Thursday, February 28, 2008 

I cannot, for the life of me, hear the call of Being.

(I think that Being has discovered I am American and that I use a computer. I suspect an informer.)

John D. Caputo, Chapter One, Against Ethics

I sit in class during discussions about Kant, MacIntyre, Hauerwas and bite my tongue (most of the time).

The deconstruction of ethics is ethics' own doing, ethics' own undoing, right before our eyes. (p 4)

Friday, February 15, 2008 

flu update

the antiviral meds they give you are incredible -- but you have to start taking them before the third day of the disease (i can't say that the test they give you for the flu is anything i ever ever ever want to experience again).

today i'm probably at 50% shan, which means i've actually done some schoolwork and two loads of laundry! this is opposed to the me you would find yesterday -- a miserable heap huddled under the covers with her tissue box and books that she had not the wherewithal to understand. yeah. happy valentine's day to you too, virus of doom.

so: good news from this corner.

i'll be in my apartment with my books till monday. looking forward to class (and real human interaction!) tuesday.

Thursday, February 14, 2008 

okay. next year i promise to get my flu shot.

missing an entire week of class?

not good.

Sunday, February 10, 2008 

Manifesto, a brief section

Kant says that "happiness is an ideal not of reason but of imagination." (35, Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals)

From what I understand, the essentialist bastard didn't really privilege happiness. Somewhere -- in a somewhat-parallel universe or in some concept of heaven -- he and Rorty are having a heated debate over contingency.

At least that's how I'd like to imagine reality.

thoughts (and diagrams!) on kant and caughey's similar cosmologies to come after the latter finishes her paper on ramakrishna.

Friday, February 08, 2008 

Manifesto Introduction

Literary theory becomes philosophy when you start to ask who has authority to interpret the text, when that very question leads you to broaden your understanding of what a text is. All of the sudden you find yourself talking about the meaning of life and something much more important than who or what has the agency, the means to interpret or communicate meaning, however small or large. Even the distinction between "small and large" become complicated when one takes into account contingency.

It seems horribly convoluted, as we, the always-already-in-an-interpretive-state beings, question being, question meaning.

But it really is quite simple. There is hope in that we, these interpretive beings situated contingently have the ultimate agency, the very awe-some power to create meaning.

There is a challenge locally, at least in the united states, in that we live in a culture of consumption. we are urged to consume rather than create. This is not to say that there is no value in deeply appreciating, being moved by a great work such as a film, a book, a dinner, a tapestry, a conversation -- but the emphasis should be on that verb, moved -- we should be moved to create ourselves and in doing so shape a small but crucial part of the world we inhabit.

What sort of world, what sort of city, what sort of neighborhood would you occupy if every single person drew from on another? What glorious pieces of art would emerge? What unification, solidarity, what sort of passion for social justice, what action to make it a reality would emerge?

Perhaps I have been reading too much Rorty. Perhaps I am drunk with hope.

When I toss out my selfishness, when I spend my time loving others -- even the dead philosophers by reading their work -- I sing with hope. My peers feel called to ministry. Some of my friends do as well.

I feel called to hope.

It is a welcome challenge.