My name is Dan Rogger and this is my blog (you can find out more about me at my About me page of my main web site). It aims to present my beliefs on how to live contemporary life in a philosophical way (or how I have tried to confront some of the challenges I face on an everyday basis). Each Sunday I aim to write a short piece on a topic of note from the week gone by.
The below are letters to my generation. They are unedited after their release, and thus hopefully more of a discussion than a series of statements. Please send your replies to d.rogger@ucl.ac.uk.
[I'm afraid to say I have found it difficult keeping this up. I aim to come back to it one day and fill in the blanks/continue. Until then, I leave what was written as a momument to the best laid plans of mice and men ...]UPDATE INDEX
Past weeks' postings (In reverse chronological order)
A philosophical life is as much about the small actions as it is the large. Defining how you will walk along the path you choose is important, just as the direction of that path.
A philosophical life is as much about the small actions as it is the large. Defining how you will walk along the path you choose is important, just as the direction of that path.
One morning I ran into work and was stretching outside my office. One gentleman, who'd I'd never seen before, was outside the main offices talking on his mobile phone. He was quite audible as he was using his hands free kit and had both headphones plugged in. I thought it quite amusing to be forced to share in his conversation but wasn't bothered by it.
However, you could see those people working on the ground floor of our shared offices were getting increasingly frustrated and after a while were shouting to try and get his attention. Because he had both earplugs in, he couldn't hear them. So, feeling bad for my colleagues, I went up to just ask if he could talk away from the window. He didn't like it.
"That's there problem", he grumbled, and then stormed off saying to ???
A philosophical life is as much about the small actions as it is the large. Defining how you will walk along the path you choose is important, just as the direction of that path.
A philosophical life is as much about the small actions as it is the large. Defining how you will walk along the path you choose is important, just as the direction of that path.
Last week's entry asked to what extent my freedom to choose my life's central tension should reflect the wishes of those who had given me that freedom. I focussed on my grandparents, but could of course talk of my wider ancestry and the debt I owe them.
I focussed on my grandparents because ...
has made me think of the wider debt I owe to my society, and the
All of my grandparents were defined by a central tension in their life. My paternal grandfather always fought between his love of the good life and his wish to do the right thing. He had a strong sense of social justice, and gave away almost everything he had to those he thought more deserving. This jarred with his love of beauty and luxury. Staying in a nice hotel in Eastern Europe one winter, he couldn't stand to see so many people hungry outside. He wrapped up all the bread he could find in a tablecloth and threw it outside to all those who couldn't find a meal.
My paternal grandmother wanted deeply to study medicine, or to live a more academic life than she did. The chance to be a doctor was taken away by her father as he believed women shouldn't study to the degree she wanted to. And then the war left her with an everlasting fear that she would never be safe again. She was torn between her hopes of another life, and those who would take it away.
My maternal grandfather wished for a better world. He was angry at the injustice in the world around him and the resistance to his efforts to make it more just. He wished to create a community around him that would be an island of values in an otherwise indecent world. Such a plan had within it the seeds of its own unravelling, as his children had their own hopes for a different future.
My maternal grandmother, although immensely commited to her family, always though of what could have been. A young man she had fallen in love with had died in the second World War. Whilst she had been happy enough with my grandfather, it was clear she always wondered what her life would have been with her first love.
We can view each of my grandparents as having had a tension that was a defining pillar of their life. To differing extents, these tensions were defined by external forces. The second World War had played a central role in each of my grandmothers' lives, robbing one of her security, the other of her love. My grandfathers were both torn between their sense of social justice and their other ideals, be it luxury or capitalism, with the war challenging both of these.
These thoughts make me consider viewing my own life this way, and asking what the central tension of my life is. It is certainly one that I have chosen for myself. That I am free to choose the defining feature of my life is quite remarkable. Through so much of history, the central tension of a person's life has been chosen for them. Be it the search for food, the submission to or resistance of an authority, or the boundaires of culture.
My own generation has huge freedom to define the central tension of their lives relative to those who have gone before us. The external world asks less of and provides more to us than it has before. The opportunities that come with this relative plenty rests on the shoulders of all those who have gone before us. What debt do we owe them? How do we choose the central tension in our lives so to recognise that debt? Like some religious or cultural practice dictates actions that intend to respect their ancestry, what are we to do to respect ours?
An obvious first choice is to use part of the newly gained freedom to undertake actions that would please or satisfy those whom we owe our debt. In some religions this would take the part of a sacrifice. Rather in my life, I have to ask whether I am living in the way that my grandparents would believe is right.
As I understand it, I am fortunate. My grandparents were all motivated to some extent by social justice and academic pursuits. That I am following a path that respects each of these makes me feel that they would be at least satisfied with my path.
If I find we are at odds however, to what extent do I subjugate my own will to my perceptions of their preferences? For example, my religious beliefs are certainly distinct from those my paternal grandmother would wish I had, and not in the tradition she would have wished. How far do I shape my religious practices so to satisfy my understanding of her hopes for me? Should I conciously try to bend my beliefs towards hers?
Then there is the case in which my grandparents only wish me happy and well. Does this give me the freedom to choose my path within these broad constraints, or should we look beyond their wishes and organise my life so as to reflect important pillars of their lives that have relevance for my society today?
My answers to this final set of questions are not well defined. So far my response has been to at least try the path they would have wished when it is not the one I would have chosen. It may give me an appreciation of their point of view. I have even smoked a cigar or two in honour of my grandfather. I don't think that will be an ongoing legacy.
Discussion: These are certainly not questions I have been equipped to deal with in my upbringing so far. Have you answered them for yourself? It seems that other traditions have investigated these questions. Have they found answers?
My wife is currently reading Caitlin Moran's 'How to be a Woman'. On a train journey with her I picked it up and had a little look. Ms Moran is very funny. "If I've gone from being wholly undesirable (then), to being looked down upon as a slag (now), this is, surely, a bit of a promotion? Becoming a woman has to be done one step at a time and this is, in its own way, considerable progress." (p.127)
She is also angry. Angry with the way women are regarded and influenced by society.
And so am I. When close female friends tell me of their common insecurities with other women, it angers me. Someone who believes we are defined by society, as I do, is faced by the notion that women are being defined to feel insecurities in a way that men are typically not.
So I looked into whether feminism has been populated with any males, as I was interested in their perspective. Male feminists exist, but it seems that the relationship with feminism and feminists is complicated. So let's side step those issues by saying I am a femanist, someone who believes in society's responsibility to support women to reach their capabilities as it does men. Whether this overlaps with feminism or not, this is a summary of what I'm for.
Caitlin Moran talks of things I would have very little understanding of, and that my experience is ill-equipped to empathise with. Clearly an imprecise approximation to an experience will add little to its analysis if a precise appreciation already exists. But in the same way that multiple perspectives or more data allows us to better understand a scientific phenomenon, surely the male perspective on the female experience is useful.
A male perspective allows us to better understand the drivers of half of society, and often the half implicated as the source of feminist grievances. It seems funny science to try to understand male behaviour without asking any of them. It also allows us to draw society's boundaries more clearly. Whether a woman's constraints are artificially imposed or those of humanity can only be understood by looking at men as well. By the logic that a woman best understands the boundaries of her world, a man is likely to understand the boundaries of his. Finally, if men don't get to talk about woman's issues, how will we learn?
My own perspective is embedded in a social philosophy, as one would expect. ???
Video: Charlie Chaplin tells us that "more than cleverness, we need kindness" in this beautiful speech from 'The Great Dictator', Chaplin's highest ever grossing film and first 'talkey'.
This week I heard a fantastic quote from the musician and composer, Terence Blanchard:
“Beethoven said that music is deeper than philosophy. Ludwig, what do you mean music is deeper than philosophy? He says well in the end we finite creatures, we don't have a language or even a linguistic eloquence that can begin to be fully truthful to the experiences that we have the short time we're here in time and space. So therefore we need some sounds, even some noise, organised noise, we need silence between the notes and the sounds that get at the deeper truths of who we are.”
It struck me as a perfect summary of the power of music. It is a language that extends our capacity to express. Good music tells the best stories. But it can also express important philosophical emotions that are difficult to communicate through words. This links to my conception of Truth: whilst we can determine a structure from which our presuppositions can be analysed, the core assumptions of our beliefs come from what we intuitively feel about an issue. Music makes me feel a broader range of and more in touch with those instinctive emotions, emotions that seem connected to my intuitive sense of what is good, bad, right, and wrong.
Discussion: Do you think of music as having these features? Can words do justice to the feeling music gives us (and if so, can you give me some examples)? My wife has just asked me how one could debate with music, and if you couldn't, how useful music would be as a philosophical tool?
"It is in our lives and not, fundamentally, in our conscious experiences that we find the memories of those who are gone. Our consciousness is fickle and not worthy of the task of remembering. The most important way of remembering someone is by being the person they made us - at least in part - and living the life they have helped shape. Sometimes they are not worth remembering. In that case, our most important existential task is to expunge them from the narrative of our lives. But when they are worth remembering, then being someone they have helped fashion and living a life they have helped forge are not only how we remember them; they are how we honour them.”
I am finding it unusually difficult to motivate myself to do my work. This is typically not a problem for me, as I enjoy what I do. Poor motivation is a Catch-22 as you are not motivated to snap yourself out of it. So you keep on working poorly, potentially compounding the reason for your lack of motivation.
I recognise this cycle, and so need to focus my energies on revitalising my enthusiasm for work. I stopped work to concentrate on why I might be uninterested in what I am doing, made a list of potential causes, and
This week I heard two great things about a colleague, and relayed them to him when I next saw him. I was inspired by a wise man I met when I was in India. I had been working in a little village alone for a few months and felt throughly overwhelmed by the experience. The night before I was going to leave he sat on a rock with me and said "You know people say you have done well”. This came as quite a shock, as I imagined I was generally thought of as the fat little white man who sleeps too much and can't throw very well. The message I took home was what he said next; "Too often people speak well of a person to others, and others amongst themselves, but the circle is never completed. I wanted to complete this circle.”
I heard a song this week in which the singer describes a memory from his childhood. He walks down to the river with his father, who scoops a cup of water from the river with his hand and has his son drink it. The event is vivid in the singer’s memory, “as if it were yesterday”. It seemed an important moment in their relationship, though the details of its symbolism were left to the listener.
It got me thinking. What are those memories most vivid in my childhood? In particular, what are those memories associated with my parents? And which of these have symbolic significance like that described in the song?
I remember my father watching over me when I was very small, and that my Mum used to make a ‘castle’ out of the giant boxes that my sister’s nappies came in. I remember my first rally with my Dad, and watching TV with my Mum. Then there is lots about school, and my childhood best friend.
It surprised me how little there was in the way of ‘rites of passage’, like that described in the song. I remember not talking for a day as a challenge to get a penknife, but that’s not really the same. I wonder how many of my friends have vivid memories of rites of passage like described in the song, or in books, or that exist in more traditional societies.
The absence of such memories reflects, for me, the sense of linearity I have had growing up. Life is always comfortable, always measured, and typically understood. My sporting, academic, and even romantic moments in my life don’t ring with the kind of energy that make these songs so vivid.
The song goes on to relate a memory of when it was going to rain one day, so the neighbours came over to ensure the hay bails all got into the barn before it rained. Again, a vivid memory of community vibrating with energy that I’m not sure I possess. I doubt many people I know would have such memories.
None of this casts a shadow on the amazing things my family provided. It just seems a part of life I might want to provide for my own children. Rites of passage may be part of our lives today, but by not marking them in anything but the most superficial or subtle ways, they lose some of their weight in our lives. Bringing back a little of the structure to our rites of passage may mean something to our children.
I'll finish with a quote from a book about the wisdom of aboriginal elders:
“Traditionally we didn’t celebrate birthdays, nor the silver anniversary for husband and wife. You were born and not measured by years. It wasn’t about how long you were married, but who you were in that family unit – Mother, Father, children, Grandfather, Grandmother, Auntie, Uncle. Our celebration was about living; age was about wisdom and knowledge, not how old you were.”
We seem to be hard-wired not to take criticism well. For a long time, I would fume if anyone criticized me. At school, I always thought I knew better than the teachers. (Once I was dragged out of class by the vice-principal for telling my teacher I could do a better job than he could and then trying to do so.) At work, they just didn’t understand how right I was. And I’ve had a reputation in my family for ‘getting on my high horse’ and telling everyone just how it is (ironic that I am admitting this in a blog post).
However, the older I get, the more I realise how foolish this all is, and that criticism is a healthy part of a good life. One can get so wrapped up in what you are doing, you forget all the paths you could have taken, but didn’t. Since you can only see the world from one perspective, another is a gift. And if there is a way of getting a bit of reflection going, then I'll take it.
Criticism is often delivered poorly, so one has to be strong enough to cut through the delivery to the useful stuff at the centre. That might mean getting home and saying, 'you know what, she had a point'. It can be even more productive if you can realise it at the time.
If one can become strong enough to do this, I believe one should go out hunting for criticism. First, you can criticise yourself. I’ve been trying to stop and reassess more recently: what part of that mix up was my fault, and what can I learn to do better next time? I don't want to run round in circles second guessing myself, but I am usually far enough from that for it to be a worry.
Second, you can get others to criticise you (in a sweet and constructive way of course). I'd love to know what my friends do when faced by everyday problems, and in my experience there is limited discussion of such things. I'm talking about real nitty gritty debate about what is the right or wrong thing to do in a situation, or whether such concepts are relevant. No one should mind a bit of 'street ethics' or '. I have tried doing this, and it seems most productive when you are clear in your mind what your general position is, and what the most important logical leaps and assumptions in your argument are. You can then have people have a go at each one.
I aspire to take criticism in a way that will ensure the provider will be ready to give it again. Many people seem to react, quite understandably, either defensively or by being silent and fumey. This doesn’t make the deliverer feel useful, just sorry they said anything (or proud they got at you). I try to be ready to take criticism well. A friend of mine I had asked to look over some work asked me ‘How critical can I be?’ “As much as you like,” I replied, “I am able to take a lot of criticism.” “Good,” he said, “I have a lot to say.”
Whatever religion you are, whatever form you believe God takes, and even if don't believe in God, prayer is fantastic. Prayer makes you focus for a time on what you most want to say to God, or to yourself. If you start with thanks, as I do, it focuses your mind on all the things you have, and can thus make you more satisfied. If you include aspects of your recent past, it helps you reconsider them, contemplate lessons learned, and reignites a dedication to commitments made. If you go on to request, it makes you reflect on what you can do to achieve your aim, and gives you determination to achieve it.
For those who believe in an omniscience presence in the world, the rationale for prayer is simpler: a communion with God. I want to focus here on prayer by those who are agnostic, atheistic, or uncertain. In this case prayer is a ritualistic engagement with the personification of your basic principles and beliefs. So few people, at least that I've talked to, feel that this sort of interaction is useful unless you believe in God.
But why? Why does giving thanks or asking for things we care about have to be directed towards anyone but ourselves? I don't believe it does, and think prayer can be just as powerful a force in the lives of those who do not feel responsible to pray. It has played the following 'non-divine' roles in my life:
It gives me a regular time to reflect and be grateful for what I have. It is very refreshing.
Praying when I'm nervous calms me down as I vocalise the challenges and realise their limitations. Since I associated pray with peaceful, meditative time, it is soothing.
In being a practice, prayer helps us engage with what we are happy about, fearful of, and committed to without distraction, haste, or uncertainty. It is not the only way to engage, but it is a good one.
It can focus the mind and make me driven, as if I had given myself a pep talk.
Discussion: Does anyone reading this prayer for non-spiritual reasons? If you don't prayer, why not?
I start my blog with what I think of as my founding story. Most of my teenagehood was a classic British teenagehood, complete with irresponsibility on as many margins as I could find, unless there was something good on television.
One night, I was on a train coming back from a weekend of mild debauchary. We were pulling into a station when a load of friendly British lads started throwing bottles at the train and screaming. The lady across from me seemed scared, so I said she could sit next to me and they wouldn't bother her. She did. We started talking, about many things, and our conversation turned to religion. As we were about to part, she gave me a little book, and, having written her phone number in it, said we should keep talking. When I opened it to find it was a bible, I almost felt duped into talking about Christianity.
The little book sat on my table for weeks, until one night, having thought about the things that lady had said to me, I opened it. I started to take it everywhere, and read it voraciously. It said so many things that strengthened the doubts I had been having about my lifestyle. And it gave me immense food for thought.
I didn't stop there. I talked to a friend of the family, and he gave me a passage from Khalil Gibran's 'The Prophet'. This had an instant and momentous impact on me. It was, in the terminology of my teens, absolutely wicked. I found as much Gibran as I could get my hands on, read 'The Teachings of the Buddha' compiled by Paul Carus, then as much Buddhist doctrine as I could find. Having made it through all the major religious texts, I found a book of Socrates, and then took up reading philosophy. This was much slower, and was more at the level of 'Sophie's World' and 'The Children's Companion to Nieztsche', but I loved it.
I gave up on what had been my closest circle of friends. One night at a lock-in my best friend at the time pulled himself a pint and wouldn't pay for it; so I did. He reacted badly to this and told me to "$£@$ off". I thought 'what a bloody good idea'. I walked the whole night to get home, and thought the whole way. You can do much better than this Rogger. Change. Change for the better.
The rest of that year at school I was increasingly thought of as a total geek. No one really knew what I was doing, and I was too embarrassed, and had too little courage to argue otherwise. But looking back on that train journey, and the change it has since inspired, I thank God for that lady. I call her my angel.
My generation and I entered this world at an amazing time. Never has there been so much wealth, so much freedom from want, and so many opportunities to enjoy and experience the world. With these opportunities we can do basically anything we want.
At the same time, we sometimes feel overwhelmed with choice, and continue to face many of the same challenges, of direction, partnership, and balance, that every generation preceding us have had to face
Of particular importance to me is how to deal with the fact that there are so many people in the world materially poorer than I. However, I will not write about that inequality here. That is what the rest of my web site is about.
Here I want to develop a better understanding of how I, and people like me (my generation), should try to live the best life we can. How do we deal with the freedoms and capacities that we have been granted, unique in history as we are? What philosophy do I turn to having been brought up tied only weakly to any individual religion? What can we learn from our distinctive perspective on the past to enrich our present? I would also like to hear from others on all these questions, and on the topics to come.
Why have a blog? It is a great thought pad. My commitment to writing regularly means I have to think regularly. It helps me concretise my own views. I also hope it will inspire conversations with others, so my beliefs can be independently assessed. Finally, given how little discussion I hear about the philosophy of today, I hope I am developing a little useful food for thought.
Discussion: Is it a good idea to have a blog of this sort? What can I do to make it better?
