It is not enough to be a critical thinker, or a creative thinker, or a logical thinker, or a scientific thinker; to be a good thinker, in all senses of the term, is to be a considerate thinker. Consideration is the key to greatly improved thinking.
By thinking dialectically you can Improve your thinking immediately. The dialectic, as old as Socrates, can be used easily and effectively in the 21st Century. Like the unfolding of a flower bud, simple and beautiful itself, it opens into new depths of beauty and fragrance.
The dialectic will lead you to:
• Consider other perspectives.
• Consider logical implications.
• Consider who you are.
• Consider who you want to become.
• Consider what is possible, what can actually be done.
You will quickly become:
• A person whose ideas must be reckoned with.
• A person who is rarely blind-sided.
• More honest.
• More respectful and more respected.
• More aware and appreciative.
• More courteous.
__________________
If this is your first visit, some of the early posts on this blog will explain how I use the term, “The Dialectic.”
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Monday, October 8, 2007
How I Go about Thinking
Recently I heard from one of those three or four individuals who read my blogs on a regular basis, and he told me that, as a result, he believed he was beginning to learn how to think. That, coupled with a provocative discussion another fellow–a friend--and I had, is what lies behind today’s blog.
Our intense conversation was stimulating and challenging. My friend and I appeared to have major disagreements about where we were coming from and where we were we believed it took us. We had time to stir things up a bit, but not enough to clarify much, and although as friends we retain a harmonious relationship, we left our discussion without resolving our differences. We will meet again; of that I am confident.
This kind of emotionally charged attempt to reason together is an encounter not uncommon for me. It always drives me, always, to reconsider my own thinking. As I drove home that day, reconsidering my thoughts, I began trying to do a complete review of how my thinking characteristically proceeds. What follows is a provisional statement of the essential elements of my thought processes.
Four reference points are always consulted; yes, and a fifth is also involved. These are linked interdependently.
• The Christian’s Holy Scriptures
• Logic
• Words: their usage, definition, and etymology
• The actual life context of whatever is at issue
• And to be honest, I must include my experience of life as I have seen, felt, and understood it.
Three assumptions are always present in the pattern of my thinking:
• No human statement is ever complete. It matters not whether it a sentence, a speech, an essay, a book, or a political platform that makes the statement, it can never be complete.
• There is always more to be said. Sometimes that more changes everything.
• [Thus] It is always possible that I am wrong.
The scriptures that Christians consider holy, when taken as a whole, are fuzzy. This is why they always have been and will remain, subject to interpretation. Many interpretations exist. Therefore, we can see that Christians have never reasoned from Scripture alone, although many have claimed to do just that.
Logic is equally fuzzy. None of its premises are incontrovertibly true. The reasoning process often is invalid. Inductive logic, by its very nature, cannot produce conclusions that will always prove worthy of our trust.
Trying to settle matters by logic, it is essential that we must understand and accept the premises from which we are reasoning. We must also accept the validity of the reasoning process. Otherwise, we are unlikely to agree on conclusions.
Anytime we disagree with the conclusion of someone’s reasoning, there are only two ways they can be challenged: the truth of their premises and the validity of their reasoning process. This is true at least for deductive reasoning. Since inductive reasoning always goes somewhere beyond the evidence offered in the premises, we may reasonably disagree on the conclusions. The only way to clarify the matter is to reduce it to some deductive pattern. Then it can be subjected to rigorous testing.
The meaning of words lies more in how they are used than in what dictionaries, lexica, or etymologies have to say. Nonetheless, unless we clearly stipulate how we are using language, we cannot stray far from established meaning without jeopardizing our ability to communicate.
_________
Personally:
• Within the Holy Scriptures, my heart, mind, emotions, and soul turn to the following passages as interpretative signposts and as illuminators of the rest of these writings:
--I John 4:16
--Matthew 7:24-27
--John 14:6
--Colossians 1:15-20
--John 1:1-18
--Ephesians 1:10
--2 Corinthians 5:17-21
╶ Revelation 5
• When I turn to logic, my major methods of testing by deduction are:
--The categorical syllogism
--The conditional syllogism
--The dilemma
╶ The reductio ad absurdum
Inductively, I turn to the ways of testing:
--Analogies
--The hypothetico-deductive method
--Simple induction
• I approach the biblical writings using a logic appropriate to stories rather than to strict propositional logic. As story, the Bible speaks with multilayered, multifaceted, and somewhat open-ended meaning.
• Therefore I concur with Jan Zwicky’s judgment that none of it--whether understood as story or parts of the story, or understood in propositional language–can be reduced to unidimensional meaning without misre-presentation of its intention.
• I also concur with Ludwig Wittgenstein when he says, “That which is ragged should be left ragged.” In spite of the ultimate clarity that is visible when we look at the big picture of the biblical theme and when we have acknowledged its unity and harmony, the Bible remains a rather ragged collection of writings.
________________
A couple of ideas that came up in the conversation that stimulated this little essay might clarify some small piece of what I’ve been saying.
1. The word, introvert, was used a few times. It was not clear to me how it was being used; its usage did not fit with my own. The real heart of our concerns was sabotaged by this vagueness. “Contrary to what most people think, an introvert is not simply a person who is shy. In fact, being shy has little to do with being an introvert! Shyness has an element of apprehension, nervousness and anxiety, and while an introvert may also be shy, introversion itself is not shyness. Basically, an introvert is a person who is energized by being alone and whose energy is drained by being around other people.”
In context, “introvert” was used to designate a group that was perceived to represent a representative majority of the population of the United States, if not actually most of the entire human population. The majority were identified as introverts. Among authorities, the well-established fact is that introverts constitute only about 25% of the population.
This ratio seems validated in my own life experience as, for at least sixty-five years, I’ve observed human social interaction. Day in and day out, wherever you go, the great majority of our world, as well as almost any select group, is made up of extroverted people. And, as an introvert myself, I suspect that God intended us to be so, so that we can live in societies rather than in reclusion, seclusion, and isolation.
On the other hand:
Most people believe that an extrovert is a person who is friendly and outgoing. While that may be true, that is not the true meaning of extroversion. Basically, an extrovert is a person who is energized by being around other people. This is the opposite of an introvert who is energized by being alone.
[About.com is a helpful starting point for understanding these two types of human personality.]
2. It was said that Jesus called us–whoever that might be--to be “fishers of men.”
When Jesus actually called a few fishermen to become his special trainees, he did say he would make them “fishers of men.” When, however, he called a collector of governmental revenues, he neither told him that he was to become a “fisher of men,” nor that he was to be a “revenuer for God.” When he called a fellow who was part of a quasi-military group, he said nothing to him about either “fishing” or fighting.
What we can appropriately extrapolate from ancient texts, sacred or otherwise, is another discussion altogether.
_________________
This has been an essay into something of how, in practice, I put my concept of considerate/dialectical thinking to use. It is written to whomever it concerns, and for whatever it is worth.
___________
Now, in private, I will, along these lines, go about analyzing the aforementioned challenging discussion.
Our intense conversation was stimulating and challenging. My friend and I appeared to have major disagreements about where we were coming from and where we were we believed it took us. We had time to stir things up a bit, but not enough to clarify much, and although as friends we retain a harmonious relationship, we left our discussion without resolving our differences. We will meet again; of that I am confident.
This kind of emotionally charged attempt to reason together is an encounter not uncommon for me. It always drives me, always, to reconsider my own thinking. As I drove home that day, reconsidering my thoughts, I began trying to do a complete review of how my thinking characteristically proceeds. What follows is a provisional statement of the essential elements of my thought processes.
Four reference points are always consulted; yes, and a fifth is also involved. These are linked interdependently.
• The Christian’s Holy Scriptures
• Logic
• Words: their usage, definition, and etymology
• The actual life context of whatever is at issue
• And to be honest, I must include my experience of life as I have seen, felt, and understood it.
Three assumptions are always present in the pattern of my thinking:
• No human statement is ever complete. It matters not whether it a sentence, a speech, an essay, a book, or a political platform that makes the statement, it can never be complete.
• There is always more to be said. Sometimes that more changes everything.
• [Thus] It is always possible that I am wrong.
The scriptures that Christians consider holy, when taken as a whole, are fuzzy. This is why they always have been and will remain, subject to interpretation. Many interpretations exist. Therefore, we can see that Christians have never reasoned from Scripture alone, although many have claimed to do just that.
Logic is equally fuzzy. None of its premises are incontrovertibly true. The reasoning process often is invalid. Inductive logic, by its very nature, cannot produce conclusions that will always prove worthy of our trust.
Trying to settle matters by logic, it is essential that we must understand and accept the premises from which we are reasoning. We must also accept the validity of the reasoning process. Otherwise, we are unlikely to agree on conclusions.
Anytime we disagree with the conclusion of someone’s reasoning, there are only two ways they can be challenged: the truth of their premises and the validity of their reasoning process. This is true at least for deductive reasoning. Since inductive reasoning always goes somewhere beyond the evidence offered in the premises, we may reasonably disagree on the conclusions. The only way to clarify the matter is to reduce it to some deductive pattern. Then it can be subjected to rigorous testing.
The meaning of words lies more in how they are used than in what dictionaries, lexica, or etymologies have to say. Nonetheless, unless we clearly stipulate how we are using language, we cannot stray far from established meaning without jeopardizing our ability to communicate.
_________
Personally:
• Within the Holy Scriptures, my heart, mind, emotions, and soul turn to the following passages as interpretative signposts and as illuminators of the rest of these writings:
--I John 4:16
--Matthew 7:24-27
--John 14:6
--Colossians 1:15-20
--John 1:1-18
--Ephesians 1:10
--2 Corinthians 5:17-21
╶ Revelation 5
• When I turn to logic, my major methods of testing by deduction are:
--The categorical syllogism
--The conditional syllogism
--The dilemma
╶ The reductio ad absurdum
Inductively, I turn to the ways of testing:
--Analogies
--The hypothetico-deductive method
--Simple induction
• I approach the biblical writings using a logic appropriate to stories rather than to strict propositional logic. As story, the Bible speaks with multilayered, multifaceted, and somewhat open-ended meaning.
• Therefore I concur with Jan Zwicky’s judgment that none of it--whether understood as story or parts of the story, or understood in propositional language–can be reduced to unidimensional meaning without misre-presentation of its intention.
• I also concur with Ludwig Wittgenstein when he says, “That which is ragged should be left ragged.” In spite of the ultimate clarity that is visible when we look at the big picture of the biblical theme and when we have acknowledged its unity and harmony, the Bible remains a rather ragged collection of writings.
________________
A couple of ideas that came up in the conversation that stimulated this little essay might clarify some small piece of what I’ve been saying.
1. The word, introvert, was used a few times. It was not clear to me how it was being used; its usage did not fit with my own. The real heart of our concerns was sabotaged by this vagueness. “Contrary to what most people think, an introvert is not simply a person who is shy. In fact, being shy has little to do with being an introvert! Shyness has an element of apprehension, nervousness and anxiety, and while an introvert may also be shy, introversion itself is not shyness. Basically, an introvert is a person who is energized by being alone and whose energy is drained by being around other people.”
In context, “introvert” was used to designate a group that was perceived to represent a representative majority of the population of the United States, if not actually most of the entire human population. The majority were identified as introverts. Among authorities, the well-established fact is that introverts constitute only about 25% of the population.
This ratio seems validated in my own life experience as, for at least sixty-five years, I’ve observed human social interaction. Day in and day out, wherever you go, the great majority of our world, as well as almost any select group, is made up of extroverted people. And, as an introvert myself, I suspect that God intended us to be so, so that we can live in societies rather than in reclusion, seclusion, and isolation.
On the other hand:
Most people believe that an extrovert is a person who is friendly and outgoing. While that may be true, that is not the true meaning of extroversion. Basically, an extrovert is a person who is energized by being around other people. This is the opposite of an introvert who is energized by being alone.
[About.com is a helpful starting point for understanding these two types of human personality.]
2. It was said that Jesus called us–whoever that might be--to be “fishers of men.”
When Jesus actually called a few fishermen to become his special trainees, he did say he would make them “fishers of men.” When, however, he called a collector of governmental revenues, he neither told him that he was to become a “fisher of men,” nor that he was to be a “revenuer for God.” When he called a fellow who was part of a quasi-military group, he said nothing to him about either “fishing” or fighting.
What we can appropriately extrapolate from ancient texts, sacred or otherwise, is another discussion altogether.
_________________
This has been an essay into something of how, in practice, I put my concept of considerate/dialectical thinking to use. It is written to whomever it concerns, and for whatever it is worth.
___________
Now, in private, I will, along these lines, go about analyzing the aforementioned challenging discussion.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Preventing Bad Luck
On the old TV show, Hee Haw, every week, with downcast face and voice, they sang:
Gloom, despair and agony on me!
Deep dark depression, excessive misery!
If it weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all!
Dialectical–considerate–thinking shuts out most of our bad luck. Nothing can stop all of it, but it can usually be avoided if we live with our eyes and ears and mind “on the other hand,” which is where bad luck ordinarily comes from. When we can avoid being caught by surprise, we can be prepared for whatever might be headed our way. We can be like Nathan Bedford Forrest who said of Stonewall Jackson, “he got there firstest with the mostest.”
If we make it our habit to consider life from several perspectives, we can seize the initiative and “get there the firstest with the mostest.” Sometimes we can catch that potential “bad luck” before it gets to us, and be prepared to ambush it before the bad luck knows what is happening.
Likewise, thinking like an octopus, considering the many hands, using all the time available to us before decision-making time, will open the door and put out the welcome mat for good luck to walk into our house for a visit. A perennial truism says that the more we pre-pare, the more we stay alert, the more are aware, the more we pay attention, the luckier we get.
Yeah, yeah, we know all of that. We’ve heard it all our lives. We know it’s true, yet we continue to believe that some people are just born lucky and others unlucky. We might ought to wipe the dust and cobwebs off of those wise old words, so that, like the Boy Scouts, we can “be prepared.” If so, we just might get to be among the lucky ones.
Good luck!
Gloom, despair and agony on me!
Deep dark depression, excessive misery!
If it weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all!
Dialectical–considerate–thinking shuts out most of our bad luck. Nothing can stop all of it, but it can usually be avoided if we live with our eyes and ears and mind “on the other hand,” which is where bad luck ordinarily comes from. When we can avoid being caught by surprise, we can be prepared for whatever might be headed our way. We can be like Nathan Bedford Forrest who said of Stonewall Jackson, “he got there firstest with the mostest.”
If we make it our habit to consider life from several perspectives, we can seize the initiative and “get there the firstest with the mostest.” Sometimes we can catch that potential “bad luck” before it gets to us, and be prepared to ambush it before the bad luck knows what is happening.
Likewise, thinking like an octopus, considering the many hands, using all the time available to us before decision-making time, will open the door and put out the welcome mat for good luck to walk into our house for a visit. A perennial truism says that the more we pre-pare, the more we stay alert, the more are aware, the more we pay attention, the luckier we get.
Yeah, yeah, we know all of that. We’ve heard it all our lives. We know it’s true, yet we continue to believe that some people are just born lucky and others unlucky. We might ought to wipe the dust and cobwebs off of those wise old words, so that, like the Boy Scouts, we can “be prepared.” If so, we just might get to be among the lucky ones.
Good luck!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Sing, Draw, Dance, Think
Anyone can become a good thinker, I am convinced.
I have read, and I believe, that if you can talk, you can sing. For some of us, it takes a lot of help and training to become a halfway decent singer, but any of us can do it, after some fashion.
An art teacher once told us that if you can write, you can draw. Writing requires that we develop the ability to draw each character of the alphabet well enough to distinguish it from the other letters. We have to draw these letters with enough clarity that they can be read. If we can write, we have already developed some degree of drawing ability.
As a matter of fact, all children draw, even more naturally than they write. They begin drawing before they know anything about reading and writing. It is only after they are art classes where art teachers tell them what they’ve done wrong, that they decide they can’t draw. Anyone who can write can draw, and with training and encouragement, can learn to draw fairly well.
A teacher of choreography told me that anyone who can walk can dance. We can maintain our balance, move our feet in proper sequence, and adjust our pace to walk with some else. Most of us can even learn to march in step with music. As dancers, we probably will never become a public performer nor become known as an artist, but we can move our feet rhythmically and/or move our feet to music.
These are things I have heard said, and that I believe.
_______________
I say: If you ever think at all, you can become a good thinker. Maybe not like Einstein, but effectively. The following repeats what I wrote in a much earlier blog.
If you learn to think considerately–dialectically–then you will become more:
• considerate
• moderate
• appreciative
• aware,
• diplomatic
• honest
• respectful
You will:
• understand others better (including your opposition)
• ask more questions
• read more
• eliminate arrogance
• be less apt to go off half-coked
• make fewer mistakes
• need to make fewer apologies
You will have more:
• patience
• humility
• wonder
• openness
• integrity
• sympathy
• tolerance
• people who respect you
• have more patience
You will be less apt to be blind-sided because you have thought and looked more than one way.
If you are new to this blog, the early posts on this site will help you understand more fully what has been said in this one.
If you are not new, you are aware that I’ve neglected–to my disappointment–this blog. I hope to remedy that, because I have much more I want to say on the subject of dialectical/considerate thinking.
I have read, and I believe, that if you can talk, you can sing. For some of us, it takes a lot of help and training to become a halfway decent singer, but any of us can do it, after some fashion.
An art teacher once told us that if you can write, you can draw. Writing requires that we develop the ability to draw each character of the alphabet well enough to distinguish it from the other letters. We have to draw these letters with enough clarity that they can be read. If we can write, we have already developed some degree of drawing ability.
As a matter of fact, all children draw, even more naturally than they write. They begin drawing before they know anything about reading and writing. It is only after they are art classes where art teachers tell them what they’ve done wrong, that they decide they can’t draw. Anyone who can write can draw, and with training and encouragement, can learn to draw fairly well.
A teacher of choreography told me that anyone who can walk can dance. We can maintain our balance, move our feet in proper sequence, and adjust our pace to walk with some else. Most of us can even learn to march in step with music. As dancers, we probably will never become a public performer nor become known as an artist, but we can move our feet rhythmically and/or move our feet to music.
These are things I have heard said, and that I believe.
_______________
I say: If you ever think at all, you can become a good thinker. Maybe not like Einstein, but effectively. The following repeats what I wrote in a much earlier blog.
If you learn to think considerately–dialectically–then you will become more:
• considerate
• moderate
• appreciative
• aware,
• diplomatic
• honest
• respectful
You will:
• understand others better (including your opposition)
• ask more questions
• read more
• eliminate arrogance
• be less apt to go off half-coked
• make fewer mistakes
• need to make fewer apologies
You will have more:
• patience
• humility
• wonder
• openness
• integrity
• sympathy
• tolerance
• people who respect you
• have more patience
You will be less apt to be blind-sided because you have thought and looked more than one way.
If you are new to this blog, the early posts on this site will help you understand more fully what has been said in this one.
If you are not new, you are aware that I’ve neglected–to my disappointment–this blog. I hope to remedy that, because I have much more I want to say on the subject of dialectical/considerate thinking.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Thinking about Health
Consider getting a second opinion. In 1957 I suffered an aggravating health problem so I went to one of the most highly respected physicians in Fort Worth. After the doctor examined me, he said I needed to come in for surgery as soon as I could take two weeks off all activity. I was in the middle of graduate studies and saw no way to miss that much school for two weeks, so I continued to endure the aggravation.
But it got worse, so I decided to take advantage of the school doctor. He was free. He was a seasoned teacher at Baylor Medical School in Dallas, who gave one day a week to the school. I went to see him. I told him what the other doctor had said. The old medical school physician examined me, and told me I did not need surgery at all. He suggested a few ways to alleviate the aggravation.
Considerate thinking. Considerate medical thinking. Since I could not easily follow the first doctor’s recommendation, I gave the matter some thought and considered getting another opinion. But then I had to consider two conflicting medical recommendations. How was I to know which was right? Both were highly regarded in their field.
One of the essential elements in considerate thinking is to use all the time you have available before a decision must be made. At least, if possible, sleep on it. Let the unconscious mind do some of your thinking. Of course there are times when decisions must be made and action taken immediately. In those cases instant consideration is given to the consequences of delay. This spurs us to a prompt decision.
I decided to take some time considering both options. Inertia set in. The recommendations of the second doctor helped, so I continued to delay decision. Of course the decision to postpone decision is a decision not to act right then. The end of the story is that, almost by default, I decided against the surgery that I had been told was needed as soon as possible.
That was fifty years ago. I’ve not had the surgery and have gotten by, most of the time, quite well.
If you have any question about a doctor’s diagnosis or recommendations, consider getting a second opinion.
Recently, a relative was having some memory problems and thought perhaps Alzheimer’s was the problem. A specialist was consulted and within five minutes, Alzheimer’s was confirmed. Further testing that morning substantiated the five minute judgment.
Thinking about this devastating diagnosis that promises such a black and bleak future, a second opinion was considered. The family physician doubted the disturbing diagnosis, and recommended a nationally acclaimed doctor who has developed the first definitive, objective test for Alzheimer’s.
After seven hours of careful testing, the national expert reversed the diagnosis. With a more than 95% certainty, the doctor assured that the problem was not serious and certainly was not Alzheimer’s. Unimaginable relief.
Think about it; always consider a second opinion.
_____________________
Many other medical matters call for considerate thinking.
• Is my condition serious enough to go to the doctor, or do I decide just to live with it or try any of a variety of home remedies and means of relief?
• Do I trust the doctor completely, or do I ask questions, perhaps hard questions?
• Do I eat a healthy diet, exercise, get proper sleep, and take other measures to maintain good health, or do I merely do as I please, trusting in the medical community to fix whatever might go wrong?
• When medicine is prescribed, do I take the brand name or consider the generic? Do I, without further thought, merely trust the doctor and take the prescribed medication, or do I consult information about possible side effects?
• If I am diagnosed with cancer, do I take radiation and chemo, both of which potentially have miserable side effects, or do I take my chances without such treatment? There are many things to consider.
• Do I want to draw up an advance directive, a living will? What do I want done if death looks imminent? Do I want heroic measures to be taken when I am no longer able to live without artificial support–measures such as resuscitation, the use of a feeding tube, or oxygen equipment that breathes for me?
These and many other health-related issues need to be thought through dialectically: On the one hand; but on the other hand; yes, but on the other hand; yes, but. . . . Sometimes we have to think like an octopus because there are several hands to consider.
Our health, well-being, and life itself depend in large measure on the quality and extent of our thinking.
I hope it is well with you today. But think also about tomorrow.
But it got worse, so I decided to take advantage of the school doctor. He was free. He was a seasoned teacher at Baylor Medical School in Dallas, who gave one day a week to the school. I went to see him. I told him what the other doctor had said. The old medical school physician examined me, and told me I did not need surgery at all. He suggested a few ways to alleviate the aggravation.
Considerate thinking. Considerate medical thinking. Since I could not easily follow the first doctor’s recommendation, I gave the matter some thought and considered getting another opinion. But then I had to consider two conflicting medical recommendations. How was I to know which was right? Both were highly regarded in their field.
One of the essential elements in considerate thinking is to use all the time you have available before a decision must be made. At least, if possible, sleep on it. Let the unconscious mind do some of your thinking. Of course there are times when decisions must be made and action taken immediately. In those cases instant consideration is given to the consequences of delay. This spurs us to a prompt decision.
I decided to take some time considering both options. Inertia set in. The recommendations of the second doctor helped, so I continued to delay decision. Of course the decision to postpone decision is a decision not to act right then. The end of the story is that, almost by default, I decided against the surgery that I had been told was needed as soon as possible.
That was fifty years ago. I’ve not had the surgery and have gotten by, most of the time, quite well.
If you have any question about a doctor’s diagnosis or recommendations, consider getting a second opinion.
Recently, a relative was having some memory problems and thought perhaps Alzheimer’s was the problem. A specialist was consulted and within five minutes, Alzheimer’s was confirmed. Further testing that morning substantiated the five minute judgment.
Thinking about this devastating diagnosis that promises such a black and bleak future, a second opinion was considered. The family physician doubted the disturbing diagnosis, and recommended a nationally acclaimed doctor who has developed the first definitive, objective test for Alzheimer’s.
After seven hours of careful testing, the national expert reversed the diagnosis. With a more than 95% certainty, the doctor assured that the problem was not serious and certainly was not Alzheimer’s. Unimaginable relief.
Think about it; always consider a second opinion.
_____________________
Many other medical matters call for considerate thinking.
• Is my condition serious enough to go to the doctor, or do I decide just to live with it or try any of a variety of home remedies and means of relief?
• Do I trust the doctor completely, or do I ask questions, perhaps hard questions?
• Do I eat a healthy diet, exercise, get proper sleep, and take other measures to maintain good health, or do I merely do as I please, trusting in the medical community to fix whatever might go wrong?
• When medicine is prescribed, do I take the brand name or consider the generic? Do I, without further thought, merely trust the doctor and take the prescribed medication, or do I consult information about possible side effects?
• If I am diagnosed with cancer, do I take radiation and chemo, both of which potentially have miserable side effects, or do I take my chances without such treatment? There are many things to consider.
• Do I want to draw up an advance directive, a living will? What do I want done if death looks imminent? Do I want heroic measures to be taken when I am no longer able to live without artificial support–measures such as resuscitation, the use of a feeding tube, or oxygen equipment that breathes for me?
These and many other health-related issues need to be thought through dialectically: On the one hand; but on the other hand; yes, but on the other hand; yes, but. . . . Sometimes we have to think like an octopus because there are several hands to consider.
Our health, well-being, and life itself depend in large measure on the quality and extent of our thinking.
I hope it is well with you today. But think also about tomorrow.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Randy Travis
Back in 1986, Randy Travis sang about a fellow who has just met an exciting woman. She has his complete attention, has him almost spellbound. He considers the possibility of spending the night with her. Then he sings, “On one hand I count the reasons I could stay with you . . . all night long . . . and on that hand I see no reason why it’s wrong.” That is one way for him to look at the situation.
But the refrain reveals the rest of the picture, as he sings, “But on the other hand there’s a golden band to remind me of someone who would not understand.” He has been tempted to forsake his marriage, and might have done so if he just looked at things from the most obvious point of view, the way he felt. He sings about a strong desire to stay, but the logic of marital love and commitment realizes that, “the reason I must go is on the other hand.”
Therein lies one of life’s crucial lessons. On one hand--every day, throughout the day--we see what we believe to be right and what feels right at the time. On the other hand there is always more to be considered, another side. On one hand we are ready to act; on the other hand it is possible that we might be wrong.
The truth is that no single way of seeing anything is ever the complete picture. There is always more. Mortimer Adler made the strange claim that the greatest contribution Greek civilization ever made to our culture is the idea of men/de, two little particles in the Greek language.
These little particles, men and de, are commonly translated into English as on one hand/on the other hand. When we think of Greek culture, sculpture, philosophy, and drama, we certainly might wonder what the man was thinking to make such an audacious claim. On the other hand. . . .
But the refrain reveals the rest of the picture, as he sings, “But on the other hand there’s a golden band to remind me of someone who would not understand.” He has been tempted to forsake his marriage, and might have done so if he just looked at things from the most obvious point of view, the way he felt. He sings about a strong desire to stay, but the logic of marital love and commitment realizes that, “the reason I must go is on the other hand.”
Therein lies one of life’s crucial lessons. On one hand--every day, throughout the day--we see what we believe to be right and what feels right at the time. On the other hand there is always more to be considered, another side. On one hand we are ready to act; on the other hand it is possible that we might be wrong.
The truth is that no single way of seeing anything is ever the complete picture. There is always more. Mortimer Adler made the strange claim that the greatest contribution Greek civilization ever made to our culture is the idea of men/de, two little particles in the Greek language.
These little particles, men and de, are commonly translated into English as on one hand/on the other hand. When we think of Greek culture, sculpture, philosophy, and drama, we certainly might wonder what the man was thinking to make such an audacious claim. On the other hand. . . .
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
On the Other Hand: Sports
I’m not a sports fan. I don’t know what went wrong. Maybe I wasn’t raised right. I am an American citizen, but whether genetics or whatever, I almost completely ignore the world of sports. I have, on rare occasions, attended or listened to a sporting event. I mention two to illustrate something of the nature of the dialectic.
Do you have the dialectic down yet? Concisely, it always responds with: “On the other hand.”
When I was a young man attending Oklahoma A&M College, our greatest rival was the University of Oklahoma, led by coach Bud Wilkinson. Wilkinson won football games - more in one stretch than any major-college coach in history. His Oklahoma teams set the NCAA record by winning 47 consecutive games. When I was in college, OU was at the top of its game.
During my college career I attended only one football game. It was unforgettable. We were playing OU in the traditional homecoming game. At the time, A&M was somewhere near the bottom in college football ranking. The first play of the game was what made the game memorable.
Opening kickoff. A&M received. Bill Bredde picked the ball up on our two-yard line and ran through the entire OU team for a ninety-eight-yard touchdown. A&M against OU, first play: the stands exploded. I’ve never seen or heard anything like it. No one did that against Bud Wilkinson’s team.
We were elated, but on the other hand, our rival was still the best team in the United States. They beat us something like 49-7. Our game ended after the first play.
We might have felt a sense of hope. We might have thought we had a chance. But we had another thought coming, and we should have known it. No one human action ever tells the whole story.
____________________
The other memorable sporting event was a heavyweight world-championship boxing match between Ingmar Johansson and Floyd Patterson in June 1960. I was driving to work that night, listening to the fight on car radio.
In 1959, Johansson had defeated Patterson and taken the heavyweight championship title from him. They were fighting a rematch in 1960. I was a Patterson fan, and as I drove, I suffered, because for most of fifteen rounds, Johansson pummeled Patterson mercilessly. Patterson clearly was being slowly defeated, continually he was knocked to the canvas. Sports announcers talked about the fight being stopped and Patterson defeated by a technical knockout.
Late in the last round, the fifteenth, Floyd was down. It was unbelievable that after such a beating he could force himself back on his feet. The referee’s count came to “nine,” and to everyone’s surprise, Patterson, with great difficulty, dragged himself into an upright position, then, with a quick knockout, ended the fight. His Swedish contender took the entire ten-count. Patterson became the first world-champion, heavyweight boxer to regain his crown.
As the fight proceeded, Patterson, without question, was the loser. But, on the other hand. . . .
For the considerate thinker, there is always another hand to be considered.
[Patterson and Johansson met again. Patterson defeated the Swede in the sixth round.]
Do you have the dialectic down yet? Concisely, it always responds with: “On the other hand.”
When I was a young man attending Oklahoma A&M College, our greatest rival was the University of Oklahoma, led by coach Bud Wilkinson. Wilkinson won football games - more in one stretch than any major-college coach in history. His Oklahoma teams set the NCAA record by winning 47 consecutive games. When I was in college, OU was at the top of its game.
During my college career I attended only one football game. It was unforgettable. We were playing OU in the traditional homecoming game. At the time, A&M was somewhere near the bottom in college football ranking. The first play of the game was what made the game memorable.
Opening kickoff. A&M received. Bill Bredde picked the ball up on our two-yard line and ran through the entire OU team for a ninety-eight-yard touchdown. A&M against OU, first play: the stands exploded. I’ve never seen or heard anything like it. No one did that against Bud Wilkinson’s team.
We were elated, but on the other hand, our rival was still the best team in the United States. They beat us something like 49-7. Our game ended after the first play.
We might have felt a sense of hope. We might have thought we had a chance. But we had another thought coming, and we should have known it. No one human action ever tells the whole story.
____________________
The other memorable sporting event was a heavyweight world-championship boxing match between Ingmar Johansson and Floyd Patterson in June 1960. I was driving to work that night, listening to the fight on car radio.
In 1959, Johansson had defeated Patterson and taken the heavyweight championship title from him. They were fighting a rematch in 1960. I was a Patterson fan, and as I drove, I suffered, because for most of fifteen rounds, Johansson pummeled Patterson mercilessly. Patterson clearly was being slowly defeated, continually he was knocked to the canvas. Sports announcers talked about the fight being stopped and Patterson defeated by a technical knockout.
Late in the last round, the fifteenth, Floyd was down. It was unbelievable that after such a beating he could force himself back on his feet. The referee’s count came to “nine,” and to everyone’s surprise, Patterson, with great difficulty, dragged himself into an upright position, then, with a quick knockout, ended the fight. His Swedish contender took the entire ten-count. Patterson became the first world-champion, heavyweight boxer to regain his crown.
As the fight proceeded, Patterson, without question, was the loser. But, on the other hand. . . .
For the considerate thinker, there is always another hand to be considered.
[Patterson and Johansson met again. Patterson defeated the Swede in the sixth round.]
Monday, July 9, 2007
Home Life
Mother was different. She was a patient listener, usually. I could talk with Mother about anything, and at length, and did for over half a century. In her presence I could express myself and dream dreams that had no possibility of being realized in the real world, knowing that I was not likely to be squelched. So I felt much closer to Mother than to Daddy.
On the other hand, Mother mostly just listened. She never said much, told me little of what she thought about my words, and gave little advice and few instructions. Except on one or two subjects--birdwatching was one--she rarely revealed much of her own thought, feeling, or dreams (I often wonder what they were). She just listened to my monologues, knowing that, listening, all by itself, offers the human soul some of the best therapy possible.
So I was raised in a home that knew little dialogue, a family with three brothers who, for the most part, each went his own way, only occasionally acknowledging the existence of the others. And I doubt that we were an unusual American family. And there are other nations whose societies echo this same experience.
I don’t know how well all of this describes the homes in which Mother and Daddy themselves grew up, but I have heard enough from cousins and other family members to believe their homes were much like mine, and that the pattern could be traced back, on both sides, for at least a generation or two before that. And I fear that my own daughters might see this as a description of their own father and their own experience.
(I must say that it was quite different with their mother. She and our daughters have dialogued; they have connected, not always in the best way, but they got involved in trying to know and be known. Something of this seems to have been true of my wife’s family. Not all families are like the one I was raised in, but many are, and they tend to reproduce.)
Somehow we don’t take time for each other; we don’t listen to those nearest to us. We are family, that is, we are familiar with each other, but don’t know each other. And thus we don’t know ourselves. Without the opportunity to learn what others feel and think, we don’t understand clearly our own inner life. Without sharing with someone else our thoughts and feeling about each other, our own self-perception remains out of focus. We can know ourselves in only dialogue with others.
Without dialogue I cannot become a whole person. If in the home we don’t all share our inner lives, we remain family, but are familiar with each other only in a limited sense. Without the exchange of ideas, plans, hopes, and fears, we never live in community on this earth. Our pain, our emptiness, and our horrors are in large measure, rooted in our lack of dialogue.
It is a historical commonplace that the declaration of war is immediately preceded by the announcement that “talks have broken off.” They usually have broken down because the negotiation between diplomats is, too often, an exchange of reciprocal monologues, each trying to convince the other side, never seeking to hear and understand the other’s heritage, position, predicament, or philosophy.
However, we are stuck with each other; our radical individualism and egoism cannot eliminate all the others--people, nature, and God--that are linked with our life. Sartre claimed that “hell is other people,” but he also tells us there is NO EXIT from this world of others. We are inescapably social, made for relationship, and directly linked with the natural order. We fail to take others into account at risk of denying our humanity and destroying hope for a human and global future.
Because everything is ultimately connected and interrelated in one great ecosystem, we must acknowledge otherness, listen and respond to it, and work toward a more satisfying harmony of all its parts, including that part which is our self. Apart from dialogue, we are doomed.
On the other hand, we have available a method of thinking and living that can clear the way to a much more promising, satisfying and humane future. That method is the dialectic, and the dialectic is the heart of this ongoing discussion of “considerate thinking.”
On the other hand, Mother mostly just listened. She never said much, told me little of what she thought about my words, and gave little advice and few instructions. Except on one or two subjects--birdwatching was one--she rarely revealed much of her own thought, feeling, or dreams (I often wonder what they were). She just listened to my monologues, knowing that, listening, all by itself, offers the human soul some of the best therapy possible.
So I was raised in a home that knew little dialogue, a family with three brothers who, for the most part, each went his own way, only occasionally acknowledging the existence of the others. And I doubt that we were an unusual American family. And there are other nations whose societies echo this same experience.
I don’t know how well all of this describes the homes in which Mother and Daddy themselves grew up, but I have heard enough from cousins and other family members to believe their homes were much like mine, and that the pattern could be traced back, on both sides, for at least a generation or two before that. And I fear that my own daughters might see this as a description of their own father and their own experience.
(I must say that it was quite different with their mother. She and our daughters have dialogued; they have connected, not always in the best way, but they got involved in trying to know and be known. Something of this seems to have been true of my wife’s family. Not all families are like the one I was raised in, but many are, and they tend to reproduce.)
Somehow we don’t take time for each other; we don’t listen to those nearest to us. We are family, that is, we are familiar with each other, but don’t know each other. And thus we don’t know ourselves. Without the opportunity to learn what others feel and think, we don’t understand clearly our own inner life. Without sharing with someone else our thoughts and feeling about each other, our own self-perception remains out of focus. We can know ourselves in only dialogue with others.
Without dialogue I cannot become a whole person. If in the home we don’t all share our inner lives, we remain family, but are familiar with each other only in a limited sense. Without the exchange of ideas, plans, hopes, and fears, we never live in community on this earth. Our pain, our emptiness, and our horrors are in large measure, rooted in our lack of dialogue.
It is a historical commonplace that the declaration of war is immediately preceded by the announcement that “talks have broken off.” They usually have broken down because the negotiation between diplomats is, too often, an exchange of reciprocal monologues, each trying to convince the other side, never seeking to hear and understand the other’s heritage, position, predicament, or philosophy.
However, we are stuck with each other; our radical individualism and egoism cannot eliminate all the others--people, nature, and God--that are linked with our life. Sartre claimed that “hell is other people,” but he also tells us there is NO EXIT from this world of others. We are inescapably social, made for relationship, and directly linked with the natural order. We fail to take others into account at risk of denying our humanity and destroying hope for a human and global future.
Because everything is ultimately connected and interrelated in one great ecosystem, we must acknowledge otherness, listen and respond to it, and work toward a more satisfying harmony of all its parts, including that part which is our self. Apart from dialogue, we are doomed.
On the other hand, we have available a method of thinking and living that can clear the way to a much more promising, satisfying and humane future. That method is the dialectic, and the dialectic is the heart of this ongoing discussion of “considerate thinking.”
Friday, July 6, 2007
Thinking as Dialogue
Deep into his sermon, he would lean over the pulpit and ask, "Dear hearts tonight, are you listening?" That was a long time ago but I can still hear him addressing his congregation with that old-timey phrase of endearment.
Daddy used the rhetoric of a now bygone era, but everyone in the church knew that they were dear to him, and, we knew he wanted us to pay attention because his sermons were punctuated, repeatedly, with, "Are you listening?" After all, what is the point of preaching if nobody is listening?
And what about us? What are we trying to accomplish in our conversations with each other if no one is listening? If we are going to live with each other, we will have to listen, hear, and acknowledge each other. If I don't listen, or at least look, I may not realize it when you are hurting, and that you are about to go under, unless someone comes to the rescue. If I don't listen, I may not realize how much you care, or even that you care, about me or about whatever might be the issue at hand at any given time.
If we don't listen to each other, we each merely speak our own respective and reciprocal monologues, and--unless presented by professional entertainers--most monologues quickly become boring. We need dialogue. We need to hear each other.
Daddy's, "Dear hearts tonight," (he didn't often use this term with the Sunday morning crowd) "are you listening," was not a strictly rhetorical question; he actually wanted to see it in their eyes, their posture, and even in the expression of their faces. He wanted to know that they were engaged with him.
Yet the sermons were almost exclusively monologues. He would not have appreciated it if someone had spoken up with an answer; his question was more a device to maintain or recover attention.
On the other hand, I might be wrong, as I have been so often about Daddy. It is too late now for me to ask, but although he didn't expect spoken response he might have actually welcomed it; he might have welcomed the opportunity to engage in true dialogue about the Christian gospel.
The more I think about it, the more I suspect that he very well might have welcomed it. But neither he nor the congregation of six or eight hundred people expected it because that is not part of the accepted pattern of public worship. I wonder what might happen if immediate spoken feedback became a part of the sermon?
On the other hand, if the preacher is to expect his congregation to listen, he had better have been listening to them during the week. If he doesn't know their problems, hopes, fears, dreams, doubts, excitements, moral dilemmas, existential crises, laughter and tears, his sermon may miss the people completely. They may continue to come, thinking it is somehow important that they be in church on Sunday morning, but it will not be long before they stop listening with any sense of expectation and hope. Preaching will be boring--an accurate description of altogether too many Sunday mornings.
Again, what about all the rest of us and all the talking we do? If you don't listen to me, why should I listen to you.
I think Daddy listened to his church members--actually to everyone in the community--better than he did to his three sons. Many could say the same thing about their father. Fathers often engage in a great deal more genuine dialogue on the job than they do at home.
One reason is that, like my father, there are many dads who spend precious little of their time at home, and when they do get home, they are already talked out and tired. Maybe that is the reason. I don’t know. I do know that Daddy rarely seemed to hear me, and that there was so much I wanted to say.
Before I really got started trying to make some sort of connection, Daddy would stop me with clear dogmatic instructions guaranteed to get my life moving on the right track--before he even knew what I was attempting to say. He was good at discouraging dialogue.
For the first thirty years of my life I felt that he never really heard much of anything I was trying to say. Occasionally across the next thirty-three years, we had times when we heard each other and responded to what we heard. Sometimes we argued late into the night, long after others had gone to bed, closing their doors to shut out some of our fierce and loud efforts to understand and to reconcile.
And there were times--rare times--of confession. Daddy actually listened as I confessed fears, weaknesses, disappointment, and anger. To my amazement, on two or three occasions, Daddy confessed the same to me. On those occasions I was thrilled that he treated me as a real person, as a confidant, as someone he loved and trusted.
Daddy died in 1997. The night before the funeral--at which I was to be the speaker--I stood beside his open casket looking into that face I had known for sixty-three years and cried in lonely anger for the years of opportunity lost to both of us.
So few were the hours we ever listened to each other. Precious as those times were, they never began to fill the void that I felt in my relationship to a man who, for nearly forty years, was one of the most loved and respected humans ever known in Blackwell, Oklahoma and Gainesville, Texas.
He truly was a great man. and in my confusion and anger, I could speak appreciatively of him to the hundreds who came to the funeral. But I miss him, and not just now; I always did.
Was he afraid? Was he afraid of what he might hear if he listened? Was he afraid that if he revealed much of himself I would lose some degree of respect? There were a few times late at night, after I was an adult, when he hinted at a self-image that he dared not acknowledge. He told me, once, that he wore the stern face and used the no-nonsense voice to ward off any attempt to penetrate his defenses.
Isn’t that the all-too-common human story, at least in the United States? We are afraid to let conversation move much deeper than a recitation of socially accepted speech patterns.
There is a certain reciprocity, but not much, in our exchanges about how we feel, what we think of the weather, the economy, our favorite TV show, or our ball favorite team. I suspect that sports and gossip bring us the closest to anything that resembles true dialogue. Beyond that we guard ourselves, and continue to inhabit a silent loneliness.
Daddy used the rhetoric of a now bygone era, but everyone in the church knew that they were dear to him, and, we knew he wanted us to pay attention because his sermons were punctuated, repeatedly, with, "Are you listening?" After all, what is the point of preaching if nobody is listening?
And what about us? What are we trying to accomplish in our conversations with each other if no one is listening? If we are going to live with each other, we will have to listen, hear, and acknowledge each other. If I don't listen, or at least look, I may not realize it when you are hurting, and that you are about to go under, unless someone comes to the rescue. If I don't listen, I may not realize how much you care, or even that you care, about me or about whatever might be the issue at hand at any given time.
If we don't listen to each other, we each merely speak our own respective and reciprocal monologues, and--unless presented by professional entertainers--most monologues quickly become boring. We need dialogue. We need to hear each other.
Daddy's, "Dear hearts tonight," (he didn't often use this term with the Sunday morning crowd) "are you listening," was not a strictly rhetorical question; he actually wanted to see it in their eyes, their posture, and even in the expression of their faces. He wanted to know that they were engaged with him.
Yet the sermons were almost exclusively monologues. He would not have appreciated it if someone had spoken up with an answer; his question was more a device to maintain or recover attention.
On the other hand, I might be wrong, as I have been so often about Daddy. It is too late now for me to ask, but although he didn't expect spoken response he might have actually welcomed it; he might have welcomed the opportunity to engage in true dialogue about the Christian gospel.
The more I think about it, the more I suspect that he very well might have welcomed it. But neither he nor the congregation of six or eight hundred people expected it because that is not part of the accepted pattern of public worship. I wonder what might happen if immediate spoken feedback became a part of the sermon?
On the other hand, if the preacher is to expect his congregation to listen, he had better have been listening to them during the week. If he doesn't know their problems, hopes, fears, dreams, doubts, excitements, moral dilemmas, existential crises, laughter and tears, his sermon may miss the people completely. They may continue to come, thinking it is somehow important that they be in church on Sunday morning, but it will not be long before they stop listening with any sense of expectation and hope. Preaching will be boring--an accurate description of altogether too many Sunday mornings.
Again, what about all the rest of us and all the talking we do? If you don't listen to me, why should I listen to you.
I think Daddy listened to his church members--actually to everyone in the community--better than he did to his three sons. Many could say the same thing about their father. Fathers often engage in a great deal more genuine dialogue on the job than they do at home.
One reason is that, like my father, there are many dads who spend precious little of their time at home, and when they do get home, they are already talked out and tired. Maybe that is the reason. I don’t know. I do know that Daddy rarely seemed to hear me, and that there was so much I wanted to say.
Before I really got started trying to make some sort of connection, Daddy would stop me with clear dogmatic instructions guaranteed to get my life moving on the right track--before he even knew what I was attempting to say. He was good at discouraging dialogue.
For the first thirty years of my life I felt that he never really heard much of anything I was trying to say. Occasionally across the next thirty-three years, we had times when we heard each other and responded to what we heard. Sometimes we argued late into the night, long after others had gone to bed, closing their doors to shut out some of our fierce and loud efforts to understand and to reconcile.
And there were times--rare times--of confession. Daddy actually listened as I confessed fears, weaknesses, disappointment, and anger. To my amazement, on two or three occasions, Daddy confessed the same to me. On those occasions I was thrilled that he treated me as a real person, as a confidant, as someone he loved and trusted.
Daddy died in 1997. The night before the funeral--at which I was to be the speaker--I stood beside his open casket looking into that face I had known for sixty-three years and cried in lonely anger for the years of opportunity lost to both of us.
So few were the hours we ever listened to each other. Precious as those times were, they never began to fill the void that I felt in my relationship to a man who, for nearly forty years, was one of the most loved and respected humans ever known in Blackwell, Oklahoma and Gainesville, Texas.
He truly was a great man. and in my confusion and anger, I could speak appreciatively of him to the hundreds who came to the funeral. But I miss him, and not just now; I always did.
Was he afraid? Was he afraid of what he might hear if he listened? Was he afraid that if he revealed much of himself I would lose some degree of respect? There were a few times late at night, after I was an adult, when he hinted at a self-image that he dared not acknowledge. He told me, once, that he wore the stern face and used the no-nonsense voice to ward off any attempt to penetrate his defenses.
Isn’t that the all-too-common human story, at least in the United States? We are afraid to let conversation move much deeper than a recitation of socially accepted speech patterns.
There is a certain reciprocity, but not much, in our exchanges about how we feel, what we think of the weather, the economy, our favorite TV show, or our ball favorite team. I suspect that sports and gossip bring us the closest to anything that resembles true dialogue. Beyond that we guard ourselves, and continue to inhabit a silent loneliness.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Living the Tension
When my wife turned sixty, our daughters gave her a week-long, all-expense-paid trip to New England to shop for antiques. They gave her shopping cash. They also said they would pay for one other person to accompany her, so I got to go along. (I have no memory of what they gave me for my sixtieth.)
Vermont was the most impressive part of that, my first, trip through New England. My desk at home, indeed my entire office, and my pickup truck all are wildernesses
of clutter . I think I liked Vermont because it was uncluttered. I’ve never seen anything so clean, neat, and well-trimmed. Uncluttered, but not sterile like I have always perceived German communities to be.
I like the uncluttered. I like the Kansas Flint Hills, the Oklahoma Osage country, the deserts of the Southwest; I like “the wide-open spaces.” In art, I am attracted to paintings, especially watercolors, with large uncluttered areas, simple use of space.
I have no sense that I am claustrophobic, but I may be a spaceophile.
Yet I like wild, tangled regions. They offer a multifaceted richness, variety, and mystery. They call for exploration and adventure. They are filled with hidden surprises.
The uncluttered can be sterile, merely empty, a vacuum, boring. Don’t unclutter everything. Brambles and thickets are needed as much as open spaces
If creativity is located where the incongruent is comfortably embraced–as studies indicate that it is–don’t be too anxious to simplify everything. Live the tension between the mess and the well-kept.
But we must traverse the tension. Sometimes truth and life and progress and development require that we move so close to one pole that we appear to be polarized. Either pole, alone, is destructive to some degree.
Whichever we feel the need to move toward, the simple or the complex, “islands of simplicity” and times of solitude are essential. The complications of bramble, thicket, and confusing mystery will show up on their own.
Living these tensions is one way that the dialectic works itself out in the business of working out our lives. Don’t allow yourself to become overwhelmed but don’t get too comfortable.
Vermont was the most impressive part of that, my first, trip through New England. My desk at home, indeed my entire office, and my pickup truck all are wildernesses
of clutter . I think I liked Vermont because it was uncluttered. I’ve never seen anything so clean, neat, and well-trimmed. Uncluttered, but not sterile like I have always perceived German communities to be.
I like the uncluttered. I like the Kansas Flint Hills, the Oklahoma Osage country, the deserts of the Southwest; I like “the wide-open spaces.” In art, I am attracted to paintings, especially watercolors, with large uncluttered areas, simple use of space.
I have no sense that I am claustrophobic, but I may be a spaceophile.
Yet I like wild, tangled regions. They offer a multifaceted richness, variety, and mystery. They call for exploration and adventure. They are filled with hidden surprises.
The uncluttered can be sterile, merely empty, a vacuum, boring. Don’t unclutter everything. Brambles and thickets are needed as much as open spaces
If creativity is located where the incongruent is comfortably embraced–as studies indicate that it is–don’t be too anxious to simplify everything. Live the tension between the mess and the well-kept.
But we must traverse the tension. Sometimes truth and life and progress and development require that we move so close to one pole that we appear to be polarized. Either pole, alone, is destructive to some degree.
Whichever we feel the need to move toward, the simple or the complex, “islands of simplicity” and times of solitude are essential. The complications of bramble, thicket, and confusing mystery will show up on their own.
Living these tensions is one way that the dialectic works itself out in the business of working out our lives. Don’t allow yourself to become overwhelmed but don’t get too comfortable.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Thinking Came Late
I grew up, as you may have, convinced that the authority figures in my world were telling the truth, at least a certain degree of truth. Although I sensed a core of truth in what they so dogmatically proclaimed, I knew in my gut that they were wrong at points. But I recognized that, while maybe they were basically right, there was more to it than they let on.
That “more to it” was the part that often mattered most. I also knew that some of the people and views that they continually condemned were not as bad as they were made out to be. Moreover, a lot of the wrongs they attacked were not always necessarily, absolutely, totally wrong. Although I could not have articulated it at the time, a fundamental scepticism was developing.
But I was well socialized, so not for a moment did I ever consider challenging any of this. They were bigger, older, smarter, richer, and they held the power to either punish or reward. There was no future in challenging their positions.
On the other hand, I certainly knew better than to trust my own mind. In school my classmates made better grades, were better athletes, better looking, and more popular. I was not a leader; no one ever followed or looked up to me. I was painfully aware of my own inadequacies. Still, although I was not fully conscious of it, I was also vaguely aware of the limitations of those in authority, as well as those of my more popular and more gifted classmates.
I was nearly fifty-years-old before I realized the full implications of those childhood perceptions. Gradually I came to see that my tacit disagreement with society somehow comprised the elements of a more honest and complete approach to truth and life, the seeds of the dialectic–our subject for a few days--had been planted.
But after long years of floundering through life, I have learned that it is easy to become a good thinker--a human resource sorely needed but always in short supply. Good thinking is in short supply because many people are mentally lazy. Another reason for this short supply of good thinking is that it requires more than more, and yet less than critical thinking, keen intellect, and formal education.
What it does take to become a good thinker is to make, “On the Other Hand,” your habitual response to ideas, whether your own or those of others, spoken or written, in formal or in informal settings. No matter what is presented, always consider what might be “on the other hand.” Other hands can always be found, because no human statement is, by itself, ever complete, something is always left out, there is always more to be said, and it is always possible that what has been presented might be wrong.
Develop a deep sense and appreciation of human limitations, determine to make “on the other hand” thinking second nature, and you are on the road to becoming a good thinker. Results will appear almost immediately. You will become a voice to be reckoned with.
Is that all there is to it? No, but if “on the other hand” thinking becomes a regular practice you will quickly become a good thinker. On the other hand, I remember from my youth a popular mail-order catalog that routinely offered a choice of merchandise at varying levels of quality: good, better, and best.
You already have read enough to reach the genuinely good level of thought. When you come to understand the larger dimensions of the dialectic--the proper name for “on the other hand thinking”--and when you add to that an elementary understanding of how logical thinking works, you will become a better thinker.
And if you are still here when we come to the last post of this blog, we will consider how to become the best thinker that can be made out of your unique personality and place in the world.
________________________
Daddy was a workaholic and always gone, Mother was an old-fashioned housewife, a good one, busy doing all the work that entails. Therefore, I was pretty well left alone and by default became a lonely, lazy dreamer. I roamed the rivers, creeks, and hills, knowing I had been born fifty years too late to be the cowboy or mountain man that I read and dreamed of. I drifted mindlessly through the years until one day I found myself a highschool graduate.
I remember three graduation gifts, one of them in particular. Neither the nice creamy-yellow sport jacket nor the fancy, corduroy shirt of many colors ever looked right on me, but somehow I have remembered them. More to the point was Mother’s gift of a book of inspirational poetry and prose, Quests and Conquests. I enjoyed reading the book for years but was never inspired to actually do anything. The book didn’t change me, but Mother’s inscription written in the front of the book, “Be ye not mentally lazy,” haunted me.
I have no doubt that Mother’s admonition was based on an accurately observed need. I don’t remember having ever thought much about anything for most of the first two decades of my life, but every time I read her inscription I knew immediately that I needed whatever it was that she was calling for. However, I didn’t know what to do about it or how.
The problem was that I had no thinking equipment, skills, or coaching, and had no prior encouragement to think. It would be long years before I made any progress in that direction, but Mother’s words were never far from my consciousness; continually I felt their challenge.
About seven years later, in response to an unexpected encounter with God, I found myself in a theological seminary studying to become a prepared Christian minister. Sometime in the first month of my studies, Gordon Clinard, in his class on the preparation of sermons, declared that the greatest weakness of Southern Baptist preaching was shallowness. Immediately I vowed to be innocent of that fault.
Therefore, during seminary years, I worked, without adequate tools for thinking, at exploring the depths of God’s word and of human experience. I was still depending on others, teachers and books, to do my thinking for me. I still trusted them. Yet, I knew they were missing it somewhere.
Then I encountered Carlyle Marney, that unique, thinking Southern Baptist preacher and writer, and for the first time realized that I did not have to think like all the other Baptists I knew, heard, and read. For long years I had been convinced that if the Baptist emperor was not indeed naked, he certainly was poorly clad in ill-fitting clothing. Marney pointed to a way of thinking that sounded like it actually would fit the gospel message that was at the heart of what Baptists are about. I learned that it was possible to think differently, and express the Christian faith more adequately. I found a sense of freedom that I had never dreamed possible. Now I copied Marney--with a little uneasiness.
In the process of completing three advanced degrees in theology and philosophy I met the existentialist philosophers, the linguistic analysts, and the process philosophers. Thrilled throughout, I entered a new world of living thought. For the first time in my life I began to do a fairly good job of thinking for myself.
When I was given my first teaching position and found that I had to teach--and thus learn--logic, I discovered, finally, a method of systematic thinking. Logic, I came to realize, should be required of all highschool graduates, not symbolic logic, but traditional, elementary logic.
More yet to come.
That “more to it” was the part that often mattered most. I also knew that some of the people and views that they continually condemned were not as bad as they were made out to be. Moreover, a lot of the wrongs they attacked were not always necessarily, absolutely, totally wrong. Although I could not have articulated it at the time, a fundamental scepticism was developing.
But I was well socialized, so not for a moment did I ever consider challenging any of this. They were bigger, older, smarter, richer, and they held the power to either punish or reward. There was no future in challenging their positions.
On the other hand, I certainly knew better than to trust my own mind. In school my classmates made better grades, were better athletes, better looking, and more popular. I was not a leader; no one ever followed or looked up to me. I was painfully aware of my own inadequacies. Still, although I was not fully conscious of it, I was also vaguely aware of the limitations of those in authority, as well as those of my more popular and more gifted classmates.
I was nearly fifty-years-old before I realized the full implications of those childhood perceptions. Gradually I came to see that my tacit disagreement with society somehow comprised the elements of a more honest and complete approach to truth and life, the seeds of the dialectic–our subject for a few days--had been planted.
But after long years of floundering through life, I have learned that it is easy to become a good thinker--a human resource sorely needed but always in short supply. Good thinking is in short supply because many people are mentally lazy. Another reason for this short supply of good thinking is that it requires more than more, and yet less than critical thinking, keen intellect, and formal education.
What it does take to become a good thinker is to make, “On the Other Hand,” your habitual response to ideas, whether your own or those of others, spoken or written, in formal or in informal settings. No matter what is presented, always consider what might be “on the other hand.” Other hands can always be found, because no human statement is, by itself, ever complete, something is always left out, there is always more to be said, and it is always possible that what has been presented might be wrong.
Develop a deep sense and appreciation of human limitations, determine to make “on the other hand” thinking second nature, and you are on the road to becoming a good thinker. Results will appear almost immediately. You will become a voice to be reckoned with.
Is that all there is to it? No, but if “on the other hand” thinking becomes a regular practice you will quickly become a good thinker. On the other hand, I remember from my youth a popular mail-order catalog that routinely offered a choice of merchandise at varying levels of quality: good, better, and best.
You already have read enough to reach the genuinely good level of thought. When you come to understand the larger dimensions of the dialectic--the proper name for “on the other hand thinking”--and when you add to that an elementary understanding of how logical thinking works, you will become a better thinker.
And if you are still here when we come to the last post of this blog, we will consider how to become the best thinker that can be made out of your unique personality and place in the world.
________________________
Daddy was a workaholic and always gone, Mother was an old-fashioned housewife, a good one, busy doing all the work that entails. Therefore, I was pretty well left alone and by default became a lonely, lazy dreamer. I roamed the rivers, creeks, and hills, knowing I had been born fifty years too late to be the cowboy or mountain man that I read and dreamed of. I drifted mindlessly through the years until one day I found myself a highschool graduate.
I remember three graduation gifts, one of them in particular. Neither the nice creamy-yellow sport jacket nor the fancy, corduroy shirt of many colors ever looked right on me, but somehow I have remembered them. More to the point was Mother’s gift of a book of inspirational poetry and prose, Quests and Conquests. I enjoyed reading the book for years but was never inspired to actually do anything. The book didn’t change me, but Mother’s inscription written in the front of the book, “Be ye not mentally lazy,” haunted me.
I have no doubt that Mother’s admonition was based on an accurately observed need. I don’t remember having ever thought much about anything for most of the first two decades of my life, but every time I read her inscription I knew immediately that I needed whatever it was that she was calling for. However, I didn’t know what to do about it or how.
The problem was that I had no thinking equipment, skills, or coaching, and had no prior encouragement to think. It would be long years before I made any progress in that direction, but Mother’s words were never far from my consciousness; continually I felt their challenge.
About seven years later, in response to an unexpected encounter with God, I found myself in a theological seminary studying to become a prepared Christian minister. Sometime in the first month of my studies, Gordon Clinard, in his class on the preparation of sermons, declared that the greatest weakness of Southern Baptist preaching was shallowness. Immediately I vowed to be innocent of that fault.
Therefore, during seminary years, I worked, without adequate tools for thinking, at exploring the depths of God’s word and of human experience. I was still depending on others, teachers and books, to do my thinking for me. I still trusted them. Yet, I knew they were missing it somewhere.
Then I encountered Carlyle Marney, that unique, thinking Southern Baptist preacher and writer, and for the first time realized that I did not have to think like all the other Baptists I knew, heard, and read. For long years I had been convinced that if the Baptist emperor was not indeed naked, he certainly was poorly clad in ill-fitting clothing. Marney pointed to a way of thinking that sounded like it actually would fit the gospel message that was at the heart of what Baptists are about. I learned that it was possible to think differently, and express the Christian faith more adequately. I found a sense of freedom that I had never dreamed possible. Now I copied Marney--with a little uneasiness.
In the process of completing three advanced degrees in theology and philosophy I met the existentialist philosophers, the linguistic analysts, and the process philosophers. Thrilled throughout, I entered a new world of living thought. For the first time in my life I began to do a fairly good job of thinking for myself.
When I was given my first teaching position and found that I had to teach--and thus learn--logic, I discovered, finally, a method of systematic thinking. Logic, I came to realize, should be required of all highschool graduates, not symbolic logic, but traditional, elementary logic.
More yet to come.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Describing the Dialectic 2
We need to be aware that the dialectic goes beyond the simple schema: thesis, antithesis, synthesis. It comprises many complexities. Any given thesis might have many antitheses, giving rise to triads within triads, each complicating the whole.. The tension may be weak or strong, and may exist for a brief time or last for centuries before a synthesis is worked out.
The Soviet Union unexpectedly broke apart after almost eighty years of internal and external dialectical tensions illustrating the fact that the dialectic is at work, even when nothing seems to be happening for a long time. As long as the tension is there, process is active.
Another variable in the Hegelian pattern is that the stair step development of repeated thesis, antithesis, and synthesis is not necessarily an upward progression. It could work in a retrogressive manner or in a lateral fashion.
In the broad sense, conversation is an aspect of the dialectic, although some would distinguish the two.
The Socratic dialogues, although conversational in appearance, are more focused than an ordinary conversation. Whereas normal conversations make many shifts of subject matter and operate on varying levels of intensity, the Socratic dialogue sticks to the subject, pursues an objective, and excludes discussion of trivia. In this sense, the dialectic and conversation can be distinguished.
Nonetheless there is value in recognizing the dialectical character of free conversation. In a conversation, varying points of view emerge, and are sometimes challenged by someone of another persuasion. Even the common free associational shifts of topics make the important contribution of bringing up topics and perspectives that have never before been considered by some of the participants. The dialectic is involved wherever differing positions are recognized and dealt with.
The dialectic takes on a more specialized form: Bipolarity. Bipolarity, like dialectic, is a widely used term, with several distinct usages. I use dialectic in a broader, and more inclusive sense than many others, but I use bipolarity in narrower, more particular sense.
The most simple approach to understanding bipolarity is to picture the horseshoe shaped magnet. We know that each pole of the magnet is charged, one is positive, the other negative. Neither of the poles is the more important, neither the more necessary. If both poles were to be made positive, the magnetism would be lost. So if both were negative. The opposite poles set up a magnetic tension between. The magnetism depends on the tension rooted in this opposition of the poles.
Many of the most basic features of our world exist in bipolar tension with each other. Take, for instance, the ideas of the sovereignty of God and human freedom. These seem to be complete opposites, incompatible with each other.
In its strongest statement, if God is the sovereign ruler of the universe, then everything that happens is as he directly ordains. Everything is done precisely as God desires, with no options for variation. The human is left with no freedom of choice. On the other hand, if human beings are genuinely free, they may contradict God’s desires and may do so on a regular basis, in which case, God is not sovereign in the strongest sense.
Similar bipolarities characterize most of the basic realities of life and our understandings of it.
Quite commonly, these contradictions are accepted as paradoxical. The reference to paradox is intended to make contradictories acceptable while leaving them inexplicable. We need to note that the idea of contradiction, in the strict logical sense, means that one element--pole--must be true and the other must be be false. When two things contradict, they cannot both be true. In a paradox we have that which seems to be contradictory, but in which both elements seem to be true.
An understanding of bipolarity enables us to make sense and present a reasoned resolution of these difficulties. In contrast to many understandings of bipolarity, the concept I present here affirms, not that, while they are contradictory, both poles seem to be true. Rather, I affirm that in a bipolarity, neither pole is true--not by itself. Just as a magnet’s positive or negative pole is magnetically useless if it exists by itself, so in bipolarity either pole is untrue, if taken alone. Both poles are true, but only in tension with the other pole.
Notice, for instance, that the Bible doesn’t merely state that God is sovereign. It also emphasizes human freedom. It doesn’t simply emphasize human choice and responsibility, it also claims God’s control. We want to affirm that both are true, independently of the other--objectively true. But we live in a world where everything exists relation to other things. Nothing exists independently of anything else, thus truth always exists in some relational context. Bipolar kinds of truth are true only in relation to each other. I reiterate, neither is true by itself.
Our common response to bipolarities is to either accept the copout idea that they are a paradox, or else we polarize. We agree they are contradictory, that the truth of one implies the falsity of the other and vice versa, so we feel compelled to defend one and attack the other.
This is the root of many of our problems: we cannot accept the tensions inherent in bipolarity. If we affirm the truth of one and reject the other, the tension is eliminated. But we fail to consider the necessity of tension in the real world.
Everything exists and is held together in tensions of all sorts. If all tension--muscular, cellular, and other--were eliminated from our bodies, they would collapse into a protoplasmic heap. Reality includes tension as a necessary component. Only inappropriate tension causes problems.
The following relationships seem bipolar in character: freedom and determinism; objectivity and subjectivity; personal and social; fact and value; singular and universal; feeling and thinking; theoretical and practical; being and becoming; ideal and actual; material and spiritual. These are some of the most general bipolarities of life.
The Soviet Union unexpectedly broke apart after almost eighty years of internal and external dialectical tensions illustrating the fact that the dialectic is at work, even when nothing seems to be happening for a long time. As long as the tension is there, process is active.
Another variable in the Hegelian pattern is that the stair step development of repeated thesis, antithesis, and synthesis is not necessarily an upward progression. It could work in a retrogressive manner or in a lateral fashion.
In the broad sense, conversation is an aspect of the dialectic, although some would distinguish the two.
The Socratic dialogues, although conversational in appearance, are more focused than an ordinary conversation. Whereas normal conversations make many shifts of subject matter and operate on varying levels of intensity, the Socratic dialogue sticks to the subject, pursues an objective, and excludes discussion of trivia. In this sense, the dialectic and conversation can be distinguished.
Nonetheless there is value in recognizing the dialectical character of free conversation. In a conversation, varying points of view emerge, and are sometimes challenged by someone of another persuasion. Even the common free associational shifts of topics make the important contribution of bringing up topics and perspectives that have never before been considered by some of the participants. The dialectic is involved wherever differing positions are recognized and dealt with.
The dialectic takes on a more specialized form: Bipolarity. Bipolarity, like dialectic, is a widely used term, with several distinct usages. I use dialectic in a broader, and more inclusive sense than many others, but I use bipolarity in narrower, more particular sense.
The most simple approach to understanding bipolarity is to picture the horseshoe shaped magnet. We know that each pole of the magnet is charged, one is positive, the other negative. Neither of the poles is the more important, neither the more necessary. If both poles were to be made positive, the magnetism would be lost. So if both were negative. The opposite poles set up a magnetic tension between. The magnetism depends on the tension rooted in this opposition of the poles.
Many of the most basic features of our world exist in bipolar tension with each other. Take, for instance, the ideas of the sovereignty of God and human freedom. These seem to be complete opposites, incompatible with each other.
In its strongest statement, if God is the sovereign ruler of the universe, then everything that happens is as he directly ordains. Everything is done precisely as God desires, with no options for variation. The human is left with no freedom of choice. On the other hand, if human beings are genuinely free, they may contradict God’s desires and may do so on a regular basis, in which case, God is not sovereign in the strongest sense.
Similar bipolarities characterize most of the basic realities of life and our understandings of it.
Quite commonly, these contradictions are accepted as paradoxical. The reference to paradox is intended to make contradictories acceptable while leaving them inexplicable. We need to note that the idea of contradiction, in the strict logical sense, means that one element--pole--must be true and the other must be be false. When two things contradict, they cannot both be true. In a paradox we have that which seems to be contradictory, but in which both elements seem to be true.
An understanding of bipolarity enables us to make sense and present a reasoned resolution of these difficulties. In contrast to many understandings of bipolarity, the concept I present here affirms, not that, while they are contradictory, both poles seem to be true. Rather, I affirm that in a bipolarity, neither pole is true--not by itself. Just as a magnet’s positive or negative pole is magnetically useless if it exists by itself, so in bipolarity either pole is untrue, if taken alone. Both poles are true, but only in tension with the other pole.
Notice, for instance, that the Bible doesn’t merely state that God is sovereign. It also emphasizes human freedom. It doesn’t simply emphasize human choice and responsibility, it also claims God’s control. We want to affirm that both are true, independently of the other--objectively true. But we live in a world where everything exists relation to other things. Nothing exists independently of anything else, thus truth always exists in some relational context. Bipolar kinds of truth are true only in relation to each other. I reiterate, neither is true by itself.
Our common response to bipolarities is to either accept the copout idea that they are a paradox, or else we polarize. We agree they are contradictory, that the truth of one implies the falsity of the other and vice versa, so we feel compelled to defend one and attack the other.
This is the root of many of our problems: we cannot accept the tensions inherent in bipolarity. If we affirm the truth of one and reject the other, the tension is eliminated. But we fail to consider the necessity of tension in the real world.
Everything exists and is held together in tensions of all sorts. If all tension--muscular, cellular, and other--were eliminated from our bodies, they would collapse into a protoplasmic heap. Reality includes tension as a necessary component. Only inappropriate tension causes problems.
The following relationships seem bipolar in character: freedom and determinism; objectivity and subjectivity; personal and social; fact and value; singular and universal; feeling and thinking; theoretical and practical; being and becoming; ideal and actual; material and spiritual. These are some of the most general bipolarities of life.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Describing the Dialectic: 1
First a brief review of some things said earlier about the dialectic (expect review and repetition on and between my blogs).
The word dialectic is rooted in the word dialogue, which is best understood in contrast to monologue. In a monologue one person is speaking, on a chosen topic, with no response from anyone else. In a dialogue more than one person is speaking, and they speak in response to each other. What they say is influenced by what each other says. They may have intended to say something specific, but change because what the other person has said requires them to modify what they will say next.
Just because two people are in a conversation with each other doesn’t necessarily mean they are having a dialogue. Often our interchanges are merely reciprocal monologues. We pay little attention to what the other person is saying, waiting only for a break in their monologue so we can resume our own monologue.
The core idea of the dialectic is that other positions are always taken into account.
The dialectic seems to be rooted in a principle that can be expressed in three differing ways. First, that no human statement is ever complete by itself. By statement we should understand not just a single sentence. Sometimes a paragraph makes a single statement. A speech sometimes makes one clear statement, as may a book, a law, or a television program. Whether a statement is simple or elaborate, it remains true that no human statement is ever complete by itself, therefore is never the whole truth.
A second way of understanding the core of the dialectic is that there is always something else that can be said. There is always more to it, no matter what we are talking about. Some aspects have been left out. The world, and our life in it, is too complex to be included in one statement.
A third way of expressing the foundational principle of the dialect is the recognition that it is always possible that we might be wrong. In whatever I think or say, I could be wrong. To believe otherwise is to claim infallibility, and humans are not infallible.
So the dialectic grows out of the realization that there is always another side, another perspective that must be taken into consideration if we are to arrive at truth. To think dialectically is to always consider the possibility of our own error and then to examine our thought to see where the flaw in our thought might be.
We can never take it for granted that what we think, is the truth, and certainly not that it is the whole truth. It is to automatically search for other ways of looking at the same thing. In its most active form, the dialectical thinker seeks out those who hold different views and asks for their response to his own ideas, with the expectation that these voices from another side will lead to the modification of his own thought.
Mortimer Adler has said that the Greek words, men and de, are the greatest contribution the Greeks made to civilization. These words are commonly translated, “on the one hand,” “on the other hand.” In a Greek text, the little particle, men, may show up in an unexpected place. It is not always necessary that it be literally translated, but it is always indicative that only one aspect of something is being presented. When, somewhere later in the text, de, shows up, it simply indicates that we are looking at the same thing from a different perspective. Whatever is being presented, the dialectical thinker’s characteristic response is, “On the other hand.” The dialectic warns us to never forget there are other perspectives; it reminds us to remain constantly aware of the other side.
Dialectic is the language of relationship. It keeps us from forgetting others and our relationship to them. It strikes out against monism, individualism, isolationism, absolutism, and all self-centeredness. The dialectical ear is always listening, the dialectical eye is searching constantly, the dialectical voice always considering the listener.
Dialectical thought is always in process, never complete. “What have I left out, what have I not considered?” These questions become routine. “What if my presuppositions are wrong?” Part of the processive character of the dialectic is that it is always developing, alternately expanding and focusing. It grows and is enriched; it sharpens and clarifies.
Historically, three major philosophers--Heraclitus, Socrates, and Hegel--developed the dialectic, each somewhat differently. Heraclitus stressed the unity of opposites, the idea that contradiction was the source of all. Only as both sides struggled with and against each other is development possible. Thus opposites effect a unity. They become parts of a new order that has resulted from their conflict. In traditional logic, contradictories cannot both be true, but in actuality the tension between them is the driving force of life, expanding and enriching even as they are constantly changing.
The Socratic dialectic takes the form of an intense, purposive conversation. Socrates never allows the dialogue to degenerate into a mere conversation, but keeps it directed toward the clarification of the problem at hand. It is a more analytic than synthetic dialectic. The resolution of the issue at hand always depends on the interaction between the two conversants. Repeatedly the inadequacies of statements are exposed, then revised in the process of seeking a reliable conclusion.
Hegel developed a systematized logic of the dialectic. People who are familiar with the term, dialectic, tend to identify it with the Hegelian dialectic. I do not tie the dialectic to the Hegelian pattern, but it is tremendously useful. I realize that it is far more complex than popular understanding takes it to be. Nonetheless, the common, simple form that I present will be helpful in understanding how the dialectic process typically develops.
Whatever is the starting point under consideration is called the thesis, the place you first take your stand. Always there is something more to be considered, something left out, or ignored. This is called the antithesis. The antithesis is popularly understood as the opposite of the thesis: black and white; male and, female; day and night; or being and non-being. Often this is the case, but more often it is just another significant consideration. If paper is the thesis, what might we understand as its opposite? Canvas, pencil, fire? Depending on the context, many things might be understood as the antithesis of paper, but are they really its opposite?
Tension exists and persists between the thesis and antithesis. Each makes its own claim and resists change. This is the tension so important to Heraclitus. As long as we hold our thesis and are aware of its antithesis, tension is inescapable. B ut tension makes us uncomfortable. How much of our life is given to seek relief from varied tensions? As tension builds, sooner or later something gives, something changes, and a new, revised stance is adopted, a synthesis of the thesis and antithesis.
The synthesis may be only a slight modification of the original thesis, it may be the mid-point between thesis and antithesis, or anywhere between. It might even be much closer to the original antithesis than to the original thesis. Because the synthesis is a more satisfactory position than either of the earlier options, it becomes the new thesis.
Since any thesis has an antithesis, the new thesis is soon accompanied by a new antithesis and the process continues. Thesis calls forth antithesis, the ensuing tension creates a synthesis which becomes the new thesis. The process is ongoing. Man marries woman, they have a child. The child grows up, marries, has a child, and the process moves along. One nation wars with another until some resolution is accomplished, then after a period of time, the resolution is challenged.
This, Hegel believed, is the pattern of all reality. He claimed that the dialectic is “historical, logical, and ontological.” By this he meant that the dialectic is the way history has developed, it is the way all logical thinking operates, and that it is the way reality itself is.
The word dialectic is rooted in the word dialogue, which is best understood in contrast to monologue. In a monologue one person is speaking, on a chosen topic, with no response from anyone else. In a dialogue more than one person is speaking, and they speak in response to each other. What they say is influenced by what each other says. They may have intended to say something specific, but change because what the other person has said requires them to modify what they will say next.
Just because two people are in a conversation with each other doesn’t necessarily mean they are having a dialogue. Often our interchanges are merely reciprocal monologues. We pay little attention to what the other person is saying, waiting only for a break in their monologue so we can resume our own monologue.
The core idea of the dialectic is that other positions are always taken into account.
The dialectic seems to be rooted in a principle that can be expressed in three differing ways. First, that no human statement is ever complete by itself. By statement we should understand not just a single sentence. Sometimes a paragraph makes a single statement. A speech sometimes makes one clear statement, as may a book, a law, or a television program. Whether a statement is simple or elaborate, it remains true that no human statement is ever complete by itself, therefore is never the whole truth.
A second way of understanding the core of the dialectic is that there is always something else that can be said. There is always more to it, no matter what we are talking about. Some aspects have been left out. The world, and our life in it, is too complex to be included in one statement.
A third way of expressing the foundational principle of the dialect is the recognition that it is always possible that we might be wrong. In whatever I think or say, I could be wrong. To believe otherwise is to claim infallibility, and humans are not infallible.
So the dialectic grows out of the realization that there is always another side, another perspective that must be taken into consideration if we are to arrive at truth. To think dialectically is to always consider the possibility of our own error and then to examine our thought to see where the flaw in our thought might be.
We can never take it for granted that what we think, is the truth, and certainly not that it is the whole truth. It is to automatically search for other ways of looking at the same thing. In its most active form, the dialectical thinker seeks out those who hold different views and asks for their response to his own ideas, with the expectation that these voices from another side will lead to the modification of his own thought.
Mortimer Adler has said that the Greek words, men and de, are the greatest contribution the Greeks made to civilization. These words are commonly translated, “on the one hand,” “on the other hand.” In a Greek text, the little particle, men, may show up in an unexpected place. It is not always necessary that it be literally translated, but it is always indicative that only one aspect of something is being presented. When, somewhere later in the text, de, shows up, it simply indicates that we are looking at the same thing from a different perspective. Whatever is being presented, the dialectical thinker’s characteristic response is, “On the other hand.” The dialectic warns us to never forget there are other perspectives; it reminds us to remain constantly aware of the other side.
Dialectic is the language of relationship. It keeps us from forgetting others and our relationship to them. It strikes out against monism, individualism, isolationism, absolutism, and all self-centeredness. The dialectical ear is always listening, the dialectical eye is searching constantly, the dialectical voice always considering the listener.
Dialectical thought is always in process, never complete. “What have I left out, what have I not considered?” These questions become routine. “What if my presuppositions are wrong?” Part of the processive character of the dialectic is that it is always developing, alternately expanding and focusing. It grows and is enriched; it sharpens and clarifies.
Historically, three major philosophers--Heraclitus, Socrates, and Hegel--developed the dialectic, each somewhat differently. Heraclitus stressed the unity of opposites, the idea that contradiction was the source of all. Only as both sides struggled with and against each other is development possible. Thus opposites effect a unity. They become parts of a new order that has resulted from their conflict. In traditional logic, contradictories cannot both be true, but in actuality the tension between them is the driving force of life, expanding and enriching even as they are constantly changing.
The Socratic dialectic takes the form of an intense, purposive conversation. Socrates never allows the dialogue to degenerate into a mere conversation, but keeps it directed toward the clarification of the problem at hand. It is a more analytic than synthetic dialectic. The resolution of the issue at hand always depends on the interaction between the two conversants. Repeatedly the inadequacies of statements are exposed, then revised in the process of seeking a reliable conclusion.
Hegel developed a systematized logic of the dialectic. People who are familiar with the term, dialectic, tend to identify it with the Hegelian dialectic. I do not tie the dialectic to the Hegelian pattern, but it is tremendously useful. I realize that it is far more complex than popular understanding takes it to be. Nonetheless, the common, simple form that I present will be helpful in understanding how the dialectic process typically develops.
Whatever is the starting point under consideration is called the thesis, the place you first take your stand. Always there is something more to be considered, something left out, or ignored. This is called the antithesis. The antithesis is popularly understood as the opposite of the thesis: black and white; male and, female; day and night; or being and non-being. Often this is the case, but more often it is just another significant consideration. If paper is the thesis, what might we understand as its opposite? Canvas, pencil, fire? Depending on the context, many things might be understood as the antithesis of paper, but are they really its opposite?
Tension exists and persists between the thesis and antithesis. Each makes its own claim and resists change. This is the tension so important to Heraclitus. As long as we hold our thesis and are aware of its antithesis, tension is inescapable. B ut tension makes us uncomfortable. How much of our life is given to seek relief from varied tensions? As tension builds, sooner or later something gives, something changes, and a new, revised stance is adopted, a synthesis of the thesis and antithesis.
The synthesis may be only a slight modification of the original thesis, it may be the mid-point between thesis and antithesis, or anywhere between. It might even be much closer to the original antithesis than to the original thesis. Because the synthesis is a more satisfactory position than either of the earlier options, it becomes the new thesis.
Since any thesis has an antithesis, the new thesis is soon accompanied by a new antithesis and the process continues. Thesis calls forth antithesis, the ensuing tension creates a synthesis which becomes the new thesis. The process is ongoing. Man marries woman, they have a child. The child grows up, marries, has a child, and the process moves along. One nation wars with another until some resolution is accomplished, then after a period of time, the resolution is challenged.
This, Hegel believed, is the pattern of all reality. He claimed that the dialectic is “historical, logical, and ontological.” By this he meant that the dialectic is the way history has developed, it is the way all logical thinking operates, and that it is the way reality itself is.
Some Benefits of Dialectical Thinking
If you think dialectically:
• You will become more considerate, moderate, appreciative, aware, diplomatic, honest, respectful.
•
• You will be less apt to be blind-sided, because you will already have looked at that side.
• You will not need to make as many apologies.
• You will make fewer mistakes.
• You will be less apt to go off half-cocked.
• You will eradicate personal arrogance.
• You will understand others–including your opposition--better.
• You will ask more questions.
• You will read more.
• You will come to have more patience, humility, wonder, openness, sympathy, integrity, appreciation, community, tolerance, honesty.
• Others will come to respect you more.
• You will become more considerate, moderate, appreciative, aware, diplomatic, honest, respectful.
•
• You will be less apt to be blind-sided, because you will already have looked at that side.
• You will not need to make as many apologies.
• You will make fewer mistakes.
• You will be less apt to go off half-cocked.
• You will eradicate personal arrogance.
• You will understand others–including your opposition--better.
• You will ask more questions.
• You will read more.
• You will come to have more patience, humility, wonder, openness, sympathy, integrity, appreciation, community, tolerance, honesty.
• Others will come to respect you more.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Dialectical Foundation
No human statement is complete by itself.
A statement may be a single sentence. A well-written paragraph makes a single statement. Often a long speech can be seen as making one statement, just as can an entire book. Not even in the Bible is any one statement complete by itself. It is only a "portion of God's word," and thus incomplete--which means:
There is always more to be said.
As in, say, the rest of that Bible. Nonetheless we need to remember that since no human statement is complete in itself, there is always something else to be said, something else that needs to be heard, read, learned, sought out, and considered.
We are now into the second century since the death of Abraham Lincoln, but even with the innumerable books written on his life, his administration, and his character, more continues to be said that helps to fill out the picture: witness the tremendous popularity, just two or three years ago, of LINCOLN'S VIRTUES.
It is always possible that you/I/we could be wrong.
Since there is always more to be said because no human statement is complete by itself, then it is always possible that we just might be wrong. None of us, Lincoln included, is infallible. Often we are unaware that we are wrong. We are convinced that we are right, only to learn later that we were wrong. Those who are convinced they are never wrong are the ones to be most mistrusted.
Because of the three principles above, we should always be considerate of others. We could be wrong, so we do well to listen to others: a family member, experts in the field, a person who holds opposing views. We just might learn that they are right and we are wrong. We might see that we are right, as far as we go, but other viewpoints may shed light of different facets of the issue, facets we were unaware of, and, who knows, theirs might be a brighter light.
So be at least a little bit slow in attacking the view of anyone else. Be considerate. Be considerate of them, and reconsider your own position. I believe it was Emerson who said something like, "Everyone knows something that we are ignorant of." Let’s learn from each other.
There is a lot to consider. A whole lot.
A statement may be a single sentence. A well-written paragraph makes a single statement. Often a long speech can be seen as making one statement, just as can an entire book. Not even in the Bible is any one statement complete by itself. It is only a "portion of God's word," and thus incomplete--which means:
There is always more to be said.
As in, say, the rest of that Bible. Nonetheless we need to remember that since no human statement is complete in itself, there is always something else to be said, something else that needs to be heard, read, learned, sought out, and considered.
We are now into the second century since the death of Abraham Lincoln, but even with the innumerable books written on his life, his administration, and his character, more continues to be said that helps to fill out the picture: witness the tremendous popularity, just two or three years ago, of LINCOLN'S VIRTUES.
It is always possible that you/I/we could be wrong.
Since there is always more to be said because no human statement is complete by itself, then it is always possible that we just might be wrong. None of us, Lincoln included, is infallible. Often we are unaware that we are wrong. We are convinced that we are right, only to learn later that we were wrong. Those who are convinced they are never wrong are the ones to be most mistrusted.
Because of the three principles above, we should always be considerate of others. We could be wrong, so we do well to listen to others: a family member, experts in the field, a person who holds opposing views. We just might learn that they are right and we are wrong. We might see that we are right, as far as we go, but other viewpoints may shed light of different facets of the issue, facets we were unaware of, and, who knows, theirs might be a brighter light.
So be at least a little bit slow in attacking the view of anyone else. Be considerate. Be considerate of them, and reconsider your own position. I believe it was Emerson who said something like, "Everyone knows something that we are ignorant of." Let’s learn from each other.
There is a lot to consider. A whole lot.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Three Rules of Chess
Thirty-some years ago, when I began to teach at Howard Payne University, one of my students offered to teach me to play chess. For several months, on most Friday afternoons, we played chess. I’ve played little since Bill and I quit playing, but I do remember the three rules he told me I should play by: 1) Protect the Queen; 2) Control the center; 3) Remain flexible.
My wife, daughter, and I were playing a game of Five Crowns this afternoon when a book on a nearby shelf caught my wandering attention. It was the book by Covey, et al, First Things First. When I glanced at the Table of Contents, one chapter stood out immediately, “The Main Thing Is to Keep the Main Thing the Main Thing.”
“Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you,” is Jesus’ reminder of the need to keep the main thing the main thing. Stating the same thing differently, he also said that the main thing is to love God with all we’ve got, and to love our neighbor as we love ourselves.
One of the major sources of our problems is our failing to know or acknowledge the main thing, and even more the tendency to forget the main thing as we follow tangential, but promising looking trails and never look back. Much like the common experience of doing internet searches. We begin by looking for one thing, but one helpful site has interesting links that we follow to other interesting links. An hour later we have learned much. We have learned things useful and trivial, things we had always wanted to know, and things we had never before heard of. But the main reason for our search was long forgotten, and thus never found and acted on.
My chess-playing student told me to focus on the three main things necessary to win: protect the queen, control the center, and remain flexible. I am married. We had our first date in the summer of 1950, and have been married for fifty-two-years. We are moving into life’s homestretch. I believe that to seek first the Kingdom of God and to love with a godly love, my first responsibility, since I am married, is to protect the “queen” of our home. That is the main thing that I try never to forget is the main thing. Under God everything else is secondary, is as dispensable as pawns. Protecting the queen is at the heart of marriage.
In my blogging, the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing, and in this internet relationship, the main thing is to focus on the center: The eternal love of the triune God. Serious Christian theology and ordinary cultural Christianity make a host of other things–some of them good things–central to their practice and proclamation of a Christian religion. Above all else, in my blogging I need to claim the center, renew the center, and control it against all challengers.
In a world where everything is relative, changing, connected to everything else, and where surprising novelty is a constant, without flexibility the queen can neither be protected, nor can the center be gained, much less controlled. Not the kind of flexibility that has no central core, not like nailing Jello to the wall, not like being so open-minded that our brains fall out on both sides. Rather the flexibility of bamboo, one of the strongest yet most flexible things to be found in the natural world. Rather the flexibility of the eagle or vulture, constantly adjusting to the ever-changing air with its highs and lows, its stiff winds, and its dead air. Rather the flexibility of the sailor who must constantly adjust his sails and tack with the wind in order to stay on course, in order to keep the main thing the main thing.
On an earlier occasion I have indicated that in this last phase of my life –“The last of life for which the first was made”–I have only three commitments: love my wife, write, and take care of the quotidian. Protect the queen, write to claim and control the center, and be flexible enough to maintain an ever-changing balance as life, wife, and writing make their appropriate demands.
We live in a culture that tries to sucker us off into a jillion tangential tasks and trails. Make sure you know what the main thing is, then make sure that you keep the main thing the main thing.
My wife, daughter, and I were playing a game of Five Crowns this afternoon when a book on a nearby shelf caught my wandering attention. It was the book by Covey, et al, First Things First. When I glanced at the Table of Contents, one chapter stood out immediately, “The Main Thing Is to Keep the Main Thing the Main Thing.”
“Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you,” is Jesus’ reminder of the need to keep the main thing the main thing. Stating the same thing differently, he also said that the main thing is to love God with all we’ve got, and to love our neighbor as we love ourselves.
One of the major sources of our problems is our failing to know or acknowledge the main thing, and even more the tendency to forget the main thing as we follow tangential, but promising looking trails and never look back. Much like the common experience of doing internet searches. We begin by looking for one thing, but one helpful site has interesting links that we follow to other interesting links. An hour later we have learned much. We have learned things useful and trivial, things we had always wanted to know, and things we had never before heard of. But the main reason for our search was long forgotten, and thus never found and acted on.
My chess-playing student told me to focus on the three main things necessary to win: protect the queen, control the center, and remain flexible. I am married. We had our first date in the summer of 1950, and have been married for fifty-two-years. We are moving into life’s homestretch. I believe that to seek first the Kingdom of God and to love with a godly love, my first responsibility, since I am married, is to protect the “queen” of our home. That is the main thing that I try never to forget is the main thing. Under God everything else is secondary, is as dispensable as pawns. Protecting the queen is at the heart of marriage.
In my blogging, the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing, and in this internet relationship, the main thing is to focus on the center: The eternal love of the triune God. Serious Christian theology and ordinary cultural Christianity make a host of other things–some of them good things–central to their practice and proclamation of a Christian religion. Above all else, in my blogging I need to claim the center, renew the center, and control it against all challengers.
In a world where everything is relative, changing, connected to everything else, and where surprising novelty is a constant, without flexibility the queen can neither be protected, nor can the center be gained, much less controlled. Not the kind of flexibility that has no central core, not like nailing Jello to the wall, not like being so open-minded that our brains fall out on both sides. Rather the flexibility of bamboo, one of the strongest yet most flexible things to be found in the natural world. Rather the flexibility of the eagle or vulture, constantly adjusting to the ever-changing air with its highs and lows, its stiff winds, and its dead air. Rather the flexibility of the sailor who must constantly adjust his sails and tack with the wind in order to stay on course, in order to keep the main thing the main thing.
On an earlier occasion I have indicated that in this last phase of my life –“The last of life for which the first was made”–I have only three commitments: love my wife, write, and take care of the quotidian. Protect the queen, write to claim and control the center, and be flexible enough to maintain an ever-changing balance as life, wife, and writing make their appropriate demands.
We live in a culture that tries to sucker us off into a jillion tangential tasks and trails. Make sure you know what the main thing is, then make sure that you keep the main thing the main thing.
Considerate Thinking Concisely Stated
Become a Good Thinker
A Concise Presentation
If you want to become a good thinker, do three things: 1) consider other perspectives, 2) consider foreseeable results, and 3) remember who you are and what you are about. Make these three steps a habitual part of your character and you are on your way. Let them become your most valued intellectual virtues. When these three traits characterize your normal response to life you will be a good thinker.
Any one of these steps will help but all three are necessary if you are to think at your best. Nothing will improve your thinking ability so quickly as the practice of considering other perspectives, what others think or might think. Try to identify any elements of your idea that you might have overlooked or failed to regard. Realize the possibility that another viewpoint might reveal some error in your thought. Considering other perspectives is important no matter what you are thinking about, but it is not enough to produce your best thought.
The second step in good thinking, consideration of foreseeable results, leads to the study of how logic operates. Historically, logic has been defined as the study of argument, the study of reasoning, the study of proof, the study of inference, and perhaps others that don’t come to mind immediately. Review those definitions, looking for links between them.
Before I continue, let me acquaint you with Occam’s (Ockham’s) Razor, or as it is sometimes called, The Principle of Parsimony. So far as we know it originated with William of Occam. He said something like this: “That which can be explained with fewer principles is not well served by explaining it in more.” Shave off everything superfluous, remove repetitions. In the words of Einstein, “Make things as simple as possible, but no simpler.” One of my habits of thought is to shave most everything with Ockham’s Razor. I try to get to the core of things as quickly as possible.
Now, to continue. After teaching logic and using the above definitions for years, I came to a more comprehensive definition: Logic is the study of “what follows.” Logic helps us to know what can follow, what can’t, what might follow, what probably won’t, and sometimes reveals that, based on our present, limited knowledge, we can have no idea at all of what might follow.
The second step of good thinking is logical analysis. This enables us to have a better idea of the foreseeable results of our ideas. This, in turn, helps us prepare ahead of time, thus coping with life more effectively.
The first step makes us good critical and creative thinkers. The second makes us good critical thinkers (and it is popular in recent decades to identify “critical thinking” with good thinking, but that is not so). We need to be critical and constructive thinkers, analytical and synthetic, conservative and creative, using both the right and left brain.
These first two steps will train us in thinking skills, just as a good knowledge of arithmetic gives us good mathematical skills. But arithmetic has no idea or interest in what we are counting; we may be bank auditor, or the banker who is embezzling. Arithmetic works just as well with one as the other. So it is with skill as a critical or creative thinker. We may be a terrorist creatively constructing a bomb or a musician bringing joy to generations.
Ideally, the third step in becoming a good thinker is to be a good person. Whatever our values, character, beliefs, commitments, good thinking must always be consistent with those personal traits, whether they are individual traits, or traits of the group. We cannot be good thinkers until we know who we are and why, not until we can clearly and concisely state our starting position. If we don’t realize where we’re coming from, there is no telling what will follow.
Realize that no human statement is ever complete; remember there is always more to be said; reckon that it is always possible you could be wrong
A Concise Presentation
If you want to become a good thinker, do three things: 1) consider other perspectives, 2) consider foreseeable results, and 3) remember who you are and what you are about. Make these three steps a habitual part of your character and you are on your way. Let them become your most valued intellectual virtues. When these three traits characterize your normal response to life you will be a good thinker.
Any one of these steps will help but all three are necessary if you are to think at your best. Nothing will improve your thinking ability so quickly as the practice of considering other perspectives, what others think or might think. Try to identify any elements of your idea that you might have overlooked or failed to regard. Realize the possibility that another viewpoint might reveal some error in your thought. Considering other perspectives is important no matter what you are thinking about, but it is not enough to produce your best thought.
The second step in good thinking, consideration of foreseeable results, leads to the study of how logic operates. Historically, logic has been defined as the study of argument, the study of reasoning, the study of proof, the study of inference, and perhaps others that don’t come to mind immediately. Review those definitions, looking for links between them.
Before I continue, let me acquaint you with Occam’s (Ockham’s) Razor, or as it is sometimes called, The Principle of Parsimony. So far as we know it originated with William of Occam. He said something like this: “That which can be explained with fewer principles is not well served by explaining it in more.” Shave off everything superfluous, remove repetitions. In the words of Einstein, “Make things as simple as possible, but no simpler.” One of my habits of thought is to shave most everything with Ockham’s Razor. I try to get to the core of things as quickly as possible.
Now, to continue. After teaching logic and using the above definitions for years, I came to a more comprehensive definition: Logic is the study of “what follows.” Logic helps us to know what can follow, what can’t, what might follow, what probably won’t, and sometimes reveals that, based on our present, limited knowledge, we can have no idea at all of what might follow.
The second step of good thinking is logical analysis. This enables us to have a better idea of the foreseeable results of our ideas. This, in turn, helps us prepare ahead of time, thus coping with life more effectively.
The first step makes us good critical and creative thinkers. The second makes us good critical thinkers (and it is popular in recent decades to identify “critical thinking” with good thinking, but that is not so). We need to be critical and constructive thinkers, analytical and synthetic, conservative and creative, using both the right and left brain.
These first two steps will train us in thinking skills, just as a good knowledge of arithmetic gives us good mathematical skills. But arithmetic has no idea or interest in what we are counting; we may be bank auditor, or the banker who is embezzling. Arithmetic works just as well with one as the other. So it is with skill as a critical or creative thinker. We may be a terrorist creatively constructing a bomb or a musician bringing joy to generations.
Ideally, the third step in becoming a good thinker is to be a good person. Whatever our values, character, beliefs, commitments, good thinking must always be consistent with those personal traits, whether they are individual traits, or traits of the group. We cannot be good thinkers until we know who we are and why, not until we can clearly and concisely state our starting position. If we don’t realize where we’re coming from, there is no telling what will follow.
Realize that no human statement is ever complete; remember there is always more to be said; reckon that it is always possible you could be wrong
Notice of Recovery
This blog was begun in December 2006, but evaporated into the electronic ether sometime in April 2007. I have searched, but it seems, mysteriously, to have simply disappeared in the dark of the night, sometime after January 31, 2007. Some seventeen posts were lost from the internet, but had been saved to my hard drive, so I will re-post them and then pick up where I left off.
This blog presents a quick and easy way to become a good thinker. It is an invitation to dialogical living. It will explore the value and nuances of considerate thinking and living.
This blog presents a quick and easy way to become a good thinker. It is an invitation to dialogical living. It will explore the value and nuances of considerate thinking and living.
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