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Carta a mi madre / Letter to my mother (Spanish)

Posted in on Aristotle, on feminism, on friendship, on giving, on Nicomachean Ethics, on Pangle, on politics, philosophy, political rhetoric, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 28, 2009| 1 Comment »

“Nadie enciende una luz para después cubrirla con una vasija, ni la pone debajo de la cama, sino que la pone en un candelabro para que los que entren vean la luz.” (Lucas 8:16)

Mi queridísima, creyente y dulce madre,

Recorriendo el paso de los años llegamos hoy, en un nuevo junio 28, a  aquel número ya demasiado avanzado (!), ese número que al hablar siempre como madre e hijo que quieren ser cada vez más amigos,  reímos jurándonos jamás revelar. ¡No lo revelamos por eso de los secretos que es mejor guardar bien guardados! Pero, eso sí, todos sin excepción, todos (desde el más desconocido hasta los más cercanos) te han mirado y se sorprenden al ver cómo ——sin tanto artilugio femenino moderno y tanta vacua vanidad excesiva—- has logrado revertir ese paso de los años en tu mirada noble, en tu piel canadiense y en todo tu ser único. Porque es en verdad importante también recordar hoy la muy bella mujer que eres y has sido siempre. Las fotos de tu vida así lo revelan, así te lo hayan ayudado a olvidar los cercanos. Y recuerda bella madre querida; ¡cabello blanco canoso, jamás!

Y hablando del paso del tiempo; ¿recuerdas madre aquellas cartas —-ya “compartidas” con algunos otros a través de internet por razones precisas—– cartas dedicadas a mi padre, cartas escritas en vida para intentar sanar a partir de la comprensión momentos difíciles vividos? ¿Recuerdas aquello que te compartí acerca de cómo fueron escritas? Cuestión de brevedad y de ver qué limitada es la reflexión profunda que nos guía en la vida, sobretodo en la vida de familia en donde las certezas del silencio garantizan una limitada seguridad ——una “seguridad” supuestamente ingenua, que irónicamente llega a ser defensiva y agresiva a la vez——-  por sobre las difíciles posibilidades de una real felicidad y de relaciones mucho más honestas y profundas. Porque es que se requiere de cierto tipo de coraje reflexivo para la felicidad, y ese coraje es una virtud cada vez más rara de encontrar y hasta de reconocer. Era como si aquellas cartas para mi padre, ya muerto, ya estuviesen escritas en mí hace mucho tiempo atrás pero sin destinatario real; sólo que era preciso compartirlas con mi complejo y querido padre en quien ya la vejez avanzada  hacia su aparición. Ahora se comparten con algunos otros para que él no sea olvidado; los eventos posteriores a su muerte las hacen todavía más necesarias que nunca. Por ejemplo,  otros creen y tácitamente defienden el que no hablar con el padre durante toda la vida es algo defensible y honorable. Claro mientras ELLOS no sean ese padre. Pero dejando eso de lado; madre esta carta es para ti, intenta ser un recuerdo de tu ser.

Te recuerdo esto madre porque en cambio contigo no he tenido la necesidad de escribir múltiples cartas. Hoy te cuento por qué, aunque tú en cierta medida ya los sabes. Y te cuento que la agilidad para escribir estas palabras se da gracias a aquello que he decidido en parte hacer con mi vida y que tú has siempre apoyado incluso sin realmente saber en un principio su significado especialmente para la futura historia de nuestro paso por la vida y de nuestro encuentro “reciente” en la amistad ganada. Tuvieron que pasar décadas para que tú, y claro también yo (!), comprendiéramos mejor el valor para el alma de cada uno de la dedicación a las humanidades, y sobretodo a la obra de Aristóteles y la vida de Sócrates. Aristóteles, bien llamado en la Edad Media “El Filósofo”, que cuestiona tan seria y hábilmente los fundamentos y presupuestos de nuestra actual academia filosófica. Y también, tú lo sabes, es sólo gracias al efecto tanto de Taylor, y de manera imposible de agradecer de Pangle, en mi vida. ¡Por qué es que ese tipo de profesores son como un cierto tipo de madres! ¡Qué competencia tan fuerte para la madres de verdad, no! No en vano Sócrates se comparaba él mismo a una partera que nos ayuda a nacer bajo un tipo de cuestionamiento continuo acerca de nuestras vidas y de la naturaleza de la virtud y de la excelencia humana. Y algo así como parir es lo que hicimos juntos en los últimos años. Y podríamos hasta decir que ya en la vejez naciste a la vida una vez más. Dejaste de ser tan solo esposa silenciada, madre asumida, abuela repetida,  para regresar a ser aquella Denise con voz, color, económicamente independiente, libre para una fe más sólida y sana  y con un sano sentido del amor —–y hasta del humor—- propio. Y ese proceso se ve en tu actual manejo de la palabra, tu capacidad de defender tus importantes valores, y en tu mayor capacidad para sonreír y reír.  Y hoy, hoy, nadie te puede hacer perderte nuevamente. Ya nunca más te perderás;  así incluso yo ya no sea más.

¿Y, entonces, por qué no hemos escrito cartas entre los dos? El por qué es bien sencillo de responder; o por lo menos  hasta cierto punto. Pero el motivo principal es que nuestra relación en los últimos 10 años ——los que “en verdad” cuentan pues la vejez nos revela nuestra real vulnerabilidad humana—– se convirtió con gran esfuerzo de parte y parte en una relación más honesta y abierta que intentó entregarse a la palabra hablada, intentó llevar al lenguaje aquellos silencios abismales que para muchos se convierten en un cierto tipo de mundo invisible y sobreseguro. Porque, ¿qué fortaleza defensiva más consolidada que aquella que ni siquiera se quiere ver con real seriedad, cierto madre? Y es verdad madre que tú misma te creíste así de sobresegura, indignada en silencio con mi muy complejo y difícil padre ——a quien recuerdo ahora con mucho cariño—– sin entrar a ver cómo y por qué las cosas se dieron como se dieron. Es que el silencio indignado y temeroso está a la base de una de las tiranía más efectivas; sobretodo porque se considera cobijada por un cierto autosacrificio que se cree, erróneamente, absolutamente bondadoso. Sobre esto regresáramos más adelante en esta carta. En cambio, qué bueno madre hoy poder decir que no tienes esa indignación, ni ese temor, ni esa burda carencia de palabra. Y aquí entre los dos, ¿cómo nos sirvió la tarjeta roja que inventamos juntos, cierto? Qué bueno poder querer hablarnos, poder querer vernos, poder reírnos, poder burlarnos, poder querer compartir, poder pedir perdón y perdonar, poder madrear (que viene de la palabra madre!), poder agradecer, poder querer querer, poder amar; y por sobretodo todo lo demás,  poder querer reflexionar.

Tal vez tú no lo sepas, pero el ejemplo político más revelador de esa dinámica perniciosa es el libro La Madre de Gorkii y su ingenua aceptación de la revolución comunista como el mayor bien para sus conciudadanos y para la humanidad. ¡Por esa “Madre” estará permitido dentro de esa realidad hasta convertirse en asesino! Y es que las infames y cobardes FARC de nuestra Colombia querida sólo creen en ese tipo de madre “leninista/estalinista”. No tienen problema alguno, con su visión militarista criminal, en robarle a muchas madres campesinas sus hijos e hijas por todo nuestro territorio. No tienen problema alguno en obligar a abortar a aquellas guerrilleras que desean ser madres. No tienen problema alguno en dejar sin hijos/as a las madres de los secuestrados —basta recordar a la constante tristeza indignada de la madre de Ingrid—- sumidas en la profunda desgracia del desconocimiento y teniendo que recurrir a todos los medios para poder volver a ver a quienes dieron a luz en complejas situaciones personales. No tengo problema alguno en “madrearlos” eternamente como lo hacia hábilmente mi padre, ¿cierto? Y, ¡qué frescura recordar la operación Jaque!

Obviamente esto no quiere decir que siempre pudimos hablar; no, tú y yo lo sabemos bien, todo lo contrario. Pues al crecer yo de niño y de joven comenzaba a encontrar las palabras que creía tu ya tenías, pero que ya mayor entendí en realidad eran precisamente las pocas palabras que en verdad nunca habías podido hacer tuyas. Por esos motivos que ahora podemos juntos revivir y confrontar, un silencio profundo tomaba en ti el lugar de la palabra. Y como tú eras mi muy querida madre, ese silencio intentó hacer su casa también en mí. No resulta para nada extraño que haya decidido, muy pero muy joven a los 17 años, ir bien lejos de nuestra Colombia querida, al lugar de tu nacimiento, al lugar donde encontraste el amor y comenzó tu familia, al lugar donde yo me comencé a hacer quien soy; a ese hermoso Montreal que llevamos los dos en el alma como pocas ciudades y que parece gracias al “destino” podremos visitar en unos pocos meses de nuevo.

¡Y tal vez incluso sería como protesta ante esa realidad de silencio a la vez deseado y forzado  que me convertí en profesor de idiomas y traductor y escritor y profesor de humanidades con altísimo interés en la naturaleza del lenguaje siguiendo la obra de Taylor! ¿Sería un rechazo a esa existencia ensimismada que nos caracteriza a tantos como modernos? ¿Y ahora quien me calla, cierto madre? Pero tú sabes bien que no, que yo prefiero el silencio de la paz bien conseguida, que busco la distancia frente al constante bullicio. Y tú sabes bien que mi vida en los últimos años, años de enfermedad, ha sido un poderoso enfrentamiento de aquellos silencios y aquellas privaciones que te enmudecían y de cierta manera te hacían insensible y fatalista. Como decimos los colombianos, la grosera tradición del “deje así mijo”. Tal vez muchos países puedan “dejar así”; pero Colombia no es uno de ellos. Tal vez muchos ciudadanos puedan “dejar así”, pero los ciudadanos colombianos no son unos de ellos. Tal vez muchos hijos/as puedan “dejar así”: pero yo no seré uno de ellos. Y tú tuviste el coraje de no dejar así las cosas; mi padre lo intento también. Por eso pudimos cuadrar que fueran a la finca juntos. Porque es poco creíble la otra opción en que se desarrollan familias sin haber hecho el trabajo duro y largo de sanar la propia familia de la que se surge. A largo plazo, ¿habrá salud verdadera y real allí? ¿A qué precio?

Pero lo que sí quiere decir el no habernos escrito cartas es que la palabra hablada, o mejor la vivencia en cercanía silenciosa (porque fueron muchos los años que vivimos separados, muchos otros los que vivimos en cercanía en diferentes momentos de la vida)  siempre fue el camino de nuestra comunicación mutua por sobre cualquier posibilidad escrita. El motivo puede ser que el mismo escribir al cual me he dedicado yo, te causa un nerviosismo extremo por aquellas historias que sólo los dos sabemos. Entre ellas, ¿recuerdas esa profesora en Montreal que de entrada te indispuso hacia el conocimiento escrito?  Otras son demasiado evidentes.

Es por esto que escribo esta carta este día especial, sabiendo que para ti la actividad de la escritura te es ajena, misteriosa, incluso peligrosa. En verdad es peligrosa, a menos de que uno tenga la confianza requerida, y la habilidad retórica,  para seguir el camino indicado por las palabras. Y tal vez aunque somos en cierta medida  parecidos querida madre (incluso físicamente como me lo recuerdan los que nos conocen bien, y como lo revela de manera absolutamente impactante esa foto tomada por Marya sentados en aquella banca de Kensington en la que compartíamos mientras los seres de todo el planeta pasaban frente a nosotros),  lo cierto es que esa es la más profunda y dramática diferencia entre los dos. En la palabra escrita, en cambio, yo tal vez pueda encontrar el camino para darte un regalo de amor y de agradecimiento que sea mío, un regalo como —ahora lo entiendes un poco mejor —- muy pocos hijos/as pueden dar y muy pocas madres puedan recibir.

Porque en verdad te escribo esta carta para recordarte nuevamente mi amor por ti y para hacer de nuevo un recorrido de cómo fue que pasó aquello que paso entre los dos, es decir, el surgimiento de una profunda, real y verdadera amistad fundada sobre las complejas bases siempre presentes entre todas las madres y sus hijos (y de manera aún más compleja con sus hijas por razones que no es difícil imaginar). Son estas bases no siempre las más sanas posibles, en la medida en que la vida de sacrificio permanente con la cual vemos el valor de la madre puede generar un cierto tipo de dinámica que imposibilita un real querer y un real amor propio que es la condición sin la  cual una real amistad reflexiva y emocional se hacen imposible. En otras palabras, aun cuando esas no sean las intenciones reales, el camino de la vida y sus complejidades pueden llevar a un cierto tipo de autosacrificio que hace que el amor sea percibido como un cierto tipo de  “deuda” que debe ser “recompensada”. El ejemplo más preocupante para gente como yo es toda la parafernalia del llamado “Día de la Madre” en donde supuestamente por fin se les reconoce a las madres todo lo que han dejado de hacer y de ser por nuestra felicidad. La ironía es que resulta, hasta cierto punto, en un día de trancones y hasta  sobresaltos. Y ese orgullo pernicioso del autosacrificio incuestionado puede ser precisamente una de las mayores causas de un malestar generalizado que nos cuesta enfrentar decididamente. Esto sobretodo dada nuestra cultura colombiana y québecoise católica, en donde el sacrificio de sí mismo casi es el objetivo primario ya que de lo contrario supuestamente  —– Aristóteles diría, ingenuamente—– se dice que caemos en cierta vanidad orgullosa. Dicha tradición católica que como tu sabes respeto y defiendo —sobre todo frente a cierta arrogancia del cristianismo protestante en Colombia—- gracias a ejemplos católicos como el Padre Francis, el profesor Taylor, el Padre Durán, Pacho, Marya y  tú misma; pero que veo puede aprender de otras tradiciones y así generar mejores condiciones vitales para quienes la practican decididamente o al menos intentamos reflexionar honestamente acerca de sus limitaciones y posibilidades autodestructivas personales, y sobretodo, políticas (por ejemplo, la presidencia de Andrés Pastrana). Porque, ¿no resulta acaso extraño que sea difícil encontrar madres felices? En este sentido madre, y sabiendo de tu amor por la Virgen María, ¿no contrasta con esta realidad de la que te hablo el hecho de que la Virgen casi nunca es representada en nuestra tradición como sufriendo y padeciendo? (excepto claro, en el momento de la muerte de Jesús).

Como tú sabes, madre, es gracias en parte a esa otra tradición, la de los griegos y sobretodo la de Aristóteles y Sócrates,  que hemos podido comprender el sacrificio más allá de simples “deudas” que incluso en sus peores ejemplificaciones hacen que el mismo Dios quedé en cierto tipo de transacción negativa con nosotros! ¡La gracia de Dios con saldo en rojo!

Aristóteles —-como siempre—– nos ayuda a ver con una mayor claridad esa dinámica en dos apartes de su obra magistral sobre ética, es decir, sobre el carácter y la excelencia, sobre la virtud y la felicidad. Por un lado,  indica él el ejemplo culminante del sacrificio de las madres al decirnos que se considera que las madres aman tan incondicionalmente que:

“una señal de esto es que las madres  gozan en querer. Pues algunas entregan sus hijos para que (otros) los críen y, con tal de que sepan de ellos, los siguen queriendo sin buscar la correspondencia en el amor; y si no pueden tener ambas cosas, parece que les basta con verlos prosperar, y ellas quieren a sus hijos, aun cuando estos, por ignorancia, no devuelven nada de lo que se le debe a la madre.” (EN VIII *8)

Madre, como modelo de la entrega total; y yo que soy tu hijo veo ya en el transcurrir de los años los peligros de semejante ecuación total, sobretodo si no va de la mano de una cierta pausada reflexión. El olvido de sí mismo, la falta de felicidad vital real, la indignación ante la no-correspondencia, el silencio de la soledad y la acusación de miradas sin palabras. Podríamos decir de manera muy general que ese amor incondicional sin una mirada hacia la felicidad y al bien reflexivo de la madre misma puede terminar haciendo del amor maternal una labor y una carga incapaz de entrar a indagar seriamente la raíz de semejantes transformaciones inesperadas y  realmente problemáticas para el alma tanto de las madres como de sus hijos/as. ¡Y sobretodo, nos prepara menos para la vejez en la que ya no contamos con las energías para semejantes reflexiones y decisiones y en la que podemos entrar a depender totalmente de nuestros hijos/as!

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Reflections: Elementos para una Educación Política Clásica, Response to “El Tiempo” columns 7: Comentario a Francisco Cajiao: “Educar para la Política”

Posted in on agoristic philosophy, on Leo Strauss, on liberal education, on Nicomachean Ethics, on Pangle, on politics, on prudential questioning, Philosophical topics, philosophy, Response to "EL Tiempo" columns (Spanish), tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 22, 2009| Leave a Comment »

Reflections: Response to “El Tiempo” columns 7: Comentario a Francisco Cajiao: “Educar para la Política”, febrero 17 de 2009.

Debo decir que es casi siempre un verdadero placer leer sus columnas. Su profundo conocimiento de las dinámicas educativas de Colombia es admirable.

Ahora bien, considero que en su columna sobre educación para la política hay varios elementos de gran importancia. Ante las actuales dificultades políticas que vive nuestro país —y las conectadas dificultades éticas y educativas—— usted invita al lector, en parte, a hacer un recorrido histórico hacia los griegos. En este sentido usted, muy prudente y acertadamente, indica que hay al menos dos elementos a considerar. Citándolo directamente dice usted:  1. “La política es el comportamiento fundamental del ciudadano. Política viene de polis (ciudad). Por eso, cuando se habla de competencias ciudadanas es necesario entender que ellas deben conducir a la formación política. …. el ciudadano debe aprender desde su infancia a discriminar lo que conviene para el bien común, de acuerdo con un orden ético y jurídico.”,  y 2. “Siempre, desde la antigua Grecia, se consideró la educación como el medio privilegiado para fortalecer la democracia, formando ciudadanos libres, capaces de discutir sus diferencias y propuestas mediante el ejercicio de la razón. Por esto, el ágora es el espacio privilegiado de la política.”

Al primer elemento le podemos dar el nombre famoso de republicanismo clásico en la medida en que el ser humano según Aristóteles es por naturaleza un ser político. El segundo elemento que usted enfatiza acertadamente es lo que podríamos llamar la importancia de una educación liberal para los griegos. Lo cierto es que en su conjunto estos dos elementos indican una parte de las bases fundamentales de la reflexión filosófica sobre la política que encontramos principalmente en la obra de Aristóteles, que a su vez está respondiendo de manera directa, y también indirecta, a las reflexiones políticas y filosóficas por parte de Platón y su maestro Sócrates. Pero como veremos, estos dos elementos no subsisten de manera tan armónica como podríamos pensar, y sobretodo como podríamos desear, en tanto modernos. Es decir, en tanto modernos nos parecería obvio que, si  logramos dar con el adecuado tipo de educación política, entonces lograríamos llevar o transferir a la realidad esas conclusiones, los resultados de dicha investigación, como base de un proyecto político definitivo de fundamentos universales y generalizables. De esta manera, entonces la práctica y la teoría se retroalimentarían de manera beneficiosa para ambas de tal manera que la justicia se encarnaría como nunca antes. Algo así sí creyó posible todo movimiento marxista/socialista/comunista (y más aún el leninista/stalinista que es modelo aún para las afiebradas FARC) con su consigna de transformación total de la realidad tal y como aparece formulada de manera dramática en las breves y famosas Tesis sobre Feuerbach del propio Marx: (“Tesis 11: Philosophers have hitherto only interpreted the world in various ways; the point is to change it”.)

Pero me temo que semejante proyecto que cree que la educación política puede adquirir real vida y guiar decididamente “desde arriba” (e incluso militarmente) el quehacer político contrasta radicalmente con el verdadero realismo filosófico-político de los grandes pensadores políticos griegos Platón, Jenofonte y Aristóteles (posteriormente complementados por la obra de Cicerón para los romanos). No puedo entrar en detalle aquí, pero por ejemplo, el ejercicio dialógico que presenta La República de Platón, cuyo tema es la pregunta de su interés, es decir, la pregunta por la virtud de la justicia (virtud fundacional de lo político en tanto que nos remite al “bien común”),  invita no a que fundemos una ciudad realmente gobernada por aquellos filósofos políticos o líderes que supuestamente sí han logrado ver el verdadero esquema educativo a seguir, sino todo lo contrario, invita a ver en cierta medida el por qué de las limitaciones profundas y serias de creer que la teoría puede llegar a tener semejantes efectos sobre la realidad política de cualquier ciudad o de cualquier comunidad política. Es más, al comienzo del drama que es este diálogo fundacional entre Sócrates y dos interesantes jóvenes (Glaucón y Adimanto) con intereses políticos diversos, Sócrates mismo es forzado a permanecer en la discusión contra su propia voluntad. Posteriormente en el diálogo Las Leyes Platón retoma de nuevo las intrínsecas limitaciones de lo político comenzando esta vez su investigación desde el lenguaje propio  de lo político. Por ejemplo, los interlocutores son ahora hombres mucho mayores, ya no de Atenas sino de una ciudad extranjera debido a la peligrosa complejidad de las preguntas propuestas, hombres de la “tercera edad” que además deben beber un poco de licor (!) para poder incluso dar arranque al diálogo mismo acerca del complejo rol de las leyes y de lo divino en la fundación de una comunidad política.

Pero incluso, bajo cierta interpretación, también los últimos dos libros de la Política de Aristóteles revelan una posición similar; no hay allí un modelo que podamos simplemente copiar e instaurar en la realidad. Por el contrario, revela esta obra de manera magistral un cierto dualismo claramente jerarquizado indicando, a la vez, tanto la importancia del ámbito político como igualmente las limitaciones inherentes a dicho ámbito humano, limitaciones que sólo se vislumbran desde  la filosofía política  misma. Y una concepción similar ocurre en La República de Cicerón. Además, siglos después, Santo Tomás Moro siguiendo el mismo modelo escribió su Utopía que de nuevo es un ejercicio para percibir los límites de lo político desde el lenguaje de la filosofía política, no un manual de cómo llevar a cabo transformaciones definitivas en la “realidad”.

Esto es lo que se conoce, en el lenguaje de una corriente interpretativa que toma como base la obra de Leo Strauss, como el debate entre el “utopianismo clásico” que se enfrenta decididamente al “idealismo moderno”. Se resume dicho debate, y disculpe que no lo traduzca, de esta manera:

“classical political philosophy  conceives the “best regime” not as an ideal to be realized, nor even something to be approached and worked toward; the elaboration of the best regime is intended, rather, as a subtly playful thought-experiment meant to reveal the limitations of what we can expect from all actual political philosophy” (Pangle, Thomas, Leo Strauss: An  Introduction to his Thought and Intellectual Legacy, p. 46)

Es decir, sea lo que sea que aprendamos de los filósofos políticos griegos, resultará nocivo el no intentar ver sus escritos en sus propios términos. Es más, el pensamiento político clásico es la vacuna precisamente contra el  complejo deseo, por parte de cierto tipo de seres humanos,  de instauración de la justicia total y verdadera en el ámbito real de la política ciudadana. El siglo XX nos dio múltiples ejemplos de los desastres al intentar llevar a cabo cierto tipo de proyecto secular radical a como de lugar (Stalin, Mao, Khmer Rouge,  …. FARC). El periódo del terror bajo Robespierre que se desprende de la Revolución  Francesa de 1789 nos lo revela igualmente. Es decir, el deseo de encarnar un proyecto totalizante de justicia terrenal (piénsese en el resultado de “aplicar” el “Libro Rojo” de Mao para los ciudadanos chinos) , y un cierto deseo inmoderado, violento y hasta tiránico, parecen estar conectados de maneras que el racionalismo político griego nos permite entender mejor. Para estos últimos no puede haber una reconciliación final entre filosofía y política; es más, es gracias a esta fructífera tensión inevitable que garantizamos tanto cierta moderación real en la praxis política, como la creación de unos líderes/ciudadanos hasta cierto punto libres de falsas expectativas y deseos destructivos con respecto a un cierto ordenamiento legal que ellos encarnan y del cual descienden. Como usted lo pone: “el ciudadano debe aprender desde su infancia a discriminar lo que conviene para el bien común, de acuerdo con un orden ético y jurídico.” Pero además esta valiosa tensión “garantiza” la aparición en escena de aquellos individuos filosóficamente preparados en la tradición clásica que puedan generar interpretativamente dos proyectos diferentes, a saber,  la más profunda explicitación de las bases que fundamentan un proyecto político dado (piénsese por ejemplo en el valor que los straussianos le dan a los “Founding Fathers” de los Estados Unidos),  explicitación que a la vez  les permite de esta manera poder juzgar sana y prudencialmente —– al igual que criticar seriamente—— los progresos y/o retrocesos del ordenamiento mismo desde su fundación.  Un ejemplo de dicha postura dual sería el entrar a considerar críticamente la Constitución del 91 más allá de una simple defensa progresista. (more…)

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Reflections: Leo Strauss on moderation and the extremisms of Colombia

Posted in education, on agoristic philosophy, on Leo Strauss, on liberal education, on politics, on prudence, on prudential questioning, Philosophical topics, tagged , , , , , , , on February 12, 2009| Leave a Comment »

Reflections: Leo Strauss on moderation and the extremisms of Colombia

As one regards the politics of  extremism  ——–both in word and in action—– which guide the reality of our Colombia (whose most grotesque example is ANNCOL), one cannot but hold firm to the words with which Strauss brings to a close his “Liberal Education and Responsibility”:

“We must not expect that liberal education can ever become universal education. It will always remain the obligation and the privilege of a minority. Nor can we expect that the liberally educated will become a political power in their own right. For we cannot  expect that liberal education will lead all who benefit from it to understand their civic responsibility in the same way or to agree politically. Karl Marx, the father of Communism, and Friedrich Nietzsche, the stepgrandfather of fascism, were liberally educated on a level to which we cannot even hope to aspire. But perhaps one can say  that their grandiose failures makes it easier for us who have experienced those failures to understand again the old saying that wisdom cannot be separated from moderation and hence to understand that wisdom requires unhesitating loyalty to a descent constitution and even to the cause of constitutionalism. Moderation will protect us against the twin dangers of visionary expectations from politics and unmanly contempt for politics. Thus it may again become true that all liberally educated men will be politically moderate men. It is in this way that the  liberally  educated may again receive a hearing even in the market place (note: in the sense of ‘agora’).” (Liberalism Ancient and Modern,  p. 24)

Those extremists of the word who mock our president as if the presidency were simply a man and not one of  the foundational institutions of our democratic stability (for who will not feel entitled to mock the presidency now, no matter who holds it? no matter if for the right reasons?), those extremists who defend in silence and in word the practice of kidnapping of civilians by the corrupt and savage FARC who just this week killed aboriginals with total disregard for justice, decency, courage  and nobility (deaf as deaf can be to the, now very old,  news of Marx’s overwhelming failure), those extremists who because of their “sacrifices” claim that they alone are the ones who truly love their country, those extremists who might be tempted by the appeals of endless tyranny,  those extremists who have left Colombia and forsaken her to whatever future, those extremists of the intelligence that do not even know of the “market place” of which Strauss speaks above, those extremists who will find any way to defend and rationalize the growth and commercialization of narcotics (for legalizing an activity without a foundational long-standing education towards the common good seems utterly dangerous)  and specially those extremists —specifically those who have given the honor and privileges of being called “officers” of the nation—- that hold that recklessly using the force of the state against its own citizens by bypassing the laws of the country and bringing shame to the very foundations of our important military institutions is a possibility; all these extremists of the mind and of the heart  should take to heart Strauss’s words. For if not, Colombia’s chance for history, nay, Colombia’s chance for recognizable recovery and truthful admiration, might be lost to time.

Ironically, Colombia seems to need a new kind of politics; the politics of intelligent and firm moderation —–not to be confused with a politics of the extremism of  tolerance for we DO NOT TOLERATE, specially inhumane, senseless and cowardly kidnappings (as our courageous President Uribe does not tire of arguing), but also extra-judicial assassinations by those whose apparent self-righteousness is simply a disguise for their self-aggrandizement and recognition at whatever cost.

Such is the politics towards which  the reading of Strauss, and his contemporary student Thomas Pangle, leads. But such a reality can only come about through liberal education, and the above quote reveals some of the dilemmas inherent in this type of education. Be that as it may, our country lacks a liberal education which “may again receive a hearing even in the market place (note: in the sense of ‘agora’)”.

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Reflections: Socrates and Xenophon, the philosophic and the political life

Posted in education, on academic philosophy, on agoristic philosophy, on liberal education, on politics, on Socrates, on Xenophon, Philosophical topics, writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 3, 2009| 2 Comments »

Reflections: Socrates and Xenophon, the philosophic and the political life

At the very least, this is clear. The most fundamental difference between Socrates and Xenophon might be dangerously summarized by saying that Socrates, who rarely felt the need to physically leave Athens, never wished to rule over anyone under any circumstances, while Xenophon —–his questioning and nowadays seldom read student—– did in fact wish to rule over many under varying circumstances (see Buzzetti).

Or, to put it much more nobly and perhaps more truthfully: it would be best to say that the once unknown and adventure-loving Xenophon —–who had come into direct contact with Socrates—– suddenly came to recognize far outside the boundaries of his native Athens not only the unavoidability of ruling among humans, but also and perhaps much more importantly, his absolutely unique capacity for such ruling when true crisis touched upon his life and those surrounding him. However, later in life he seems to have given up this politically engaged desire for the desire to recollect in writing both tension-ridden forms of life: on the one hand recovering the life of Socrates in his Memorabilia and the other  truly amazing shorter Socratic texts, and on the other hand recovering the circumstances of his rise to fame and glory as a commander in his autobiographical The Anabasis of Cyrus. In contrast, Socrates also never felt the desire to write, not of himself or others.

Agoristic philosophy ——as the foundation of political philosophy—– begins in wonder (thaumazein) at such striking complex connections and deep tensions between the life of politics and the life of philosophy. Its path is that of an understanding of the dynamics of virtue(s); its guide remains Aristotle.


*****************

Appendixes

Xenophon only appears in direct conversation with Socrates in two short sections, one in his Memorabilia where he listens to Socrates’ views on kissing(!), the other in his The Anabasis of Cyrus where he recalls the conversation with Socrates with which he began his voyage. These astonishing sections read as follows:

Appendix 1: (Memorabilia I, 4; Bonnette translation)

“These were the sort of things he used to say with playfulness accompanied by seriousness.  On the other hand, he advised that one steadfastly refrain from sex with those who are beautiful. For he said that it is not easy when one touches these sorts to be moderate. In fact, after he perceived once that Critobulus the son of Crito had kissed the beautiful son of Alcibiades, he asked Xenophon in Critobulus’ presence”

“Tell me, Xenophon,” he said, “ didn’t you hold Critobulus to be one of the moderate rather than the rash human beings, and one of these with forethought rather than senseless and reckless?”

“Certainly,” said Xenophon.

“Well, hold now that he is hotheaded and heedless in the extreme. He would even make somersaults into daggers and leap into fire.”

“And what did you see him doing,” said Xenophon, “that you have formed such judgments about him?”

“Did he not dare to kiss the son of Alcibiades, who is most fair and in his bloom?” he said.

“But if that is the reckless deed,” said Xenophon,”in my opinion, I, too, would endure this risk.”

“You wretch!” said Socrates. “And what do you think you would suffer after kissing  someone so beautiful? Would you not immediately be a slave rather than free, spend a lot of harmful pleasures, be in great want of leisure for attending to anything noble and good, and be compelled to take seriously what even madman would not take seriously?”

“Heracles!” said Xenophon. “What terrible power you ascribe to a kiss.”

“And do you wonder at this?” said Socrates. “Don’t you know that poisonous spiders not even half an obol in size crush human beings with pain and drive them from their senses  merely by touching them in their mouths?”

“Yes, by Zeus!” said Xenophon, “For spiders inject something through their sting.”

“You fool!” said Socrates. “Do you think that when those who are beautiful kiss they don’t inject anything, just because you don’t see it? Don’t you know that this beast that they call beautiful in bloom is so much more terrible than spiders that, while spiders inject  something when they touch, it (even when it does not touch, but if one just looks at it) injects even from quite far away something of the sort to drive one mad? And perhaps ‘lovers’ are called ‘archers’ because those who are beautiful inflict wounds even from afar. But I counsel you, Xenophon, whenever you see someone beautiful, to flee without looking back .”

Appendix 2: (The Anabasis of Cyrus III, 1, 4; Ambler translation )

“In the army there was a certain Xenophon, an Athenian, who followed along even though he was neither a general nor a captain nor a soldier; but Proxenus, a guest-friend of his from long ago, had sent for him to come home. He promised that if he came, he would make him a friend of Cyrus, whom Proxenus himself had said he believed to be the better for himself than his fatherland was. So Xenophon, on reading his letter, took common counsel with Socrates the Athenian about the journey. And Socrates, suspecting that becoming a friend of Cyrus might bring an accusation from the city, because Cyrus had seemed eager in joining the Lacedaemonians in making war against the Athenians, advised Xenophon to go to Delphi and take common counsel with the god about the journey. Xenophon went and asked Apollo to which one of the gods he should sacrifice and pray in order to make the journey he had in mind in the noblest and best way and, after faring well, to return safely. And Apollo indicated to him the gods to whom he needed to sacrifice.

When he came back again, he told the oracular response to Socrates. On hearing it, Socrates blamed him because  he did not first ask whether it was more advisable for him  to make the journey or to remain, but he himself had judged that he was to go and then inquired how he might go in the noblest way. “However, since you did ask it in this way,” he said, “you must do all that the god bade.”

So after sacrificing to the ones the god had indicated, Xenophon sailed off.”

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Reflections: Abraham Lincoln y la esclavitud, Response to “El Tiempo” columns 5: Comentario a Daniel Samper Pizano “Lincoln, un racista lleno de gloria” (Spanish)

Posted in on Aristotle, on ethics, on liberal education, on prudence, on prudential questioning, on slavery, Philosophical topics, philosophy, Response to "EL Tiempo" columns (Spanish), slavery, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on January 12, 2009| 1 Comment »

Lincoln and Generals

Abraham Lincoln y la esclavitud, Response to “El Tiempo” columns 5: Comentario a Daniel Samper Pizano “Lincoln, un racista lleno de gloria”, enero 6 de 2009.

(Nota: Para otro texto sobre “Lincoln y su uso de la retórica  política” escrito en inglés ver aquí )

Sin duda el hecho de que su columna haya sido respondida a partir de citas textuales de la obra de Lincoln no es gratuito. Esa decisión revela en sí misma una posición radicalmente diferenciada de la suya. Se podría defender dicha posición de diferentes maneras. Una de ellas podría argumentar lo siguiente: “si Lincoln mismo con sus propias palabras no puede defenderse de sus acusaciones altamante incompletas y cuestionables, pues menos lo haremos aquellos que no hemos logrado la grandeza que Lincoln sí alcanzó no sólo en actos sino en su admirable manera de escribir sobre y enfrentar decididamente y con gran coraje los complejos dilemas políticos de su época.” Pero además, dicha postura puede invitar a una relectura mucho más cuidadosa y hermeneúticamente mucho más generosa de la obra de Lincoln que la suya; sobretodo teniendo en cuenta que su obra es admirada por su originalidad reflexiva, por su socrática capacidad de autocuestionamiento  —evidente en las citas que le envié—— y por su poderoso manejo retórico del lenguaje público siguiendo el modelo de los Griegos Antiguos. En este sentido es de absoluta importancia el que las citas que usted provee sean claramente identificadas en cuanto al punto preciso de su aparición dentro de la amplia obra de Lincoln (es decir, cuál discurso, qué  año, qué circunstancias, ante cuál audiencia, y otros.)

O podríamos poner la cuestión de una manera más personal. Si bien leo con frecuencia sus columnas, en verdad es raro que su dinámica logre penetrar los fundamentos político-filosóficos que están a la base de mi vida académica y práctica. En verdad en su caso debo decir que llegamos a implementar aquello a que la democracia invita,  a la tolerancia de la diferencia (¡y qué diferencia tan difícil de tolerar!) Y a diferencia de otras ocasiones, en esta oportunidad decidí responder y hacerlo de una manera específica, simplemente citando “como buen loro” las palabras de Lincoln referidas especificamente a los temas tratados en su columna, especialmente la problemática compleja de la esclavitud. Imagino su respuesta ante tal posición algo así como lo siguiente: “Bueno, si hermano, pero ahora dígame usted qué piensa, o es que acaso idolatra a Lincoln?” Si estoy —–así sea tan solo medianamente—– en lo correcto, entonces tal vez las citas hayan tenido el efecto deseado. ¿En qué sentido? En el sentido paralelo siguiente;  al leer la columna sobre Lincoln y su respuesta lo único que yo podía pensar era; “Bueno, hemano, pero ahora dígame que era lo que Lincoln decía, o es que acaso sólo caricaturiza a Lincoln?” Y claro ante un personaje como Lincoln prefiero pecar de idólatra antes que de caricaturizador.

Más positivamente, veo en su columna un deseo por darle una voz a las grandes y complejas comunidades negras que no sólo en la historia de los Estados Unidos sino en nuestra propia Colombia han sido tratadas de manera condenable, antes como propiedad sin alma, ahora como supuestos ciudadanos pero tan sólo de segunda clase. Su riqueza cultural, musical y  política silenciada por muchas décadas. Pueda ser que las leyes hayan prohibido la escalvitud, pero la dinámica racista perdura entre nosotros de manera preocupante. Basta pensar en Martin Luther King, y el caso de dramático de la realidad chocoana en nuestro país. No en vano las lágrimas de muchos afro-americanos al darse cuenta que Obama en realidad sí había sido elegido; era como si no lo creyeran. En este sentido su postura interpretativa, que busca un espacio real para la dignidad de la diferencia para ciertas minorías, es bienvenida y digna de defensa, aun cuando el tono y la argumentación en muchos casos deja muchas dudas acerca de la consecución de dicho objetivo. Y claro, realizar semejantes proezas en una corta columa periodística involucra ya de entrada una gran injusticia de mi parte.

Habiendo dejado eso en claro, surgen ——creo yo, y perdonará la excesiva extensión de esta respuesta—— al menos tres críticas de gran  importancia a los puntos de vista brevemente expuestos en su columna: 1) cuestiones generales metodológico-interpretativas a la base de su visión de mundo, 2) cuestiones más específicas, particularmente referidas al contraste realmente problemático entre lo que dice el propio  Lincoln, confrontado a su interpretación —basada en un grupo de historiadores, más no en el único grupo (piénsese en la obra de Jaffa sobre Lincoln)—– acerca de lo que se dice que dice Lincoln,  y 3) los dilemas práctico-políticos concretos frente a la cuestión de lo público en Colombia que generan su postura casi que orgullosa de destrozar todo mito político relevante, ingenuamente al mismo tiempo aparentando defender la posibilidad de una vida política en la que los mitos sean dejados de lado por completo.  A continuación cada una de estas críticas:

1) Lo cierto es que las diferencias metodológicas/interpretativas a la base de nuestras aproximaciones a la historia de lo político, y sobretodo de los grandes líderes políticos son abismales. Y estas diferencias metodológicas/interpretativas hacen inevitable que veamos dos mundos esencialmente opuestos. Envié la cita porque en cuanto a Lincoln y sus posturas frente a la igualdad racial es mejor leer lo que él mismo asevera.  Como hace mucho sigo sus columnas —es raro que este de acuerdo con alguna de ellas—- puedo decir que comprendo varios de sus puntos de partida como periodista. Interpretativamente existe la idea de que los llamados “hombres/mujeres de estado’ son: a) simples estrategas en búsqueda de aquello que conviene más a su deseo por poder que cualquier causa noble/honorable; b) sus palabras en general sólo reflejan aquellas motivaciones inconscientes que ellos no pueden nunca llegar a superar; c) recurren a cualquier medio para obtener su fin que esta lejos de la nobleza y honorabilidad de lo político. Ahora bien, un resumen de la postura radicalmente crítica de sus presuposiciones se  encuentra —entre otras—- en la obra de Thomas Pangle que argumenta que por el contrario hay una tradición que restaura el civismo ejemplar de los grandes “seres de estado” a su correcta posición. No en vano esta tradición mira atrás, a la filosofía politica clásica griega (sobretodo Aristóteles), como su guía. Disculpará que no la traduzca;

“The rebirth of classical republican theory restores civic statesmanship to its princely throne as the highest subphilosophic human calling. And Strauss’s teaching instills a tempered appreciation for the nobility  of the political life within liberal democracy  as the best regime  possible in our epoch, in full awareness of this democracy’s and that epoch’s intensifying spiritual and civic conundrums. Strauss’s thought carries an implicit as well as explicit severe rebuke of those thoughtlessly egalitarian historians and social scientists who debunk, rather than make more intelligible and vivid, the greatness of statesmen. Strauss deplores and opposes the prevalent scholarly tendency to belittle or ignore political history  for the sake of subpolitical “social” history —to reduce the debates and deeds of active citizens and their leaders to merely “ideological” contests masking supposedly deeper economic or “social” forces. He argues that these fashionable scholarly and teaching trends not only undermine the already precarious respect for political debate and public spirit, but also falsify the empirical reality of man as the political animal.” (mi énfasis; Thomas Pangle, Leo Strauss: An Introduction to his Thought and Intellectual Legacy,  p. 82)

Tal vez reconociendo la diferencia –que es algo a lo que usted invita—- modere así sea un poco la manera en que se aproxima a los grandes líderes políticos que desde el ámbito de lo político son admirados por su nobleza y que desde el llamado “cuarto poder” (la prensa libre) son constantemente cuestionados utlizando un lenguaje foráneo, muchas veces indignado y sin duda interpretativamente limitado. ¿Acaso no está en el “cuarto poder”  el poder —–y sobretodo el DEBER—– de generar, o ayudar a generar las condiciones de estabilidad política y generación de líderes y de una ciudadanía fuerte que garantice que la democracia logre sus objetivos de la mejor manera posible?  O como lo dijo Bolívar, otro gran hombre de estado relevante para nuestra encrucijada colombiana:

“Un hombre como yo, es un ciudadano peligroso en un Gobierno popular; es una amenaza inmediata a la soberanía nacional. Yo quiero ser ciudadano, para ser libre y para que todos lo sean. Prefiero el título de ciudadano al de Libertador, porque este emana de la guerra, aquel emana de la leyes. Cambiadme, señor , todos mis dictados por el de buen ciudadano. “ (Discurso al Juramentarse como Presidente de la República ante el Congreso, Cúcuta, 1821; Brevario del Libertador, Ramón de Zubiria p. 172)

Y por ende surgen muchas preguntas frente al sarcasmo de su columna, incluyendo: ¿cómo generar dichos ciudadanos si nos mofamos de los líderes que son precisamente los más ejemplares ciudadanos a nuestro alcance? (more…)

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Protected: Reflections: On Rarefactions a year later; final post (?)

Posted in blogs, death, letter to my father, letters, logos, on academic philosophy, on agoristic philosophy, on Aristotle, on Charles Taylor, on illness, on politics, Philosophical topics, philosophy, political rhetoric, writing, tagged , , , , , , , , on December 14, 2008|

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Reflections: Some very tentative questions regarding brotherhood in the Bible

Posted in on anger, on brotherhood, on ethics, on justice, on Plato, on Socrates, On the Bible, on the family, on Xenophon, Philosophical topics, philosophy, philosophy (short), tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 18, 2007| Leave a Comment »

Three biblical stories, two in the Old Testament ——specifically in Genesis—— and one in the New Testament, might aid us in trying to understand, however imperfectly and sketchily, the issue of brotherhood in the Bible. The first story is the well-known story of Cain and Abel; the second, the well-known story of Joseph; and finally, the third story, the well-known story of the parable by Jesus of the Lost Son. All three will be presented solely by way of puzzles and questions. In this regard we ask hesitantly: Could it be that the possibility of friendship according to the Bible is very limited in the case of brothers for some very precise reasons? But, why would this be so? Don’t citizen parents actually put all their conjoined strengths into bringing up their children to be good to each other, to love each other?

Story 1: Cain and Abel, Genesis 4

Why provide a second fall immediately following the most foundational of all falls by Adam and Eve? Why indeed are the primary models of brotherhood Cain and Abel? Why is the story so astonishingly short? Why did God not accept Cain’s offering even if it was the first? Why is Cain so wronged and upset by God’s not accepting his gift? Is it because he is the first born? But, what is it that the first born feels entitled to that feeds such angry responses? Moreover, why does he seek to kill his brother? Why not simply punch him a few times? What is the nature of such blinding rage? What is the fundamental importance of Abel’s being a “keeper of flocks” as against Cain’s being “a tiller of the ground”? Is there something about nomadic lives that is more akin to the nature of the divine? Would it be its greater independence from the earthly? Or is it that nomads are much more in need of the presence of the divine as they move around a “homeless” world? Does it have to do with the fact the Abel deals with animals and their care? But then again, why can’t Cain see that God himself actually speaks to him in the story and not to Abel? In the same vein, why is the story about Cain and much less about Abel? Why does it matter so little to know what Abel’s life was like? And furthermore, why does Cain lie to make things even worse? But if Cain knows he is a sinner, and the worst at that as a fratricidal kind of being, why continue to punish Cain with a permanent eternal sign that will mark him permanently to all on the earth? Why punish him beyond his own consciousness of his knowing he has done a terrible, spiritually self-destructive, deed? (See Appendix 1 below.) And dramatically for political philosophy as defended by Athens, why is Cain the one who actually founds the first city of the Bible, the city of Enoch? Why is the Bible so pessimistic about the political from the very start?

Story 2: Joseph, Genesis 37-50

Why is the love of Joseph by his father so connected to the varicolored tunic he gave him in his old age? Does this shed light into the relation of the beautiful and the divine? Why is it also so intimately connected to his actually accompanying his father in old age as the younger one? Does this shed some light into the commandment regarding the honoring of our parents? Is honoring our parents primarily being able to accompany and prepare them for death? But if so, wouldn’t believers also learn much from Socrates for whom philosophy is a constant preparation for dying? And, why does the Bible see it fit to show that now it is not only one brother, but many, who hate Joseph? Moreover, why does Joseph so naively express such complex dreams to his brothers? Didn’t he surmise he would be in trouble? Must faith be necessarily naive (see Ricoeur’s Freud and Philosophy)? And besides, what is so special about dreams and our connection to the divine in the Bible? How to contrast these presence with Aristotle’s own consideration in his prudential text on dreams? And his brothers, why can’t they appreciate Joseph’s honesty? Would they have rather Joseph not tell them anything at all, that is, not prepare them at all for God’s presence? And very polemically, does Joseph’s being selected by God shed some light on our modern democratic families? And still, why in this occasion do the brothers decide only to fake Joseph’s death? Is it because they are thinking of their father with a certain sympathy? Surely not, for their father would still think Joseph to be dead, wouldn’t he? What is so particularly appalling about Judah’s idea of selling and wreaking profit from his brother’s enslavement? What is it about our desire to have and posses material things than makes Judah lead his own family into utter dislike by God? His future generations, the creations of his creations, are somehow condemned by his avarice, aren’t they? Is this part of the basis as well for Aquinas’ powerful condemnation of usury which speaks little to us nowadays? And what precisely could anger brothers and sisters about one of their own actually being chosen by God? Why wouldn’t this be an occasion for joy? What are brothers particularly so much in competition about? Could it be that at the bottom of their hearts lies a desire to become god-like and to be recognized as such by their kin? Wouldn’t this be what Aristophanes tells us as well in the Symposium? And moving closer to our times, why did Thomas Mann rewrite the story of Joseph in so many pages in our modern context of war? And very importantly, perhaps most importantly, how to understand Joseph’s final words to his fearing brothers:

“But Joseph said to them, “do not be afraid, for am I in God’s place? And as for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good in order to bring about this present result, to preserve many people alive. So therefore do not be afraid: I will provide for you and your little ones” So he comforted them and spoke kindly to them” (Genesis, 50: 20-21)

What exactly does Joseph mean by saying that God “meant it for good”? Was Joseph at all times aware that things would end so? Wouldn’t one apply the words “all ‘s well that ends well “ here? Is this last question simply a reflection of one’s pride? And why does he not suffer as much as Job does? What is it about Joseph that gives him such strength?

Story 3: Parable of the Lost Son, Luke 15: 11-32

Why does this parable follow the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin? Why are they so ordered? Why one must speak of losing oneself in parables? Is it because we are moving in a particular direction? And crucially, why does the lost son wish to become a migrant risking his own life? Is it because he is more like Abel than Cain, the tiller of the land? Why wish to get lost? For surely, we know what is at stake in leaving our families, don’t we? And once again, why does the brother get so angry? Why is the love of his own recognition so important to him if he has lived right beside his father all his life? Wasn’t that enough? What more could he be looking for? And again, who would be envious of one’s brother’s having suffered and despaired in solitude? Which of these two brothers would actually be better prepared to honor his parents, as is our duty according to the 10 Commandments? Would the adequate honoring of one’s parents be a compromise between the two? But wouldn’t such a compromise involve a certain strange kind of anger that is not to be seen in the noblest of honorings and loves?

__________________
Appendix 1:

For a much more developed puzzling presentation of the Bible, one can turn to Professor Thomas Pangle’s difficult, yet engaging and puzzle-creating, Political Philosophy and the God of Abraham where he touches on the life of Abraham and the sacrifice of his son Isaac. In particular, see pages 93-96 ‘The Puzzle of Divine Foreknowledge” which are three complete pages made up only of puzzles and questions. Or later on, in the chapter on “Guilt and Punishment” where Pangle writes in crucial relation to the above questions:

“But this last formulation brings close to us a final troubling question. However we are to understand criminal responsibility, what are the intelligible grounds for the overwhelming conviction that the guilty deserve to suffer for what they have done; and what are the intelligible grounds for the concomitant hope that they –that even we ourselves— will suffer the punishment that they, and we, deserve. For guilt betokens sin or vice; and sin or vice are either genuinely and severely harmful, in the most important respect, to the very soul of the criminal; or else they betoken an alienation of the criminal from the source of meaning for him as a being designed to devotion. Why, then, is it appropriate, why is it sensible, that such a crippled and or alienated being receive, in addition to and as a consequence of his corruption or alienation, further harm or suffering. Why is it so terribly important for us that to the suffering and mutilation of the spirit that is entailed in being unjust there be added extrinsic bad consequences for the perpetrator?” (PPGA, p. 101)

Pangle keeps alive, in critical contrast to modernity, the enriching yet tense debate between Athens and Jerusalem.

Appendix 2:

For a striking story of how Socrates views, at least minimally, the relation between brothers see Memorabilia 2.3 where one finds an astonishing conversation with Chaerecrates who has fought with his older brother. To begin to even try to understand this story, one would have to reconsider what Socrates considered to be a philosophical life and its relation to the citizens who inhabit the agora. Without such a perspective, the story seems merely to involve a strange naivety. And we know for certain that Xenophon, a general, was anything but naive.

But perhaps the true nature of brotherhood is best exemplified in The Republic where Glaucon and Adeimantus —both Plato’s brothers— encounter Socrates dialogically on the question of justice and reveal dramatically to the reader their unique and differing characteristics as regards the political and philosophical life. Perhaps it is by looking at the question of justice that at least some healthier brotherhoods may come about.

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From T to Ω: a critical stance on our dangerous desire for overspecialization

Posted in alphabet, education, letter Ω, letter omega, letter T, omega people, on academic philosophy, on Aristotle, on ethics, overspecialization, philosophy, writing, tagged , , , , , , , , on November 7, 2007| Leave a Comment »

T and Ω: a critical stance on our dangerous desire for overspecialization

I have written elsewhere on the deep need that our overspecialized western societies —–which find themselves in a serious ecological crisis, in confusion regarding the question of the divine and in the presence of multiple deep political tensions—– have for T-type kind of people. I myself am part of those few who try to consider themselves “T-minded” individuals. My resume is a “T-kind” of resume. Although this post intended to show both some of the obstacles for the actual generation of T-minded people, as well as some of the essential and more deeply clarified characteristics of such individuals and their complex narratives, the length itself of these reflections has limited me in this post to a more basic goal. This post will merely reflect and puzzle as to why the letter T might be both the best and the worst candidate to graphically represent what I have called “T-minded people” are all about. Subsequent posts will hopefully deal with the very important issues regarding the obstacles themselves which T-people face given their decision both to be seriously critical of overspecialization and its blind, powerful and utilitarian defenders, and also to fight the generalized and very real obstacles which make the creation of reflective-oriented T-people in our hyper-specialized societies almost, and tragically so, impossible. Our reflective path here will lead us from the letter T to the Greek letter omega (Ω). Both letters, as you will see, may provide the graphical basis for a serious critical stance on our dangerous desire for overspecialization.

Classical liberal education stands as a counterweight to such overspecialization. This can even be seen in the way we educate our bodies. Physical education has become an option for those who want to “specialize” in it. In contrast, the classical practice of a liberal education had a central physical component in the area of “physical education”; it was a very important part of a more holistic understanding of what it means to be fully human. Now, in several highly-specialized countries, this “education” appears as an optional goal given our radical tendency to over-specialize our children. This is a tendency for which we are paying the price in terms of our children’s very own physical and mental health. What is the over-specialized society’s solution? Well, seek a health specialist! And moving from specialization to specialization we move farther and farther from another type of understanding of things, a healthier and a happier (in the Aristotelian sense) mode of being. In contrast, a liberally educated society sees that a “physical education program is designed to cultivate physical fitness, basic athletic skills, and an appreciation of the value of recreational physical activity”. Link

What holistic “physical education” allows is an education in moderation as well as in the beauty of the whole. It also prepares the mind for play and the value of leisurely activity. Over-specialization is founded upon a certain immoderation and the partialized beauty of dissection. One could even go so far as to say that overspecialization rarely knows of leisure, for it must constantly seek further specialization in order to gain the upper hand. Its endless desires know of little rest. Many modern athletes, with their dramatic stories of excess pressure and unwise decisions, are a prime example of such differences. Professional cycling, as in the Tour de France,is only one of many such examples. Our athletes are, regrettably,no longer liberally educated.

In a similar vein, it is Aristotle ——a T-type philosopher—- who expresses beautifully this kind of awareness in the culminating reflections as they appear in the Politics. These reflections can be seen as the most developed words on what are the very foundations of a truly liberal education. For instance, there he writes concerning the best possible education regarding drawing as it relates to generating the conditions for a free and virtuous citizenry:

“Similarly they should be educated in drawing not so that they may not make errors in their private purchases and avoid being deceived in the buying and selling of wares, but rather because it makes them experts at studying the beauty connected with bodies. To seek everywhere the element of utility is least of all fitting for those who are magnanimous and free.” (Aristotle Politics VIII *3, 11138a40-1338b3)

For if there is to be specialization, as there must be, it must be of a very different kind. Drawing and learning to see the beauty of our bodily condition go hand-in-hand for Aristotle. Seeing beauty and becoming a nobler and freer type of citizen also go hand-in-hand. In contrast,for us overspecialization goes hand-in-hand with increased utility; the more you specialize the more “you’ll get out of it”. Just think of the way our athletes are recruited nowadays. Or just ask your family doctor. We have thus lost view of a different form of magnanimity and public freedom which stands as a powerful and necessary corrective. And to such type of Aristotelian drawing we shall try to return when looking at the way we draw in our minds the letter T, letter which stands against such dangerous and self-destructive tendencies towards overspecialization.

Or put another way. Shaw is said to have said: “More and more, we know more of less; until there will come a time when we will know much of nothing, and nothing of the whole.” Our informational age gathers and reproduces very specialized know-how endlessly; just think of the hundreds of blogs posted daily on the web. And one hears, first condition for your blog to be successful and be read by many, specialize it! Or think of the important yet endless publications on the most minute issues which are disconnected from all other types of understanding. Our age specializes in specialization. We are knowers indeed; and yet,paused reflection on the serious limitations surrounding this kind of specialized and self-reproductive knowing is mostly lacking. So much so, that of our age it is perhaps true to say that because it sees only the trees it fails to see the forest. In fact, to see the trees without seeing the forest is certainly what has endangered our dwelling in this our planet currently in critical ecological indeterminacy. In contrast, T-minded people seek to see the forest and traverse the changing paths of the forest to have a clearer grasp, if ever incomplete, of the whole. T-people are forest dwellers, rather than merely tree analyzers. Murdered nun Dorothy Stang, who sought to protect Brazil’s rainforest,was one such forest dweller. And if they in fact decide to “analyze” trees, which T-people can, then they do so with a different grounding, a grounding in the poetic. I have looked at one such form of analysis here: Link

But let us return to our privileged letter, the letter T. Why use this letter as a mode of self-understanding? Please look carefully at the letter itself:

T

Nothing special, right? We know it and know how to use it.

But I must stop. I am truly sorry for so many delays. We haven’t even started, and yet we already encounter our first puzzle. Why? Precisely because I believe only “T”-minded kind of people will actually seek to stop,see and reflect on the letter itself beyond its utility. I might be very wrong, but I think few ofus have actually looked at the letters we use in our daily lives as the pragmatic specialists that we are. We simply use such letters to write, to speak, to designate, to express. Such letters are not ends-in-themselves, they are simply means to other human things and goals. But, what if what is deeply required of us in our “never-ending progressivist age”, were reflection on the basics themselves? We have become so accustomed to using these letters that we have forgotten that once they did not play a central role in our self-understanding as humans. What I mean is, in part, something like this.

Anne Carson’s beautiful Eros the Bittersweet, a short and poetic study of the Greek alphabet in connection to the erotic poems of Sappho and the dialogues in which Socrates’ life is portrayed,recalls how an illiterate man reported seeing some strange figures which for the literate were obviously letters. But he himself could not recognize ——let alone understand—– them as they were foreign to his self-understanding. Here is what the illiterate man, that same one who abounds in our developing countries,reports:

“I am not skilled at letters but I will explain the shapes

and clear symbols to you.

There is a circle marked out as it were with a compass

And it has a clear sign in the middle.

The second one is first of all two strokes

And then another one keeping them apart in the

middle.

The third is curly like a lock of hair

And the fourth is one line going straight up

And three crosswise ones attached to it

The fifth is not easy to describe:

There are two strokes which run together from

separate points

To one support.

And the last one is like the third.“ (Carson, pp. 57-58)

And Carson goes on to “solve” the riddle which for us literate ones is no riddle at all: “The man has spelled out the six letters of the name Theseus: ΘΗΣΕΥΣ (note: letters in Greek)”.And that is not all, this is a fragment of a tragedy which Euripides himself entitled with the very same letters, the tragedy whose name is Theseus. (Have you ever thought about the letters of YOUR name? Do you remember how difficult it was to actually learn to write it down? How much satisfaction accompanied this act! Have you ever seen your name written down in another language and felt the overwhelming surprise?) Describing them so, we recall that each letter goes beyond its function, each has a form and a unique beauty. A letter hides a mystery, one such letter is “curly like a beautiful lock of hair”. Letters can be ends-in-themselves, even in their simplicity. (I have argued something similar for prepositions here , and for basic lines here )

And we come to realize as well, that uniqueness is not universally shared. So much so that we marvel at the form underpinning the drawing of this Arabic letter: ى .. Do you see its curvy beauty? Do you see its elongated bird-like being? Or else, I once tried to learn Hebrew (the things one does for love!), and I recall I had to see, among many others, this Hebrew letter: ש. I am indeed prejudiced as I have come to love lines given my decision to become a T-oriented person myself; but can you see the perceptual possibilities here? Can you see the musicality, the natural growth, the candle-like presence, the ascending spirituality? Can we for one moment be surprised as the illiterate man was? Can we still learn to draw as Aristotle bids, namely, in wonderment? Or are we immune to such surprises given that we cannot get hold of our own global ignorance given our radical knowledge in what are only individual, localized, self-enclosed and disconnected realms? (more…)

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Reflections: Considerations as to why Socrates wrote nothing

Posted in ergon, logos, on Socrates, on Xenophon, philosophy, writing, tagged , , , , , , , , , on October 26, 2007| Leave a Comment »

Almost everyone knows Socrates did not write anything. But knowing this fact makes it even more difficult to be surprised by it, and much less to seek, however partially, to understand its implications for us. For what does not surprise, rarely forces us to open ourselves to its unexpected appearance. This is primarily so in our culture where writing has become the hallmark of recognition. To be illiterate —— a form of quantifiable statistics of crucial importance in measuring the educational state of a nation———– is defined as being unable to read and write. Take for instance the shame of those who do not learn to write, it is so overwhelming that they prefer to live secluded lives. Take as well the assumed superiority of our culture to that of oral traditions (Rousseau saw this early on in his precious Essay on the Origin of Language).

In a similar vein, it is particularly in academia —–specially but not exclusively in the Humanities—- that the requirement to publish is not only the hallmark of assured creativity and proof of continued reflection, but also the avenue for institutional success. To rise academically one must publish. Nothing seems more obvious and normal to us than this. I remember once a professor speaking mockingly of some PhD candidates who had not published anything yet. Although I was rather young, I still remember even then being a bit surprised by the whole thing.

This is why I think Socrates’ decision not to write might be considered, at the very least, as a necessary corrective and counter-balancing presence. Does this mean we can do without publishing? Of course not, it just simply means that we might look at what Socrates did. That is all, or mostly all. And this is why for those of us who see in Socrates the model of the philosophic life, it makes sense to ask: Why would Socrates not write anything? Would he not be seriously considered as an odd figure among us because of this, exactly as he was seen in his very own time? (See Alcibiades’ description in the Symposium.) Socrates seems to remain a stinging ray! And moreover, and please bear with me, did Plato and Xenophon not commit a terrible injustice to Socrates in writing about him? But then again, who would have Socrates written about if HE was the one worth recording? For surely the whole thing was not simply because Socrates did not have the time to write; he himself confesses he only dedicated himself to oral dialectics, so he could have found the time! He chose not to do so, in contradistinction to our contemporaries who choose to do so. And of course, if Plato and Xenophon did commit an injustice, we are thankful for it, and understand that some such injustices must be pardoned for our very own sake and well-being. To this idea we shall return.

Why then would Socrates proceed in this strange way? The single most important aspect of Socrates’ refusal to write is his constant reminder that philosophy is primarily a way of life. A way of life can be written about, but the person living it, well, she just lives it! Socrates at one point in Xenophon’s writing, simply dances alone. The only exception would be if such a person decided to write his own autobiography; and Socrates, contrary to, for instance Churchill, chose not to. Our modern way of philosophizing, in contrast, sees writing as precisely THE way of life for the humanist; writing is of the essence. Of course, we teach courses, but once again the courses are primarily on written material themselves. In this respect, it is clear that what Plato and Xenophon and Aristophanes saw in the Socratic experience was fundamentally an ergon (that is, an activity; deeds or action) AND a logos (a discursive account carried out in dialogue with other diverse interlocutors). (more…)

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Reflections: On illness 14

Posted in books, on Aristophanes, on Aristotle, on illness, on Like Water for Chocolate, on Nicomachean Ethics, on Symposium, philosophy (short), tagged , , , , , , , , on October 15, 2007| Leave a Comment »

On the unconscious needs underlying the relation between the ill and their caretakers.

One of the difficulties which lies at the basis of much possible conflict between the ill and caretakers is this. Most of us seem to unconsciously desire in our lives someone who will be there for us in the worst of times, those times where usually no one would want to be with us! For supposedly, this kind of thinking goes, everyone wants to be with you when you are rich and beautiful and young and powerful. One of the most dramatic examples of such a desire can be found in the work Like Water for Chocolate link where the youngest daughter cannot marry because tradition holds she MUST take care of her aging mother. Having many children is a way of assuring one’s future security.

 

And in this same vein, this is why marriage vows include for better and FOR WORSE. For, according to the “normal” way of seeing things, being there in the worst of times must be somehow enforced as NO ONE would want such a thing! This kind of thinking is highly distorted. However, one thing is true, being in those situation which include the “for worse” part, specially in the case of illness (but think also of the case of unemployment) does not usually mean that BOTH parties find themselves worse off. Usually when one person falls ill, the other does not; when one person is unemployed, the other is not.

 

When one of them actually falls ill, then the ill person actually might find —or at least he thinks he has found—- what he deeply desired, namely, someone who unconditionally loves him. But on the other hand, the caretaker finds something radically different, not only that someone does not care for him —for many caretakers are left alone to care for their loved ones—- but also deeply and unconsciously they come to realize that no one will be physically able to take care of them if they in fact become ill! This helps to understand the anger felt by the mother in Like Water for Chocolate. (Not to mention the meeting of other needs which will not be met, such as those regarding sexuality, the possibility of a family, ….)

 

The only path towards ameliorating the caretakers condition in this respect is for her to come to a clear understanding of how problematic such a deep desire for having another take care of her —–even when the situation does not involve illness— actually is. This holds true for the ill person herself as well. For we humans, as Aristophanes’ discourse in Plato’s Symposium tells with fine comic revelation, are deeply afraid of living a life of true self sufficiency, and by this I mean, primarily, a life of reflective self-sufficiency. In this respect, one can say that caretakers and the ill are in need of a serious reconsideration and understanding of those deep desires which in normal conditions remain constrained, but which in times of crisis come to the fore as they had never done so before. If unprepared for this appearance, the likelihood of growth in true and deep friendship under such circumstances is close to nil.

 

I think these reflections hold some of the central keys to understanding why it is that Aristotle ends his considerations on friendship —-–some of the most famous and powerful in the history of reflections on friendship—– with what appears to be a very strange question, namely: Do we need friends more in good fortune or in bad? (Nicomachean Ethics, IX, 1170a21) True happiness might include friends, but might point beyond our everyday distorted considerations of what friends are. And however that may turn out to be, one should and must be one’s own best friend.

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