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Week 27 - More Buddhism - Philosophy

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Is it me or is it becoming increasingly difficult to get through a day without meeting someone who practices mindfulness, swears by meditation, or is convinced karma is a universal law? Only last week a friend just got back from a week-long vacation. She didn’t go to Spain or France or Italy. She went on a silent retreat in the woods. Ironically, she can’t shut up about it.

Buddhism, it seems, is well and truly on the move and it is scooping up people in droves. It won’t be long before saffron robes and sandals will be all the rage on the city streets.

But there is one Buddhist concept I have yet to see do the rounds in the juice bars and the yoga halls. The idea of near and far enemies. This is one of the cornerstones of Buddhist philosophy, but it has failed to ignite the imagination of all the new age hipsters. I can only guess it’s because understanding near and far enemies requires serious self-evaluation, an action that can’t be depicted in a selfie and posted on Instagram.

Buddhists, you are probably aware, love to go on about the importance of compassion, joy, and kindness. These qualities should be nurtured and cultivated through practice. But each of these also has what is known as a far enemy - an equal but opposite state. The far enemy of joy, for example, is sadness. For kindness it’s cruelty. This is a relatively easy concept to comprehend and should be easily identifiable within ourselves. If a friend breaks up with a girl and a week later we’re sending her text messages, chances are we’re on the opposite side of kindness.

The concept of near enemies are a little more difficult to wrap our head around. That’s because the near enemy is a state that closely resembles what we are trying to achieve (in some cases even indistinguishable from the real thing.) A popular example is compassion and its near enemy, pity. On paper they are almost synonyms but in practice they are worlds apart.

Let’s say, this time, our friend breaks his leg and we want to show care and compassion. Most likely we’re going to say “that’s awful” or “sorry to hear that”. But what does this mean? Straight away we have fallen into the trap of confusing pity with compassion. What we are really saying is: “Thank god that’s not me!”

Next we will probably follow up with the classic “Let me know if there is anything I can do.” This is a powerful sentence. It allows us to walk away, head held high, saintly in stature, compassion oozing from our pores. But let’s face it, a part of us is desperately hoping our friend doesn’t take up the offer. Again, we have failed the test because there was a complete lack of intent and feeling present.

Once I ventured down the rabbit hole of near enemies I saw them everywhere I looked. It fascinated me. People confusing arrogance with confidence, recklessness with courage, sex for love, materialistic satisfaction with happiness.

We are all guilty to a certain degree. Problem is we have fooled ourselves into believing our feelings are authentic. Last month my brother got a new job and I was thrilled for him. Genuinely thrilled. If I was hooked up to a polygraph I would have passed with flying colours. But on re-examination I realized I was more thrilled at the fact that his company was nearby mine and there was a strong prospect of him giving me a lift home every now and then.

So where does that leave us? Is the human race doomed because we have difficulties expressing genuine feelings? Should we all jump on the bandwagon and study Buddhism? I can’t answer any of those questions. But I will say that a little more authentic compassion and love in the world wouldn’t be a bad thing.

I’m starting to realize why this concept hasn’t caught on with the hipsters. Too damn difficult to solve.


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Week 17 – Philosophy: Questioning Tradition - Humanities

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Imagine you’re out for a walk one evening down by a river. You’re enjoying the scenery and tranquility when suddenly you hear a cry for help. There’s a man in the water frantically splashing about. No one else is around and it’s clear that if you don’t do something this man will be in serious trouble. What should you do? Or better yet, what is the courageous thing to do?

The nature of courage and courageousness is a philosophical hot potato. It’s been debated for eons, most notably by the two heavy weights Plato and Aristotle. While both agreed that courage was a virtue - a trait that everyone should aspire to have - they disagreed on the definition.

For Plato courage was linked heavily to knowledge. He argued that a person could only perform a courageous act when he or she understood the dangers involved.

For example, in the above scenario, if you jumped into the river fully aware that you were risking your life, this was a courageous deed. On the other hand, if you jumped in to save the man and yet were ignorant of the risks, this was an act undeserving of praise.

Aristotle’s view was slightly different. He believed everyone possessed courage, just in different quantities. Furthermore, he believed it was the goal of each person to cultivate, what he referred to as, the golden mean, the right amount of courage.

For Aristotle, running away from danger or blindly jumping into danger were both equally foolish and both equally un-virtuous. The correct course of action was always to first assess the situation. A courageous person should only make a move if the risks were reasonable and within his or her control. Otherwise, their duty was to call for help.

Is any of this important, you might be asking? Surely Aristotle and Plato are just debating semantics, after all. You’re right, but these subtle variations have hidden consequences, albeit consequences of a philosophical kind.

Let’s tweak our scenario and explore the implications a little bit more.

Again, you’re still out walking, but this time you’re not alone. You’re with Lois. It’s your first date and after a lovely dinner you take her for a romantic stroll by the river. And yes, your evening is about to be ruined by a man falling into the water.

This time the steaks are higher. There is added pressure for you to make a move. Does this change anything?

Well, for Plato it doesn’t. If you jump into the river to save the man, even under the pretense of trying to impress Lois, you pass his test. You knew the danger, but you acted regardless. Your reason might not be admirable, but your action is.

Unfortunately, Aristotle wouldn’t see it this way. His philosophy of ethics require you do the right thing for the right reason. Jumping into the river in order to impress Lois cancels out your good deed because you are using your courage in a reckless and dangerous manner. In the eyes of Aristotle this is not the behavior of a courageous person.

To illustrate this point in more detail, think about robbing a bank. This is a dangerous act; you could be killed, you could be arrested. But if you went ahead would anyone consider this courageous?

For the hell of it, let’s make one last change to our scenario.

You’re still out with Lois. You’re still down by the river and there’s still a man in the water. Only this time around your name is Clark Kent. a.k.a. Superman. You jump in to save the man and Lois is suitably impressed, however, the question remains: are you courageous?

According to Plato, definitely not. There was no clear and present danger for you in that situation. You’re Superman for crying out loud. The biggest risk you took was getting your shirt wet! In Plato’s world, no danger, no courage.

For Aristotle, though, you’ve ticked all the boxes for being courageous. You didn’t run away, you didn’t take unnecessary risks, and you used your courage for an admirable act.

And there you have it. Two definitions of courage that have no real word application. But hey, that’s philosophy for you. Sometimes it’s popcorn for the mind. Sometimes it’s questioning everything you believe. If you don’t question it why do you believe it.

 


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