I'd say you broke my heart
But I'm just too literal minded
And I'm still here after all.
And most of what I know
Comes from listening to the radio
So what's a boy to do?
I do bad things to you,
But its ok, you like it.
I do bad things to you,
But its ok, if you like it.
It's all just noise without you,
But it'll make sense come the dawn
And I'd kill right now for a quiet life.
A cigarette in a darkened room,
Dream of a girl who speaks right good,,
So what's a boy to do?
I do bad things to you,
But its ok, you like it.
I do bad things to you,
But its ok, you like it,
Don't you?
Could this be the dream? Could we wake up soon?
A dream that seemed so real, like they always do.
Never wake me up, if there's a chance that this is true.
Never wake me up, oh what's a boy to do?
G, Em, D, D6
G, D, D6
Thursday 23 June 2011
Tuesday 14 June 2011
Dignity and Pride
This morning I watched a programme called Choosing To Die.
It is a documentary fronted by Terry Pratchett, a well-publicised supporter of assisted suicide, detailing the procedures and decisions faced by people who choose to end their own lives. Pratchett, a sufferer of Alzheimer's disease, has also long insisted that when the time comes that he can no longer be an author, and no longer communicate, that he wants to die.
There are a lot of issues that this programme touches upon. It is definitely worth seeing, although I would caution that it is by no means easy to watch. The matter that I find myself thinking about most for the moment, however, is the notion of "dignity".
The arguments for the legalisation of suicide often center upon the right to "die with dignity". When somebody is suffering from an incurable disease, and one that gradually eats away at the ability of the sufferer to live their life and that will ultimately prove fatal, it is argued that it should be a human right to be able to choose when to end that life without fear of prosecution for those who may have been involved in assisting that choice. It is an argument I wholeheartedly endorse; it is insane to believe that a loving wife or husband should face conviction for allowing the person they love most to die in the way that they want.
But something that worried me when watching the documentary is whether the matter at hand was truly one of dignity, or one of pride. And there is a deeply important difference.
Dignity, according to the OED, is "The quality of being worthy or honourable; worthiness, worth, nobleness, excellence." By comparison, pride is perhaps more complex. On the one hand it is defined as "A consciousness of what befits, is due to, or is worthy of oneself or one's position; self-respect; self-esteem, esp. of a legitimate or healthy kind or degree." But on the other hand it can also mean "A high, esp. an excessively high, opinion of one's own worth or importance which gives rise to a feeling or attitude of superiority over others; inordinate self-esteem."
One definition of pride is definitely more overtly positive than the other, but what is perhaps most marked is that both rely heavily on self-perception. It is about what is right for oneself, and one's own self opinion. This stands in contrast to dignity, which is a quality that presumably we can ascribe to others. We might say that someone has dignity, even if they are unaware of it. But to say that someone is proud implies a certain state of mind in those of whom we speak.
Watching the documentary, it seemed that those who had chosen to die had often done so because they could not face losing the life they know. They couldn't face living life as an invalid, with the knowledge that it would only get worse and more painful from thereon in. I don't at all want to undermine this decision. It is not one based purely on "pride" or "vanity". The prospect of losing the ability to live one's life as one chooses, and to a certain extent one's identity in the process, is a genuinely terrifying one, and the decision to die rather than face this prospect will never be one taken lightly, nor one that anyone involved will take lightly.
But it was apparent that the loved ones of the people choosing to die in this film were, understandably, conflicted. They wanted to support the person they loved, but they didn't want to lose them. I'm trying to imagine it from the other direction; how determined does one have to be to die in order to leave behind someone you love, knowing that they will be devastated? Perhaps you think that it is preferable to having those loved ones see you die slowly and painfully? I've always felt that, even at the worst of times, we have a responsibility towards those whom our death would impact upon. It is hard to tell where the responsibility we have to ourselves sits in relation to this when faced with the degenerative disease and the decision to take one's own life.
That seems to be a contributing factor in Pratchett's way of thinking about it; he claimed that his wife wants to be able to nurse him through his disease, but that he understands better than she does what is involved in Alzheimer's disease. But it that your decision to make? Maybe it is, but at the same time there seems to a certain degree to be an element of not wanting to be seen to lose control, to not let the ones you love see you gradually stop being yourself. This was most evident when Pratchett discussed his situation with a doctor.
One has to be in a sound state of mind to be able to consent to assisted suicide. The paradox of this is that one can only choose to kill oneself before before the stage of one's disease at which would rule this out, which is often the very stage that motivates one's decision. Pratchett would prefer to die than to know that he has lost himself to his disease, before he loses his words. But to choose to die he would need to still be in possession of himself, and his ability to communicate. To choose to die, he needs to decide to do so before he is ready to die. It is the fear of what will inevitably be lost that motivates the decision to die by assisted suicide, rather than the loss itself.
It is perhaps in this regard that I feel that pride enters in to it. Palliative care for those suffering from a fatal disease is designed to protect the dignity of the patient as much as is humanly possible. If this doesn't suffice, if the thought of being nursed through to one's end is too much to face, then I suspect that this is a deeply subjective issue far more to do with "consciousness of what befits, is due to, or is worthy of oneself" than it is to do with anything else. Not that this is entirely distinct from dignity. A sense of self-worth is inherent to dignity. But is it more valuable than life itself?
I don't know. I've never been faced with such a decision. Nor have I been the primary carer for anyone who has. Those members of my family that I have seen die a gradual death marked by mental and physical decline have all been loved and cared for deeply throughout this period. Even then, it has been painful to see it happen. So I think I can understand why someone would make that decision. But the line between the self-worth inherent to dignity and pride is at best a fuzzy one. One of the definite dangers associated with assisted suicide is which side of this line any given individual falls on.
According to the programme, 21% of the people who pass through Dignitas, the assisted suicide clinic in Switzerland, choose to do so simply because they have become "weary of life". I find it hard to imagine justifying this statistic, but then I don't know the details behind these cases. I also worry that, despite Dignitas being a non-profit organisation, their services are expensive are their finances reputedly lacking transparency.
Nothing in the programme has changed my mind in principle about assisted suicide. I still think that, faced with a gradual but inevitable and painful death, it should be the right of any individual to decide when and how they die. But it is impossible to deny that as it stands the system doesn't work. People shouldn't have to fly to Switzerland to die on an industrial estate. And I worry that by placing this responsibility solely and uniquely in the hands of one organisation we perhaps make it too easy to die, that it plays in to the grey area that exists between dignity and pride. And I'm not sure this in itself is dignified.
It is a documentary fronted by Terry Pratchett, a well-publicised supporter of assisted suicide, detailing the procedures and decisions faced by people who choose to end their own lives. Pratchett, a sufferer of Alzheimer's disease, has also long insisted that when the time comes that he can no longer be an author, and no longer communicate, that he wants to die.
There are a lot of issues that this programme touches upon. It is definitely worth seeing, although I would caution that it is by no means easy to watch. The matter that I find myself thinking about most for the moment, however, is the notion of "dignity".
The arguments for the legalisation of suicide often center upon the right to "die with dignity". When somebody is suffering from an incurable disease, and one that gradually eats away at the ability of the sufferer to live their life and that will ultimately prove fatal, it is argued that it should be a human right to be able to choose when to end that life without fear of prosecution for those who may have been involved in assisting that choice. It is an argument I wholeheartedly endorse; it is insane to believe that a loving wife or husband should face conviction for allowing the person they love most to die in the way that they want.
But something that worried me when watching the documentary is whether the matter at hand was truly one of dignity, or one of pride. And there is a deeply important difference.
Dignity, according to the OED, is "The quality of being worthy or honourable; worthiness, worth, nobleness, excellence." By comparison, pride is perhaps more complex. On the one hand it is defined as "A consciousness of what befits, is due to, or is worthy of oneself or one's position; self-respect; self-esteem, esp. of a legitimate or healthy kind or degree." But on the other hand it can also mean "A high, esp. an excessively high, opinion of one's own worth or importance which gives rise to a feeling or attitude of superiority over others; inordinate self-esteem."
One definition of pride is definitely more overtly positive than the other, but what is perhaps most marked is that both rely heavily on self-perception. It is about what is right for oneself, and one's own self opinion. This stands in contrast to dignity, which is a quality that presumably we can ascribe to others. We might say that someone has dignity, even if they are unaware of it. But to say that someone is proud implies a certain state of mind in those of whom we speak.
Watching the documentary, it seemed that those who had chosen to die had often done so because they could not face losing the life they know. They couldn't face living life as an invalid, with the knowledge that it would only get worse and more painful from thereon in. I don't at all want to undermine this decision. It is not one based purely on "pride" or "vanity". The prospect of losing the ability to live one's life as one chooses, and to a certain extent one's identity in the process, is a genuinely terrifying one, and the decision to die rather than face this prospect will never be one taken lightly, nor one that anyone involved will take lightly.
But it was apparent that the loved ones of the people choosing to die in this film were, understandably, conflicted. They wanted to support the person they loved, but they didn't want to lose them. I'm trying to imagine it from the other direction; how determined does one have to be to die in order to leave behind someone you love, knowing that they will be devastated? Perhaps you think that it is preferable to having those loved ones see you die slowly and painfully? I've always felt that, even at the worst of times, we have a responsibility towards those whom our death would impact upon. It is hard to tell where the responsibility we have to ourselves sits in relation to this when faced with the degenerative disease and the decision to take one's own life.
That seems to be a contributing factor in Pratchett's way of thinking about it; he claimed that his wife wants to be able to nurse him through his disease, but that he understands better than she does what is involved in Alzheimer's disease. But it that your decision to make? Maybe it is, but at the same time there seems to a certain degree to be an element of not wanting to be seen to lose control, to not let the ones you love see you gradually stop being yourself. This was most evident when Pratchett discussed his situation with a doctor.
One has to be in a sound state of mind to be able to consent to assisted suicide. The paradox of this is that one can only choose to kill oneself before before the stage of one's disease at which would rule this out, which is often the very stage that motivates one's decision. Pratchett would prefer to die than to know that he has lost himself to his disease, before he loses his words. But to choose to die he would need to still be in possession of himself, and his ability to communicate. To choose to die, he needs to decide to do so before he is ready to die. It is the fear of what will inevitably be lost that motivates the decision to die by assisted suicide, rather than the loss itself.
It is perhaps in this regard that I feel that pride enters in to it. Palliative care for those suffering from a fatal disease is designed to protect the dignity of the patient as much as is humanly possible. If this doesn't suffice, if the thought of being nursed through to one's end is too much to face, then I suspect that this is a deeply subjective issue far more to do with "consciousness of what befits, is due to, or is worthy of oneself" than it is to do with anything else. Not that this is entirely distinct from dignity. A sense of self-worth is inherent to dignity. But is it more valuable than life itself?
I don't know. I've never been faced with such a decision. Nor have I been the primary carer for anyone who has. Those members of my family that I have seen die a gradual death marked by mental and physical decline have all been loved and cared for deeply throughout this period. Even then, it has been painful to see it happen. So I think I can understand why someone would make that decision. But the line between the self-worth inherent to dignity and pride is at best a fuzzy one. One of the definite dangers associated with assisted suicide is which side of this line any given individual falls on.
According to the programme, 21% of the people who pass through Dignitas, the assisted suicide clinic in Switzerland, choose to do so simply because they have become "weary of life". I find it hard to imagine justifying this statistic, but then I don't know the details behind these cases. I also worry that, despite Dignitas being a non-profit organisation, their services are expensive are their finances reputedly lacking transparency.
Nothing in the programme has changed my mind in principle about assisted suicide. I still think that, faced with a gradual but inevitable and painful death, it should be the right of any individual to decide when and how they die. But it is impossible to deny that as it stands the system doesn't work. People shouldn't have to fly to Switzerland to die on an industrial estate. And I worry that by placing this responsibility solely and uniquely in the hands of one organisation we perhaps make it too easy to die, that it plays in to the grey area that exists between dignity and pride. And I'm not sure this in itself is dignified.
Following up...
I am nothing if not consistent. But given my tendency to whine on this blog, I am going to attempt to be positive about the matters I have brought up on here in the last month or so:
Work: Still disenchanted, to say the least. Still tired and stressed. But I'm going to try and give teaching a go. It'll be an experience if nothing else. Experiences are good, yes? And I'm trying to learn to relax more. I don't get anything done anyway if I'm tearing my hair out about university stuff, so it makes more sense to take care of myself first, and hope that trickles down into my work.
Love: Ok, positivity might be difficult here. Am still convinced I am probably better off alone. Although it is not as if I have been making a lot of effort to disprove that hypothesis. I have friends though. I don't appreciate them as much as I should do, probably. Need to concentrate on that.
Future: Still have no idea what I'm going to do with my life. But I'm fairly sure that is not a bad thing. Sure, there'll be struggle and uncertainty. But I think that might not be an entirely bad thing.
Work: Still disenchanted, to say the least. Still tired and stressed. But I'm going to try and give teaching a go. It'll be an experience if nothing else. Experiences are good, yes? And I'm trying to learn to relax more. I don't get anything done anyway if I'm tearing my hair out about university stuff, so it makes more sense to take care of myself first, and hope that trickles down into my work.
Love: Ok, positivity might be difficult here. Am still convinced I am probably better off alone. Although it is not as if I have been making a lot of effort to disprove that hypothesis. I have friends though. I don't appreciate them as much as I should do, probably. Need to concentrate on that.
Future: Still have no idea what I'm going to do with my life. But I'm fairly sure that is not a bad thing. Sure, there'll be struggle and uncertainty. But I think that might not be an entirely bad thing.
Wednesday 1 June 2011
Not A Philosopher
Or I feel less and less like one, anyway. And am really starting to question the role philosophy has to play in my life.
Before I go any further, I should preface this by noting that I am aware that this is largely the angst of a sheltered and privileged middle class white kid. I am in relatively decent health. As far as I know, none of the handful of people I really care about are at risk of dying imminently. I have a roof over my head and food and water. There are people with much bigger problems than me. But, over the last few weeks, thinking about university, work and the world of academia has been causing me to suffer panic attacks with alarming regularity, so I at least need to vent a little. So please forgive me.
I had my annual review meeting today. The point which provoked particular anxiety for me was the question about opportunities for teaching experience. Thus far, I haven't done any teaching. Which is fine with me. But if I am even vaguely considering a life in academia I need to do some soon.
The question remains then, am I considering a life in academia? Right now, the answer would have to be no. I don't want to be involved in university life any more. I don't want to be involved in education. I don't particularly want anything to do with philosophy.
Why, then, am I doing a philosophy PhD? Until about six months ago, the answer would have unreservedly been that philosophy is something I care deeply about and I have been given an amazing opportunity. And that is still the answer I give if questioned. But more and more of late the answer I should have been giving is that I have put a huge amount of time and effort in to it so far, and I am far too stubborn to let that go to waste.
It's not that I don't still care about philosophy. I found myself reading Levinas the other week and the intelligence and beauty of his thought and writing truly moved me. But that simply highlighted to me how little I feel an affinity for what I am doing at the moment. I can't see why it would matter. I'm not even sure to what extent I believe what I am arguing.
It's not even that I can't see myself having a career as a "philosopher". Just simply that I cannot possibly take that path right now. I need time away from that life. I've been in full time education for two decades now. There is no way I could possibly go from that to teaching philosophy as a profession. I need a few years to myself first. To try other things. To see a few parts of life which don't involve educational establishments, even if that is likely to be painful, unsatisfying and boring. Who knows, it might even not be.
The problem is that if I have any intention of working in academia at any point, I need to get things right now. I need to try publishing stuff at some point. But, more importantly, I need to get some experience teaching and I don't think I am likely to get that opportunity once I am done at UEA. But I really don't want to. I don't care enough about teaching to do it properly. I don't feel like I can spare the time or effort. I don't think I would be a good teacher. I don't think I would enjoy teaching, or the responsibility involved. More than anything, I suspect that it would be unfair on those who theoretically would be getting taught by me. I'm aware that having a disillusioned fool overseeing first year seminars is unlikely to ruin too many lives, but it still seems stupid to put myself in that position if it isn't necessary.
But I need to decide. Pretty much now. I either put myself forward and take on a responsibility that I don't want, risking my ability to work properly and my sanity in the process. Or I don't and risk shutting off that particular avenue in my life. Which right now feels like it would be a weight off my shoulders, but I suspect that in the long run I would consider a mistake.
I'm aware that this is the kind of thing I should have bought up during my review meeting. But I'm not good at talking about things like this. The words and thoughts are too heavy. They got caught up, trip over one another and stop making sense when I try to articulate them. They need writing down. Maybe that is what I need to do; put myself forward tentatively, but mention my reservations. But it doesn't exactly feel as though that is how these things should be done. It feels like I should be making this decision myself. I'll have to at some point.
But I don't know. This evening I am simply going to sit and eat jaffa cakes whilst listening to Joni Mitchell. Tomorrow I will take it easy, rewatching Russian Ark to decide what place, if any, it has in my thesis. And then on Friday I will decide whether to send an e-mail. I may regret sending it, I may regret not sending it. I'll let you know for sure in thirty years, I suppose.
In the meantime, advice would be appreciated. Or simply thoughts on the matter. Or furious castigation telling me to get over myself and get a sense of perspective. Anything would be better than nothing, if you've taken the time to read this far anyway. Thanks.
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