Читать книгу Life on the Rocks - Peg O'Connor - Страница 11
ОглавлениеPHILOSOPHICAL DIAGNOSES AND CURES
AN EMBARRASSING ADMISSION IS THAT I NEVER USED TO PAY attention to my alcoholism as part of my identity as a person or as a scholar. It was cordoned off as a fact about me that didn’t have a lot of relevance as to who I am or how I am in the world. I certainly never thought it mattered to what I found philosophically compelling. But when I look back on the philosopher who has most influenced me, I’ve had to shake my head in disbelief that I didn’t make more connections sooner. This goes to show the ways a person can be opaque to herself even or especially when she think she knows herself so well.
By training, I am an ethicist and a scholar of Ludwig Wittgenstein, arguably the most important philosopher of the twentieth century. When I first encountered Wittgenstein as an undergraduate student, I was intrigued, dazzled, put off, and utterly stumped. His philosophy was a total puzzle to me, but something in his work and attitude toward philosophy resonated with me. I was bitten by the philosophical bug.
Wittgenstein wrote that working in philosophy is similar to working in architecture. It is more of a “working on oneself” in which a person has his own interpretation, way of seeing things, and expectations.4 The reference to architecture may sound odd, but Wittgenstein believed good architecture had to embody certain virtues or traits that were also important for being a good person and living a good life. Wittgenstein regarded himself as an architect. In conjunction with an actual trained architect, Wittgenstein designed a house for one of his sisters in Vienna in 1925. Architecture must demonstrate good proportion, balance, simplicity, functionality, and congruity both within a building and between the building and its environment. Proportion and balance are related; a large room with small windows strikes a discordant chord. Something feels off when you enter a room where the windows are not in proportion to the size of the room and do not align with one another. Simplicity is pleasing. Wittgenstein had no tolerance for design elements that had no function and served no real purpose. They are distracting ornamentations. Congruity relates to the entire property: Is the house in agreement with its environment? A Swiss Chalet in the midst of an urban setting would seem out of place, wrong even. There is a beauty to congruity and an ugliness or failure to incongruity.
Philosophy, like architecture, embodies these same elements or virtues. Philosophy should aim to help a person realize balance, simplicity, proportion, and functionality so that she can design a life that has congruity. One’s life—one’s house—can be congruent with the world around oneself.
A philosopher’s work, according to Wittgenstein, is to liberate herself and others from bewitching pictures, skewed conceptual schemes, and unreasonable and perhaps unjustified expectations. The practice of philosophy is a remedy for confusion that disrupts the balance or congruity of one’s beliefs and actions. Whether the confusion is induced by the outside world or self-inflicted, it makes it more difficult to stay connected to and in agreement with the world. In other words, Wittgenstein was trying to get rid of the “stinkin’ thinkin’” of philosophers. That is a huge task, as he kept realizing. Above all else, philosophy ought to aim for clarification—of oneself, one’s place in the world, and the ways one derives meaning from life. Philosophy, when practiced well, can be useful. It can enable us to grapple in productive ways with questions about the meaning of life and who I am and how I want to be in the world.
For Wittgenstein, as well as for Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, philosophy has a built-in moral command to become a better person. Anyone who is trying to live a life of recovery is trying to become a better person, which is why philosophy, addiction, and recovery belong together.
Using illness and disease metaphors, Wittgenstein talks about philosophy, culture, or our times. Philosophy as typically practiced generates as much confusion as it does clarification, which explains why Wittgenstein spent so much time diagnosing the “sicknesses” of philosophy. He believed that much of what philosophers did created false problems, which they then spent (wasted) a great amount of time and energy trying to solve. This tendency might sound familiar to addicts.
Wittgenstein takes a striking approach to philosophical problems: rather than solve them, he believed one ought to dissolve them. Many of the problems that have vexed philosophers for centuries are pseudo-problems that arise from our having certain expectations, assumptions, and beliefs about how things should be. For example, many people believe they are completely transparent to themselves but entirely opaque to all others, as if each of us were a self-contained privacy unit. This makes it difficult, if not impossible, to understand others, because each of us can only understand herself. We become bewitched by this picture of human nature and interaction. Wittgenstein’s aim is to help us shake off this bewitchment, so that we may see/experience/inhabit the world differently. When we can do that, we can make different meanings, bringing us back to the meaning-of-life questions. It is along these lines that Wittgenstein’s philosophy and amplifications of it have much to offer discussions about addiction and recovery.
A person’s history and experiences are important in understanding her philosophy. Learning about Wittgenstein’s life made me see him as a fellow traveler, one who appears never to have been comfortable in his own skin. As a person, he makes a kind of sense to me, even though our life stories are radically different. Learning about him as a person also has helped me understand why he was concerned with particular questions and why he found so many “answers” unsatisfactory.
Wittgenstein was a tortured man, for all kinds of good reasons. Born to enormous wealth in Vienna in 1889, his formidable family provided the type of fodder that could keep a stable of phychoanalysts happy for many careers. Wittgenstein had a father who was an overbearing captain of industry, at least two older brothers who committed suicide, a third brother who died when he seemed to intentionally put himself in harm’s way, and another brother, Paul, who was a concert pianist who lost his right arm in World War I, as well as doting and commanding older sisters. He gave away his portion of his family wealth to his relatives in the belief that, since they were already so rich, more money couldn’t possibly corrupt them. He lived in England for most of his adult life except for a brief period in Norway, where he was a notoriously unsuccessful elementary school teacher. His family was Jewish and during World War II, his sisters made a deal with the Nazi regime that allowed them to continue to live in Vienna in exchange for their gold and other holdings. This so offended and affected their brother Paul that he never spoke to them again.
No matter his age or accomplishments, Wittgenstein viewed anything less than total genius as abject failure. His thoughts about himself and his place in the world were black and white; everything for him was all-or-nothing. Talk about high expectations breeding low self-esteem. Sound familiar? The man was tortured, and philosophy was for him both the illness and the cure. It had a hold on him.5
Wittgenstein’s odd and tortured ways of being in the world show up in his philosophy, especially when he is trying to identify all that we take for granted in our own worldviews and how we typically project our assumptions about the way things should be onto other people and different ways of living. This was another aspect of his work that simultaneously attracted and repelled me. His examples often take readers aback. For example, he asks: What would you do if you encountered a person selling wood who priced by height rather than volume? At first, you’d think it makes no sense; it seems stupid or wrong or the person must have fallen off the turnip truck back at the bend. But Wittgenstein challenges us to excavate those assumptions and to explore where the lines are between sense and nonsense and what the limitations and difficulties are in trying to understand people who, in effect, operate with some really different organizing principles.
What are we willing to let go of, and what will we hold onto, regardless of how many of our other beliefs we must sacrifice? To people who are not addicted, addicts seem to operate with as skewed a worldview as those wood sellers. What kind of people would risk their livelihoods when the boss has threatened to fire them for being too hungover to work? Who would forsake their family and give up their dreams just to get high? It seems crazy that people do these things, but it seems just as crazy that other nonaddicted people get sucked into our worlds, believing they may be able to make a person stop using. These really are meaning-of-life questions and have a familiar ring to addicts.
Introducing Wittgenstein and his approach to philosophy serves to explain my approach in this book. Like Wittgenstein and the ancients, I believe there is no higher obligation than caring for your soul or your self, and philosophy is an important means to that end. Philosophy aims to make its practitioners better people. When we don’t care for our person in all its dimensions—mental, physical, emotional, social, and spiritual—we run the risk of creating a great deal of confusion and suffering. In our addictions we create confusion and suffering for ourselves and for those around us. By not caring for our person, we are not capable of the best sort of life, as Aristotle would say.
Like Wittgenstein, I understand diagnosis to be an important function of philosophy. Using some of the central concepts of philosophy, I describe and diagnose some of those “problems of life” emblematic of addiction. Good diagnosis always aims to identify the source of the problem so that one treats the cause and not just the symptoms. The symptoms matter enormously, and a person can experience great relief when they are treated. But if the underlying cause is not adequately addressed, recurrence is a likely outcome.
The work of Søren Kierkegaard (1813–1855) is also important to this task. Kierkegaard stands out from other philosophers in his ability to explore what each person is up against in herself (one of the reasons Wittgenstein was so taken by Kierkegaard’s work). Kierkegaard shows us how we can hinder and even lose ourselves in all sorts of ways: One of the most surprising ways is that we can lose ourselves and be in great despair when we are happy. As Kierkegaard says, “deep, deep within the most secret hiding place of happiness there dwells anxiety . . . for despair the most cherished and desirable place to live is in the heart of happiness.”6
My work follows Wittgenstein’s methodology, and my aim in this book is to diagnose by describing some of the forms of suffering that accompany addiction. As mentioned previously, addicts often suffer from self-deception, which has many faces or guises. Rationalization, denial, and minimization are some of the more familiar forms. At first glance, other forms are less familiar, but just as common and dangerous, including shame, lack of self-trust, hedging your bets, procrastination, and feeling like a moral failure by placing demands on yourself that cannot possibly be met.
As Wittgenstein notes, the “cure” involves changing how one sees and understands a problem or situation. Diagnosis alone is not sufficient; however, it is an important step to the dissolution of problems. Understanding without action is purely ornamental; action dissolves problems. For example, a person who always worried about being caught in lies about his using dissolves that worry when he stops using. That worry is no longer viable because his actions are different. One important action that must be taken repeatedly is making a passionate commitment to different ways of living. Such a commitment may lead to what Aristotle calls “flourishing” and many others might call a life of great recovery.
