Search for Beauty 2019

8/28/2019 Plato’s Symposium This was the first proper piece of philosophical literature I have read. Normally, I am opposed to the ideas of grades of reality. However, the discussion in class really sold me on the idea. Especially with Dr. Redick using his old cat Puff as an example. A shadow and physical body are part of a being for sure, but they are not really the complete being. There needs to be more than a form blocked out by light or a physical vessel. Without life, a body is only an object. An empty mound of bone, flesh, and muscle. There are more abstract things that make an object ultimately more real and true to its nature. I must say, I personally enjoy Plato’s Simile of the Line, but I still do not understand the exact differences between the Forms and the Concepts. 8/29/2019 Initial Thoughts on PHIL 306 I will admit over the summer I was skeptical of this course, I still am now. Even though the professor has provided us a brief outline of the semester I am not...

The purpose of the great American lawn is not to provide food, shelter, or any sort of environmental benefit. No, the grassy expanses that grace every good home exist solely to provide an ego boost. The lawn is a testament to man’s dominion over nature and the wealth amassed by those lucky enough to tend to one. In truth, the grass lawn does more harm than good both mentally, philosophically, and even patriotically. Deconstructed, the idea that meticulous care for a patch of useless grass should determine your social status and respect among neighbors sounds like an absurd ritual of time past. But like the block party and PTA, the lawn persists in suburbia despite the obvious damage it does to everyone in the surrounding area. There’s no shortage of stories of celebrities and the ultra-rich violating drought restrictions to keep their estates lush in areas that were never meant to support such things, but it seems rare that anyone asks why we got ourselves into this situ...

I reached my philosophical peak as a three-year-old digging in the dirt. I grew up in the woods of Connecticut with a sprawling garden taking up half of our backyard. The wooden planks that contained the raised beds to their spots in the spring and summer became parts of an invisible obstacle course under the winter snow. My mom used to look out the window to watch me and my brother running across the white expanse only for one or both of us to suddenly drop out of view when our toe hit wood. It became a favorite hazing ritual for uninitiated friends who managed to make the trek out to visit when there was a thick enough blanket of snow on the ground. But my favorite part of these raised beds were the potatoes it produced. Each summer we would have my cousins from out of state come stay with us for a bit and play our favorite game: rock or potato. We would sort the two into wheelbarrows and either bag them up or add them to the firepit as was appropriate. ...