As previously noted, I have been lusting after a rosemary bush for some time. The boy, being lovely, just got me one. It's sitting in my room, smelling wonderful, and I couldn't help decking it out with a few Christmas ornaments. Happiness.
I spent last night making 70+ cookies for a bake sale for Linguistics Society instead of studying for a class I have not attended since the midterm. The textbook is 500 pages long and denser than a fruitcake, and I've got tonight and tomorrow to get through the thing.
So far I'm averaging 9 pages of font size 10 notes per unit. Just a few more to go, then I'll actually start reading the notes. Feh.
Notes, thoughts, and a rant after the jump. Today's special: I think "Meaning" is meaningless.
The course subject matter is personality theory, which sounds fascinating and profound and relevant to my interests. In principle, it's great - in execution, not so much. But I'm finding little gems here and there.
As much as I shy away from philosophy, I find the existentialist take on personality psychology appealing. From my notes:
Existentialists propose that we are the builders of our own lives, and that each person is:
- a choosing agent, unable to avoid choices throughout life.
- a free agent, freely setting life goals.
- a responsible agent, accountable for his or her life choices.
We are not forever shackled to the Freudian traumas of early childhood. We're not fated to turn out any particular way. We are shaped by certain formative experiences, certainly. But ultimately we are our own creators and creations.
It's about agency: having the perspective, the presence of mind and the chutzpah to seek out those things that will fulfill us. The stronger our agency, the less prone we are to learned helplessness and victimhood.
I like that.
Another one that speaks to me from that general school of thought is Maslow's hierarchy of needs.
As finals advance, and I spend more and more time skulking around the nether regions of the pyramid, I start to lose sight of the top. Granted, the top is an absurdly idealistic conception of a well-adjusted human being. Anyone who actually met Maslow's criteria for the self-actualized man would be the least interesting person in the world.
But now any mention of the spiritual fulfillment that Maslow talks about irritates me. I find the search for cosmic Meaning (ultimate meaning in the amorphous, philosophical sense of the word) meaningless. Undefined and futile. Fixating on your insignificance on the grand scheme of things - unless you've really gone off the rails and need a quick slap in the face - is not useful. It will not help you. It is not profound, interesting, or worthwhile.
Yes, we are tiny. Yes, to our limited knowledge, we are the only sentient beings in a vast, uncaring universe (although the chances that we are actually alone are vanishingly small). Yes, after our neurons stop firing, all that we are will evaporate. Cool. Now move on. You're wasting precious time.
Maybe I'm arrogant, or in denial. Maybe I'm just too dumb or too shallow to appreciate its magnitude. But for one reason or another, I don't have trouble with that kind of perspective. I skate through it with Beeblebroxian nonchalance. I've had enough experience with depression that feelings of insignificance are familiar and easily dealt with.
Other things unravel me completely. I am scared of getting old. Terrified that I will lose the integrity of my personhood while I'm still alive and aware - madness, dementia, Alzheimer's. But I'm not afraid of oblivion. That dread everyone seems to feel is foreign to me. What do I care if I'm gone if there's nothing there to experience the loss?
But enough. I've had this conversation too many times, and I still can't do it articulately. Also, spending this much time expounding on a subject I have no patience for is not one of the better ideas I've had today.
Back to work.
No comments:
Post a Comment