COGITO ERGO SUM

“I think, therefore I am,” (cogito ergo sum) was coined by Descartes in his Discourse on Method (1637). In the quest for certain knowledge in the field of Metaphysics, he posited: "I may doubt many things, but doubt must be thought by an entity, and thus is proof of the reality of the mind that thinks and there must be a self in order for their to be thought."

    So our thinking confirms that we "are"-- that we exist. Hopefully, we go beyond just knowing we exist, and, at some point, ask ourselves one of those "big" questions: "Why do I exist and how does my thinking affect the way I live?"  In the extremes, our thinking may result in our being corrupt and degenerate, or or a saintly. 

    Almost 2500 years ago, Aristotle wrote about why and how we should live in his Nicomachian Ethics, the essence of which is that "the ultimate goal of human life is happiness, flourishing,  living well... achieved through consistent, rational, and virtuous activity." Virtues must be practiced until they becomes a habit to live by. I believe this means expanding our conscious to do so by reflection on what we value, not only ourselves as individuals, but also for wish for others. 

    Of course, there are many factors that may determine what we think and how we live-- we have been taught, or influenced by from a number of different spheres, be they positive or negative. When I tried to remember my first inclination toward thought, it seems to have evolved out of sense experiences--going from from feeling to  thinking and then into willing--bringing that which I valued into what Aristotle refers to as "vituous activity." 

    From an early age, there were two places where at first my senses were fully engaged, library and church. Both were on the steepest hill in my town, and I visited each regulary. In the quiet and beauty of each place, I was removed from the ordinary, taken away from the drab row houses up and down my narrow street, from the rumble of the train on the elevated rail nearby, from my school with its paved recess yard, and gated black iron fence. Entering the silence of these places, I felt a natual reverence for and anticipation of what I would experienc-as sanctuaries of solace.
    Not during services but visiting alone to sit in the quiet of the beauty and mytery of its surroundings: the gleam of the white marble alter with its tabernacle the sacred within, the streaming light from jeweled windows, the somber saints and watchful angels, the tiered votive candles glowing through red glass, the air rife with incense. My senses were brimful--wonder, imagination, the mystery of it all. 
    During the litery of a high mass, there was the hypnotic chanting of litanies the naming of saints or the many apellations of Mary  "tower of ivory, house of gold, queen of angels, morning star, mirror of justice, mystical rose."   

    There was also a prayer learned in prepartion for communion. Though I no longer participate an organized religion, the truth of its final words still and I believe it must have been the first time I remember thinking of meaning..."only say the word, and my soul will be healed." It was a revelation that a word can heal, which has been proven to me many times, both through my own words to others and others' words to me. 

      The library was also a place of peace and imagination. The builidng itself was like a castle, with its turrets and long starway to the portal--a carved wooden door-- a child could barely pull open. Its inner sanctum was no less mysterious than that of the church. To "hear' the silence, to see the shelves stacked with books, waiting to be opened to transport me to everything and everywhere that was not me and my world. If I could have described the feeling then, it may have been, “so many books and so little time to make the delightful decisions to bring home only a few each time, mostly choosen by their covers, titles, first few sentences or an illustrations within.

    As a yonger child, one book whose cover called to me was Silk and Satin Lane. I may have also been drawn in by the "s" alliteration, and imagining how silk and satin would look and feel (I had never seen or touched either). It had a bright pink cover with silhouetted children holding umbrellas, dressed in unfamiliar garb. In pre-adolescence, I was drawn to another cover with the face of a young woman looking out at me with a wisdom way beyond her years and with a sadness in her eyes that I somehow recognized. It was The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank

     I related to her experience of being a young girl, as she wrote of experiences, feelings and thoughts about relationships with family, here inner life-- from a girl my own age. She had such insights and  tender feelings. A figure from the past she was, yet a signficant part of my present, and an inexplicable sense that she was also a “future person.” From her, I also took in what is most noble and true about being human, in her words:  But, it was also where I first learned about the Holocaust.
    It's a wonder I haven't abandoned all my ideals; they seem so absurd and impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good heart…. I must hold on to my ideals. Perhaps the day will come when I'll be able to realize them!
    What I felt then when I first read this passage from Anne was similar to when I heard that prayer about healing words. They have  remained with me as a force “breathe in.” Such thoughts impart hope, are felt as light, can be called upon again and again as a source of strength and even of actions taken with consciousness and conscience: right speech and trust in humanity.
    As I matured, those feelings in the church and in the library transformed into thoughts which nourished with images of beauty and the profound mystery of meanings. Thoughts are real, living and present within me, yet transcendent, combine with others to create new thoughts that also inspire my wrirting. 

    In those early years, I sensed, and now I know that the sounds of words have formative forces to engender reveries, imaginations and inspiration, but can also harm, cause pain and be destructive. They have the power to impact and even change minds and the course of history, transforming the world—for better and, unfortunatey, also for ill.
    As I was awakening to pain and pleasure, to beauty, ideas and ideals, there was an inner seed being nourished with these essential elements, sending down roots in the darkness and silence of soul, which, many years hence, have put forth blossoms--emerging into the light of expression through my writing.

    “I think, therefore I am”? Or, is it that “I am, therefore I think”?