Introduction and Preliminary Goals: Help with my Phil 101 Class Plan for First Lecture
So, one huge question that most people will sympathize with is this: why is it important to study philosophy? What good does it *really* do for anyone, at the end of the day? To begin to answer this, a provocation, I feel, is necessary.
My idea was to show slides of the Lascaux cave paintings, and to ask the students what they were. What could these possibly mean? Who made them? Why were they made? What was the purpose behind making them?
The agreed upon answers in anthropology tend to fall into the "hunting magic" camp. The idea being that these primitive peoples, who existed prior to the written word (and almost certainly speech, at least as we know it), were doing a number of things. The first one was to represent what was most pressing on their minds -- magnificent beasts whose proximity and presence they could not directly control. Obviously, these creatures inspired something akin to awe or wonder in our primitive peoples -- but not only that. The beasts were also thematically large in most cases, and rendered so. From this we can infer that killing even one of them would be a massive boon for a tribal, cave-frequenting community. It would be a cause for immense celebration. There was a salvation of sorts that these people were attempting to procure, much in the same way an athlete visualizes successful completion of an event, a critical movement or the winning of a game. In the absence of the beast, they attempted to contain and capture their spirits with a depiction, the rendering of an image. Lastly, worship. Obviously, these tremendous creatures were not only things that our people would have happily eaten -- they loved and revered these beasts in some intense and powerful way.
What bearing, it might be wondered, would any of this have on philosophy? It's quite simple when we note the way in which human beings are unique in the animal kingdom for making such artistic renderings. We attempt to tame reality through representation; furthermore, representation tames the animal in us, so much as we accede to and participate in it, symbolically. Another way of looking at the cave paintings is through the lens of "epistemic criteriology" or even a kind of anamnesis. We know their meaning because its necessity has been sublated in us and is contained; and yet, their meaning is indescribably foreign, because in the process of our becoming ever more human, our interpellation in the symbolic realm has tamed the vivacious and immediate appeal and understanding that these images might have otherwise had for us. We only know their rough sense, in so many words, because that rough sense is still a part of us, driven and hungry creatures that we are; but it is only a rough sense, insofar as it is excluded from what normally passes as (human) meaning, and thus remains for us something raw and alien.
Even more telling: these things are products of humanity. We are humans. We look upon them with terrible and haunting questions. We become a question to ourselves -- or rather, the moment at which our consciousness qua human consciousness sparks becomes a question. From this, the question of where we came from and where we're going naturally alights.
From the second creatures began to communicate their hopes, dreams, fears, longings, hungers, needs and drives through representative means . . . that was the moment that the germ seed of philosophy came into being. Because however superstitious and ritualistic an attempt to control a massive, autonomous living creature by making a large painting of it may have been, the act itself was an attempt at wisdom, like all the mythic and religious narrative explanations of reality that came after it.