, observation and experience are the necessary components of truth, but it’s that last one that, if I might be allowed a platitude: throws the wrench in the gears. You cannot experience what I experience. Sorry. I’m not sorry. Fitzgerald: “The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.” I hereby make no claims on my ability to function—sometimes I maintain that I’m barely human. There is only personal truth. Sorry to you universal truth adherents. The other bummer about truth is: you can’t put it into words. Truth in words defeats the point of it.
That’s something to think about.
All he said was:
--People like you and me, we just can’t help it.
Is there such a thing as simply being unable to help it? What part of what we are is pure instinct? What part of us is so practiced that to break the habit of that practice would require something almost cataclysmic?
I have often maintained that there is nothing whatsoever to stop the consciousness from choosing an entirely new way of being, and I’m pretty sure that’s true; however, in order for the decisions that the consciousness makes to become lasting and (perhaps) permanent, there needs to be a thoroughgoing personal discipline to back it up.
So, I started to think about the things that I couldn’t help. I have a drink before I go to bed. It’s almost compulsory these days. I’m not getting belligerent. I’m not hurting anybody. I’m not drinking excessively, but I do have that drink every day. I can’t help wandering. There are some days that I leave my apartment having absolutely no idea where I’m going or why I’m going there, but it is precisely to there that I am going, and I take comfort in that. I can’t help playing guitar. If I went a week without playing some guitar, I might crack because it’s an hour or two a day where I get to practice my instincts, feelings, and auditory senses. I can’t help writing. I recently went four months without writing… much. I did it intentionally because there hasn’t been a period in my life over the course of the last nine years where I didn’t write anything that lasted any more than three months. By the end of the fourth month, I had the shakes and words pouring out of me that made no sense, but simply had to come. I can’t help reading. I am a compulsive reader, constantly involved with, usually, three or four books at once. I always have a toilet book (there is nothing better for an excuse to read for ten or fifteen or twenty… or thirty minutes). I always have something else—generally a work of historical significance because I am a literature nerd who can’t pull himself out of the old school. Generally I have some work of a spiritual bend for daily meditations—I’ve gone through things from Buddhism to Taoism to Stoicism to Christianity, and I plan to make it through whatever –isms and –itys that I can. Finally, I will have a work of philosophy that I’m plodding through slowly.
The question that has popped into my head lately is: what is it about my activities that connects them—apart from the fact, of course, that I am the one doing them?
I can’t help thinking, and by thinking I mean reasoning, investigating, pondering, wondering, criticizing, being skeptical, accepting, and generally wandering through the musical liquor of words, impressions, and ideas.
When I read something that means, I smile. Today I read this from David Hume’s “Treatise of Human Nature,” 1.4.7, paragraph 12:
I cannot forbear having a curiosity to be acquainted with the principles of good and evil, the nature and foundation of government, and the cause of these several passions and inclinations which actuate and govern me. I am uneasy to think I approve of one object and disapprove of another; call one thing beautiful and another deform’d; decide concerning of truth and falshood, reason and folly, without knowing up what principles I proceed. I am concern’d for the condition of the learned world, which lies under such a deplorable ignorance in all these particulars. I feel an ambition to arise in me of contributing to the instruction of mankind, and of acquiring a name by my inventions and discoveries. These sentiments spring up naturally in my present disposition; and shou’d I endeavour to banish them, by attaching myself to any other business or diversion, I feel I shou’d be a loser in point of pleasure; and this is the origin of my philosophy.
To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure why I started reading philosophy, but I know now and knew (somehow) even when I started that it was not to find answers. There are no answers in philosophy. As a matter of fact, Hume tells us: “Philosophy…if just, can present us only with mild and moderate sentiments.”
What the fuck do we study it for?
Precisely for those moderate sentiments.
What does it matter when Derrida says that everything is metaphor?
What does it matter if Camus tells us everything is pointless and the greatest decision we can make every day is the one to NOT commit suicide?
What does Heidegger’s four-fold matter?
What does Ethics matter?
I know (kind of) what I feel, my impressions—at least that I have impressions, and ideas (or at least that they sometimes burst with a severe force through my mind). I know that these things are the result of my investigation into things. I don’t read things to find something. I don’t read in order to know something. I read in order to mull things over. I am consistently skeptical because it keeps my brain limber. I think I actually hate knowing the answers to things. It annoys me. Any time you CAN’T know, that’s where I want to go.
What is time? What are the structures of the human consciousness? What is justice? What is injustice? What is pleasure? What is pain? What does “the” mean? What is an idea? What is good? What is bad? What is beauty? What is art? What does it mean that music is such an important part of the human experience? What is a soul? How do we reason? How do we answer questions that can only be supported by theory, observation and experience—the matter of truth—but no facts?
Theory, observation and experience are the necessary components of truth, but it’s that last one that, if I might be allowed a platitude: throws the wrench in the gears. You cannot experience what I experience. Sorry. I’m not sorry. Fitzgerald: “The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.” I hereby make no claims on my ability to function—sometimes I maintain that I’m barely human. There is only personal truth. Sorry to you universal truth adherents. The other bummer about truth is: you can’t put it into words. Truth in words defeats the point of it.
That’s something to think about.
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