Blog 19 -- 4/28/14

During our last discussion (pun most certainly intended) we spent a great deal of time tossing around our personal takes on existentialism. I was quite surprised that the distinction between Meaning and meaning was revisited, and to such a great extent. I truly felt that leading up to this class, existentialism was revealing itself to me as increasingly atheistic. And yet, with an understanding of the subject as being the human struggle to define the self in terms of subjective and/or objective purpose, I am forced to once again reconsider the idea of existentialism as fundamentally atheistic. Despite our exploration of religious existentialists like Kierkegaard and Dostoevsky, I felt nothing necessarily religious about their philosophies—well, at least not insomuch as someone like Nietzsche’s gung ho advocacy against religion. Sure, the formers’ religious inclinations were made evident throughout their works, but in my opinion, the messages they presented could have just as easily been offered without the religious skew.

Let’s take Kierkegaard’s notion of a subjective faith for example: Why can’t some worldly paradigm serve the same purpose as his subjective conception of God? During my junior year of high school, I had an atheist friend with whom I often discussed my faith. One afternoon, during one of our regular bouts on religion, I suggested he try looking for God in the things he loves. A good while later, he was speaking in front of our class and called upon our conversation—saying how he felt he had found God in music. Sitting in the audience, it certainly sounded as though instead of coming about God through music, he had simply found a replacement for Him. Is this not an instance of faith being replaced with a more material foundation; more importantly, is a mundane basis for orienting oneself in life, such as this, a viable, and sustainable, alternative to the faith life (subjective or objective)?

In a rather longwinded attempt to exemplify my uncertainty surrounding the essentiality of faith to the philosophies of religious existentialists such as Kierkegaard or Dostoevsky, I have attempted to bring this discussion full-circle: I cannot help but smirk at the oddly existential feeling I am left with after having revisited (and with such class-wide enthusiasm) the notion of cosmic purpose in spite of what my preconceptions of the subject have deemed otherwise atheistic in nature. 

Yours Tru.ly

Blog 18 -- 4/23/14

While I tend to actively avoid feminist preaching, I admire the tone Hazel Barnes assumes in her work, “Sartre and Feminism”. Her unbiased approach appears to be the most effective means of representing both sides of the argument, which is essential to all forms of progressive dialogue.

The biggest problem I have with feminist blaspheming, regardless of the subject (but certainly relevant to the discussion of Sartre’s works), is no different than the problem feminists strike with even the slightest instances of male dominance: Advocates of male superiority and feminists alike often overlook the importance of what is being said and mistake overemphasized technicalities for indications of absolute truth. The best example I have to support this equal-but-opposite assertion is in reference to the Bible, better yet, longstanding Christian tradition in general. Aside from instances in the Bible wherein male dominance is often cited, I even hear of female extremists scoffing at the notion of a male god-figure—a most ridiculous act of rebellion if you ask me. Fact of the matter is, the importance one puts on God being male or female detracts from His word. Further yet, the way I see it, the more an individual becomes absorbed and obsessed with God being this or that, the less he/she actually cares about what is actually meant by the text.

If it makes any difference at all, I’ll be the first to admit that gender inequality is real, and has been for some time, often as a result of misinterpreted and conflated religious doctrine. However, this does not justify some of the far-fetched claims that feminism is suggesting the pseudo-existence of male superiority is responsible for. It seems like every day I hear speculation of racism, gender mistreatment, religious conflict, you name it; but I’m skeptical of the legitimacy behind each case, for everything amounts to little more than a power-struggle and it’s not uncommon to find extortion behind the wildest of these schemes.

Yours Tru.ly

Blog 17 -- 4/21/14

In assessing the claim that in others we find our identity, my initial thoughts--like many others in the class--were to consider the existence of feral children. Unlike some of the psychologically historical examples offered by my peers, though, I was instinctively drawn to the myth of Rome's foundation whereby brothers Romulus and Remus were raised by a she-wolf. I was tempted to dismiss this example as useless considering the whole premise of our discussion revolved around the origin of self in the individual; seeing as there were two brothers, this hardly seemed appropriate at first glance. And yet, as I thought about it, I came to the conclusion that this wouldn't be such a bad example after all. Granted, it would be nice to also observe a case in which only one individual lives out such a life, but I think the instance wherein two "unprimed" individuals are involved is equally informative by virtue of observing whether or not the two come to understand themselves with respect to the other (without any additional human influences). If this is how things would have played out (instead of the historically fatal result that did), then one could make an argument that man's understanding of himself is very much determined by his relation to others and their influence on him. 

The more I think about our discussion on the essentiality of others to our own identity, the more I toy with the question I offered during class: What happens to the identity of a person living as a recluse? Unlike the examples of feral children that suppose the child is devoid of human contact from birth, the recluse has in fact "had the potential" (I phrase it this way because Sartre's understanding of identity is still very much theoretical in my opinion) to understand himself through others. At least in the examples I have considered, it isn't until later in life (usually after some deep introspection or cosmic realization of sorts) that the individual pulls away from society to live a solitary lifestyle. At this point, Sartre could certainly argue that the influence by others up to that point is what determines the individual's identity. And yet, I wonder: Without further human interaction, will the recluse forevermore understand his/her self in terms of those human interactions that preceded his lifestyle change? Or, is he/she capable of further developing the notion of the self without human interaction (meaning that identity-by-others is merely a requisite for consciousness, but once a preliminary understanding of the self is developed, the input of others loses necessity for subsequent change)?

Yours Tru.ly

Blog 16 -- 4/16/14

An inquiry was made last Wednesday--during our discussion of "Bad Faith"--as to whether or not it is possible for someone to exhibit bad faith in real-time. After much deliberation over subjects vaguely relevant to the subject-matter, as seems to be the norm, it would seem the question remains unanswered. To this I shall try my very best to conjure up an appropriate response, one that acknowledges time as being of utmost importance to Sartre's bad faith. To begin, let us recall that as per the definition offered to us by the afternoon's speakers, transcendence is very much future-oriented. Conversely, seeing as facticity refers to things as they are, one might assume that this element of bad faith could ONLY exist in the present as neither the past nor the future can definitively speak to how things actually are currently. And yet, we find that bad faith cannot exist without one or the other (past or future). Present and future are necessary to retrospectively validate whether or not one has acted in bad faith, a posteriori. In essence, whether one presently reflects on actions of the past, or whether (s)he will reflect in the future on actions of the present or past is not important. Rather, it is the reflection--which, by its very definition requires time to separate the reflection from the event upon which one reflects--that is important here. That said, to suppose that an individual can act in bad faith in real-time is to suppose that reflection can also take place in the same sense.  Earlier in the semester, Thad suggested this could be, and is, done. I am not convinced, at least not the extent of reflection to which I am referring (the kind that has an individual staring at a blank wall for an indeterminate amount of time). In summation, I do not believe that an individual is capable of acting in bad faith "instantaneously"; rather, I would argue Sartre's understanding of facticity and transcendence imply a sort of temporal dichotomy at the root of his bad faith.

Yours Tru.ly

Blog 15 -- 4/9/14

A good many interpretations of Solomon’s selection on Jean-Paul Sarte were offered on Wednesday, but only one resonated with my own. The student suggested that ‘I am only responsible for those things I, myself, decide are responsibilities.’ This was immediately countered by opposing views which suggest man has social duties and that such a paradigm could only be supported by solitary living. In his response to those counterarguments, the gentleman provided us with a literal example of his responsibility to ensure no children are hit as he drives his car and how this responsibility, though perhaps a ubiquitously-recognized duty to his fellow man, is no formal obligation at all.

While the aforementioned reference may seem a bit farfetched, I believe the foundation of the argument gives rise to some very applicable implications. For starters, this notion of personally conceiving one’s own responsibility is consistent with what Sartre says on page 211 in Robert Solomon’s Existentialism when he states “…one will never be able to explain one’s action by reference to a given and specific human nature”. By this Sartre denies the legitimacy of the herd mentality as a force worthy of bearing any influence over man’s existence; furthermore, the individual ought not to accept responsibility over anything that jeopardizes the maintenance of his own freedom. The second instance derived from our classmate’s analogy lies at the opposite end of the spectrum—the other extreme—wherein one’s responsibilities has the potential to become conflated with the will of God. Unfortunately, the sort of absence of freedom to which I speak that leads to widespread religious ignorance and violence is a much more prevalent threat than the former “unrestricted freedom”. This lifestyle can be summarized by its lack of freedom entirely, the antithesis of Sartre’s “man is freedom” (211).

However, both extremes—free and enslaved thinking, god or godless paradigms—produce individuals who see themselves as above the rest. In the former, man has no obligation to anything but himself and therefore the concerns of others are not to be his own; in the latter, man orients himself entirely about God and His will (It is true that for many, God’s will resides in the service of others; however, for some, His will takes on a more violent identity. In the end, all is for God and nothing—good nor bad—is truly for one’s fellow man).

Yours Tru.ly

Blog 14 -- 4/7/14

Barrett, I must say, you have an uncanny ability to carry the philosophical themes presented in class far beyond the realm of relevance. For that, I would say you exemplify the select few (whose names may be inferred from my previous blogs) who tend to get wrapped up in the technicalities of existential arguments. Time and again in class we hear an enthusiastic individual rattle on about how physics, biology, this-or-that wouldn't support such claims as are being made in particular text. To that I must ask: What good does assessing the worth of a thing, B, do us if we are limited to only perceiving it through the lens of a different thing, A? Similarly, Barrett, if you assess the value of philosophizing by its instrumental value alone, you overlook a great deal of its significance. For example, I thoroughly enjoy contemplating life and the many themes presented in class. And yet, I do nothing with this. I simply relish in the pleasure it gives me. If you try to measure the instrumental worth of this aesthetic appreciation you will most certainly find none. To better elucidate my claim, let's look to the often-cited research that suggests religious individuals tend to be happier, on average. This says nothing about whether or not those sampled actually make use of their religious dogma in everyday life; but religion is undeniably valuable to their psychological well-being. The function of philosophizing can be understood in a similar light, and for many, it is. This sort of approach to philosophy coincides nicely with Heidegger's "we cannot do anything with philosophy, [and yet] might not philosophy...do something with us?" as presented on page 150 of Robert Solomon's Existentialism. This is to suggest that while the reader may not be actively doing anything with the ideas put forth, the ideas themselves may be actively shaping the reader (so, there, maybe something is actually being done after all).

Yours Tru.ly

Blog 13 -- 4/2/14

In response to the young woman who has identified herself as a previous student of Thad's and continues to attend our discussions:

This past Wednesday, in speaking on your own experiences with death, you made mention of a frame-of-thought that I believe eludes the majority of people. To the severely depressed (myself included), the appeal of death is almost dreamlike. As I recall, you alluded beautifully to this temptation when you said 'Sometimes, all I want to do is die,' or something to that end. In essence, this isn't so much a pursuit of something more pleasurable as it is an avoidance of one's pain and misery. During my own psychotic episodes, it was a sense of calm and stillness that I saw in death that attracted me to it, a relief from all struggles to exist. 

To this end, I believe a perspective such as this is very much consistent with Albert Camus' assessment of the three responses to Absurdity. Ironically enough (considering my intimate relationship with suicidal thoughts), my group was assigned to Camus for this semester's presentation and my preconceptions of how others view suicide couldn't have been more correct. I recall that while brainstorming on how to conduct our class discussion, one of the group members suggested that we require certain sections of the class to assume a predetermined position, regardless of where an individual's own convictions may lie. The same group member proceeded to substantiate this approach by suggesting that no one would seriously consider suicide as a viable option. This is where he was wrong; but I just sat quietly shaking my head with a subtle smirk on my face. Fact of the matter is, death is very real and can be very attractive to some. Take it from me, and the young lady who opted to share her life with us on Wednesday: Perceptions of death are as unique as the individual.

Yours Tru.ly

Blog 12 -- 3/31/14

Week 11 Blog 1 – Truman Combs

I have known for some time now that I am someone who gets caught up on the fine details of things. I recommend this type of perspective to no one, for I attribute to it a great deal of unnecessary stress in my life. And yet, it is this same attention-to-detail that I believe defines who I am as a person—a person who, in possessing this selective acuity, I have come to appreciate for that very reason. Having said this, I wish to call upon some hastily overlooked remarks made by Seth during Monday’s discussion on understanding the notion of being. Should you recall, I am the individual who requested that Seth reiterate his comprehension of being in relation to one’s peers. According to him, in order for one to realize the meaning of being, one must understand his/her relation to each other individual around him. In other words, I would need to understand every facet of every other individual’s life in relation to my own, in addition to understanding the entirety of my own existence, in order to conceptualize being, or as Heidegger calls it, Da-sein. I do not agree with this logic. Rather, I think the importance of knowing humanity beyond oneself to Da-sein lies in the relation of oneself to the community of selves, and not in the relation of oneself to all other selves individually. To better explicate the difference, here’s an interdisciplinary analogy: In the natural world, how a thing functions is very much dependent on the scale at which it is being observed. For example, understanding the physical properties of a single water molecule says nothing about the hydrodynamics of a stream. To this end, I would argue that an individual’s relation to his peers are microscopic and macroscopic phenomena, respectively. However, Seth’s proposition is very much a microscopic-to-microscopic perspective. Simply “totaling” all of a person’s individual relationships does not equate to how said person relates to the community as an entity in and of itself. It is this definition of relation to one’s “environment” that I believe Heidegger frequents in his work.

Yours Tru.ly