A wo-man

Saying that language shapes us as much as we shape it at this point has become a mere truism; yet, there are moments when I become aware of this anew—just as I have now, upon beginning to read the English translation of Simone de Beauvoir’s Le Deuxième Sexe, a process that inevitably involves also stepping outside the confines of my own native language (which is yet another benefit of emigration).

I had never thought deeply about the words ‘mężczyzna’ (a man, an adult male) and ‘kobieta’ (a woman, an adult female) before, and the fact that—unlike their English counterparts—they are clearly distinct from one another never really registered since they are simply a natural part of my native language, just like any other element of it, and I use them as instinctively as I breathe or walk. Reading de Beauvoir, however, made me realise that the situation is different when it comes to the English terms ‘man’ and ‘woman’—the latter sounds almost like a subspecies of the former, and on top of that, ‘man’ also means a human, a person regardless of gender or sex, usually an adult, which, by the way, was not always the case: etymologically, the word ‘woman’ derives from the Old English ‘wīfmann’, which essentially meant ‘female person’, and the term ‘mann’ referred primarily to a person or human being (mankind), although it could also, on occasion, denote an adult male; the word ‘wer’ was used more specifically for a man.

De Beauvoir’s own native French is less revealing of this particular linguistic bias than English. The word ‘homme’ means a man but also a human being (as in les droits de l’homme, traditionally ‘human’, although ‘être humain’ is another expression for a human being), and ‘femme’ denotes a woman. Still, they don’t share the same twisted relationship as their English counterparts.

But in the end, the Polish and French societies have been just as patriarchal as English society, so the truism may not withstand scrutiny, after all.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

Confessions of a Philosopher

For about a year now, Magee’s Confessions of a Philosopher has been sitting on my nightstand, and I find myself wondering why I stopped reading roughly halfway through the penultimate chapter back then—though a more fitting question would be: why did I pick it up in the first place? What’s more, my shelves are lined with plenty of books that I’ve never even touched since I unearthed them in a secondhand bookshop—dust-gathering victims of my pretensions. Yet I remember a time when I used to devour books like madeleines on a porcelain plate (not literally, of course). I suppose, with age, I somewhat lost my sweet tooth. At least the dentist ought to be pleased.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

I don’t believe in love

I have to admit, I don’t generally believe in love. I think it’s just nonsense that society and pop culture forcefully shove down our throats. But when I watch a film like Kodachrome, there’s this faint hope for something—quiet and nameless—like that moment when Zooey rests her head on Matt’s shoulder as they watch Ben’s slides of Matt’s childhood. There’s something peaceful about it. It’s none of that Hollywood-style, Technicolour romantic love. So maybe it’s not that I don’t believe in love. Maybe I just don’t believe in the version that demands centre stage instead of being something more modest and more difficult: a temporary easing of solitude, a shared rhythm, a moment where nothing needs to be proven and it feels peaceful rather than intoxicating.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

A rainy day

I like rainy days, when the gentle patter of raindrops on the leaves of the tree outside my window replaces the song of Malebolge rising from the school yard across the street at lunch break. Does that make me a curmudgeon?


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

The cult classics

For a while now, I’ve been reading The Nicomachean Ethics, taking it slowly—two or three pages at a time—in the morning with a fresh mind after a full night’s sleep; and perhaps it’s my own ignorance talking, but I’ve never read such a bland and uninspiring text that I found myself glancing with a modicum of sympathy at the washing machine’s instruction manual lying on the shelf above it. It’s like with the old silent films that have become cult classics—you appreciate their importance to the development of cinematography, but you can’t resist yawning while watching them.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

The language of power

Why does man form the root of both human and woman in English? In Polish, by contrast, the words for a man, a human, and a woman—mężczyzna, człowiek, and kobieta—are three entirely separate terms. What’s more, man in English denotes not only a male individual but also a person in general and even humanity itself, depending on context. It becomes specifically male only when marked by an article. Doesn’t that reinforce patriarchy?


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

Genean Ethics

But when actions are done, either from fear of greater evils, or from some honourable motive, as, for instance, if you were ordered to commit some base act by a despot who had your parents or children in his power, and they were to be saved upon your compliance or die upon your refusal, in such cases there is room for a question whether the actions are voluntary or involuntary.
Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle, translation by D. P. Chase

Reading the above quote from the Nicomachean Ethics, one might think that family is a matter of genes—or blood, as it would have been conceived in those times—since the wife is not even mentioned there, as if she were not considered worth saving, like a mere growth on the body of the family. Would it be a coincidence or something symptomatic?


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

The chicken or the egg

Reading books on philosophy versus reading philosophy books: for one not at home with the latter, the former can feel like eavesdropping on a conversation already in progress, while delving into the latter without first engaging with the former is like trying to face 4’33” with nothing but the score—a classic ‘chicken or the egg’ dilemma, so to speak—and yet all one has to do is to reach for the Republic and the Socratic dialogues rather than Phenomenology of Spirit or Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus if one wishes to start with the latter, and in the case of the former, Russell’s History of Western Philosophy makes a sound starting point. But to find this out, one either needs a stroke of luck or a good mentor.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

The revelation of a dim mind

I have always believed that boredom is a symptom of the laziness of the mind, for brilliant minds are self-sufficient, as seen in the case of Richard Feynman, who remained lucid, mentally active, and undisturbed even by the absence of sensory input in John C. Lilly’s isolation tank. And although I’m far from that level of acumen myself, I’ve often quipped that I’m never bored because I share my time with a very intelligent person—myself. Besides, I tend to keep books close at hand. (And speaking of books and great minds, I’ve long found it fascinating when intellectuals claim that a particular book changed their life—only to then have a flash of insight: nothing like that has ever happened to me, so either I’m not easily impressed, or I’m simply too dim to grasp what I read.)


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com