Love is the Law (6): Baby Love

Librarian & Son

He is here.

It is hard to put into words the love one feels for their own newborn child, not least due to the exhaustion (lack of sleep is not something I cope well with), but also because there is a well established general description that, much like romantic love or other human feelings, is a fictionalised narrative of one's actual emotions. It can give someone else, an outsider, an idea of what it 'would be like' but what the real experience of it all is like for me, will always be a deeply individual and personal account. Potentially one that does not chime with our standard descriptions, but is no less an experience of love for all that and also because of that the language to describe this state is found wanting.

I've spoke before (links forthcoming) about how our different connections with animals, friends, art and so forth are all different 'types' of love (under one way of thinking) but are all examples of our care-for others. Other persons, other beings, other things, etc.

My love for my partner is not my love for my friends, or my love for my dog (deceased). How I might approach these relationships are different, but they are not weighed against each other, one is not greater than another, they are different but also the same. They are all love.

Sitting quietly at night with my son resting peacefully on my lap, fills my heart with such utter joy, peace but also fear. Such contradictory feelings, so potently felt, much like variations of other 'loves' that are my other connections that I care-for. Similar components in different combination, acting on the same being and bringing differing results, dependent on circumstance.

This love, like my love for JJ, is one that will develop as we grow together. We will change together as father and son. There is a (hopefully) long road ahead of us and I can't wait to get started.

26.03.19

Quotes Worth Saving (24): Georges Bataille "What We Are Starting Is A War" from Sacred Conspiracy

Georges Bataille (1897-1962) was an intellectual, writer, mystic, poet, archivist, revolutionary, surrealist, communist, sexualist, and librarian. In short, he kept himself busy.

"What we are starting is a war. It is time to abandon the world of the civilised and its light. It is too late to be reasonable and educated - which has led to a life without appeal. Secretly or not, it is necessary to become completely different, or to cease being. The world to which we have belonged offers nothing to love outside of each individual insufficiency: its existence is limited to utility. A world that cannot be loved to the point of death- in the same way that a man loves a woman- represents only self-interest and the obligation to work. If it is compared to worlds gone by, it is hideous, and appears as the most failed of all. In past worlds, it was possible to lose oneself in ecstasy, which is impossible in our world of educated vulgarity. The advantages of civilisation are offset by the way men profit from them: men today profit in order to become the most degraded beings that have ever existed. Life has always taken place in a tumult without apparent cohesion, but it only finds its grandeur and its reality in ecstasy and in ecstatic love. He who tries to ignore or misunderstand ecstasy is an incomplete being whose thought is reduced to analysis. Existence is not only an agitated void, it is a dance that forces one to dance with fanaticism. Thought that does not have a dead fragment as its object has the inner existence of flames. It is necessary to become sufficiently firm and unshaken so that the existence of the world of civilisation finally appears uncertain. It is use less to respond to those who are able to believe in the existence of this world and who take their authority from it; if they speak, it is possible to look at them without hearing them and, even when one looks at them, to "see" only what exists far behind them. It is necessary to refuse boredom and live only for fascination. On this path, it is vain to become restless and seek to attract those who have idle whims, such as passing the time, laughing, or becoming individually bizarre. It is necessary to go forward without looking back and without taking into account those who do not have the strength to forget individual reality."

BATAILLE, from THE SACRED CONSPIRICY

I think that this quote, one of my favourites, can be read in several ways. Many of which will be wrong, not that I believe my own perspective is the definitive, indeed, in a sense even an erroneous interpretation is still worthwhile in that it might shed a differing view. It is rather whether we take this singular description as the only description, rather than as one way of many. Reading through Bataille's own works will give one a greater idea of the author's own intent, but I will assume that those reading this might not have spent this time.

Here then is one thought. The 'civilisation' being rejected is the so-called civilised world of the neo-liberal capitalists that we all now inhabit. A world that has made us all ignore the beauty of a communal society for one of individualistic striving and domination. 

Secular Sunday: Father's Day 2018

longer now without a dad
than i ever spent with one

M. C. Escher, 'Eye', 1946

I forgive my father and possibly, more importantly, I forgive myself for my own emotions on the matter of his death and his own failings as a parent (& my failings as a son).

Even if/when we accept that the parent is a fallible human 'just like us', something that is part of becoming an adult, as we do with the surrounding grown-up environs that we now inhabit, even if, we still have a greater idea to conquer/over-write/subsume/erase and that is the parent as a divine creator. The parent as literal god figure.

This might seem foolish to you, you might think that this description of a belief towards one's parents hardly fits for you or your relationship, but I would beg you to reconsider, because it is already built into how most of the world sees itself and how it prioritises the family. Each and every human society believes that their distinct experience of family is unique and hold more universal truth than any other cultures, and at the crux of this belief is typically the idolisation of the parent.

That our existence might not have been part of god's plan, that we might not have really been expected or truly wanted or were anything other than social pressure upon the incurious minds that birthed us, is not something we likely consider, but we should.

In either becoming or considering being a parent ourselves we should remember that our step into the unknown is what all other parents, including our own, have done before us. In accepting our weakness as one whose decision is guided more by hope than by anything certain, we should also welcome this chaotic mystery that life brings.

The desire to make the god's plan personal is the desire to narrativise our own existence as something ordained and with significance, whether this is by the idolisation of the parent or through actual religious fervour, both are a creation, a sham. Are we ready for what the rejection of this perspective might bring?

It involves our compassionate acceptance not only of our parents as flawed, but of our self, of our own choices as not being either truly individual or truly given. We are the paradox of consciousness and the result is not to deny this, or to seek a transfer to some other authority, but it is our responsibility to care.

I miss you dad. I love you. Happy father's day.

FMM 1944-1996

Quotes worth saving (14): Blanchot on Friendship

Blanchot (left) with his friend, Levinas (right)

Maurice Blanchot, L'Amitié (Paris: Gallimard, 1971), 328: 

Friendship, this relationship without dependency, without scenes, yet full of life's simplicity, implies an acknowledgement of mutual strangeness that does not allow us to speak of our friends but only to them, not turn them into subjects of conversation (or articles) but the movement of understanding by which, when speaking to us, even in situation of greatest familiarity, they reserve an infinite distance, which is the fundamental separation by which that which separates becomes relation.

Melancholy Mondays: Dead Dog

Earlier this year, as I've mentioned before, my dog died.

Some time ago I'd blogged about when he was quite ill, it made me think about the differences one has in experience between dealing with humans and animals one cares about when they are suffering.

Well, by way of coincidence, at the time my dog died this year, I was also grieving for the recent death of a very close friend. As I don't yet feel able to write directly about that particular experience, rather only mention it in passing, instead I'll talk now about the dog, Herman, and how a dog's life influenced a human's.

Where to begin? Let's start before I even met, and named, him. At the time I was reading a variety of literature; classic novels, folk tales, philosophy, anthropology, history, and the occult. I was intrigued by the notion of naming and one's living up to their name. If other people also believed in the destiny or worth of a name or title, might this increase the character of the name? Anyway, I found this passage in 'Transcendental Magic' by Eliphas Levi (which is, as one might expect, mostly bunkum):

The bull, the dog, and the goat are the three symbolical animals of Hermetic magic, resuming all the traditions of Eygpt and India. The bull represents the Earth or the salt of the philosophers; the dog is Hermanubis, the mercury of the sages – otherwise fluid, air and water; the goat represents fire and is at the same time the symbol for the generation. Two goats etc etc.

At any rate, I found the name of the dog and its possible shortened alternative, Herman, to be a most amusing choice for a dog name. The drawback? That I didn't presently own a dog.

Some time passes. During which I also discover that Hermanubis was a Greco-Egyptian god, combining (unsurprisingly) Hermes and Anubis. They both have similar roles and if, as I imagine, the idea was to aid cultural integration (I'm thinking Alexander invading Egypt), one can see them as an obvious amalgum. A historical myths textbook tells me (from memory) that Hermanubis wasn't as popular with the people as the other combination gods and was mostly forgotten. This obviously made me love the name more, an underdog god!? Awesome.

Anyway, also around that time, someone in Ayr probably found that their Staffordshire Bull Terrier was unwantedly pregnant. So, they dumped the new-born litter of six puppies in a bag by the river, the implications are obvious, but quite what happened is not. At any rate the local police found or were told about these puppies and they took them to a nearby veterinary surgery, where a friend of mine worked. Over the next five weeks my friend, with help from her husband and others, hand reared these mewling whelps. A task, if you have any knowledge of it, which is very tough and time consuming indeed. All six were successfully raised and, at the time I came to visit, half had found new homes.

Sadly I don't have any pictures of the puppy Hermanubis on my computer here, but he was the smallest, the runt of the litter, and as the previous dog we had owned, who had died young, around seven years previously, was also the runt I had decided I would pick a large powerful dog instead. When I got there there was indeed a big black puppy, two in fact, and a small brindle coloured puppy, who fought against his bigger brothers attempted bullying. The other dogs seemingly had no interest in me, being too easily distracted by food, but the little dog grabbed hold of my sock and wouldn't leave me alone. It soon became quite obvious that he had chosen me. Powerless to resist an 'attack of cute' I happily took the puppy home and showed him around his new garden (the bit were he nearly fell into the pond due to my negligence shall be stricken from the records).

Over the next few years, the now named Herman, became part of our small family unit. I didn't train him beyond the point of basic welfare, this not being practically useful, it is rather an exercise in needless domination of another living creature. Some people enjoy that, I don't really, this might also highlight my reluctance to even say that I 'own' a dog. I'd rather say that I help look after one, but that sounds dangerously wimpy.

However, in 2005, I went to University in Wales and left Herman behind. I'd see him over the summers and for short holidays, but he was really my mum's dog from that point on. Something that neither ever really got used to. So much so, that whenever I returned (including a longer stay winter to summer 2009-10) it would initiate a battle for dominance between them. I'm not sure mum was aware of this, but she always won anyway.

Earlier this year it became obvious to my mum that Herman was very ill indeed and in a great deal of pain. This was confirmed as a case of, quite advanced and quite terminal, cancer. After some time and some difficult telephone conversations we decided that all reasonable attempts to prolong his life and comfort him in his illness were at an end. However, rather than the stressful journey to the vet's surgery, she came to my mum's house and the veterinarian who had once raised him, now put him to sleep. A simple straightforward dog's life, only nine years alive, but in that time he had proved himself a good companion.

What influence might a dog have on a human life, beyond a purely practical one? Indeed, what sort of connection might there be between two different creatures?

It seems that there are various types of our emotional connections, not just within our human to human interactions but with other beings and things that share our world of care. These are all types of caring for an other we could say. The manner in which we care for a specific other individual, the personalised care we call love, seems different, for example, from the level of care we reserve for our friends. It is perhaps not wholly true to say we do not care for our friends individually, this only introduces a leveling in friendship, but we might still say that there is a level of caring we reserve for friendship, which is distinct from that for one's romantic partner (people can move about these levels too it seems, a lover becomes only a friend and a friend becomes a lover – more than friends).

So, we might label our emotional connections towards certain types of (human) individuals or people, but also there are also those connections with other beings (animals) and things (art or sport). We think that if something from this category were to be treated like the care we have for humans that there is something odd. In a certain sense this seems straightforwardly apparent, psychologists call it displacement, there is a definite absence in the person's life that they fill with an obsessive care for their poodle or their Porsche. Fine, but let's not talk about these extreme cases. What is the emotional cost for caring for an animal compared with a human? It is here that a certain type of philosopher or scientist will want an accurate measure to be made, such that we can make an accurate comparison. “How many dead strangers equal the emotional impact of one dead dog?” We want to somehow permanently fix and therefore accurately measure these phenomena so that we might be able to say with confidence that this is how it is. I can understand the want for clarity, isn't it at the basis for my discussing this subject? However, this cannot be achieved, for even one individual it is a life's task of self-evaluating and thought to discern how and why one thinks and feels the way they do towards the things they care about.

If I can't 'fix' it scientifically, indeed, if I've decided this is the opposite of what we want to achieve when thinking about situations like this, what can be said about this connection between person and dog?

Plato called the dog, the most philosophical of animals, and I agree although our reasons differ, for I believe it is the dog's reaction with an almost constant joy and wonder to the world that means they deserve this accolade. I suppose I initially intended Herman to be my hermit's guide through the (philosophical) underworld. Although I didn't even half believe this, but found the existence of it comforting in some sense. I think he performed this role outstandingly. One might query the supposed lack of intelligence a dog has (especially a dog like Herman) in this position of spirit guide. The dog teaches us, Herman taught me, life isn't difficult or complex. Life is beautiful. Joyous. Short.

Did I suffer in the same way when he died compared to my friend? You are asking the wrong sort of question.

But you didn't cry as deeply or bemoan the fates for his death? No. Perhaps because I didn't need to. The dog doesn't have the same sort of knowledge about life and suffering that we do. However, I didn't reason this at the time either.

Do you value X before Y, what category level might one set them? My dear departed friend once told me that he wanted to meet Herman some day. Although I give no thought to the possibility of a self surviving after death or heaven or such like, still the thought of them both walking together in the quiet countryside fills me with immeasurable happiness and deep comfort. Immeasurable.

Setting the grounds for Caring and Appreciation: Distinction in beauty

When one cares-for another they immediately see beauty, it is not looked for. It is beautiful means 'in my caring for X, I see them as ... '

When an appreciator looks for beauty they find that it cannot be seen. It is their looking that makes beauty invisible, as they are trying to describe it as a separate conceptual quality.

Saturday Essay (1) Knowledge of Illness

Initial notes: (1) Herman is no longer in pain and fully recovered, (2) This was written in August of this year, (3) I'm going to try and write at least 1000 words for every Saturday on different topics (will follow any useful suggestions)

---

My dog, Herman, is today very ill.

This has made me think about how we treat those with illness and how the perspective on mortality cannot ever be a permanent one. Firstly, whether our patient is human or not, it is the inability to communicate what is troubling them that causes more pain to the carer of the ill. The ill suffer anyway, although perhaps knowing that there are others to care for you helps eleviate some of this other angst, which in turn might make their suffering less. Can a dog understand or know that they are cared for?

Certainly, we are given this impression from their behaviour and what else can we go on?

Well, returning to the original example, this can be helped by communication. However, neither a dog nor a baby can exactly tell us what is wrong. They can only communicate their pain and discomfort. This leaves us the carer feeling the pain of powerlessness, our inability to help a person or creature we care for induces a kind of guilt.

However, if we are unable to eleviate the other's pain or help in some way or else disuade ourselves of this apparent guilt then we can ourselves become sick. This sickness is not physical in the same way a broken bone is, but it is a stage into the kind of self-pity that comes with depression. This can described as a chemical inbalance in the brain. What are we to make of this? That being unable to help the sick (due to communication) makes us more unable to help.

Is the correct response to ignore the others pain as being lesser pain in that it cannot be targetted by their communication? Certainly not, I would hope.

This 'failure of communication', which is itself an exception, could be taken as a wider example of communication or such like. However, this temptation to level or generalise all things into a pre-exisiting schema must be avoided. When must investigate these occurances in life with a clear mind, albeit an entirely human one; one always effected by context, emotion and other influences, but in doing this or rather accepting this need not collapse our investigation into baseless claims or nonsense.

The investigations of philosophy are of the everyday in a way that seeks to make sense, not in order to widen the mystery. This is not simply problem solving, problems are easily solved if one wishes to remove them, rather, it is ongoing clarity that we seek. Thus, we might equate this to the lack of permanent closure or understanding of illness, or deathliness, in that neither can we always be suffering nor can we find a final answer. There is no cure for death as there is no cure for life, both are to be understood in their connection, that is to say, life would cease to be life if death were not in some sense part of it. This understanding itself can only be accepted temporarily. Much as Heidegger says for all his talk of 'authenticity' it is not some drive for perfect understanding of Being beyond the lesser They, indeed, we can only come to these conclusion through these generalised public views. One which attempts to see life instead as endless possibilities (eternal youth) or countless other fantasies. No one is above this, is what Heidegger says, but this doesn't mean we should blindly give in. Authenticity is a good pursuit not that he would wish to use such ethical terminology. However, it is only good in that it does not exclude all else. A good man must live in the World with others afterall.

What does it exclude? That which is evil. Ignorance at any cost (but also accepting that not all ignorance is evil), blind assumption, infliction of suffering, failing to act, attempting to summarise a master concept at all.

Herman's pain, like that of a baby is not merely a thought experiment, it is an actual occuring event. We can see it.

It is, however, a pain that will cease. My pain at my uselessness will also cease, or at least diminish, once the Vet diagnoses the condition for then I'll know what I can do to help (if anything). At least, my place will be made clear and perhap this is the fear – being uncertain – being without knowledge – not knowing one's place etc.

Can knowledge only be proved via (spoken) communication? Isn't being in pain communicating something? That they are in pain. How can they (dog or baby) know this? Why must they know it in the same way we do? And in what sense do we know it ourselves? In that we can communicate the location and/or type of pain, but this comes in reflective hindsight. It is a narrative story we tell to others.

Do I tell myself “I'm in pain” and must I do this to know I'm in pain? The yell of pain is not an acknowledgement but an outburst, an outburst built first on our social communicative approach, not that the occurance of this pain is the pain and nor does it stand in for it.

Why must we talk of knowledge here? Surely this is not the same knowledge of; I know what this sign means, I know what the capitol of Scotland is, I know were I was last night, I know what her name is, I know what the artist was saying in that painting, I know what the ending of this film will be, I know she loves me, I know how to finish this sentence. Knowledge means different things in different contexts.

If we say that there are types of knowledge then we are immediately in trouble, because all these 'types' (scientific for example) are then capable of further division until the point where we have multitudes of cross-overs and eventually something that is unclassifiable by the current system. So much so that it warrants (or seems to warrant) a further classification. This process continues on and can seem therefore to be accomplishing something. Scientists once spoke of the recording of everything and one would hope that this talk is less prevalant nowadays (although apparently not). However, this classification as a means to represent knowledge seems to fail in that its conclusion seems to be the opposite from that which was originally intended. Rather than us having true knowledge or firm foundations for knowledge, we have the reverse, knowledge as an ongoing process. One without a conclusion (although some still aim for one) but we are still capable of apprehending, thus we seem to be able to know in a manner that defies traditional thought. Our knowledge then is a make-shift construction, one that we are constantly altering or upgrading. So, instead of truth we are left with a kind of social relatvism it seems. That true is true in context or true in its practical use. That is to say, it is true because in its current use it is accepted as true, but here's the trouble. Who does the accepting?

It seems to be partially socially and individually defined without making one the final arbiter of the other (and thus advocated a formula for knowledge). However, it seems true enough to say that we cannot learn except from others. However, as this seems to be leading me towards a wider discussion of rule-following practice then perhaps it is best left for another essay.

Why is it only death (the experience of another's deathly illness) or its proximity that gives us an understanding of life? Rather, why does this experience give greater insight in a more visceral manner? Could it simply be because of the stark contrast?