An idea that has been quietly percolating over the last couple of months finally raised enough steam to generate action this week. But first some background…
I celebrated my ascension to the giddy rank of Doctor of Philosophy by taking a break from reading and writing and arguing and in particular repeating. I was done for now. I’d done everything I’d set out to do and more. I started doing something else.
And I never went back
So what about this idea (I hear the three of you who have persevered this far say, somewhat reluctantly, not wishing to offend)?
I found myself – after thirteen years – wondering whether anyone might be interested in the final outcome of all this reading and writing and arguing and teaching. In this new digital age there is no barrier to me pulling my cheaply bound thesis down from the topmost of top shelves, and…and…what? Overcome the first obstacle is what. Although I wrote the damn thing electronically, I possess no digital copy, and frankly, my funds rarely stretch to luxuries. This particular episode of whimsy was definitely filed under ‘self-indulgent luxuries’ so, as getting my thesis scanned and sticked was out of the question, nothing to do but sit down and type it out all over again.
I must admit I rather relished the idea of physically recreating the past by repeating each individual keystroke that survived the final edit. While applying the mandatory level of procrastination required before undertaking such an epic task I mused about the impending pleasures of re-inhabiting my younger self; what insights might this adventure yield? Procrastination, as it so rarely does, led to the first act. I began dutifully retyping the abstract, noticing that it was probably the last part I’d written, despite living proudly on the first page. Halfway through I stopped. I read what I’d written. I closed the laptop lid. I opened it so I could shut it down completely. Computer off. Cheaply bound thesis replaced out of reach. I’d found out what I needed to know, what I should have known but somehow had forgotten. I didn’t care. I really didn’t care. I didn’t care about the argument between the Simulation theorists and the Propositional theorists about Theory of Mind. I didn’t care about my contribution to that argument, I didn’t even care about my exegesis of Aristotle’s concept of phantasia in De Anima which suggested a new perspective on the role of imagery in conscious thought. And if I didn’t care, I couldn’t imagine anyone else caring. Certainly not enough to read 300,000 words about it.