The Story of Philosophy by Will Durant


The amazing success of this book, "The Story of Philosophy", is an old story in publishing circles. Dick Simon and Max Schuster, of the new publishing firm Simon and Schuster, took over the booklets and made them into a handsome volume. Durant expected a sale of some 1,100 copies, and the optimistic publishers predicted 1,500. It was assumed that the subject and price – five dollars in 1926 -- would frighten readers away. But a favorable review by Henry Forman in the New York Times sent the book off to a good start. In a few years it sold 2,000,000 copies. To this day it is still capturing new readers in America and has found many abroad, in its translations into Chinese, Czech, Danish, Dutch, Finnish, German, French, Hebrew, Hungarian, Italian, Japanese, Norwegian, Polish, Portuguese, Serbo-Croatian, Spanish and Swedish.

Some twenty or so years ago, I bought a little paperback book at an "used book store", giving some 25 cents for it. The title of the book was "The Story of Philosophy", written by Will Durant, and as I was at that time, enrolled in "Philosophy 101" at the local university, which I was finding to be "as dry and boring" as everyone had told me it would be, I thought this book might give me a "different perception" of Philosophy. And, boy did it! I read the book in about 3-4 days, cover to cover, and have carried it around ever since.

Like I said above, I still have this book, "somewhere", although I cannot presently lay my hands on it. The last time I seen it, was as I was moving out of the house shared by me and Wife #2. I remember "making sure" that I had it, as I vacated the premises.

For some reason, maybe because of my experience on this stream, I've been thinking about pulling it out, "yet once again", and re-reading it. Although I've yet to find it, I have pulled some of Mr. Durant's writings off the internet and offer them to you now.

Below, and possibly continuing, in future blogs, are some of the many thousands words written by William James Durant. Do not be "put off" by the fact that he was a "Philosopher", and wrote of "Philosophy", but give him a chance - with you, and perhaps - you might too, "go looking for his book".-------------ice

So much of our lives is meaningless, a self-canceling vacillation and futility. We strive with the chaos about and within, but we should believe all the while that there is something vital and significant in us, could we but decipher our own souls. We want to understand. "Life means for us constantly to transform into light and flame all that we are or meet with!" We are like Mitya in The Brothers Karamazov -- "one of those who don't want millions, but an answer to their questions." We want to seize the value and perspective of passing things and so to pull ourselves up out of the maelstrom of daily circumstance.

We want to know that the little things are little, and the big things big, before it is too late. We want to see things now as they will seem forever -- "in the light of eternity." We want to learn to laugh in the face of the inevitable, to smile even at the looming of death.

We want to be whole, to coordinate our energies by harmonizing our desires, for coordinated energy is the last word in ethics and politics -- and perhaps in logic and metaphysics, too.

I find in the Universe so many forms of order, organization, system, law and adjustment of means to ends, that I believe in a cosmic intelligence and I conceive God as the life, mind, order and law of the world.

I do not understand my God, and I find in nature and history many instances of apparent evil, disorder, cruelty and aimlessness. But I realize that I see these with a very limited vision and that they might appear quite otherwise from a cosmic point of view. How can an infinitesimal part of the universe understand the whole? We are drops of water trying to understand the sea.

It is a mistake to think that the past is dead. Nothing that has ever happened is quite without influence at this moment. The present is merely the past rolled up and concentrated in this second of time. You, too, are your past; often your face is your autobiography; you are what you are because of what you have been; because of your heredity stretching back into forgotten generations; because of every element of environment that has affected you, every man or woman that has met you, every book that you have read, every experience that you have had; all these are accumulated in your memory, your body, your character, your soul. So with a city, a country, a race; it is its past, and cannot be understood without it. It is the present, not the past, that dies; this present moment, to which we give so much attention, is forever flitting from our eyes and fingers into that pedestal and matrix of our lives which we call the past. It is only the past that lives.

Note: not being computer "savvy", I have, however attempted to put the "internet address" of Will Durant on this blog. I am hoping that if you like, you can hit the below address and be taken to an interesting site about Will Durant. Hope it works.

http://www.willdurant.com/bio.htm

I've been noticing something about our little "stream". It imitates life to a great degree. For example; our regular everyday lives seem preoccupied with the "present", and things, i.e. news events, songs, movies, and "Blog Posts" --- "come along" and are -- quickly gone, sometimes, and most times, far quicker than they should. We all seem so caught up in "what's happening" right this moment that the past slips by, often un-noticed.

With that in mind, I've been musing about taking a "48 hour break" from the "active Blog scene", in order to go back into "Blog History", and read past posts by all of you, and "catch up" on things I might of missed.

However, I think I've hit on a better idea, and I am calling it, "ReRun Blogs", and all of you can participate by taking a minute or two, and researching the blogs, and finding an interesting post by any blogger, and re-posting it on your own blog. You can, of course, do this as often as you like, there are no rules or anything, and if you feel that you do not want to indulge, no harm done, just an idea of mine.

My own advice is "to try to find something really interesting and worthwhile", that did not attract a whole lot of attention at it's original posting. Hope you like the idea.

My contribution to this idea is the below post, which was posted on the 20th of October and received 5 comments. I think it is an excellent story, and I hope you guys like it too.

A True Pig Story


It seems to me that adults should pay more attention to children. We sure could learn a thing or two about simple joy and manifesting our heart's desire. It took a pig and my daughter Colleen to remind me to pay closer attention to these facts.

We used to live on 15 acres of wilderness in Maine, before moving to Pennsylvania. Colleen had just started kindergarten, and was quite shy due to a severe speech impediment. Her favorite movie at the time was Charlotte's Web, and it inspired her to acquire a pig of her own.

During the fall, several towns in Maine have large agricultural fairs. They have lots of greasy food, carnival rides, cows to pat and a crowd favorite, the pig scramble.

The day before our town fair was to start Colleen confided in me that she wanted a piglet. "I will wuf him Mommy and name hims Wilbur, just like Chawotte did!" She was so endearing and earnest, that I promised to speak to her Dad about it.

After school, Colleen presented me with the sign up form for the pig scramble to be held the next evening. Bless her heart, she had figured out a way to get a pig. Dad agreed to sign the permission slip, and confessed to me later that he did not think she would get picked from the lottery style drawing.

The next evening we arrived at the fenced in area where the pig scramble was to be held. We got there just as they were drawing the names of the 10 kids who would enter the scramble. Colleen waited dramatically, with fingers crossed on both hands and her eyes squinched tight. Her fervent wishes were soon answered as her name was called over the loud speaker. I couldn't believe it, this really wasn't part of our plan.

Each child was given a burlap bag, and told to run like crazy after the five piglets in the ring. The five children who did not catch a pig were to be awarded with Five dollars and a ribbon. It was my turn to cross my fingers and squinch my eyes! I hoped for the money, sans barnyard creature! What were we going to do with a pig?

Soon the mayhem and laughter began as the judge hollered GO! Small children could be seen diving for piglets, who moved faster, and there were many kids who stylized their belly flops. Arms, legs and hooves flailed wildly about the ring. Needless to say the crowd was laughing and yelling encouragement. Slowly, the kids began to catch the piggies, until there was one piglet left.

Colleen was fast upon his hooves, catching it and dropping it numerous times. She was covered in dirt and determination. Soon there was just Colleen and one other little boy left. It was a hilarious sight watching Colleen finally grab that piglet by his hind legs. She had dropped her bag at the other end of the ring, but determinedly dragged that pig by his legs back to retrieve it. By now she was exhausted, and the pig was in a panic. He bucked and kicked,grunted and squealed, refusing to enter the bag.

The crowd was yelling "give her the pig" as she continued to struggle. The little boy who remained ran towards Colleen and held the bag open for her while she dropped the pig in. What a noise the crowd made, hooting and hollering as Colleen dropped to her knees to rest. All you could see was a dirty, sweaty face, and beautiful white teeth from her grin.

The crowd was clapping as she stood and hugged the little boy who had helped her get her pig.

Thus Wilbur became a member of our household, and the pet of our hearts.

A tall,stark looking farmer approached Colleen as she dragged the burlap bag full of cranky pig towards the car to take him home.

"Young lady, I will give you twenty dollahs for that pig. You got to undahstand, that a pig ain't no cuddly pet."

I thought the offer of money was a pretty good deal. I was experiencing the twinges of pet regret and the jubilant crowd's clapping was fading fast from my memory.

"No Thank you Sirw" Colleen stated.

I could tell from the jut of her chin and the set of her jaw that the poor pig,now dubbed Wilbur, was about to go to Colleen's School for Terrific Pets. Simplified, he was to be Colleenieized.

Jim took Colleen and Wilbur home to familiarize the pig with his new temporary pen. The plan was to build him a pen,house and trough bright and early the next morning. After safely ensconcing Wilbur in the old Ford truck's cab, Jim and a very dirty pig owner joined us at the fair to enjoy the evening.

The next morning,Colleen made a pot of coffee, and brought it to her Dad in bed. Carefully trying not to spill the hot Java, she began the arduous process of trying to wake up the builder of Wilbur's palace. "Daddy, wake up, Wilbur pooped in your twuck! Oops! Sowwy Daddy I spiwled a wittle coffee on your piwwow! Dad.......come on Wilbur shouldn't wive in the twuck". Slowly, Jim woke up, thanking Colleen for the coffee.

Later on that afternoon Wilbur was enjoying his new home, and Colleen was smothering him with affectionate hugs and kisses. At times, she hugged the poor animal with a little too much exuberance and the pig would emit a high pitched squeal. It wasn't hard to tell that both child and piglet were becoming fast friends.

Soon we settled into a routine and watched Wilbur grow and get fat. Pigs really do make great pets, and Wilbur helped dispel a few myths I previously had held about the creatures.

He was a very neat and tidy pig, going to the bathroom in only one corner of his pen. When it became colder we purchased straw for bedding. Wilbur was a particular pig about his bed, often spending many hours readying it. He would toss the straw into the air to fluff it. When he finished he would have a huge heap of straw that he would somehow manage to crawl into without disturbing the shape. Imagine a full grown pig, sound asleep under an old fashioned looking haystack. A passerby would never know that haystack housed a slumbering pig.

One of the best things about Wilbur was his relationship with Colleen. I think he tolerated the rest of the family, and adored Colleen. Everyday she would feed him an apple and give him a scratch before heading to school. Every afternoon he would greet her, tossing his head and grunting. Colleen even taught the pig to play ball. She would roll it towards Wilbur and he would nudge it back to Colleen, grunting contentedly.

Jim and I had been talking to Colleen about Wilbur's future. The reality of pig ownership is harsh, pigs are raised to be eaten. Wilbur was getting very expensive to feed, and becoming somewhat of a nuisance as he escaped his pen often.

We repeatedly explained these facts to Colleen, hoping to help her understand that Wilbur couldn't live with us forever.

Knowing that all consumable pig products had been banned from our household since the arrival of Wilbur, we pressed forward educating Colleen on the cycle of life. She understood, but never became convinced. Poor baby!

In my experience, many times parents do things out of love for their children that they later regret. Sometimes, the greater power in our life is looking out for said parents.

Such was the case with Colleen, and the pet pig named Wilbur. Pig products were being shunned by all of the kids, and I have to admit they had lost their appeal for me.

Jim,however, being a little less sentimental about Wilbur, was dreaming about pork chops. Wilbur had grown into a hearty sized animal, who had a penchant for rooting in our garden and robbing our tomato plants of their fruit.
Poor Jim, who had built the palace for Wilbur, was now the only person strong enough to gather Wilbur out of the garden and push him back to the pen.

Colleen still played with Wilbur, and scratched him behind his ears, but his size was getting ungainly. She would lean against the pen for support because Wilbur would lean his weight against her, lost in the pleasure of her scratching.

Jim and I felt terrible, but knew that Wilbur just could not spend another winter with us. The family was not producing enough scraps, so we were purchasing two bags of pig grain a week to feed him. Although we knew we couldn't place a price on the experience of pig ownership, it was time to figure out a plan.

Jim contacted a local animal auctioneer, and we agreed that he would come to pick up Wilbur. He was to be auctioned off at the next event. We had long ago decided that we would never slaughter and eat Wilbur ourselves. I did not know how to explain these facts to Colleen, kicking myself for ever agreeing to allow a pig in our house.

The day before the auctioneer was to pick up Wilbur, Colleen cornered us and started asking questions. "Wherwe is Wilbur going Daddy? Why can't we keep him Mommy?" We struggled, gulped, hemmed and hawed, grappling for answers to her tough questions. Finally, I could tell that Jim had enough of truth and honesty! He decided, under the pressure of Colleen's determined gaze, to forgo these things and tell her a whopper! It took only a split second to make the decision before he stammered......"Honey, Wilbur is going......um....to the um...........circus"! Boy, I thought, he's good!

Colleen's demeanor changed instantly. Her brown eyes shone as she asked " You mean Wilbur is smawt enough to be in the circus?" "Make surwe you tell the circus owner that I twained him myself!" Poor Jim! He glanced at me, seemingly for approval, then rushed headlong into the biggest lie, embellishing the truth like a pro!

"Yes, Honey, the circus owner is very impressed with Wilbur. He will travel with other pigs, and all the other children will get to enjoy him. You have done a great job training him. I know that you will miss him, but this is better for Wilbur." Jim looked positively deflated as Colleen ran out the door to tell Wilbur the good news.

Wilbur left the next day amidst tears, but Colleen was happy knowing he was now a performing pig. We made it through the winter, and tore down Wilbur's pen, so that we would not be reminded of the huge lie we had told. Still, Jim and I felt guilty, and we missed that pig! Never again, we both vowed, would we act before thinking when it came to our kids.

Spring came, and my Mother called to invite the kids to the local circus that performed for charity every year. Jim and I thought nothing of it and Colleen never mentioned Wilbur when she heard that she was attending the circus.

"Mommy, Mommy guess what"? Colleen shouted excitedly as she came in the door. "I saw Wilbur today!" "I know he is happy, he was playing ball!" My mother explained that the seats they had at the circus were rather far from the stage, so Colleen was none the wiser as to whether any of the performing pigs were really Wilbur. Mom said she did her best to uphold the whopping fib Jim had told, and that we were being watched over by someone who loved us enough to make this lie a truth. I was very grateful and rather tearful as Colleen chatted on about seeing her beloved Wilbur.

A few months later, Colleen and I were out back where our old garden had been, picking blackberries. We started noticing randomly scattered tomato plants, bearing ripe fruit. Colleen and I popped the sun warmed cherry tomatoes into our mouths, enjoying the harvest. "I guess we should name these Wilbur tomatoes Mom", Colleen said giggling. I looked at her, realizing what she meant. Wilbur had foraged through the old garden,robbing the tomatoes, and then had inadvertently replanted them in a very natural way. "Yes" I said laughing with Colleen, "nothing like a good pile of pig poop to make your garden grow!"

We enjoyed "Wilbur Tomatoes" late into the Fall that year!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

We still miss Wilbur, and have many pictures which Colleen looks at often. This was probably one of the biggest mistakes made out of love that we had ever committed. It is often difficult I think to always think clearly when it comes to our children. I cherish the memories of these two, pig and young girl, and I wince every time she brings up Wilbur. But I am glad that she had the experience, and even if she was too young to understand, I would like to think that in some small way it will make losses easier for her in the future. We have vowed to never tell her the truth about Wilbur, and I would like to think that God somehow backs us up on this decision.

Posted by mamamiah43 at 8:57 AM - 5 Comments Add a Comment

.... On Love
All things must die, but love alone eludes mortality. It overleaps the tombs and bridges the chasm of death with generation. How brief it seems in the bitterness of disillusion; and yet how perennial it is in the perspective of mankind -- how in the end it saves a bit of us from decay and enshrines our life anew in the youth and vigor of the child! Our wealth is a weariness, and our wisdom is a little light that chills; but love warms the heart with unspeakable solace, even more when it is given than when it is received.

...On The War Of The Sexes
If you wish to learn which sex is the more intelligent, watch any man in relation with any woman, and see which of the two will twist the other around her finger.

....The Wise Man And Experience
A wise man can learn from another man's experience; a fool cannot learn even from his own.

...On Women Over Forty
Once a woman of forty was old, decrepit, and trustworthy; today there is nothing more dangerous.

I find in the Universe so many forms of order, organization, system, law and adjustment of means to ends, that I believe in a cosmic intelligence and I conceive God as the life, mind, order and law of the world.

I do not understand my God, and I find in nature and history many instances of apparent evil, disorder, cruelty and aimlessness. But I realize that I see these with a very limited vision and that they might appear quite otherwise from a cosmic point of view. How can an infinitesimal part of the universe understand the whole? We are drops of water trying to understand the sea.

It is a mistake to think that the past is dead. Nothing that has ever happened is quite without influence at this moment. The present is merely the past rolled up and concentrated in this second of time. You, too, are your past; often your face is your autobiography; you are what you are because of what you have been; because of your heredity stretching back into forgotten generations; because of every element of environment that has affected you, every man or woman that has met you, every book that you have read, every experience that you have had; all these are accumulated in your memory, your body, your character, your soul. So with a city, a country, a race; it is its past, and cannot be understood without it. It is the present, not the past, that dies; this present moment, to which we give so much attention, is forever flitting from our eyes and fingers into that pedestal and matrix of our lives which we call the past. It is only the past that lives.

Vietnam is not a subject I usually talk about, but in the past when I have, it was the "light" moments like my blog about "body surfing" at Cam Rahn Bay. That's not to infer that I have bad memories about Nam, for except for a "few" times, I was extremely "lucky" while I was there. "Lucky" because I was not a 11B or "grunt", which was what we called the guys (infantry) who were in the middle of the fighting, day in and day out. My cousin was one of these "grunts", and he came back with 2 Purple Hearts, meaning he was wounded twice, during combat while there. To this day, he's never discussed Vietnam with me, or anyone else that I know of, and if he had "light moments", as I was lucky to have, nobody's ever heard about them either.

When I got home after my year over there, my cousin's Mother, my favorite Aunt, asked me to try and talk to him about Nam. I wanted to help her out, cause she was worried about her son, because according to her he was withdrawn, and didn't talk much. But I wasn't "going there", and it wouldn't of mattered if I'd tried, cause like I said, he's never talked to anyone about it, as far as I know, and he's been back almost 40 years now.

During the time that I was going to Cam Rahn Bay, and body surfing, I had been assigned in a "real echelon" unit. I think somebody once said that for every soldier in Nam who saw "real action" there were 16 in "rear echelon units". For the most part if you were in the "rear" - life was fairly tame, and somewhat safe. That's not to say it wasn't dangerous in Nam if you were in the rear, but, your chances of getting out alive were significantly better.

One of the things that bother those who saw a lot of action in Nam, is that many Vietnam Vets, who spent their entire time "in the rear",
often have the "greatest war stories to tell". For example, I left Nam in October of 69, and for the most part Cam Rahn Bay was one of the safest places to be, as my blog stated. GI's were water skiing, body surfing, partying down, and generally having a "blast" there, as they were in many rear echelon locations. "Yet", since returning from Nam, I've heard countless "war stories" about "fierce battles" taking place at Cam Rahn during 68-69. I always abstain from discussing it in detail, for, what the hell, maybe someone did, but I never heard about it.

All I can say is I was damn glad to "not see" those things that would make me "not talk about it". I do not mean to take anything from those who served in the rear, for, everyone who went to Nam, risked his life for our country, but what I am saying is - be careful when you are listening to a "nam vet" telling war stories, yeah, they might be telling the truth, but chances are, they spent their entire time in a relatively "safe" rear area.

As for me, I spent 2 months in the rear, and 10 months in the field, but still, it was not spent tramping through the jungle and fighting "Charlie" on a daily basis. Btw, the best, and most realistic movie I've ever seen about nam was "Platoon". The men depicted in that movie were the real heroes over there, and I will always have great admiration for them - and we will forever "owe them". ---------ice

58,000 Americans killed/missing in Vietnam.