Wayne Paul Poetry

Is the person who has achieved "inner peace" given up a part of what makes them sentient, actualized beings?  Why are emotions such as anger, lust, envy, and pride viewed as unnatural, negative elements that must be purged from the mind and soul? Can a person really ever be "in harmony" with themselves or with the tangible universe?  If progress is the offspring of change, and change is the offspring of conflict, then would not a person who has found "inner harmony" become spiritually and mentally stagnant?  Perhaps it is easier to not try understanding cause and effect in the world, to dismiss the intellectual challenges that seem to burden the passionate thinker, and to not participate in the formation of solutions that may remedy society or benefit mankind.  It is often assumed that all of the forces of a system, be it mental or social or spiritual, can be brought to a harmonious end point, the final, perfect stage of an objective progression.  This notion wrongfully misconstrues the idea that there could be one grand goal that needs to be fulfilled.  And what could that possibly ever be?  The factors that determine this outcome are constantly and powerfully in flux.  The evolution of the material world across the eons is but change through conflict.  The conflict of ideas, sometimes and regrettably through violent means, is the driving force behind the advancement of a self-aware society and the human condition within it.  A rational individual has no place outside of this system.  So, it could be logically stated that true harmony is the philosophy of embracing all types of conflict, not the mindset of blocking out or "releasing" impure emotions or impetuses.   A person who despises conflict also strives for the absence of change.  They simply exist while others are alive...

Why do science and religion at seem to be at odds still in our modern world?  Are there really conflicting, rather than complimentary, worldviews between the two systems?  There is historical precedence to support this assumption, but this is more a misconception, rather than a comprehensive historical synopsis, that has been sustained throughout the centuries, primarily in the Western intellectual tradition.  In fact, many ancient and modern (mostly tribal) societies and cultures were and are structured around a central figure whose  powers combined knowledge of  both the natural and spiritual worlds, including shamans, priests, witchdoctors, seers, and medicine men.  To understand religion and science as two seperate entities was unthinkable to these peoples. Doesn't science generate theory, while religion generates faith?  Isn't the former grounded in logic and observation, or the quantifiable, while the latter resides with emotion and spirit, or the unquantifiable?  What more then is science but an evidentiary faith in statistical or mathematical theory?  What more then is religion but a practising theory of organized faith?  Can't both be blindly and recklessly followed, worshipped, and manipulated, perhaps not as fact, but at least as truth?  Aren't they both based on principles of accepted belief?  Is it the responsibility of religion to present the great questions while science seeks to answer them?  The sphere of religion appears to constrict as the sphere of science expands, but does this not simply displace, rather than eradicate, the unexplainable?  Throughout recorded history, science and religion have been sources of both comfort and conflict, understanding and disillusionment, progress and stagnation, growth and destruction.  Both have been utilized and exploited as remedies or weapons, to inspire or generate fear, to liberate or to enslave.   Both have produced many of the most prodigious, most enlightened thinkers the World has ever known.  Both seem to be fundamental and necessary, also distinct but convergent, methods of dealing with the same dilemmas faced by all humankind.  Why can't the rational and the spiritual coexist?  If indeed they can, is the bridge between them called philosophy?

Why do those coming from under-priveleged environments seem to stand out in the annals of history?  It appears that the most profound and creative minds, from antiquity to the present, are born either poor or "middle class" and only acculumate wealth, fame, and remembrance after an arduous climb up the class ladder, a climb that involves risk-taking, ascetic self-exploration, and financial sacrifice. Yes, there a few exceptions to this, and many brilliant thinkers and artists have been fortunate enough to get a head start with prestigious or exclusive schooling.  Most, however, come from the lower socio-economic levels of their respective societies, particularly in Western cultures where class differences are clearly visible.  Are those who have struggled without wealth and advantage more able to realise their artistic and intellectual passions?  Do their achievements reflect a pure motivation, a powerful will of actualized intent, or an inspired world perspective that is superior to those born into wealth?  Does having a financial "safety net" impede the maturation of creative thought and expression?  Are those who have rich parents unable to achieve in these fields because they've been isolated by luxurious upbringings and unearned privelege?  Maybe certain elements of human nature preclude the excellence of ability and talent in young, rich prospective artists because of the heightened expectations that a rarified domestic situation affords. Is the need for social and financial acceptance, to correlate one's goals with a "rags to riches" story, a viable motivator for those seeking renown and fortune?  Does the collective memory of popular history favor the successes of the disadvantaged? Perhaps there are other psychological, historical, or social factors at work here, but the reccurring formula for philosophic or artistic greatness seems to involve meager beginnings and a special gift that can't be purchased or inherited.

The most efficient way to be remembered, in our society, seems to be to expire at a "young" age or "before your time".  This ensures the recurring question of "what might have been" and will magnify the importance of your accomplishments, however meager they may be.   Even the facade of achievement and ambition will allow you to be forever seen as "tragic" so long as there seemed to be a high level of potential gone unfulfilled.  Also, you will always appear vibrant and youthful in memory, giving your "shortened" life the added quality freshness, simplicity, and innocence.  

Do Philosophy and Art share any common characteristics or qualities?  Does the former rely solely on rationality or analytical thought, while the latter relies on the subconscious or sensual?  Is there a valid interpretation of Philosophy as an Art?  Can the argument of Art as a Philosophy be proposed and defended?  Do both possess that unique and vibrant energy of human self-awareness and expressive contemplation?  Or, taking a more cynical approach, can both Art and Philosophy trace their roots back through pre-history to the point where the human brain first understood and improved upon the concept of meaningful boredom?  I wonder. . . .