Life – Page 3 – Achilles & Aristotle

London’s Burning

As a red London bus burns a few hundred yards from our house, it’s one of those moments when you stop and think, ‘Did I get this very wrong?’

We have always taken the view that the ‘cheek by jowl’ nature of urban London was worth the aggro. It’s vivid, lively, mixed – at times a bit edgy but alive. And nice ‘people like us’ live dotted all around.

But people who are not like us live all around too. And when it all goes up in smoke and dead eyed teenagers smash up your high street, it makes you think.

In Aristotle’s day another city state or a neighbouring tyrant could violently disturb your contemplation. In Montaigne’s, frequent bouts of plague and civil war.

A few boarded up shop fronts and burnt out buildings is hardly a siege and sacking or a street by street pogrom. But still. It feels bad. I’ve been anxious today. For my kids, for my other half, our house and our safety. We are always but a few authority figures away from mindless violence, a few laws from anarchy.

Ordinary decent people are feeling it too. I’ve seen several almost exaggerated acts of courtesy and consideration between people of all colours and classes on my way to and from work. Pausing to let each other pass, small acknowledgements and hesitant smiles. In these acts people are trying to say “It’s ok, we’re ok.” Post it notes on a boarded up shop eulogise our area and criticise the yobs. A volunteer army came out armed only with brooms to clean up.

It’s finely poised in London today. As Aristotle said man is both the best and worst of animals.

Children, Life

Cold Start

I’m certainly not a morning person. Like a British Leyland car of the 1970s (of which we had a few) I start reluctantly with several turns of the key, a lot of choke and a deep shudder. My son is a bit the same, newer bodywork, same starter-motor.

Not so my daughter. She is, in the manner of modern connected devices, ‘always on’. I honestly think I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of occasions I’ve seen her wake-up in the morning. I’m usually conked out and woken by her pretty bright eyes staring in my face at 6.30am, herself having already been awake and busy for at least half an hour.

Unusual then to catch her waking, as I did this morning. Back from camping (again) yesterday she was clearly in need of a slightly longer beauty sleep. I was woken by my son and we went to find her. There she was, sprawled elegantly across her bunk bed, tresses scattered across the pillow – fast asleep. But only for a moment.

Sensing motion in her vicinity, her eyes blinked wide open. She immediately sat bolt upright and, without pausing for a breath, began talking instantly. “It’s (her friend) Uma’s birthday today, now we’re exactly the same age!” she chimed. And the babbling brook of her, temporarily interrupted, stream of consciousness immediately began to flow again. Spectacular.

I can but marvel at how her morning workings can be so different from mine. She, precision clockwork, me an Austin Maxi. Another day begins.

Children, Death, Life

Man’s Best Friend

Unprecedentedly, I’m home alone this weekend. I’ve cooked some tasty meals, listened to some absorbing cricket, cleaned the fish tank, sunk a few beers, watched some great films, done some washing, tidied up, been late to bed, lied in. And now I’m out for a walk.

It’s a lovely sunny day. But it’s a solitary business walking without a child. No-one to hassle me for sweets or ice cream. No scooters, wobbling bikes, tripping up, tears, bruises or grumbles about being bored… And so my mind wanders to my erstwhile furry companion.

Poor old Mr Tumnus. His ashes in a box and his spirit in the sky in a red jacket, lapping powerfully just behind an electric bunny. I miss the old boy today. My kids have more than replaced him. But when they get older and need me less, I think I’ll need another hound to accompany me. Around about my 50th birthday I reckon. Watch this space.

Life, Philosophy, Poetry

The Undiscovered Continent

I discovered a poem I liked by Emily Dickinson in a poetry anthology. Her words seemed fresh, direct and unaffected. So I looked to see whether she was still writing. A surprise then to see she wrote the words in 1862.

I asked my partner who knows more about literature than me. ‘She’s American, I think’ she said. Transpires she is, from Massachusetts. Reclusive and introverted, Emily lived through letters. But, as with many writers throughout history, it only became evident how much she’d written after her death. Thousands of poems.

She lived much of her later life in what she called the ‘undiscovered continent’ of the mind and soul. She seemed to think of it as an almost a physical place you can inhabit and explore.

This set me thinking – puttering through slow traffic today – of Socrates. He thought everything could be discovered by earnest dialogue and reason – the answers are all there to be found in our heads if we are rigourous and vigourous enough.

Or Berkeley the ‘idealist’ philosopher, who argued that everything we see, touch and feel is ‘mind’ not matter. Then there are contemporary philosophers, who tease undergraduates with solipsism, asking ‘Are we sure it’s not all in our heads’.

The ‘undiscovered continent’ of the mind is a tempting destination. But it’s attractions need to be treated with care. Life is enriched by real world observation and experience and is best explored with friends.

A reclusive life might find order. But the beauty and brutality of nature, the intense experiences of life and the fickle gods of chance are in the material world. The ‘undiscovered continent’ is a place I like to visit, but isn’t a place to live I feel.

Here’s the line from Emily Dickinson which drew me to her and her poetry.

I dwell in possibility, a fairer house than prose, more numerous of windows – superior for doors.

Aristotle, Life, Poetry

Poetry in Motion

A few weeks ago, newly enamoured of poetry, I wrote a short ditty to capture what I think increasingly drives my life. It came out quite easily so I guessed it might be quite close. But then I forgot about it. Sat in traffic in the rain today, the last two lines came back to me unbidden. It has clearly lodged in my subconscious. So here it is:

Pay attention to life with bright eyes and keen ears.
Helped by poets and thinkers, refine hopes; master fears.

Embroider each minute and day of my years
with friendship and love and knowledge and ideas.

And the main credits are: for line 1) Montaigne and Aristotle; line 2) Aristotle, Kay, Csikszentmihalyi, Nietzsche, Homer, Armitage, Aquinas, McCabe, Socrates, Stoics, Sceptics; line 3) Me latterly; and line 4) Aristotle, Aquinas, my Friends in Contemplation, my family, reading, writing, work.

I’m not sure I’ll get a poster on the subway for these lines of rhyme, but they are pretty much where Eudaimonia lies for me I think.