Hegel's Philosophy

Hegel’s Philosophy

I came across an old friend on Facebook who asked me, “Is this the Wayne that thought Hegel was a mad genius?”

Yeah, that‘s me. At least it was.

I was talking to a therapist once (well, there you go) who simply could not understand why The Matrix was such a popular movie. As I was explaining, it eventually dawned on me, “Oh, you don’t know anything about Hegel do you?”

If you study Philosophy, what the class is going to be like is a bunch of dudes who, in modern terms, just blogged about a bunch of crap that they thought explained the world. As useful as it is to understand the world, it is actually pretty difficult. So, it should not surprise you that all of their ideas are different.

What will surprise you is how anyone could actually stand this stuff for more than one semester, if that.

Philosophy is often difficult to read. For one thing, since even the dudes don’t want to give each other any credit, they feel compelled to justify their blather with logic. That is why Descartes came up with, “I think, therefore I am.” That was supposed to be the irrefutable starting point from which he could build upon to prove and explain the world as we know it. That is the kind of thing that makes a Philosopher famous.

Ok, except Paris Hilton is infinitely more famous, and not only has she done so without much evidence of thought, no one doubts that she exists. But, who the hell is Descartes, right?

So, I came across this guy Hegel in a Modern Philosophy class. Oh, did I mention that I have a Philosophy minor from college? Hegel had the audacity to suggest that it was just as plausible to explain the world and how it worked if you suggest that the world is basically a giant dollhouse for some great someone or something. Basically, some big child was just playing with play-doh, creating whatever it desired and then playing out whatever it imagined. Or, maybe more accurately some kid playing with an ant farm we call earth—not really controlling the ants, but impacting and toying with their world so that everything they do is reaction to or management of the kids antics rather than what they could be doing if the kid would just get an iPod already.

But, I was studying all that before The Matrix was a movie. For some reason, when I came across Hegel, I got really intrigued. Maybe it was temporary insanity. Maybe it was just that it was so different from the “I think, therefore…” type of logic puzzle that everyone else was proposing. In any case, it was much more fun. It was much more interesting to start thinking about, “Well, if that is true then…” which is pretty much what me and this friend of mine did. It was the most fun I had in Philosophy.

But, eventually, we came to our senses. It may have had something to do with a meeting we had with the instructor wherein he stared at us incredulously and basically replied, “Really? Hegel?”
And that is pretty much the problem with taking any philosophical idea too seriously. It eventually ends up more like science fiction fantastic fun than real world applicable.

But, The Matrix is essentially what Hegel was suggesting. So, imagine my shock when the movie came out and suggested that it could be, in a way. Imagine, further, that people like Prince (The Artist, or TAFKAP) took it kinda seriously and encouraged people to snap out of it. Of course, to do that you have to find Morpheus and swallow the red pill and get flushed. Hegel never mentioned that. I bet Prince knew, though.

Ok, let’s shift gears for a minute. A couple semesters later, I came across Hegel again. This time, the class was The Philosophy of History. Mind you, that is not the History of Philosophy, which almost makes sense even if you would never go to college if you fully understood that you would have to take such a class. But the Philosophy of History? Really? This is debatable? Apparently so. What’s it about? It’s a bunch of dudes blogging about the system by which History unfolds like some great novel, or the implicit shortcomings of trying to understand history from any one vantage point (begging the question of how many would be necessary). It’s as excruciating as it sounds.

Along comes Hegel. Hegel’s great contribution here is something he called the dialectic. This, actually, I find useful. It works like this: start with any cause or idea, and then what happens is that idea has an opposition, right. The “di” in dialectic means two. Got it? Ok, so the two ideas battle it out, side by side if you will and what results is either a compromise or an evolution or revolution of the two. This idea moves up, so to speak, forming a triangle. But, eventually, that idea will have its opposition beside it, they battle it out and a new idea forms… repeat. And that is how history happens, according to Hegel.

Just this week, I was reading TIME magazine and an article about stem cell research. It fits pretty well! Scientists discover the potential of stem cells (they are cellular blank slates that can be grown to be any necessary tissue needed in a body, either to create it or replace it.) But, this raised ethical questions primarily from how we obtain these cells which has been primarily from embryos (which God intended to be living babies, not scientific play-doh so to speak). So, one scientific reaction was to leave the US and continue researching in countries with less moral opposition. The other reaction was to stay, put on the moral straight jacket, and fumble along trying to make progress while still complying with the absurd restrictions and regulations. And what happened was one side discovered that they could make any cell into a stem cell by manipulating just four genes (so they could have stem cells without using embryos at all.) The other side discovered that they did not have to make blank slates anyway; they just need to reverse the cell back to where the problem started and then restart it again down the right path. And they started figuring out how to do that from the work of the other side realizing it was possible from any kind of cell. Hence, a dialectic model. It’s not that one side won or eliminated the other, but history moved forward (or up) as a development of both reacting to and with the other.

History may be interesting by itself. What I find much more interesting is the possibility of understanding where the present is going or what the future holds by understanding how history unfolds. I do not think people are meant to know the future entirely. But, I do think that anyone can use the dialectic model to gain a useful perspective on what may happen or is likely to happen.

It works for me.

Hockey (wormhole trip to Collegian)

(This is a re-print of a column written for the JC Collegian 3/28/91)

This is the sequel to my last column. Therefore, it is also the story of the time my brother and I beat each other to exhaustion and tears.
First of all, I have to tell you about hockey. It's a cool game. I am always amazed at the skating ability of these players. They're so busy with strategy and dorky rules that they probably don't even realize that they're traveling at 20mph backwards!

It's also a cool game because, basically, it's socially acceptable violence. Hockey has what is called a "check." Basically, you can slam into a player and dump them on their butt with any amount of force you can muster legally! I think this was originally legalized because the first players weren't as good of players and collisions were so frequent that this was a necessary rule for the sake of the game. Nowadays, it's clearly done on purpose. So, that's hockey as I see it.

Like I said, I admire the skaters. This is probably, at least in part, due to the fact that I cannot skate well. I know this because I've tried.

When I was a youngun back on the farm, we used to clear off the ice and entertain ourselves. Such entertainment led, inevitably, to hockey. We never had a real puck, though. We sometimes used a tin can, but the best substitute was a chunk of ice. Ice chunks slid better but they were harder to see. We didn't have real sticks either, we had real sticks like, from trees.

But we made due. Like any handicap, we learned to play around it. We made due so well, in fact, that John had actually mastered the art of "lifting." (That's hockey lingo for lifting the puck off the ice with a shot so that it travels through the air rather than across the ice. Learn somethin' new everyday.) This technique is much harder to defend against and that makes it an admirable talent. I couldn't do this either.

But, John had mastered it. He could lift it, slide it, slap hanging curveballs, and smash dropping sliders. Not really, but it lifted when he wanted it to and it didn't when he didn't.

So, one day we were involved in a pretty intense game. The score was close and nerves were on end. I had the "puck" late in the game and was bumbling down the ice when John performed a perfectly executed check. In other words, I fell flat on my back, my head hit the ice, my feet flew up in the air, and John went on to score.

Of course, I really didn't care so much that he scored, only that at this moment I could have sworn that I was paralyzed and I knew I was numb. But it was legal. I knew that.

For the first time, I think, I came to realize that things that are legal can, nonetheless, be wrong. In the absence of legal backing, however, I had to resort to another outlet to obtain justice: this meant war!

The next few hours contained some of the scrappiest, lousiest, hockey ever played. In other words, it was great fun. The score became irrelevant. We were playing for another reason: sadism.

But, like Mom always said, it's only fun until someone gets hurt. I got hurt. I was establishing a defensive position at about exactly center ice when John decided it was time to show off. He lifted the ice chunk directly into my face. This was no snowball, mind you. This was pure, solid, 100% North Dakota grown, 20-below ice with jagged edges.

I was upset. Any crime seems much more serious when done intentionally and ruthlessly.

Now that you have my opinion of the situation, let me explain. A lift is only necessary, really, to score. It is strategic then because the goalie must guard both the air and the ground. A long distance lift is not very effective because it is just as easy to stop as any flyball is in baseball. I was at center ice nowhere near the goal. The trajectory of this shot would have missed the goal by miles anyway. Besides that, it was clearly intentional because John had mastered the lift. Just as premeditated murder is more severe than other brands, this could not go unnoticed.

Well, I was crouched over and holding my face. John came over to assess the damages.

"Are you OK?"
"You bastherd!" I guess I was hurt worse than I had thought.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeajb, sthure you're sthorry."
"It was an accident."
"Bull...pth"

I had heard all these standard excuses before. He was establishing his legal position on common, standard procedure. I wasn't buying it.

I was really hurting' now. I was starting to cry and everything was swelling and stinging. I felt woozy. "Dambith John! You're alwaysth hoortee me!"
I was so upset I felt like killing him only I was too incapable of doing so.

Then it happened. I don't know how or why really, but I mustered all the strength I could and hit him across the head with my stick. And I mean I really hit him. I saw his head snap to the side and his feet fly out the other way. Don't forget, he was on ice, after all. I felt, I don't know, it just felt so good to hurt him back for a change.

He got up, torqued as all get out. I tried to be rational. "You hit me firrsthtt!" I pleaded.

He wasn't into it. As I became overwhelmed with terror, he pounced on me. For the next few minutes we rolled and kicked and bit and screamed and really just got tired because it was so hard to do anything on the ice.

In the end, we were both just lying there and crying. I don't know who got up first, but we both got into the house.

We never played hockey again that winter. I think John knew that he did it on purpose. For one thing, he let the fight "be over." Normally, he'd just wait until he felt up to it again and then beat the snot out of me. This time, though, he let it be. I let it be. We both knew we could hurt each other. We both knew we did hurt each other. We both just knew better.