We don't have a "drive for wisdom" as much as it takes time for individuals to develop it.
Literally, kittens and puppies grow up to be killer cats and wolves. Children lose their temporary innocence-advantage pretty quickly. Urges and wishes, kindly and not, start arising fairly soon.
Social historians tell us that "childhood and adolescence" is a very recent view of childhood. As far as we can tell, ancient people on up to the recent times thought of children as miniature adults--not especially innocent and capable of economic contribution.
Would you equate these urges and wishes with wisdom? — kudos
What gave you the idea that it was something worth finding to begin with? — kudos
The more reason to think of it as a construction of Western reason. The way you word it sounds like you think it worth less because it's not a notion that has existed forever. — kudos
Well, "having experience, knowledge, and good judgment" allows one to avoid some of the errors we are prone to.
Philosophers are nothing but curious children, and children are our purest philosophers. Do you agree? And if so, is this drive still a part of our collective will? — kudos
How did you learn what experience, knowledge and good judgement were, and where did you get the idea that they were better than the absence thereof? All solely from yourself? — kudos
there's no way for philosophy to exist without experience and knowledge — kudos
If you are asking about the impulse to philosophy, I would think it often seems to be connected to unhappiness or dissatisfaction. People who are content may not need to ask such questions. — Tom Storm
It sounds like the point both BC and yourself are making is that when innocence tends to be insular and not ask questions of itself, it becomes plainly satisfied. That we need to be 'impelled' by something, no?
Isn't that simply a certain content and form of philosophy? What's wrong about living a simple life without worry or anxieties, supposing those questions bring with them those feelings? — kudos
Experience impels us forward into the world. We find rich and interesting details in experience and we want more rich and interesting experiences. Curiosity, you know.
If you're saying that innocence means, in part, being open to rich and interesting experiences, then we are in full agreement. — kudos
I don't like the terms innocence and wisdom; they're way too loaded to mean much.
the study of the fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence, especially when considered as an academic discipline.
a particular system of philosophical thought.
plural noun: philosophies
"Schopenhauer’s philosophy"
the study of the theoretical basis of a particular branch of knowledge or experience.
"the philosophy of science"
I don't like the terms innocence and wisdom; they're way too loaded to mean much. And I don't think the boss of innocence leads to the gain of wisdom. Innocence is lost early on. Wisdom comes along a lot later and is the result of being 'refined' in the mills of experience. — BC
Making life better (or more richly interesting) and survival is why we strive to understand the world. — BC
Yes, I find myself on this "love of wisdom" or "study of reality" site, and often think that many of the arcane posts I read have nothing to do with the price of potatoes--aka, reality. But, carry on, gentlemen. — BC
Wisdom means "the quality of having experience, knowledge, and good judgment".
In the end, I fear that all of us, no matter how well educated in this subject, still need to piss and eat and still need to treat the world as though realism were true, which means avoiding the worst of the cold, trying to dodge cancer and scrounging enough money to live comfortably into old age. — Tom Storm
…the notion finally struck me that, no matter how close I came to the man or woman who sought my help, I always saw him through my own peculiar spectacles, and
never did he perceive what I was frantically signaling to him, except through his. From this moment I ceased, as I am now convinced every psychotherapist does whether he wants to admit it or not, being a realist. More important, I could now stop representing psychology to clients as packaged reality, warranted genuine and untouched by human minds. Perhaps"realism" is not a good term for what I am talking about. It is obvious, of course, that I am not talking about Platonic realism. Nobody talks about that any more. The realism from which my clients and I are always trying to wriggle loose might possibly be called "materialistic realism." At least it is the hardheaded unimaginative variety nowadays so popular among scientists, businessmen, and neurotics.
What actually jarred me loose was the observation that clients who felt themselves confronted with down-to-earth realities during the course of psychotherapy became much like those who were confronted with downright dogmatic interpretations of either the religious or psychological variety. On the heels of this observation came the notion that dogmatism -the belief that one has the word of truth right from the horse's mouth-and modern realism -the belief that one has the word of truth right from nature's mouth-add up to the same thing. To go even further, I now suspect that neither of these assumptions about the revealed nature of truth is any more useful to scientists than it is to clients.
If one is to avoid dogmatism entirely he needs to alert himself against realism also, for realism, as I have already implied, is a special form of dogmatism and one which is quite as likely to stifle the client's creative efforts. A client who is confronted with what are conceded to be stark realities can be as badly immobilized as one confronted with a thickheaded therapist. Even the presumed realism of his own raw feelings can convince a client that he has reached a dead end. I am not a realist-not any more and I do not believe either the client or the therapist has to lie down and let facts crawl over him. Right here is where the
theoretical viewpoint I call the psychology of personal constructs stakes out its basic philosophical claim.
There is nothing so obvious that its appearance is not altered when it is seen in a different light. This is the faith that sustains the troubled person when he undertakes psychotherapy seriously.
To state this faith as a philosophical premise: Whatever exists can be reconstrued. This is to say that none of today's constructions-which are, of course, our only means of portraying reality is perfect and, as the history as the faith expressed of human thought repeatedly suggests, none is final. Moreover, this is the premise upon which most psychotherapy has to be built, if not in the mind of the therapist, at least in the mind of the client. To be sure, one may go to a therapist with his facts clutched in his hand and asking only what he ought to do with them. But this is merely seeking technical advice, not therapy. Indeed, what else would one seek unless he suspected that the obstacles now shaping up in front of him are not yet cast in the ultimate form of reality? As a matter of fact, I have yet to see a realistic client who sought the help of a therapist in changing his outlook. To the realist, outlook and reality are made of the same inert stuff. On the other hand, a client who has found his therapeutic experience helpful often says, “In many ways things are the same as they were before, but how differently I see them!"
This abandonment of realism may alarm some readers. It may seem like opening the door to wishful thinking, and to most psychologists wishful thinking is a way of coming unhinged. Perhaps this is why so many of them will never admit to having any imagination, at least until after they suppose they have realistically demonstrated that what they secretly imagined was there all the time, waiting to be discovered. But for me to say that whatever exists can be reconstrued is by no manner or means to say that it makes no difference how it is construed. Quite the contrary. It often makes a world of difference. Some reconstructions may open fresh channels for a rich and productive life, Others may offer one no alternative save suicide.
Philosophers are nothing but curious children, and children are our purest philosophers — kudos
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