You never know what life has got in store for you. When you came along my way, I could never have guessed what way you were headed and that you could spare no pains in sweeping me off my feet. I never ever imagined and believed in the nature of feelings and their capability of taking you through a U-Turn when you are just to pull off far far away from the focal crossroad of your life. So, when the hopes started fading, I remember the last time I dreamt of anything like that. Not because have had a bad luck in love or anything, just because the permanent failure of feelings over pragmatic behaviour and the scattered visions of so many people I have met and the scattering effect those very visions have had on mine seemed to be telling me to get my feet off the water and start walking. But yeah, then you came. ..
And I suddenly lost the need to chase my crossroads and made my own U-Turn. As I opened my eyes every morning, I could surprisingly see those crossroads and the traffic lights of feelings and emotional bursts …. all those things you apparently are either allowed or prohibited to feel and do found themselves lifted up and flying over the clouds… literally pulling me off the depth I had fallen deep into.
You are a story. A brand new story. The one that wipes off all the lines written on the pages of my life. Funny, isn’t it? We meet, we talk, we hug, we kiss and when we do, the whole story gets a new ending, completely ignoring the way it began. Oftentimes I find your scent lingering around the house… but there is never a time I could rest in peace after you leave. An old saying keeps coming back… “Too good to be true”… well, I take myself good enough to disperse the tantalising effect this saying has on me… the one which keeps saying you don’t deserve this. In a sense, I think it is a good one. Keeps you moving. But funnily enough, every time one moves, you have a sense of destination. But the move I have with you seems to have no destination whatsoever. Headed nowhere… endless road with no direction…
All the things I feel on the go, all the things I find on the road, and all the things you show and I discover, just keep coming and pushing me higher and higher… or the distressing minutes we both feel also seem to just add up to these countless impressions with an intangible lesson we learn. This is the point when I discover the unknown thirst and inclination to go further and further, farther and farther… longer and … forever… I have not thought about whether I would have found strength and will to do the same with anybody else, but with you, all seems like an emotional rhetoric. A rhetoric to be followed. Not questioned.
Yours
Friday, 23 April 2010
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Bad Mood Makes us Careful...?
Well, maybe my reign of misery isn’t all bad: It turns out that “low-intensity” negative moods are linked to better writing than happy moods. As shown in the research of University of New South Wales Psychology Professor Joe Forgas, when we’re not walking on clouds or doing a happy dance, we tend to be more careful and mindful of details.
Forgas has worked extensively on the effects of mood, and his most in-depth work with writing was described in the 2006 article “When sad is better than happy: Negative affect can improve the quality and effectiveness of persuasive messages and social influence strategies.” In one experiment, Forgas’s guinea pigs—humans, in this case—watched either a comedy or a film on cancer before being asked to write persuasively. Others wrote emails after a similar “mood induction.” In all cases, the sad folks produced arguments that were more concrete and therefore more persuasive than the happy campers. Just by being in a bad mood, Forgas’s subjects unconsciously followed the advice I constantly give students: “Details matter,” “Give me an example,” “Back up what you’re saying,” and “Be more specific.”
Writing is just the tip of the mood-berg for Forgas, who recently gave a broad overview of his work in an article for Australian Science called “Think Negative! Can a bad mood make us think more clearly?” He found that people in a negative mood have a better bullshit detector when it came to urban legends, false trivia statements, and even the sincerity of facial expressions. They are more reliable eyewitnesses. They even overcome stereotypes better, as Forgas found in a disturbing yet revealing test, which revealed that those in a good mood had “...a significantly greater tendency overall to shoot at Muslims rather than non-Muslims... Conversely, negative mood reduced stereotype-based aggressive responses to Muslims.” Of course, no real shooting was involved, but those results are alarming: Being happy really does seem to make us dumb and dangerous.
One huge disclaimer: A “slightly negative mood” produced sharper thinking than a happy mood, but there’s no evidence to suggest that a really awful mood might do the same. Watching a sad movie with your spouse might do the trick; being left by your spouse probably would not. As Forgas said by email, “...we were basically producing mild negative moods, the kind of feeling state people have after watching 10 minutes of a sad movie, or learning that they did less well than they hoped on a test, or thinking about a sad episode in the past. The moods are mild and temporary, just the kinds of mood fluctuations people experience in everyday life. More intense or enduring negative moods may well have more debilitating effects.”
So why do crappy moods have such un-crappy consequences? Forgas said, “The most likely explanation is based on evolutionary theorising—affective states serve an adaptive purpose, subconsciously alerting us to apply the most useful information processing strategy to the task at hand. A negative mood is like an alarm signal, indicating that the situation is problematic, and requires more attentive, careful and vigilant processing—hence the greater attention to concrete information.”
I asked Forgas if there’s anything people can do when they feel the effects of affect surging through their mood ring. He said, “Direct conscious attempts to change/control moods usually do not work well—otherwise we would presumably be happy all the time, which is clearly not the case... The effects we found occur without people being aware of them, and as you note, instructions to control these effects are not very effective.”
That makes me kind of sad. Well, all the better for this column. As Dennis Baron wrote on his Web of Language site about Forgas’s work: “It isn't surprising to discover that in order to improve, writers first have to become more unhappy. After all, lemons make great lemonade, and the literary canon is full of authors who are depressed.”
Saturday, 24 October 2009
When your nerves hurt...
I do not feel nervous breakdown very often. But when I do, I seem lucky enough to just bump into someone who cares and can say something to take the pain away. Rakhima is one of those friends who you would have no problem turning to, for help:)
Bless you, Rakhishka:)
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
Nothing To Think About
Not content with writing a book about nothingness, Anthony Gottlieb has been teaching a seminar about it to students in New York ...
From INTELLIGENT LIFE Magazine, Spring 2009
There is a priceless exchange in the 20th episode of “The Sopranos”—the soap-opera about a New Jersey mobster whose stressful career brings him to the couch of a psychotherapist, Jennifer Melfi. Tony Soprano is annoyed with his teenage son, who has been moaning about the ultimate absurdity of life:
Melfii: Sounds to me like Anthony junior may have stumbled onto existentialism.
Tony: Fuckin’ internet!
Melfi: No, no, no. It’s a European philosophy.
Quite so; one cannot blame the internet for everything. Existentialism has roots in the 19th-century thought of Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, but it is most famously linked with restless French students in the 1960s and the writings of Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus. Sure enough, Anthony junior has been assigned Camus’s novel “L’Etranger” in class. It also doesn’t help his precarious state of mind when his grandmother bitterly tells him “in the end, you die in your own arms… It’s all a big Nothing.”
Well, plus ça change. It is not only on television that nihilist strains of existentialism continue to tempt young minds, and no doubt the minds of some grandmothers. Last autumn I taught a seminar about ideas of nothingness at the New School, a university in New York. Most of the students were already keen on Sartre and Camus, and among the many facets of nothingness that we looked at in science, literature, art and philosophy, it was death and the pointlessness of life that most gripped them. They showed a polite interest in the role of vacuum in 17th-century physics and in the development of the concept of zero. But existentialist angst was the real draw.
Existentialism may have flourished in the 1960s, but its themes are the oldest in the world—indeed, one puzzle about existentialism is why it took so long to come into existence. The eponymous hero of the Mesopotamian “Epic of Gilgamesh”, which was written in the second millennium BC, is plunged into gloomy thoughts of his own mortality after his beloved friend Enkidu expires. Gilgamesh belatedly realises that he, too, must die, and this fact makes all of life seem empty to him:
The river rises, flows over its banks
and carries us all away, like mayflies
floating downstream: they stare at the sun,
then all at once there is nothing.
Emptiness, void, the abyss: synonyms for nothingness provide the most popular metaphorical images for death. Winston Churchill liked to refer to it as “black velvet”. And just as morbid fears make people think of nothingness, the reverse is also true. In the 17th century, contemplating the empty vastness of the heavens, Pascal recorded in his “Pensées” that “the eternal silence of these infinite spaces fills me with dread.” It is also terrifying, he wrote, to consider the “new abyss” freshly revealed in the minutest parts of nature. Pascal, it seems, found nothingness everywhere, though he noted that on the whole man is, perhaps fortunately, “incapable of seeing the nothingness from which he emerges.”
How anything can emerge from nothingness is a question which the ancient Greeks answered by saying that it can’t. There must, they reasoned, have always been something. But that seems to raise a further question, which was given its most concise formulation by Leibniz at the end of the 17th century: why is there something rather than nothing? Another German philosopher, Martin Heidegger, who died in 1976, argued that this puzzle was the most important question of all, though he never quite got round to answering it. Heidegger was infamous for his bizarre neologisms and contorted language, which were especially evident when he wrestled with nothingness. He even invented a verb to describe what nothingness does: in the English translation, it “noths”. Well, maybe it doth, but this does not get us very far.
One might think that science will eventually be able to explain the matter; certainly many cosmologists have said so. But there is an eternal snag, because any answer to the question of why there is something rather than nothing will end up chasing its own tail. Any law of nature or mathematics, any purported set of physical conditions, indeed any fact at all counts as “something”, and is thus itself part of what is supposed to be explained. Every explanation must start somewhere. But there is not, and never could be, anywhere left for this one to start.
Faced with the apparent impossibility of making much headway with nothingness, poets have resorted to cracking jokes about it, many of which are abominable puns. Most of these revolve around the double meaning exemplified in the title of a memoir on death by the novelist Julian Barnes, published last year: “Nothing to be Frightened of”. His readers may find some comfort in the fact that, however broodingly terrified they are by their own mortality, Barnes has an even worse case of the disease.
Shakespeare, too, made much merry play with the word “nothing”, and not only in “Much Ado”. Whether or not something may come of nothing is a recurring theme in “King Lear”, and there is a particularly convoluted verbal joust between Hamlet and Ophelia—some of which escapes contemporary readers unaware that in Elizabethan slang “nothing” can mean “vagina”. One verbally agile philosopher remarked in an encyclopedia entry that it is perhaps not Nothing that has been worrying existentialists, but they who have been worrying it. One wonders what Tony Soprano would have had to say about that.
From INTELLIGENT LIFE Magazine, Spring 2009
There is a priceless exchange in the 20th episode of “The Sopranos”—the soap-opera about a New Jersey mobster whose stressful career brings him to the couch of a psychotherapist, Jennifer Melfi. Tony Soprano is annoyed with his teenage son, who has been moaning about the ultimate absurdity of life:
Melfii: Sounds to me like Anthony junior may have stumbled onto existentialism.
Tony: Fuckin’ internet!
Melfi: No, no, no. It’s a European philosophy.
Quite so; one cannot blame the internet for everything. Existentialism has roots in the 19th-century thought of Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, but it is most famously linked with restless French students in the 1960s and the writings of Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus. Sure enough, Anthony junior has been assigned Camus’s novel “L’Etranger” in class. It also doesn’t help his precarious state of mind when his grandmother bitterly tells him “in the end, you die in your own arms… It’s all a big Nothing.”
Well, plus ça change. It is not only on television that nihilist strains of existentialism continue to tempt young minds, and no doubt the minds of some grandmothers. Last autumn I taught a seminar about ideas of nothingness at the New School, a university in New York. Most of the students were already keen on Sartre and Camus, and among the many facets of nothingness that we looked at in science, literature, art and philosophy, it was death and the pointlessness of life that most gripped them. They showed a polite interest in the role of vacuum in 17th-century physics and in the development of the concept of zero. But existentialist angst was the real draw.
Existentialism may have flourished in the 1960s, but its themes are the oldest in the world—indeed, one puzzle about existentialism is why it took so long to come into existence. The eponymous hero of the Mesopotamian “Epic of Gilgamesh”, which was written in the second millennium BC, is plunged into gloomy thoughts of his own mortality after his beloved friend Enkidu expires. Gilgamesh belatedly realises that he, too, must die, and this fact makes all of life seem empty to him:
The river rises, flows over its banks
and carries us all away, like mayflies
floating downstream: they stare at the sun,
then all at once there is nothing.
Emptiness, void, the abyss: synonyms for nothingness provide the most popular metaphorical images for death. Winston Churchill liked to refer to it as “black velvet”. And just as morbid fears make people think of nothingness, the reverse is also true. In the 17th century, contemplating the empty vastness of the heavens, Pascal recorded in his “Pensées” that “the eternal silence of these infinite spaces fills me with dread.” It is also terrifying, he wrote, to consider the “new abyss” freshly revealed in the minutest parts of nature. Pascal, it seems, found nothingness everywhere, though he noted that on the whole man is, perhaps fortunately, “incapable of seeing the nothingness from which he emerges.”
How anything can emerge from nothingness is a question which the ancient Greeks answered by saying that it can’t. There must, they reasoned, have always been something. But that seems to raise a further question, which was given its most concise formulation by Leibniz at the end of the 17th century: why is there something rather than nothing? Another German philosopher, Martin Heidegger, who died in 1976, argued that this puzzle was the most important question of all, though he never quite got round to answering it. Heidegger was infamous for his bizarre neologisms and contorted language, which were especially evident when he wrestled with nothingness. He even invented a verb to describe what nothingness does: in the English translation, it “noths”. Well, maybe it doth, but this does not get us very far.
One might think that science will eventually be able to explain the matter; certainly many cosmologists have said so. But there is an eternal snag, because any answer to the question of why there is something rather than nothing will end up chasing its own tail. Any law of nature or mathematics, any purported set of physical conditions, indeed any fact at all counts as “something”, and is thus itself part of what is supposed to be explained. Every explanation must start somewhere. But there is not, and never could be, anywhere left for this one to start.
Faced with the apparent impossibility of making much headway with nothingness, poets have resorted to cracking jokes about it, many of which are abominable puns. Most of these revolve around the double meaning exemplified in the title of a memoir on death by the novelist Julian Barnes, published last year: “Nothing to be Frightened of”. His readers may find some comfort in the fact that, however broodingly terrified they are by their own mortality, Barnes has an even worse case of the disease.
Shakespeare, too, made much merry play with the word “nothing”, and not only in “Much Ado”. Whether or not something may come of nothing is a recurring theme in “King Lear”, and there is a particularly convoluted verbal joust between Hamlet and Ophelia—some of which escapes contemporary readers unaware that in Elizabethan slang “nothing” can mean “vagina”. One verbally agile philosopher remarked in an encyclopedia entry that it is perhaps not Nothing that has been worrying existentialists, but they who have been worrying it. One wonders what Tony Soprano would have had to say about that.
Sunday, 12 July 2009
"I think "Critically", therefore I am"
We all think, but may not think well. Critical thinking, however, is a reflective process that is clear, precise and purposeful.
While critical thinking is often considered an allied asset of the VIA strength Open-mindedness, Socratic logic shows that open-minded thinkers are not necessarily critical thinkers. Consummate critical thinking is a rich and complex strength that is comprised of a constellation of many other strengths, including open-mindedness, curiosity, love of learning, persistence, integrity, and self-regulation. Stanovich claims that one must have knowledge of a person’s overall thinking process in order to qualify an individual’s open-mindedness as general and persistent strength. 
The ideal critical thinker is habitually inquisitive, well-informed, trustful of reason, open-minded, flexible, fair-minded in evaluation, honest in facing personal biases, prudent in making judgments, willing to reconsider, clear about issues, orderly in complex matters, diligent in seeking relevant information, reasonable in the selection of criteria, focused in inquiry, and persistent in seeking results which are as precise as the subject and the circumstances permit. (p.3)
The Foundations of Critical Thinking
Gentleman and Scholar
Gender and Critical Thinking
| Women’s voices were marginalized in the area of critical thinking until the late 20th century.Carol Gilligan (1993) posited that women may structure their thought processes a bit differently than men do. In her book, In a Different Voice, she claims that men tend to work on a hierarchical ordering of thinking, rather than a relational, connected pathway of thought more commonly attributed to women. Other notable voices include Nel Noddings and Mary Field Belenky. Noddings (2003) focused on a moral approach to critical thinking as a prerequisite to a foundation of “logical consistency.” |
Belenky considered four different ways that women tend to think critically in asserting their authority and capabilities: silent knowing, received knowledge, subjective knowledge, procedural knowledge and constructed knowledge. They have enriched the trait of critical thinking from a perspective that has strong implications for men and women alike.
Contemporary theorists such as Richard Paul and Robert Ennis (1982) emphasized two senses of critical thinking. In the weak sense, the critical thinker adequately sees his or her own and as well as others’ positions. The strong sense enhances the capacity of the weak sense with a deeper understanding and more encompassing worldview.
The Criteria for Critical Thinking as a Persistent Strength
Critical Thinking passes muster as it satisfies all ten criteria for a character strength. Some of the criteria are described below:
Criterion 1: It is fulfilling, because it leads to greater and more complex understanding and the respect for differing points of view.
Criterion 2:It is morally valued, in that it systematically examines differing points of view of self, and the consonant and dissonant attitudes of others.
Criterion 4: Non-felicitous opposites include wishful or magical thinking, mistrust of reason, as well as disinterested, indifferent, and uninterested thinking.
Criterion 6: Critical thinking cannot be decomposed into other strengths. However, the strengths of open-mindedness, curiosity, love of learning, persistence, integrity, and self-regulation are all essential ingredients that make up critical thinking.
Criterion 10: From an institutional perspective, the development of critical thinking rubrics in American high schools and colleges is a strong reflection on the importance of critical thinking and the future of education (Facione et al., 1995).
Summary
Oliver Wendell Holmes once said, “I would not give a fig (care) for the simplicity this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity on the other side of complexity.” Consummate critical thinking is simplicity on the other side of complexity, a constellation of components that are systematically employed to function as the 25th strength of character.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)