On Intellectual Revolutions

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Much has been said and written about civilization’s great intellectual revolutions, the breakthroughs in thought that have led to ages of enlightenment and darkness, to waves of technological innovation and new ways of living. History is the story of ideas. It is an ongoing intellectual thriller with the slow and boring pages followed by scenes of fast-paced drama.

The micro-revolutions of history, however, interest me more. These are the intellectual revolutions that occur in a single mind. About these, their general nature and characteristics, much has been said, but not nearly enough.

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The Finest Occupations

Is there an inherent good in all work. What is it? Think of all human occupations through the ages – the farmers, the soldiers, the sailors, the welders, the chefs, the priests, the lawyers, the bankers, the bank robbers, the insurance agents, the politicians, the mechanics, the journalists, the professors, the teachers, the police, the computer programmers, the actors, the doctors, the nurses, and so on. Imagine being something else in one’s own time or in another place and another time. How about a shepherd? That would be the one. To be a shepherd in fifth century B.C. or a shepherd in the hills of Britain many centuries ago – that would be the career. A shepherd’s life is elemental. There is plenty of time to walk and think. The sky is overhead and open land stretches before him. He probably doesn’t own any of this land and he is poor, but his constant companions are submissive creatures, some of the most gentle in the animal kingdom. They recognize his voice in the dark. His dog is trustworthy and reads his thoughts. His existence is simple, but full of occupational hazards. There must be moments when he lays his head on his stone pillow at night and, surveying the stars overhead, feels not wonder, but worry. Our shepherd is a human being. Perhaps, in looking at his days, we can find some guiding principle for all human occupations. There must…

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The Luminosity of Age

 

The human body appears to liquefy with age. It actually grows more arid, but it seems to slowly melt into the earth. This metamorphosis, which seems to slowly drag every cell with it, is visually compelling.  Its physical effects are so unlike the beauty of youth that they are often mistaken for its opposite.

If one takes the separate features of the old – the skin, the hair, the eyes, the posture – one finds almost no support for the argument that age possesses its own beauty.  But, the whole often conveys something the parts do not.

What is this something?                                                   

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