Tag Archives: Philosophical Literature

In Homage to Leaves of Grass

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You're my Analects,
           my Gita,
           my Dao De Jing,
           my sutras,
           my Meditations,
           and my Republic
 all rolled into one.

You are the scripture by which I live.

You present a path to that rare place:
            extreme confidence
            which tears no one down,

            but, rather, lifts all.

You achieve this by crushing 
            the ordinary.

Nothing is common.

Everything is a miracle. 
            (Even those leaves of grass
                      you repeatedly reference.)

No one is so rough
             or promiscuous
             or simple
as to be lowly.

Your author's unbridled enthusiasm 
             glowed with the insane confidence
             of an adolescent boy,
but his awesomeness was never gained
             by subtracting from others.
Rather by seeing the bright, beautiful spark 
             in each body,
             mind,
             pair of hands,
             & burdened shoulder. 

You are America,
             the America we want to be.

The America that labors,
             but which takes time to see
             its natural wonders. 

The America that heard what Jesus said,
             and became less excelled at stone-throwing,
             and more at cheek-turning.

The America that could see beyond dogma
             and hard-edged tribalism,
             and could learn from all the 
             grand & glorious people 
             who reached its shores --

So that we could be the best version of ourselves
            through the strengths of all of us,
            and not be stymied by missing 
            the great beauty & knowledge
           among us. 

You pair away the extraneous burdens
            which tax the mind,
and show us what the world looks like
             unfiltered. 

You teach one to see a beauty
            that is so well hidden 
            that its own possessor doesn't 
                      recognize it.

You are the song of a life well lived.

BOOK REVIEW: Candide by Voltaire

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CandideCandide by Voltaire
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

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Do we live in the best of all possible worlds? “Candide” attempts to wrestle with this question. The protagonist, Candide, is taught by his tutor – the renowned philosopher, Pangloss – that their’s is the best possible world. However, as the story unfolds as one bad turn of events after the next, it becomes harder to argue that there couldn’t be a better world.

Candide is forced to flee from his love (Cunegonda,) is conscripted into wartime military service, is arrested for heresy, becomes a serial killer, acquires and subsequently loses a fortune, is robbed, finds himself in the middle of war and other conflicts, and stumbles into and then flees what might be the closest his world has to a utopia, el Dorado. And, it could be argued, Candide gets off relatively easy. Cunegonda is raped, sliced open, and enslaved. Her brother, the Baron, is run through and is also enslaved. Pangloss gets syphilis, is hung, is partially dissected, and is enslaved, as well.

And yet, to the end, Pangloss retains his (and Liebniz’s) belief that they live in the best of all possible worlds. Candide (kind of) does as well, though at the book’s end he’s fatigued by the question and just wants to distract himself from it with some gardening. The degree to which Candide sticks to his guns is impressive, not only because of everything that goes wrong, but also because he gets a new mentor / friend, Martin, a mentor diametrically opposed to the views of Pangloss. Like Pangloss, Martin is also a philosopher, but Martin’s worldview is much less optimistic, but it also reflects the crucial idea that how bad or good the world is has more to do with one’s perception of it than the events that one experiences. (When Candide asks Martin who has it worse: one of the deposed kings they met or Candide, himself, Martin said he couldn’t know without experiencing what’s in the mind of each.)

Despite the steady flow of negative happenings, the book doesn’t definitively answer the thematic question. How could it? The most it can say is that we don’t live in the best of all imaginable worlds, but we can’t know whether those worlds we imagine are possible. For one thing, we are forced to recognize that humans are flawed and that nature is indifferent, and these factors might play a role in the variation between best imagined world and the world we know. For another thing, maybe we couldn’t handle a more perfect world. The old lady character asks the group whether all the trials they’ve collectively suffered are worse, or better, than sitting around doing nothing – as they happened to be [not] doing at that moment.

This book provides a thought-provoking journey, and it’s well worth reading.

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