"The Tao of Pooh" by Benjamin Hoff--Nonfiction Review

Today we’re talking about Winnie the Pooh—and Taoism. Okay, admittedly, not immediately two things that seem related but hear me out. I found “The Tao of Pooh” by Benjamin Hoff to be a decent—if a bit over my head—introduction to the topic, but mind you, I have no idea what I’m talking about—so grain of salt.

What I love about this book:

I love Winnie the Pooh. I love him and his stories in that uncritical way that you only really possess in childhood and possess vicariously into adulthood only because you remember being a child with something. Stories of Pooh, and his friends, were a staple of my earliest childhood memories, and as such, I even love things where he’s only tangentially related.

Tangential might not be the best way to put his involvement in this book—Pooh Bear is essential to the point and effect Hoff is after about Taoism. Pooh is utilized precisely how he was intended to be, filling the role of unexpected and unlikely teacher, as well as friend and companion.

Before reading this book, I was aware of Taoism, but I wouldn’t say I was ever familiar with it, so it made for a fascinating read. It certainly makes for a good starting point on the subject and jumping-off point because clearly, that was Hoff’s intention.

What I don’t love about this book:

I’m not wowed by this school of thought. Concepts like the uncarved block have always rung to me as an excuse for non-achievement. Typically, I go a little cross-eyed when people start talking about limitless potential and oneness with nature or the universe—or whatever. I can respect that Taoism can be a source of great comfort for some, and who knows, maybe it truly is wisdom in its rawest form. But it occurred to me several times while reading this that not only was I more like the pitiable examples pointed out in this book of individuals cut off from true wisdom, but I also agreed with them more about the world.

Hoff has some strong words about his perceived limitations on scholarly pursuits and scientists and what science, in general, can tell us about the universe. Maybe I’m just an elitist, but I respect scholars and scientists first and foremost above all other professions. So I’m a little suspicious and defensive when someone tells me that their collection of beliefs—regardless of how vague or precisely explained they are—demonstrates the weaknesses of the scientific method.

Parting thoughts:

So despite identifying more with Rabbit and Owl—the clever and the scholarly types—it occurs to me that I might be fundamentally limited in some way, and that’s what’s keeping me from “getting” it. I think it is essential to always have that inner voice that questions your own beliefs.

Regardless, it isn’t important whether or not my limitations have held me back with what I want to talk about here. Clearly, I didn’t exactly enjoy this book or agree with it—so why did I continue to read it until I finished it? 

Because I think it’s essential to be exposed to and try to understand ideas different from my own. I believe this because increasingly, via social media—and hell—just traditional media causes us to entrench in our own little information silos specifically built to reinforce our own worldviews. The social media side neatly groups us into groups of like-minded people and limits our interaction with “outsiders.” While clearly comfortable for everyone, regardless of position on the political spectrum, we accept this digital segregation from one another because it plays to one of our most basic and outmoded impulses. The impulse to form tribes.

I’ve expressed why I feel tribalism is ugly and dangerous before on this blog—but in this case, it is exceedingly terrible because all ideologies are not made equal. Equality is a concept that should be applied to people. Not ideas. For instance, the belief that the Earth is flat doesn’t deserve the same respect as general relativity. It’s disturbing that most internet platforms that allow for online communities seem to be built so that they tacitly imply that they are—in the form of the flat earthers have their little silo over there, separate from the mainstream over here.

Now, I don’t want to give the impression that I’m against the concept of online communities. I’m not. I belong to several. What I’m against is when these groups are allowed to spread patently false information and aren’t called out for it in any way. Because that’s how people radicalize and become the extremists that we see in the news. My intuition is no one starts out wild-eyed bug nuts crazy chomping at the bit to shoot up a pre-school. This is a road that starts off with several little steps, supported by online “friends.”

We are, at our core, social creatures. The urge to form friend groups with similar interests isn’t destructive on its face. It’s only when these little pockets of people become toxic, self-reinforcing echo chambers that they become dangerous.

Where I think we’ve gone wrong is we’ve strayed too far away from an overarching universal society of humanity to smaller, more personalized, customized societies that appeal to our initial biases about the world. This drive to belong to a special group, who gets it, has gone so far that people try to apply those same customizations from their online life to reality in general. But reality doesn’t care about anyone’s preferences, goals, values, or anything. It is indifferent and just is.

To avoid going down a path where people can, with all the confidence in the world, say that JFK isn’t dead and is going to show up in Dallas—any—day—now—we need that solid overarching society that we all belong. When we’ve gone astray, we need it to tell us that we’re not just wrong but stupid—and it requires the authority and enough of our respect that we believe it when it tells us that uncomfortable truth.

How do we get there? I don’t know. Like all complicated problems, it will likely require a complicated solution. My paltry contribution to addressing the problem is: we should never be convinced of our infallibility that we couldn’t possibly be simply wrong about something.

"American Philosophy: A Love Story," by John Kaag--Nonfiction Review

Ok, obscurists today, we’re getting introspective, philosophical, and a little romantic with John Kaag’s book “American Philosophy.” 

What I love about this book:

This book gave me a fantastic framework of the most prominent American philosophers and beyond via the frame story—well, really—Kaag’s memoir of discovering the Hocking library at West Wind and then restoring the rare books he found there. He describes numerous American luminaries and their personal philosophies on life and a variety of other topics. It all works as a survey of great American thinkers.

It was because of this book that I was first introduced to Henry David Thoreau’s work. Thoreau is a writer I can’t imagine I would have stumbled upon naturally by myself and someone I now greatly admire, despite him being a bit of a misanthrope. So this book did something that is one of my absolute favorite things about reading; it gave me a direction for further reading and the opportunity to discover new vistas outside of my view of the world. 

Kaag isn’t limited to just American philosophers. He mentions great thinkers of other countries and cultures and creates a web of ideas and counter ideas, painting a mental landscape for you of the different approaches and schools of philosophy. He’s even good for the occasional reference to classic up to modern-ish literature, making him a sort of one-man walking library. 

I found it interesting how Kaag developed and grew as a person—thankfully into a better person—as the book went on, and he and Carol restored and cataloged more and more of the books in the library. As it grew, too, their relationship was cute as well, and I rather enjoyed the romance between the two rival philosophy scholars. In fact, my favorite parts of the book were the bits with Carol, and while it’s a bit of a treacly cliché—I do feel she helped the author to be a better person.

What I don’t love about this book:

So Kaag is the protagonist of this narrative—it is his memoir after all—and while I appreciate him not sugar coating how insufferable he was as a young man, it doesn’t make him any less unbearable. This is especially true of him describing how his first marriage fell apart, which might not have been entirely his fault, but who sells their wedding band before they have the divorce conversation? Like—what was the plan there? This is really a thing I don’t like about the man, but a large part of this book is about him personally, so I feel it’s valid to bring up.

There is a certain amount of pretentiousness and angst in this book, especially in the early chapters—that Kaag mostly moves beyond as the Hocking library project progresses. Still, a spade is a spade, and I definitely rolled my eyes at the beginning of the book several times. 

This preview is an Amazon Affiliate link; 

as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.

Author's Website: https://johnkaag.com/

Parting thoughts:

I find it to be a bit of an irony that Kaag’s love story with Carol is what honestly seems to turn him around as a person, and sure, I get that the title of this works with a double meaning. The title implies that it’s also a story of his love for philosophy, but he was well-read before his relationship with Carol, and it’s not like that made him a better person. It may have helped, but it doesn’t seem to have done the trick alone. It’s ironic because a lot of American philosophy revolves around independence, self-actualization, self-reliance, and so on and so forth to a possible over macho extreme. We Americans—past and present—have never been known for our gifts of subtlety.

That being said, I believe, despite some claims that we have no “real” culture of our own, I do feel that American culture has had a lot to offer the world. I credit this book with sparking my interest in the men and women who lived, thought, and wrote in America, especially in the 19th to early 20th century, which is a time often overshadowed by such concerns as war—both civil and world flavors—and economic depression. It’s easy to overlook that great American writers concerned themselves with more than just war and money, but with the entirety of the human experience. Typically, when one hears philosophy or ethics, it’s predictable to think of the Greeks or Europeans before America, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t erudite scholars here too.

Micro Mention "Walden"

Sometimes it’s nice to just get away, get out in nature, take a walk, and maybe take a holiday in the mountains. No one quite did it like Thoreau, but luckily he wrote the experience down for us in “Walden.”

Like with Edward Abbey, who I very much thought was a spiritual successor to Henry David Thoreau, I admire Thoreau's fierce streak of independence. Of the transcendentalists, he's certainly the writer of that group that I've learned the most about, and he is, to me at least, a quintessentially American writer of the 19th century who was forward-thinking.

He was undoubtedly also a bit of a curmudgeon, a quality Abbey also shared with him. If you'd like to know more about Edward Abbey, I wrote a review of his book here.

This preview is an Amazon Affiliate link; 

as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.

Micro Mention "American Philosophy"

"American Philosophy" by John Kaag is a love story in two ways—with a woman and great American thinkers—mostly, it works as an excellent framework and introduction to the American, transcendentalists, idealists, pragmatists, and various other philosophical traditions.

What I loved most about this book is how it started me out on a path to then read Henry David Thoreau's "Walden," which then allowed me to better appreciate "Desert Solitaire" by Edward Abbey even more. This is quintessentially what I love about non-fiction; you never know what roads it will lead you down next. 

This preview is an Amazon Affiliate link; 

as an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.