Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead Play Pdf Kylie
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Flowers 7. Death and Enlightenment Robert Wicks 9. Death and Detachment — Graham Parkes Death and Metaphysics — Peter Kraus Death and Authenticity — Julian Young Death and the Unity of a Life — Jeff Malpas The Antinomy of Death — Peter Loptson When the subject is death, bon mots and deep insights, witty wisecracks and gloomy reflections intermingle. Death may be a morbid subject, but conversations and shared reflections about death have a way of producing gaiety and good humour rather than gloom, of enhancing life and forging friendships.
This collection has its origins in such a conversation. The setting was remarkable: a secluded location overlooking sea, sand and soft green hills in the Bay of Islands, north of Auckland, New Zealand, No less remarkable was the hospitality of our host, Peter Kraus who organised the meeting, and who supplied seemingly endless enthusiasm as well as excellent food and drink.
Most remarkable of all, however, was undoubtedly the spirit that developed among the participants over the few days the meeting extended. When our time together came to an end, we not only left with an intense feeling of intellectual exhilaration, and some vivid memories, but with new and strengthened bonds of friendship.
Such an occasion can scarcely be done justice by any collection of scholarly papers and so this collection stands, not so much as an expression of the occasion, as a memorial to it. Special thanks are due, not only to Peter Kraus for organising and hosting the conference, but also to those who participated and whose contributions are not contained here — Anne Salmond and Bruce Cliffe, — and to all those who helped make the conference such a success especially Hannelore Kraus, Avis Mountain, Martina Lutz, and Rose Bradford..
Solomon There is an ancient tradition that says that philosophy is essentially concerned with death — whether with understanding it, reconciling oneself to it or preparing oneself for its inevitable arrival.
But if that is so then it seems much contemporary philosophising has failed to fulfil one of its essential functions, since death is a topic that is seldom addressed in contemporary philosophical discussion. There are exceptions, of course.
One of the reasons that a philosopher such as Martin Heidegger figures so prominently in this collection is that Heidegger is one of the few philosophers who has indeed had a great deal to say about death. The concern of all the contributors, whether they are expressing their own thoughts directly or discussing the thoughts of others, is emphatically personal.
In this respect, the idea that philosophy is somehow essentially concerned with death need not reflect some peculiar mobidity on the part of the philosopher who advances such a view nor in relation to philosophy in general. Instead, it can be taken to express a view of philosophy as a form of inquiry centrally concerned with the question of what it is to be human and with the nature and meaningfulness of human existence.
Certainly death or the experiences and feelings that cluster round the concept of death — experiences, for instance, of loss and sadness, of fear and foreboding, sometimes of release and thankfulness — seem to be at the heart of what it is to live a human life and of what it means to be human.
The question is: what are we to make of this? How should we understand the relation between death and human life? These are the sorts of questions that take centre stage in the discussions that make up this collection. Certainly it is characteristic of many of those writers and philosophers who are often bundled together under the existentialist label though not all — Sartre is a notable exception that they have taken the question of death as a central and defining one just in virtue of their preoccupation with human existence.
But existentialist approaches are not the only approaches that figure in the following pages. This collection thus includes a variety of different philosophical perspectives on death — in some cases perspectives strongly informed by literary and aesthetic considerations and, in one case, by especially close personal experience.
Although in some respects a personal memoir the essay is an especially appropriate starting place for the collection, for whatever else death may be, it is first and foremost something personal.
Indeed, whatever our philosophical viewpoint, the personal face of death is something that cannot be avoided. For Canetti death is not impersonal, but represents the very destruction of personhood, of what is human and what is valuable.
Of course even those philosophers who would have us dismiss the significance of death as an event still emphasise, if sometimes only implicitly, the absolutely central importance of arriving at an appropriate understanding of death for a proper understanding of human life and for the proper living of such a life.
In this respect these first three essays all share an affirmation of the possibilities of life that arise precisely out of our attitude towards death. Indeed, for many of the essays in this volume, the significance of death is not to be found in the mere fact of the cessation of existence that is death itself, but rather in the relation between the fact of death and the possibilities for vital and fulfilled human life.
Betty Sue Flowers picks up this idea in one form — as a source of creative possibility in the shaping and directing of a life. According to Flowers death itself brings its own stories with it and the narratives with which we present death to ourselves are narratives that also shape who and what we are or could be.
The variety of narratives within which death can be presented is exemplified by the variety of different ways in which death is understood within different cultural settings. Indeed, the essays of Ames, Parkes and Wicks are as much concerned with understanding death, as with understanding different attitudes towards death. Kraus is primarily concerned with the relation between death, nothingness and being, and with the idea that the very possibility of metaphysics might itself be intimately tied to the possibility of death.
This is also an idea taken up, without the Heideggerian connection, by Peter Loptson. Combining Kantian and Darwinian ideas, Loptson argues that while death is surely an evil, it is an evil that is probably unavoidable for creatures constituted as we are.
The final essay in the collection, that by Bob Solomon, returns us to some of the themes present in the earlier essays of the collection — to questions of how death should be approached, how it should be represented — and to the matter of the implications for our understanding of ourselves and the sorts of lives we live of our attitudes towards the fact of our dying.
Instead, as with all the papers collected here, it attempts, in its own way, to place death in the context of life and in so doing to render a view of death that paints it in the only colours available to us — colours that derive from a thoroughly human set of concerns, values and commitments.
I was dying. Yet at the time of my death in September of l there was no fear, no struggling, no desperation, no confusion and no bewilderment. Yet as I sit here reading my wife's account of my death I am filled with terror. In the middle of the night, during the Labor Day weekend, I went into anaphylactic shock. Later, it would appear that this was induced by exposure to excessive moulds in the air in our country house, and by drinking beer preserved with sulfites.
In my middle years I have become acutely sensitive to both. Our second home sits on high dunes above Lake Michigan on a lot that is a mile deep, heavily wooded and remote. A spectacular and private spot. A mile from a paved road.
Ten miles from town. Waking up in the middle of the night, having great difficulty breathing, I realised that I was in trouble. She jumped from bed, put on a few clothes, grabbed her backpack, and helped me as we stumbled in total darkness toward the parking lot. I told her to take her car. Her car has a car phone, mine does not. In the car I fought for my breath, for my life.
I withdrew into myself. I knew that I was in the process of dying. I watched it happening. There was no fear; the experience itself was too compelling.
During this period of time, which was probably less than ten minutes, all of my attachments to this world dwindled to nothing. Susan's voice was distant, remote, removed from my experience.
I could hear her talking to me and then I could no longer make sense of the words. The lights lost their brightness. Everything turned a dark grey, and then black.
My body began to feel very heavy. I could feel the weight in the middle of my back. I let everything settle down into my centre, not struggling with this feeling of heaviness.
I responded weakly to Susan, partly because of the physical state that I was in but largely because I was totally absorbed in the process of dying.
My head felt huge and heavy like a boulder. I felt my body toppling. I could not tell in which direction I was falling. Tolstoy appears to have understood a great deal of what I experienced.
Ivan Ilych, as he approaches death, watches as the external world of his home, family, doctors, retainers starts to fade away. There is an indifference to the world, and to his life as he had lived it. It was remote and distant. Let me return later to the indifference. Where are you pain? Well what of it? Let the pain be. Perhaps here Tolstoy was wandering off into the theological, or conjuring up death as he would have liked it to be.
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