Snooze buttons

I don’t think the problem with snooze buttons is the buttons, or that we’re pressing them. It’s that we’re not getting enough sleep.

This is related to the idea that, “Everyone wants more time, but few of us know how to spend it when we have it.” It speaks to how difficult it is to do things with intention or even clarity about why we’re doing something other than ritual or habit.

Rituals and habits are important when they’re repetitions of the right things. But even the right things can grow stale after a while, and in those times we need to reassess. When it comes to sleep, I think it’s fine to sacrifice sleep for limited periods of time if we’re sacrificing it for a good reason.

Watching another episode of some television show or binging on YouTube or beating the next game level? Those are bad reasons to wake up groggy and reluctantly, smashing the buttons on your alarm machine and cursing the world.

When you find yourself in that place, it’s time to reassess and make a change.

Seeing Roger Scruton

I saw Roger Scruton speak at Penn on Wednesday where he delivered the Collegium Institute‘s 4th Annual Elizabeth Anscombe Lecture on the topic of “Art and Morality: on the Relationship between Aesthetics and Ethics.”

Scruton has been a hero of mine for many years, since I discovered his book The Meaning of Conservatism and his humane and philosophical (rather than political) approach to answering who we are and what the uses of things are. Great introductions to his life on Sunday Hill Farm can be found on YouTube, along with his one-hour BBC special answering Why Beaty Matters. Collegium Institute filmed his talk at Penn’s Claudia Cohen Hall, and that’s available too.

Scattered/paraphrased notes from his talk:

  • Can aesthetics point to the transcendent without their creators having an animating belief in the sacred and the God that art has traditionally invoked for its vital power?
  • Can aesthetics do more without invoking God? Can it replace God-directed conclusions?
  • What are the consequences, morally or otherwise? Can we fill the God-shaped hole in our lives and our world with a new moral way of life?
  • If once there was a naive confidence among some in the literalism of religious belief, there is today naive confidence in reality’s nothingness.
  • Morality and religion are separate but complimentary things, and religious theology provides a foundation that shores up the moral life when it comes under question.
  • According to Kant, the judgement of beauty is an unavoidable consequence of our reasoning power.
  • But where does reasoning stop, and engagement with the transcend things of longing for harmony start?
  • Suppose you build a door in your home. You might say that the purpose of the door is to let people through from one part of the home to another. That’s a reason for building it. But there are infinitely many ways to fulfill the “letting through” function. The question “Why am I building the door this way?” is one that no rational being can avoid but which is so difficult to answer. We might talk about matching the moldings of the surrounding rooms, or fixing a particular type of knob, or selecting a cut of wood with particular grain. Why? We might say it “looks harmonious” or seems to “fit.” We immediately find ourselves in the realm of aesthetics, yet we’re also giving rational answers.
  • In thinking of such examples, we realize that almost all of our lives are filled with situations like this—where our reasoning marries itself with an indefinite but present sense of rightness about the way a thing should be.
  • In this, we don’t merely reason about the ends, but about the means themselves. Does an effort in its wholeness fulfill its duty to seem right?
  • The aesthetic part of our psyche is a way of training about endeavors and about things as ends in themselves. Aesthetics help train us in the “oughts” of life.
  • Kant was wrong to focus on natural beauty at exclusion of man-created art, because it’s in what we do that there are consequences: make the bed, make the place. “Look right and wrong”- getting things to fit together in such a way as we can be home with them.
  • But can “fitting in” or together be enough? Can aesthetics by themselves speak to the meaning (morality) of the world?
  • An artist is discovering and imposing order, which is why there’s such importance in what sort of things an artist brings forth and in the basic desires of the heart.
  • The thing about desire is that you don’t necessarily have to ascertain the moral qualities of the person or thing you desire. We often try to disentangle these naturally related things, or are simply unconscious to them. (We unfortunately sometimes find out about the moral qualities of a person too late.) An obviously erotic feeling can be transfigured into a moral relationship with another, and this is really one of the tasks of every relationship—to ensure harmony and whole feeling there.
  • Aesthetics (even when created by a good and godly person) cannot guarantee a moral outcome among the observer, listener, etc.—even when a feeling of the sublime, etc is experienced. In this way, aesthetics are like religious faith in providing a guide, a context for striving, without themselves being capable of replacing interior moral sense or a pedagogy for being human.
  • The moral questions are the most difficult, because it seems as if the God-shaped hole belongs there and does not resolve, because we’ve discovered that we’re determined (embodied) creatures, but also free.

A little creek

Earlier this week I caught the train out of Philadelphia. It was a beautiful early spring evening, so I walked the mile or so from the suburban train station to where I was heading. Along the way, this little creek was flowing under the pedestrian bridge I was crossing. I stopped to snap a Live Photo, which I’m sharing here as a GIF of the scene. It’s a picture of nature as much as the technology and industrialization that have implanted themselves as a part of the fabric of our communities. It’s the creek, though, that’s the testament to the fact that nothing changes as much as we might imagine.

output

Avoiding distraction

We wake up, and we check our phones where once we might have paused to take in a morning birdsong. We trundle down the hall to the bathroom or kitchen, where likely a radio or TV is turned on to the news or weather. We climb behind the wheel to work, and our cars beep and honk at us—beep!—fasten your seatbelt!—beep beep!—you’re too close to the trash cans as you’re backing out! Then we turn on the radio.

We pass the time each day necessarily attenuated in meetings, mail, and meeting workday demands. Yet the moments of respite in the days of our fathers or grandfathers—the 20 seconds in the elevator, twice per day, the trip to the restaurant to grab lunch, the stop at the bakery to pick up a pastry, even the time spent fueling our cars—all these moments once meant bits of fragmented quiet.

These demands take our halfhearted attention while refueling. The bakery likely has either a television on someplace, or worse, a store-wide sound system playing the latest from Lady Gaga. The elevator music lulls us in with its mundane melodies, and the lunchtime restaurant amplifies this sin against music, likely with a sort of amped-up, elevator-music-on-steroids jazziness.

Not all businesses or social areas are best served by piping noise for the sake of everyplace having its own soundtrack. This is a subtlely maddening aspect of the present, a sort of audio-sensory schizophrenia seemingly designed to never allow for a situation where we are left alone to tie together our own thoughts in public places.

Warren Buffett felt something of the need to recapture mental clarity after living in New York. It’s one of the reasons he decided to return to his hometown of Omaha. It’s explained that:

Much of Buffett’s success in managing Berkshire Hathaway’s investment portfolio can be attributed to his inactivity. Most investors cannot resist the temptation to constantly buy or sell stocks. While Buffett worked in New York, he remembers “people coming up to [him] all the time, whispering into [his] ear about some wonderful business…”

Alain de Botton explained the same idea: “Because of the internet, I now do far more work when not at work. My real thinking happens in bed and while shopping.” PBS addressed these themes a few years ago in Distracted By Everything.

What’s the key to a better life? Intentionally constructing your daily life and built environment to be as free as possible from outside distractions, and as regulated as possible from interior distractions.

Why are you silent?

Why are people silent? The two clearest reasons: you either are trying to listen rather than speak, or you’ve got nothing to say.

I grimace when hearing the most common broadsides leveled against social media and communications. “What could I say in 140 characters?” “Who wants to know what I had for lunch?” Et cetera.

Can you imagine if people had had such lack of imagination 150 years ago? We would have let the telegraph rot. We have the means today to draw ourselves closer and share more intimately than ever before in history, and suddenly many of us seem to be struck mute.

Witness. Speak. Share. If you refuse to speak using the media of our time, it’ll be assumed in the future that it was because you didn’t have anything to say. That you didn’t have much to witness to. That maybe there just wasn’t much going on there—much soulfulness, much vitality, much life. (That won’t be a fair perspective, but the future often marginalizes the past and so it’s worth thinking about how to defeat its stereotypes while we still have time.)

I think about everything that my grandparents left behind in heirlooms and artifacts and especially in writing, and how my heart aches for the same sort of things but from every generation of my family over the past 200+ years in this country. How I wish I could read even the slimmest diary entries from my frontier ancestors and what their lives were like. I know some things from newspaper records, church records, etc. These aren’t particularly intimate things, but they’re something.

We have the means to speak and to be heard more simply than ever before.

Figure out what’s worth saying, and say it.

 

Complaining about your strengths

“Hey, great to see you. Nice hat.”

“Oh, it’s not new. Pretty old actually. I really need to get a new one.”

A better response?

“Thank you.”

I had this exchange almost verbatim recently. A simple compliment, given earnestly. But not well received, and instead turned into mild self pity.

How often we do this to ourselves. Turning our strengths into a weakness, and in effect complaining about a strength.

We don’t always conceive of the thing as a strength, though. Others often do, because they’re not in our doubt-filled heads. They just see the nice hat, and want to give a compliment.

Even when a strength is only perceived (rather than real), better to just go with it:

“Hey, thanks.”

Novelty, time, and experiments

David Eagleman, in short: seek novelty if you want to savor time.

I think of seeking novelty often in the form of running small experiments. An experiment from a few years ago while staying in a State College came from asking myself, “What happens if I leave my door unlocked for my stay?”

I stayed eight days without locking my door. Nothing happened.

Statistically (and especially in State College) perhaps this isn’t too surprising. But the liberty of not carrying keys with me for a week was worth the experiment alone.

A friend to whom I mentioned this experiment, incredulous, asked: What happens if you’re robbed? “Then I wouldn’t have my things any longer,” I replied. Life is simple if we let it be, and if we let go.

This experiment (or novelty) slowed down time for me initially because I was left wondering (more out of curiosity than worry) whether or not my things would in fact be there when I returned. So that week in State College sticks with me.

Seek novelty. Run experiments. Let go.