Now, while Rowlands applies this directly to concepts of evil, the fact is that such a need for excuse-making can be found in almost every human endeavor and facet of society. We are a culture of irresponsible losers, and ones that, heaven forfend, should encounter a real champion of excellence and personal responsibility, then — and only then — will the lazy masses even work up enough indignation to smite the apostate down!
There is a slight proofreading error that occurs on page 106, where Rowlands claims that four billion years after the birth of the cosmos, humans arrived. What he likely meant was four billion or so years after the formation of the earth, humans arrived. Nonetheless, Rowlands weaves back and forth between philosophic excursions and Brenin’s life with an alacrity, joy, and ease that makes one want to slow down and savor the ideas that are broached; such as Rowlands’ semi-disdain for the fact that human beings have made feelings the sine qua non of what it is ‘to be human,’ when clearly this is false. Animals, as Rowlands demonstrates, are just as emotional as we are. Intellect is the great divider that defines us as human. Yet, Rowlands certainly does not want for emotion, as his chapters on Brenin’s illness, recovery, and subsequent death illustrates. The penultimate chapter sees Rowlands tackle the circular and linear concepts of time, and, in its evocation of Rowlands love for his wolf, put me in mind of the great poem by Robinson Jeffers, The House Dog’s Grave. It ends:
You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.
In its evocation, Rowlands realizes that the two concepts are not mutually opposing things, and the end of that chapter, on one of his female dog’s reactions to Brenin’s death, is perfect.
As is the aforementioned culmination and climax of the book; its last chapter. In it, Rowlands dismisses mere happiness as an end unto itself, that purpose -- especially self-purpose -- has a greater place, and uses the example of Sisyphus to demonstrate, for even were the gods to avail Sisyphus of the balm of enjoying his futile task of rolling his stone up his hill, that joy would still not be a thing worthy, in and of itself. It would be an absurdity, and even a cruelty inflicted by the gods. Rowlands argues for measurable objective success, not subjective joy derived, as what determines if something is good or not. Then he gets to his rub, that once a purpose is chosen and completed, there is no further meaning, and this point is one that Rowlands has addressed in other venues, but never seems to have tackled fully.
Article comments
1 - Sebastian
"smite the apostate down"
That's the language of the Taliban. It has no place in educated society... not even as a metaphor.
This article was a muddle-headed meander of pseudo-science, and superstitious moralising. The errors of logic and fact are so numerous the article is not worth correcting.
Incidentally, fish have a highly developed sense of touch (including an organ designed specifically for it which we do not share: try to guess what it is) and are perfectly capable of feeling pain. What little research there has been into their intelligence also demonstrates a capacity for learning and memory.
It is an error of Victorian proportions to assume that lack of personal knowledge is equivalent to knowledge of lack.