Ode on a Schuylkill Run

The dignity gained is through the clean, well-lighted cafe itself. The older waiter, leaving the bar, acknowledges the cafe ‘was a very different thing. He sleeps in the daylight, wondering whether others have the insomnia as he does. It is worth wondering what the insomnia might signify. Beside the physical inability to sleep, perhaps the narrator is suggesting a form of existential insomnia, in which the inability to reconcile life’s compelling questions is reflected in the inability to rest one’s mind. There are no good answers in ‘A Clean, Well-Lighted Place,‘ because perhaps the best answer of all is that nothing itself can fill the void. 

What do you think of failure? I'm going to assume you are a college student, and have experienced your share of failures, whether they be in academics, relationships, sports, or anything else. I'm now an older undergrad at Penn and I see my share of misguided efforts by students to avoid failure. Sometimes, the fear of failure can be overwhelming; but we know this already. So we try to minimize that fear by working harder.

But perhaps I could suggest that failure is a good thing. Each error and mistake brings us closer to understanding how we might do it better next time.

It's getting quite cold and I'm not exactly sure whether I should keep running outside or not. But I'm constantly drawn by the adrenaline rush of passing bystanders and the picturesque Schuylkill River. It is so beautiful: the refreshing wind blowing leaves from branches east and west, the man-made water fountains, and the sunlight illuminating and reflecting off of the river. When I turn around to head back to campus, I sometimes walk precisely because the view is so overwhelming and because I want to take it all in. And this is society: man and woman running side by side, bicyclists travelling in packs, older black women powerwalking forth, homeless people still sleeping, and the river coursing through the landscape, its end not in sight.

Why count the days, when even one day is enough for a man to know all happiness. 

—Dostoevsky

One day is enough; one day is enough; happiness can be captured in the midst of sunlight and daytime; and we know this because of our childhoods. Get outside! It's waiting for you. Yeah it's cold. Don't count the days—count the moments of bliss that can come to you, stunning your senses and giving you an epiphanic realization that you are part of the world.

What am I talking about? I'm referring to the healthy love of self that engenders love of others. I'm trying to talk about beauty, even though the style of my sentences could hardly capture the beauty that is God. I'm talking about Dostoevskian fervor, a kind of deep passion that engages so serenely with the world, loving each plant and animal and person and doing this with a wisdom of the heart. We are talking about direction, and the reality that is committal belief in the ungraspable. No person is an island, because society is an archipelago of faith, science, and love.

I will put faith on a pedestal because it will not be shaken from it. We hear and experience attacks on faith; we see the rise of secular politics and atheism; we see the rise of total and complete solipsism; we see less serving of others and more serving of self. And I'm lucky, because Dostoevsky put these ideas in a book over a hundred years ago. I will say, that's cute.

That's cute, atheists. I'm sure you've thought your position out very carefully. I'm sure you could refute Christianity/Islam/Judaism fairly easily. But here I sit to defend faith. Self-interested concern is not enough. Atheism is not enough. I imagine, and imagine, and I dream and dream, of an atheism that is spiritual in its approach; I dream of an atheism that is Kierkegaardian; I dream of an atheism that would uplift faithful and religious people. But at this point, the word 'atheism' isn't enough; this is really love. This is faithful love; this is the kind of attentiveness that promises to set us free. We hold ourselves to higher standards than simply religious hatred—we promise to treat each person with the love of God. Concern toward others—not selfish and self-pitying hoarding of knowledge or power—is badly needed. This is my vision for atheism: unwavering and attentive passion toward those of faith. And we religious people promise the same: unconditional service. Because we've got role models from every faith and no faith. One day is enough to know all happiness, not because happiness is short-lived, but because spiritual love can be a daily thing.