A lot is made of the distinction between public and private realms in moral philosophy. The public realm of the agora is where we normally think of constructive dialogue as taking place; the private realm is where family relationships unfold. At least, that’s the classical notion. The public realm is also where putative equals interact – while via traditional or contractual relations, hierarchy may be formed, functionally all actors within the public space initiate their dialogue as equals. That notion of equality within the public sphere is, of course, subject to challenge. But the contrast is with the private sphere, which has usually been viewed as subject to a more intuitively powered range of personal relationships – parent to child, spouse to spouse and the like. The model of public versus private spheres in the West has also served to contrast it with non-Western societies which maintain what the West would view as “private” schemes of interaction even in “political” settings; the example that comes to my mind is the ordering of Confucian society whereby the ruler simply maps the private hierarchies and responsibilities of the household to the governance requirements of the state.
Enchanting
My horoscope, as provided by a British astrologer of some repute, says my year will get markedly better starting this week. I hope he’s right; it’s been as close to horrid as I can conceive without death or bankruptcy so far, so I could use a lift. That being said, I don’t put much faith in astrology – or I should say, I view it with extreme skepticism. To the extent it’s telling me that life will improve, though, at this point, I’ll grab at anything I can find.
Apodictic
My sister left dinner last night in a huff. The family was having an odd, random conversation, sparked by the fact that my mom has lost a bit of weight since last fall which she chalks up to the fact that she walks my dog when I’m out of town. It’s a decent guess; he gets about two hours’ total walking a day, split between a long midday walk of an hour or so and several smaller walks in the morning and evening. Since I’m out west every other week for my son, plus random travel in addition to that, she does get a lot more walking now than she did before I moved back to Maine. That, plus eating healthy and my mom’s usual routine of cleaning everything in the house twice a week, probably has meant she’s slimmed down. Not alarmingly so by any means, but she’s the fittest non-triathlete mom I know.
That old time religion
For some reason, my friends have been talking to me about God lately. One, in talking about some writing she’s doing, said she wanted to capture the “baggage of God” in her work. Another has been thinking about the odd path he’s taken in belief, sometimes seeing God vanish entirely while the need to worship, to be a part of a communion, growing no weaker and if anything being more of a support to him as he gets older. My ex-wife and I had a brief but powerful conversation about how or whether to introduce concepts of the divine to our son – we’re both technically in violation of our pre-marriage pledge to raise him in the Church, but that isn’t really a motivation, it’s just that we’re wondering what it is we should do or shouldn’t do. Also her parents have asked if I’ve accepted Christ as my savior and groveled for forgiveness for leaving her; again, not a motivation, but part of the dialogue. Reading lately has brought me back to Max Weber’s sociology of religion, and the Charles Taylor work is dissecting the path way from religion as source of morality and meaning to its redefinition in personalized pathways instead of state-like institutions or outright rejection in the modernist era. And of course I’m couch surfing at my parents’ house, former clerics both, with my father’s best friend from the monastery coming for a visit next month.
Five four six
It’s May the Fourth, which means I’ve heard the John Williams opening theme to Star Wars on three different radio stations and it’s not yet 11 am here in Portland. For me, though, today is a wonderful day – it’s my son’s sixth birthday.