Uncommon Sense

One learns to listen to the meaning of language, when one has been instructed in language endlessly. Does it conduct the owner of education, imagination and a sense of humor? Does it demand scientific scrutiny and historical relevance? As a child I learned these things early, to listen to the speech of others, for the family was already in the fold. My mother might correct my usage all her life, but my language was a priori at least equal to if not superior to that of all others outside the family, in her view—and it was her view which held the family standard. She was not particularly scientific in method, if wholly so in attitude, and so sometimes I saw her logic as lacking, for I was wholly scientific both in method and attitude. It is not conducive to common sense, such an upbringing, in such a family.

One learns very early to admire the humorous, the “wit” which is the family humor, the understatement, the ironic. And yet my mother screamed herself with laughter into sanity all her life. She depended on humor, the ability to see the funny and absurd and the ridiculous to see her through the worst of circumstances. Common sense does not enter in; common sense might have dictated a melt-down. But my mother's uncommon sense was well developed toward an always available window of opportunity framed by laughter. It relieved her and with it she rose above an abusive, corrosive undependable outer world of trouble. She rose newly strengthened by it, for rarely was it not followed by solid plans of self-intervention and, ultimately, victory over all foes, these being, mainly, people with no imagination, whose sense and knowledge were merely conventional. Imagination itself is not conducive to common sense and when common sense becomes merely conventional, then it becomes the foe. Uncommon sense is much more interesting, for one, than common sense. It is also never in danger of becoming merely conventional.

My grandfather was of that tribe which has always lived among men admired by all the other tribes, currently coined a “whisperer.” My mother thought that birds and cats and all sorts of animals “knew”
things. Of course this was not scientifically viable, and I snickered at her. Yet she had a father who, in spite of being an eminent scientist, talked to animals; and I myself admit to having had a grounded robin chick hop right into my lap once. Common sense tells you a dog knows what you're thinking. Uncommon sense tells you you know what the dog is thinking. We have, as a family, the latter kind.

A well-educated person reveals himself in language--the purpose he puts it to, not just the way it is put. My mother revealed to me a remarkable compassion for others when she over-looked the ill-constructed syntax of a given respect-deserving outsider and focused on his sense of humor and his good common sense. Those with uncommon sense always look up to and respect those with common sense, and my mother's uncommon sense was superior. She had a keen eye to the essential human being beneath the trappings of style, even such verbal accouterments as those which had been garnered in a language-poor upbringing. My mother could forgive, and willingly did so consistently, poor language usage in the mouth of a person who had sterling integrity, fierce protectiveness, loyalty and—always—common sense. She loved carpenters. I guess she found they exuded common sense, and she found they shared the same sense of humor, uncommon as it was.

Common sense would have told her she and carpenters weren't likely to find the same things funny. But uncommon sense, of which our family has plenty, she had in spades. I thought I was the only one with common sense—me and Grandma Ruggli, my grandfather's mother-in-law. Now she had common sense. You could, and can, see it in her wrinkles. I can see, using my magic mirror (rendered magic by its frequent disuse) that I am slowly turning into my great grandmother, wrinkles and all. But the common sense? I somehow doubt it will come in time for it to cause my bodily demise to have no meaning. Such thoughts invariably render me melancholy; but it passes. Uncommon sense, of which I have much, tells me that in a hundred years I will have a descendant turning into me.

The use of uncommon sense is that one keeps in touch with one's remote ancestors and one's remote descendants. Common sense says that it's all over when it's all over. Common sense says dust to dust. Uncommon sense, such as my family believes in, says death is only bodily, the family lives forever, and with it the stories and language which feature it forever. The family is uncommonly featured in the kind of sense which makes sense to my family, and my family only. Not quite. We're not that exclusive. Not when it comes to marriage.

We're always noticing others—people who exude a certain humorous imaginative approach to life and looping them in matrimonially. Uncommon sense must be perpetuated. Uncommon sense says you marry someone you love. Common sense dictates you fall in love with someone who understands where you're coming from, family wise. (Does he talk to the animals? Is he not lazy? Hard-working? Is he thoughtful of others? NOT conventional, I hope—the worst is to be conventional in my family.) Most importantly, is he prepared to go script-less into the conversation of the night? (Does he speak well? Is he educated?) Why be in love with somebody else? Makes sense. But which kind?

Uncommon sense says you marry the person you fall in love with. With any luck, you might fall in love with someone your family would approve of, that being someone who, though lacking in common sense, is still imaginative and creative. Good luck thus becomes an indispensable component of one's own destiny package. To someone without common sense, luck redeems all; indeed is all that's left for hope after uncommon wisdom speaks. Someone with common sense doesn't need luck (he has sense).

When it comes to discovering lovers of an ilk, uncommon sense is always sending members of our family messages during the courting process. I have a daughter who calls the messenger of her own uncommon sense her “Stupid Friend.” Stupid is a good way of describing uncommon sense. Common sense would make you never stupid, ever.

Common sense is much to be wanted, for it's the fortress of the ages, the sign of common wisdom. Uncommon wisdom has to be family grown. I strive ever toward the former, having been given so much of the latter.

Norman Lear's religious tolerance, Stoicism, Obama, and the coming generation

I heard Norman Lear interviewed today, and was startled to hear him say several things I think of as essentially Stoic. In particular, that each individual has his or her own theism--whether it be monotheistic, polytheistic, atheistic or whatever--to address. Each of us must determine that relationship for ourselves. In Norman Lear's eyes (http://normanlear.com/spirit_8.html) this is what has determined whether or not he has lived a purposeful life; for other individuals, he stresses, it may or may not be the same--that is none of his concern. Particularly he makes it clear how others address their religious concerns is none of his concern. Religious unconcern is the basis for his religious tolerance, in fact, the result of his belief that divine struggles are personal, not collective; they reside in each of us, and it is not the individual's proper place to determine what the religious beliefs of others should or should not be.

It is a typically Stoic position; both Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (http://www.bartleby.com/2/3/14.html) and Epictetus (http://www.ptypes.com/enchiridion.html) express similar beliefs. Simplicius, historian of Alexander the Great, records in Epictetus's Enchiridion ("handbook"): "...and if it relates to anything which is not in our power, be ready to say, that it does not concern you." Lear cites American forefathers Jefferson and Madison as progenitors of his views. He calls their thought "secular humanism." He writes:

"That is, with Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and most of the nation's other founders, I believe that whether one is theist or atheist is irrelevant to civil purpose. Jefferson: “It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods, or no god.” Madison: “Whilst we assert for ourselves a freedom to embrace, profess and observe the Religion which we believe to be of divine origin, we cannot deny an equal freedom to those whose minds have not yielded to the evidence which has convinced us.” In other words, some of my—and America's—best friends are secular humanists.

George Long, who translated Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius Antoninus at the end of the 19th century, and who taught at Jefferson's University of Virginia, discusses at length in his introductions to these works by these two philosophers (Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius Antoninus) the long tradition of Stoic thought in history:

"From the time of Zeno to Simplicius, a period of about nine hundred years, the Stoic Philosophy formed the characters of some of the best and greatest men."

How did Stoic thought come down to Norman Lear? Most educated men of Madison and Jefferson's generation had read these works by Epictetus and Antoninus; they were an important part of the "core curriculum" of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth centuries, carried through since the Renaissance's great Classical revival. Norman Lear read and agreed with Madison and Jefferson, but really Madison and Jefferson were channeling Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, and he agreed with them. Many of us today agree with them. We are, perhaps, Neo-Stoics and don't realize it. Obama surely is, and anyone who has heard or read his views on religious toleration knows it (http://theframeproblem.wordpress.com/2008/02/11/barack-obamas-speech-on-religion-in-america/).

I think maybe this kind of tolerance is what is catching the imagination of those in our current generation who say they are not religious, but are spiritual; or say they are personally atheistic but don't mind others believing what they want(whatever floats your spiritual boat); inclusive, accepting of diversity, not exclusive. They are in this secular humanistic, Stoic tradition so well expressed in Norman Lear's personal philosophy. I think the age of Lear and the NeoStoics has found its time. Our world communicates so well now, we all might as well think of ourselves as seated at the same table. And we all know we shouldn't be discussing the religion, sex, and politics of each other --it is none of our concern!--but respect each others' differences of opinion in all matters religious, sexual, and political.

As Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (Meditations,VIII, 56)puts it, be tolerant of other's free will to opine as they will:

"To my own free will the free will of my neighbor is just as indifferent as his poor breath and flesh. For though we are made especially for the sake of one another, still the ruling power of each of us has its own office..."