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sara
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 Posted Sunday, April 9, 2006 @ 12:58 PM
I’ve been ill this past week and am disinclined to think energetically about anything, so I have to admit that I didn’t read “Can Philosophy Be Christian?” with much enthusiasm. However, while I was sick, I did poke around in a few books about Islam because I have a new friend who’s a Muslim and I didn’t want to seem like an ignoramous when I speak with her about her religion. These books were interesting because they were almost a form of “Islamic Apologetics”…explaining to the reader why Islam is most likely the one true religion. They expressed many good points….how could Mohammed, who was a simple man, write such equisite poetry? They maintained that The Koran is exactly the same as when it was first transcribed (as opposed to the Christian Bible) and what they are reading are THE EXACT WORDS OF GOD, etc. etc. What struck me…esp. after I skimmed through the current newsletter…is that most people use reason and logic to support whatever they want to believe in. The “wanting” comes first. I suppose that if the great minds of Christian Philosophy lived in the East, they might have written profound and thought provoking treatises on Islamic beliefs. I really liked Pope John Paul. I read a lot of his encyclicals when I was a member of a Catholic Book Discussion Group and some of them were quite scholarly. (yep…I was the only non Catholic) But what I remember most about him….besides his lovable personality…was the fact that he thought that the Virgin Mary somehow intervened and saved him from being killed by an assassin’s bullet when he was shot in the 80’s. I can’t remember the details, but he held that simple, totally sincere, and probably illogical belief his whole life and it gave him strength and courage until he died. THOSE are the kinds of beliefs that people live and die for….don’t you think? Or am I being anti-intellectual again? |
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Posted Sunday, April 9, 2006 @ 02:52 PM
I am sorry to hear that you have been ill and that you did not relish the newsletter as much this week as you sometimes do.  I think it was Nietzsche who made a similar criticism regarding the use of logic and reason: philosophy really only reveals what a thinker is already predisposed to believe, it just props these predispositions up a little more solidly. In any case, philosophical tools are available to virtually everyone—at least, they are capable of working within almost any system. But I think the advantage, even if we should happen to be wrong in the beliefs we defend, is that it affords us a means of interfacing with one another across cultural and religious lines that might otherwise form boundaries between our beliefs. If we can speak in the language of philosophy (that is, carry on intelligent dialogues by speaking rationally), we can recognize similar points of concern and a common pursuit of inquiry. And while (as I had said before) our religions might be quite different, our basic humanity is largely the same. At least from a human perspective, it is not our individual religions and rituals that matter most, but how we work within their confines: how we treat one another and interact with our world. Now then, I do not know if we can narrow down defending beliefs only to wanting to believe such and such. In many instances, yes; along with Evelyn Underhill, even what seems a purely intellectual pursuit requires interest and interest in turn implies feeling. So I would agree that in one way or another, feeling precedes the belief and subsequent defending of a given faith, yet that feeling may or may not be a desire to believe a certain way. I now have an emotional investment in Christianity such that I want to prove certain elements of it are correct (at least to myself, if not to others), but my initial belief had little (at least consciously) to do with my desire to believe it. Had I been shopping the supermarket of world religions, I would surely have settled on some other faith whose adherents are generally known to be much more tolerant of others. Yet while want might not have been the bare core, there was, however, a great deal of emotion that accompanied my conversion. Maybe what I am describing is the difference between core beliefs and doctrinal assent: there are many Christian doctrines I find puzzling that I may be driven to defend, because, like the Pope and the Virgin, I believe I have had a personal encounter with God that is undeniable. My personal encounter with God and the arrows pointing to Christianity were quite clear to me and sit very close to my heart; my defense of Biblical doctrine, however, is subordinate to that and becomes more or less an intellectual exercise, particularly by rate of comparison. For that matter, I am becoming increasingly less concerned with the latter and much more concerned with maintaining the former, though I well understand the impulse of the doctrinal apologist, who feels he or she is in the service of the truth and discharging an important duty by his or her defense of dogma. In the introduction of this recent newsletter I mentioned David Hume; his characterization of “belief” is subtle and interesting. Belief, at least according to my reading (which has not been nearly thorough enough and is not yet complete), has much to do with the intensity of an experience: for example, actually seeing something with my own eyes often has the power to impel belief whereas merely imagining the same thing lacks the same intensity and fails to evoke belief. That does not fully capture what he is relating; let me try one more pass: we are stuck inside our own heads, the same neurons firing whether we perceive something with the senses or only imagining it. (To be technical, we may argue that different areas of the brain are involved prior to processing, yet I am nearly certain the actual processing would be the same, whether the stimuli was fed from feed A, feed B, or feed C, just as I use the same pair of eyeballs to look at trees that I use to look at people: trees and people are processed using the same visual encoding that floods my mind with vision.) Yet the information conveyed by the senses is much more vivid—it is also capable of firing the secondary imaginings to much greater degree as well. Say I have recently been divorced; I suddenly catch a whiff of the perfume my wife used to wear and I am reduced to mental anguish, my sense of smell sending my imagination into overtime beyond its usual capabilities without sensory input to prod it along. So then, the bottom line is that much of what “belief” amounts to for Hume is the intensity with which we feel or experience something (the emotional core) and the credibility we assign in assessing it. Cause and effect is Hume’s most famous example of believing this or that based on experience. The intensity of seeing objects fall to the ground when unsupported has over time so reinforced the belief in the power (and reality) of gravity that we generally consider a man a fool or disturbed if he doubts it. Yet if we had only imagined objects falling to the earth, the intensity of our experience would never have led us to “believe” they would always fall, vivid though our imaginations might be. For Hume, while belief might have something to do with want, it also has much, much to do with experience and the emotion it evokes: Hume might even call “belief” an emotion—a special type of emotion—the emotion we call to mind when we say, “I believe that we have (or do not have) a right to go to war,” “I believe you will find it enjoyable,” or “I believe it is wrong to molest children.” Tying this all together, depending on what you mean by “wanting” to believe something and then defending it, I would suggest that this observation might be a little too limiting to capture all such instances. In many instances, the same is true, particularly when we are defending doctrine or a given philosophical position arrived at mainly because it happens to fit neatly within our carefully manicured and well-watered system. Yet why do we believe anything? It is not always because we desire to do so—what is more, there are things we want very badly to believe that we nevertheless do not. Some instances of belief are quite obvious such that persons with ears to hear and eyes to see would find very little disagreement amongst themselves. Yet matters of faith tend to be much more subjective. Your observation of “wanting, then defending” would probably come much closer to being correct in the latter instance, though even there it might not always work. Some emotion proceeds an honest defense; it may or may not be desire. So yes: I ultimately agree with you. The Pope’s Virgin and my encounter with God are beliefs ultimately to live and die for: beliefs that sit very near the heart. The defense of doctrine is most often going to be an extension of these elements, whether of ourselves or based on the credibility and authority of others. Regardless, there is a reason behind the defense of doctrine: since dogma is playing an auxiliary or subordinate role to experience, that reason must be in place first else the defense would not stand, at least not for long. That reason might be desire or it might be something else, but it will undoubtedly have some kind of emotional core. Maybe we could just side with Hume and call it “belief.” 
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cascadeofwater
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Posted Sunday, April 9, 2006 @ 08:45 PM
Hmm…like Plato, I believe Truth is outside of any individual’s experience. An experience may SEEM completely real and true, but that does not make it so—a very dangerous position to place oneself in. However, without a “confirming” experience, Truth certainly may not SEEM real. To me, intellectual pursuits must begin and end out of total humility. IOW, I start by identifying Truth as an entity apart from any experience I, or anyone else, may or may not have had. When identified, these are the foundation stones upon which to build the bigger picture, refraining as much as possible from embellishment using the subjective. My innermost spirit, or “gut,” is a factor to consider; however, I do not understand this element or how it operates, and cannot control it, so I am skeptical of it as well, until it bears itself out. Apart from the laws of Nature, which I place secondary, I have chosen to make the Bible my source of authority for Truth. I first studied its origins to decide whether or not it was reliable and worthy of such trust. A certain amount of faith was required, but I decided to risk it. The Bible has only proven itself to me over and over again as being far superior to any “wisdom” that contradicts it. I suppose this is where my paradigm breaks down and becomes more experiential, but I have not been disappointed by this decision—perhaps somewhat confused by lack of clarity at times, but not disappointed. Humility is required, once again, when I believe I understand some of the theology and philosophy of Scripture, but am overwhelmed by how short I fall in trying to live by its standards. Or, when I thought I understood a certain concept, perhaps for many years, and later find I missed the big picture, the underlying theme, an important contextual clue, or some other major factor. I would love to live my life in the manner of a Yeshiva student or an Essene or medieval monk of old—devoting all my time to meditating on the meaning of the word of God (which is as close to the Truth as I know how to get), but I only have the time afforded an ordinary human life. I have already wasted too much of it. May I not waste any more. ~LH |
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sara
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Posted Monday, April 10, 2006 @ 08:05 AM
Eric, I am now convinced that religious faith is not necessarily dependent on a conscious “wanting” to believe, but how about an “unconscious” desire to believe? Or a religious temperament? Perhaps religious believers have a larger number of serotonin uptake inhibitors or something like that? Hmmm…or maybe a smaller number? Actually, I’m just being provocative because I don’t think it is true for ALL religious believers…just MANY religious believers. It often seems like they have a desire to return to the security of childhood, when mom & dad had an answer to every question and when your dog died, you had no doubt that he was happily running around in a great big green field in doggie heaven. To Cascade of Water…. You sound like one of those Christians that I really and truly like…devout and sincere and humble…(and I’m not being sarcastic….) but…..you don’t really believe that you have “chosen” to make the Bible your source of authority of truth, do you? First of all, you live in a predominantly Christian culture, so it would be strange indeed if you “decided” to seek truth in a religious scripture of another culture. Secondly, I suspect that, when you were a child, you attended a Christian Church. Perhaps not, but, I’m sure that when you hear the word “God”, you immediately think of either the Judaic or Christian image of Him(as opposed to Her) And come on…I bet you’re from a “red state”…right? Or the red part of ablue state? I’m not trying to be obnoxious. Nor do I wish to dissuade you from seeking truth through your study of the Bible. However, I would like you and other Christians to recognize and BELIEVE that there may be other sources of truth beside Christianity. I think it is imperative that we do so, if we wish to have mature and loving relationships with our neighbors. It’s not just a matter of tolerance, if you see what I mean…. (A “tolerant” fundamentalist is someone who says ….”You can pray to God in whatever way you choose, but I shall pray to Him in HIS way…) I think my problem is that, because I’ve been ill, I’ve been watching TOO MUCH TV this week, and I’m convinced we’re all doomed. I am a religious believer, but sometimes, like John Lennon, I prefer to “Imagine no religion….” But….let’s face it…he WAS a dreamer. And a little drug-addled, too. From poor sick and…yes…cranky…sara |
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Posted Monday, April 10, 2006 @ 03:39 PM
Sara and CascadeofWater: I will answer both of you in one reply, the first part most obviously addressed to you, Sara, but segueing into my reply to you, CascadeofWater. And by the way, CascadeofWater, welcome aboard!  We could take the tact of C.S. Lewis and others, suggesting that, yes, believers have an unconscious desire to believe—put there by their Maker. Recall that there were several issues recently asking to what degree our knowledge of God is innate and the most convincing answer I have heard (not necessarily because of its “philosophical” superiority, but just because I really do believe it) is Aquinas’ “God is man’s beatitude”—God is what man searches for in his restless quest to find completion because only God is utterly complete. And believing that God is complete also comes very readily to me: when I doubt, it is not usually whether or not God is complete but just whether or not He exists in any knowable way. In other words, if God exists, in my mind every arrow points to the necessity of Him being perfectly whole and complete, from wherever that belief derives: it makes great logical sense to me and process theology, by rate of contrast, seems patently false. Much of the Patristic writing fully satisfies both my intellectual and spiritual (emotional?) sensibilities: I would make a very good Roman Catholic.  Now then, as to believers having more serotonin uptake, what do such explanations amount to other than pushing food around on our plates? We are no better than the Peripatetics who talked of bread’s “nourishing properties” as though they had somehow accomplished understanding by affixing a name to an unknown. Scientific explanations are nothing but a noting of empirical data: the configurations we are capable of pushing our food into on our plates. They do not explain anything more than what our senses tell us and the instruments (such as telescopes and microscopes and seismographs) we use to artificially extend them. And what of a seismograph, since I brought that example up? It, like all forms of measurements, simply compares one thing to another—what exactly is a 9 on the Richter scale?—for how can we measure anything if not by relative or relational properties? As Dr. Knight used to ask, “Exactly how long is a foot?” Well, it is a foot. But how long is that? In fact, I have thought about it a lot and concluded that almost all things are relative—think of the etymology of the word “relative” for a moment. The English-Oxford Dictionary—arguably the definitive source of etymological origins, first defines the adjectival sense (as when we say “truth is relative" as “[r]elating or referring to an antecedent term; esp. relative pronoun.” It offers an example from 1530 by PALSGR which simply says: “Of the pronownes relatives qui..serveth indifferently for all gendres and nombres.” In French, and probably in Latin, qui corresponds to “who,” “which,” or “that.” This meaning of the term “relative” implies the flexibility of a “place holder,” as when “who,” “which,” or “that” can refer back to any particular noun in the sentence and can refer just as well to male or female or one or many (thus, it serveth indifferently for all gendres and nombres)—qui is “relative to” the person or object it “re-presents.” For example, “The man who pushed the cart was friendly” is one use of the word who that could just as easily have been dropped into any other appropriate sentence to apply to any other individual(s) who is(are) being referenced. The second occurrence of the word, however, is more interesting; in 1552 HULOET spoke of: “Relatiue or whiche hathe relation to a thynge precedyng, relatiuus.”Before we connect the dots, also consider what relative means in terms of a noun: my late aunt is my relative: she and I share a family relationship with one another, such that we are defined by one another in this way. So then, we can see that in order to measure something, we need something else to compare it with. We define ourselves not in isolation, but relative to the many other things we find in our world. To say that all truth is relative is not the same as saying that all truth is not true. Which leads me into my answer to you, CascadeofWater. One of my biggest interests in philosophy is epistemology, which is essentially the study of truth itself. It asks questions such as “What is truth?” that turn out to be surprisingly difficult upon reflection. I tried to explain something of my own epiphany in The Color of Emily’s Bedroom. Basically, it is that many Christians, myself included, are guilty of confusing “reality” and “truth” and seeing no distinction between the two of them. As for reality, reality is what reality is and it is “not going anywhere anytime soon.” But what is truth? It must be some kind of an accurate representation (re-presentation) of reality or must in some way correspond with reality. But truth and reality are not exactly the same thing. From a human perspective, then, (the only perspective we are authorized to speak from with any kind of credibility), truth must have something to do with the accurate “re-presentation” of reality inside of our own heads. We cannot ever get outside of our own heads, nor can we fit much of anything besides food inside them. We cannot, for example, fit the sun, stars, and moon inside our heads, so we must develop some kind of mental map that accurately corresponds with or re-presents them neurologically, if you like. This would be truth; reality would be the sun, moon, and stars themselves. The Bible may very well be a guidebook that contains truth—contains a re-presentation (in this case, symbolized in the form of black and red squiggly marks on white pages otherwise known as letters) of the reality of God. It may be, in that sense, the Word of God as you have chosen to believe based on your research and a smattering of faith. Yet very few would argue that it was God Himself, merely something that corresponds to or accurately re-presents Him and the revelation He has chosen to offer to mankind. The ultimate goal of the book, then, seems to be about how He can have a relationship with His creatures or in how we can have a relationship with Him. Notice the word relationship and think of what I have said about truth being relative—that is, one thing measured by another, perhaps our lives measured by God’s standards which emanate (or otherwise derive) from God’s very nature. Further, have you ever considered the question of whether there will be Bibles in heaven? Presumably, then, the Bible is a book that re-presents the reality of God to human creatures, recording His interaction in their affairs and His plan for them to enter into a long-term relationship with Himself. In fact, the Bible even cites Jesus as saying that He is the Truth; it also refers to Him as the Logos or Word. When we speak of truth not being relative—or use terms such as “absolute truth”—we mean that there are certain standards that are universally true: that is, certain things that are accurate re-presentations of reality contrasted with certain things that are not. Absolute truth, then, must be just another way of speaking of truth that very accurately reflects, re-presents, or otherwise corresponds to “absolute reality,” which is a redundant phrase, as reality is either real or it is not reality. So what we really have in mind is that there are certain realities in the universe that are absolute: they are not “relative” in the sense that we can simply create them in our own image to suit our particular whim or fancy but apply universally across the board whether we happen to believe or not or even if we happen to know or not. Yet by uncritically accepting the popular concept of “relative” and demonizing it, have we not missed the point of what it means for truth to be truly relative? These very “absolute truths” are entirely relative in that they outline the conditions between God and man—they outline what may be expected from that relationship. Not only that, but many of these same truths happen to be moral truths, which often means that they are also relative in terms of the interactions of man to man. It may seem that I am playing a game of some sort; you may feel that I am engaging in some kind of sophistry to no good end. But I am not. You are quite correct in suggesting we need to approach truth, including the question of truth, with the utmost humility. What I am suggesting, however, is that we may not know much of anything at all, beginning with our very understanding of what “truth” is. For we are human beings and we will never, ever be able to get outside of ourselves, at least in this life. And while I understand the quest of science to discover so-called objective truth, I ultimately wonder what it would accomplish, for it would still be filtered through a subjective “interface”—through all-too human eyes, ears, skin, nose, and mouth. In fact, as I have argued in The Wind Bloweth Where it Listeth, which is ultimately more complex and valuable? An object or a person? When we objectify someone, we treat him or her as an object, hence the idea that pornography objectifies women in particular. But the “subject” is the person considered in all her humanity: she has real thoughts, feelings, and emotions and if we wish to share a real relationship with her then we do well to “get to know her” on this level. Thus, in this sense, subjective truth—which corresponds to this woman we may call Sue—is actually deeper and richer than purely objective truth. Objective truth about Sue might state her weight, measurements, eye color, and other factors such as these. But subjective truth would be what it means to begin to know her. My final point. Our religion is not ultimately one about creeds and dogmas except as these relate to the reality—to the Person, if you like—of God. Propositions play a part, but they are not the end, they are merely a map along the way to help us arrive at the final destination where Bibles will no longer be necessary. We do like our maps and our sense of a stable universe that never changes, but I do not think that corresponds to reality on any level. All truth is relative to God—all things are relative to God. And God is ever so much bigger than the systems that give us comfort here on earth. Those systems have their place, of course, but reality contains both them and a lot more besides, including all of nature. We have been called to live in reality. Nature is a part of reality, we are part of reality, God is part of reality, and truth is a uniquely human method of getting some accurate sense of all this external reality inside our own heads: to “hide it in our hearts.” And in order to know anything at all, we must have at least two things to compare and contrast: to know good, for example, we must also know of evil. We may live in goodness and never know it, but if we are to know what it is, we must also know what it is not. Thus, all things knowable are relative—relative in the sense that they are seen in relationship with all other things, just as the words of this sentence are interpreted by the interaction of the whole and not merely by their individual meaning as parts. |
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sara
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Posted Tuesday, April 11, 2006 @ 07:59 AM
I wrote what I did yesterday because I wasn’t me. Isolation, sleep deprivation, a lingering fever, and medication made “me” into someone else. That person, who isn’t me, doesn’t believe in God (even when she claims to) and she is always looking for reasons to support her feelings. That’s why I…she?…wrote what she did about serotonin uptake inhibitors yesterday. I…She was thinking…”I” am a total manifestation of my body. That’s why she made that cranky response to cascadeofwater, which makes me sad because he seemed like such a kind, reflective Christian. I hope I didn’t sound rude. Today, I still feel miserable, but I am better able to detach myself from my feelings. That’s who “she” is, I suppose…my feelings. I’m going to insist that she stay away from the TV today because it makes her morbid. She really thinks we’re all doomed and, to be quite honest, I think she may be right. I have been thinking about philosophy vs. literature this morning. While I am suffering (I admit it is TRIVIAL suffering…but, still, it is suffering. I mean, if this state of mind continued for months or years, I might consider suicide in one form or another….drugs, alcohol, lobotomy, or the “real thing”. I’m not sure of that, of course, but that’s what SHE thinks.) Anyway, in this mood, I am totally unresponsive to philosophy, in the form of analysis. It doesn’t reach into my soul. In fact, it makes me feel irritated. That’s the reason why Jesus spoke in parables, I suppose. I know, Eric, that you are undecided about whether or not to pursue literature or philosophy. At least I think you are…or have you resolved that problem? Anyway, I do hope that somehow you will figure out a way to combine the two. Most of the time, philosophy seems so elitist and “unnatural”….the number of people helped by it is minimal. That is, unless it can be translated into “reality.” Oh dear, I think I might be sounding like an idiot….throwing around words such as “reality” and “unnatural” with abandon, when people have written huge treatises on the subject. But, you know what I mean, don’t you? Or should I say “but you know what SHE means, don’t you?” Philosophy expressed through literature is the answer, I think. But, of course, you have to follow your bliss, as they say. And, you have to keep in mind that I’m in an altered state of consciousness…one which has turned me into a selfish, maudlin pessimist. BTW, I have a friend who is a mathematician and he solves theorems and shares them with other mathematicians on the Internet. And you know what? He is one of the happiest people I know. Me? I wanted him to pursue the Spanish guitar, which is also one of his interests. Why did I recommend that? Because I like music and hate math. I seem to be losing focus. I think I shall go to bed and suck my thumb. |
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Posted Tuesday, April 11, 2006 @ 09:03 AM
Hello Sara, The decision between literature and philosophy is likely going to be made for me and not as I would choose. I would choose philosophy, but I have received six rejection notices and am waiting to hear back from Tulane, the seventh school. If I am rejected there as well, then I shall pursue literature here, assuming I am admitted. The problem appears to be very limited availability with lots of applicants: 5 to 7 slots with over 200 applying and the same with every school. Part of what is making philosophy so “elitist” appears to be governmental funding: philosophy—the humanities in general, actually—simply are not “practical” and do not warrant tax payer dollars as do the sciences. But as for your friend the mathematician and what makes him happy, here is a candid e-mail I penned to a friend just yesterday (you will see that your name made it in it—smile): Quote: I have actually been enjoying my homework this evening—I am taking an ultra-fast break from reading right now. We are finishing up the section in Hume, and it fascinates me to see these ideas unfold from thinker to thinker during this Enlightenment period. I have been trying to capture and corral these ideas in the newsletters, but sometimes I wonder how clearly I am able to communicate them or how interesting they seem to others: it often strikes me that my audience may tire of the things for which I have almost undying enthusiasm, yet for every word I write, I have read about a hundred besides so I have a conceptual framework not afforded everyone, particularly the non-philosophical new subscriber. One thing that does forever amaze me is how much of a kindred spirit I feel with these philosophers: that thing that has made me different all my life was a strong philosophic temperament and as I read their writings, it sounds a note of great familiarity and I pride myself at having written or thought about many of the same ideas, reaching many of the same conclusions. I do so hope that I am admitted into Tulane—I hope to hear from them soon. If not, not. It won’t ultimately change who I am. But philosophy is unquestionably the subject I love dearest and best and as interesting as literature can be, it is most often like looking at pretty pictures than really engaging in thinking. Of course, the texts I most enjoy in that class tend to be the ones my peers most hate: the philosophical ones. And now I need to get back to my Hume, the man I ridiculed in several newsletters and not entirely without reason but obviously without a careful reading. He seems very much like me if I do say so myself—makes me wonder how my own religious skepticism and doubt are perceived by others. Sara called it “edgy”—I wonder how it would make me feel if someone else had written it? Oh well… |
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sara
Major
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Location: Registered: Feb 2006 Status: Offline Posts: 1253 |
Posted Tuesday, April 11, 2006 @ 03:36 PM
Literature is like looking at pretty pictures? You must have missed Styron and O’Neill in your literature classes. And Halocaust literature is a hoot. I’m just being a smart-aleck, of course and I really do know what you mean. I sincerely hope you can pursue philosophy because that is obviously where your heart lies (lay?)…is… and you seem to be good at it. I’m just prejudiced because I love literature so much…in fact, reading “masterpieces” in my youth is what saved me from what might have become a miserable destiny if I hadn’t read them. I became wise beyond my years. It might be similar to that note of “familiarity” which you feel in regard to philosophical ideas…however, in my case, it had more to do with emotional rather than intellectual recognition. “That’s exactly how I feel!” is a comforting insight to a sixteen year old. I loved tragedies especially. They cheered me up, especially when they were about wretched family life. Mine didn’t seem so bad! I read this recently, which is apropos… “Tragedy is a tool; as Milton puts it: “things of melancholic hue and quality are used against melancholy, sour against sour, salt to remove salt humours.” The Athenians understood this perhaps better than any society since, and in their love of tragedy were not a negative or nightmarish people, but were in every way, as Nietzsche believed, ecstatic celebrants of life.” In the same article…. “Willy Loman suffers so that we do not have to; Blanche Dubois goes mad so that we may stay sane; Jamie Tyrone drinks himself to death so that we may live. The experiences offered by the dramas are emotional and intellectual exercises, cognitive and visceral preparation, boot-camp for when the battle comes. Depressing stories, tragic novels and dark poems offer us the same salvation. “ Anyway, whatever decision you make in regard to future study will be the “right” one because I’m sure you are capable of doing exceptionally well in either discipline. |
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