On the Usefulness of Philosophy: or, It is stupid to want to abolish bad weather

A Philosopher Lecturing with a Mechanical Planetary (1766).
Joseph Wright of Derby [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The Consolations of Philosophy by Alain de Botton

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This was an airport buy and a flight read. De Botton covers Socrates, Epicurus, Seneca, Montaigne, Schopenhauer, and Nietzsche in an effort to point out that:

Not everything which makes us feel better is good for us. Not everything which hurts may be bad.

In effect, to regard "distress" as "bad" is "almost as stupid as the will to abolish bad weather". This was useful reading, and works in well with my reading of Seneca, Montaigne, and Nietzsche, and provided a helpful overview to my current reading of Epicurus, and also Tina Gilbertson's now-read Constructive Wallowing. Two quotes struck me:

A man's peace of mind does not depend upon Fortune - Seneca (p. 97)

and

I have begun to be a friend to myself - Seneca citing Hecato (p. 103).

This was an easy read but made easier by my familiarity with the other authors. Had I read this without that understanding I have developed over the last year, I would have missed much. Yet I think it is a good overview of why:

The unexamined life is not worth living - Socrates.

De Botton's work also provides an interesting introduction to the use of reason and choice to overcome what distresses us.

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Constructive (W)allowing: or, What Makes Me Cringe Makes Me Stronger

The Scream by Edvard Munk, 1893. Public Domain via Wikimedia.

Constructive Wallowing: How to Beat Bad Feelings by Letting Yourself Have Them by Tina Gilbertson

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

This book is written in large print with large line-spacing and uses graphics to fill the pages. The result is a large book that would otherwise be rather small. It is more of a manual with tests and activities. I learnt a good deal from this book about having one's emotions, and it supplements Stoic philosophy neatly in that it provides a way to "have" one's emotions without necessarily acting on them. For the Stoics, we have our emotions but it is our behaviour that is good or bad, rather than the external event. I have found Stoic philosophy useful in that through daily practice and reflection, one can learn to accept what one can and cannot control, and be "indifferent" to external events. But to be Stoic is different from being stoic, yet there is little to address the emotions that one inevitably "has", other than to choose how one reacts to one's emotions. Gilbertson's approach is like a Stoicism for the emotions. Through daily practice, one can learn to experience one's emotions through (w)allowing. An interesting approach to understanding emotions is to exchange the words think and feel in a sentence. If the words are not interchangeable, then it is a feeling. For example, "I feel angry" does not work as "I think angry". Whereas "I think I have been treated unjustly" and "I feel I have been treated unjustly" are interchangeable, hence the former is an emotion but the latter is not. Recognising and giving names to one's emotions is one approach to let emotions happen (as opposed to acting on them). Keeping a three-times daily journal to record how one feels over a two-week period is an interesting way to recognise emotional patterns and to practice recognising, naming, and experiencing one's emotions. I must admit that most of the book made me cringe a little, and I found myself unable to read it in public - the thought of someone seeing me reading this book probably explains why I scored a 14 on the test, and therefore I probably need to (w)allow in private! Like Stoic journalling, I can see the point in (w)allowing, and the drip, drip, drip of experience and reflection working to improve oneself. The final straw was on reflecting on how I feel/think, I stumbled upon "I feel guilty/I think guilty" - here I am naming my emotion. But no, there is a section devoted to guilty - being guilty is a fact, not an emotion. Obviously I have much to learn and while I still cringe at this book, I will be adding some of Gilbertson's activities to my daily journalling ritual, which at present includes James Allen (referred to by Gilbertson), La Rochefoucauld, and The Daily Stoic, and I will see what happens. I found Gilbertson's work via my subscription to Psychology Today, and I have since read many of her articles which are available online.

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On Friendship, Conversation, Women, and Dying a Good Death by the Father of the Essay

Effigie of Michel de Montaigne, 1593 , Musée d'Aquitaine, Bordeaux, France. Photo: Wikimedia/Pline CC BY-SA 3.0

On Friendship by Michel de Montaigne

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Philosopher of the French Renaissance and father of the essay, Michel de Montaigne's work provides an interesting self-analysis that reminds me of Oliver Wendell Holmes, less the tongue-in-cheek wittiness. Montaigne draws on Ancient Greek and Roman classics repeatedly, which indicates the mood of the Renaissance. Some suggest that his topics parallel the Stoics, especially the final essay on dying well. Montaigne's ready dismissal of women as other than rational beings reflects the attitude of the times, but in this one senses a form of earlier institutional sexism that is far from rational. However, Montaigne's nonsense might be overlooked given the work was written in the 16th century. His essays on friendship and conversation provide many lessons that are applicable today, as is the discussion of idleness, and the importance of having purpose in one's life. I could not help but think of Woody Allen in Montaigne's discussion of the love of a father for his children, and the ideas of Freud and other modern psychologists expand on these very themes (of course, the Oedipus complex stems from the Ancients). Of particular note is Montaigne's public self-analysis. Not in the bare-all sense, but certainly in how he discusses one's foibles and braggartry, and how one might self-assess the worth of one's own work. I suspect Screech's translation gives the work such a modern voice, and I can only wonder (on this first reading of any of Montaigne's work) how much is lost in translation.

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