I love teaching. It is a worthy challenge to take the philosophers I love and present them to minds near the beginning of a higher education and participate in their reaction. However, one feature of teaching first and second year students is that I am usually unable to discuss those more subtle and sophisticated arguments about correct interpretation or the most well-formulated reactions. In short, I still need peers and teachers to keep me stimulated and challenged. I have had little opportunity, or at least not taken advantage of opportunity, to pursue these conversations. As a result, almost all of my conversation on philosophy are with my students. The task there is to achieve basic comprehension and engage at a level of conversation where the student feels that their own inquiry (instead of my lecturing) is advancing their knowledge. If I am incorrect, sloppy, or vague on a subtle point, it is rare that I will be challenged, or even that it will matter as my students work to get a basic comprehension.
My trip to Eastern Michigan University reminded me of the pleasure, contentment, and intellectual stimulation that I receive from peers and teachers. I realized that a good portion of my mental activity had been dormant. Driving back to Chicago, I decided that a change was needed. But simply deciding that “I will be more stimulated” has not been sufficient in my life. This time, I decided to pursue as many free lectures as I could.
Lectures. When I was in undergrad at Bemidji State, I would frequently attend the free lectures that were provided by the University’s faculty every month, no matter the subject. It felt great to attend a lecture that was not required. I recall that I was probably happier at that time than at anytime since.
For some reason, living in Chicago, I have not been attending lectures. There are probably a lot of motivators for this. I was a little traumatized by graduate school, I think, although I was largely able to overcome that and teach community college classes. I also never felt at home at the University of Chicago, unlike Bemidji State University. I always felt like an impostor or outsider.
Probably out of a combination of desperation, enthusiasm from Michigan, and self-realization, I ran searches for philosophy lectures on the 4-year institutions in Chicago: University of Chicago, DuPaul, Loyola, University of Illinois-Chicago, and Northwestern. I found a few for this weekend and decided I ought to go. I attended three lectures in all:
1. Ironic existence in Socrates and Kierkegaard, by Johnathan Lear.
2. Roman Stoicism
3. The continuing archaeological research on the so-called “Fortification Tablets” from Persepolis (Iran) being conducted at the University of Chicago’s Oriental Institute.
They were all excellent, although the first was by far the best. The second was an excellent lecture, but it was aimed at the complete neophyte of ancient philosophy, and it was entirely descriptive. I picked up a few new things, and the lecturer was very talented and knowledgable. But it was not stimulating in the way that Lear’s was. The last one was a bit disappointing, mostly because I was more interested in what we knew about Persepolis, whereas the lecture was focused on the state of the research project itself, including political, legal, and technological concerns. The few historical pieces were interesting, though.
Anyway, it has been a great weekend. I usually spend my weekends resting and doing some casual grading and reading, feeling that I am too exhausted from the week to do anything intellectual. But I discovered and remembered an important pattern about how my mind works: when my intellectual curiosity is stimulated and compelled, it is not exhausting, but energizing. It makes me want to do more, not less.
And so this is the new plan: every weekend, I will seek lectures around town. On philosophical subjects when possible, on others when not. The lecture is great, because so long as I go through the relatively easy process of moving my body to the correct time and place, I will receive something, even if my mind is exhausted and depressed. In this case, it is better than a book, because if I am exhausted, I will easily put it aside and do something (or nothing) else.
After the lectures, I walked around campus for a bit (I am writing this from Reynolds Hall, in fact). And I noticed with fresh eyes how much is going on here. It is amazing how much I forgot about what goes on in this place. But most of the things I saw posted are not things that I would travel to Hyde Park for, although if I was in Hyde Park, and frequently inhabited the campus, I would attend them frequently. It got me back to thinking why I live where I do. My friends are on the north side. I have more access to music, movies, and people in general. I have had fun up there. My favorite bars are up there. But do I need them? These things bring me pleasure, but how much happiness does it induce? My friends certainly are necessary for my happiness, but I rarely see them more than once per week. And everything else I can live without. But can I live without lectures? I have, but perhaps having them will increase my happiness.
Hyde Park is a neighborhood that is all about academics. The number of bookstores, lectures, and people who are devoted to ideas is unmatched in Chicago, with the only rival being Northwestern in Evanston (and I am far more alien to Northwestern). I posted before that I would consider a move to Hyde Park when my current lease is up, and that I would need to make some trips down here to make a decision. Well, here I am, and I like what I see. Again, this is a big decision. It is still a very long way from my friends, and I would more or less be moving to a different city, although one where I could make visits about once a month without difficulty.
Anyhow, my current hypothesis is this:
Given the conditions of my mind, my interests and habits, attending more lectures is a powerful cause for an increase of my happiness, my mental stimulation, and progress toward my professional and personal goals.
Furthermore, given the relatively isolated location of Hyde Park in relation to the rest of Chicago, and its distance from my friends and favorite bars, living in Hyde Park would cause me to have an increased tendency to work on intellectual interests.
On the other hand, for the same reason, moving to Hyde Park may be the cause for a greater erosion of my social skills and social life. Habits that do not come easily to me may be eroded even further. I may become depressed and despondent.
To help test these hypotheses, I will spend much more time travelling to Hyde Park and spending days here, attending lectures and working in the library. I will keep track, through journaling, how I am feeling and how well I am thinking. Will I produce more written works than I have been doing? Will I read more books? Will I drink less? Will I feel more motivated to leave the apartment and engage in fulfilling activities? Will the quality of my conversations improve? I think inquiring into these questions will not provide a certain answer, but a topic like this one does not permit for certain answers: it only permits for approximations.
Natural Causes 