Vern's Volvo

Vern has been bringing his old Volvo for servicing at Grace's Garage for many years. Unknown to Vern, Grace kept every single part that she replaced. Every time Vern dented a wing or a door, the panel was replaced by a new one. What Vern didn't know was that a couple of decades later Grace had Vern's entire original car in the form of a heap of (still usable) parts hidden in the back of her garage.

So which is Vern's Volvo, the one he's been driving for 20 years, or the heap of parts? Why?

What if, instead of having only the parts, Grace actually used those parts to create (or recreate) the Volvo? Would that be, somehow, a different issue? 

Vern’s Volvo is the car that Vern is driving; that is, it is not the Volvo that can be made using the still-functioning spare parts that the creepy auto mechanic, Grace, kept. I say this because identity is something independent of the object itself, something we project as sentient and conscious beings onto objects or even other people. This is so essential to any entity’s identity that I would so far as to say that for something to exist, it must be perceived and made sense of by the human mind. In other words, should a huge meteorite strike Earth, thereby wiping out all sentient life on the planet, things like the moon, my house, or even time, would no longer exist because they no longer are being perceived and made sense of by humans.

             Vern’s Volvo has two parts to its identity; it is a car (specifically, a Volvo), and it is under the ownership of Vern. Both parts predicate the existence of someone to call it a car as well as Vern himself. Vern provides the unifying idea that gives the car its collective identity. Otherwise, it would be just what Grace has in her possession; a large, seemingly miscellaneous collection of spare parts. For example, what makes a wall a wall? What makes it different from a lucky combination of bricks and mortar? Where does the wall go when I take it apart? A wall does not have anything “extra” on top of the exact matter that makes up the pile of bricks it came from. What it has is the metaphysical cement that we attribute to these parts, the unifying idea our meaning-making brains cloth the bricks in. Vern’s car is thus not defined by what it is made out of, but its relation to Vern, specifically how Vern understands his Volvo to be.

            If replacing every part of Vern’s Volvo made that an entirely different car, the implication would be that human beings are constantly changing identities. We are constantly shedding, destroying, and replacing cells so that after a surprisingly short amount of time (I forget the exact interval) all of the cells in our body have been regenerated. Should my identity be dependent on the matter or parts I am made of, I would be logically changing my identity every time I regenerated all my cells. If I were to take a biological perspective on psychology (meaning I believe all behavior, including identity, can be explained using biological processes) or even a physicalist (everything can be explained by the physical properties of an object, opposing dualism) then if my body changes, my identity should change as well. As every unit of time ticks by, I experience something new; that in turn, should be encoded chemically in our brain, thus changing my physical make up.

            Let’s say you defined identity and the collective experience and knowledge of a person; does it make the Emily at three years old a different person from the Emily of 17 today? Do I become a different person every time I changed my opinion on something, or even if I learned something new? To relate this back to Vern’s Volvo: imagine that Vern’s Volvo was exceptionally hardy and never needed a single replacement, but Vern was a particularly careless driver. After years of driving the same car, Vern had scratched up the outside of his car until the paint had peeled away completely, and should a person familiar with the car in its new state stumble upon it after, it would be hard to think of it as the same car. Comparing snapshots of the car in specific moments in time would certainly lead one to believe that there are two different cars depicted in either picture. However, Vern’s car has existed continuously through time along with Vern. In other words, Vern kept driving his car throughout the entire changing-the-parts shebang, which itself happened gradually over a period of time. Because each moment in time was only a snapshot of the whole long “tube” of sorts, all connected by the glue of time and Vern’s conception of his car, Vern’s Volvo remains Vern’s Volvo.

On Civil Disobedience

First of all, do you conspire with Mrs. Allen, Ms. Kimball? Because the last few blogs are scarily similar to things we have bee discussing in Philosophy. This is not to say that I don’t mind, because I really am loving the way several of my classes (this one, Philosophy, and Art History) are spilling into each other this year. 

The most popular argument (and also the most convincing, I think) for the worth of society is the idea of the social contract. I’m sure you will see a mention of Social Contract Theory in the majority of these blog postings and for good reason. Of course, there is the caveat that all of us have been born and grew up in a culture that has adopted almost completely the political philosophies of the Enlightenment; it’s possible I have set up a false dichotomy and cannot conceive of any kind of legitimate society whose premise is any different than that of the social contract.

The social contract is essentially a trade off between the citizens and their government. In sacrificing some of their natural rights and agreeing to abide by certain societal codes, such as practicing good hygiene or following laws. The purpose of government becomes to protect the “natural and unalienable” rights of its citizens, as Thomas Jefferson put it; should it default on its responsibilities, protest or open rebellion is excusable and perhaps even morally obligatory. This school of thought has moved from just American democratic thought to international foreign policy. More recently, the concept of “responsibility to protect,” though somewhat unpopular, has redefined sovereignty. R2P is really a repackaged version of Social Contract Theory; a sovereign nation has certain duties that include protecting its citizens and should they fail in meeting those obligations, other nations or international bodies are within their rights to intervene. Western justification of government is based upon what it does for its people.  society is not self justifying. 

Like Gilgamesh realized, society, while limiting certain means of self expression or certain rights, brings within reach far greater accomplishments. Society’s net gain is positive. As a means of payment of sorts, we sacrifice certain liberties. We may tolerate bureaucratic red tape on the grounds that in many other cases, it preserves order and enables and ensures results. Perhaps we also excuse flaws in a societal norm or law because on the whole, they do good. In justifying society, we can become utilitarian as well; even law ostracizes a minority, it is still acceptable if it benefits the majority. For those that believe in the pragmatic value of society, the creation of laws, although always flawed, are necessary for the function of society to continue. Imagine for example, if everyone decided for themselves what code of ethics they were going to follow. Sure, one blanket law code may leave a lot of gray area or clash with individual principles, but if it in the long run, it allows business to continue and society to prevail. For example, many feel that assigning value to a life is morally distasteful, but in order to reconcile death with societal institutions and legal channels, insurance companies must set a price on life. The overall benefit that society creates for its citizens are what justifies its existence and our continuing loyalty to it. However, society has much more of a responsibility to the individual. We keep speaking of society as a separate, tangible entity in and of itself; however, it’s actually completely dependent on the people who consent to be governed. Society is completely dependent on the individuals who compose it. 

Thus, if there are certainly cases where it is justifiable to disobey or overthrow society. According to Social Contract Theory, this would occur when government no longer serves the purpose it promised to fulfill. Of course, that is extremely nebulous territory (judging whether government has fulfilled its promises in protecting the rights of its citizens) because in many cases, government’s actions helps some and alternately hurts others. For some, there is a higher law than legislative law (think MLK’s idea of unjust laws) and when the more inferior -- legislative law -- seems to violate this higher, moral law, individuals are morally obligated to disobey the unjust law. I believe that not all morals are laws and not all laws are moral. There are certainly some moral principles that probably lie outside of law’s domain and some laws merely exist for the sake of operation (for example, life insurance or affirmative action). Laws, in my opinions, don’t exist to set into legislative stone moral principles; they serve completely pragmatic purposes, such as making society run as effectively (efficiency is secondary) as possible, which means that moral laws are often incorporated into law. This means that moral law can theoretically be a basis for civil disobedience, but it rarely should be. Furthermore, this is when the method of civil disobedience of the law becomes the more important question to ask. Does simply not following the law count? Must I go out of my way to flagrantly disobey social edict? How do I decide what to disobey? If I disobey a law because it violates some personal principle, does this mean that I have to disobey every single law I don’t agree with? Is disobedience worth the consequences?

Personally, I like to look at the consequences of an action rather than the inherent value of the action itself; thus, going to jail for disobedience does not make me feel any better if it doesn’t accomplish anything. Thoreau would have disagreed. I take a similar pragmatic approach to law; its primary function is to preserve the existence of society. Usually, the most effective way to do so is to satisfy the populace, which is why law usually caters to protecting peoples’ rights. Thus, if I were to commit an act of civil disobedience, I would have to see what effect my action would have, how that might affect society as a whole, and whether there was a net gain or loss if I carry through. I know that’s an extremely wishy-washy answer. 

Self-Awareness

To know oneself it to employ a bit of doublethink. Knowing thyself is awareness of one’s strengths, flaws, characteristics, and likely behavioral trends. Self awareness is a lot like metacognition; being self aware involves the ability to observe and understand oneself as if one were looking down upon or had direct insight into the workings of one’s mind. A popular visual, and one that is intuitive in most humans at an early age, is ultimately dualistic. We imagine an entity, another being of some sort, being able to watch our minds work like a giant television screen. Our minds can even seem like they have a mind of their own and can be treated separately from the body. In any case, one who is perfectly self-aware can objectively analyze his or her own behavior and thoughts, and at the same time, go through with them. This is what I mean by doublethink. I can’t really imagine a person, who, being aware of all their flaws, makes a conscious effort to correct them all. Most of the time, we are vaguely aware of things about ourselves that aren’t always pleasant, yet don’t feel any particular motivation to change negative characteristics. In fact, I often preface actions that I know will irritate my mom to no end by citing my flawed characteristic and then proceeding to demonstrate, once again, why such behavior is counted among my negative characteristics. That could be just pure laziness rather than doublethink. However, a self-aware individual can understand beyond what he or she sees and comprehends. They understand that their subjective interpretations are probably not the only understanding existing and that their viewpoint is almost certainly skewed. This is very difficult. It is comparable to looking at a visual illusion, which capitalizes on your brain’s natural predispositions to interpret images in certain ways, while telling yourself that what you see isn’t actually what’s there. No matter how much you know that your brain is tricking you, it is near impossible to see past what is easiest to see. 

The value in self-awareness was recognized very early on by Greek philosophers, such as Plato. If we all “knew ourselves” we wouldn’t suffer from our own caprices or the limits of our subjective understandings. If objective understanding isn’t possible, at least we can understand that things exist beyond our own minds. And once we understand our own limits, we can begin to search for absolute truths and greater understanding, instead of being confined to our own minds. 

I think I’m pretty self-aware, but then again, that is one of my weaknesses. I like to think that I am a reasonable confident person, but it is possible that I am just terrible unaware of myself. I hold the firm belief that success often depends on the attitude you take; in fact, I spent most of last year doing a science experiment testing this idea. However, perhaps my overweening confidence in my own abilities and my own self-awareness demonstrate the exact opposite. It could just be that my own belief in myself shows how far I have to go in my path to self-awareness. Of course I don’t think that I am wrong, and really, I cannot see where I can be wrong most of the time, but the more self-aware side of me tells me that there is no way I cannot be faultless in my judgements and perceptions. I guess the only thing I can do is the keep my mind open to the opinions of other people, which I have tried to do. However, this gets tiring and is extremely inefficient when making certain decisions, and some people are really stupid anyways. I’m not being elitist; I speak the truth. I’m self-aware, dammit! Obviously, I’m just joking, but achieving self-awareness is like trying to measure the position and velocity of a particle; the harder one tries to measure the particle, the more one disrupts the actual velocity/position of the particle. The more I  try to achieve self-awareness, the farther it slips away from my grasp. Instead, I should “strive for nonstriving.” 

My best quality? Only one? But there are so many to choose from! Let’s see...I think that I am a pretty objective person. I think that I am able to let go of my personal biases to a certain extent. Oftentimes, I don’t have an opinion on certain things simply because either side is logically sound and to make an opinion, I would have to base my decision on emotion rather than solid information. Similarly, my objectivity allows me to see things in a way that others don’t; I don’t like people very much when I think that way and most actions begin to look silly and conformist as well. Fortunately I can snap out of this if I want and change into my normal persona where I am motivated by strange emotional urges and feel the need to fit in. 

The problem with achieving self-awareness is, as explained above already, that one cannot ascertain whether one has achieved self-awareness. An individual who does so is usually still hopelessly deluded or obnoxiously overconfident. The second problem is our own hubris. We (or I at least) like to think that I’m right in my opinions. Why else would I have them if I knew that they were wrong? Self-awareness teaches us, however, that what we believe may be, in reality, limited and short-sighted. Perhaps a self-aware individual even realizes that he or she may never achieve an objectiveness in thought, which is an incredibly depressing thought. It’s a bit like the story of Job, where good actions don’t necessarily merit prosperity. Why be good if there is no guarantee of reward? Similarly, why pursue any kind of independent thought if you know that achieving objectivity is a futile and wasted effort? For further discussion, you can look at one of my two college essays, but the point is that I feel tiny, insignificant and useless when it comes to self-awareness. I was watching a movie in Philosophy in which one character, his afro pulsating in beat to his frenetic, psychedelic surroundings (the images alone were enough to bother me), stated that the ultimate self-awareness was acceptance that one could just be a character in someone else’s dream. What I think and perceive could be, and probably is, entirely wrong, but now even my convictions on my own identity and/or existence can be completely incorrect. The terrible thought has just gripped me that I could be a figment of someone else’s imagination, and I cannot think of a way to disprove the notion. It’ll just have to keep it in mind. 

Why doesn't anyone punish God?

            Good should be rewarded while evil should be punished. A large part of our ethics system is based on this simple statement, and it seems preposterously simple that it almost doesn’t make sense to question this belief. Just as when I push on something, it returns an equal and opposite force, doing good seems to automatically require a reward while bad should be punished. And just like how the aforementioned law of physics is Newton’s Third Law which forms the foundation of much of physics, the belief that “good merits good, bad with bad” is a fundamental principle for our belief code. Believing that good actions will accrue rewards and that bad behavior will be met with negative consequences forms a guiding principle for how we live our lives. Nothing is altruistic, and so the self-interest to attain as many rewards as possible becomes a powerful force in shaping any moral motivations. This postulate of sorts forms the foundation of some of our core moral beliefs, from which minor cultural or situational variations on the same theme can be derived. There really isn’t a logical reason, besides an evolutionary one, perhaps, as to why we believe that good=good, bad=bad. We just take it as it is, accept it without question because in order to create a hierarchy of ethics and meaning, we have to create something out of nothing. 

Another example of this is geometry postulates; they are, seemingly obvious, axioms that we assume to be true (but cannot proved to be true) from which all geometry theorems and corollaries can be derived. The justification for the “truthiness” of  postulates however, is completely circular; postulates are true because any mathematical truths are postulates. In a similar manner, this belief in karma -- what goes around, comes around -- is cornerstone for all moral thought and doesn’t have a logical explanation as to why. It just is. I know we’re not supposed to bring in outside sources (and I swear these outside sources only reinforced, and didn’t cause, this line of though), but just to hammer home this point is some research in the “foundations of morality,” a topic very fitting in this context. The researcher, Jonathan Haidt, identifies one of the core tenants of all moralities as “Fairness/Justice/Reciprocity.” All humans, no matter the culture, are born with a “rough draft” containing basic understanding of these five “pillars” of morality. The pillar of fairness, justice, and reciprocity in part deals with essentially exactly the belief that good deserves good and bad must be punished. This belief crosses cultures, according to Haidt. 

         Of course, evolutionarily, there is a plausible explanation for why this belief is hardwired into the brains of the majority of people. Good or altruistic deeds may encourage reciprocation of the favor. In other words, I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Treating others well or gaining a reputation as a good person may enhance one’s chances of survival because one incurs favors from others that just might save one’s life. For example, Harry inadvertently saves Wormtail’s life in the fourth book in the popular book series, Harry Potter, despite Wormtail’s treachery. Yet Dumbledore sagely recognizes that “no good deed goes forgotten;” Wormtail later spares Harry’s life in the seventh book, but for his act of mercy is strangled by his own, cursed hand. Each received their just deserts. While this is perhaps not a scientifically valid example, imagine this repeated countless times over the span of millenia and maybe, just maybe, humankind is now programmed to believe in karma, a byproduct of some beneficial evolutionary tactic. 

        Although acting ethically may just be a product of the cold and impersonal force of evolution or is merely a practical invention for the sake of creating an ethics code, we still seem to harbor a strong moral compulsion to do what’s right. Logically, I don’t see any reason why I should behave myself if it is likely that I’m just going to be smote by an almighty god. However, if the probability worked out that I most likely would be rewarded if I conducted myself in a morally upright tradition, then I still would act ethically. However, even if it were most likely that I would be punished regardless of my morally admirable deeds, I think I still would feel an inner compulsion to “be good.” Why? For me, I feel an instinctive drive to be better. If I’m only going to live once, then why wouldn’t I be the best that I can be? Even if that means I might not get any preferential treatment from an uncaring god, setting a goal for yourself (in this case, being good) provides meaning and structure. If I did whatever I wanted, the novelty of it would soon wear itself out. Secondly, I dislike conflict, and acting wantonly would surely incur some kind of retributive response from those around me. In order to maintain the social peace, I would advise everyone to generally follow the cardinal rule of “play nice” because it allows for large groups of people to cooperate with one another.

         Now, this still leaves the question of why God would want to punish Job, who by all accounts is a perfectly good, upstanding man. The answer to this is simple: the God of the Bible is a power-hungry being who demands nothing less than blind obedience from his followers and then likes to play with them. Really, I don’t see how he is all loving; it’s just a smoke front to cover for his overbearing, manipulative nature. He’s like the person who pretends to be your friend and makes you do all this stuff for him, “because it’s what friends do” and convinces you that doing X thing is “best for you” for reasons you wouldn’t understand. Really, you should be lucky you have a friend like that, to tell you such things. God make his followers do fun things like sacrifice their children and carries out fun experiments like, if we take away everything from a poor, innocent man, will he curse me to my face? In order to justify his abuse of power, God places man in a position of inferiority; we are contaminated by original sin and can only be saved through good acts. Then he uses pseudo-mystical excuses to cover for his actions; these excuses are designed in such a way as to make criticism or further questioning impossible and rude. In fact, He makes it seem like our fault for asking why He can do whatever he wants with us poor earthlings, because who are we to question the divine order of things? Really, God, you need a taste of your own medicine. Your irresponsible actions merit punishment. 

THE MEANING OF LIFE DUN DUN DUN

How do we figure out whether or not a life has value? When do we make this decision? What is the meaning and purpose of life?

Consider the things that you feel make life worthwhile and valuable.

List five things you will want to possess or have experienced when you reach the end of your life (whenever that may be).

Attended live symphony orchestras of all my favorite pieces of music

Gone into outer space

Find someone to rely on, others to remember me

Contribute in some way that leaves a semi-lasting impact; prove that I existed

Have my world turned upside down; plopping myself down in completely different world?

b) Discuss why each of these things (or ideals or ideas) are important to you personally.

Discuss how each of these things (or ideals or ideas) are valuable to humanity.

          Grandiose questions about the meaning of life seem absurd and cliché when juxtaposed in the context of life, which seems too dull or ordinary to accommodate such ideas. However, I don't see many people listless and purposeless; I think many people just assume that there is some kind of value to living without deeper contemplation. Of course, there are many safeguards for those who begin to question whether life has any value. Religion creates the majority of them. The religious can believe that God has an ultimate plan for them, which then constitutes their meaning. The rigid moral stipulations also provide structure and direction; a believer would then have purpose of "being a good follower of - insert specific denomination here -."  These moral codes give their followers a conception of what is good and bad, and even perhaps a promised reward for good behavior such as a reserved spot in heaven. Heaven really is a safety cushion for those who feel pressured to find value in their lives. At least existence will not end with death, and the hope is that heaven will offer an extension or they will finally reach divine illumination.

However, I don't find the assurances of religion that comforting or believable. No matter how one tries to avoid the ultimate answer, I don't believe that there is any inherent meaning nor value in life. This does not mean however, that we can't create our own meaning or that the meaning that we create is worth any less because of it. To live is to automatically create some kind of meaning for ourselves, whether it be as temporal and insignificant as a deadline that one is compelled to meet. There really is no decision for most people, including myself, of the meaning of life; choosing to live is the real decision, made trusting that there is meaning waiting to be “found” (really created). It becomes the responsibility of the live-er (for lack of a better word; I’m sure there is one and I’m just too delirious with exhaustion to think right now) to work around what the world throws at them. As Victor Frankl said, “man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather he must recognize that it is he who is asked...[to] answer to life by answering for his own life.” In other words, it is the responsibility of those who choose to live to justify his or her own existence. The real question for those who like living and don’t want to die (hopefully, the majority of people) is which meaning is most fulfilling. The worst kind of purpose for your life is when one is simply propelled along by a series of trivial meanings such as a daily routine (wake up, get to school on time, get good grades, etc) and momentum, rather than actual zest, is the driving force. 

At the same time, I have found it very hard to find the better sort of meaning when I realize, to use the words of Bertrand Russell (again; I can’t help it, he’s brilliant) that my “private world of instinctive interests is a small one, set in the midst of a great and powerful world which must, sooner or later, lay our private world in ruins”  Even that which is the most meaningful to me is absolutely nothing to other people, much less the universe. Although I am at the center of my universe, there are a whopping six, going on seven, billion people in existence, each with their “private world,” and many more billion that have once existed (which poses another problem: can my life be meaningful if I know that it will one day end and, unless I become wildly famous, be forgotten?). The more I learn about the science of the galaxies and of Earth’s living organisms, the more I feel connected to this vastly, beautifully complex, but united, system we call our universe. Through this I share some part with the sheer infinity of this universe. However, I also began to feel insignificant, almost like a pawn of vast, unseeable forces of physics and evolution. Really, there is no given or inherent meaning in our lives; we are simply the products of the unfeeling, impersonal force of evolution. However, evolution has also handily equipped us with the instinct towards life. “To endure life remains, when all is said, the first duty of all living beings,” said Sigmund Freud. 

All of the above being said, I am not suicidal and in fact quite enjoy life at some times and am satisfactorily pleased during the rest. Again, I believe that meaning can and needs to be created, and that one can reconcile one’s eventual demise and current insignificance in comparison to the whole with real meaning. I can’t really say what meaning or the purpose of life is in detail, because it is different for everyone.  In general however, I say that ultimate meaning is what makes one happy. Aristotle proposed happiness as the eventual meaning for everyone; I agree. Victor Frankl proposes the idea of a “will to meaning.” I say that the two - happiness (of the kind Aristotle speaks of and not the kind you get when you discover the shirt you wanted a month ago is now on sale) and meaning - are inextricably linked and often the same thing. I am happy because I have meaning, and I have meaning because I am happy. What makes one truly happy constitutes meaning. 

And really, for those who feel discouraged, it is really not that hard to find (or at least become convinced of the existence of meaning) despite knowing that meaning is ultimately created by humans to abet our instinctual impulse to live. Descartes writes about epistemology and how he knows that he is not really seeing “reality” but after a being “merry with friends” and engaging in stimulating and pleasurable activities, finds these epistemic arguments “so cold and strained an ridiculous that I cannot find in my heart to enter into them any further...Thus the skeptic still continues to reason and believe, though he asserts that he cannot defend his reason by reason.” I can write this long (very long, sorry I’m getting tangential, it’s late) treatise about how meaning is really what we create to make ourselves happy, but at the same time love life and not really believe my own arguments. 

So what are five things that I need to do before I die? The first would be to listen, life, in an orchestra hall all of favorite compositions of music. I don’t really have a set list of “favorite music” so really this just means going to listen to music in person as much as possible. For me, music has such a beautiful, intense, emotional power; it is the distilled essence of humanity. I love watching, not even listening, to videos of musicians playing music or working in the process of learning a piece of music. The emotion on their face is so pure and palpable; when listening to music (I prefer classical or romantic) or even better, playing it, one is able to transcend time, social or cultural inhibitions and just feel. Right now for example, I am listening to Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No. 2 (hint: go check it out!) and it is lovely. In fact, it is what is keeping me up right now. Music is how we interpret the soul and how we express it. I found the below text on the door of the theater department’s green room and captures best why humanity even cares about the arts and music. It is...

So you will recognize Beauty

So you will be Sensitive

So you will be closer to an Infinite beyond this world

So you will have more Love, 

More Compassion

More Gentleness,

More Good, 

In short, 

More Life.

As Russell said: “through its greatness the boundaries of Self are enlarged; through the infinity of the universe the mind which contemplates it achieves some share in infinity.”

The second thing I want to do is to go into outer space at least once in my life. I always talk about the beauty of the universe and of the little speck in the sky that is Earth, but it would be something else entirely to step outside my own little private world into something greater. Imagine if, instead of being satisfied with my own little portion of the night sky, I could be in it! I think it would reinforce my feeling of this...force within the universe that makes me grateful to just exist in it. The promise of outer space is about venturing into the unknown, about constantly improving the abilities of humanity, of temporarily sating the universal mysteries of the origins of life, the worth of one’s own life, of how we came to be. 

I also want to seek this other worldly experience in our own little world of Earth as well. I want, for once in my life, to feel completely ungrounded in an unfamiliar place. This is my way of saying that I want to travel. I feel a little too comfortable in Connecticut. There’s no work involved in living here because I am familiar with most things. In an unfamiliar country, the simplest things would be difficult. Imagine buying groceries in Spain. Or Nepal. I think I would cherish the small things all the more due to this difficulty. Furthermore, I think getting my world turned upside down by living in an unfamiliar environment would reinforce my impression that my own conceptions of what is are at best temporal and circumstantial. That’s important for humankind to understand; we don’t define the world nor are we the center of it. First, realize that you are one of many, and that together, we are one in a vast sea of galaxies, perhaps universes. 

The fourth thing I want to have/experience is someone I can rely on. Of course, there are many people that I trust, but I’m talking about the person who has your back and who knows you almost as well as yourself, but accepts you for it. I think I may have found that person, and it has been a wonderful experience. Everything I know and feel is magnified by two, and so I can experience and share on top of that. This is a fundamental need of all humans; the need for companionship fills our the gap left by knowing and understanding and ultimate fulfillment. Things just aren’t quite as good when no one except for you knows of them. 

This leads into my final wish; that I leave behind some semi-permanent evidence of my existence. If there is one thing that I am scared of, it is being forgotten too early. What then, would be the point of doing anything if in a hundred years I will be essentially gone? I do glean personal satisfaction from a job well done, but I feel that the ultimate fulfillment for me would be to benefit something or someone somewhere and leave some kind of lasting impact. Nothing may be permanent, but at least I feel like I can leave with some tangible result of my existence. I think that this drive is important in all of humankind in achieving the excellence I know we possess. It is the final proof that however insignificant I am, I can make a dent at least somewhere. 

And now, to fulfill the meaning that has been pushing me along for the last hour...to bed!

What do you mean?

This quote gets to the essence of the entire premise of The Epic of Gilgamesh, a question that everyone must answer in some part at some point in their lives: what does my life mean? Does it have meaning at all? Meaning seems to interrelated with permanence; should anyone say “no, my life does no have meaning” there is a good chance that it is because they see life as transient and human accomplishment ephemeral. True, it is incredible disheartening to reflect up on the fact that in no more than a hundred years there will be few, if any, living persons who will remember yours truly. What, then, is the point in living at all if one’s existence will not be remembered- indeed, cease to exist - in the relatively short time period of a century? Perhaps Schopenhauer was correct; life is inherently illogical and miserable and persisting in the will to live is pointless and masochistic.

The first time I began to have such depressing thoughts was the summer before sophomore year. My grandfather had just passed away. This is going to sound terrible, but I realized I didn’t even know his name (I simply called him “paternal grandfather”), barely knew anything about him, and the last time I had spent time with him had been three years prior. If I couldn’t remember his life, then how was anyone else expected to? At the conclusion of his funeral, all of his worldly possessions were burned so that they could be rejoined with their owner, but I found it upsetting. Gathered under the hot summer sun, the sum total of his life was being turned into smoke. I return to this mental image every time I think about the transience of human life. In comparison, while sitting in Art History I find it simply amazing that human structures such as the Great Pyramids or Parthenon have survived for the thousands of years that they have. 

Gilgamesh suffers from the same problem; he is consumed by a desire to win eternal glory. He understands that “only the gods live forever...but as for us men, our days are numbered, our occupations are a breath of wind” (71). His pursuit of eternal glory end successfully, even if he never obtains everlasting life; instead, he lives on through story. However, it is patently impossible for every single person to be revered in story; for the average person meaning is difficult to come by. As a quick disclaimer, (and I don’t mean to sound like a pessimist) I personally do not believe that life has any inherent meaning. This is not say however, that creating one’s own meaning is not perfectly valid or acceptable; on the contrary, I think it is admirably courageous and necessary. 

However, I don’t think that most people I know have a problem with the inherent meaninglessness of their lives. They seem perfectly content (or, at this point in time, overwhelmed) with the particulars of their “private world” (a phrase I stole from Bertrand Russell, but not really since I am giving him credit here). For them, their moment of existentialism awaits. Yet our private worlds, if not always emotionally satisfying, are full of errands, commitments, relationships: things which demand our attention and impart a sense of fulfillment when completed, This is ultimately how we create meaning in our lives. We lay a foundation from which we can build a framework to support our meaning. True, these foundations themselves are based on nothing and the framework they support is completely dependent on the foundation, but they assign worth and  consequence to our actions. Jospeph Campbell shows us how myths embody universal truths dressed in guises specific to each society. Religion thus provides us with set of maxims to live by, by clearly designating what is  “bad” and what is “good.” To provide a somewhat abstract analogy, in contrast to still or tepid air (no meaning), a system of beliefs creates high (good) and low (bad) pressure systems, and the difference between them creates movement (meaning). 

The dread of death is ameliorated in several ways. A society or individual can ascribe to a belief in the afterlife or even the belief that one’s actions in this world affect the quality of existence in the afterlife. Personally, I find death morbidly fascinating and am curious to see what it would be like to die (although I have a caveat; no pain, please). Again, a system of beliefs can attach meaning to death; it can tell us that judgement after death will redeem us morally, that death is the beginning of another life, or that death is part of a circle of life that encompasses all living organisms. Such a system treats death as serving a purpose. The constant shadow of death also emphasizes the fragility of life. Enkidu realizes this as he awaits death and after a brief period of bitterness, is able to appreciate Gilgamesh’s companionship and the guidance of the harlot. Siduri advises Gilgamesh that “the lot of man” is to enjoy the simple things: dancing, eating, fresh clothes, and delight in one’s family (102). 

Holding out for a Hero

Most of you have read Beowulf, The Odyssey, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Most of you have seen (if not read) Star Wars films or Raiders of the Lost Ark or The Lord of the Rings. What do all of these works have in common? Many people would say that the protagonists in all of these could be considered heroes. But are they? What is a hero? How do we define heroic actions or behavior? And can a woman be a hero(ine)? If so, why are there no women in that list above? If heroes serve as models of particular conduct, how would you define that conduct? Secondarily, what purpose do heroes serve to us as humans? Do we need them? Why? Bertolt Brecht once said, "Unhappy the land that needs heroes." What does this mean, in light of your understanding of what a makes a hero?

I find Joseph Campbell a fascinating person; I would call him extremely spiritual, yet not religious. His book, The Power of Myth redefined my grasp on philosophy; in their goals, religion and its requisite myths and philosophy are identical. Both try to find the “experience of being alive,” of finding a deeper kind of understanding so that what we do in the physical level will “have resonances within our own innermost being and reality.” Whether or not Campbell is correct in his conclusions, the use of myths as templates for living life is has a ring of truth about it by sheer argumentum ad populum. The universal myth of the hero is one of these “templates” that has been used from in stories, cultures, and generations far removed from each other.

To begin with, a hero is someone achieved something noble at the expense of something dear. There is always a give-and-take with heroes; part of what makes them so noble is because they had to sacrifice something significant for something more important than themselves. Of each of the works listed above that I have seen/read (The Odyssey, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings), each of the heroes has given something up in return for championing something universally accepted and admired. Frodo, despite some homesickness and uncertainty in the beginning of his long journey, stuck to the road on his long voyage to Mordor to destroy the Ring. Odysseus, despite already being the highly respected king of Ithaca, was immortalized by his valuable participation in the Trojan War and his long journey back home. For this he was estranged for twenty years from his family. Star Wars runs in a similar vein; although heroic individuals dominate the story line, the franchise eventually boils down to the transcending powers of good and evil.

I think this is the reason why humanity finds heroes so appealing, to the extent that they are a staple theme in our literature. Philosophy attempts to answer the questions, How does the world work, and how does humankind fit into it? Heroic stories do not answer these questions, but they provide examples of people that have answered these questions for themselves. Joseph Campbell talks about two kinds of heroes; one that has brought back some kind of knowledge to benefit humanity or physically accomplished some deed. In each, the hero is either making further progress into the question, “how does the world work” or finding his or her place in it. For the former, the hero is enlightening the rest of humanity with the wonderful knowledge he has obtained, in the latter, he is sacrificing himself for something larger than any individual. Luke Skywalker, for example, taps into the “force,” an energy that resides in all living things and entities. It is almost exactly how Bertrand Russell wrote “in contemplation... [of] the not-Self, through its greatness the boundaries of Self are enlarged; through the infinity of the universe the mind which contemplates it achieves some share in infinity.” To answer the latter question, the hero brings back knowledge that brings us closer to knowing how the world works. The hero has reached a certain ideal, one that we admire and strive for; a hero is a template for finding an ultimate purpose or maturity in our individual lives.

With these guidelines for the definition and purpose of a hero, I see no reason why a woman cannot be considered a hero. The reason woman were not featured as heroes in earlier stories may be attributed to their social status during the time these myths that we live by today were being evolved. Myths not only have to evolve collectively over time to embody “truths” that are true for a culture or society, but they also have to be believable. It’s hard to imagine a housewife transcending the “private world” for the “infinity of the universe” sometime in between making breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

With the above in mind, I would have to disagree with Brecht’s statement. If in a hypothetical world everyone had achieved the hero’s journey there would be still a higher level of being to reach. I don’t believe in absolutes; I think that everything exists in comparison. If everyone were a hero, no one would be a hero. We must always have something to strive for.