The Ghost in the Machine
That's a phrase coined by the philosopher Gilbert Ryle, in the context of an argument he was having with with René Descartes, and such things are, in Mr. Obama's now-famous remark, above my pay grade. But I slept late, it being Christmas Eve, then came down to make coffee. I brought the laptop with me, set it on a coffee table and turned it on, and in a few clicks I was streaming music to my stereo.
Baroque, it was, and it filled the room with that era's vision of peace and beauty. And I thought about all the sophisticated machinery and engineering, the long string of servers and transmitters, and this music entered that machinery, found its way all the way through, and came out the speakers and into my living room. Curious, isn't it? The music was originally made in a studio in Germany, maybe, or wherever—hearts and minds, heads and hands, rosined bows drawn across the strings, fingers moving—and then it got recorded, and today it finds its way through the Intertubes and to me, and I sit here thinking, "how lovely."
And there I'll have to leave it for now. The cat just came downstairs for petting, and he gets extra petting during Christmastide, which is not to say he's starved for affection at other seasons. But for those of you who are celebrating the season, and for those of you who might like to hear an oldie but goodie, a bit of Corelli:
OK, I couldn't resist:
Oh, just one more:
Baroque, it was, and it filled the room with that era's vision of peace and beauty. And I thought about all the sophisticated machinery and engineering, the long string of servers and transmitters, and this music entered that machinery, found its way all the way through, and came out the speakers and into my living room. Curious, isn't it? The music was originally made in a studio in Germany, maybe, or wherever—hearts and minds, heads and hands, rosined bows drawn across the strings, fingers moving—and then it got recorded, and today it finds its way through the Intertubes and to me, and I sit here thinking, "how lovely."
And there I'll have to leave it for now. The cat just came downstairs for petting, and he gets extra petting during Christmastide, which is not to say he's starved for affection at other seasons. But for those of you who are celebrating the season, and for those of you who might like to hear an oldie but goodie, a bit of Corelli:
OK, I couldn't resist:
Oh, just one more:
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