Clementine is right; almost no one talks about philosophy outside of a lecture hall. Rather than a pub, I spend a bit of my time each week in a cafe. You know, the French existentialists discussed philosophy in their left-bank cafes, such as Cafe de Flore or Les Deux Magots. But I can assure you that I’ve never heard the folks at the table next to me discuss Being or The Absurd. To my ear it sounds as if people talk mostly about “a whole lot of nothing.” I suppose the fact that people have to use their heads all day on the job is a valid excuse for not using their heads when they relax. They have the same excuse for their sitting slack-jawed in front of the television each evening. But I can’t use this excuse. I normally don’t have to think very hard about my job (I’m actually at work now). I don’t have a valid excuse for not thinking about my life even as I live it.
Some people leave their television on all day. I end up leaving my mind on all day. I actually don’t know where the off-button to my brain is located. I’m still thinking when my head hits my pillow at night. The thoughts continue to stream-in, they just become progressively more silly until I fall asleep, at which point they become dreams. In the morning it takes a few seconds to re-boot my system. The first thing I do is re-establish who I am, where I am at, and what’s happened to me recently that should be reflected in my mood. Once that’s done my mental conveyor-belt is already dumping thoughts on the floor of my mind. I’m off again on a mad scramble to retrieve the “wheat from the chaff.”
I imagine the people that I pass on the street are thinking, but since they’ve no video display attached to their heads I’ve no idea what they are thinking, or the depths of their thoughts. It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that you’re alone in thinking important thoughts, while the rest of humanity are only a half-step removed from Zombies. To a limited extent, it’s possible to infer what people are thinking by their actions. But philosophical thoughts are normally too complex to be inferred from actions (hmm…a philosophical action?).
We can’t get away fast enough from people who blurt out every mundane thought that enters their consciousness (if it actually gets that far). But most people, fortunately, are private by-nature. We’re circumspect with the things we tell each other. It’s unseemly to wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve. We have from Othello, Act 1, scene 1:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In complement extern, ‘tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve.
For daws to peck at. I am not what I am.
All philosophy is somewhat autobiographical in nature, and as such, it’s rightfully dear to us. It’s sensible not to tell the grocer about our metaphysics. We don’t put our philosophy out where the daws might peck at it. When a man offers his thoughts for my scrutiny it’s nearly as if he’s taken the picture of his wife from his pocket and placed it in my hands. I’d never be so callous as to say, “God, what a cow!” No matter what she looks like, the way he’s spoken about her and the delicate way he handles her photo tells me that this image is precious to him, and I’m likewise compelled to treat it with deference. So it should be with our philosophical ideas.
Cle wrote:
We’ve a good reason to be initially wary about strangers. They might be turn out to be the unfriendly sort, or what’s sometimes worse, they might be too friendly. So, we watch them for a while, from a distance.
I began lifting weights at a new gym last February. I knew, going in, that the “regulars” would be sizing me up. For some months I’d ask, “How’s it going?” and I’d barely get a grunt in reply. But I knew from past experience that the important thing is to be patient and resist concluding that these guys are just a bunch of jerks. Patience wins in the end; a window is opened slightly here and a door left ajar there. I’m considered one of the “regulars” now. Those that barely acknowledged my existence in the beginning now walk across the room to chat with me. One guy is a Captain on a 777 aircraft. I’ve met his wife and kids. It turns out that another guy plays the classical lute and has his doctorate in German literature. My wife and I are going to a Christmas party at his house this year. Another guy told me that he had to sell his restaurant to care for his mother who suffers from dementia, but he manages to do a bit of acting on the side. Another one told me of his passion for landscape painting. Some of his paintings are currently being shown in a nearby gallery and I have it on my list to make a visit. My point is that these muscle-head “jerks” have turned out to be the most wonderful of human beings. They’ve the same hopes and fears and the same joys and sorrows as I have. The same goes for nearly everyone we pass on the street. Just because I don’t know about their life doesn’t mean they don’t have one. And the fact that I can’t know their thoughts doesn’t mean they’re Zombies.
The anonymity of this forum works to our advantage, at least in the early stages. Since we’ve the option of pulling the plug at any time we choose, we can afford to be a bit more daring with what we tell each other. We needn’t be wary that the people here to which we confide our thoughts will show up at our house tonight at dinnertime. Internet forums are wonderful in that they let us bend the normal rules of propriety. But to make a friend is to take a risk, and we’ve risked almost nothing here. This fact alone is an effective limit to our interactions. So, I agree with Cle that the impersonal nature of the Internet cuts both ways.
BTW, for what it’s worth, there’s a picture of me at
http://www.virtualtourist.com/m/42c12/
Michael
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