No concerns too large that Death cannot resolve.... It is the American `Labor Day' holiday just outside my window, a day that to 98% of all Americans means `time for one last frantic scramble for amusement and diversion before the Fall school term begins' and little else (despite the seriousness of applied study in today's cutthroat academic world). For us two-percenters, who still understand the need to honor labor and appreciate the vital means of production that labor represents, it is time for reflection. As the holiday hours pass, between reflective holiday moments I am gradually working my way through Simon Critchley's just released book, `The Book of Dead Philosophers'.
This Labor Day I have especial reason to be reflective, given the fact that the life of my favorite Siberian Husky male presently hangs in a fragile balance between life and death. I have been spending every possible moment with my `Raki', who has a mystery malady that has eluded all the veterinary diagnosticians in this area (including those of consultants at the nearby prestigious UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine). Last night I slept on the floor near him. Tonight I shall do the same thing. Raki cannot walk by himself, having been overcome by what seems to be a sort of neurological anomaly that defies acute understanding by the best vets in the business. The symptoms seem to be those of one of the tick-borne diseases (with seizures, confusion, disorientation, loss of the use of one forelimb, malaise, loss of appetite, and a wide range of strange effects), but they could also presage serotonin syndrome, a more subtle form of neuropathy, or possibly even a cerebral lesion of some sort. It doesn't help that Raki is also diabetic and has had other rather strange health problems in the course of his past 12 years. It also doesn't help that we have spent more than $15,000 on Raki this year alone, trying to understand the nature of his illness, or the fact that in his infinite Hollywood stage-acting wisdom, the Governor of California has just decided that the best means of punishing California's ineffectual legislators for failing to agree on a state 2008-2009 fiscal year budget is to cut all California State Civil Service salaries (moi) back to the Federal Minimum Wage ($6.55).
All of this helps a normally profoundly reflective tyro philosopher like myself not a whit, nor does it auger well for my splendid canine companion, Raki, whom I love dearly. It is likely that in the short span of three days, I shall have to make the painful decision of whether or not to send Raki across what is known euphemistically as `The Rainbow Bridge', keeping awareness of the quality of his remaining life foremost in my thoughts. It is not a happy time, given this fact, but perhaps it is a matter of the utmost timeliness that I happened to select author Critchley's book to read, whilst sitting up with my best friend in his final hours.
Critchley poses the question, only half in jest, "How have the renown philosophers of recorded human history regarded the ultimate, unavoidable end of their own existence?" It is a very interesting question in its own right, since as Critchley infers, the proper regard for life ought perhaps to be a preparation for and a coming to terms with the finity of human life as we individually know it. Fortunately (or perhaps not), Critchley makes it clear in his introduction that his intent is to make his researches as entertaining as possible, going on to exhibit a strong compulsion to heighten the hilarity of his focus on how philosophers have handled the subject of their own impending doom. Perhaps, given that objective, it is just what I need today as I regard the imminent death of a creature I love more than most people in my life.
The book is divided into sections, each dealing with a selection of philosophers drawn from various historical epochs (the Greeks, the Romans, the Asiatics, the Humanists, the Existentialists, etc.) and the information presented in most cases is both as mildly entertaining as it is informative, but it manages to be fulfilling and interesting throughout. It is certainly anything but a deadly serious romp through the eternally unanswered questions that philosophers have pondered since humankind first realized it was all too fleetingly mortal, and although Critchley disclaims any preference for Zen or Ch'an Buddist sentiment, there is a most palpable Zen-like disparagement of serious concern with death discernible throughout his book. Bravo for that, say I.
I obtained a copy of this book expecting far more than it offers, but I readily admit to being sometimes almost morbidly sincere in my own philosophic inquiries and for that reason it is perhaps a good and useful partial antidote to the bitter hemlock that my much-loved Raki may soon be forced to ingest. I would recommend it to anyone who has an interest in philosophy, but most especially to those who don't take life too seriously (as I do) and who understand that there's no sense in getting all caught up in the prospect of their own future demise long before that time presents itself. If the whole meaning of life is to be found in the journey, rather than in a speculative and highly conjecturable `Ultimate Reality of Faith' that for so many constitutes a `real' destination, this book is a great way to take some of the pressure off and synchronise with the present moment (which is all we really have anyway). It is a book that may be taken anywhere and enjoyed equally (e.g. in a Benedictine Monastery or a Serbian torture cell) and worth the price of admission. PS: It pairs up quite beautifully with Monty Python's `The Meaning of Life', for those who enjoy video as well as written media on philosophy.
Excuse me now. I must go back to my pet's side and memorise every lovely little doggie whisker on his furry Siberian face while there is still time. Be well, do right. Malama pono!
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