musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

You taught me language, and my profit on it is I know how to curse


I’ve been thinking about the theory of knowledge lately –epistemology. Well, perhaps more about epistemic harm, actually. Sometimes I wonder if it is more one of overthinking than anything else; even if it is a widely held belief, in retrospect the longer you consider it the less valid it might begin to seem; more exceptions become evident; and the greater the suspicion that those who continue to believe it have ceased to care whether or not it remains true… Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken those Philosophy courses in university.

Sometimes my confusion seems to verge on scepticism, though: doubting the foundations upon which knowledge rests; or on my vague memory of Nietzsche from my long ago university lectures, and his idea of active and passive nihilism which involves not so much a set of incorrect beliefs, but more a risk inherent in the very act of thinking. 

In itself, nihilism rejects the existence of things or ideas (like whether I ever went to university…) but as I think I remember about Nietzsche, an active nihilist forms their own values, their own knowledge base and rejects those of others; whereas a passive nihilist, is more timid and seeks safety in what others think -at least they have standards, and ethics, whether or not they are helpful; the alternative is to exist in a void.

So if we pretend there is knowledge out there, it is unsubstantiated, because, well, there are no facts -or at least ones that can be unequivocally linked to the knowledge we seek to validate without appealing to an already questionable authority. Of course, my equally aged friends think that is all nonsense; they’re not the slightest bit interested in questioning how they could have made it this far in their lives if there  were no facts; no authorities on whom to rely.

Even I couldn’t keep thinking about such complicated things without bemoaning my ability to hold them in my head long enough to parse them. I am old now, and some things just seem more difficult than they used to be -even the spelling of ‘Nietzsche’, once a source of pride, I had to copy-and-paste.

I hadn’t been to see my old friend Bryan in a long time; he had always been willing to joust ideas with me. Bryan had once been an assistant professor at the local university, but he had quit before he’d obtained tenure because he thought his colleagues were overstuffed. The last time I’d visited with him, he would only describe himself as a ‘porch person’ and eschewed (his word) contact with his former colleagues.

He had always welcomed me, though, perhaps because my association with the university was ages ago and quite obviously had less of an effect on me: the two of us occupied different Magisteria, as he put it with a friendly smile. Whenever I visited, I used to show up unannounced, and he’d welcome me with a ‘porch wave’ and a can of beer which was always cold and stored in a cooler by his chair.

Still, to reach the porch I had to navigate a front yard full of burdock plants, thistles, and broken sidewalk chunks like a labyrinth; he was particular about who he allowed to visit: you had to know the route through the minefield.

When I arrived he was busy as usual watching his favorite tree, Sheda in the corner of the yard; there was a light breeze and Sheda was waving her cedar branches at him like a conductor with multiple batons. I was never sure if he was audience, orchestra, or maestro because he, too, would wave back at the branches as if they were communing with each other. But each time I arrived he somehow found time between the notes to turn and wave at me.

Bryan never explained; I was too embarrassed to ask.

He turned away from Sheda and offered me a beer, impressed that I was able to cross his obstacle course with such nonchalance. “Haven’t seen you in weeks, G,” he said with a quick glance at Sheda to make sure he wasn’t missing anything.

“I’ve been reading too much lately, Bry,” I said, unsure of how to ask him about something from which he’d obviously retired.

He fixed me with a sly grin and shook his head. “Not Nietzsche again…?”

I have no idea how he guessed, but I suppose that’s why I chose Bryan for help; as usual, he was able to read my thoughts from my expression; Bryan could do that; maybe that’s why he’d retired.

“Not so much Nietzsche as nihilism…”

“Pretty much the same thing, don’t you think?” When I merely shrugged, he continued. “So active or passive, this time, G?” He had a sly expression on his face and his eyes were twinkling. “Since you’re opting to listen to my opinion I have to think you’re still more tempted by passive…”

“It’s better than the abyss, eh?”

He had a quick glance at Sheda, as if she might have a different opinion to offer. Then his smile grew. “Do you remember Kuhn?”

I frowned briefly. “Thomas Kuhn, of ‘paradigm shift’ fame…?” I couldn’t guess why Bryan would have invoked him.

“In the same book, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, in which he discussed paradigm shifts, he also says that if we are clever enough we can find different ways of describing reality which, in turn, reveal new ‘facts’. The problem with those facts, however, is that they require the new reality we’ve described, and are not necessarily valid for the one in which we actually live.

“Hence the problem with new paradigms…?” I was beginning to see what he was getting at.

He nodded, as if to someone in his class who finally seemed to understand. “So, whether or not you are confused by which of the Nietzschean active or passive nihilist groups to join, it merely requires you to decide if you are real or not; whether or not you are satisfied with the reality you inhabit; and whether or not you want -or need– a new and untried paradigm to tinker with. You don’t have to play his game…”

Bryan made it sound so easy and I mounted a mischievous smile. “Sheda certainly seems to keep your mind active, Bry…”

He just shrugged, had a sip of his beer, and finding the can empty, exchanged it for another in the ice chest. “I just have to make sure I keep the paradigms separate; it’s why I’m glad you keep visiting, G; Sheda keeps tempting me to switch to hers…”

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gozzter

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