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Abstract Thought and Authenticity part two

For this post, I would like to focus on the concept of ‘abstract’ or ‘abstraction’.  I have a few reasons for this particular emphasis, the first of which is the necessarily vague dictionary definition.

From my handy-dandy:

abstract  adj

1: Considered apart from a particular instance.

2:  Expressing a quality apart from an object

3:  Having only intrinsic form with little or no pictorial representation.

abstract  n

1:  Summary, Epitome

2: An abstract thing or state.

abstract  vb

1:  Remove, Separate.

2:  To make an abstract of: Summarize

3:  To draw away the attention of

4:  Steal

abstraction  n

1:  The act of abstracting:  the state of being abstracted.

2:  An abstract idea

3:  An abstract work of art

I  have reread these definitions three times and still cannot attach any interest to them.  So, I am going to quote Wikipedia (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/abstraction)

“In philosophical terminology, abstraction is the thought process wherein ideas are distanced from objects.  Abstraction uses a strategy of simplification, wherein formerly concrete details are left ambiguous, vague, or undefined, thus effective communication about things in the abstract requires an intuitive or common experience between the communicator and the communication recipient.  This is true for al verbal/abstract communication.”

I would like to use the above references – or rather the sources of those references – to make my point.  Our society is being held hostage by miscommunication.  We lack the intuitive or common experience necessary for effective conversation.

Where do we find information?

My first instinct is always to reach for my dictionary.  In this habit, I am a product of my generation and those that came before me.  I have adjusted with advances in technology (for the most part), but I adjust from the foundation of ‘before’.  Before the internet was on your phone, before laptops were smaller than hardback books, before you could download and read a book without having to turn a page.  I even remember when home computers were a luxury rather than a necessity.  In truth, ‘before’ was not that long ago.

Sadly, my handy-dandy failed me.  I turned instead to the internet.  I typed a single word into a search engine, and almost immediately received thousands of options to choose from.  In utilizing an internet search engine, I began thinking on an abstract level.  I stripped away the specific characteristics of inquiry and approached the subject broadly.  Using this approach I can use deductive reasoning to narrow my field of interest to suit the aim I wish to achieve.

From:  www.scrassociates.com/glossary.html

Deductive:  Reasoning from the general to the specific; to chunk down.”

From:  www.dfamily.com/philosophy/teach/hswtl/glossary.html

Deductive:  Given a set of facts of assumptions which are supposed to be true, deductive reasoning is the mental process to extend these facts into new conclusions using logic; ‘Top Down’, or from the more general to the more specific.”

This method of reasoning was favored by such intellectual giants as  Descartes, Galileo, and Hobbes (www.psychnut.com/gloss.html) and yet, it is not the preferred method in our education system.  Rather, the opposite approach of Inductive Reasoning monopolizes the academic opportunities afforded young scholars.

From:  www.scrassociates.com/glossary.html

Inductive:  Drawing a general conclusion (abstract) from specific facts; chunking up.”

From:  www.philosophy.uncc.edu/mledrid/logic/logiglos.html

“Unlike deductive arguments, inductive ones promise only probability, not certainty.  Thus, if one argues that having watched several different newscasts in several different cities on many different nights, one may infer that newscasts emphasize, in Bob Inman’s phrase, ‘mayhem and misery’, then one is making an inductive argument (in this case, and inductive or empirical generalization).  Another kind of inductive argument is an argument from analogy.  Inductive arguments are judged by their reliability, where one expects only a high degree of probability, not one hundred percent reliability as with deduction.”

In an academic environment, students are ‘supplied’ with examples of a principle idea.  Oftentimes, the principle idea is omitted or addressed only after the examples have been presented.  In English class, students read short stories, poetry and essays from respected authors’ representative of their time and society.  They are familiar and well explored so much so that the ‘meaning’ and ‘interpretation’ of their works have lost subjectivity.  The analysis of their work has come from a long and distinguished line of ‘reliability’, as a result, differing interpretations are often classified as ‘wrong’, ‘misguided’ or ‘misunderstood’ and in need of ‘correction’.  The negation of individual responses cripples the students’ ability to form their own opinion.  They are denied the journey of exploration and enlightenment that comes with increased knowledge.

In the age of information, blind acceptance of majority opinion is dangerous.  As a society we have come to accept ‘probability’ as ‘certainty’.  We view ‘exceptions’ as ‘aberrations’ and ‘originality’ as ‘defiance’.  Rather than seek a personal understanding we rely on the explanations of others.  I am left to wonder where we would be in Descartes, Galileo and Hobbes had been satisfied by accepted ‘truth’.

 
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Posted by on October 7, 2011 in Coffee Shop Whore?, Confessions, philosophy

 

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Day Jobs and Life Callings

         16 days ago I  had a job interview; 15 days ago I was offered a job; 14 days ago I accepted the job, and 13 days ago I posted about authenticity (rather, I was easing into the concept of authenticity).  12 days ago, I started the job that I now view as the ‘entry-level position’ to my life calling.

            Now, before I get too far into the ‘job’ post, I have to tell you something about the past year. 

                                    I discovered Existentialist Philosophy.

I had planned on a gradual and detailed account of these new insights, but, well… abstract half-thought… to be continued…  The important thing now is the idea of authenticity.

            Those who have read my posts of the past know that I try to live my life openly, honestly and without reserve.  For many who meet me in person, this can be a little unnerving and overwhelming at times.  At times I have doubted the wisdom of my choices.  When I discovered the existentialist concept of authenticity … vindication!!!!!

            So, segue completed, circling back to my new job.  I am happy to report that I love my day job.  I am working as an Instructional Assistant at a high school.  My duties include:  taking notes for students who, for various reasons, cannot take notes for themselves; help students organize assignments and complete assignments in a timely manner; find new and interesting ways to explain confusing or difficult material, and assist instructors in non-academic ‘chores’ that detract from quality teaching time.

            Many of the students I work with remind me of a teenage me.  Some have unusual learning styles, some have a single-minded focus on one subject, and sadly for some, life has taught them lessons not found in a classroom – lessons no child should have to learn. 

            High school the first time around made little impact on me academically.  It was an escape or a chance for creative exploration through theater and music, but rarely was it inspiring on an intellectual level.  I appreciated concept and significance, while the faculty appreciated memorization and regurgitation.  I rarely went to class.

            Now, after all this time, I get to experience a little bit of high school again.  I finally made it to US History and I can truly appreciate how far my country has come in such a relatively short period of time.  I feel a renewal in my optimism.  I also have the privilege of sitting in on a fundamental English class.  I finally understand the ‘comma-splice’.  I know, I know, its basic grammar, but I must have been absent the day they taught subordinating, coordinating and correlative conjunctions because I have been faking it and passing the buck to ‘grammar check’ for years.  I was in BAD FAITH!!! (I just had to throw in another term from existentialism).  So, while my posts may be a bit irregular for a while, I am taking notes and forming thoughts.  

 
 

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Retrospection

            My decision to blog again has much to do with the tenth anniversary of 9/11.  I didn’t go into detail about how that day influenced my life in my early posts, truthfully, I skipped the experience entirely.  Everybody has their own version of that day, and each one carries a unique burden in that experience.  Those experiences should not be trivialized or diminished as so often happens when comparisons are made.  I have held my memory of that day close to my heart, protecting it from cynicism and recrimination.

            I avoided all media exposure on the anniversary.  Instead, I sat outside in the sunshine and read a romance novel, avoidance in a truly self-indulgent fashion.  When I had read the last page and the sun had dropped below the horizon I felt ashamed.  Without my distractions I began to feel that I had desecrated the sanctity of that day, that I had disrespected the memory of the lives that were lost.  Some days later I read a memorial blog that changed my perspective.

           From ‘Ephemera and Pseudo-Events’ by J.N. Nielsen:

                        “An anniversary is an arbitrary thing – the length of a year is utterly arbitrary – but it is natural to want to commemorate a loss, as it is natural to want to celebrate some joyous occasion. … To memorialize an event is to prevent its repetition, the render it singular, although we must relive the trauma in each memorialization.  Failure to memorialize an event means that it will be visited upon us time and again, though we will be spared the retraumatization of the continual consciousness of the event.”

             My experiences of that day have shaped every aspect of my life, but not in a negative way.  I honor the memory of that day by living each subsequent day with deep appreciation in my heart.  When I remember that day I don’t linger on images of destruction or fear, I am overcome by the humility and compassion I felt all around me.  I tremble not with grief, but with awe.  Remembering now feels like a renewal of hope, and hope and shame cannot coexist.

 
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Posted by on September 20, 2011 in Coffee Shop Whore?, Confessions, philosophy, psychology

 

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Letter – a work of fiction

Dear Julie,

     I couldn’t help but notice how nice your hair smelled today.  It was so beautiful in the sunshine, it took all of my self-control to not run my fingers through it.  I also couldn’t help but notice that you had lunch with that man again, I thought that my previous letters would have alerted you to how disastrous a relationship with this person might be, surely he could not love you as much as I do, but that is beside the point, I am sure you will realize that I am right on this point.  Have you told him about me?  Silly me, asking such questions, he would know better than to intrude on our relationship.

     I have been trying to decide what I would get you for your birthday this year.  I never see you wearing the earings that I bought you last year.  I have been trying to think of something more personal, something that you can cherish, something to remind you of my love.

     The first time we met my life changed.  You were so young and beautiful.  You were wearing that little pink sweater.  I remember how pretty your hair was in that ponytail,  I thought it a shame that you cut it all off.  I know you didn’t mean it to be hurtful to me, after all, I did say how much I liked it.  I am glad that you are growing it out again.  It’s much better looking when it is long.  It would have looked so beautiful streaming down your back at graduation.  But that was a long time ago, I barely knew you then, not like now.

     I hate to keep harping on about it, but that man you had lunch with… he is so much like that boy you were dating back then.  Richard something or other.  I tried to warn you about him.  You wouldn’t listen then either, I don’t know if you know, but I finally had to talk to him, I mean, really, even then you knew that we were destined to be together.  I know you had to have your fun, but he was getting a little too serious, he thought he could steal you from me.  I hope this one doesn’t make the same mistake.  Richard whatshisface just wouldn’t believe me when I told him you were mine.  Even after you moved away, I knew you were getting away from him, you knew that I would find you, no matter where you went.  The connection between us is too strong to ever be broken by miles.  Richard didn’t have that connection with you.

     Anyway, that’s all in the past.  We are the future.  I should go now, I will see you soon anyway, but I wanted to tell you that I love you and think of you always.

                                                                                                                                     Love and Devotion,

                                                                                                                                     Your Secret Admirer

 

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True Confession

          When I started ‘Confessions of a Coffee Shop Whore’ I wanted a home for my fiction.  It did not take me long to realize that fiction was not what I needed to write.  In fact, the harder I tried to focus on fiction, the more I became distracted by my reality.  I was not sure how to write about my reality.  I had always been a story-teller and that was not the same as being a writer.

            I had never really identified myself as a writer.  This is an odd concept to explain, so bear with me.  For as long as I can remember, I have entertained myself with absurd little stories.  These stories matured with me, gaining depth and complexity as I grew older and learned more words.  Whatever I learned whether in school or in life invariably found its way into my little fantasy world.  My stories became an embodiment of my education.  My stories helped me make sense of the world.

            I didn’t start writing my stories down until I was eighteen.  I can actually recall that first writing experience.  I don’t remember what I wrote, but I remember quite clearly my state of mind.  I was in despair; violent, self-destructive despair.  I was far away from all that was familiar and alone in an unforgiving and unsympathetic environment.  The back of a duty roster became my confidant. 

On the page I could separate myself.  My problems became obstacles for my characters to overcome.  In my stories I could say what was on my mind without fear or consequence.  Still, I did not consider myself a writer.  I was a sailor who liked to write in her spare time.

My characters became my best friends.  They traveled with me, consoled me and they never pressured me or made me feel ashamed.  People were not nearly as accommodating.  When you are in the military, people and places are temporary and sadly interchangeable.  True connections are few and far between; at least they were for me.

I wrote throughout my time in the Navy, tending toward the dark and sinister corners of human nature, nicely disguised in fantasy or science fiction.  After signing my discharge papers and heading to LA I adopted the sunshine into my narrative, but soon I was distracted by school.  Once again I was processing whatever lessons I learned by writing it out.  I would twist and turn each idea until I could see it from every angle.  I turned those angles into characters, and those characters began to have voices different from my own.  They came to life, independent and complicated, and for the first time, unique.  I was no longer the main character of my stories.  Yet still, I was a student who liked to write in her spare time.

Spare time…such a common and unassuming pair of words, but ah, the illusion they create…  There is no such thing as spare time.  Time may be occupied by a variety of activities, but it is most definitely occupied.  My stories gained life because I was living.  My characters became independent because I became independent.  My mind was active, synapses were firing, connections were being made, and input was producing output.  My time was fully occupied, but still I thought I needed more time.

I thought that shifting into full-time writer status would be a breeze, after all, the creative juices were flowing, I had more ideas than I knew what to do with… if only I didn’t have that test to study for or that chapter to read… if only I had more time to dedicate to writing… if only.  A few months after I was out of school the ideas dried up.  I had plenty of time to write, but I had nothing to write about.  No input, no output.  And if I have nothing to write about, how can I call myself a writer?  This is the spiral I found myself in last year.

I may have been blocked on my fiction, but I did discover something new about my writing.  I discovered my voice again.  Somewhere along the way I stopped needing a character to speak for me.  Suddenly it became more important to speak for myself – to take back ownership of me – to no longer bury my thoughts in plot lines and dialogue.  But that was not how I had envisioned my blog and I didn’t know how to adjust.

When my computer crashed I found it impossible to keep up with the blog.  I had no theme, no continuity, no criteria from which to build a body of work.  I was writing myself into circles and corners.  In retrospect, writing for a self-imposed deadline, and then stressing about it, is rather idiotic.  I was the worst boss I had ever had and I should have known better.  I needed to step back and regroup… but I did not want to admit failure… (what plan am I on now?)

So, back to where I started with this thing.  I am a writer who occasionally works elsewhere in a non-writing capacity.  Not only does this non-writing occupation of my time help put food on the table, it also provides input to keep the output flowing.  Fiction or not, I am writing.

 
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Posted by on September 18, 2011 in Confessions

 

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Computer Issues

Just when I thought I was getting things together… my ONLY working computer, STOPPED WORKING!!!!!!! As I have no library card – and therefore a miniscule amount of ‘guest’ access – I am once again delinquent on my postings. I have six minutes remaining on my borrowed computer. I want to cry.

 
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Posted by on June 25, 2010 in Confessions

 

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Alphabet Fiction

I mentioned something I have named ‘Alphabet Fiction’ a while back.  Well, now I am going to expand on it a little bit.

As you may know, I have a slight obsession with the dictionary.  My Handy-Dandy is a source of comfort, security and wisdom.  Oftentimes, it is also a source of inspiration.  Some of you may remember The Dictionary Distraction (https://missfionna.wordpress.com/2010/03/31/the-dictionary-distraction/) well, Alphabet Fiction follows a similar thought process.

Choose 5 – 10 words that begin with the same letter.  Even better if they are within the same dictionary page.

Use the definitions of these words to create a story line.

The title of the story MUST begin with the same letter as the words chosen. (the main title word… not ‘A’ or ‘The’, etc.)

The idea is based on flash fiction (500 words or less) but I bet that longer works could easily be developed using this technique.  I haven’t tried anything longer… but one day I will make that attempt.

I am interested to know if anyone gives it a try.  I am on outline phase with “D”.

Hope all is well,

Fionna


 
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Posted by on June 14, 2010 in Confessions

 

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