I continue to
read along my semi-self-directed way through various books on mind, from
philosophical and physical perspectives, stopping off to visit evolutionary
theories, cybernetics, and whatever else comes up along the road. As a result, I have spent the last few weeks
reading Hannah Arendt’s book The Life of
the Mind. It was a little like
eavesdropping on the adults from the kids’ table, if the adults happened to be
particularly smart and inclined to discuss big questions.
She divides her
topic into two sections, thinking and willing, and traces both ideas through
time. A third section, on judging, was
projected, but Arendt died before finishing it.
I have mentioned
before that I enjoy philosophical writing to a point, but when that point is
reached I tend to feel like I’ve just been playing a very pointless mind
game. What keeps this book from crossing
that invisible line is the writing itself.
Arendt has a gift for getting the gist of things across with appropriate
humor. Take, for example, this summary
of a Stoic philosopher: “Anyhow, Epictetus considered himself a philosopher and
he defined philosophy’s subject matter as ‘the art of living one’s life.’ This
art consisted mainly in having an argument ready for every emergency, for every
situation of acute misery” (p. 74).
Anyone interested
in tracing the history of thought, in digging into the implications of who we
are, how we think, and what it all means will find an engaging guide and
teacher in Arendt’s work.
