Tag Archives: Philosophy

A spectre is haunting Europe – and rather than communism, as Marx famously said, this spectre is nihilism. We are at “the advent of nihilism,” or so Friedrich Nietzsche argued in The Will to Power. However, why is only Europe in this predicament? Has the Asian philosophical tradition saved the East from similar demise? During the late 19^th century, Buddhism was relatively unknown in detail to Western observers. It was through the work of Jesuit missionaries that Asian thought found itself in Europe. Nietzsche was fond of Buddhism to some degree, but he still considered it nihilistic. He used Buddhism to make comparisons to Christianity, contrasting them to show the futility of Christendom. Nietzsche likely encountered discussions on Asian philosophy through the work of Schopenhauer, who he admired dearly. His examinations between the two did not go in vain and, as historian Guy Welborn describes, he was likely “one of the best read and most solidly grounded in Buddhism for his time” (Elman, 673). Thus, a constructive assessment of Buddhist philosophy can help us fill in the apparent “gaps” in Nietzsche’s philosophy, and see if Buddhism acts as a proper remedy to the ills Nietzsche attributes to Western society.

I. Nietzsche as the “Buddha of Europe”

In a note dated during the 1880s, Nietzsche writes “I could be the Buddha of Europe: though admittedly an antipode to the Indian Buddha” (Halbfass, 128). Here, we find a contradiction of terms. In his writing, Nietzsche affirms Buddhism as the only positivistic religion in the history of humanity; however, he also distances himself from the nihilism and the disaffirmation of life that he believes Buddhism supposedly entails. The reason Nietzsche calls himself “the Buddha of Europe” is because of the ontological similarities between himself and Buddha; however, he also paradoxically claims he is diametrically opposed to Buddhist philosophy, since he does not give the same solutions that are posited in early Buddhist thought. Firstly, apparent in both Buddhist and Nietzschean thought is the utmost rejection of metaphysics. Of course, Nietzsche himself and some Buddhist schools dabble in metaphysical inquiry by establishing criteria of the “self” and other concepts, but they never make it a rule of their inquiry. Rather, it is supplementary to their greater philosophy. To give an example, Gautama Buddha, the original Buddhist sage, demonstrates skepticism of metaphysics in a story known as the “Parable of the Arrow” found in one of the five sections of the Sutta Pitaka. A monk, Malunkyaputta, is bothered by the Buddha’s silence on the fourteen unanswerable questions. Frustrated, Malunkyaputta then issues an ultimatum – if the Buddha does not entertain these questions, he will renounce his teachings as a monk. Gautama Buddha responds by stating that he never promised to uncover “ultimate truths” and then goes on to explain a parable of a man who had been shot with a poisoned arrow to further prove his point.

It’s just as if a man were wounded with an arrow thickly smeared with poison. [We] would provide him with a surgeon, and the man would say, ‘I won’t have this arrow removed until I know whether the man who wounded me was a noble warrior, a priest, a merchant, or a worker.’ He would say, ‘I won’t have this arrow removed until I know the given name & clan name of the man who wounded me… until I know whether he was tall, medium, or short… until I know whether he was dark, ruddy-brown, or golden-colored… until I know his home village, town, or city…’ The man would die and those things would still remain unknown to him (Bhikku, 63).

This parable demonstrates the futility of metaphysics in fixing the suffering (Dukkha) that is inherent in life. When a poison arrow is lodged into you and causing you pain, discovering just where it came from is irrelevant to the more crucial problem at hand, which is actually removing it. Later Buddhist thinkers such as Nagarjuna and Dogen affirm this position as in line with original Buddhist thinking. Dogen, especially, emphasizes this fact by “concern[ing] himself only with what is experienced… he is not concerned with notions of reality outside this process of experiencing consciousness” (Kasulis, 69). Rather than see statements as having “metaphysical significance,” Dogen posits that such claims are misunderstood descriptive statements about experience. In Dogen’s View of Authentic Selfhood, Francis D. Cook talks about metaphysics in relation to authenticity and the self. He writes:

Metaphysical systems… are constructed and defended to the death in order to solace and defend minds that are primarily concerned with their own reality, importance, and survival. As Nāgārjuna argued in the second century and Dōgen continued to insist in the thirteenth, all positions and ideologies arise from and, in turn, nourish the inauthentic self (Cook, 136).

Thus, for Dogen and Nagarjuna, metaphysics functions as a means to selfishly bolster the individual rather than cure the condition. Nietzsche, too, sought to bring philosophy back to the experiencer rather than put it in hands beyond ourselves. Therefore, he rejected abstractions as needless constructions that merely separate us from our actual-existing reality. He uses Christian imagery of God becoming man through Christ as a means to allegorically demonstrate that divine instruction, metaphysics, and “objective” knowledge has now grounded itself in man, for all of us to experientially explore.

That God became man only indicates that man shouldn’t search for blessedness in the infinite; rather, he should ground his heaven on earth. The delusion of a world beyond has cast human spirits and minds in a false relation to the earthly world: it [that delusion] was the product of a childhood of peoples (Porter, 1).

Buddhism (particularly the Madhymaka School) and Nietzsche reach their anti-metaphysical position by, firstly, rejecting theism. For Gautama Buddha, the idea of God was a non-issue since it has little to do with “seeing things as they really are” – as Buddha himself said, “I teach one thing and one thing only, suffering and the end of suffering” (Nisker, 23). It is because both Nietzsche and Guatama Buddha reject God that they also reject metaphysics, objective value, and any purpose behind suffering.

II. Suffering as Perpetual

Both Nietzsche and Buddhism affirm suffering as always present. Nietzsche derives his concept of Dukkha from the work of Schopenhauer, who might had very well come to the idea through Buddhism. For Schopenhauer, suffering was “an obstacle placed between the will and its aim” (Elman, 675). Thus, “because all efforts of will arose from the constant dissatisfaction with its present state, there could be no end to striving; therefore, there could be no end to suffering either” (Elman, 675). Schopenhauer took this fact to mean that Dhukka can never be overcome and the only proper solution is to negate our own will, since we can never escape suffering. Nietzsche rejected this view and instead inverted Schopenhauer’s conclusion – the solution was not to negate the will, but to elevate it above all else. Although we live without God and objectivity, that does not mean we are doomed to nihilism. If we reject metaphysics and realize that Dukkha is ever-present in our current reality then there are two possible solutions: (I) we either appeal to Buddha’s Bodhisattva ideal in an effort to ultimately end it or (II) we affirm suffering itself and take it as a form of strength through Nietzsche’s idea of the Ubermensch. For Nietzsche, Buddhism is life-negating because it fails to affirm suffering as a means towards improvement. Rather, it wishes to escape it. As Nietzsche writes in Beyond Good and Evil:

The discipline of suffering, of great suffering – do you not know that only this discipline has created all enhancements of man so far? That tension of the soul in unhappiness which cultivates its strength, its shudders face to face with great ruin, its inventiveness and courage in enduring, preserving, interpreting, and exploiting suffering, and whatever has been granted to it of profundity, secret, mask, spirit, cunning, greatness – was it not granted to it through suffering, through the discipline of great suffering? (Kaufmann, 344)

From this common position of suffering, two potential roads open up: the “life-negating” ethics of the Buddha’s Bodhisattva ideal, or the life-affirming ethics of Nietzsche’s own Übermensch ideal. It is because Buddhism accepts suffering as paramount that Nietzsche places it higher than Christianity, since it does not succumb to ressentiment. Nietzsche’s characterization of Buddhism as “life-negating” comes from a misunderstanding of Asian philosophy. While the goal of Buddhism is to negate yourself and realize your self is an illusion (Anatta), you make yourself empty in order to affirm life. This same concept is present in Daoism, found in the Dao De Jing chapter 11:

By adding and removing clay we form a vessel. But only by relying on what is not there, do we have use of the vessel. …And so, what is there is the basis for profit. What is not there is the basis for use (Ivanhoe, 11).

Thus, it is through “negating” yourself that you become an empty vessel in order to be filled with everything else – you destroy the distinction between the self and the universe, in order to be fully realized and reach enlightenment. Nietzsche seems to be missing this characteristic of Buddhist doctrine; instead he focuses specifically on Anatta as a means to prove Buddhism is inherently nihilistic, a position which Gautama Buddha and Nagarjuna reject.

III. Impermanence and the Self

Heraclitus was a Pre-Socratic thinking known as the “weeping philosopher.” He was an influence on Nietzsche. Here he is depicted on an oil canvas by Hendrick Bloemaert.

If suffering (Dukkha) is reality, then what does it mean to be resentful towards that reality? What does it mean to deny it? For Nietzsche, such thinking is an act of ressentiment and a characteristic of slave morality. However, suffering is only one aspect of reality. Nietzsche also agrees with the other Buddhist mark of existence, impermanence (Anicca) or the idea that everything is in constant flux. Nietzsche was introduced to this concept not through Buddhism, but rather through the works of pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus. Nietzsche writes that “Heraclitus will remain eternally right with is assertion that being is an empty fiction” (Common, 15). Nietzsche hoped to transform the talk of an ontological and static “being” into one of a more dynamic “becoming.” This dynamism he attempts to capture in his conception of will to power (Barrett, 178). Reality does not create fixed entities such as subject, being, object, and essence. These words are created for convenience since we cannot possibly see this flux in full; we do not see the interaction between different beings, temporally and spatially, which leads to their co-dependent creation. By postulating “being” as fixed, Nietzsche argues, we make ourselves foolishly comfortable by grounding a reality which is, ultimately, never constant and always changing. It is from this idea that Nietzsche attacks truth:

What then is truth? A movable host of metaphors, metonymies, and; anthropomorphisms: in short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, transferred, and embellished, and which, after long usage, seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding (Magnus, 29, 30).

In the same vein, Nietzsche affirms that the self is co-dependent and of “great intelligence, a multiplicity with one sense, a war and a peace, a herd and a herdsman” (Hollingdale, 61). He also describes the self as a “social structure of… drives and emotions” (Hollingdale, 25) In the Will to Power, he expounds on this idea by describing the subject are more multi-faceted than just a “self.” He writes:

The assumption of one single subject is perhaps unnecessary; perhaps it is just as permissible to assume a multiplicity of subjects, whose interaction and struggle is the basis of our thought and our consciousness in general?… My hypothesis: The subject as multiplicity (Kaufmann and Hollingdale, 270).

Nagarjuna, specifically, speaks of Buddhist co-dependent origination in Seventy Stanzas on Emptiness where he writes in poetic form:

Entities do not exist In their causes, in their conditions In aggregations of many things, or in individual things Therefore, all entities are empty (Lindtner, 3).

In this stanza, “empty” does not mean “not existing.” It simply means empty of an essence. There is no static being that is a thing-in-itself; rather, an object is dependent on other entities for it to exist temporally and spatially.

Without one there are not many, and Without many there is not one. Therefore, dependently arisen entities [like these] Have no characteristics (Lindtner, 7).

The co-dependency of all entities also implies that these same entities are in constant flux. In these two stanzas, Nagarjuna outlines the case for impermanence. From the position of impermanence, both Nietzsche and Buddhists run into a problem – how can individuals overcome Dukkha in an ever-changing world? How can one create value or affirm anything in a world that does not have constant or eternal entities? Ultimately, these questions are where Nietzsche and Buddhists overlap. They both seek to solve the issue of nihilism which is inherent in an impermanent world. They do this by striving to recognize reality for what it is and then offering a solution with which to solve the problem of suffering. For Buddhists, this is found in denying the self and its desires, which will ultimately put an end to Dukkha. Nietzsche, conversely, affirms suffering as necessary to fulfillment which is the inspiration for his aphorism: “What does not kill me, strengthens me” (Common, 6). Despite the differing solutions, Antoine Panaioti in Nietzsche and Buddhist Philosophy attempts to reconcile these two views of suffering by arguing that both philosophies attempt to make its followers so strong and healthy that they no longer perceive suffering as an obstacle. In other words, both seek the elimination of suffering as an impediment – for Nietzsche, this is done through will and self-affirmation; for Buddhism, this is done by disaffirming the self and one’s will.

IV. Final Remarks

I find the Buddhist response to suffering to be much more sound, since impermanence of the self implies a lack of a subject. Nietzsche, paradoxically, triumphs the individual will above all else while also arguing that the self is multi-faceted and not just an essence. He is an individualist that denies the individual. The Buddhist philosophy is consistent because it denies the self as an entity of itself, but it goes even further – it also denies the subject as an individual agent. Thus, Nietzsche’s formula is left incomplete. Buddhism correctly fills in the gaps. At the root, both Buddhism and Nietzsche seek to destroy ideals. For Nietzsche, this was the entire Western tradition. The nihilist, in all its negative connotations, is in actuality a frustrated idealist that realizes abstractions will never reach perfection. The solution, then, is to simply destroy these notions of “ideals” and to live according to the “real.” In other words, in order to fully overcome nihilism, we need to kill Platonic forms, metaphysical tribulations, and conceptions of “noumenon” that cloud our perceptions. Therefore, nihilism is a kind of product of Western metaphysics. Buddhism had no such institutional opposition, and thus had no need to break down ideal forms as Nietzsche did. Nietzsche overlaps with Buddhism in his ontological conception of the self, in his ideas on “becoming,” and the reality of constant suffering. The difference is, largely, the historical context and the solutions for the problems posed. For all his denouncing and rejection, it seems that Nietzsche was much more of Buddhist than he cared to realize.

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– Elman, Benjamin A. Nietzsche and Buddhism. Journal of the History of Ideas, Vol. 44, No. 4. University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983. pp. 671 – 686.

– Halbfass, Wilhelm. India and Europe: An Essay in Understanding. State University of New York Press, New York. 1988. Print.

– Bhikkhu, Thanissaro. Cula-Malunkyovada Sutta: The Shorter Instructions to Malunkya. Access to Insight (Legacy Edition), 30 Nov. 2013. Web. <http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/mn/mn.063.than.html>.

– Kasulis, T. P. Zen Action: Zen Person. University of Hawaii Press, Honolulu. 1989. Print.

– Cook, Francis Dojun. Dogen’s View of Authentic Selfhood. University of Hawaii Press, Honolulu. 1985. Print.

– Porter, James I. The Invention of Dionysus and the Platonic Midwife: Nietzsche’s Birth of Tragedy. Journal of the History of Philosophy, Vol. 33, No. 3. John Hopkins University Press, 1995. Print.

– Nisker, Wes. Buddha’s Nature, reprint ed. Bantam, 2000. Print.

– Kaufmann, Walter. Basic Writings of Nietzsche. Modern Library of New York, New York. 2000. Print.

– Ivanhoe, Philip J. The Daodejing of Laozi. Seven Bridges Press, New York. 2002. Print.

– Common, Thomas. The Twilight of the Idols and Antichrist. Digireads.com, 2010. Print.

– Barrett, William. Irrational Man; A Study in Existential Philosophy. New York: Doubleday, 1958. Print.

– Magnus, Bernd. The Cambridge Companion to Nietzsche. Cambridge, England. Cambridge University Press, 1996. Print.

– Hollingdale, R. J. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Penguin Press, 1974. Print.

– Kaufmann, Walter. Hollingdale, R. J. The Will to Power. Vintage, 2011. Print.

– Lindtner, Christian. Nagarjuna: Studies in the Writings and Philosophy of Nagarjuna. Motilal Banarsidass Publishers. New Delhi, 1997. Print.

– Panaioti, Antoine. Nietzsche and Buddhism. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. 2013. Print.

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Academic Papers, Critical Theory, Theory of History

Kierkegaard and Nietzsche

April 18, 2014

Academic Papers, Philosophy

3 Comments

Friedrich Nietzsche and Søren Kierkegaard are often grouped together as some of the first thinkers in what would become existential philosophy. However, Nietzsche (who outlived Kierkegaard by decades) likely never encountered the other’s work directly. The differences between them are therefore stark. Although diametrically opposed on religion, both philosophers find some common ground in making the subject the most prescient matter in their works. It is this similarity which leads them into comparable territory – it forces them to reconsider the metaphysical tribulations that were (and still are) ingrained in Western culture, critiquing and dismantling them, all in hopes of giving the individual the philosophical focus it so deservingly needs. Nietzsche arguably does this best since he begins by overturning basic assumptions, leaving nothing unchecked, and then works his way up to the individual and the herd. Thus, although Kierkegaard writes poetically of the self, Nietzsche truly provides existentialism with an all-encompassing critique of contemporary thought by beginning with basal ontology and then moving forward, in an engaging fashion.

I. Ontological Differences and Categorizations of the Self

Kierkegaard does not have a strident ontology of anything but the self. For him, the self is all-encompassing and the most pressing issue. Therefore, he is not concerned with the categorization of “being” in the tradition of Aristotelian thought. Rather, he turns his focus to subjective experience. This is particularly why in Martin Heidegger’s notes on Being and Time he gives Kierkegaard much credit. He writes, “Søren Kierkegaard explicitly seized upon the problem of existence as an existentiell problem, and thought it through in a penetrating fashion” (Perkins, 187). Heidegger recognizes Kierkegaard as the first to establish the self not as a category of thought, but rather as a way of being. In other words, one becomes a subject rather than thinking subjectivity into being. It is on this basis that Kierkegaard largely stays away from abstractions on religion, the self, or society. In the same vein as Nietzsche’s polemics against metaphysics, William Barrett describes Kierkegaard’s skepticism in Irrational Man:

Existence and theory about existence are not one and the same, any more than a printed menu is as effective a form of nourishment as an actual meal. More than that: the possession of a theory about existence may intoxicate the possessor to such a degree that he forgets the need of existence altogether (Barrett, 141).

Kierkegaard was attempting to fight against the dominant Hegelian philosophy of the time, which posited that man was merely a victim of social forces – a philosophy where the individual disappears in change, rather than creating the change himself. Whereas many thinkers of his time influenced by Hegel and Kant saw existence as a concept, Kierkegaard realized that “[his] own existence [was] not a matter of speculation to [him], but a reality in which [he was] personally and passionately involved” (Barrett, 145). Therefore, Kierkegaard viewed the categorization of the self as a perversion of subjectivity. Existence is not mirrored as a concept in the mind, it is self-created and self-categorized through the “Either/Or of choice” (Barrett, 145). No metaphysical abstractions will do the self justice – only the subjective choices truly represent it.

Similar to Kierkegaard, Nietzsche’s conception of “being” is difficult to pinpoint since he is mostly a political writer interested in polemics. Yet, his ontology is the cornerstone of his greater ideas and is therefore necessary to understanding his positions fully. His ontology can thus best be watered down to a kind of opposition to Kantian conceptions of “being.” Kant considers there to be two realms of knowledge regarding an object, that which is phenomenon (i.e. experienced by the senses) and that which is noumenon (i.e. “something that is thought” or “the object of an act of thought”). Thus, Kant differentiates a “thing” from a “thing-it-self” and posits that the latter is not fully knowable since we can only infer from the appearances of phenomena. Kant uses noumena as a way to defend reason and metaphysics by arguing they are a “necessary limitation” since they leave questions of the divine outside of its scope.

The “thing-in-itself” is seen as that which is beyond perception.

For Nietzsche, Kant’s distinction is a meaningless metaphysical construction. A “thing-in-itself” cannot be conceived separate from its appearance, since that would undermine our entire ability to perceive. Noumenon is therefore identical to phenomenon. It is from here that Nietzsche begins to break down Western metaphysics from its dogmatic roots. By eliminating the “metaphysical realm,” Nietzsche inadvertently opens the door to an innumerable amount of questions – if there is no noumenon, if appearance is all we have, then there is no objective ethics, no distinction between metaphysics and science, and no knowledge greater than us. This trail of thought inevitably leads to a form of subjectivity, one which Kierkegaard embraces as the only real truth. Nietzsche pushes this idea to its ultimate conclusion by arguing for a morality beyond good and evil, giving agency to the individual rather than to “objective” categorizations of what one ought to do. It is through his rejection of the noumenon that he affirms life, the subject, and experience as the basis of philosophy itself.

Questions of noumenon for Nietzsche are useless since this reality is the only reality we can conceive of. Discussions on “ideal” or “greater” forms are thus useless in accruing usable knowledge. Nietzsche writes in Twilight of the Idols, “the reasons for which this world has been characterized as apparent are the very reasons which indicate its reality; any other kind of reality is absolutely indemonstrable… The apparent world is the only one, the true world is merely added by a lie” (Addis, 27). It is here that he accuses Western metaphysics of perpetrating a lie, of creating a “true” world of greater forms that distorts our actual perceivable reality. He goes even further, laying a criticism on Kant’s influence on metaphysics in The Challenge of Every Great Philosophy by contrasting him with Schopenhauer.

Kant clung to the university, subjected himself to governments, remained within the appearance of religious faith, and endured colleagues and students… Schopenhauer [had] no consideration for the scholars’ caste, stands apart, strives for independence of stat and society… wherever there was any kind of tyranny, it has hated the lonely philosopher (Kaufman, 123).

Therefore, Nietzsche mostly rejected metaphysics as institutionally illegitimate. William Barrett speaks of this in the Irrational Man, arguing that “Nietzsche ridiculed the very notion of Being as one of the most deceptive ghosts spawned by the brains of philosophers, the most general and therefore the emptiest of concepts” (Barrett, 178). Hence, there are no transcendent features of humanity that are always true irrespective of context. Such claims are that which philosophers want to be true since every great philosophy, as Nietzsche writes, “is the personal confession of the author” (Magnus, 216). Therefore, for Nietzsche, Western metaphysics ironically proves his argument for will to power – be it Kant’s a priori arguments for noumena, or Plato’s forms, these metaphysical claims are merely descriptions of what the author wants to see in the world, all to grant him to the power of knowledge, in the hopes of foolishly making the world more recognizable.

Both Kierkegaard and Nietzsche value the subject and largely reject metaphysics, which is where they intersect ontologically. Kierkegaard’s position against universals bears resemblance to Nietzsche’s position of perspectivism – that there are many different interpretations, and different perspectives, of a particular truth. He echoes this sentiment in Three Upbuilding Discourses, “When one person sees one thing and another sees something else in the same thing, then the one discovers what the other conceals” (Hong, 59). Therefore, it is through subjective perspectives and the commonality between them that we find truth and fulfillment as individuals, rather than through categorizations and abstractions.

II. Ontology Applied: Consciousness, the Subject, and the Masses

Nietzsche and Kierkegaard both place emphasis on the individual, but apply these emphases differently. Nietzsche is concerned with the will of the individual in social relations and is thus concerned with questions of consciousness that Kierkegaard neglects to mention. He begins this inquiry from his ontology – if there are no metaphysical claims “beyond” human capacities, all that is required is the will for it to be done. It is from here Nietzsche explores consciousness, stemming from his ontological foundations.

He theorizes in the Gay Science that “consciousness has developed only under the pressure of the need for communication… consciousness is really only a net of communication between human beings” (Solomon, 70). This “net of communication” Nietzsche speaks of can be conceived as a type of organization within an individual himself. In other words, consciousness is necessary to reconcile and communicate competing instincts, drives, desires, and passions. Given all of this burden internally, man is left powerless. Nietzsche writes:

Our actions, thoughts, feelings, and movements enter our own consciousness… as the most endangered animal, he needed help and protection, he needed his peers, he had to learn to express his distress to make himself understood (Solomon, 70).

It is here that Nietzsche’s position on the self becomes clear – we are not a kind of “Platonic essence” or a “Cartesian thinking substance”; we are a product of competing drives and perspectives. He goes further argue a controversial point that cements most men into the herd.

My idea is, as you see, that consciousness does not really belong to man’s individual existence but rather to his social or herd nature (Solomon, 71).

It from here that man finds himself stuck. Nietzsche describes our “subconscious world [as one of] servant organs working in mutual co-operation and antagonism” (Samuel, 34). We neglect this internal relationship and create a “little tabula rasa of the consciousness” through induced forgetfulness“ to make room again for the new, and above all for the more noble functions and functionaries, room for government, foresight, predetermination” (Samuel, 34). Thus, the creation of structure and the herd requires a kind of forgetfulness that is self-induced.

Kierkegaard fails to properly discuss consciousness in the context of the crowd. He only briefly explores phenomenology in The Concept of Anxiety where he argues that anxiety serves as a means for the mind to induce self-conscious reflection before a choice of either/or. The lack of analysis on consciousness leaves a gap in Kierkegaard’s work – he jumps into analyses of the self without fully establishing his foundations. Nietzsche’s claims, on the other hand, build off each other by philosophically reaching the self from the ground-up rather than assuming certain characteristics of the self and its interaction with the world.

Looking past consciousness, Nietzsche begins to dismantle the herd and its characteristics. He sees it as the main opponent of the individual since it values what does not have value. The herd accepts pessimism and makes value judgments based on fear and peer-approval rather than personal conviction; They take comfort in being in relation to others. For Nietzsche, the herd denies their own will. Similarly, Kierkegaard writes that “a crowd – in its very concept – is untruth, since a crowd either renders the single individual wholly unrepentant and irresponsible, or weakens his responsibility by making it a fraction of his decision” (Solomon, 13). The crowd (or the herd) therefore dissipates responsibility among itself, acting as one unit, but not taking responsibility as one. This creates a dissonance between action and accountability, which Kierkegaard and Nietzsche are correct to be wary of.

III. How Do We Ought to Live?

The question of what we ought to do is a difficult one and both Kierkegaard and Nietzsche treat this question differently. Kierkegaard argues that the leap to faith is necessary reach the religious state where one is personal dialogue with God. It is at this level that the self is actualized and becomes fully authentic in serving a greater subjective purpose. Therefore, the religious stage is beyond living as a mere ethical individual; it suspends the universal ethical for a subjective realization of God’s purpose. Nietzsche, too, suspends the universal ethical, but he does this from a very different philosophical position. Nietzsche’s discussion of ethics is not normative. He is very polemical in his writing and fervent in his criticisms, but he does not prescribe an easy solution to the social ills he diagnoses. He is simply interested in removing constraints, both real and imagined, which prevent individuals from reaching their actual potentiality. He worked to bring philosophy down from divine instruction to more human relations, in the grasp of our will. Kierkegaard, alternatively, wishes for us to subjectively realize this divine instruction rather than have it be commanded to us by others.

Despite not having a normative description of ethics, the point to take away from Nietzsche’s writing is clear – He was for the affirmation of life, to be able to look back on your life and confidently say “once more,” and to be able to celebrate one’s whole life in full. Kierkegaard was for this affirmation, but with strings attached which envelops man into an innumerable amount of paradoxes and inconsistencies. Despite Kierkegaard’s push for subjectivity above all else, he still leaves man’s subjectivity in the presence of God. Despite his desire to be authentic, his argument for the divine still robs the individual of pure autonomy since he is beholden to a greater power beyond himself. Nietzsche would find this to be a perversion of man’s will. Therefore, abandoning the divine as a legitimate argument truly places power back into the hands of the individual by eliminating the unnecessary contradictions Christian theology brings and all the institutional baggage it holds.

In Buddhist philosophy, the single-stroke circle represents continuity and the mind when it is not wandering. Its form bears resemblance to Nietzsche’s affirmation of life; that one would do life all over again, if need be, for eternity. This particular piece, Ensō (2000), is by Kanjuro Shibata XX.

IV. The Existential Diagnosis

Being polemical authors, Nietzsche and Kierkegaard are both heavily invested in social criticism and vindicating the self against the masses. Kierkegaard identifies these social ills in The Present Age where he eloquently argues against the social excesses of temporary pleasure as a means of coping with existential angst. It is an age of confused spontaneity and misdirection, an “age of advertisement and publicity” where “nothing ever happens but there is immediate publicity everywhere” (Solomon, 4). It is also an age where the public domineers, leveling passion to the lowest common denominator; “it hinders and stifles all action” (Solomon, 7). Kierkegaard argues that the public is “the most dangerous of all powers and the most insignificant” since one can speak to the whole nation on behalf of all, but yet actually be speaking to no true individual at all.

Nietzsche characterizes his contemporary society as approaching the “advent of nihilism” and Kierkegaard would surely agree. However, they would differ on the reasons behind the cultural malaise that sweeps Europe. Nietzsche would attribute the age of nihilism as a consequence of the death of God. He writes in The Gay Science, “God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. Yet his shadow still looms” (Kaufmann, 126). Nietzsche is arguing that we have exhausted religion as a moral compass and source of meaning, yet the objectivity we derived from the divine we still use foolishly. Kierkegaard would certainly disagree with this characterization, instead arguing that the cultural malaise is due to a lack of true religiosity of the self through institutional Christendom. Here, Kierkegaard’s and Nietzsche’s diagnosis of society can be synthesized to form a more complete picture – the kind of hedonism Kierkegaard describes is one of worry and concern, but it is directly linked to Nietzsche’s characterization of nihilism. It is because we are living in the age of nihilism that the present age is so bleak.

V. Conclusion

Overall, Nietzsche provides a far more nuanced existential critique of society and the limitations imposed on individuals from realizing themselves fully. Kierkegaard sets the foundation for analysis of the self through his assertions, but he fails to build on his ideas. Nietzsche’s thought can be mapped from his ontology, to his definition of consciousness, and then consistently applied to his social criticisms – Kierkegaard fails to create this basis and instead places the ideal individual in the hands of God. Inadvertently, Nietzsche pokes holes into Kierkegaard’s dependence on the divine through his anti-Christian rhetoric, during which he makes the case that the divine is yet another limitation on self-realization. Therefore, Kierkegaard – although passionate and refined in his interpretation of God – fails to capture the spirit of individuality fully, since it is constantly being anchored in Christian imagery. Nietzsche breaks all assumptions, questioning the very basis of Western though, forcing us to start from scratch and affirm life for what it is, in all its contradictions and absurdities.

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– Perkins, Robert L. The Concept of Anxiety (International Kierkegaard Commentary). Mercer University Press, 1985. Print.

– Barrett, William. Irrational Man; A Study in Existential Philosophy. New York: Doubleday, 1958. Print.

– Addis, Laird. Nietzsche’s Ontology. Ontos Verlag, 2012. Print.

– Kaufmann, Walter Arnold. Existentialism from Dostoevsky to Sartre,. New York: Meridian Books, 1956. Print.

– Magnus, Bernd. The Cambridge Companion to Nietzsche. Cambridge, England. Cambridge University Press, 1996. Print.

– Hong, V. Howard. Hong, Edna H. Eighteen Upbuilding Discourses: Kierkegaard’s Writings, Vol. 5. Reprint Edition. Princeton University Press, 1992. Print.

– Samuel, Horace B. The Genealogy of Morals. New York. Dover Publications, Inc., 2003. Print.

– Solomon, Robert C. Existentialism. 1st ed. New York: Modern Library, 1974. Print.

The Romantic Philosophy of Novalis

December 20, 2013

Literary Analysis, Philosophy

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Novalis (1799) by Franz Gareis

I. Introduction

The Latinized “de Novali,” the pen name of romantic poet and author Georg Phillip Friedrich Hardenberg, means “the one who clears new ground.” He adopted it in 1798, only three years before his death at age 28, and it was a fitting one. It was a statement of the times; the American colonies had declared their independence just a few decades prior, the French revolution descended into chaotic violence, the Haitian slaves were fighting to liberate themselves from colonial rule – much of the world was, indeed, “clearing new ground.”

Novalis was born in 1772 to a low German noble family in modern-day Arnstein, Germany. He spent much of his childhood on the family estate and was particularly fascinated with nature. He began his education through private tutors and then attended a Lutheran grammar school in Eiseleben where he became educated in standard rhetoric and the classical Western canon. He went on to pursue law at multiple locations, passing his exams with honors, and befriending many poets and philosophers who later influence German Romanticism. It was after these studies that he fell in love with Sophie von Kuhn in November of 1794, who was twelve years old at the time. Although their “relationship” was elevated to mythical heights by later German Romantics, it was largely uneventful and short. They became engaged when she was thirteen, a few months after which she became deathly ill. She passed away in 1797 at only 15 years old. This tragedy had a huge impact on Novalis and further radicalized his conceptions of beauty, freedom, and religion. To him, Sophie represented a romanticized ideal. This ideal, mixed with grief, would become the basis of his poetic work Hymns to the Night, published in 1800.

II. The Realm of the “Infinite”

Novalis’s work vividly intersects with individualism through his romantic imagery. Part of his “revolutionary” ethic was his adoption of a new identity to represent his romanticist prose. Dennis F. Mahoney writes in his book review of Novalis: Signs of Revolution by William Arctander O’Brien, “Novalis and his unique blending of literature, philosophy, politics, religion, and science are ‘Signs of Revolution’ in that they simultaneously hearken back to the past while announcing a new beginning” (Dennis, 313). The creation of the “new beginning” is what separates the character of “Novalis” from the man, Georg Phillip Friedrich Hardenberg. And moreover, the cause of his shift is explained through his love for Sophie, who fuels his work more so after her death as a myth.

Much of Novalis’ philosophy can be explained through the distinction of “infinite” and “finite,” a radicalization of his Christian Protestant upbringing. He writes in Pollen (Blüthenstaub), “we seek everywhere the unconditioned and we always find only things” (Versulius). Leonard P. Wessell, Jr. argues in Novalis’ Revolutionary Religion of Death that the quote fully encapsulates “the whole of [his] religious thinking” in that it captures Novalis’ repeated desire for “the infinite” but being held down by the “limited and transitory things.” (Wessell, 425). For Novalis, the problem of finiteness brings about grief, pain, and suffering. And it through his interactions with “things” that he discovers its ultimate destruction – the death of Sophie. Wessell, Jr. writes:

Novalis had sought to transcend to solitude of his own finiteness (i.e. his own ‘thing-ness’) by reaching out and touching, in an act of love, the finite solitude of Sophie and then had lost her. Sophie’s death – the destruction of a “thing” – threatened to cast Novalis into a vortex of despair (Wessell, 426).

Thereby, Sophie’s death represents the ultimate end of meaning in the “finite” for Novalis. He writes in Hymns to the Night:

I shed bitter tears… dissolved in pain, my hope dissipated and I stood alone by the [grave of Sophie], which hid the form of life in a narrow dark room – alone as ever a person was alone, drive by unspeakable fear – powerless, only a thought of misery (Wessell, 426).

More broadly, the “finite” is symbolic of everything beyond Novalis’ self. It is here that Novalis’ romanticism finds solace in 20th century existentialism. To Novalis and everyone else, Sophie is an object; she is finite. Although he wishes to fully understand her, the only reality he knows is his own. The irony for Novalis is that it is only through the Other (i.e. Sophie) that he is able to actually achieve his conception of being “infinite.” He is dependent on Sophie to reach the ideal, but will tragically never comprehend her completely.

It is through Sophie’s passing that Novalis views death as a “specter haunting man’s entire history, his highest cultural achievements.” For Novalis, death is the ultimate apocalypse (i.e. the end of our “finiteness”). It is the end of the only reality which we know. Therefore, while under the shadow of death, man is left frustrated and meaningless. Novalis furthers this idea by connecting time and displeasure as complicit in life’s end.

Time originates with displeasure. Thus, all displeasures [are] so long and all joy so short… displeasures are finite like time. Everything finite originates out of displeasure (Wessell, 427).

It is through this lens that Novalis places the death of Sophie in perspective; the absolute joy he experienced while with her negated the despair which time brings upon anybody. For Novalis, this is the cure for existential crisis – the reflective ability to escape one’s finiteness by achieving “absolute joy” that is profoundly “eternal – outside all time.” He saw the existentialist solution as one of turning “displeasure into joy, and with it time into eternity.”

III. Defining the “Self”

The struggle, then, is realizing how to live within the finite and with the specter of death constantly looming.

Novalis makes it a point in his writing to define individualism. His definition of the “self” has its influences from the work of philosopher Johann Gottlieb Fichte. The concept of “self” can be divided into two parts. On the one hand, there is just mere consciousness. This is what Novalis calls the “pure I” in that it is universal, regardless of the conditions that surround us. The other, more crucial, aspect of the self is that which we are not. Novais calls this the “empirical I.” He writes, “for the ‘I’ to be able to establish itself, there must be a ‘non-I’” (Gasparov, 13). Therefore, one’s sense of self is a reflection of all the things one is not. Each individual is dependent on social forces to develop as an “I.” For Novalis, the simple Cartesian equation of “I am I” is a tautology since we are all creations of society. Therefore, the statement does not reveal the essence of identity; it only rhetorically proves our mind exists.

The two aspects of the “self” – the pure “I” and the empirical “I.” Both are equally crucial, but second category is of particular interest to the young poet. Since identity is a construction of conditions around oneself, is not language also a similar creation? Novalis viewed language, to put it most simply, as “a multitude of fragments involved in never-ceasing commotion” (Gasparov, 13). Russian philosopher Mikhail Bakhtin had the same idea over 100 years later. Called “dialogics,” Bakhtin also viewed language as an endless process of re-describing the world, building off others, and a constant flurry of change. Novalis was keen to recognize this fact in the late 18th century and was able to go beyond constant dialectics to a more understanding, democratic method of engaging others through dialogical discourse.

By universalizing this mode of analysis, Novalis establishes the precursor to Hegelian dialectics. Wessell, Jr. writes of his ideas:

Dialectical thinking… denies that any determinate category can exist in isolation, rather it [requires] its opposite. For instance, small is only meaningful placed in the context of large. Affirmation is only possible because of negation. Indeed, the very mean of any A entails the meaning of non-A as part of its essence (Wessell, 430).

Furthermore, each of these descriptors is found in a greater totality. To give one example, “small” and “large” are both located in the context of “size,” which unites these two contrary terms.

Thus, any conception of “freedom” must be viewed as being either a totality in and of itself, or as an opposite to another category. Making the distinction, Novalis writes, “the opposite of all determinateness is freedom” (Wessell, 430). Thus, the concept of freedom cannot be conceived without its opposite, one’s life being determined for them (i.e. oppression). Both of these concepts, freedom and oppression, exist in a greater totality – in contemporary society, this totality is our socio-economic reality: capitalism. However, the point that can be derived from Novalis is that this contradiction is not constant and unchanging. Rather, it is held together the socio-economic reality. The point is, therefore, to break this contradiction – the point is to reach an existence where these words lose their meaning, where freedom is not described, it simply is. In order for true freedom to exist, it must be a totality all by itself.

Novalis’ descriptions of the “infinite” are poetic interpretations of absolute freedom. All of his philosophy – discussions on self, dialectics, language, death – is merely reflections of his desire to transcend the bounds of the physical world. Novalis worked to universalize meaning; he wished to find the means to create individual essence while living life in the specter of death. Thus, he could be called one of the first existentialists, although a romantic poet at heart. He writes:

To romanticize the world is to make us aware of the magic, mystery and wonder of the world; it is to educate the senses to see the ordinary as extraordinary, the familiar as strange, the mundane as sacred, the finite as infinite (Rorty, 294).

Novalis romanticized his environment and found solace by doing so. Just with the imagery alone, he is able to capture authentic individualism in poetic form. He describes it as something “infinite” and “extraordinary,” which fully encapsulates the beauty of liberty in every sense of the word. Perhaps, more importantly are the implications of Novalis’ idealism and how it should induce us to act.

***

– Mahoney, F. Dennis. “Novalis: Signs of a Revolution Review.” The Journal of English and Germanic Philology, Vol. 96, No. 2. 1997.

– Versulius, Arthus. Novalis. “Pollen and Fragments.” Phanes Press. 1989.

– Wessell Jr., Leonard P. “Novalis’ Revolutionary Religion of Death.” Studies in Romanticism, Vol. 14, No. 4. 1975. pp. 425.

– Higgins, Dick. Novalis. “Hymns to the Night.” McPherson. 3rd Edition. 1988

– Gasparov, Boris. “Speech, Memory, and Meaning.” De Gruyter Mouton, 2010 pp. 13

– Rorty, Amelie. Novalis. “Philosophers on Education: New Historical Perspectives.” Routledge. 1998

Where’s Waldo and Metaphysics

October 24, 2013

Humor

2 Comments

The University of Chicago’s prompts for the application process are always strange. This was one was simply “Where’s Waldo?” so I figured I would do an absurd, intentionally wordy, metaphysical take on it. This was written last year.

***

Identity is fleeting. The mechanisms of the human consciousness are constantly deliberating over choices, floating from each happening to the next successive amusement. Present in one, we feel feeble until we stride to the next great occasion, all while feeling uneasy in the immediate transition between them. In a constant shift from our environment, we find ourselves perpetually in action. Fluctuating between diverse surroundings is a characteristic of the human experience – it adds novelty to the mundane, and it brings spontaneity to an otherwise boorish routine. In an effort to escape our own disparaging alienation, we find ourselves in unceasing continuous motion.

Correspondingly, Waldo of the “Where’s Waldo” book series is the epitome of such a character. Thereby, the absurdity in finding Waldo, and pinning him to his immediate setting, would be to negate his very purpose. The essence of Waldo is perhaps, at its core, a poetic interpretation of modernity, of alienation, and of movement. Likewise, we cannot truly find Waldo; we must take it that he simply is. The absence of his existence, or the difficulty in finding him, is precisely how we discover him. It is by this token we must accept that Waldo’s very existence depends on his absence from it. Permanently in ephemeral bursts of motion, Waldo embodies the spirit of escape. Ultimately finding him, and fixing him to his surroundings, would do his significance a grave injustice.

Waldo’s continuous displacement is one of mystery, one which very much runs parallel to our own. Ironically, however, we must delineate the true nature of Waldo’s movements if we wish to pinpoint the true significance of his location, or lack thereof. Because Waldo is not present in our ordinary perception upon viewing a setting, he is ultimately absent from our recollection of it. Thus, in each environment, Waldo becomes a character that is conceived solely on his nonexistence. Upon looking for Waldo, we make the delicate assumption that he is unseeingly there while he may very well not be. It is this contradiction that brings us to an enigmatic conclusion; If Waldo is nowhere he is, by logical deduction, also everywhere. Simply put, by making the very assumption that Waldo may be in every setting we come across; we imply he also may not be. Such is the fine line we must walk. As it is said — if you love everyone, you truly love no one. If Waldo is seemingly everywhere, he is also nowhere. Lacking an anchor to any one environment, he is eternally in motion and consequently ubiquitous.

Waldo’s incessant movements to new settings share a few common threads with our universal experiences. We previously concluded that Waldo is constantly in motion and therefore everywhere. When juxtaposed against our desire to move, Waldo’s fleeting experiences are similar to our own except taken to the utmost extreme. Although we do not shift as quickly as Waldo, we sympathize with such an idealist desire. Thrown into a world of alienating modernity coupled with the lingering dissociating elements of mass society, we oftentimes have the longing for spontaneity to escape the fixed present. It is this emotion Waldo capitalizes on perfectly – in the enigma of his ever-changing existence, we find condolence.

In the struggle to find our utmost identity, we naturally feel inclined to transform ourselves upon meeting a new environment. Riddled with boredom and monotonous routine, we find ourselves constantly planning, and patiently waiting, for the next blissful happening. Waldo romantically captures this human phenomenon in full. Waldo’s quick departure from place to place, and the mysterious aura of his ventures, both speak volumes of the escapist tendencies we all personally undergo. Our desire for novelties is captured by Waldo’s hasty maneuvering to new settings, although we very well realize he may not even be present at all. The answer, then, to the age-old question of “where is Waldo?” is simple to articulate yet remarkably convoluted in its message; Waldo is everywhere and, at the same time, nowhere. Such is the absurdist paradox we must accept for the sake of consistency. Waldo cannot be detained to a single location; in all its irony, Waldo simply and merely is.

Dichotomies

September 20, 2013

Education, Philosophy

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Jacques Derrida

Mentioning Jacques Derrida makes some academic’s ears spike up. Derrida is known to be notoriously wordy, painfully dense, and riddled with jargon in anything he writes. Regardless of the difficulties, he manages to reveal patterns in Western thought that dominate discourse. One particular trend, however, forms the crux of his criticisms — the binary system.

Throughout Western thought, arguments have been presented in dichotomies. Socrates framed his philosophy through discussion by conversing with another party which would argue the objecting point. With the work of philosopher Georg W. F. Hegel, we have given this a title. Dialectics, as it’s called, consists of a thesis and an antithesis with the hope of producing a synthesis. This triad has become the basis of our argumentative Western society.

However, the influence of the dialectic process goes much further than argumentation. The dichotomy has become so strong that we presumably view all ideology and ideas within a binary. These binaries can be either contradictory (dialectic) or supplementary to each other, but are always opposite in meaning. And one is always seen as more important than the other. Western binaries tend to be, as a rule, hierarchical and unequal. For Derrida, these relationships are important to understand to fully grasp theory or texts. It is equally important to undermine — or deconstruct — these relationships and maybe even, in some cases, try to break their authority to reach a grander conclusion.

Let’s take, for a moment, the actual binaries and their content.

B versus A

Whereas B is superior to A.

Good ¦ Bad

Mind ¦ Body

Reality ¦ Appearance

Self ¦ Other

Speech ¦ Writing

Man ¦ Woman

White ¦ People of Color

Bourgeois ¦ Proletariat

These binary distinctions are based on institutional conceptions. Taken a step further, we can examine their relationship. “A” is supplementary to the dominate “B.” Noted literary critic Barbara Johnson explains this relationship in an essay titled “Writing” from Critical Terms for Literary Study.

A is added to B.

A substitutes for B.

A is a superfluous addition to B.

A makes up for the absence of B.

A usurps the place of B.

A makes up for B’s deficiency.

A corrupts the purity of B.

A is necessary to that B can be restored.

A is an accident alienating B from itself.

A is that without which B would be lost.

A is that through which B is lost.

A is a danger to B.

A is a remedy to B.

A’s fallacious charm seduces one away from B.

A can never satisfy the desire for B.

A protects against direct encounter with B.

These observations are not absolute. Different Western binaries express different relationships with each other; these are not applicable to all, but each of the examples given can fit into a few of these criteria outlined.

We have established the fact that Western dichotomies can take on two forms: contradictory (dialectic) or supplementary. Generally, discussions tend to be dialectical while the binaries in individual ideologies tend to be supplementary. This trend in Western thought is crucial in understanding the nature of discourse and its development. Particularly in the United States, most political speak is phrased as two sides to an argument. The outcome of argumentation is generally one of the following three scenarios — no conclusion is made, one side is proved correct, or a fusion of both opinions. It would be a insult to call American politics dialectic in nature, since a synthesis is seldom reached, but the binary of opinion is still present. This creates the illusion of two options and the constant regurgitation of the “lesser of two evils” argument in every aspect of American politics. Of course, European politics is not two-party centered. However, the Western binary still applies. Seldom is the dialogue expanded beyond the back-and-forth format of mindless debate and bickering.

Perhaps it is time to expand the periphery. The endless “debate teams” on high school campuses, the lecturing model of education, is based on a two-person argument. Inherently competitive, it usually demands one party to be deemed victor in “beating” his opponent during a debate. In education, the victor is clear — the instructor is the power in charge of mediating opinion and presenting information. During formal debate, the victor is decided through vulgar verbal exercises. Whatever the case may be, dialogue has institutionally become synonymous with debate and heated competition which is a perversion of what it actually means.

Dialogics is concept conceived by Russian philosopher Mikhail Bakhtin. It is seen as a methodology of dialogue that goes beyond dialectics. Rather than dialectics, where once ideology competes with another, dialogics is an alternative mode of discussion where many different ideas exist in the same space. There is no ideological closure afterwards and is aimed at progressing thought rather than resolving a contradiction. Bakhtin makes the argument that all thought is inherently dialogical. Nobody speaks in a vacuum — your language is based on what was said prior and the reaction it may create. Thereby, language is dynamic and perpetually redescribing the world. From this he concludes that dialogics has always existed as a phenomenon of speech.

What can we create from a model of dialogical discourse? We can create cooperative learning environments. We can destroy hierarchy relationships in public forums and education. However, dialogics is not a substitute for a dialectic process of dialogue. They have different uses. The issue is, however, that we have given debate precedence. Likewise, we have given these restricting binaries precedence. The aim of dialogue is not a cut-and-throat solution. It is for the facilitation of free thought and new ideas. It is a space where prejudice is suspended and where individually freely converse. And the need for such a discussion model becomes more and more apparent as we realize that a standardized education model of lecturing is not a satisfactory one.

Theatre of the Oppressed is a beautiful dialogical art where the audience becomes drama and enter the play themselves, rather than sitting as spectators.

Theatre of the Oppressed is a beautiful dialogical method where the audience becomes the drama and enters the play themselves, rather than sitting as spectators.

Kierkegaard’s Conception of Anxiety and Objective Morality

June 26, 2013

Older Posts, Philosophy

5 Comments

Anxiety is the unpleasant feeling of an unrealistic fear. It is a human response to the absurdity of life’s displeasure and its seemingly aimless journey. Such feelings are largely created before choices of consequence, when an individual feels powerless, and where such an action could lead to possible pain.

One of the few actual sketches of Søren Kierkegaard.

The classic example is one philosopher Søren Kierkegaard mentions in his writing, The Concept of Anxiety. Take it that a man is standing alongside a cliff. He looks down and sees the drop below him. He fears the he may fall, but at the same time, he is terrifyingly intrigued. He has an impulse to jump, but he also experiences fear because he knows it would mean his imminent death. Kierkegaard calls this the “dizziness of freedom” — we have the freedom of choice, to make even the deadliest of choices, and this induces existential anxiety and dread. For most people, the fear of the death strays us away from jumping. For those that psychotically lack it, they succumb to their impulses and jump. In the case of the Biblical story of Adam of Eve, anxiety is understood by Kierkegaard as a precursor to sin. God tells Eve not to eat the fruit or she would face death and pain. Through this restriction, Eve is given a choice whether or not to eat the forbidden fruit. The anxiety of the moral decision is captured by her interaction with the serpent which tempts her to eat it — like the cliff, she feels compelled to jump. Kierkegaard, through this story, comes to a conclusion on sin. Sin is always preceded by anxiety. And the first such instance in Genesis, according to old Christian theology, was precluded by anxiety.

Although I take literal interpretations of Biblical texts with a grain of salt, the religious language in Kierkegaard’s writing can be replaced with more secular lingo and still be considered valid. “God” is symbolic of objective morality and sin is the failure to live up to it. Whenever an immoral act is committed, and a grave choice is involved, there is existential anxiety that precedes it. Kierkegaard contends that this anxiety can be mediated through eternal values that transcend the choices we are placed into, since our decisions are subject to the twists and turns of everyday life. He argues we must establish meaning through objective concepts that we should abide by. To explain this, he illustrates an image of a sailor lost at sea.

How, then, shall we face the future? When the sailor is out on the ocean, when everything is changing all around him, when the waves are born and die, he does not stare down into the waves, because they are changing. He looks up at the stars. Why? Because they are faithful; they have the same location now that they had for our ancestors and will have for generations to come. By what means does he conquer the changeable? By the eternal. By the eternal, one can conquer the future, because the eternal is the ground of the future, and therefore through it the future can be fathomed. What, then, is the eternal power in a human being? It is faith. What is the expectancy of faith? Victory-or, as Scripture so earnestly and so movingly teaches us, that all things must serve for good those who love God. [Eighteen Upbuilding Discourse, 19]

The Signal of Distress by Winslow Homer

I disagree with Kierkegaard’s final conclusion on faith, because I take it that moral objectivity can be reached without divine inspiration, but his thought process is valid. Through an “eternal” morality, one can guide oneself through all of life’s moral decisions. The closest such axiom that exists in secular thought would be the “Golden Rule” which is derived from empathy: one should not treat others in ways that one would not want to be treated. Moral conclusions should not be based on the arbitrary ebbing and flowing of subjective life. If that was the case, to the common observer, heinous acts of immorality would be considered “moral” in the time period they were committed. Because slavery was at one time considered “moral” by popular standards, did that make it truly ethical? No, because it breaks eternal moral codes that are always true. Regardless of the time period, these principles stand tall and serve as a guide with which to judge decisions made in the past and those yet to be made.

Anxiety, therefore, is a symptom of a lack of existential direction. It is induced when an individual is lost in the random spontaneity of the natural world. Likewise, such anxiety can be mitigated when the individual develops a proper objective view on life. However, there is a minor caveat — the conclusions that the secular explanation gives us through the Golden Rule is one that still lacks proper foresight. Surely, acts of self defense are morally permissible, but how does that fit within the context of the Golden Rule? We know the assailant is committing an immoral act according to this axiom, but the question of self-defense is left unanswered. Therefore, an objective moral code that is derived from secular understanding requires a more nuanced explanation that is all-encompassing. It requires expanding to cover all aspects of an ethical life. It also requires constantly being tweaked using the Golden Rule as an objective starting point. Although not complete, the Golden Rule is the closest estimation of a moral maxim that many of our own decisions can be based around.

Kierkegaard, on the other hand, turns this conclusion on its head and argues that faith brings one to an eternal understanding that would work to subdue the existential anxiety and dread we experience. A morality based on divine command, a list of necessary obligations, is the simplest solution to the problem of objective ethics — the question is, however, from which command on high does one follow and is it ever disputable? I would prefer an objective ethics that is able to be tinkered with until a seemingly perfect code is established. One that is always applicable but subject to minor changes based on enlightened understanding, rather than an absolutist position that is easily exploited by power. Regardless, Kierkegaard is correct in his assertion of the necessity of an all-encompassing life view. It is necessary so that, just like the sailor of the story, one does not get lost in the waves of everyday life itself, which is too oftentimes muddled with subjective preferences and fleeting emotions. And succumbing to such feelings would be a perversion of reason and a squandering of life’s many splendors.

Art with Purpose

September 15, 2012

Art, Older Posts, Philosophy

1 Comment

“The Death of Marat” by Jacques-Louis David.

Art is a complex phenomenon that has frequented philosophic circles since the days of Socrates. Scrambling to pinpoint a concise definition, thinkers have attempted to encapsulate objective meanings of aesthetics in an effort to fully understand what constitutes ‘beauty.’

The issue is that art has no distinguishable intrinsic value of its own; it as good as the audience deems it to be. Whether the audience is a group of commoners or a collection of art critics, works of artistic value have to substantiate their worth through harsh criticism — only thereafter falling into the category of real praiseworthy ‘art.’ This interpretation of art is valid in many respects, but it must also be realized that art must serve a function. It is certainly not purely subjective, since it derives its status from collective admiration, and it must portray an universally relevant idea, to capture the audience.

My goal here is not to differentiate between what is ‘art,’ and what is not, as that is an exercise in futility, and entertaining that point is relatively useless. Rather, the question should be phrased: “What constitutes good or proper works of art?”

“Want it? Enter” by Vladimir Mayakovsky.

The struggle for humanization involves articulating our consciousness, our fears and dispositions, into a medium that is accessible and unifying. This medium is art. Art should portray an ecumenical sentiment and should be a statement on the environment we inhabit. Rather than uselessly capture the banality of alienated industrial life, its function is to distance ourselves from mechanization and uniformity. It should introduce spontaneity, commentary, and subtle discontent where our own lives do not. Art should function as a medium in which we use to escape alienation. By association, this means that art is, by definition, antithetical to restraint and modern conditioning. It seeks to escape it, to realize human potentiality outside the bounds of current mechanisms. By need rather than choice, it must function outside these bounds because it expresses, by its very nature, an ideal. A work that is produced within the confines of modern production would hardly be revealing, since it would be restricted to only portraying feelings that are already realized. The struggle is to bring out conditions that elevate these sentiments, which requires working outside the confines of modern alienated labor and life, to highlight the potential of bettering our current condition and status. It is by this token, true ‘art’ is not conservative — it is, by necessity, progressive in its idealism and commentary. The Greeks, perhaps the first real admirers of beauty, understood this quite well, creating sculptures and paintings of the ‘perfect’ form and physique. They were attempting to capture an ideal distant of their own lives, and thus were in the tradition of real artistry.

However, there are social means that pervert and downgrade art and bring it back into the restrictive confines of bourgeois industrial life. Profit, as a general rule, distorts its true function. Art cannot act as an escape if it crafted within the model of mass-production. It loses its individuality, the heart of its meaning, if it is created in bulk by groups driven by monetary gain. It also loses its ability to depict anything outside the contemporary, becoming a self-congratulatory trivial blanket statement that praises the lifestyle it is a part of, rather than criticizing and dissociating itself from it. The problems of artistry is heavily intertwined with the general struggle of humanization. It is a core component of reflection. The function it assumes, and how well it communicates it, is what differentiates the good from the bad, the masterworks from the mediocre. Serving as an escape from alienation, art takes on a crucial form in human development. Without it, out inner emotions would be bound to the present, with no way of articulating what we wish to become. It is in this way art is an important realization of what it means to be “human,” and a stimulus for progressive insight and change — be it in the mind or in action.