Life means getting curious about the lives of these most influential artists

Here is a short guide to several books that will paint a very good picture about the lives of the forefathers of realism, impressionism and post-impressionism.

Anyone who wants to know anything about art should start with Leonardo da Vinci and a good book about his life and his works is Sherwin Nuland’s Leonardo da Vinci.
The benefit of this book is that it portrays Leonardo not only as an artist but as an anatomist, architect, physician and engineer. You’ll learn about the artist’s personal interests, his obsession with the intricacies of objects, his discoveries preserved in priceless notebooks (the author employs a great narrative and plenty of references).

Next, I highly recommend you fully immerse yourself in the life of Michelangelo Buonarroti. Aside from Leonardo, no other artist more accurately portrayed the beauty of the human body as Michelangelo did. And no other book truly captures the spirit of Michelangelo than Irving Stone’s The Agony and the Ecstasy. Here, you’ll fall in love with Michelangelo’s character and talent as you follow the sculptor’s life from his early years as a student in the court of the Medici through his agonizing yet ingenious years of creating perfection (a great example is the statue of the Pieta). You’ll also find out how he came to carve the famous statue of David, the suffering he endured painting the Sistine Chapel and the Ecstasy he felt while designing St. Peter’s cathedral. This book has it all.

If you are curious about French art you should definitely plan to explore the world of realism and one of France’s forgotten painters, Ernest Meissonier. For a terrific study of the influence realism had on the early Impressionism, turn to Ross King’s book The Judgment of Paris. This book is the perfect source. You’ll learn about the life of late 19th century painters, about the political and economic picture of France that gave birth to Edouard Manet’s talent and the movement of the Impressionism.

You’ll never experience a more remarkable account of the life of Vincent Van Gogh than Irving Stone’s book Lust For Life. If I have to answer the question what book is at the top of my preference list, this one would be it (needless to say upon completing it, I signed up for a drawing class in a nearby community college). The beauty of this book is not only in its narrative, but the magic with which it captures every emotion sealed in the works of Van Gogh. The author traces Van Gogh’s personal struggle to uncover who he truly was, how to portray what he felt, and finally what drove him to insanity. Reading this book, one finds the true meaning of the word - art appreciation.

No collection would be complete without a painting from Gauguin, hence no book list would be whole without The Moon and Sixpence by W.Somerset Maugham. I was captivated by the life’s story of this exceptional post-impressionistic painter who left everything behind to pursue a life of dream and creativity in Tahiti (where he also died). This book answers a lot of questions about Gauguin’s paintings and in particular the reasons behind his brilliant use of color.

-by Simon Cleveland

In one week

By Friday we’ll know – he said – by Friday.
How can news that has been in the making and in the waiting for nearly 4 years sound so sweet and yet so terrifying?
By Friday we’ll know whether the waiting has been in vain, although we were forced into this waiting without a choice.
And this waiting changed us. We are all different now. The experience has made us reevaluate who and what we believed in. Now, regardless of the outcome, we’ll never return to who we used to be.
1 week. 7 more days of waiting.
But then, there will be more waiting. Much more. Yet, I’m not afraid of it, because things would be so much different. The answer by Friday could change how I look forward in life. It probably would change my life yet again.
So, should I dread it? Would you care if now I do, if 100 years from now, when all of us are gone, would you care then? I wouldn’t. But now, this one week before the decision, oh, how I dread it.

Tell you one thing, we sure can make our lives heaven or hell. It’s all a matter of choices.

1 more week. 1 more…

Who's got the power?

‘Finding Forrester’ came to mind today. I think it was in a conjunction with the desire to write for the sake of maintaining my mind clear, uncluttered from the daily crap that life in general has to offer. What came to mind in fact was the chance to write without stopping, without giving a thought to the words that were flowing from the annals of what? Of something hidden inside, of what some may say is talent while others may say gibberish. I read somewhere that writing a lot, compulsively is actually a sign of a tumor in the brain, of a benign brain cancer that is disrupting the blood flow, that is slowly eating away from the tissue, that is killing, inevitably killing the organism.
But a little optimism here, COM ‘on, a little faith that everything functions properly.

Let’s say that one belongs to the first kind of writers, those that have (or believe against all hope) talent. Ultimately however, the judgment belongs to the general public. It belongs to the reader, to you. You are powerful, absolutely fucking powerful!
You have the chance, the will, the opportunity to decide whether this gibberish makes sense to you, whether it needs to be dispersed to the masses of other folk, the late followers, to pass to them the power of decision…and they to their generations.

Enough for now, though. ENOUGH I SAID! You may be on a way to gain power, but power is also concentrated into the pen of the writer. One has to decide to put pen to paper, hands to keyboard, mind to reality, in order to grant thoughts and ideas to materialize and only then to let you be the judge. In this case who is the powerful? WHO IF NOT THE ONE WHO WRITES?

Of greatness and the wasted possibilities

A person can loose himself in the vastness of possibilities, yet in the end the lack of action merely confirms what one knew all along – risking the effort without success almost always outweighs the lack of action…in effort, in disappointment.

And of course it is not a secret, often the desire to create for the purpose of greatness looms in the early morning hours (like a pregnant cloud full of moisture yet lacking the proper current of cold or warm front to relief its heavy burden) it seeps through the early seconds of the day, it nudges its way through moments before and after the sipping of the lukewarm coffee, it lingers in the air , then slowly dissipates leaving the fait sent of something that could have been but would never be.

Follows one more sip of the coffee, one more braking news - scrolled over during the endless moments of boredom now stringing from the wire between one event and then another and another, one more check of the empty e-mail box, and suddenly desire comes again, a bit less enticing this time, with the same sense of a second drag on a cigarette, less intense, still desirable, but now almost perceived as a lost cause and only regarded as a nice, lovely thought that could have, that should have, but would not…

Other thoughts now take advantage of the neuronal paved highway. With the approach of 9AM the body awakens to the all too natural, all too biological need that has been neglected since the very early waking hours. ‘Relief’ screams the bladder, ‘Air’ reminisce the lungs, ‘More Coffee’ thinks the man as he heads over to the kitchen for another cup of refreshing wakefulness, of false rejuvenation from a liquid squeezed from the beans of a plant which not too long shared the same sunlight with another (more potent, illegal and forbidden).

And so the day proceeds, with its ups and downs, with its ins and outs, with lacks of the desirable and abundance of the unpleasant and even more of the peculiar until the evening’s arrival when several questionable (one would even think unadvisable) yet pleasant events cloud the mind for however brief a moment before night overtakes the senses, wrestles down the weary body, conquers the ability to remember who the person is, was...

Then greatness changes shape and color and clothes, and comes back, this time in dreams. It teases and taunts, excites, hardens and softens certain members, licks and slaps, loves and hates, and cries, and laughs until the Earth completes its circle.

And again the Sun dispenses with the night like a client with the woman of questionable virtues. Greatness retracts back from the scene, lacking time to even take a shower before slipping into a new costume and hitting the mind hard yet again.

Another cup of coffee, another wasted day, and so spins the circle of wasted possibilities, of what one calls life and another hell, and yet another ‘a gift from God’.

Language Altercations

Let's hear it for the power of words, folks. Let's raise a toast for the beauty and richness of language. Let's join in the celebration of the greatest creation of mankind. Drink and rejoice for to be able to express ourselves has proven to be our ultimate achievement.

Why celebrate, you ask?
If there are 100 billion neurons at work in our brains and each can connect with another to form a new center of convergence, how many different frames of mind can one have? Letting oneself immerse his being into to the pure force of words, letting the sounds, as they are pronounced, seep through the ears and attach themselves to the brain immediately, produces immediate effect. As the words make their way into the being of the listener (because the being is that - this part of us that makes understanding occur, the center where thoughts, experiences and memories converge to form pure hubs of meaning where words become enforcers of moods and concepts, become teachers of feelings, become creators of yet newer centers, become powerful landowners and war lords, special agents, spatial conquerors) they capture the attention, produce reactions and generate realities. To anyone whose been asking himself what language is – here is the answer - language is words encoded with meaning and carried by sound. How’s that for a miracle??? A sound manufactures an image that connects with cell that fires an impulse that produces a reaction that results in an action.

But if you aren’t converts, judge for yourselves. Here are a couple of examples from The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen:


‘…taking his pleasure with the chaise his endorphins had gone home to the four corners of his brain like war-weary troops…”

‘…Feeling a bit e-weary, fighting an e-headache, he ran a word search for earl eberle…’

‘…person carrying a newly scored drug that she believed would change her head; how universal the craving to escape the givens of the self. No exertion more strenuous than raising hand to mouth, no act more violent than swallowing…’

'...Noun adjective," his mother said, "contraction possessive noun. Conjunction conjunction stressed pronoun counterfactual verb pronoun I'd just gobble that up and temporal adverb pronoun conditional auxiliary infinitive-" Peculiar how unconstrained he felt...'

To Feel Alive

I knock at my friend and colleague’s cubicle wall. “Hey,” I say, “how’s it hanging?”
“I am stating to forget words,” he looks at me wearily, “not the ones from my first language. These seem etched permanently into the surface of my cortex. I wish I was forgetting them. I’m starting to forget the English words – the ones I need to know in order to lead a normal conversation with humanity around me.”
His sadness is contagious. “How come?” I ask, the only way I know how to partake in his struggle.
“This is something new for me. A while back when the dog was still alive I spoke to it and it was easy to recall the words. Back then when I still spoke to my co-workers – who now I despise, to my mailman – whom I hardly see anymore, to my wife – the words were there. But now, now words seem to elude me. I don’t think I have dementia – I would have caught myself forgetting a lot more than simply words. No, it’s the words that everyone uses when leading a simple communication with the people around him – it’s words like ‘ audacity’ or ‘ valuable’ that are eluding me.”
I enter into his small, squared cubicle and sit on his only chair for visitors. Our bodies are close now and I can almost feel the radiating anger from his torso.
“Perhaps, it is because I’ve been hiding. Yes, I’ve been hiding and that’s why the words are hiding from me now. For nearly eight months, I’ve been hiding in this cubicle, turning my back to the world, ignoring whomever walked behind me, whomever offered the perspective for a decent conversation, to these and other prospects I turned my back. And how could I not? Now that I recall all these situations – how could I have not?” He stops and casts a looks around the other cubicles. He knows it is safe to share with me his inner pain. The rest of the world is on a permanent lunch brake.
“The …what was that word again… audacity, ah yes, that’s the word – the audacity of these people who lack college education and even general common sense, who think that the world revolves around them constantly– the…what was it…yes, the audacity of those who shamelessly repeat the words I tell them in private, the ideas I share with them, which then they proclaim out oud at meetings and claim to be their rightful inventors– how could they? Where is the sense of ownership?” He is shaking from the anger.
“I’m sorry, pal, I wish I can somehow help you,” I say. I want to hug him. I want to pat his back and ease this physical and emotional strife.
“How could I decide to come and spend my …here I go again…ah, yes, valuable time with them instead of staying back North. I moved so that I can be closer to my family – so that I can help them adjust to this new environment, this new state with its weather, and regulations and old people. True, I knew I’d have to spend most of my time doing chores, but I didn’t care. The prospect of enjoying a little, I say little but I found out it was a lot more, warmer weather, the prospect of being away from traffic, which by the way turned out to be an illusion, of having less stressful job, this prospect was far greater than the money I was earning back North – so I wanted this move. Silly me! Silly, stupid me! Why? I sit here in the cubicle and try to recall words like…well I can’t recall the words I’m trying to recall…so I feel useless.”
I look at his red, tired eyes. He appears so miserable, so lonely, so exhausted.
“And what was the idea in the first place? That moving down here would be a successful venture of the kind that people do when they are ready to retire. But I’m only 30 – why think about retirement? All I wanted was a long vacation, not retirement. My brain is still capable of learning, processing large amounts of information and adaptation to career progression and boss-bullshit. It still has the capacity to endure shit from others, to suffer stressful situations, to look for ways to endure, to escape, to collect and disseminate. My brain is still young, still has time to mature, to grow, to form networks, engage in complex problem solving – why was I thinking about retirement? Why?”
I let him vent. I know this is the only way to help him.
“I slowly come to the realization that there needs to be a law. A law that forbids people younger than say 50 to even think let alone talk about retirement. There needs to be a law that puts every person under 50 in a class at a university and demands from them to learn and look for application to the acquired knowledge. How else do you think we can help the numerous patients diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s diseases each year? How else can we prevent so many brains from being afflicted with dementia, with premature meltdown? How? Why are people turning into logs before their bodies deteriorate? I’ll tell you why - I know now why. Because we yield to the will and determination of others. Because those suffering from low self-esteem, let others lead, direct, demand from them that which they alone would be perfectly capable of deciding, doing, thinking. They let others make the choices, rather than taking a stand, making the choice – they let others think for their sake. Low self-esteem then seems to be the problem that leads to mental illness. How else can I explain the fact that I am sitting in this cubicle, slowly drifting into nothingness, while my young, perfectly capable brain slowly secedes from its strengths and alertness, slowly looses its cognition and memory until I'm left with the consequences - to turn into a living vegetable, into a giant carrot that can’t even plant myself but needs others to do it for me, to make a salad out of me. I must fight! I must take arms against the low self-esteem. I must let my brain do the decision making. I must take charge and fight against this morbid prospect, this monstrosity of a disease – against the memory loss, against the loss of words such as VALUABLE AND AUDACITY – wow! Now I seem to be recalling them without a problem...”
But I’m not listening anymore. I’ve slowly inched out of his cubicle and started toward the front door leading to the street. Only one thing intrudes my mind – to take a walk outside and look at nature, to feel alive, to let my brain feel alive. His misery has proven useful, if not for him, for me. I know I’m capable to sustain myself – I CAN! And so I’m out and I’m on my way toward self-preservation. I’ve let my guard down to welcome life.

What's the Meaning of The Wall?

In a recent blog, a fellow raised the following issue:

Staples, the office superstore chain, has an advertisement running on local TV channels that uses Chinese history as a theme.The ad is about 30 seconds long. It is set in a rocky, hilly wasteland. Soldiers in ancient Chinese garb are standing in formation, facing a horde of screaming barbarian horsemen galloping toward them. The Chinese general presses a button marked "easy" and the Great Wall bursts from ground, protecting his army from the advancing horde. However, he is somehow left on the wrong side of the wall, and says "Dang!" as the barbarians ride up to the wall.Will this ad help Staples sell binders and paper clips? I doubt it -- people who are unfamiliar with the history of the Great Wall won't even know what the advertisement is talking about.

I believe the question is not whether Staples will sell more goods, but whether the consumers will remember to make their purchases from Staples. The fact that you, as a potential consumer, recalled this add proves the point - this add is working. Personally, I laughed last night when I saw it. I laughed not only because it was funny, but because I recalled the story behind it. The advertisers' ignorance (from a historical stand-point) may appear arrogant – after all the Great Wall was built to protect China from the Huns. However, we all know that when the Huns were confronted with the structure, they simply walked beside it until they reached the end and then they walked around it. The Wall proved to be completely useless. From this perspective, the add with its simple “DANG!” is a true representation of what the collective’s exclamation must have been once the absurdity of effort dedicated to this colossal construction set in. In the end, (IMO) the add not only sells with its humor, but appears to be an abstract representation of a true historical account. Way to go Staples!

The Language of My Brain

Here is a mental exercise – take a piece of paper, a pen (or a pencil), clear your mind and let words begin to flow. Whatever comes, jot it down on the paper. This is how your brain is talking to you. After a few minutes take a look at the list. Can you discern patterns? Can you find the repetitions and why they appear? What is your brain telling you? What is the meaning behind the words?

Here is my list:

need for creativity-engagement-involvement-usefulness-

possibility for improvement-suggestion-listening-appreciation-

knowledge-memory-words-language-capacity-awareness-
self-expression-feelings-attitude-feelings-capability-physical effort-

commute-affordable-effort-ideas-chance-having-not-having-

education-choice-love-location

Day Dreaming - a No No (on Brain Excercises)

Once in a while one finds himself in a compromising position. Not the kind of situation where he’s in the bathroom and someone walks in. The one I'm referring to is the blankness of mind. It is the brain freeze, which compromises his position, negates the role and responsibility of his character, plants doubt about his usefulness as a productive person. Yes, you may know what I'm referring to. Recall a situation where a 'brain freeze' has caused you to embarrass yourself in front of others. Be honest with yourself. Now you know what I'm talking about.

'Why does it occur?' you may wonder. Is it some misfiring of a neuron's electrical impulse, a lack of concentration due to fatigue? I believe so. And strange as it may sound, it may be due to an illness, a chemical imbalance, an improper nutrition.

A couple of ways to prevent a situation like this is to focus daily on several brain exercises that can strengthen your memory and improve your cognitive skills. One thing you should remember, don't yield to the process of 'spacing out', of day-dreaming aimlessly, of letting yourself completely 'blank out' so to speak. Be aware, constantly aware of your surrounding. If you find your mind wondering, however, take a brake and engage the portions of your brain that are not involved with the mental work you did up to that moment. If you were crunching numbers, imagine instead rearranging your office furniture, play with shapes in your mind, imaging drawing a figure. Take a walk outside, look at the street, examine the people walking by, imagine their feelings, try to memorize what they are wearing.

Keep your mind engaged. Fight the desire to let yourself dissolve in a brainless, mindless state of blankness, of aimlessly staring at your office walls. Remember - Alzheimer's disease kills (Google its causes).

Let's collectively fight ignorance. We will be saving our brains!

On The Meaning of Life

Recently, a fellow bloger opened a discussion on the Meaning of Life in his Emerging Pensees: The Meaning of Life blog. Here are the original postings and the ensued discussion between us:

>>Saturday, February 25, 2006

The Meaning of Life
I work part time at a Caribou Coffee shop in Aurora and several of my fellow employees have recently fallen in love with MySpace.com, an online social networking site. Anyhow, my store manager posted the following question to our store's Myspace Group message boards, saying:
"Lets start a discussion about life guys. What does it all mean? Why are we here? What will happen to us when we die?"Here is how I answered:I think the purpose of life comes down to two thing: Joy and Love.We were created for Joy, to celebrate the goodness and beauty and truth that we find in life. We were created to laugh and dance and play and weep and party... in short, to savor every moment that God has given to us. God invites each of us to join with him in the joyful dance of life. Life is a party, God is the host and we're all invited. :)And we were created to Love. To love God, the source and definition of love, and to love everyone else too. We were created to experience intimacy and relationship with family and friends - to care for them, enjoy and appreciate them, and share our struggles and triumphs together. But more than that, we were created to love everyone, everywhere, to realize that we are all family, we are all children of God. To love means to care for the poor, the oppressed, the outcasts, and yes, even our enemies.How do I personally try to live out Joy and Love in my own life? Well I never do it perfectly... but nonetheless, I think part of the reason I love talking to our customers so much is because I want to enjoy who they are, and I'm always trying to ask myself how I can show love to everyone around me.Of course, I'll ask all of you guys to forgive me for those times when I fail at these attempts.As for what will happen to us when we die... I have a few ideas, but honestly, I'd rather spend less time worrying about getting to Heaven when I die, and more time trying to bring a little bit of Heaven here to earth through my practice of love and joy.Anyhow, sorry for the sermonette, but I am a pastor after all. ;)
posted by Mike Clawson

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Simon Cleveland said...
Dear Sir,In your personal formulation of life's meaning, you attribute existence to emotions. Although life is full of emotions, since they are the base product of our developing mind, joy and love have no relation to the physiological purpose of existence. As a matter of fact, joy and love are emotions attained only after the physiological needs are satisfied (study Maslow's needs theory). Indeed, altruism deserves mentioning here as it is the product of the complexity of our genes, (see for example Altruism in animals at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Altruism_in_animals), but it is inseparable part of physiology. Remember, emotions are just that - emotions. Life however is a lot more complex than feelings. Attributing its purpose to feelings is simply plain ignorant.
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Mike Clawson said...
Hey Simon, welcome to my blog.A couple of responses:First, I don't think about or define love and joy primarily as emotions. They have an emotional component to them, no doubt, but they are not mere "feelings". Love, in my opinion, is a state of being, a self-giving orientation of the whole person toward others. It encompasses mind, will, body and emotions (Not that each of those are separate things in themselves. We are wholistic beings, not the sum of our psychological and physiological parts). Joy, similarly, is a wholistic appreciation of that which is good, true and beautiful in others and in the world around us. Love and Joy, IMO, are not reducible to mere physiology. I believe that human beings are physical and spiritual and mental beings, each arising out of the other. But again, don't misunderstand me. I don't view mind, spirit and body as separate "parts" of a person. Spirit arises out of our physiological beings, but is more than that, and mind likewise arises out of both spirit and body. The mind is explainable in physiological terms but it is not merely reducible to it.As for Maslow's Heirarchy of Needs, I have studied it, and I think it's fundamentally flawed. Have you ever spent time with the truly poor, with those who struggle to have even their most basic needs met? I think you'll find that even those people long for love and joy as much as any of us. In fact, I have found that the poorest of the poor often have a greater capacity for love and joy than the most of us here in the affluent West. Rather than Maslow I'd recommend that you read anything by Mother Theresa or St Francis.And as for our purpose... I don't think physiology can provide purpose any more than mere emotions can. You speak of our physiological purpose, but how could the mathematical rules of matter and energy, biology and chemistry provide any sense of existential purpose? If all we are are physical beings, then it makes no sense to speak of purpose at all. Life is merely absurd if all we are is matter and energy. Purpose requires intelligence, design, will. But I don't believe matter and energy and the laws of science are all there are. I have made a choice, an existential leap if you will, to believe in a Creator God, who brought everything into being for a purpose. So, when I speak of Love and Joy as our purpose, I mean that those are the reasons for which God has created us. I believe that God created us to experience love and joy and to share love and joy with others. Why are we here? Because God was overflowing with love and joy himself and wanted someone to share it with, to shower it down upon. The source of our existence and purpose is not mere emotions, the source is God. Life, as you say, is complex, but I think love and joy are undercurrents that permeate every diverse aspect of our lives, if we have eyes to see them.Thanks for the thought provoking ideas.

-Mike
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Simon Cleveland said...
Howdy again Mike,What an elaborative approach you possess to the game of language and semantics. How can one ignore the structure of the words you use to build up the beliefs in a Supreme Being and to condemn the otherwise obvious condition of primary physiological existence as ‘absurd’? But here is where we differ, Mike. Here is where language parts us - it isn't the meaning of the word 'belief' but its component of language. In your established predisposition to the existence of the spiritual, you've constructed your meaning. But don't you see - it all revolves around language. Had our forefathers decided to ignore the concept of language and remained simply ignorant to the capacity of the developing brain, you wouldn't be blogging now about 'belief in God' but instead be chasing animals for your evening meal. The construction of language, as the product of our developing brains, resulted in our capacity to communicate ideas. But it all started in the 'primordial soup' so to say. Back then there wasn't an intelligent design, a Supreme Being, but instead there was death and survival. A few billion years later, you and I are sitting being some PCs, chatting away about semantics, attempting to define emotions and feelings and attributing to their simplicity much more than their simple meaning.Mike, I've spent enough time with the poor folks from third world countries and am aware what the 'soul' desires in a moment of weakness (that's to say, only after the belly is full). I ask you - how many proteins does Love contain? How many calories can Joy inject into my blood stream to foster my physiological existence? Should I fall on my head tomorrow and forget all definitions of emotion, feeling, soul, should I met a complete amnesia, then what happens with my prior constructed meaning of ‘Faith’ or ‘Belief in God’? Don't I revert to my essential needs - to feed, to nurture my chemically- imbalanced mind? If you enjoy reading and are interested in learning more of the philosophical component of existence, perhaps my latest book 'Existential Meditation' would be of help?

-Simon Cleveland
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Mike Clawson said...
Hey Simon,I agree with you. It's all a matter of language. I'm a philosopher too, one with existentialist and postmodern leanings in fact. Of course my concept of God and spirituality is a construction of language. What else would it be? But here's the thing... so are your materialist beliefs. Your predisposition against spiritual things is as much an arbitrary decision on your part as is mine to believe in the reality of a Supreme Being who gives meaning to all existence. Both of us make a "leap of faith", as Kierkegaard would say.So here's my question: why do you give preference to the physiological aspects of our existence? Why do you prefer to interpret everything in terms of those needs rather than others? And don't say that it's just the way things really are. If what you say about linguistic conditioning is true, then you are no more an objective observer of the nature of reality than I am. What I want to know is why you have chosen the materialist's set of explanations over the supernaturalist's? Why accept the linguistic constructs of sciencists as any more true than the linguistic constructs of pastors and theologians like myself?Thanks for book recommendation. I'll take a look at it some time if I get a chance.
Peace,

-Mike
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Simon Cleveland said...
Hi Mike,Our conversation has taken a surprising turn. Rather than consider the consequences leading us to seek meaning, we are focusing on the choices and subjective interpretations of religious or economic teachings (that are in its core - subjective themselves) – oh well, what the heck. I'll indulge in this pleasant form of communication, simply for the sake of philosophizing.So here's my question: why do you give preference to the physiological aspects of our existence? Why do you prefer to interpret everything in terms of those needs rather than others? And don't say that it's just the way things really are. If what you say about linguistic conditioning is true, then you are no more an objective observer of the nature of reality than I am. What I want to know is why you have chosen the materialist's set of explanations over the supernaturalist's? Why accept the linguistic constructs of sciencists as any more true than the linguistic constructs of pastors and theologians like myself?To keep this answer short, I'll answer you with a question. What's the first thing you remember as a child? Or rather, when you reach the furthest back into your memories, what is the very first thing that comes to mind? Now, this is not a hard question to answer, Mike. Most likely you'll recall something silly that happened to you, perhaps your mother, your dad, one of your aunts, etc. Can you reach yet further back to the time of your womb's residence? Impossible, isn't it? Well, it's because the infant’s brain doesn’t begin to store long term memories until about its third year of existence. It’s simple – genetics. Regardless, to come to the main point (see the book I recommended in my previous post- it goes into much more detail) memories, feelings, lessons, neuron networks (those are the little things that help you connect events occurring in your day-to-day life), societal interactions, the mind, meanings of life, God, soul, materialism, empirical research, etc., all that comes after the brain has developed physiologically and adapted itself to the environment. Its primary function however is to control motor functions, to keep check of all internal systems, to make sure adequate supply of minerals are relayed to all the right places so that you don't end up cripple, or mute, or deaf (see effects of a stroke on a patient). And since we live in a linear universe, where entropy dictates that our internal components would one day return to the state of disorder and never the reverse (whoever claims that Raising the Dead is possible is an idiot) and where the second law of thermodynamics dictates that the energy of a closed system never disappears, I'm left to conclude that no other logical explanation can supercede the existential 'a priori.'

Cheers,

Simon Cleveland

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Mike Clawson said...
For the record, everyone knows that Rising from the Dead is impossible. That's why when it actually happens we call it a miracle. :)
12:29 AM
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The Great Egret

I spent some time yesterday watching a Great Egret near the lawn of my building. There it was, purposefully strolling left and right, feeding, enjoying the day. How come birds don't ever act depressed? As far as I can tell, all complex organisms with a certain mental capacity should be able to experience chemical imbalances at a certain point in their life. Perhaps I caught it at a time when its imbalance had just passed, or maybe before an upcoming episode.
The Egret ignored my thoughts and kept moving. No time to rest for the hungry bird - I guessed.
"There - there is something moving in the grass, and it's mine to take," the Egret thought, “it’s mine to take and I'll take it." And so it kept moving, left and right, strangely tilting it body back and forth reminding me a lot of an imbalanced teapot resting over a small grape.
"What's your purpose in life?" I asked the Egret.
"I must eat," it answered darting quickly over to its right to catch a grasshopper.
And that's that. I had my answer. This life's purpose was to sustain itself. The complex neurons in the brain, the extensive neuron network of memories, thoughts, and desires had developed to sustain the structure of the overall organism. Life exists to exist. Life's purpose is to the sustain itself, to assure its survival.
The Egret tilted its tiny head and nodded at me, "Why are you just sitting there staring at me?" Its little yellow beak trembled strangely and I thought the bird smiled. "Come-on join me, there's plenty of food out here."
"No, my little friend," I said and winked at it, "I must create a meaning for myself. You see, I'm not hungry now and so I think."
"But why not rest when you're not hungry? After I eat, I usually lie underneath the green bush, right over there," the Egret pointed to a small fichus bush a few yards away.
"I must move," I answered, "there is time for rest at night when I lie on a bed and close my eyes. But not now. During the day I must move and think and live."
"I live when I'm resting," the Egret eyed me with suspicion.
"Ah, yes indeed, but see, I have my food ready and waiting for me when I'm hungry so I don't need to look for it. Instead, I can sit where I'm sitting now and reminisce about the meaning of all this."
"You must be depressed," the Egret shook its beak again and proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the afternoon.

Life from a different perspective

My cleaning lady asked me today how many kids I have. An interesting question - when people don't have anything to talk about they revert to discussing their children.
"I don't have children," I told her.
"When?" She asked me.
Another interesting question.
"Normally it takes about 9 months so if I am to embark on the mission, in about 9 months + give or take a couple of days," I said.
She smiled. "Is it you who doesn't want kids or your wife?"
"It's me" I said and puzzled over her look of astonishment.
'What is your problem?' She wanted to ask me.

"Why?" She said after a few seconds of carefully studying me under wrinkled eyebrows.
"Why not?" I answered, "Why have children? Why go through this - what has been described as a wonderful - experience? Why not go to Paris in the Spring or to Aruba in the Fall? Why not write another book or get a better job? Why not sell the house and get into an Ivy school?"
"Yes - your children will love you," she said, "they will respect and help you."
"And what if they don't?" I asked. "What if they move to California or Frankfurt or Tokyo and I get to see them only once every couple of years? What will happen when they are all grown and my life is thrown back into the same corner as before?"
You have children so that you can experience life - is probably the more appropriate way to look at it - to experience the miracle of birth, life, joy and tragedy, learning and teaching. It's a matter of choice, a matter of perception. It's life according to you. Well then, if I choose not to at the present moment, is something the matter with me? If my present perception differs from yours, should I yield to yours simply because you said so?
"Maybe next month," I told her, "then again, maybe not."