The dog didn't eat my homework; no, my harddrive failed.

The past two weeks have been interesting, to say the least. It all began on a dark and stormy night (translation: an overcast Friday afternoon around 3:30) when my hard-drive failed, or at least the Mac portion did. (I have a dual-boot Mac with both an Apple and Windows partition.) And thus it all begins...

After the Mac portion of my computer died, I didn't think too much of it. I brought it to be examined under warranty and was suggested to take my computer back over the weekend, complete an additional file backup, and bring in my PC on Monday to have it examined. I did just that and, Sunday night, received a pleasant surprise: the most disruptive, sinister, malicious computer virus I have ever seen, the "FBI" computer virus.

Apparently, because I rarely use my Windows side, the anti-virus software was horribly out of date and, consequently, I contracted a horrible computer virus. After an impromptu five hour visit with my father (who received a degree in computer engineering), neither of us could figure a way around the corrupted programming. We called in the towel--the Windows portion had failed, too. My dual-boot computer had lost both its boots and was left barefoot on a cold, wet Sunday night. I had no computer, a very bad thing.

It has been said that things are never appreciated until they're gone and I believe that that can be the case. I have a different perspective, though, and actually somewhat relished the experience.

I suppose that what I'm trying to say is that, while the temporary loss of a computer might seem devastating--"how will I check my email?" "How will I use a word processor to conduct research?" "How will I stay connected?" "How will I _____ or _____ or _____?" "What will happen to the order and structure that my computer has provided my otherwise mortal life, fraught with insecurity, confusion and (you guessed it) chaos?"The temporary loss of my computer allowed me to reflect upon its intrusion into my life, a fact that quickly became something that I was not necessarily happy with.

I now have a computer again, although it's still missing some key software. I don't exactly know how I feel about it. While the convenience and utility is wonderful, there was something to be said about being completely out of touch and reliant only upon public computers in public places to allow "order" to intrude into my other wise chaotic life. In essence, I think I might like chaos a little bit more than I had originally intended. It's somewhat nice and I somewhat miss it.

"Philosophers as Warriors?" Pardon?

It has long been said that "the pen is mightier than the sword," but I'm not exactly sure just how many people believe that to be the case. For example, if I posed the following question--are philosophers warriors(?)--to a random sample of one hundred people, what would my response be? Agreement, laughter, confusion? (I predict laughter.) While this question may sound ridiculously silly, I believe that there is a shred of truth in such a question, albeit a potentially undesirable truth.

In this post, I will briefly discuss an essay by Edwin Burtt, a Professor of Philosophy at Cornell University. Burtt's essay is entitled "Philosophers as Warriors" and, besides having a rather laughable title, offers insight into modern education and philosophical discourse. Burtt proposes (and I agree) that education, as well as philosophy, have been compromised with a violent demeanor and, consequently have become disenfranchised from their original intentions.

Burtt explains the modern climate as such: "Consequently, the significant ideal underlying the dialectic has been almost lost from sight: the ideal of a free discusion among seekers for truth, in which all take part and which leads, step by step, to a conclusion wholly convincing to each participant." (1) In other words, the open-minded acceptance of divergent viewpoints--characteristic of successful educational or philosophical discussion--has been lost. The Socratic dialogue is no more. Philosophy isn't philosophy anymore; it has been replaced with verbal battle, transforming educational discourse into verbal conquest. But wait: isn't that what philosophy is all about?

Not quite. Philosophical discussion, as well as education, is not (and was never intended) to be a successive chain of verbal victories. Nothing can be learned from such actions; mutual understanding is lost at the request of individual triumph. How is this so? Why the selfish desire for victory at all costs? Why sacrifice mutual understanding in favor of a solitary victory?

Perhaps in order to "better" order our world?

We all are confronted with a dizzying array of information daily. The world is a very scary, confusing and chaotic place and all we hope for is a tiny bit of understanding. We want to fit in, to comprehend, to overcome the confusion inherent in the world around us. In pursuing this goal, we have unfortunately compromised one of the most useful tool towards understanding our surroundings: educational, philosophical discussion.

Instead of learning about those other beliefs far from our own, we attempt to associate with those that agree the most with us. Anyone that suggests something outside of this hypothetical box is consequently met with a calculated philosophical, argumentative attack in which we try to prove the correct-ness of our own position. We refuse to see the opposition unless that admit defeat, in which case we refuse to let them forget. While we attribute such battle to the "triumph of the truth," the "conquering of the correct" or any other analogous phrase, it seems that we cling to whatever understanding we may possess, despite contradictory evidence.

The world is messy, confusing and sometimes doesn't make sense. Maybe we use verbal debates, "wars of philosophy" to disguise the fact that we really don't know what's going on, we really just want to embrace whatever understanding we may have to the fullest extent. And in doing so, we only complicate matters even more.

Just a thought.

References

(1) Edwin A. Burtt, "Philosophers as Warriors," in The Critique of War: Philosophical Explorations, ed. Robert Ginsberg (Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1969), 31.

Pardon the hiatus...

I haven't posted in a while. Life intervened and extenuating circumstances got in the way. In hindsight, though, this experience illuminated an entirely new realm of questions that this blog seeks to explore.

I should probably clarify a bit. That might be useful. 

About a week ago a tragic hospitalization brought many people together. Details aren't really necessary, but I will touch on the most significant recollection from that very trying week spent in close proximity to modern medical practices. 

My overall reflections on hospitals, stability and the inherence of chaos: 

Hospitals are shining bastions of stability in a turbulent sea of sorrow, confusion and anger (substitute these three terms with "chaos.") I have never experienced a more well-run, fine-tuned machine than a modern hospital; every possible need one may have has been thought of and pre-planned for. This structure, in contrast to the human emotions that run rampant through a hospital's halls, provide a comfort, an almost homely feel, that is priceless during a time of struggle. In a sense, it seems that hospitals thrive by recognizing and addressing the human need for the continued presence of order. 

With that understanding, though, and in combination with my inability to understand the past week's circumstance, I think I have come to another recognition, perhaps one that is more profound. There truly is so much that I will never be able to understand. Matthew McIntosh echoes this sentiment in this novel, Well: 

"The trick, he said, is to refuse to believe that any of this makes sense. Because when it does--when the world and life and the way things are make sense--then you know there's really something wrong with you...This world should be incomprehensible to us. Rape shouldn't make sense and murder shouldn't make sense and neither should car wrecks and bombings and loneliness and cancer and diabetes and television."(1)

I think I agree. No amount of rationalization can explain tragedy which, of course, begs the question: why do we try to explain it? Attempts to fathom the unfathomable only frustrate us further.

Sometimes, it seems, inevitable chaos is best accepted allowing us to be thankful for the opportunities we were given. Namely, the opportunity for modern medical care.

References

(1) Matthew McIntosh, Well (Grove Press: New York, 2003), 102.

Pardon the expression, but this project is going to seriously mess with my head.

Since embarking on this project, I have become much more attune to paying attention to the various (and uncountable) instances around me. So far, I thought that I had been doing fairly well... I really did. I reasoned with myself that, although I was new to the game I was still playing the game.

... And then the metaphorical pitcher threw a massive curveball. I swung, I missed... It was then that I was confronted with the most startling realization of all.

A little more context might prove beneficial. Upon the first day of Ordering the World, students were given the "task" of maintaining a blog throughout the duration of this course. I promptly created a blog and began posting; as you may have noticed, though, there aren't many posts. How come? It might simply be explained as "I imposed order."

I did as Mr. Travel Ferret is trying to do. Unfortunately for him, his efforts at imposing order seem rather strained. 

I began this blog on an alternative server, a different website. Quickly, though, I became frustrated by how many controls and commands were afforded on this site and, quite frankly, I was overwhelmed. Matters weren't helped by the fact that I was familiar with Blogspot (and not the other website) and I continually grew frustrated. After about a week of continual resentment, I deleted the other site and created an alternative, a "second-draft," so to speak, on Blogspot.

Seems simple enough, right? One site was more user-friendly; the other wasn't. No big deal. Perhaps not, but the philosophical ramifications of such an action are extreme. Apparently I naturally attempt to impose order; I crave it and become upset in situations (or websites) that lack it. All of this comes at a time when I deemed myself fairly attuned to the persistence of order to the degree that I comfortable in such an assertion.

In conclusion, while I thought that I had been busy playing the game (with a comfortable level of experience), apparently I'm still very new to it. Very new to it, the rookie indeed.

I felt like this. Very much the rookie indeed. 

Ordering this blog: Part II.

Before delving into the innermost essence of humanity, an explanation for why this blog came to be is in order.*

This project is inspired by National Endowment for the Humanities “Enduring Questions” grant awarded to Dr. Joanne Robinson, a Professor of Religious Studies at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. The “Enduring Questions” grant ”supports faculty members in the teaching and development of a new course that will foster intellectual community through the study of an enduring question. This question-driven course will encourage undergraduates and teachers to grapple with a fundamental concern of human life addressed by the humanities, and to join together in a deep and sustained program of reading in order to encounter influential thinkers over the centuries and into the present day.” The aforementioned prompt inspired the development of a course on human attempts to organize the world as it is.

The course description for this course and the major impetus for this blog is as follows:

What is order? Is order inherent in nature or is it a human construct (or a mix of both?) When is order appropriate and when is it restrictive or even oppressive? What assumptions form the foundations for classifying and categorizing things, people and ideas? This class will examine theoretical foundational cosmological myths alongside various historical approaches toclassification.Students will have ample opportunity to delve into classification and order schemes outside the classroom.

Human beings are constantly involved in making, unmaking and maintaining order, yet we rarely have time to reflect on what order is and why it matters. We unthinkingly accept many ordering schemes (such as age-based grouping of children in traditional classrooms) and consider others the concern of specialists (such as botanical nomenclature.) Yet concerns about order and the threat of disorder have pervaded Western thought and practice. Many humanities courses explore specific ordering systems related to race, gender, religion and social class; consequently, students tend to have asensitivity to how race and class are "ordered," but they rarely have a chance to explore other ordering systems. This course will examine order as an abstract concept with very tangible and pervasive results. Above all, student in this course will examine how the orders we posit or acknowledge shape our understanding of ourselves in the world.

Using these questions to begin, I attempt to question order, structure and the human need for understanding, utilizing this blog as a means to present my thoughts. (Or, rather, order my thoughts…)

Over the course of this blog, I will attempt to ferret out my thoughts, ideally in the Talkeetna Mountain Range of Alaska. 

* Author's note: the almost unnoticeable compulsion to explain why I created this blog illustrates the very reason that this blog exist. 

Ordering this blog: Part 1.

Greetings! Salutations! Welcome one and all to “Order and the World,” a blog intended to examine the most widely accepted phenomenon in human society—the existence of order.

"Order in the world..." basically, why does this bother us? 

Call it whatever you would like—order, structure, organization, et. cetera—the premise remains the same. Whether or not we readily accept it, human beings crave a sense of order; we like to know that things have a predictable structure that we in turn utilize to understand the world around us. What happens, though, when we take a step back and question the very structure that allows us to question? In other words, if we investigate the very existence of order, something very shocking may happen: we may discover that order, as we know it, does not exist.

Structure or chaos? The Hewes St. Metro Station in Williamsburg, a borough of New York City. 

While I don’t yet intend to claim such a statement, I do intend to utilize this blog to investigate the thing so obvious that it is often left unacknowledged: you guessed it, order. Come along for the ride and join me in my attempt to question the most quintessential facets of human existence.

As mentioned, this blog seeks"...to question the most quintessential facets of human existence," namely, the purpose of the above contraption in Louisville, Kentucky.