| Visual Philosophy |
Most philosophy concerns
words and meanings, arguments and debates. But wisdom is also a matter
of perception and intuition. Images can convey what words cannot.
Here are my reflections on a particular image. Please feel free to
e-mail me your own, and I will include them (provided they are
reasonably brief!).
New images are included each
month. Scroll down for this year's images, or for previous years, just
click the links on the left.
December
Another year draws towards its end;
a time for looking back, reflecting on the way our plans worked out. And that's
why I am often drawn to ruins, for they symbolise dreams that have passed into
history, hopes that may have been realised for some time but are now discarded.
What were they doing when they built this place, in a remote part of Derbyshire?
How was life for them then? What changed? Will the place ever be revived as a
human habitation? Continuing our November theme, all things are subject to
change - first universal truth as set out by the Buddha - not a fact to be
evaded, but embraced. We need to hope and to plan, for otherwise we might well
sink into lethargy, but all plans are, and must always be, temporary ways or
orienting ourselves. To cling to them as circumstances change is, in my view,
the perfect recipe for unhappiness.
November
November arrives and the last of the
pears, now over-ripe and mostly half-eaten by insects, still hang in the almost
leafless tree. Our first summer crop, gathered in early August, saw the tree
heavy with fruit; now it looks bleak, the gold of pears and leaves catching
whatever sun there is. All things are subject to change, and we cannot cling to
our fruitful years, for the attempt to cling to what is transient is - according
to the Buddha - the source of existential suffering. But I still feel a sense of
emptiness, looking out on that tree, remembering what has been. Is this the
feeling that pervades everything for those who reach extreme old age, I wonder?
October
The Afsluitdikk running across what
was once the Zuiderzee from North Holland to Friesland, dividing off the
freshwater Ijsselmeer from the North Sea (the Wadden Sea, actually, at this
point), is a tribute to the commitment of the Dutch (back in 1927 - 33) to
preserving their sea defences and protecting their all-too-vulnerable land.
Between 4,000 and 5,000 men worked on this every day, giving useful employment
during the years of depression between the wars. Crossing it, I reflect on the
commitment that we are all going to have to make, sooner or later, in order to
preserve our environment.
September
Sedimentary rocks on the 'Jurassic
Coast', Dorset, England. These layers are just above the remains of a forest,
and give a remarkable visual reminder of the passing of time. To me, the impact
of this is not so much in the rather sterile debates about creationism and the
age of the earth, but in the sense of the beautiful insignificance of the
present generation. We are nothing in sedimentary terms, and yet we too
will go to make up part of that compressed history of the earth. Given
that recent weeks have confronted many people with the obvious instability of
society - whether on the social front in England, or globally in terms of the
financial markets, it is a useful reminder that this generation - important
though it is, wonderful though it also is, in so many ways - is a mere passing
instant.
August
This tree, in North Island, New
Zealand, plays host to a whole range of mosses and plants, each of which seeks
out an opportunity to flourish and to reproduce itself. And the tree itself,
rooting deep into the soil for water and nutrients, is itself dependent utterly
upon its environment. The whole thing is an inter-connected, living whole, no
part of which can exist independently. To me this is a wonderful image both of
the resourcefulness of life, but also of the Buddha's observation that all
things arise in dependence on conditions. When those conditions change, they
cease to be. Over the past couple of weeks we have seen the collapse of an
ecosystem that existed in Britain between News International (publishers of The
News of the World), the police and politicians - whatever the rights and wrongs
of that situation (and plenty of the latter have been revealed) it is a reminder
that nobody is entirely independent and self-sufficient. As perceptions
change, and new facts emerge, the whole pack of cards comes crashing down.
Nobody, however powerful and wealthy, is immune from change or from dependence
upon others. Inter-connectedness is simply a fact of life, the recognition of
which should bring a measure of humility.
July
How do you use express music
visually? Sound and sight are so different, that there would seem to be no
linking factor other than our emotional responses to them. How is it, for
example, that in a ballet or opera, the performers are able to convey an
integrated experience? What is visual can flow across the stage with the music.
At a rock concert, the sight of the performers is a key element in the
performance of the music. We seem to have an intuition about what we should see
when we hear music, and how we might respond to it through physical gesture.
And this photo? It shows part of the Sibelius monument in Helsinki. Organ
pipes opening out into the environment? Sibelius is all about the subtlety
of texture and the slow build; a magnificence teased together from its
constituent parts.
June
Last month, a dear friend of mine,
Ivan Burgess, died after a battle with cancer, so my thoughts have been much on
the dead and how we relate to them. As Sartre famously feared, at death our
lives are at the mercy of what others think of us, unable to defend ourselves or
change their perception. At death, our place fixed within the scheme of things.
We continue our influence - through those who have known us, through what we
have said or done - but our lives become rounded wholes (however tragic their
end), with a beginning and an end, something of value in and of itself, not for
what it might become. Although few would choose it nowadays, I can understand
why the Victorians loved to construct their elaborate memorials to the dead, and
their family vaults (as here in Highgate Cemetery in London) - it is an
expression of the way we all find our place in the ongoing story of life,
however long or short our lives may have been.
May
"The formula for my happiness: a
Yes, a No, a straight line, a goal." Nietzsche
Human life often craves a sense of
direction and meaning. Perhaps a motorway could have illustrated this, but more
natural is the traditional footpath, reinstated by some helpful farmer through
his field of rape. For some, the secret of happiness lies in letting go,
in becoming natural, following the organic meanderings of life; for others,
there is a feeling that we have to carve out our own direction, force nature to
yield to our will, decide and promote a goal of our own choosing. Which is the
better way? That is a key existential question...
April
This is not my picture (there's a
surprise!) but is copyright NASA, and comes from their 'photograph of the day'
collection for today - March 30th, 2011. Please log on to the NASA site to
see the full credits for this image and a description of what it shows. I've
included it here because...
... I just find modern
astronomy and the consideration of the origins and dimensions of the universe so
inspiring. Astronomy should be a required part of any philosophy or religious
studies course - just to get all other thoughts into perspective. Here in the UK
we've recently had Prof Brian Cox's series 'Wonders of the Universe' and also
the 'Everything and Nothing' programmes, offering a chance to get one's mind
around quantum field theory! Two things impress me the more I contemplate
the universe. The first, most obviously, is the smallness of our planet, solar
system etc within the whole scheme of things, shattering the homocentric view
(lurking in the 'anthropic arguments') that this whole universe is designed with
us in mind, which still seems to infect religious thinking. The other is the
amazing fact that the material of which we are made is already 5 billion years
old, and that the same elements are found throughout the universe. Simply - we
are part of all this! The rest of philosophy and theology humbly follows
from that primal, stunning awareness.
March
Docklands, in the East of London,
where the banks tower above an area in which, before the Second World War,
people earned their crust through hard labour, unloading cargoes from around the
world. Now the money comes rather more readily from computer screens. During the
day, it bubbles with life as office workers take a break from their desks. In
the evening, the waterfront restaurants a full, with diners enjoying a stunning
backdrop as thousands of illuminated windows are reflected in the old docks. Do
they ever sleep up there, I wonder, looking up, or have they just left the
lights on by mistake, or to prove they don't care about the electricity bill?
February
Flats overlooking the Thames in
London; expensive but within easy reach of both the City and Docklands. An ideal
place to live? Perhaps. I imagine sitting there on my a private balcony,
enjoying the space as I look out over the river, but so close to the cultural
delights of the capital. But I'm increasingly troubled by the way in which our
living space can become a commodity, rather than a way of giving ourselves space
within a community. Relationships, even if limited to the friendly nod, are
possible if homes face one another, clustering round some sort of social centre.
How do we communicate in our luxury flat? Phone, email, Facebook, Twitter - the
endless possibilities of cultivating numerous friends through social media. But
can that ever replace being a known member of a community, living visibly in
physical proximity? That's not a rhetorical question, but a genuine one.
January
There are some
things that are easier shown than described, and I think the
beauty of cruel weather is one of them. The cold spell this
winter has interfered with travel plans, distressed many people,
and probably proved more lethal to wildlife than would have been
the case in a milder winter. Yet there is something awesome
about being out in the woods, with snow crunching beneath your
feet, and every twig frosted.
All images on this
site © Mel Thompson
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