Here's where I'm sitting this minute: next to a creek on a steep flowery hill, overlooking the town of Neskaupstathur, Iceland, and its fjord, with snowy peaks and waterfalls in the distance.
[The creek and flowers are visible on the middle left, the snow as barely visible white flecks on the mountains across the bay, the buildings of the town as white smears by the water. As usual, an amateur photo hardly captures the immersive scene.]
I try to write at least one substantive post a week, even while traveling, but I'm finding it hard here -- partly because of the demands of travel, but also partly because my thoughts aren't very bloggish. My mind does often wander to philosophy, psychology, and speculative fiction while hiking (I'm considering a fairy story), but the thoughts seem softer and larger than my usual blogging style. The thoughts that come to me tend to be vague, drifting, uncertain thoughts about value and a meaningful life. I could imagine not needing to do academic philosophy again, if a different environment, like this one, brought different thoughts and values out of me.
Sitting by this creek in Iceland (and expecting internet connectivity!), is that a terrible wasteful indulgence in a world with so much poverty and need? Or is it a fine thing that I can reasonably let the world give me?
3 comments:
"is that a terrible wasteful indulgence in a world with so much poverty and need? Or is it a fine thing that I can reasonably let the world give me?"
Just prise that last cold finger of academic philosophy from your soul and you will see that it is both :) Sounds like an awesome trip.
Hi Eric. Your reflections on the fit between thoughts and landscape reminded me of Wallace Stevens' "Anecdote of Men By the Thousand":
The soul, he said, is composed
Of the external world.
There are men of the East, he said,
Who are the East.
There are men of a province
Who are that province.
There are men of a valley
Who are that valley.
There are men whose words
Are as natural sounds
Of their places
As the cackle of toucans
In the place of toucans.
The mandoline is the instrument
Of a place.
Are there mandolines of western mountains?
Are there mandolines of northern moonlight?
The dress of a woman of Lhassa,
In its place,
Is an invisible element of that place
Made visible.
(Although given that you're in Iceland and feeling torn, maybe his later "A Weak Mind in the Mountains" is more apt?)
"is that a terrible wasteful indulgence in a world with so much poverty and need?" What you are really asking is "can I go to Iceland, then blog about it to make my friends envious, then, on top of that still claim to be concerned about the needs of the world? Dare I? Will they buy it?"
The answer is "no they won't buy it, but they will pretend to."
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