Levinas’s philosophy is clearly governed by a deep-seated pacifism. In fact, it is one of Levinas’s central contentions that Western philosophy is wedded to a counter-ethical process of conflict. It is this radical idea that underpins Levinas’s first magnum opus, Totality and Infinity (1961).
This treatise opens with a discussion of war – an all-encompassing, as well as literal term for conflict. Levinas states that it is the Western preoccupation with the truth that generates this conflict. In short, if one is able to apprehend the truth, one is essentially self-sufficient or “total”.
For Levinas, this reassuring sense of totality is disastrous for it harbours an underlying antagonism towards others who are liable to challenge one’s authority.
Levinas traces this conception of totality back to the teachings of Socrates and Plato. According to classical authority, the self is literally self-contained – it is able to contain the truth. For Levinas, this spirit of autonomy was perpetuated in the work of philosophers as diverse as Plotinus, Bishop Berkeley and Hegel. In addition, Levinas also detected a return to this spirit of self-sufficiency in the phenomenological work of his former tutors, Husserl and Heidegger.
In an attempt to evade this tide of thought, Levinas turned his attention to the constitution of subjectivity. For Levinas, far from being self-sufficient or total, the self can only exist through reference to the non-self. In short, self-knowledge presupposes the existence of a power infinitely greater than oneself. Echoing the famous Cartesian cosmological argument, Levinas thus suggests that the subject is indebted to the idea of infinity. In direct opposition to contemporary continental thought, Levinas thus reinstates the subject – a subject that encounters itself through the mediation of an-Other. According to Levinas’s intricate argument, such an encounter precedes the disastrous desire for truth.
Crucially, Levinas argues that the encounter between the self and the Other is always passive. In slightly different terms, one welcomes the Other as the measure of one’s own being. It would seem to follow that one’s subjectivity depends upon a non-aggressive or non-violent interface. Given its passive nature, Levinas concludes that this interface is a proto-ethical moment that precedes all other ethical discourse. In this way Levinas undercuts traditional ethical debate.
Today, Levinas’s ethical thought is frequently discussed in relation to diverse academic fields beyond the traditional boundaries of philosophy. Disparate fields such as sociology, literary theory, historiography and anthropology have all benefited from the priority Levinas accorded to “the Other”. This ubiquity stands as testimony to both Levinas’s profundity and growing contemporary relevance.
At the time of writing, Lawrence R Harvey was teaching and completing his doctoral thesis on Levinas and the ethics of representation.
He wanted some companion during the night but nobody was able to be with him.
I’m sure that some of us have had a similar experience.
So would a helper have said to Jesus
Why don’t you listen to some music
I know the radio has not been invented yet but you are God…. So make yourself a radio and listen to music
Why don’t you turn your mind away from fear of death
I’m thinking about signing up for an art class,myself.
I know that Jews can’t worship images but there’s no harm in making some images was paint or pastels.
It might lift your mood..
Now Jesus, have you drunk enough water today? Have you had a proper meal?
(Well they had the last supper I believe.)
Don’t you think we should all go home and go to bed and have a good rest and forget about this event that’s going to happen?
Now Jesus what you need is a good holiday.
You know it’s not so far to Cyprus and it would be a break from living in this occupied territory.
The Romans have a lot to answer for.
And would Jesus have lost his temper and called out to the disciples
Satan get thee hence.
Then somebody will just say, if you feel bad at three o’clock in the morning it’s often a sign of depression and I believe there are some new antidepressants on the market now.
Why don’t you see the doctor tomorrow and ask him can you have a free sample because there is no NHS in the holy land.
And that’s why Jesus stayed in the Garden of Gethsemane by himself because he did not like what his followers were saying to him.
And it was all because they didn’t want to actually know how he was feeling: that he was sweating blood that he was afraid that he was terrified but he was going to continue on the path that he believed God had set him on.
And after all he was the son of God. So he believed and there is some evidence to favour that view.
Doctor,doctor,I;m worried about my coughin’. What about your coffin? Well,it’s keeping me awake at night. Why,are you sleeping in it I have only one place to sleep. If you are tired you can sleep anywhere! is that legal? Of course, it is. Well, can I sleep in the Queen’s bed? In theory,yes… but you might frighten the horses. Why, do they sleep with her?She must have a big bed. Don’t be so ridiculous… Well, she has loads of money; she, could have a bed made for her. She has a bed maid for her Do you mean someone makes her bed every day? well,don’t you make yours every day? No,I bought one in a bed store and it’s well built. But do you change the sheets daily? No,i never use paper I write letters on my chromebook. Which letters? Any letters at all,except French ones. but they use our alphabet. it’s not ours. Whose is it? Possibly the Romans.Tantrum ergo! They are all long gone into their coffins.Uno,duo tres,quattore…,decem,duodecem,duagessin’.. I knew coughin’ was very dangerous I think your grammar is bed. What a posh excent you have It’s all I have left of the old palace. Well, never mind you can share my coffin if you like. But is there a bed in it? Just a bed bug as yet… I blame the CIA.. who do you blame? I blame God and he blames us so it’s pretty much a stalemate. We need the Messiah….. Not again,we’ve not got over the last one yet… You make him sound like a hurdle… Well,it’s one way of looking at it all.. a big hurdle. It’s all this talkin’ keeps me awake at night… At least it stops you coughin’
Doctor,doctor,the coughin’s keeping me up all night again For goodness sake put the lid on it.
I have studied and I’ve got my last degree
My heart has learned its lessons one by one.
I’m a graduate of the grief academy
I didn’t know how painful it would be
When the man you love and cherish has then gone
I’ve been studied and I got the third degree
The tears I wept could wash out the Dead Sea
Remove the salt and scour the shore till done
I’m a graduate of the grief academy
I know now I must die,we cannot flee
We turn to dust and that is not much fun
I have studied and I’ve got my last degree
Ii is not real News, not for the BBC.
Unless you’re Stephen Hawkings, that great man
We’re graduates of the grief academy
We can’t control life with a self made plan
God is gone though prayer might well begin
I have suffered till I got a new degree
I’m a graduate of the grief academy
Wasting life when we would like to dance Walk in ferny woods. exchange a glance Can we have a decent person at our head? Jesus Christ,no b*gger understood
Why be happy when you could feel mad? Glad that Donald Trump is not your dad Don’t let logic, reason or plain thought Sell you something Mother never bought
Why not let the police take all control? They know how to score a self made goal They can kill a man and wound a child Yet kneel down in Church along the aisle
Holding a black Bible in one hand
Will not take you to the Promised Land Cain and Abel,Jacob and Esau Does he hope to start another War?
As the old man fell towards his death They offered us a handrail for the bath
Shattered by their honest,wilful lies I could not speak, my saliva had all dried
He was walking albeit slowly when at home When they took him off I heard the groan Lost inside his head, no wife nearby Even Satan would have wept that night
Gabriel and Satan, hand- in -hand Neither one will ever understand We humans waste so much,we’re almost blind Full of envy,hate and so unkind
The earth is where I want to be. I want the day,I want the night. I want the dark.I want the light. I want to see and to be seen,~ And not to lose my precious dreams
The sun has set, grey clouds turn black,
The day just gone will not come back.
I’ll rest in quiet reverie
Until the reaper’s scythe takes me. And then I drop and mix with dust, Till worms and beetles sate their lust. And fall into ten thousand motes, And dance, in sunlight, music’s notes.
No more striving ,no more ambition
No more fighting,no competition.
Every particle’s the same
Without even a unique name. And, side by side, we all are one, The lusts of life have been and gone. We dwell with dirt and grain and sand At last we’ve reached the Promised Land
Grief and fear can feel similar because they both involve a sense of danger, uncertainty, and disorientation. When grieving, you might feel like you’re in uncharted territory with no direction, similar to how fear can feel when facing an unknown threat. Both emotions can also cause physical sensations like a fluttering stomach, restlessness, and difficulty breathing.
Here’s a more detailed look at why grief can feel like fear
Several videos about borderline personality disorder suggest symptoms that are everyday experiences – such as feeling anxiety when people change plans, experiencing mood swings, a fear of abandonment and mirroring people’s behaviour to be liked.
This is interesting but I don’t think she is right because many years ago I had a friend who had just done a degree in a modern language art Oxford and she had a breakdown and spent a whole year in a psychiatric unit but she told me that she was cured over depression after reading a book called born to win by Muriel James and someone else.
But also there’s something odd about buying hundreds of self-help books. If you read several and they don’t help you then it’s pretty plain that the rest are not going to help you either.
It’s terrible going through severe emotional suffering so anything that helps at all is very useful. But like bereavement these things have to be suffered and borne until they go away of their own accord
But like bereavement emotional traumas never go away but you learn how to live with them.
It’s like a journey through a horrible place that you just have to keep going on until you get through.
My friend called and asked for hot tea. I said,dearest it’s alright by me. You ought to drink brandy In gin mixed with shandy… but unethical tea is quite free
I like to know people’s desires.. Some like to collect copper wires; some collect wool and others tease bulls… I soon will try playing with fire
Did you know that nude shoes are the fashion Kate Middleton wears them with passion but the Times says, go flat. Your shoes not your hat. A ball gown and trainers looks dashin’
Catholics must not enjoy sex… Whatever will the Pope think of next? Recreation with balls, is not for us all.. I so do feel angry and vexed
St Augustine thought babies had sinned As they came out of the vagina not in. They might never know but it’s wicked even so….. A pity they are not sent out in a tin.
God can’t make any tinned goods. Like leopards cannot chew the cud. Ravines don’t rave Nor canyons’s behave…. and hearth stones will never give blood
When I looked to the list of my Gmail accounts I thought someone had hacked me because there was a name at the bottom of the list which I did not recognise.
I felt rather nervous about this wondering what to do
On further study I discovered that it said Choose another account
but in Indonesian so it looked like a person’s name
Why it was Indonesian I do not know although I have another blog on blogger which is read a lot by somebody in Indonesia.
It proves that if you can it’s better to try to find out about what’s worrying you rather than trying to forget about it and there was relieved to discover the meaning of this phrase
I’m sorry it is so long since I’ve written but I couldn’t find any ink to put in my pen
Then when I found some quink I couldn’t unscrew the top. I stood it in some very hot water upside down for half an hour and now I have one is to open it
Why am I so out of date as to write with a pen?
To me it’s rather like drawing and I also used to love looking at handwriting on envelopes when I got birthday cards or letters etc because every person’s handwriting is unique m
At the moment I’m looking through the window at an elderberry tree. I believe that there is a bird nesting in it and I’m hoping to see it flying in and out but so far I have had no success except that it’s very nice just looking at it all the time through this French window
The beautiful big flowers have a lovely perfume though I’ve never seen it in a shop or pharmacy.
Mysteriously my neighbours tcats that used to frequent my patio have disappeared. Perhaos staying indoors because of the heat?
They are very large with thick coats
My great niecw is only one year old and she’s already able to run
To think that she is running where others crawl it makes me wonder what she will become in adult life? Perhaps it’s dangerous to be so different from the norm.
Yesterday I was having trouble with my front door as the bolt on one side seemed to be very stiff
I have discovered the truth of the maxim
Two heads are better than one
Last night I couldn’t think what to do until I rang my friend and she didn’t know what to do but just a very fact that she was there made me feel more confident that I managed to do what was necessary and then today it was the other way round when she was trying to bolt the door and she couldn’t do it until I went stood next to her
It adds to my belief that it’s not natural for us to be alone all the time or even a lot of the time but if you’re in a good mood and relaxed it’s very nice to sit looking through the window at the garden in tll full bloom with the sun shining or even to sit outside and eat one’s meal in the fresh air.
We’ve already had quite a lot of hot weather this year I hope you were experiencing the same in Ireland.
Of course when you’re working full-time and sharing your home with someone then being alone can seem a luxury that’s hard for you to achieve but equally the other way alround one might long to have another person here who loves you or at least cares about you or is it interested in you in some way.
There is another saying which is
A problem shared is a problem halved
And although I don’t believe in vomiting out all our life story or problems onto anyone nearby it certainly true that talking to someone who listens (not as common as you might imagine) yes indeed sharing a problem can put it into I absolutely sure about is that if someone especially one of your children or young relatives confides in you you should never tell your friends what they have said. If they find out which is very painful that the secret itself shared with you is now going around the gossip in your street or in your family
Well I’m afraid this letter is not very exciting but I’m hopeful when my health improves I will get more energy to write something more interesting as even when you’re restricted to a small part of the world there are a lot of things that you can observe and participate in.
Mary was sweeping the floor with her new Shark cordless electric carpet sweeper just replaced by Lakeland Plastics, that store beloved of British women.Emile was watching her from the lid of the old gramophone where he sat surveying the sitting room.
Leave that spider alone,he called to Mary
Why? she asked kindly,are you planning a date with it?
No,it’s a good thing to keep them as they may catch flies and other nasty things.
Mary turned and gazed at Emile.She was wearing some blue Tencel jeans and a bright pink top with embroidery round the neck.Her thoughtful face w as covered in Radiant Glow foundation as her friend Annie was trying to make her look more attractive to men.Which men was a puzzle as Mary liked to spend time alone or going out with her female colleagues to search for books on Dirac’s owl,Schrodinger’s cat or Godel’s ants.
Her male colleagues were mainly very conceited or shyer than rabbits brought up in the cliffs at Lyme Regis.
However Annie wanted Mary to marry again, as she saw her own vocation in life as being a mistress to a bright and intelligent retired man whose wife worked full time or was in the Library studying the Babylonian number system or other esoteric topics
.So she could help Mary and herself at the same time.
Shall we have a party,she chuckled to Mary as she came in through the ever unlocked back door.
What sort of party,Mary asked nervously.
I want you to meet some men,Annie reminded her.
I believe that like bombs falling on London in WW2,that if a man has your number on him he will find you,Mary teased.
Maybe your phone number,Annie retorted.Why don’t you get a spare mobile and I can put some posters with that number on the trees down the side roads saying you are looking for a new partner.
I thought I had made it clear that as some Orthodox Jews believe that Zion will only come when God wants it to do,so a man will turn up when it is God’s will.
That’s a bit much.Do you think you are God’s chosen person? Is God interested in finding you a new husband? Annie shouted.
Well,it may seem strange to you ,but even seeming trivia like me being married to some new man can have deep consequences for the whole world… a bit like the butterfly’s wings If I am happy it spreads around me and makes others happier too.Or if God wishes me to write a book and I need a man to cook for me then one will turn up,Mary responded in her low and musical Tyneside accent.
On the other hand, God may wish me to lead a contemplative life,she carried on.
Annie was puzzled.Why do you think God has all these plans for you,she enquired.
It’s not just me,said Mary.It’s everybody but that does lead into difficulties as we look at the world around us.Does God want all. these refugees to drown or for Britain to stay in the EU or leave and please Florenc Tonson? It reminded the women of their convent school classes where they had studied a simplified version of the writings of Aquinas and his proofs of the existence of God.
It was this book which had given Mary her first doubts about religion and, being somewhat dim in the tact department. she had shared her misgivings with the headmistress, who was not happy to be questioned even in front of mere school girls.
Emile,she cried,I wish I were a cat.My schooldays were so terrible
It’s your own fault, said Annie.I just pretended to believe it and kept quiet by fantasising about my new lingerie and how my boyfriend would like it
How remarkable it is that girls and boys can be so different in their personalities and ways of coping with puberty.
It was like a prison,Mary said.Still it made later life seem happier.
How did you afford new underwear so often,she asked Annie
I wore my mother’s! this dear friend informed her.
My mother didn’t have that sort of underwear,Mary told her.And see how something seemingly so trivial can affect one’s personal development so much.Still I was fed and allowed to study and play the piano and do my homework to the sound of Horace Wagner and Richard Straussbumt.
Did it help you to concentrate,Annie asked in a puzzled way.
No, it allowed my brother to dominate me and otherwise he might have hit me or knocked over the folding table where I kept my exercise books ,and pen ready to write essays on Twelfth Night and the periodic table.
Annie burst out laughing.Sorry,Mary,I am not laughing because you were bullied but it just sounded as if tables had periods,the way you said it.
Imagine how hard it was dealing with all that in a tiny house with the loo in the back yard.It was taboo so had to be concealed.When we went to Dublin for 2 weeks my three sisters and I all had our periods and we brought back all the blood stained cloths in our suitcases.Luckily the customs man did not look inside.
Was there nobody who could have burned them for you?
The landlady never mentioned it so neither did we.
No wonder I am so peculiar.
Well,I like you,said Annie.You are so kind and sympathetic and good to talk to.And you are always coming up with new ideas and interesting books.
I suppose we complement each other.Mary said shyly.Maybe we should get married and forget about men.
Annie’s eyes opened wide.
I think I’d better ring 999.she screamed.
And so say all of u
When Mary got home,she took off her coat and put the kettle on the fire!
She got the tea caddy out and put some tea into the pot.Suddenly the door burst open and Annie her exuberant neighbour fell into the kitchen like a teenager Are you ok,Mary asked her gently.
Those 4 inch heels are rather dangerous.
Annie was wearing a sky blue track suit,red stilettos and a big green pashmina. Her make up had melted all down her face as she was so warm with running
She had some waterproof make up but had the feeling it might be dangerous to clog the pores.
Where have you been?she asked curiously.You were ages.
I forgot to get off the bus as I fell into a reverie,Mary told her
That sounds like a black hole!Annie cried
I was daydreaming so I ended up by the river and a policeman asked me for a date,sort of.
Did you have any dates with you?
No,I only had Stan in my bag,alas.
Where is he?Have you put him into the wardrobe?
It’s already full.He’s still in the bag at the moment.
The two women fell into a sad mutual silence realising Stan would never now teach Emile to swim in the bath nor return his overdue library books.
Am I liable for his fines,Mary wondered.
I can pay if you like,Annie,said generously.She got out some home made biscuits and gave one to Mary who was wearing a long black dress from Lands End which resembled a defunct nun’s habit.
Are you thinking of retiring to the cloister soon ,she continued.
No,I don’t believe in Christianity any more.Christ.yes,Christianity ,no.
What about Xmas?Will you celebrate?
I shall pray and do out the kitchen cupboards.
Are they that bad,asked Annie curiously, twiddling a ringlet with her fingers.
Possibly,Mary giggled!They didn’t teach domestic science at Oxford!
And Mother was always busy cooking and cleaning the grate after she got home from work.
Talking about grates,I’d better look at the kettle.She lifted it off the fire and held it up in the air.It was very black on one side,just like the one Mary’s mother had had so many years ago.
Why don’t I make some tea,she asked.
I don’t know,said Annie.Is this the Xmas quiz?
No,you don’t understand.It’s a rhetorical question.
Oh,do stop showing off,Annie told her.I only went to Knittingham Polytechnic and we never did Greek,just Aramaic.I have forgotten it now.
Mary poured out the tea into two pint sized mugs and the women sat silently warming their hands on the mugs and meditating on the wilful backwardness of the local poly which now only taught Latin,Hebrew and chemical engineering.The latter was an error as the professors thought that was what Wittgenstein had studied before finding Bertrand Russell more attractive. How to be more precise it was Russell’s ideas that he found attractive to start with until he saw the errors Russell had made
Russell’s paradox had haunted Annie ever since those happy student days.
Though she would have preferred Russell to his paradox if she had been given the choice.
Inside my mind I dream of pearls, Caterpillars,snails with whorls. I dream contented, all enwrapped; With reverie and dream I’m lapped. The inner seas will comfort me, While gods open my eyes to see
Oh,sweeter than confectionery Is my Oxford diction’ry. The words whirl round then fall to shape The sentences which my world make. This furnishing is rich and strange And magically self arranged.
Oh,sweeter than the love of man Is reading works of poets long gone; Feeling deeply their dark tides . Upon which our boat may glide. The sea infinite we float upon Is the same warm sea the ancients swam..
Sweeter still is the spring air And the blossom spreading fair. We’ll drown our selves in grassy fields To the gods of poetry yield. We’ll rise again and spring up tall To grow more rich until we fall
And yet so much of our communication today is defined by a rather ungenerous unwillingness to listen coupled with a compulsion to speak.
“Words,” Ursula K. Le Guin wrote in her abiding meditation on the magic of real human communication, “transform both speaker and hearer; they feed energy back and forth and amplify it. They feed understanding or emotion back and forth and amplify it.” But what happens in a cultural ecosystem where the hearer has gone extinct and the speaker gone rampant? Where do transformation and understanding go? What made, for instance, James Baldwin and Margaret Mead’s superb 1970 dialogue about race and identity so powerful and so enduringly insightful is precisely the fact that it was a dialogue — not the ping-pong of opinions and co-reactivity that passes for dialogue today, but a commitment to mutual contemplation of viewpoints and considered response. That commitment is the reason why they were able to address questions we continue to confront with tenfold more depth and nuance than we are capable of today. And the dearth of this commitment in our present culture is the reason why we continue to find ourselves sundered by confrontation and paralyzed by the divisiveness of “us vs. them” narratives. “To bother to engage with problematic culture, and problematic people within that culture, is an act of love,” wrote the poet Elizabeth Alexander in contemplating power and possibility. Krista Tippett calls such engagement generous listening. And yet so much of our communication today is defined by a rather ungenerous unwillingness to listen coupled with a compulsion to speak.
Stan was sweeping the garden path.He had a stiff broom with a small head that was useful for cleaning the edges of the steps.Emile, his beautiful cat was sitting in the old apple tree gazing down on Stan.
“Is it time for coffee yet,”Stan asked himself.He had forgotten to put on his watch.
Suddenly he heard a shriek.He peered through a hole in the fence.His neighbour Annie was lying on her back in some mud.
“Hang on,I’ll come round!” he called.
There was a gate in the old fence which was rarely locked
since Annie loved to drop in on Stan.
“Oh,Annie,how are you feeling?” he asked her anxiously.
“Bloody annoyed.I’ve only just bought these,”Not your daughter’s jeans” and now I’ve torn them,” she replied politely.
“But you don’t have a daughter!” he informed her loudly.
“I know that.It’s just they are better cut for the mature figure.”
“Your figure is not mature.You are quite slender.my dear,” he murmured lovingly.
“Well,I never feel happy with it!” she said mutinously.
“Whereas I am very happy feeling it,” he responded romantically. Tears came into her green eyes lined with purple eye shadow.Alas,it was not waterproof and purple rivulets ran down her cheeks across the peach blusher with which she had valiantly decorated herself earlier.
“Can you get up?” he asked tenderly.
“Yes, but it would be nice if you picked me up.”
He leaned over her and licked the purple streams of tears off her cheeks.
“I hope it’s not poisonous,” she murmured.
Then with the aid of Emile,he lifted her to her feet and helped her into her large trendy kitchen.
The kettle switched itself on as they entered and a robotic voice asked if they’d like coffee.
“God in heaven,what the hell is that?” he cried confusedly.
“It’s my new computerised hot drink maker.After that fall I think a double espresso would be good.”
Emile ran in and asked for coffee too.
“Emile,you usually have milk,”Stan reminded him softly.
“Well,coffee is a new taste for me but I like a little.”
the cat whispered sweetly.
“I’ll give you some of mine in a saucer,” Stan replied.
Emile began to sob.
“Why Emile,whatever is wrong?”
“I want a cup and saucer just like you” the cat howled.
But you have no hands,Emile,” Stan reminded him. The poor cat was crying loudly now.So Stan rang 999.
“Can you please send the emergency ambulance round.the cat’s crying and all his hankies are in the wash.”#
Soon Dave,the transvestite paramedic appeared.
“I love your light teal kitchen,” he informed Annie,
“And your eyes look like two deep pools in a coal mine.”
She slapped his cheek naughtily.
“Have a look at Emile” she ordered him sweetly.
He turned to the cat who was sitting on the dark pine table.
“Here,Emile,I got you some Kleenex for Cats in Sainsburys.” he said gaily.
“I want a real hanky,”cried Emile.Dave took a clean hanky from his own pocket and dried the cats tears.
“What made you cry.Are you feeling bad.”
“Yes,I want to go to Cafe Nero,” Emile mioawed.
“Who told you about that?”
“Another cat down the road has been and he said it’s lovely for people watching.”
“The town is not safe for cats like you,Emile.”
Dave urbanely replied,
“But when summer come I’ll take you to the out of town Marks and Spencers.They have a cat’s coffee corner upstairs.”
“Wow,isn’t it amazing,”Stan wondered out loud.
So Dave poured out the coffee and they all sat down and discussed Ray Monk’s Life of Wittgenstein.
Ray has discovered that Wittgenstein liked cats but as he moved around quite a bit,he never owned his own cat
though Elizabeth Anscombe let him play with her three cats now and then.
We may all be different but most of us value the love of a good cat.Even boiling their hankies and ironing them is very nice.We all have this problem though.
Where can a cat carry his own hanky?
Do cats need shoulder bags?
What would Wittgenstein say?
