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Philosophy meets Theatre Arts
A Journey from Abstractions to Life's Messy Details
Sheila and John
Sheila and John met at a philosophy conference, of all places. Sheila had attended out of curiosity, hoping to find new material for her acting and perhaps gain a deeper understanding of some of the philosophical themes she often encountered in Shakespeare's plays. She had an undergraduate degree in theater arts and philosophy. Her favorite philosopher was Wittgenstein. She especially appreciated his notion that human life consists of many forms of life, embedded within linguistic customs, which are not reducible to one another. For her, Shakespeare and live theater were powerful expressions of these diverse and irreducible forms of life.
John was one of the keynote speakers, delivering a lecture on the nuances of process metaphysics. Sheila was immediately struck by his passion and eloquence. He spoke with a conviction that was both intimidating and alluring, weaving together complex ideas with a clarity that made even the most abstract concepts seem tangible.
What attracted Sheila to John was not just his intellectual prowess but the way he genuinely cared about the questions he was exploring. He wasn’t just a scholar lost in his books; there was an earnestness in his approach, a deep-seated belief that these ideas mattered to the world and to the way people lived their lives. Sheila, who was used to the more performative aspects of theater, found this kind of authenticity refreshing. It wasn’t long before they started spending more time together, engaging in long, spirited conversations that often lasted late into the night.
However, as their relationship deepened, Sheila began to notice something that concerned her. While John’s intellect was indeed impressive, it often overshadowed everything else. He seemed more interested in the abstract than in the tangible, more focused on theories than on the everyday realities of life. This was the man she had fallen in love with—a brilliant thinker, but one who, in her eyes, was missing out on the richness of lived experience.
Sheila's Frustration
Sheila loved John, but she often found herself frustrated by his approach to life. It seemed to her that he overthought things, with an overriding concern for metaphysical principles and process philosophy.
While John prided himself on being a philosophical theologian, his focus was almost entirely on abstract concepts. He had little interest in the nuanced, messy details of everyday existence, whether they were objective facts or subjective experiences. For him, these were interesting only if they illustrated larger, overarching principles. He was especially preoccupied with the concept of God and what he considered "bad theology" versus "good theology." As a philosophical theologian influenced by Whitehead, he was convinced that classical theism, with its notion of divine omnipotence, was "bad theology," and that process theology, with its notion of an all-loving but not all-powerful God, was "good theology."
The Unexplainable Particularities
One evening, after a particularly lengthy monologue from John about the nature of divinity, Sheila gently interrupted him. "John," she said, "your thoughts are profound, but you're missing something crucial. Take, for example, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves on that tree over there. It’s not just light and leaves—there’s something in the way it touches the ground, something unexplainable and unique to this very moment. Or consider the way a child laughs, how it’s different from one moment to the next, filled with a spontaneity that no principle can fully capture. These are the particularities, the specificities of life that defy explanation. They don’t fit neatly into theories or concepts, and that’s what makes them so vital."
Sheila continued, "To be truly wise, to truly understand, you have to be open to these unexplainable particularities. You have to see the world not just as a philosopher, but as someone who recognizes that the most important things in life are often those that can’t be neatly categorized or explained. Until you do that, you won’t be fully developed, intellectually or otherwise."
She added that the same idea applies to the tragic side of life: the murders, the rapes, the injustices, the diseases, the broken relationships. "They, too, are part of life’s particularities; they can’t be reduced to abstract principles, and we can’t be deflected by preoccupations with theodicy. We just have to look at them for what they are—unexplained particularities that bring us to tears."
Shakespeare’s Insight
John, feeling both challenged and curious, asked Sheila, "How might I learn to do this? To pay attention to the unexplainable particularities of life? Is there something I can read?"
Sheila half-wished that John would take up a hobby: gardening, roller-skating, weight-lifting, hiking, crochet—something that would take him out of his mind and into his body and the whole world of bodily, sensory experience. But he wanted to read something, and she needed to meet him on his own terms.
In response, Sheila handed him a stack of plays by Shakespeare. "Start with these," she suggested with a knowing smile. "Shakespeare’s works are certainly interested in big questions—love, power, justice, fate—but they rarely offer definitive answers or get lost in abstract principles. Instead, they dive deep into the complexities of human personalities, the intricacies of everyday circumstances, and the unfolding drama of history. These are the subjects of theater, where life’s particularities are explored in all their richness and ambiguity."
It was not surprising that she recommended Shakespeare's plays. She is an actress and a member of her local Shakespeare society. She is a theater person.
The Later Wittgenstein
As John considered Sheila’s advice, he asked, "Is there a philosopher I might read that could take me in a similar direction?" Sheila nodded thoughtfully. "You might try the later Wittgenstein," she suggested. "His work moves away from the search for abstract, universal truths and instead focuses on the way language is used in the particular contexts of life. He reminds us that meaning is often found in the details of how we live and interact with each other, rather than in grand, detached theories. Reading him might help you appreciate the complexities and particularities that you’ve been overlooking."
Learning from Life's Details
Sheila continued, "When you read these plays and Wittgenstein’s later work, don’t just focus on the ideas. Pay attention to the characters, how they speak, how they react, how they wrestle with their emotions and choices. Notice how the details of their lives—the small moments of joy, confusion, and despair—bring the big questions to life in ways that pure philosophy never could. It’s in these particularities that the true essence of life is found."
Over time, John continued to be preoccupied with abstractions, but he learned, just a little, how to live in his body and be more attentive to lived experience. The sunlight through the leaves, the child’s laughter, the tragedies that could not be explained away—these began to resonate with him in a way they never had before. Thanks to Sheila’s gentle but persistent guidance, John started to see that wisdom lies not just in the lofty realms of thought, but also in the unexplainable particularities of life.
John’s Growth
He realized that Sheila possessed a kind of wisdom, a level of intellectual maturity, that he lacked. While he had always prided himself on his deep understanding of abstract concepts and philosophical theories, Sheila had an intuitive grasp of the nuances and complexities of everyday life—those fleeting, unexplainable moments that couldn’t be neatly categorized or dissected. Her ability to see the beauty and significance in these particularities, to embrace life’s messiness and ambiguity, made him realize that his own understanding was incomplete. She had a grounded wisdom that went beyond the confines of intellectual rigor, a wisdom that he now recognized as essential to truly understanding the world and living a full, meaningful life.
His dogmatism—his insistence on rigidly distinguishing "bad theology" from "good theology" (namely his own)—began to soften. As he absorbed Sheila’s perspective, he realized that his black-and-white view of philosophy was inadequate to life. The world, he started to see, was far more nuanced and complex than his strict categories allowed. Sheila’s influence helped him appreciate that wisdom often lies in the gray areas, in the unexplainable and unpredictable aspects of life that resist tidy classifications. This shift in his thinking opened him up to a more generous and compassionate approach, one that valued the richness of diverse experiences and perspectives, even those that didn’t neatly align with his own theological views
John was one of the keynote speakers, delivering a lecture on the nuances of process metaphysics. Sheila was immediately struck by his passion and eloquence. He spoke with a conviction that was both intimidating and alluring, weaving together complex ideas with a clarity that made even the most abstract concepts seem tangible.
What attracted Sheila to John was not just his intellectual prowess but the way he genuinely cared about the questions he was exploring. He wasn’t just a scholar lost in his books; there was an earnestness in his approach, a deep-seated belief that these ideas mattered to the world and to the way people lived their lives. Sheila, who was used to the more performative aspects of theater, found this kind of authenticity refreshing. It wasn’t long before they started spending more time together, engaging in long, spirited conversations that often lasted late into the night.
However, as their relationship deepened, Sheila began to notice something that concerned her. While John’s intellect was indeed impressive, it often overshadowed everything else. He seemed more interested in the abstract than in the tangible, more focused on theories than on the everyday realities of life. This was the man she had fallen in love with—a brilliant thinker, but one who, in her eyes, was missing out on the richness of lived experience.
Sheila's Frustration
Sheila loved John, but she often found herself frustrated by his approach to life. It seemed to her that he overthought things, with an overriding concern for metaphysical principles and process philosophy.
While John prided himself on being a philosophical theologian, his focus was almost entirely on abstract concepts. He had little interest in the nuanced, messy details of everyday existence, whether they were objective facts or subjective experiences. For him, these were interesting only if they illustrated larger, overarching principles. He was especially preoccupied with the concept of God and what he considered "bad theology" versus "good theology." As a philosophical theologian influenced by Whitehead, he was convinced that classical theism, with its notion of divine omnipotence, was "bad theology," and that process theology, with its notion of an all-loving but not all-powerful God, was "good theology."
The Unexplainable Particularities
One evening, after a particularly lengthy monologue from John about the nature of divinity, Sheila gently interrupted him. "John," she said, "your thoughts are profound, but you're missing something crucial. Take, for example, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves on that tree over there. It’s not just light and leaves—there’s something in the way it touches the ground, something unexplainable and unique to this very moment. Or consider the way a child laughs, how it’s different from one moment to the next, filled with a spontaneity that no principle can fully capture. These are the particularities, the specificities of life that defy explanation. They don’t fit neatly into theories or concepts, and that’s what makes them so vital."
Sheila continued, "To be truly wise, to truly understand, you have to be open to these unexplainable particularities. You have to see the world not just as a philosopher, but as someone who recognizes that the most important things in life are often those that can’t be neatly categorized or explained. Until you do that, you won’t be fully developed, intellectually or otherwise."
She added that the same idea applies to the tragic side of life: the murders, the rapes, the injustices, the diseases, the broken relationships. "They, too, are part of life’s particularities; they can’t be reduced to abstract principles, and we can’t be deflected by preoccupations with theodicy. We just have to look at them for what they are—unexplained particularities that bring us to tears."
Shakespeare’s Insight
John, feeling both challenged and curious, asked Sheila, "How might I learn to do this? To pay attention to the unexplainable particularities of life? Is there something I can read?"
Sheila half-wished that John would take up a hobby: gardening, roller-skating, weight-lifting, hiking, crochet—something that would take him out of his mind and into his body and the whole world of bodily, sensory experience. But he wanted to read something, and she needed to meet him on his own terms.
In response, Sheila handed him a stack of plays by Shakespeare. "Start with these," she suggested with a knowing smile. "Shakespeare’s works are certainly interested in big questions—love, power, justice, fate—but they rarely offer definitive answers or get lost in abstract principles. Instead, they dive deep into the complexities of human personalities, the intricacies of everyday circumstances, and the unfolding drama of history. These are the subjects of theater, where life’s particularities are explored in all their richness and ambiguity."
It was not surprising that she recommended Shakespeare's plays. She is an actress and a member of her local Shakespeare society. She is a theater person.
The Later Wittgenstein
As John considered Sheila’s advice, he asked, "Is there a philosopher I might read that could take me in a similar direction?" Sheila nodded thoughtfully. "You might try the later Wittgenstein," she suggested. "His work moves away from the search for abstract, universal truths and instead focuses on the way language is used in the particular contexts of life. He reminds us that meaning is often found in the details of how we live and interact with each other, rather than in grand, detached theories. Reading him might help you appreciate the complexities and particularities that you’ve been overlooking."
Learning from Life's Details
Sheila continued, "When you read these plays and Wittgenstein’s later work, don’t just focus on the ideas. Pay attention to the characters, how they speak, how they react, how they wrestle with their emotions and choices. Notice how the details of their lives—the small moments of joy, confusion, and despair—bring the big questions to life in ways that pure philosophy never could. It’s in these particularities that the true essence of life is found."
Over time, John continued to be preoccupied with abstractions, but he learned, just a little, how to live in his body and be more attentive to lived experience. The sunlight through the leaves, the child’s laughter, the tragedies that could not be explained away—these began to resonate with him in a way they never had before. Thanks to Sheila’s gentle but persistent guidance, John started to see that wisdom lies not just in the lofty realms of thought, but also in the unexplainable particularities of life.
John’s Growth
He realized that Sheila possessed a kind of wisdom, a level of intellectual maturity, that he lacked. While he had always prided himself on his deep understanding of abstract concepts and philosophical theories, Sheila had an intuitive grasp of the nuances and complexities of everyday life—those fleeting, unexplainable moments that couldn’t be neatly categorized or dissected. Her ability to see the beauty and significance in these particularities, to embrace life’s messiness and ambiguity, made him realize that his own understanding was incomplete. She had a grounded wisdom that went beyond the confines of intellectual rigor, a wisdom that he now recognized as essential to truly understanding the world and living a full, meaningful life.
His dogmatism—his insistence on rigidly distinguishing "bad theology" from "good theology" (namely his own)—began to soften. As he absorbed Sheila’s perspective, he realized that his black-and-white view of philosophy was inadequate to life. The world, he started to see, was far more nuanced and complex than his strict categories allowed. Sheila’s influence helped him appreciate that wisdom often lies in the gray areas, in the unexplainable and unpredictable aspects of life that resist tidy classifications. This shift in his thinking opened him up to a more generous and compassionate approach, one that valued the richness of diverse experiences and perspectives, even those that didn’t neatly align with his own theological views
From Whitehead to Wittgenstein
Much of what I said above is indebted to John Churchill (1949–2019), an Arkansas native who graduated Phi Beta Kappa from Rhodes College before earning a Rhodes Scholarship to Oxford and a Ph.D. from Yale. He is the author of the posthumous collection The Problem with Rules, which continues his lifelong advocacy of the liberal arts. John was a professor of philosophy at Hendrix College from 1977 to 2001, and during that time, he and I talked often. One thing that intrigued me about John was that, early in his intellectual life as an undergraduate, he had been captivated by Whitehead’s philosophy, but he soon found Wittgenstein much more congenial to his temperament and sensibilities. What drew him to Wittgenstein, specifically Wittgenstein's later thought, was its focus on diverse forms of life that can be appreciated through linguistic customs but are not reducible to one another or subsumable under the rubric of systems.
In the later philosophy of Ludwig Wittgenstein, particularly in his work Philosophical Investigations, the phrase "form of life" (Lebensform in German) refers to the broader cultural, social, and practical context within which language is used. It encompasses the shared practices, behaviors, activities, and ways of life that give meaning to our language. According to Wittgenstein, the meaning of words is not determined by some intrinsic essence but by how they are used within these forms of life. Wittgenstein's concept of a "form of life" underscores his view that meaning is not a solitary or isolated phenomenon but something inherently tied to the communal and shared activities of people. Different communities or cultures may have different forms of life, which means they might use language in different ways. Understanding a language, then, requires understanding the form of life in which it is embedded.
My friend John Churchill missed attention to forms of life in Whitehead's philosophy and also recognized that many Whiteheadian thinkers did not realize that they themselves were participating in just such a form, mainly Western, European, and Platonic. Truth be told, metaphysical thinking is part of a Western "form of life" in which people seek wisdom through high generalizations (principles) under which the particularities of life are subsumed. Such thinking is not universal; it is not a feature of all cultures—indigenous traditions, for example. It is influenced by a Platonic heritage that finds abstract universals (especially mathematical ones) as "more real" than the world.
Whitehead was not a Platonist in this sense, but he did participate in the form of life that is oriented toward descriptive generalizations as "explanatory" of the world. And he was quite interested in "eternal objects" which, in view, transcended the vicissitudes of history and communities. His ontological principle is a corrective to to the idea that such objects are more real than the world and fully "explain" things. His principle points to the spontaneous irruption of the particularities of the world, including forms of life, as transcending the "eternal objects" they might embody and illustrate. John Churchill, and perhaps even Wittgenstein, were awed by spontaneity of the irruptions—and rightly so.
Addendum: Fill-in-the-Blank Exercise
Complete the sentence below by filling in the blank with one of the provided options, or feel free to add your own answer:
"An overriding concern with __________ is the bane of small minds."
Options:
"An overriding concern with __________ is the bane of small minds."
Options:
- Metaphysical principles
- Personal pleasure
- Politics
- Clarity
- Science
- God
- Religion
- Being Right
- “Them”
Definition of "Overriding Concern":
An "overriding concern" is a preoccupation or focus that dominates a person's thoughts and actions, often to the point that it overshadows or supersedes attention to the particular experiences in life and the specific objects of those experiences. It becomes a central priority that can cause a person to overlook or neglect the richness and variety of concrete, lived experiences in favor of a singular concern or idea. Such a concern can be off-putting to others because it seems self-absorbed and immature, missing something fundamental about life itself—namely, the suchness of things, which transcends ego-concerns, us-them dichotomies, and philosophical explanations.
Explanation:
In Whitehead's philosophy, the concrete "actual occasions of experience in life" transcend the abstractions by which they are understood and the metaphysical principles by which they can be "explained." The essence of each actuality is an act of self-creativity that cannot be fully reduced to past influences, future possibilities, divine agency, or abstract ideas. This self-creativity, which Zen Buddhists might call the "suchness" of things, precedes judgments of good and bad, right and wrong, and represents the spontaneous and unexplainable nature of worldly events. The mature mind is attentive to this suchness, recognizing it before making moral or evaluative judgments. In contrast, the small mind becomes so absorbed in abstractions, principles, and concerns like those listed in the exercise that it neglects this fundamental reality.
Even Whitehead's ontological principle, if it becomes an object of overriding concern, can be a problem. The suchness of things is real, but there's no need to make a god of it. The multiplicity of experiences is always more than the abstractions by which they are understood, including the idea of "suchness" when it becomes an abstraction.
Definition of "Overriding Concern":
An "overriding concern" is a preoccupation or focus that dominates a person's thoughts and actions, often to the point that it overshadows or supersedes attention to the particular experiences in life and the specific objects of those experiences. It becomes a central priority that can cause a person to overlook or neglect the richness and variety of concrete, lived experiences in favor of a singular concern or idea. Such a concern can be off-putting to others because it seems self-absorbed and immature, missing something fundamental about life itself—namely, the suchness of things, which transcends ego-concerns, us-them dichotomies, and philosophical explanations.
Explanation:
In Whitehead's philosophy, the concrete "actual occasions of experience in life" transcend the abstractions by which they are understood and the metaphysical principles by which they can be "explained." The essence of each actuality is an act of self-creativity that cannot be fully reduced to past influences, future possibilities, divine agency, or abstract ideas. This self-creativity, which Zen Buddhists might call the "suchness" of things, precedes judgments of good and bad, right and wrong, and represents the spontaneous and unexplainable nature of worldly events. The mature mind is attentive to this suchness, recognizing it before making moral or evaluative judgments. In contrast, the small mind becomes so absorbed in abstractions, principles, and concerns like those listed in the exercise that it neglects this fundamental reality.
Even Whitehead's ontological principle, if it becomes an object of overriding concern, can be a problem. The suchness of things is real, but there's no need to make a god of it. The multiplicity of experiences is always more than the abstractions by which they are understood, including the idea of "suchness" when it becomes an abstraction.