Seven Podcast Lectures on Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground

Fyodor Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground is a text I teach frequently in certain of my classes - Into to Philosophy, Ethics, and of course Existentialism - and quite some time back, I shot a series of core concept lecture videos covering the main ideas of the work.  In order to provide my students (and others) with additional resources, I've been converting my videos into podcast episodes.

There are seven podcast episodes in the sequence, running about two hours total, so one could listen to the entire set over the space of a walk or two, a long workout, or whatever else one would like.  Here are those seven episodes:

• The Intellectual, Inertia, And Negativity
• Pleasure Perversity And Suffering
• Revenge, Anger, And Justice
• Self-Interest And the Advantageous
• The Most Advantageous Advantage
• Desire And Reason
• Enlightenment, Nature, And The Will

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Plato's Symposium Class Now Enrolling

As the Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics class gets close to finishing up, we've opened up enrollment for another online class, this time on Plato's Symposium!

I'm very happy to be teaching this 4-week entirely online class again with a new group of students for a number of reasons, but I'll just mention two of those reasons here.

One of them is that this is a Platonic dialogue that I'm particularly interested in.  Each time that I teach it, I learn something new in the process.  And I love initiating new readers into this very rich, complexly crafted philosophical text - getting to see their own reactions, their puzzles, and eventually their own articulated understanding of the speeches Plato places in his character's mouths, all about that most important of topics - Love.

Free Resources on Plato's Symposium

Back in the month of August, I taught a 4-week online course for the Global Center for Advanced Studies on Plato's Symposium -- a very enjoyable class, involving excellent student discussions!

When it comes to designing online classes, I'm a bit on the over-achiever side.  For every 2-hour videoconference class session, I produce a 25-40 slide presentation.  I also create video content, lesson pages, and handouts on the material we're studying.  Ok. . . so more than a bit . . . But my obsession is your gain, since I'm posting some of those resources here, free of charge, open-access.

Valentines Day - Time to Give Some Thought

Valentine's Day is coming up this week.  While I've got a talk scheduled for the morning -- the next one in my Understanding Anger series -- my brilliant and beautiful wife lined up an excellent finish for the evening, attending a musical performance, the Felice Brothers, who are playing right here in town.  So. . .  I've got to devote some thought to what contribution I can make to our Valentine's day.

If you're like me -- and if you're reading this blog, there's a good chance that we share some such affinities -- you might possibly find yourself sufficiently devoted to the life of the mind, and all of the work that goes along with that, that it's easy to put things like Valentine's day onto the back burner until it's a bit late to plan anything really romantic. . .  at least to plan it out well.  But at least, fortunately, there are quite a few, let's call them "thoughtful" valentines out there, readily available on the interwebs.

Symposia, Then and Now

Some time back, it was proposed to me to give a talk of some sort for students at the Culinary Institute of America's Feasting and Foraging event, a day devoted to discussion, demonstration, and even some experiential learning focused on ancient ways of food production and everything that went with that.  I brainstormed through several topics that might fit the overall theme -- Aristotle's discussion of modes of food production and the ways of life they make possible, the still-controversial thesis that fermentation of alcoholic beverages was a major motive for early agriculture. . . . and then decided to propose a talk about drinking parties -- symposia -- a term which we now associate with rather stolid, well-organized, academic affairs.

I proposed, they accepted, and then fortuitously things came together -- one of the instructors at the culinary, a specialist in the history of alcoholic beverages -- had decided to brew up a batch of hard apple-maple cider, and it was determined that we would have a bit of a "drinking-party" (in which the of-age students could participate).  Towards the end of the day, we'd all gather, there'd be a tasting (well, more than simply a tasting, since there turned out to be enough cider for everyone to have several small glasses), and I'd give a fairly informal, interactive talk focusing on what Greek symposia were really like, and contrasting our present-day, academic symposium with the ancient symposium.

Elements of Philosophy: What Do Philosophers Do?

 A new academic year has commenced, and I'm currently in process of producing some new lesson content for my Introduction to Philosophy students -- which this semester is themed on "Love, Friendship, and Desire.  Right now, its the very most introductory material for the class that I am writing and posting as lessons in our course management system.  Since I don't use a textbook for the class, but rather supply all the readings, resources, lessons, videos, and other sundries for the class within that course shell, it's critical that I provide these undergraduate, non-major students, many of them first-semester freshmen, with some idea early on just what the class is about -- what kind of approach we are taking, what kinds of activities we are engaged in, what sorts of tools we employ.

So, in addition to a number of other similar lesson sections -- some already (thankfully!) written, some of them still pressing items of my to-do list -- I decided to try my hand at explaining what we philosophers (and those who we're reading and studying) actually do, by way of discussing some of our most common tools -- the "elements," if you like, of philosophical work and works.  After I was finished with it, I thought that others might find it interesting or useful -- or perhaps glimpse better than I any glaring omissions or oversights.  So, if you've got something to add to this, by all means feel free to set it down in a comment, and I may incorporate it in a revised version of the online lesson.

Reflections on the Passing of Clive Burr

Although last week was brightened -- and largely dominated  -- by news concerning the election of a new pontiff, something else occurred which saddened me, personally, deeply, for reasons I'm been struggling to make sense of through reflection -- a news item that was not unexpected but, like all obituaries of those whose actions or artistry made some tangible, positive differences, is always in some sense unwelcome to read, untimely at its occurrence. Clive Burr, perhaps best known for his work as a drummer, early on in his career, for Iron Maiden, died on March 12 in his sleep.

Multiple Sclerosis had long ago begun eroding his system, cutting off his livelihood, damming up his talents, and ending his long career.  He was fortunate in having developed many solid friendships over the years -- his former bandmates in Iron Maiden, for example, organized and played benefits to assist him in paying his reportedly quite high medical bills -- and by all reports he is going to be missed, and grieved over, by many who knew him personally.  For my part, I'm just a fan, and didn't know him personally.  I can't say that I wrote him fan mail, or that I even saw him play -- by the time I first got to an Iron Maiden concert, with my leather and longhair burnout friends, several years had passed since he'd left the band, engaging in a series of never-quite-making-it-as-big ventures with bands like Trust, Escape, and Gogmagog

Happy Birthday, Søren Kierkegaard

More than half of my life now, Søren Kierkegaard has occupied a top seat in the shifting chorus of my favorite philosophers -- something one would hardly guess by looking at my scholarship, which has focused much more upon other thinkers: Aristotle, St. Anselm, Thomas Aquinas,Thomas Hobbes, G.W.F. Hegel, Maurice Blondel, Alasdair MacIntyre, each of which I've found sufficiently fascinating to be drawn into reading and rereading, taking notes upon then writing, and when lucky, publishing articles about, each one of them a great philosopher in his own right, worth studying, engaging in intellectual dialogue and musing reflection full-time the rest of my remaining lifetime.

Yet, given the choice at any given moment about whose book to pull off the shelf, crack the pages open, and begin reading anew, I find it tempting not to select Kierkegaard, particularly these days his Philosophical Fragments, The Concept of Irony, and The Sickness Unto Death. That attraction has altered over time, not so much changed in the sense of transmuting entirely from one thing, away from that and towards yet another, different thing in its place.  Rather, I'd say, as with a wine, or port, or liquor whose aging permits flavors, scents, textures, already there to be sure but only in potency, to unknot their bonds, to freely mingle and wax into a more complex, symphonic taste -- that's what happened with my appreciation of Kierkegaard, though along these lines of analogy, it would be better to say that my palate gradually took on the sharpness to distinguish and more deeply enjoy drinking in the flights of draughts he assembles and then offers.

Stoicism and Personal Relationships (part 2 of 2)

Two weeks back, I wrote a post discussing a seemingly harsh passage from Epictetus' little handbook, The Enchiridion:  If you kiss your child, or your wife, say that you only kiss things which are human, and thus you will not be disturbed if either of them dies.  I brought up a few other passages from Epictetus' Discourses, which paint a fuller and significantly more even picture of a Stoic perspective on personal relationships, one which acknowledges natural affection as, well. . . . natural.

The central goal, the ideal that Epictetus returns to over and over again, is a state in which the core of one's person, one's "moral purpose" (prohairesis) has been brought into harmony with nature -- nature understood as what a human being ought to be, becomes when fully developed.  So, for all the emphasis on self-control, on relentless discipline, reflection, practice, and self-scrutiny -- aimed at gradually pruning desires, affections, emotions, even opinions away until all of one's affective commitments remain within the confines of what one has control over, thereby freeing the Stoic -- there remains some scope for familial affection, for building and enjoying personal relationships.  This even seems to form part of a genuinely full Stoic life.  It becomes even more apparent when we are not simply looking at what rationality is, in the concrete that domesticity always sets it, but at another absolutely key element of Stoic moral theory:  fulfillment of one's role or roles.

Stoicism and Personal Relationships (part 1 of 2)

Practically every time I've taught Stoic philosophy -- whether in an Ancient Philosophy class, or more often in an Ethics or an Introduction to Philosophy class -- among other texts, I've assigned my students Epictetus' Enchiridion, literally, the "Handbook" -- a selection of passages compiled from the much longer set of his Discourses, those hopefully being more or less representative sample of Epictetus' oral teachings, recorded by one of his pupils and friends.  Invariably, perhaps because it is early on in the text, so it catches the eye of a reader not yet wearied, section three catches their attention, or at least the end line of it.

With regard to whatever objects give you delight, are useful, or are deeply loved, remember to tell yourself of what general nature they are, beginning from the most insignificant things. If, for example, you are fond of a specific ceramic cup, remind yourself that it is only ceramic cups in general of which you are fond. Then, if it breaks, you will not be disturbed. If you kiss your child, or your wife, say that you only kiss things which are human, and thus you will not be disturbed if either of them dies. 

Twitter and Facebook Addictive? New Boundaries for Temperance

Those who have come across posts from my Facebook author page, my Twitter feed, or my other blog Virtue Ethics Digest, know that I have a penchant for pointing out instances where results of research publicized by putatively cutting-edge brain scientists, psychologists, or other cognitive and social scientists do little more than reintroduce -- often without adequate reference or reflection -- topics and truths developed long ago within traditions of moral philosophy, particularly those traditions we term "Virtue Ethics."

Perhaps I seem overly gleeful at the prospect of showing -  or rather showing up -the supposedly more scientific approaches to the complex phenomena of moral life that their objects of research possess a history antedating their perennial efforts to yet once again pronounce the definitive word on the matters. It's hard not to when researchers routinely say things straightfacedly like "Little is known about how people experience and regulate desires in daily life"  -- as if human beings haven't been experiencing, reflecting upon, discussing, proposing and testing models, and occasionally even experiencing some success with these matters for millennia -- and in some cases even writing some things down about them, a few ideas considered useful, insightful, or at least entertaining enough that we read them still today under the rubric of "classic literature," even moral philosophy.

Diamonds, Rust, and Nostalgia

A little over a week ago, my wife-to-be and I roadtripped out to Reading, Pennsylvania for the second concert we have made it to together so far.  My rather decidedly unacademic, surprising (to my colleagues and students) love for Heavy Metal -- I've written a bit about this previously on Orexis Dianoētikē -- for the straight-out hard-edged metal I grew up with and in during the late 70s and all the 80s -- overdriven bass, melodic but achingly distorted riffs, drum and bass fills, guitar solos (preferably in tandem), larger-than-life frontmen (or in the cases of Wendy O'Williams or Girlschool, frontwomen) -- metal that laid down its roots, and was communicated about in enthusiastic fan magazines before it was esoterically and eruditely distinguished into genres, discussed in dissertations.

We traveled out to see one of the last shows on the last tour of a band who earned their status as giants, as innovators and influencers back when we were listening to them on albums and cassettes:  Judas Priest -- lacking only one original member, K.K. Downing -- played an intense two-and-a-half hour set, preceded by Zack Wilde's vehicle Black Label Society, but more importantly (at least for us -- and probably more than half of the audience) by another seminal, hard-hitting, though sadly  attritioned-away (only two members from their heyday remain, and their original singer died a long time back) band: Thin Lizzy.

Good Night, Irene

Shortly after my last post, I encountered a "perfect storm," one main component of which was the recent storm Irene and its consequences for the region where I now live, the Hudson Valley.  The storm itself proved not to be as dangerous as some feared and others seemed to have hoped, provoking a number of complaints particularly in the region south of us -- New York City --that it had been "hyped" (but also in other places along the East Coast)  That's perhaps understandable, given how much media attention gets paid well in advance to developing weather, how many recriminations and second guessing those charged with overseeing public safety face even when they plan prudently, actively issue order, and in general get things right, and how little control the ordinary person senses themselves to have over important aspects of their lives when caught up in the effects of forecasted unpredictabilites of nature, policies and responses of communities, unavoidably opaque efforts by corporations to restore infrastructure, and the behavior -- even the very bodily presence -- of so many other people enmeshed in the same complicated systems suddenly more visible because of an event.

Portions of New York City were issued evacuation orders by Mayor Bloomberg well in advance of Irene's landfall.  Mass transit and bridges were shut down by Saturday.  Many coastal towns and cities in New Jersey, Rhode Island, Delaware, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and in Long Island (which looked to be particularly vulnerable) were also evacuated, National Guards were mobilized and sent into some places, and there were worries in some areas that the incoming weather could also prove fertile for breeding tornadoes.  As it turned out, Irene hit the coast in an already downgraded state and -- mercifully to most but perhaps disappointingly to some -- did much less and much more readily repairable damage than had been feared or even expected.  Further inland, away from the coastal megapolis of New York City and the smaller coastal cities, however, the damage was considerably greater but more dispersed, and for that reason less easily, less quickly remedied. It took multiple places and forms across a spectrum of types and degrees of that broad, equivocal, but real category of "damage", one type or incident often enough interacting with or contributing to, occasionally causing, another.

Love and Human Motivation in the Republic (part 1)

Reading my way once again through a text I've been revisiting for more than two decades, Plato's Republic , I never fail -- any time I read it anew -- to be struck by some novel, or perhaps not entirely novel but at least forgotten or passed over, feature of the work and of Plato's thought.  I'm happy to be teaching it again this semester, at least portions of the grand dialogue, that is, one of Plato's best known and -- as I get old enough to benefit from traversing Plato's sizable corpus a number of times, more in some parts than others -- one of his finest on multiple philosophical levels.  Rather than allowing the task of justifying to some extent why the Republic is entitled to such a laudatory judgement -- particularly given that there are plenty of Plato scholars who'd dispute that with me, who am decidedly not a Plato scholar, just an admirer --I'll say what some of the features that struck me this time were.

Memories and Meadows

After signing off for the summer -- practically speaking for the remainder of June and the whole of July, since I'm now back at my base and resuming writing -- I drove from the Hudson Valley in New York to the Midwest, where I picked up my children and headed out with them on a series of trips traversing northeastern Illinois, northwestern Indiana, and southwestern Wisconsin, residing alternately with family, friends, and occasionally at hotels.

This has become a yearly ritual, a marathon of days, a few of which comprise down time, many of which involve some additional travel from whatever places we temporarily call home.  This five-week period, we hit Michigan City's Summerfest, the Waukesha County Fair, a local 4th of July Celebration, and our annual 3-day Lemco Family Reunion.  We ate at  restaurants, picnicked, cooked, and hit LeDuc's for what remains still the best frozen custard.  We visited, among other places, Navy Pier, a Lego Museum, Donely's Wild West Town, two Zoos, the Milwaukee Public Museum, Holy Hill, and a Honey Museum, located just north of Ashippun, Wisconsin.  And, it was at the latter -- or rather by it -- that I realized something.

Whose Flourishing Ought We Be Concerned With? (part 1)

A very interesting question was raised recently in one of the LinkedIn groups to which I belong: "Whose flourishing ought we be concerned with?"  Given the nature of group forums -- both that they invite collaboration and dialogue between multiple interlocutors, and that any notions I might work out in detail there would have their readership confined to that group -- I decided the question would provide an excellent blog topic.  I've been working recently on a paper for an upcoming ISME conference on MacIntyre's virtue ethics and prison teaching, so the notion of "flourishing" -- a moral term and goal in virtue ethics -- has been on my mind even more than usual of late.

For those not (yet, or explicitly. . .  one can always hope!) virtue ethicists, here's in a nutshell the significance of what is being talked about in the discussion.  "Flourishing" is one of those somewhat quaint-sounding but actually quite apt terms by which we render a family of teloscertain not-so-easily- translated Greek and Latin terms -- Western virtue ethics goes back to those cultures -- like eu zein / bene vivere (literally "living well") or eudaimonia / beatitudo ("happiness").  Now, why bring up these terminological transformations?  They represent a continuity in a conception of the good for human beings.  In short, for virtue ethics, the Good is not a specific or generic good thing or a possession or enjoyment of such goods.  It consists in a certain way, a kind of pattern and shape, of one's life, one's relationships, one's actions and activities -- put another way, a progressive, ongoing, appropriate, and as full as possible realization of one's potentials as a human being.

Where I've Been and Where I'm Going

It has been slightly over a week since I posted my last blog entry, which tantalized by promising further translations of Saint Anselm's writings and sayings about humility. I'm thankful that, over the eight months of its publication so far, Orexis Dianoētikē has developed -- for an academic blog written part time by a scholar admittedly and indulgently ranging all over the map of topics -- a solid readership. Doubtless a portion of the numerous reads of the posts and glances over the pages were one-time, non-repeat clicks. A core of devoted readers -- who subscribe, comment, wait for announcements of new posts (on Facebook, Twitter, Academia, and LinkedIn), and praise, condemn, argue or ask questions about the posts in those electronic forums -- has also developed, and continues to grow. Interestingly, a good portion of that readership is international -- particularly from The UK, Canada, Japan, Russia, Germany, South Korea, Brazil, Spain, and China.

I feel as if I owe some explanation to my readers as to why my posts have slowed over the last weeks and perhaps may not resume their normal rate for a little while longer. I am right in the middle of the process of leaving my post at Fayetteville State University, where for the last three years I have taught, researched, started a new projects, and even taken on some administrative, advisory, and assessment positions. Not only am I step by step extricating myself from the University -- grades are in, but I still have four reports to write, and was being called upon to provide information in meetings yesterday and just a few minutes ago (I'm writing this during my last meeting) -- and not only have I been continuing or making good on a number of scholarly projects and commitments -- even more importantly, I am finally moving up to the Hudson valley in New York to end the painfully-long-distance phase of the relationship with my wife-to-be, partner, and collaborator in work, writing, and life. I am very excited to be leaving with my wagon packed to the gills with the first load later on today.

Saint Anselm on Anger (part 6 and end)

Over the last two months, I've explored several aspects of St. Anselm's thought bearing upon anger, hopefully demonstrating that his moral theory, though not addressing anger thematically, has much to say about it, if we put in the necessary exegetical and interpretative legwork (here are parts 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5) We have examined anger as an emotional response, as one of the stirrings of the carnal appetite, as an object of choice of the ultimately free will, as an occasion for temptation and weakness of will, as a set of habits more or less deeply graven upon the human soul, as a common shape injustice assumes in the will, a privation or corruption of right structures, orderings, direction, affections of the will.

Often, anger also involves a fundamental choice, a willing -- though not necessarily or even often one made deliberately, consciously, with entire awareness -- not to align one's will with God's will, but instead to follow one's own course, one's propria voluntas, to use the human rational will's capacity for self-governance, self-determination in a away that seems in the moment to exercise that capacity to the fullest, but which in reality ends up subjugating that will, that freedom, that instrument of choice to objects or persons outside the will or to a portion -- not the better portions -- of the human being, the carnal appetites and desires which like seeds extrude their tendrils throughout the will, setting down the roots of vices.

Christianity contributes a fuller, though very challenging, perspective upon anger.  The task of the Christian moral theologian or philosopher is not only to follow counsels and dictates provided by relevant scriptures, by the example and words of Christ, the saints, even those around one who are better disposed in relation to anger.  It is to bring additional illumination to our understanding of  this tricky, seductive affective response, one so apt to subvert the very rationality and justice that should in some cases block or censure anger, and in others moderate, rightly direct, or temper it. The Doctor of Bec does make such contributions, and in this final entry on Anselm and anger, we'll look at those that have to do specifically with virtues and vices.

Enjoyment of the Highest Good in Plato: Personal or Not?

Last week, after giving a guest lecture about Plato, Persons, and the Highest Good (video available here), and then narrating a portion of the lecture and the larger project of Plato interpretation it stems from in a blog entry, I promised a follow-up post making the not-immediately-evident case that for Plato, enjoyment of the highest good does indeed involve personality or personhood, and not merely by virtue of the fact that the soul of the person is what enjoys the Form of the Good (or the Beautiful) in a sort of eternal communion and contemplation.  I have been making the stronger claim that the ascent to the highest good and the enjoyment of it contain necessarily personal aspects or moments, and that these are  essential to that condition. Plato's own texts bear this out, as it turns out (fortunately for my interpretation, no?)

Having several other promised follow-ups to earlier blog entries still pending, I've learned my lesson: 'faut forger le fer. . .  -- get (to) it while it's hot!  -- so I'm writing out, setting down, freezing in letters this exegesis of Platonic texts and passages, at the head of a week jam-packed -- with end-of-semester student panics and scamblings, equally last minute readying on the part of faculty to become familiar with a Quality Enhancement Plan I had some small part in authoring (before our SACS accreditation team arrives next week), preparing for my first presentation on my first published book. . . the list could go on -- before it becomes yet another projected then deferred composition.

Before we travel down into the Platonic texts, into depictions of the afterlife, or the life before available through reminiscence, verbal representations of the ascent to the Forms and to the Good, I must make one clarificatory remark: I am not in any way claiming that the Form of the Good is in Plato's view is itself something imbued with any aspect of personality. In fact, his texts clearly suggest otherwise.  It is true that later broadly Platonic thought will explicitly depict the highest good as fundamentally personal, for Christians, Jews, and Muslims will understand it as God.  But, that is a later development, and I am sticking with Plato's own writings on this matter.  For in those texts, the enjoyment of the Good is carried out as a person in community with others.

Plato, Persons, and the Ascent to the Highest Good

My colleague Eric Silverman hosted me in his Plato class at Christopher Newport University this last Wednesday, where I delivered a guest lecture (video available here)-- with much contribution from his student's questions, objections, puzzles, and discussion -- ostensibly focused on Diotima's speech (in Socrates' speech) nested in the very heart of Plato's dialogue, the Symposium -- but actually taking the opportunity to work out and talk about a few parts of one of my own projects concerned with Plato.

That dialogue is, and will ever remain, a central work in the history and discipline of philosophy.  It has inspired commentators, appropriators, perhaps even what might be called imitators down throughout the ages.  Its depiction of philosophy, indeed of many types of activity and inquiry, as fundamentally erotic will ever seduce new students to read it through and then return to explore its fascinating passages, and will draw back old friends and lovers, professors whose copies of it bear wear as signs of diligent study -- or even as the guide with whom I first traversed the dialogue in Greek with called it, an inability to put the book away because every time one opens it, in turn it opens in the reader's mind new, gnawing, aching questions.