Ethically Speaking

0.8

•- Quincie Jackson -•

Reading was a passage into another universe. That of itself was a power many authors possessed. But philosophy was a whole other story.

It wasn't just a voyage to the intoxicating words of a world we wished to live, but into the mind and the perspective of another being. We are entrapped in their thoughts, their actions, and we learn from these ideas of another.

I loved reading genres of many variations. Romance, fiction, mystery, but what enticed me the most had always been what was, not what could be. You can live vicariously through your favorite characters, even go as far as to invest yourself in their worlds but when it came to philosophy I felt like I was infiltrating someone's inner most thoughts. I wasn't placing myself in the scene of the crime, or in a compromising position with someone I held interest, I was simply understanding what I am meant to be taught and that made it all the more appealing.

My interests started as young as seven. I read "Good and Evil" by Friedrich Nietzsche. I don't think I fully comprehended the words I read until I hit my teen years, but alas, it was that thought process in which he described that bribed me into my passions.

These reminiscing memories come at an odd time as I was sat at my desk in the lecture hall. I was in a class I had no interest in, but for the sake of my requirements I sat through the boring lectures and listened to the words of an aged and traditional woman teaching English.

I was certain she was one of the many professors who fell to my father's feet as she never marked a wrong answer on an exam and she never yelled at me for my wandering mind.

"And so I dismiss you in the hopes you achieve better marks on your midterms this semester because almost all of you are failures." (Literally my English professor)

My peers and I begin packing our bags at the announcement of our dismissal. I imitate their actions before we're all out of the lecture hall and into the corridor of our building.

As I walk I am overthrown by the old testimonies of ancient philosophers in which I curiously ponder. My idea were much different than many of the traditional philosophers I valued the opinions of. Mine were eccentric and progressive in terms of what I thought was right and wrong. My morals encompassed a more modern viewpoint and I prized myself on that.

"Quincie!"

I glance up, finding Elijah Fields scurrying towards me with what I think to be excitement.

"The writing have just been delivered I am on my way to pick them up from the company mailroom."

"Why are you in Laski Hall?" I ask despite his visible excitement for the project we were set to begin.

Dedicated to an English political theorist and economist, Laski Hall was home to the language classes. From English 101 to Critical Thinking, it was a building dedicated to the works of English. So you can understand the confusion for a philosophy professor, who would mainly be in Wittgenstein Hall, to be wandering the English department which was all the way across campus.

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask that," he laughs awkwardly as his hand scratches the back of his head, "I was hoping you would accompany me to the mailroom. I figured you would be as thrilled as I am, I'm sorry if this is completely weird and inappropriate."