Running and Philosophy
I’ve been at it again, dear reader. Running, I mean. Some runners, so I have read, run to give their brains a rest. They say that they just think about running. But ‘what’ do they think about running? When I used to run in road races I sometimes used to keep a kind of mental rhythm, either by counting my breathing rate or by reciting a tune in my head. Perhaps that is what they mean. That is certainly pretty limited mental exercise, particular if you carry on for half an hour or more; although I suppose a recitation of Beethoven’s Pastoral symphony might be quite demanding, and would probably result in some rather odd splits. I have to say that the simple count or tune seemed to work for me when the object was to keep the cadence going, and it requires concentration not to let one’s mind wander to the poor state of the road, or the strange gait of the sixty five year old lady by whom one has just been overtaken. No, I’m not going to divulge which tunes I used. Suffice it to say that they were populist and upbeat.
As so often, I digress. A balmy Summer evening beckoned and, given it was the first such of the year and June 15th, I decided to carpe diem, or rather, carpe vesper. I set off up the hill to Almondbury village, as is my wont, and as I set off I decided that I would take the hill slowly so that I could have a longer and more leisurely run and not get into oxygen debt in the first two minutes. Now that is thinking about running in a more strategic sense. As I neared the top of the hill I had to decide which of several routes to take. Turn right for an urban circuit with a long steep twisty descent, a flat stretch of a mile and a half and then a wicked climb to finish; turn left for similar topography but in greener and quiter suburbs; or go straight on up past the alms houses and around Castle Hill. The sun was shining and I was feeling only slightly knackered, so straight on I went.
Where, you ask, does the philosophy come into this? Well, here is a desperate justification of my title. Firstly, I would make the simple point that thinking comes in many varieties. Cogito ergo sum is all very well, but it is the quality of cogitation that gives some indication as to quid sum . I am quite certain that our cats think catty thoughts, and such a luminary as Thomas Nagel thinks bats think batty thoughts. So when we say ‘I think’, we are making use of a very vague term, a term like ‘big’ or ‘many’ or ‘bald’. You many be familiar with the idea of cognitive styles. I have to make an effort to think in pictures, whereas I am told that for some people this is their preferred ‘style’ of thinking. This, I think .. pauses for ironic effect… is the root of Wittgenstein’s view of Philosophy as therapy. The idea that we need to be careful of styles and perceptual sets, that the job of philosophy is to adequately explain the question, not to provide the answer. When we want to communicate we must recognise that it is not enough to present our thoughts as they come to us. We must bridge the gaps of culture, generation, personality and circumstance.
Secondly, there is the question of self-consciousness. Don’t get excited, I’m not about to attempt a definition. I just want to say that in my opinion self-consciousness too comes in many flavours. When running I am conscious that there is an ‘I’ that is running. If I turn my thoughts from breathing rate or Roy Orbison’s ‘Pretty woman’ (whoops, let that one slip) to my route or whether I wish to go faster or slower, then I am projecting my ‘self’ into the future and making choices. I suggest that this is a different, more complex form of self-consciousness. It presupposes the notions of extension and free will (of some sort).
Now back to my run. I have ascended again to the highest point of the road over Castle Hill, felt such relief at reaching this that I determined to make the most of it and not waste altitude in the dizzy descent down to the left, and headed on to Farnley Tyas. After about a mile of reasonably flat going there is a short but tiring climb up to the village church and then I turn left past the Golden Cock and the long descent down towards the Wakefield road. After an invigorating half mile I take a left down a steep twisty lane into Bottom Bank and now another big decision. Do I climb back up to Westgate so that I can do my last half mile downhill or do I meander round the lanes and finish with a short climb? I decide that I want to finish feeling relaxed, so I go for option one. Nothing qualitatively different in the thinking here.
The climb up to Westgate is vicious when one is tired. As I round the corner by the converted mill I think about stopping. My breathing is ragged and I have slowed to a stumbling jog. I decide to keep running while I reflect upon my motivation. Why have I decided to keep going?
Because it is my nature to carry on in the face of any adversity? No. Because I enjoy fatigue? No. Because I don’t want anybody I know to see me walking? Errr… partly. Because I have set myself an achievable target and I will improve my self esteem if I achieve it? Sounds good to me. Reflection and reasoning finished. Now it is just a case of concentration and pop music. Dadda dadda dadda dadda, dadda dadda dadda daddda, Pretty Woman…
This last kind of thinking, about motivation and virtue, is what I take Socrates to have meant by the examination of life. It is a different order of thought. There are times when I would swap cerebral evaluation for visceral pleasure. There are times when I find myself running and smiling, thinking “this is so much fun”. Perhaps this is the closest we can come to knowing what it is like to be a cat or a bat. Just doing something because it feels right, but it is the curse of our self-consciousness that we are incapable of being like this all the time, or even for more than fleeting moments.
It seems to me that the second kind of thinking I described, tactical or startegic, is never rewarding. It is operational, oriented towards some goal. It is the means to achieving either physical pleasure or, given self-conscious reflection, those pleasures of achievement and self-esteem at the top of Maslow’s hierarchy. We are too complex to spend our lives just being. We cannot avoid the planning, the decisions, the manipulation required to satisfy our physical needs. It seems to me that if our time were filled with the doing and the planning and the deciding, then we would be content; noble savages, a la Jean Jacques Rousseau. It may be that there were, or are, cultures in which the mind switches off if there are no plans to make, or physical pleasures to enjoy. I might even speculate that religion is an evolved mechanism for filling in those idle hours in which socially maladaptive behaviours might otherwise have occurred. Regardless, Pandora’s box has been opened and the habit of reflective thought is now common amongst us, and it is difficult to imagine how we could break it, or why we should try.
As so often, I digress. A balmy Summer evening beckoned and, given it was the first such of the year and June 15th, I decided to carpe diem, or rather, carpe vesper. I set off up the hill to Almondbury village, as is my wont, and as I set off I decided that I would take the hill slowly so that I could have a longer and more leisurely run and not get into oxygen debt in the first two minutes. Now that is thinking about running in a more strategic sense. As I neared the top of the hill I had to decide which of several routes to take. Turn right for an urban circuit with a long steep twisty descent, a flat stretch of a mile and a half and then a wicked climb to finish; turn left for similar topography but in greener and quiter suburbs; or go straight on up past the alms houses and around Castle Hill. The sun was shining and I was feeling only slightly knackered, so straight on I went.
Where, you ask, does the philosophy come into this? Well, here is a desperate justification of my title. Firstly, I would make the simple point that thinking comes in many varieties. Cogito ergo sum is all very well, but it is the quality of cogitation that gives some indication as to quid sum . I am quite certain that our cats think catty thoughts, and such a luminary as Thomas Nagel thinks bats think batty thoughts. So when we say ‘I think’, we are making use of a very vague term, a term like ‘big’ or ‘many’ or ‘bald’. You many be familiar with the idea of cognitive styles. I have to make an effort to think in pictures, whereas I am told that for some people this is their preferred ‘style’ of thinking. This, I think .. pauses for ironic effect… is the root of Wittgenstein’s view of Philosophy as therapy. The idea that we need to be careful of styles and perceptual sets, that the job of philosophy is to adequately explain the question, not to provide the answer. When we want to communicate we must recognise that it is not enough to present our thoughts as they come to us. We must bridge the gaps of culture, generation, personality and circumstance.
Secondly, there is the question of self-consciousness. Don’t get excited, I’m not about to attempt a definition. I just want to say that in my opinion self-consciousness too comes in many flavours. When running I am conscious that there is an ‘I’ that is running. If I turn my thoughts from breathing rate or Roy Orbison’s ‘Pretty woman’ (whoops, let that one slip) to my route or whether I wish to go faster or slower, then I am projecting my ‘self’ into the future and making choices. I suggest that this is a different, more complex form of self-consciousness. It presupposes the notions of extension and free will (of some sort).
Now back to my run. I have ascended again to the highest point of the road over Castle Hill, felt such relief at reaching this that I determined to make the most of it and not waste altitude in the dizzy descent down to the left, and headed on to Farnley Tyas. After about a mile of reasonably flat going there is a short but tiring climb up to the village church and then I turn left past the Golden Cock and the long descent down towards the Wakefield road. After an invigorating half mile I take a left down a steep twisty lane into Bottom Bank and now another big decision. Do I climb back up to Westgate so that I can do my last half mile downhill or do I meander round the lanes and finish with a short climb? I decide that I want to finish feeling relaxed, so I go for option one. Nothing qualitatively different in the thinking here.
The climb up to Westgate is vicious when one is tired. As I round the corner by the converted mill I think about stopping. My breathing is ragged and I have slowed to a stumbling jog. I decide to keep running while I reflect upon my motivation. Why have I decided to keep going?
Because it is my nature to carry on in the face of any adversity? No. Because I enjoy fatigue? No. Because I don’t want anybody I know to see me walking? Errr… partly. Because I have set myself an achievable target and I will improve my self esteem if I achieve it? Sounds good to me. Reflection and reasoning finished. Now it is just a case of concentration and pop music. Dadda dadda dadda dadda, dadda dadda dadda daddda, Pretty Woman…
This last kind of thinking, about motivation and virtue, is what I take Socrates to have meant by the examination of life. It is a different order of thought. There are times when I would swap cerebral evaluation for visceral pleasure. There are times when I find myself running and smiling, thinking “this is so much fun”. Perhaps this is the closest we can come to knowing what it is like to be a cat or a bat. Just doing something because it feels right, but it is the curse of our self-consciousness that we are incapable of being like this all the time, or even for more than fleeting moments.
It seems to me that the second kind of thinking I described, tactical or startegic, is never rewarding. It is operational, oriented towards some goal. It is the means to achieving either physical pleasure or, given self-conscious reflection, those pleasures of achievement and self-esteem at the top of Maslow’s hierarchy. We are too complex to spend our lives just being. We cannot avoid the planning, the decisions, the manipulation required to satisfy our physical needs. It seems to me that if our time were filled with the doing and the planning and the deciding, then we would be content; noble savages, a la Jean Jacques Rousseau. It may be that there were, or are, cultures in which the mind switches off if there are no plans to make, or physical pleasures to enjoy. I might even speculate that religion is an evolved mechanism for filling in those idle hours in which socially maladaptive behaviours might otherwise have occurred. Regardless, Pandora’s box has been opened and the habit of reflective thought is now common amongst us, and it is difficult to imagine how we could break it, or why we should try.
posted by MikeS at 6:16 pm
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