On J.K. Rowling, Success, and What-the-hell-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life?

Every now and then I am struck by a harrowing pang of bewilderment. 

(That is to say, I peek at the tangled mess which is the what-am-I-to-do-with-my-life question, and wonder how in the world I shall ever set about undoing the hideous knots and imposing an acceptable degree of order upon my "adult" life.)

Today I spent a good bit of time pursuing miscellaneous activities, and in the process I did manage to strike a bit of gold. Apparently J.K. Rowling gave Harvard's Commencement address two years ago.

I found her address delightful and inspiring and exceedingly relevant. I have always felt that Rowling must be a wonderful creature to be able to write the profound, life-shaping passages found in her books, and hearing her speak only reinforced this belief. I tend to credit Montgomery, Alcott, and Pierce for most of my childhood-shaping, but Rowling (and Hugo!) certainly deserve to be up there. The Harry Potter books brought me to tears of laughter and sorrow on many an occasion. (Yes, maybe Harry was a little dramatic in book five, but I'm certain I shed tears of rage and mourning right along with him, as he sent Dumbledore's possessions to a crashing end in a senseless effort to protest Sirius' death.) 

There are certain things that set my heart ablaze. 

One such thing is the pure friendship embodied in the Harry Potter books- having people of virtue and integrity willing to risk their lives for love of one another. There is something incredibly beautiful in the friendship between Harry, Ron, and Hermione- but not just them. The Weasleys, Lupin, Hagrid, Sirius (to Wormtail, "You should have died! Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!"),  Dumbledore... there's so much of loyalty and love that permeates their actions.

Another (related) is Harry's realization in Half-Blood Prince that he is in control of his fate, despite the prophecy.
[Oh dang. Things just got serious. I strode to my bookshelf, pulled out book six, and turned to chapter 23.]  There are a good four pages worth of quote-worthy material at the end of that chapter, possibly my favorite conversation of the series. Yep, it's quote-time. (But not four pages' worth.)

(Dumbledore is trying to persuade Harry that the prophecy is virtually irrelevant. Harry isn't getting it.)

"But-"

“It is essential that you understand this!” said Dumbledore, standing up and striding about the room, his glittering robes swooshing in his wake…. “By attempting to kill you, Voldemort himself singled out the remarkable person who sits here in front of me, and gave him the tools for the job! …And yet, Harry, despite your privileged insight into Voldemort’s world…. You have never been seduced by the Dark Arts, never, even for a second, shown the slightest desire to become one of Voldemort’s followers!”

“Of course I haven’t!” said Harry indignantly. “He killed my mum and dad!”

“You are protected, in short, by your ability to love!” said Dumbledore loudly.

….

“But, sir… it all comes to the same thing doesn’t it? I’ve got to kill him, or- ”

“Got to?” said Dumbledore. “Of course you’ve got to! But not because of the prophecy! Because you, yourself, will never rest until you’ve tried! We both know it! Imagine, please, just for a moment, that you had never heard that prophecy. How would you feel about Voldemort now? Think!”

Harry watched Dumbledore striding up and down in front of him, and thought. He thought of his mother, his father, and Sirius. He thought of Cedric Diggory. He thought of all the terrible deeds he knew Lord Voldemort had done. A flame seemed to leap inside his chest, searing his throat.

“I’d want him finished,” said Harry quietly. “And I’d want to do it.”

“Of course you would!” cried Dumbledore. “You see, the prophecy does not mean you have to do anything! But the prophecy caused Lord Voldemort to mark you as his equal… In other words, you are free to choose your way, quite free to turn your back on the prophecy! But Voldemort continues to set store by the prophecy. He will continue to hunt you… which makes it certain, really, that-"

“That one of us is going to end up killing the other,” said Harry. “Yes.”

But he understood at last what Dumbledore had been trying to tell him. It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew- and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents- that there was all the difference in the world.

Let us pause for a moment and allow that to soak in.

So, my point. My point is, Harry Potter invigorated my stubborn resolution to prize love as the most beautiful and empowering and noble of human actions.
The love of Anne Shirley (Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables) is light-hearted and uplifting (I dream of being an Anne-ish friend, teacher, and mother), but, though I do not doubt its resilience, it is unmarked by the suffering which is the unique product of gross injustice. Harry Potter adds so much in the way of silent strength and poignancy. The love of that world is love in the face of murder and torture, fear and anguish. It is daring to hold on to beauty and hope in the face of those who would rip all goodness from the world. It is what we would die for- but, more importantly,  it is the love that we live for.
Oh, Harry Potter! J.K. Rowling is a kindred spirit. Definitely.

What I was going to say... before delving into the Harry Potter portion of my soul... was that Rowling seems to understand my feelings concerning life/success/failure perfectly.
Coming from parents with an "impoverished" background with serious concerns about the practicality of their dreamy daughter's desires for life... Hmmm... I think that sounds a bit too familiar. [I also definitely appreciated the part where she said her parents may not have found out she was studying Classics until the day of her graduation. I have certainly been tempted to do just that (only with philosophy, of course).]
I always enjoy the rants which follow any mention of my latest philosophy class, complete with heated claims that philosophy is for those not good enough to do science or mathematics, bleak predictions of future joblessness and subsequent starvation, sour threats to retract all forms of parental support in the case that I nevertheless insist on pursuing such a foolish life-path, and other forms of, generally speaking, overwhelming support for the notion of a philosopher daughter. It's encouraging, really.

But, like Rowling, I understand my parents' perspective. Okay, maybe I don't fully understand their viewpoint, but when I can step back from the stinging sensation in my chest, it's evident that what they want is for me to move forward in life. They want me to be able to provide for myself, and, moreover, to flourish.

Now perhaps this is simply my trying to be philosophical, but that last statement seems to introduce a desperate need for a definition. What in the world does it mean to "flourish"? What is my standard for success?

For my parents, wealth is an obvious component in this calculation. [Points against philosophy.]
For myself... Don't get me wrong, it's tempting to adopt that as a criteria, but I'm not sure that riches really get to the heart of my desires. I don't care about flashy cars or mansions or pointless displays of opulence.

Current requirements for my "house of dreams" are a lovely garden, enough space for a happy family, general freshness/quaintness/cuteness, and an awesome library.
(Admittedly, I would be willing to put a good deal of money into that last one.)
I want a career that is intellectually demanding, rewarding, and conducive to forming meaningful relationships or human connections.
I want to do work that has a positive impact in terms of improving the lives of others or contributing to justice.
I want to contribute to the beauty of the world.
I want to be a confidante and mentor.
I want to be a loving (and beloved) wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend.
I want to be a life-long lover of ideas.

The question is... how do I find the connection between my standard of success and selecting a clear career path? Would I do best in education or medicine? Should I teach, counsel, provide therapy, or practice general medicine? Is it justifiable to spend a life writing papers when I could help someone regain the ability to walk or speak, or help provide care to the millions dying of malaria, AIDS, or other diseases? But surely an educator plays a crucial role in the way of fortifying and enlightening minds!
What would I be best at? What would make me happiest? What would bring me the most success?

Nope, I still have no idea how to untangle the ugly mess. All of this...to no avail.
I find myself hoping that, slowly, things will be made clear and the knots will ease up a bit. Somewhat magically, relatively painlessly, and swiftly enough that I evade the failure I so greatly wish to avoid.

I'm reminded of when I complained to my friend that I had no idea what I was going to do with my life.
And she (Brynna) would have none of it. "You're going to be happy, that's what you're going to do."
But, but, but!- I wanted to protest.

...Somehow, I'm thinking she's right.

Why Kant Was Wrong About Beneficence: I don't need your help.

Lately, my mind has been reeling.

I seem to be suffering from a desire to do too many things at once. It is exhilarating- and a tad frustrating.
In the last two days I have gotten halfway through Ayn Rand's Philosophy: Who Needs It (in case you're wondering: you do). I have gotten through the first part of, Stumbling on Happiness, a book dealing with the psychology of that elusive state which we all pursue- thus far, it is delightfully written. I have worked on crafting poetry. I have watched a live debate on the subject of capitalism. I have been pondering the ethics of being a rational, omnivorous creature, and questioning what it means to live out my values. I have watched TED talks on architecture, gratitude, "anonymous extraordinaries," and a host of other interesting and inspirational subjects. I have loaded my bedside table with more philosophy books, Russell's Principles of Mathematics (a perhaps foolish ambition), an introduction to game theory, and I become increasingly persuaded that I need  to investigate economics. It seems like every half hour I decide that I really, really want to learn about or think about something new and exciting- or pursue an idea to greater depth.
...What will I do with five weeks at home? I don't have enough time to think about half the things I want to think about!

Unsurprisingly, I suspect I lose a great deal of time fretting over the dilemma, rather than simply sitting down and actually doing some good thinking and reading. This can be a problem, but there's hope.

Fortunately, in the last half hour or so I managed to capture the latest intellectual whim "on paper"(actually, in a word document, but same thing, right?).

See, I was slowly eating teaspoons of peanut butter out of the peanut butter jar (a delicious but overall unwise idea). I believe I had just been mentally protesting the impossibility of fitting ten different subject into my next two college terms when I got sucked into renewed contemplation of the Kant paper I wrote for my ethics class. Whilst savoring the sweet peanut buttery-ness I returned to one of problems that kept bugging me. Is it, or is it not, plausible to say that an agent will necessarily require the assistance of others to achieve his end? Kant presumably believed that this made sense, but I went on to question that assumption. I began to wonder... what exactly does it mean to absolutely require the help of others?

The best I could come up with is being bitten by a poisonous snake and requiring someone else to fetch the antidote to save you. In that case, I willingly concede that self-help is not exactly an option.

But excluding cases of physical (or mental- but that is a big problem indeed!) debilitation... how much sense does it make to posit that, on the basis of self-interest, a rational agent cannot will the universalization of the maxim to neither help nor hurt others, because there exists a case in which the agent will require the help of others to obtain (one of) his end(s)?

I should perhaps clarify. It's more or less obvious what it means to not hurt others. What it means to help others is perhaps not so clear. I'm talking about "selfless charity"- assistance disconnected from any notion of rational self interest.

Let us envision a world where you are forced to solve your own problems. As humans, we are extraordinarily talented, capable creatures; we use our intellect to find creative solutions. Given this capacity, and given a free society- that is, a society where people are politically free (free from compulsion, free from abuse, free from violence), a society where people neither hurt nor help you... Given these things, it seems reasonable that when you find yourself in a strait... you are free to find your own solution. And you do so- without need of the help of others.

Imagine you're in a world where no one will offer you charity… You find yourself under stress. You find yourself in need of a solution to a major problem. What do you do?

 Well, here's something you don't do. You don't sit on a street corner and pout. That will get you nowhere.

So what do you do? 

Well, what can you do? Call upon those prodigious powers of intellect! 

You start to think. Hard. You figure out what tools you possess to get around the problem. You find a solution, and you get around your problem. 

Do I expect someone to help me by giving me a job I don't deserve? No. If I'm in need of employment, I start trying to think what jobs I can perform- moreover, what jobs I can perform well. What do I have of value that I can offer to someone?

 Do I expect someone to hand me a check in the belief that I can offer them nothing in return? No! No one invests in something they believe to be worthless. That is irrational, and I don't expect others, or myself, to be irrational.

To return to the question then...What sort of help would I, or could I, expect from others?

Certainly, I would expect people to treat me with respect- but that's not a question of charity. That's a part of freedom- respecting the rights of individuals.

I would expect others to deal with me in a mutual exchange of value- I would expect people to behave rationally, in a manner conducive to their rational self-interest.

If someone hands me a check, I expect it is because they believe I can offer them something valuable in return. And I accept their check because I believe it is fair compensation for what I provide them. Value for value. When dealing with others, I don't expect them to waste time or money on something that they believe to be worthless. That, fundamentally, makes no sense! 

I don't expect senseless, selfless charity.

So, again, does it even make sense to conceive of a world where people neither help nor hurt one another, where people leave each other to act freely, where people respect the rights of others… does it make any sense to say that in such a world, when you find yourself having a problem, the only thing you can do is rely on others solve your problems for you?

I would argue that, no. It doesn't.

And in case you were wondering- yes, I'm a capitalist.

Feel free to take issue with me on this. If you don't wish to go through the hassle of putting yourself in a position where you can leave a comment, address questions or comments to martina@carleton.edu

And look forward to more thoughts on Objectivism, Kantianism, or whatever else strikes my intellectual fancy!

The End of the Beginning of the Second Year. Or, Why do we call them Reading Days?

Tenth week is upon us.
The week where everything comes to its whirlwind finish. The week where, to maintain the maelstrom analogy, the chaos builds to the breaking point, and the water finally closes in... and all is still.

We haven't quite gotten to the stillness part though. We're still in that mad frenzy that comes with the end of classes. But to think- in a matter of days it'll all be over and I shall be back home. Crazy.

At this moment-

Ah, beautiful! My roommate and I just had an awesome exchange.

*A is sitting at her desk, typing whilst contemplating the impending doom which comes with the end of a Carleton term. Suddenly-*
B: "Why does t go by so fast?"
A: "...What?" *Is perplexed. Mental images of spacetime diagrams flash to mind. Questions begin to surface- what does it mean for t to "go by so fast"? Does she mean she can't believe we're getting old and the term is coming to a crashing end and- ?*
B: "T. Why does it go by so fast?"
A: "Ugh... well..." *Whilst scrambling to concoct some eloquent, philosophical discourse on the passing of time and the nature of the universe, she turns to face B, who is working very hard at draining her cup of apparently delicious and swiftly-vanishing dining hall chai. Suddenly it all makes sense.*
*A has moment of epiphany and explains her moment of confusion to B before accusing B of foolishly throwing around terms that have very specific designated meanings.*
Joint Conclusion: Too much math/physics. Also, A needs to drink more tea.

But anyway. (And, no, you didn't need to appreciate that last tangent. It was much more amusing in person.)
I would like to take a brief moment to expound upon the senselessness of what are termed "Reading Days" here at Carleton.

Carleton runs on a very tight schedule. Three ten-week terms of intense study. We get one day off (midterm break), and believe in no such thing as holidays. With the winter come extreme snow conditions- and we venture forth through the blizzard in pursuit of the light (and warmth?) of knowledge. Classes end one day, and you are given two measly days to brace yourself before finals come crashing down in cacophonic splendor.
Now what I do not understand is the reasoning behind terming those two interim days "Reading days."

Reading days. Picture it...

Mugs of delicious hot chocolate; a comfy, plush couch covered in fluffy pillows and cozy blankets; the gentle swoop of falling snowflakes (or the melodic pattering of raindrops, if you prefer); old, well-worn, beloved books welcoming you home in the familiar manner of those friends who are family without need of kinship.
Reader preference may dictate the addition of such elements as a well-loved cat or dog curled up lovingly at your feet, or a crackling fireplace providing a warm, homey glow. I rather like the idea, and am myself partial to the notion of a Beloved Other pouring over his own studies nearby, in a separate world, but near enough for the exchange of smiling glances in those pauses where we each return to our own real world for a moment.

How delicious! How delightful! It seems to me an image of perfect, quiet happiness- cozy and warm and happy.

Now contrast this with the two-day period before finals, which is sadly lacking in the elements of coziness and warmth. Sure, you get to sleep in a bit, which is nice, but upon waking up you become painfully aware of the millions of pressing items on your to-do list. In fact, when you write up your to-do list for the pre-finals period and jot down an estimate-for-the-amount-of-time-required-to-complete-this-task, even very crude arithmetic makes it overwhelmingly evident that the sum of the required times amounts to more than 48 hours. This is a problem.
Cue stress and anxiety. Cue questions as to how to prioritize activities that seem equally important in determining your fate. Cue concerns as to how to fit in such mundane and irritatingly necessary things as eating, taking bathroom breaks, drinking water, and maybe having a conversation with another human at some point. And can't I have a bit of fun and go to that movie night tonight?
Inevitably, unaffordable study breaks are taken and creative forms of procrastination creep into what was supposed to be an fruitful, pre-apocalyptic preparatory schedule- all in an effort to preserve a measure of sanity and health. Yes, this is good, but it hardly helps when one realizes the discrepancies between "What-I-planned-to-have-done" and "What-I-in-fact-have-done," "What-I-need-to-do" and "What-I-have-time-to-do," and "What-I-should-do," and "What-I-want-to-do" (namely- have a real Reading Day).

In short, terming those two pre-finals days "Reading Days" is not only deceptive and disillusive, it is senseless and borders upon some form of sacrilege. It would be best to be blunt and name it like it is (To quote Oscar Wilde's Cecily- 'When I see a spade, I call it a spade!').
"Work Days." "Chaos Days." "Days of Frenzy." These are all acceptable, straight-forward names. We could even go some sort of neutral path- "Preparation Days," perhaps.
But why must we taint the image of happy, cozy bliss with the brusque ugliness of work and stress and anti-coziness?

I don't understand. But I shall hold tight to my dream of having actual, happy reading days. Though when that will happen while I still stand on Carletonian land seems woefully unclear. It seems I will have to designate my own happy reading day and push aside all pragmatic concerns for that one, blissful microcosm of perfection.
I can't wait.

But, for now, I must turn away from this unaffordable study break and immerse myself once more in the worlds of substitution reactions and eigen values.

Au revoir, dear Reader!

Life at Carleton: The Maelstrom

When I told you I would write again soon... I lied.*
Granted, it wasn't a case of intentional deceit. It wasn't so much a hollow promise as it was a beautiful, ungraspable dream. Nevertheless, it was a false statement.

Why did I lie? That is, how did it come to be that life wrested control from my hands, such that I failed in this commitment?
I deluded myself into believing that a break meant time to engage in leisurely activities. Foolish.

See, life at Carleton is akin to getting sucked into some sort of whirlpool.
You begin the term with this visualization of a wonderful voyage through the profound waters of intellectualism and idealism. You imagine warm sunlight, the smell of the ocean spray, the rush of cold air filling your lungs to their very depth, the graceful arc of birds in flight, the lush greenery of uncharted lands... everything is vivid, robust... you feel alive and ready for adventure.
Classes? Challenging and exciting!
Volunteer work? Yes! Time to save the world!
Clubs? Join them all!
Friends? Party all day, everyday- or at least when not too busy saving the world.
I will go on strolls through the arb, I will read books in my spare time, I will write thoughtful life-reflections, I will meet new people and develop wonderful new relationships, I will exercise and stay in shape... I can and will do anything and everything! Just try and stop me, life!
This is the state of being one is in when stepping back onto Carletonian grounds- gazing at Willis Hall and the chapel with a smile of appreciation, confidently trekking the road back to "home," which, ironically, will serve as a barge carrying one into new and exciting lands.

Then you set sail.

It begins beautifully. There is the swell of pride and excitement as you embark, filled with hopes and dreams of all the wonderful things to be accomplished, all the adventures to be had, all of the new things to be seen and done. Perhaps there are a few rough patches in the initial sailing adventure- some rough waves that throw you off-balance, but you quickly catch yourself, reassure yourself, and sail on.

Before long though, something strange begins to happen... some force begins to divert the course of your ship... not much... but enough that it strikes you as strange.... Is something awry? But you do your best to suppress the concerns slowly rising to the surface of your mind.

But already, it is too late.
Your ship has chosen dangerous waters for its voyage... Forces far more powerful than you are in control. You find yourself at the edges of a whirlpool; a full-blown, mythical maelstrom.

It begins slowly at first. You stand at the rudder, concentrated on escaping the force drawing your vessel into its orbit.You try to save yourself. You think of the magical lands you were to explore, the exotic creatures you were to encounter, the many dreams which propelled your ship away from land. You try to wrest yourself away from this current, to escape, to sail off and find new lands, but your small ship is too weak, and it falls prey to the force of the vortex.
So there you are, swirling in circles ever-smaller, ever-faster, unyielding, and unstoppable, spinning away into the very heart of an ocean all too eager to claim you as its own...

As the end of term approaches, I find myself getting sucked deeper and deeper into that terrifying vortex. Midterm break was the hope of an escape, a hope that a relent in the current would allow me to escape, or to  at least swing into a wider orbit and gain a bit more of time and life. But I was grossly mistaken.

At present, my vessel is whirling away at impossible speeds. It will not be long before the ocean claims me as its own.

That's another way of saying I should really be studying for my linear algebra midterm, or working on my organic chemistry quiz,  or working on my ethics paper on the compatibility between utilitarianism and justice, or preparing for my orgo midterm, or working on my linear algebra or organic chemistry problem sets, or figuring out my classes for the next two terms...
Seventh and eighth week are truly akin to finding oneself in the midst of a maelstrom.

And now I must return to my sinking ship.

*Surely it is a worthy philosophical tidbit to ponder: Did I lie? Does lying require the intention of deceit? (I think that seems right.) But what if I was uncertain as to the veracity of the statement, decided to pass it off as a truth claim, and it proved false? Then should it be considered a lie?
Hmmm...

How Reflection Is Like (Organic) Chemistry

This here, my writing, right now- it can only be considered miraculous.
It is 8pm, 5th week, on a Thursday night, and all of the necessary schoolwork is complete. I repeat, miraculous.

But let us turn aside from this strange, beautiful occurrence and do a bit of reflecting and whatnot.

Lately I have been contemplating all sorts of interesting questions. Unfortunately, schoolwork and contemplative behavior seem to go less well together than I would like. Perhaps we could make the comparison to trying to dissolve an alcohol in water... The OH group's polarity could represent my drive to dive into the waters of reflection while the mounting pile of schoolwork is analogous to extending the size of the hydrocarbon chain, thereby pulling me out of the refreshing waters I so long for.... But this week I seem to have thrown in some alkane branching and decreased the hydrophobic character of my life. It has been quite splendid.

Today I finished writing a paper for my ethics class on the subject of whether morality and self-interest are reconcilable. For reasons I cannot entirely fathom, I seem to have dropped out of the wrong century, because I align myself pretty nicely with those good old Ancient Greeks in characteristic Annette-idealism. I highly encourage you to read a bit about virtue ethics and the concept of eudaimonia. While I delight in the contemplation of this subject- and would gladly enter into conversation with you, dear reader, on the topic if you so desire, I would rather not dwell into specifics at this point in time. (I am being totally serious. Leave a comment, or email me (martina@carleton.edu), and you can even request to read my paper! Ohh the fun we may have engaged in philosophical discussion! ....Anddd *quenches nerd-outpour*)
 Instead, I will leave you with a few quotes that relate to my ideas rather nicely, and which I quite delight in. (Let's play a game! The guess-who-is-going-to-be-quoted game!)

First up, Thoreau. Oh, Thoreau! Aurora!

"It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts. Every man is tasked to make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his most elevated and critical hour."

Next, dear old Anne (credit to L.M. Montgomery), on being a teacher:

"Perhaps she had not succeeded in 'inspiring' any wonderful ambitions in her pupils, but she had taught them, more by her own sweet personality than by all her careful precepts, that it was good and necessary in the years that were before them to live their lives finely and graciously, holding fast to truth and courtesy and kindness, keeping aloof from all that savoured of falsehood and meanness and vulgarity. They were, perhaps, all unconscious of having learned such lessons; but they would remember and practice them long after they had forgotten the capital of Afghanistan and the dates of the Wars of the Roses." 

 (Yet another reason why I wish to be Anne-like. Who wouldn't want to inspire young souls by virtue of being happy and awesome?)

And, finally, Ayn Rand:

“The purpose of morality is to teach you, not to suffer and die, but to enjoy yourself and live.”

“Why do they always teach us that it's easy and evil to do what we want and that we need discipline to restrain ourselves? It's the hardest thing in the world--to do what we want. I mean, what we really want. And it takes the greatest kind of courage."

Ahh, I do love thought-provoking, insightful quotes!

And I am afraid that this is where I will leave you all for now. Hopefully the next time I write (which should be soon) I will tackle some of those to-ponder questions, such as, where would Annette like to study abroad? Or does Annette want to go to medical school, or does she want a life of relative simplicity as a philosopher-teacher?  Or, wait, does she want to become some sort of counselor or therapist... or a biochemical engineer... or what about some sort of poet/writer? (Okay, abandoning third-person now...)
What skills do I have? What do I enjoy? What do I find fulfilling? How can I live in consistency with my ideals?

That actually reminds me of the other night... I had just started thinking about my philosophy paper and thinking about what it means to be moral, virtuous, and live a fulfilling life. As seems to be the trend, this contemplative behavior occurred fairly late at night, and eventually I decided it was more than time for me to go to sleep. As I crawled (or climbed, rather- my bed is lofted ridiculously high for a not-ridiculously-tall person) into bed my mind threw a startling question at me- Do you, Annette, contribute to the goodness of the world?
I was taken aback. Pesky, pesky brain! There I was, in bed, thinking over the last hour or so's worth of idealistic ethical outpouring, and I suddenly questioned whether I lived in such a manner as to increase the happiness of the world... and I didn't know what to say to myself.
So it's been tacked onto that to-ponder list.

And now I shall go do some glorious ballroom dancing.

Ugh... why should I be moral?

Why bother with morality?
It's much easier to not care about whether it is right or wrong to do something, isn't it? So why care?

I have just finished reading two selections on this subject for my ethics class.
The first, a portion of Plato's Republic, "The Immoralist's Challenge." The second, Philippa Foot's "Morality as a System of Hypothetical Imperatives."
They raise some interesting questions.

In "The Immoralist's Challenge," Socrates is challenged to explain why justice is good in itself. Justice, in this dialogue, is portrayed as a painful duty performed for the sake of the social rewards correlated with acting "justly." The problem is, if justice is good because of the reputation and power with which the just are rewarded, then this creates a movement to present a facade of justice. You can have your cake and eat it, too- that is to say, you may relish the joys of performing injustice upon others AND present yourself as a paragon of goodness to be rewarded with praise and social status. Forget behaving justly- no one likes that anyway. You only pretend to be a good person so that others treat you well.
Mind you, Glaucon (the challenger who presents this model of justice) does not actually buy that this is the extent of justice. Rather, he entreats Socrates to persuade him that this sad, corrupted notion of justice is not the true nature of justice. Glaucon wishes to rank justice as one of those goods which is desired not simply for the benefits associated with it, but also- essentially- for its own sake, but he needs reason to do so.

To my great discomfort, the selection ended abruptly. Glaucon entreats Socrates to correct him, to restore his faith in justice- and end.

What??
No answers? No restoration of faith?
Are notions of justice really naught but convenient illusions used to hold together precarious social bonds?
Plato, Socrates, help!

It was a bit disconcerting, really.
But it presents an excellent question. Why care about justice? Why is justice good for one?
Why aim to be just?
The point of the dialogue is, it has to be about justice itself. It has to be something about participating in justice that makes justice desirable. But what is it?

With these questions spinning around my head, I turned to the Philippa Foot reading (which in itself is a discussion of Kant's moral framework).
So... Kant. According to him, we have hypothetical imperatives and categorical imperatives (...what? I know. Bear with me.) Hypothetical imperatives are actions that must be done in order to achieve some end.
You want an "A" on that test? Then you should study. You want to get somewhere at 10:00? Then you should leave at 9:30.
In order to achieve your goal or fulfill your desire, you should perform an action or set of actions. Those are your hypothetical imperatives.

Then you have your categorical imperatives. These take "should" or "ought" to the next level, if you will. Categorical imperatives are actions that are "objectively necessary." They are ends in themselves.

Traditionally, moral judgments are classified under the categorical imperative category.
"You ought not kill."
BAM! That's it. Morally binding, unconditionally necessary.

But Foot wants to argue that there's something strange about relying on the magical power of "ought." What supports this reasoning? Essentially, categorical imperatives have a fundamentally duty-driven force behind them. They seem to say, this is your duty. Don't fight or argue, just do it. You have to.

To underline the problem, she points to etiquette. Even if someone doesn't care about etiquette, the rules still technically apply. If you're at some dinner party and flout all the rules, people will still say you should do otherwise, regardless of whether you actually care about it or not. That is to say, etiquette behaves like a categorical imperative, in the sense that it's not about "I want to accomplish this, so I should do this." Etiquette applies regardless of your desires. But... what if you just don't care?
This seems to put categorical imperatives under suspicion as magical forces of obligation. It's not enough to say someone ought to do something. The force of that statement is in their believing this to be true. If they don't care, then you have a problem.

So Foot suggests making the scary transition from classifying moral judgments as magical categorical imperatives, and instead thinking about them hypothetically.
Why perform acts of charity? Because I can empathize with those individuals and have an interest in seeing them happy.
That is to say, let go of the illusion that saying someone "ought to" do something holds genuine power. It is frightening to admit it, but that's not true. We must chose to care about morality. We give morality its power.

Foot's idea, on one hand, is frightening. But it is also wonderfully idealistic in its realism.

Essentially, Foot's ideas lend themselves to the following depiction. (Admittedly, it may be my relentless idealism seeping in. But I will maintain that it fits into her view.)

Morality is about a system of values. Morality relies upon a certain vision of hope... a yearning for truth, love, liberty, and justice. Moral individuals are those capable of envisioning the beauty of bringing those values to life, and of working to bring that beauty into realization.

Glaucon asks why bother with justice.
Bother with justice because it allows your life to cohere and deepen.
It allows you to create meaning. It allows you to look upon yourself with respect, to give and to receive love, to become a part of something genuine and beautiful.

So, that's why.

A Return to Chaos?

I find it amusing that my last post began by deploring my state of laziness. Boy, have things changed!

Since last I wrote, a number of remarkable things have occurred. I have lived through three incredibly distinct weeks. My last week home for the summer, with all sorts of last-minute activities, tasty food, and farewells... a trip to gorgeously mountain-y North Carolina... and a return to that other home of mine in happy, quaint little Northfield.

Perhaps words such as quaint and happy denote images of a sleepy, rural town.
Be not fooled! At least if you're thinking of sleepy in the sense of languid, rush-free living. (It would be more accurate to think of sleepy in the sense of so-busy-you-yearn-for-sleep.)
So, I've been incredibly busy since I stepped back onto my dear college campus. Unpacking, turning my dorm room into a comfy home, reconnecting with friends... starting classes... realizing how much work I have!

It poses interesting questions as to how I want to live my life. Deplorable laziness? Nay. Breathless whirlwind of activity? Also nay. How to achieve that tricky balance?

Perhaps my enjoyment of life has much to do with perspective.
I have spent a great portion of my oh-so-extensive life accusing myself of not doing enough with my time. I have always felt like I should be doing more, better. The problem comes when I try to imagine what "more" and "better" would look like. How can I fill my day such that when I go to bed at night I feel that it was a day well-lived? How can I use my time so that in a year I will look upon my life with satisfaction?

I'm not sure how to answer those questions. But I do know that, in the quest for answers, the next ten weeks shall be chaotic. In contrast to the usual holes in my schedule, my days are pretty tightly blocked off between classes, studying, working, and dancing. (And volunteering. I want to fit that in, too, somehow.)
But alas! Already in the past week I found myself falling into the treacherous trap of viewing my schedule... as a constraint, rather than a means of achieving satisfaction. Rush, rush, rush, rush.
Is rush, rush, rush really "more" and "better"?

It seems fairly obvious that the answer is no.
However, I think it's important to step back and remember why I chose to do these things.
Most notable, my classes. Demanding. I have a lot of work before me. But I'm excited about the subjects I'm studying! My studies are not merely a chore, they are an opportunity to entertain interesting ideas, to gather new perspectives, to explore interesting questions... to do all sorts of delightful things! Rather than fall into the danger of viewing my life as a checklist of burdensome chores which I need to complete, I need to savor the moment. I think I need to worry less about the fact that I need to be somewhere in half an hour, and focus more on enjoying how I have chosen to fill my time. Ah, perspective, perspective.

So have I succeeded in devising a plan for doing more and better? I'm not sure. I'm still not certain what those look like. I do know that rushing through my busy life is not going to make me happier. But I also know that I am extremely excited for everything I have before me.
Now I just need to savor it.