I’ve tried to make the point (see previous posts) that being obsessed with attaining that secular/rational equivalent of enlightenment or transcendence called universal knowledge has been something of a curse.
At least for me. It may be that someone with a generous spirit and a disciplined mind could do it, but I discovered early that while Aristotle claimed that “philosophy begins in wonder,” the reality is that it begins in wonderfulness. It’s not enough to pass the courses and get the licence. There are some things that can’t be taught. Humanity, for example.
Still, there’s something to be said for street smarts.
It goes like this: I have a friend, a former student. He drops me an email, suggests we meet for coffee. We’ve done this before. I suspect we’ll talk about his grief at the murder of one of his daughters and his fears for the sanity of another daughter.
He’s a middle-aged guy with a string of failed marriages. The last divorce is still fresh. He isn’t ready to think about another relationship, fears there won’t be one.
The one bright spot--his new career as a nurse--remains more stress than satisfaction. It is only with regard to nursing, since I helped him prepare for it, that I am qualified to speak. I do not let this stop me from posing as an expert on everything. from madness to love.
He’s already drinking iced tea and trying to log on the wireless hub when I get to the coffee house. Our stated purpose is to swap information about the medical databases we have on our PDAs. But in no time we’re talking about his living but very depressed daughter (also one of my former students).
He’s worried her medications are impairing her ability learn in her new job as a nurse. “She’s afraid of failing,” he says. “It’s making her more depressed.” I agree. It worries me too. She’s a wonderful person. I’m very fond of her.
What do I have to offer him? Nothing, but perhaps the chance to talk freely. I sense that he’s down on himself. He has high standards, blames himself for the misfortunes of his daughters. I meet this by playing the fool, a bigger fool than he. I tell the truth about my marriages and affairs, the damage I did to my children.
This is a kind of treachery. He’s a smart guy has a lot of insight after years of therapy. I really have nothing to tell him that he doesn’t know. But he respects me as teacher. He hasn’t been a nurse long enough to know he’s already better at it than I am. My aim is to subvert that, to laugh in the face of my crimes. I have no point, no advice. It is not therapy, though it may be friendship.
He thinks so, suggests we go fishing.
Oddly, though, it is my failed quest that makes this possible. Fragments of Nietzsche and Freud and Marx lurk in my mind, capsules of hard-won lessons. Occasionally I quote these lines. More often they are the clues to how to play a situation. Words to stay loose by.
It’s a small thing. It’s taken a long time. But it’s a start.
enlightenment
wonder
teacher
student
At least for me. It may be that someone with a generous spirit and a disciplined mind could do it, but I discovered early that while Aristotle claimed that “philosophy begins in wonder,” the reality is that it begins in wonderfulness. It’s not enough to pass the courses and get the licence. There are some things that can’t be taught. Humanity, for example.
Still, there’s something to be said for street smarts.
It goes like this: I have a friend, a former student. He drops me an email, suggests we meet for coffee. We’ve done this before. I suspect we’ll talk about his grief at the murder of one of his daughters and his fears for the sanity of another daughter.
He’s a middle-aged guy with a string of failed marriages. The last divorce is still fresh. He isn’t ready to think about another relationship, fears there won’t be one.
The one bright spot--his new career as a nurse--remains more stress than satisfaction. It is only with regard to nursing, since I helped him prepare for it, that I am qualified to speak. I do not let this stop me from posing as an expert on everything. from madness to love.
He’s already drinking iced tea and trying to log on the wireless hub when I get to the coffee house. Our stated purpose is to swap information about the medical databases we have on our PDAs. But in no time we’re talking about his living but very depressed daughter (also one of my former students).
He’s worried her medications are impairing her ability learn in her new job as a nurse. “She’s afraid of failing,” he says. “It’s making her more depressed.” I agree. It worries me too. She’s a wonderful person. I’m very fond of her.
What do I have to offer him? Nothing, but perhaps the chance to talk freely. I sense that he’s down on himself. He has high standards, blames himself for the misfortunes of his daughters. I meet this by playing the fool, a bigger fool than he. I tell the truth about my marriages and affairs, the damage I did to my children.
This is a kind of treachery. He’s a smart guy has a lot of insight after years of therapy. I really have nothing to tell him that he doesn’t know. But he respects me as teacher. He hasn’t been a nurse long enough to know he’s already better at it than I am. My aim is to subvert that, to laugh in the face of my crimes. I have no point, no advice. It is not therapy, though it may be friendship.
He thinks so, suggests we go fishing.
Oddly, though, it is my failed quest that makes this possible. Fragments of Nietzsche and Freud and Marx lurk in my mind, capsules of hard-won lessons. Occasionally I quote these lines. More often they are the clues to how to play a situation. Words to stay loose by.
It’s a small thing. It’s taken a long time. But it’s a start.
enlightenment
wonder
teacher
student
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