We sat in a circle, in the rapidly fading Colorado twilight, and discussed Plato, truth, and the nature of reality. The sun had set completely; I had watched it, had sprinted away from our campsite, climbing upwards, scrabbling over rocks and brambles, chasing that fiery blaze as it slid out of view. Coming to rest on a high rocky ledge, I had taken in a wide vista, across which was visible the sun's last dying rays gleaming orange and golden over a far away mountain range.
The current dusk was rapidly becoming night. A storm had blown through about an hour previously- white-hot lightning forking the sky, claps of thunder shaking the tents we had retreated to- yet stars were now beginning to shine out between gaps in the dark clouds, and the rain had abated. I was glad to see the stars, for stars always seem to provoke me into a more philosophical mood.
I had been in Colorado for four weeks, working as a member of a trail crew, and had been asked to give a short lesson to the other members of my crew. It was the last night, and everyone else had already given a lesson in the preceding weeks; Katherine had led a dance class, Paul had given a seminar on the construction of duct tape wallets. I had struggled, at first, to decide on a subject matter which I felt comfortable teaching; I could not think what I liked best, what I was most passionate about. Any interest or talent I thought of as a candidate seemed impractical to teach: swimming, tennis, piano, trumpet, human rights, outdoor adventure? I love and am passionate about these things, but I was at a loss to imagine converting any into a 30 minute lesson out in the wilderness. At last, an idea clicked into place: philosophy. The English class I took junior year was really more of a philosophy class, and I fell in love with the subject.
And so, I decided to lead a philosophical discussion. I began by telling the story of Plato's allegory of the cave. When I finished, I asked a question, something like, "So... what do you think? Is all truth subjective?" And I sat, and waited. The silence stretched on, unbreaking. I was just about to offer an awkward second question when Katherine, my friend and fellow crew member, spoke, and it didn't matter what she said, all that mattered was that she said something.
Pretty soon, everyone around me was discussing, arguing, debating. Often it seems to me, in day to day life, that it is a crime, a taboo to be philosophical; it is seen as too queer, too heavy, too deep, too depressing, too anything, because people would rather talk about sports or the weather than death or reality or poverty. It is easier and less painful never to step outside of one's own small, comfortable world, never to think or dream beyond what you already know and are familiar with; yet there we all sat, daring to question, daring to transcend.
As I move through life, I hope to continue to adventure beyond the ordinary, to grow intellectually and to help others to grow with me- to truly think, as I did on that stormy night amidst the mountains, and to use my thoughts and my voice to effect a positive change in this world.
The current dusk was rapidly becoming night. A storm had blown through about an hour previously- white-hot lightning forking the sky, claps of thunder shaking the tents we had retreated to- yet stars were now beginning to shine out between gaps in the dark clouds, and the rain had abated. I was glad to see the stars, for stars always seem to provoke me into a more philosophical mood.
I had been in Colorado for four weeks, working as a member of a trail crew, and had been asked to give a short lesson to the other members of my crew. It was the last night, and everyone else had already given a lesson in the preceding weeks; Katherine had led a dance class, Paul had given a seminar on the construction of duct tape wallets. I had struggled, at first, to decide on a subject matter which I felt comfortable teaching; I could not think what I liked best, what I was most passionate about. Any interest or talent I thought of as a candidate seemed impractical to teach: swimming, tennis, piano, trumpet, human rights, outdoor adventure? I love and am passionate about these things, but I was at a loss to imagine converting any into a 30 minute lesson out in the wilderness. At last, an idea clicked into place: philosophy. The English class I took junior year was really more of a philosophy class, and I fell in love with the subject.
And so, I decided to lead a philosophical discussion. I began by telling the story of Plato's allegory of the cave. When I finished, I asked a question, something like, "So... what do you think? Is all truth subjective?" And I sat, and waited. The silence stretched on, unbreaking. I was just about to offer an awkward second question when Katherine, my friend and fellow crew member, spoke, and it didn't matter what she said, all that mattered was that she said something.
Pretty soon, everyone around me was discussing, arguing, debating. Often it seems to me, in day to day life, that it is a crime, a taboo to be philosophical; it is seen as too queer, too heavy, too deep, too depressing, too anything, because people would rather talk about sports or the weather than death or reality or poverty. It is easier and less painful never to step outside of one's own small, comfortable world, never to think or dream beyond what you already know and are familiar with; yet there we all sat, daring to question, daring to transcend.
As I move through life, I hope to continue to adventure beyond the ordinary, to grow intellectually and to help others to grow with me- to truly think, as I did on that stormy night amidst the mountains, and to use my thoughts and my voice to effect a positive change in this world.