CONCLUSION

For the past 16ish weeks, we've been discussing some pretty weighty concepts put forth by some borderline manic men. In our final class session, we touched on the majority of these concepts – all but those put forth by arguably the most maniacal of the maniacs, Nietzsche – and took a little time to reflect on the cognitive effects of these concepts. As a result of taking this class, do we generally feel more despair in our everyday undertakings or do we instead feel more empowered and liberated in our lives? Personally, I definitely feel more empowered and liberated. It's really amazing to be a member of the most remarkable species living on the most remarkable rock known to man, and it's something that I've always been appreciative of, but after taking this class I'm super, super grateful for my humanity and the freedom it grants. Yes, bearing absolute responsibility for your actions and the impact that those actions have the remainder of your life can be daunting and terrifying and completely paralyzing at times, but at the end of the day, the ecstasy and empowerment that freedom brings overtakes the fear and is release from that catatonic mindset.

This class has also answered some of the biggest questions I have, questions I think we all have. Well, maybe 'answered' isn't the best term – resolved is better. Namely, banal as it may seem, the ol' Why us? Why here? Why now? A big part of me has always believed that there isn't any true answer, that our existence in our present state is the culmination of infinite coincidence. After taking this class, I hold this belief even closer than before. The biggest difference is that now I know it's okay to think this way. The absence of any profound purpose or true meaning of life doesn't mean that the world is fruitless and our existence is futile. Conversely, I think that to a certain extent, accepting that we cannot know, that we aren't meant to know, that there really isn't anything to know, is exponentially more liberating that knowing the truth. Semi-related side-story: I have a friend who, in a fit of freshman curiosity and stuck-in-the-dorms-during-winter-break-boredom, asked me I wanted to watch her while she tried DMT – you know, to make sure she didn't completely lose her mind. She didn't, but for a good few minutes, she looked right through me and whispered “I don't want to know” over and over again. After she had gotten back into herself, I asked her what she meant by this, and she said something along the lines of she felt like she was about to figure it out. Something was about to impart the meaning of everything to her, and she didn't want to know. I kind of brushed it off at the time, but in retrospect, it makes complete sense. The ambiguity of our existence is major part of what gives life meaning. Because we don't have all the answers (or even a handful, really) we are able to create our own meaning based on what is most important to us.

Our final class left one big question up in the air: What does existentialism mean to you? To me, existentialism means liberation and authenticity and acceptance. Liberation insofar as I have absolute freedom over my actions, and as a result, hold absolute responsibility for the direction of my life. Authenticity is related to the aforementioned liberation, insofar as authenticity refers to a certain candor in light of one's individual circumstances. That is to say, authenticity requires that we recognize that we are beings who are responsible for who we are. Finally, by acceptance I mean accepting the uncertainties of existence. We will never have all the answers we seek – many of our most pressing questions may not even have answers – and that's okay. I think coming to terms with the limitations of our consciousness – how can we ever truly understand consciousness if consciousness is required to consider the ins and outs of consciousness? – is crucial if one hopes to maintain general sanity, and can be a stepping stone towards some heightened state of awareness, strange as that may sound. 

"Man cannot endure his own littleness unless he can translate it into meaningfulness on the largest possible level."

- Ernest Becker

SARTRE PT. II

Admittedly, after reading Bad Faith once through, it sailed right over my head. After giving it a second go, it still sailed over my head, but this time the whoosh was softer and slower. It took a minute, but I eventually got a pretty decent grasp on Bad Faith – I think.

On the surface, lying and 'bad faith' seem pretty similar, but Sartre makes a clear (and necessary) distinction between the two. Sartre suggests that lying is – well, pretty much lying in the traditional sense – knowing the truth but refusing to impart it, and instead presenting some other idea which one knows to be false. Slightly similarly, but mostly conversely, Sartre suggests that bad faith is an attempt to flee the anguish of freedom and responsibility through modes of self-deception, in which we deceive ourselves about ourselves. So in a sense, bad faith involves lying, but lying does not necessarily require bad faith. Embedded within these definitions, are a couple of terms that merit definitions of their own. Sartre explicates freedom as a fundamental potentiality unique to humans; freedom is a fundamental facet of humanism, and as humans, we are always free to respond as we see fit to determining tendencies. As posited by Sartre, we are our choices; we cannot not choose, not choosing is still a choice; when faced with inevitable circumstance, we still choose how we are under those circumstances.

Sartre puts forth a couple examples of bad faith in action, one of which involves a woman and her date. The woman ignores the clearly sexual implications of her date's compliments on her physical appearance, and when he reaches for her hand, she lets it rest indifferently in his – “neither consenting or rejecting – a thing”. In doing so, the woman acts as though her hand exists solely in the in-itself, as nothing more than an object in the world. The woman suspends the inevitable moment of choice by taking advantage of her duality as a human – that of a physical being as well as a conscious being separate from the physicality of the world. As such, the woman is acting in bad faith.

In light of the aforementioned, I think it's safe to say that Sartre was radically and entirely opposed to determinism, and instead, embraced our human ability and responsibility to transform and create ourselves indefinitely. The duality of human existence – that of facticity and transcendence – is akin to a duality proposed by Sartre in First Attitudes Towards Others: Love, Language, Masochism.

In the reading, Sartre proposes the concept of the individual and the other, and discusses the various effects he believes each has on its counterpart. An important question that was brought up during discussion, involves both the individual and the other, and the part (if any) each plays in defining its counterpart. This point was kind of polarizing – does the individual define the other, or does the other define the individual? Maybe this is a copout (bad faith?), but I think either side is true to a certain extent. The latter might be true to greater degree, simply because we spend so much of our lives worrying about what others think of us, and adjusting our actions and behaviors in accordance with societal expectations. I don't thinks this is necessarily a bad thing. I think society tends to encourage behaviors that promote the well-being of our species – although there are certainly exceptions to this assumption. On the other side of the coin, somebody brought up a really great point in saying that others perceptions of us are constructed almost entirely by us. That is, we really can't be positive of what others truly think of us without asking and receiving their honest opinion. And even then, how can you be sure that they are being completely honest? 

SARTRE PT. I

In No Exit (and again in Being and Nothingness), Sartre aims to expose the fiction of the notion that, regarding humanity, “essence precedes existence”, by developing a thoughtful analogy out of an ordinary object – a paper-knife (or letter opener). The analogy is as follows: in order to create a paper-knife, one must first have a concept of what a paper-knife is. In this example, essence precedes existence; concept allows for creation. Just to clarify, existence is beings fact of being, whereas essence is a beings function or purpose. In the case of the paper-knife, essence precedes existence because somebody recognized the need for such an object. Once the need for an instrument that neatly opens envelopes and separates pages of a book was recognized, its physical function and appearance could be conceptualized. Thus, in this example, essence clearly precedes existence.

So the same must also be true of humanity, right? Wrong. Sartre proposes that man is in fact, the only being in the world for which the inverse is true. In the case of humanity, existence precedes essence. For humans, there is no preconcieved purpose (essence). In the absence of God, how could there be? Man just is. And after coming into existence, each man establishes his own essence through his his actions and the choices he makes. In this ideology, there are no expectations, no presuppositions – there are only actions for which the actor is responsible. And if I understand correctly (which is a big if with Sartre) the choice itself is not what matters, but rather it is taking responsibility for the outcome, whatever that may be, that is important.

Now, about responsibility. Sartre places so much emphasis on taking responsibility, I think, because – even though it can be completely paralyzing – our absolute freedom to choose is what distinguishes us from all other beings in the world. If we are condemned, for better or worse, to always choose, then we might as well respect (and I use respect for lack of a better word) this freedom and take responsibility for our choices. Or as Thad says “Own it”.

On that note... At one point, Monday's discussion segued into a conversation regarding the nature of our freedom to choose. Is the freedom to choose a curse or a gift? I'm quite certain that Sartre believed the former, despite his using the word 'condemned' to describe the free state of man. Or maybe the meaning got lost in translation. Either way, Sartre firmly believed that the freedom to choose is a remarkable ability exclusive to man. After reading No Exit and now Being and Nothingness, I'm inclined to agree.

I think the freedom to choose is remarkable and totally liberating. No presuppositions, no expectations, just absolute freedom to make choices that greatly influence your existence. Sure, at times, it can seem daunting and burdensome, but I'll take a little burden, a little weight on my shoulders, in exchange for freedom if it means that I don't have to 'live' like a Sim. Speaking of the Sims, when I was younger, I wasted many a summer playing the Sims on a massive Gateway computer. In my circle of friends (in hindsight, I'm like “what was I thinking??”) it was disturbingly popular to torture your Sims. By torture I mean, make them go for swim, click pause, remove the pool ladder, and watch them flap around until they drown from exhaustion. Or, just as disturbingly, put them in a room with no doors, deny them food or water or sleep or a toilet, and watch them freak out until they shrivel up, die, and turn into an urn.

But I didn't do a whole lot of Sim torture. Not because I wasn't just as twisted as my adolescent friends were (for the record, I hope I wasn't), but because I had this overwhelming fear that my Sims were just like me. Maybe, I was a Sim and some being greater than myself was sitting in front of a massive Gateway computer, controlling my life to pass the time. I was afraid that if I played the part of a twisted God, then the great being that was potentially controlling my life would play just as twisted. That seems completely ridiculous now – I know is no great mouse-wielding being who controls my existence from behind a computer screen – but in some small way, I think it played it role in my developing an intense appreciation for the freedom to choose, for better or for worse. 

TRAGIC SENSE OF LIFE

Miguel de Unamuno's Tragic Sense of Life, is an affective, heavy piece of philosophy, and a work with an arguably misleading title. Taken at face value, the title implies that life is tragic and existence is a debacle. But this implication is untrue. One cannot take Unamuno, the title of his work, or his work as a whole at face value. The nature of Unamuno's Tragic Sense of Life requires that readers dig beneath the surface to uncover its true meaning. Which, coincidentally, is exactly the point Unamuno attempts to prove in his writing.

Rather than propose that life is in and of itself tragic as the title might imply, Unamuno posits that tragedy is an integral facet of life – a subjective condition of existence and a method by which man can arrange the details of his life. The tragedy of life does not exist in extraneous events – such as heartbreak, sickness, and death – but rather in the essence of events and the manner in which events are interpreted. Unamuno suggests that the pith of the tragic sense of life, its most tragic feature of all, is that life demands that man be rational and aspire to achieve his full rational potential, while at the same time, he must acknowledge and accept his utter irrationality. Unamuno rejects that man is rational, and argues in favor of passion and the desertion of rational aspirations. In this sense, Unamuno's ideologies are akin to Kierkegaard's “leap of faith”. And as with Kierkegaard, it is Unamuno's rejection of human rationality that I find myself at odds with.

That isn't to say that I disagree entirely with Unamuno. The bit about the “matter” of one's life – if the matter of one's life is founded on accepted but not truly believed doctrines and dogmas, then the inevitable onset of fissures and quakes in one's moral foundation will cause one's morality to give way entirely – I agree with that. Virtues and values held independent of doctrines and dogmas are the true 'matter' of life, and give life meaning. These virtues and values develop as a result personal experiences, not because of some scripture or because “the man” says it is so. These virtues are the essence of the individual, and as such, one will rationalize the circumstances of his/her life in order to preserve these virtues.

All this talk of reason and rationality, and passion and irrationality, brings me to a question posed by the first group. Are reason/rationality and faith/passion mutually exclusive? Or can they exist simultaneously, despite their glaring deviations? Reason tells me the former is more plausible. And although I'm usually one for reason, I'll take a look at the other side of the coin. 

Perhaps reason and passion exist not only simultaneously, but symbiotically. I think reason is often cast in an unfair light. That is, to be truly objective, one mustn't be influenced by emotions. The same can also be said of passion. To be passionate is to be subjective, and in order to be truly subjective, one must rely entirely on emotions and go with his/her gut or heart or any number of romanticized organs. The dichotomy between reason and passion can also be attributed to the general assumption that the physical world and the metaphysical world are separate and exist on entirely different planes. Reason is thought to exist in the physical world of cold, calculable logic. Passion is thought to exist in the metaphysical world of the mightiest intangible – emotion. But maybe there is no distinction between the physical world and the metaphysical world. Maybe each requires that the other exists. The lingering doubt left by a choice made in a fit of passion requires the rationale of reason to alleviate uncertainty, just as the cold, calculable nature of reason requires that passion light a fire in one's heart to signal that the choice one has made is in keeping with the essence of oneself. Maybe reason and passion are not unlike one another. Maybe passion is the reason. 

NOTES FROM THE UNDERGROUND

In Monday night's discussion, Thad asked whether we side with the Underground Man or with the Gentleman. That is, do we believe that man is irrational and independent and on occasion, chooses to assert this independence by making a completely irrational, disadvantageous choice. Or do we believe that man is a rational creature whose actions are pre-determined by his brain chemistry, and if we could fully grasp the human brain and understand what makes us tick, then each individuals' actions could be predicted with absolute accuracy. The majority of the class, myself included, sided with the Underground Man. This isn't really surprising considering what exactly the latter mindset proposes. I'm not saying that humans aren't intelligent, rational creatures, in fact, I believe quite the opposite. I think humans are incredibly intelligent, incredibly rational creatures, and I think our remarkable intelligence and rationality not only gives us the ability to, but to a certain extent requires that we, on occasion, act irrationally, as a means of exhibiting our intelligence and rationality. I know I'm really oversimplifying here, but, it's kind of like when disgustingly wealthy people spend a disgusting amount of money on something they don't need just to show how disgustingly rich they are. But back to the Gentleman mindset. It's a really romantic, idealized mindset that sounds great in theory, but even if we do develop a complete understanding of the human brain and of neurological chemistry, to the point where we know why people make the 'choices' they make, we would be unable to predict and account for the infinite slew of environmental and social factors that influence our choices. And adjusting environmental and social factors as a means of encouraging certain outcomes – well, that kind of seems like cheating, and might be trouble than it's worth. I almost wish it was as easy as the Gentlemen say it is. If we could predict human behavior then we could prevent crime and murder and war and all those awful things that happen before they happen, and the world would be warm and fuzzy and not unlike Minority Report. But at the end of the day, it's not that easy. It couldn't be that easy. There will always be external factors that go unaccounted for, be they environmental or social or otherwise. And a neurologically (or otherwise) pre-determined existence, a la Sisyphus, might be completely torturous and worst than not existing at all.

Stemming from this came the topic of compassion and altruism and how each relates to either rationality or irrationality. On the surface, compassionate, altruistic actions seem to be irrational and disadvantageous, insofar as the individual who demonstrates such actions is thought to gain little or nothing. Considering his insistence of the master morality reigning supreme over the herd morality, I think Nietzsche would certainly agree with this proposition. I, however, am not so sure. My immediate perception of altruism as it relates to rationality, is a little conflicted. I suppose (and I say this with hesitation) that my most visceral, intuitive inclination would be to side with the those who correlate altruism with irrationality. That's not to say that is my final conclusion, but merely my most intuitive inclination. Compassion and altruism do come off as a bit of hindrance considering the time, energy, and possible resources spent on empathizing with the misfortune of others could have been used to improve one's own position in the world. But I think if we use our rationale and really consider the ubiquity and cerebral power of compassion, it seems more likely that humans have developed altruistic aspirations and a generally compassionate nature, as a means of encouraging and perpetuating the survival of humanity as a whole – and that seems totally rational. Further evidence in favor of this notion, lies in the behavior of other animals, and how compassion relates to cerebral capacity and intelligence. One will find that, almost without exception, more intelligent animals, those believed to be more conscious and self-aware – guerillas, chimps, dolphins, canines, large felines – have the capacity for compassion, whereas less intelligent, less conscious animals, are significantly less likely to perform altruistic acts. So, assuming (and I think this is a pretty fundamental assumption) there is a direct correlation between intelligence and rationality – that is, greater intelligence means a greater capacity for rationality – then more rational animals have a greater capacity for altruism and compassion. Thus, compassion and altruism are rooted in rationality. 

BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL

Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil, is essentially a diatribe of countless critiques and criticisms of the philosopher's scholarly and philosophical contemporaries, as well as society in general, regarding everything from religion to morality to truth to nationalism. To a certain extent, Beyond Good and Evil functions as a crystal ball of sorts, offering future thinkers a vision of what is to come, while Nietzsche serves as a mustached clairvoyant, warning, advising, and steering readers in the 'right' direction (although at times, it feels like he's blind-drunk steering a semi). It's no secret that Nietzsche was a bit manic – this is clearly reflected in the chaotic nature of the Beyond Good and Evil - and at times, the text comes off as muddled and bit helter-skelter. However, I think Nietzsche offers some really remarkable insight on a gamut of topics, and although I don't necessarily entirely agree with many of his points, I can certainly appreciate his philosophic brilliance.

For me, the most intriguing part of Beyond Good and Evil is the section regarding the nature of morality, in which Nietzsche delves into the effect society has had on the development of morality thus far, as well as the future effect that society will have on the evolution of morality. This section also comes off as a challenge of sorts, or perhaps an emphatic suggestion, encouraging readers to consider ideologies and moralities other than their own, so as to gain a broader understanding of the nature of morality.

The main posit of this section - and one of the major points of Beyond Good and Evil as a whole – is Nietzsche claim that in the world, there exist two basic type of morality: 'master morality' and 'slave morality'. And between these two moralities there is one fundamental difference: the longing for freedom; that is, in the slave morality, the longing for happiness by way of freedom is as necessary as, and therefore analogous to, the longing for artful and thoughtful contemplation by those in the master morality. I suppose I can, for the most part, agree with the basics of each type of morality. That is, that at its core, master morality is self-glorification, while slave morality is morality of utility. Those in a high-ranking, more 'favorable' position in society will determine what is good and base this determination on the nobility or contemptibility of an action. Conversely, those in a low-ranking, less 'favorable' position in society will be (rightfully) suspicious of the virtues of the powerful, and associate goodness with utility; thus, qualities that help the oppressed make the most of their existence, such as compassion, modesty, and diligence, and are thought to carry the most goodness. Again, I can certainly agree with the tenants of both of Nietzsche's type of moralities; however, I think that by reducing morality as a whole to two general types with one difference, Nietzsche may have oversimplified an immensely profound aspect of humanity, and offered a radically cynical view of the human condition.

Additionally, Nietzsche is highly critical of moralities that are exhibited and embraced by the masses, asserting that these moralities are exploitative and based on fear, and used as a means of taming individuals and clustering society at large into a single mass in which no individual can think for his or herself. This is a bold assertion that I'm not sure I can much agree with. The nature of the master-slave relationship requires that there be fewer masters than slaves, and that although few in numbers, masters are rich in power. As such, it seems more likely that moralities exhibited by the masses would be more akin to the qualities embraced by the slave morality, such as cooperation and compassion, as these qualities would best lend themselves to the well-being of society in general.

THE UBERMENSCH

'The Madman' (inexplicitly) asks: Which is more important, knowledge or faith? Now, I'm not sure if Nietzsche ever directly states his opinion, but I think it's safe to say he's team knowledge all the way – after all, the guy said “God is dead.” Nietzsche takes a radical approach, and proposes an abandonment of faith altogether, in favor the acceptance of the world as our senses perceive it to be. In other words, Nietzsche rejects the notion of anything and everything 'otherworldly', and accepts only what meets the eye. He goes on to express his utter disdain for the herd and the herd-instinct, which Nietzsche believes weakens man, inhibits personal growth, and prevents each individual from valuing himself as anything more than just a function of the herd. Nietzsche's solution to the herd? The Ubermensch.

The Ubermensch is willing to risk everything for the sake of humanity's enhancement. The Ubermensch is both 'more than human and all too human', independent, not conscious, and above the herd. The Ubermensch is the next step in the evolution of humanity. He transcends the herd and his own consciousness, and establishes his own morals and values, completely independent of the herd. The Ubermensch exists in complete opposition to the last man, who is, according to Nietzsche, the “most contemptuous.” The last man is primarily focused on his own comfort and is so reliant on the herd, that he is incapable of becoming anything greater than himself.

For all their differences - and they've got a lot of differences – I think it's in this that Nietzsche and Kierkegaard find some common ground. Kierkegaard's life and mind centered around God and the 'leap of faith.' Although, Nietzsche denounced faith and Christianity and God altogether, I think his Ubermensch requires a sort of leap of faith as well. Maybe not a leap of faith in the traditional sense of the word 'faith,' and certainly not in Kierkegaard's sense of the word 'faith'. But faith in the individual. Faith in the individual's ability to transcend his consciousness and himself, and become something greater. Nietzsche saw man as a bridge. A bridge between beast and the Ubermensch. Nietzsche acknowledged that the men and women of his time were not ready for the Ubermensch, they were still too reliant on the herd.

So, now are we ready for the Ubermensch? If the Ubermensch becomes the overman the way Nietzsche posits – that is, by transcending himself and the herd and becoming a completely independent being – then no, I don't think we are ready for the Ubermensch. The way the world is today, with the ubiquity of the internet and social networking, it would be nearly impossible to truly escape the herd. Technology has made the world such as small place, we have become completely dependent on other members of the 'herd' from all around the globe to provide us with knowledge and news and entertainment and everything else that give our lives meaning. That being said, I think a more likely Ubermensch will emerge out of this technological dependence – something along the lines of a technological superintelligence by way of technological singularity. Technological Singularity is basically a futurist theory that proposes the emergence of a greater-than-human artificial intelligence via technological means. Now, I'm not a crazy computer wizard (I swear), but the world we live in just seems way more conducive to a technological Ubermensch.

So, who is the Ubermensch? How will know him when we see him? Nietzsche doesn't exactly state how we'll know, I guess it's just one of those 'you'll just know' kind of deals. I've never encountered anybody who even comes close to refusing the herd or transcending his/her consciousness, but I watched a documentary the other day about this guy named Faustino who has lived in Patagonia, in pretty much complete isolation for the past 40 years of his life. He rejects the herd, is completely independent, relying on nothing more than the land and his animals, and seems to have established his own set of morals (he shot his nephew because he was allegedly trying to steal his cattle). I think if anybody in our present world comes close to meeting Nietzsche's definition of the Ubermensch, it's Faustino.

P.S. Here's the link to that documentary if anybody is interested: http://www.vice.com/far-out/faustinos-patagonian-retreat-part-1

CAMUS VS. KIERKEGAARD

In their philosophizing, Camus and Kierkegaard battle the same beast: the absurd. Camus arms himself with reason and revolt, while Kierkegaard fights with faith. Camus is a straightforward, face-the-enemy-head-on kind of soldier, reminiscent of pre 20^th century battle paintings. You know, the ones in which the good guys stand so close to the bad guys that they can see 'the whites of their eyes'. Kierkegaard on the other hand, is kind of like a Kamikaze pilot. Neither Kamikaze pilots nor Kierkegaard seem to have much rationale, both are more concerned with 'how' you believe and convey this belief, rather than 'what' you believe. And when you do try to understand what little rationale they may have, they throw in another paradox and leave you just as confused as you were. Kamikaze pilots were willing to take the ultimate leap of faith and Kierkegaard was all about the 'leap of faith'. And in retrospect, they both seem a little crazy.

So, at the end of the day, has either Camus or Kierkegaard defeated the absurd? I'm not sure either philosopher has. What if we pit Camus and Kierkegaard against each other on the brainy battlefield; could we discern a clear victor? Again, I'm not sure we objectively could. (Just to clarify, by objectively I mean factually, without distortion by way of personal opinion or experience; not Kierkegaard's drawn-out definition of a straightforward word). I've always understood the role of artists and writers and great thinkers to be that of revealers rather than changers. They help us interpret the world, but do not necessarily change our beliefs. We are all thrown into this world with some sort of inherent belief system that develops over time and is certainly impacted by personal experiences. However, the inherent facets of our belief systems are steadfast and not easily altered. Thus, each individual is likely to find kinship with others who express similar beliefs. So again, I'm not sure either Camus or Kierkegaard could ever truly reign supreme over the other, but I'll throw them into the ring anyway, because I like Camus and Camus would ask “why not?”

CAMUS VS. KIERKEGAARD

The most glaring difference between Camus and Kierkegaard lies in how they approach the absurd. Kierkegaard seemingly embraces the absurd as an opportunity, a test of sorts. He suggests that in living, man must contend with the absurd, only in death will man truly be revealed. While alive, man must trust, despite the absurd, that there is more to existence than reason and logic can explain. In this respect, Kierkegaard's notion also posits a paradox: after man has exhausted reason and logic, he must deliver himself to the infinite, through faith - blind faith. Kierkegaard suggests that the collapse of reason is inevitable because reason is a human construct; all things human are bound to collapse and only from their collapse can the absolute erect.

Conversely, Camus dismisses the notion of the absolute. He proposes that there is no more to existence than meets the eye. Like Kierkegaard, Camus too, posits a paradox. Camus' paradox lies in the absurdity of living in a world that refuses to reveal its meaning. From this notion, Camus presents Sisyphus as the epitome of the absurd hero. In spite of his complete understanding of the meaningless repetition of rolling a rock up a mountain, just to have it roll back down to the summit, Sisyphus continues to repeat the task over and over again. I think maybe Sisyphus' acceptance of how the task will end, lessens the blow of its meaninglessness. I think in this, Camus presents an extremely effective example of how the acceptance of the meaningless of existence, can actually enhance one's quality of life. Sisyphus knows it will all end without any meaning and once life is over, it's over. As such, he takes pleasure in every action, no matter how repetitive, and in every feeling, painful or pleasurable.

If at all, Camus and Kierkegaard find some common ground in their refusal to surrender to the absurd. Both acknowledge the absurd and may at times seem overpowered by its magnitude, however, at no point does either man surrender. If any, the only form of surrender in either Camus or Kierkegaard's philosophy is the surrender of the mind to the incomprehensible. Both yield themselves to what they (as men) cannot possibly comprehend. Kierkegaard through a of a leap of faith and the belief in something far greater than worldly existence, and Camus through the acknowledgement of the meaningless and the struggle to make meaning of the void.

Ask me, and I'll tell you Camus wins – TKO. Ask the pope, and it's Kierkegaard by a landslide.

I'll take Camus' meaninglessness over Kierkegaard's blind faith any day. To me, if Camus is right and everything means nothing, than every single action we make and every single task we undertake becomes infinitely meaningful. The lack of any post-life atonement and the inability to alter the past or foretell the future, leaves nothing but the present. And with nothing but now, nothing but this life, this instant, means anything. Now is all we have, and it only seems natural to make the best of what we have - now. 

ON BECOMING A CHRISTIAN

Kierkegaard's self-proclaimed “Socratic task – to rectify the concept of what it means to be a Christian” follows his concept of subjective truth, defined as passionate commitment, and suggests the absurd is that the “eternal truth has come into being in time.” Essentially, Kierkegaard proposes that it would be impossible to prove God's non-existence, and foolish to attempt to prove God's existence because in attempting to prove the existence of God, one would have presupposed that such evidence exists at all, and that presupposition is not akin to true Christianity. Kierkegaard continues, proposing that God is neither man nor woman nor name nor any other sort of being as suggested by virtually every religion, but rather God is a concept. God is the conceptualization of the unknown, and religion has created this conceptualization in human form so as to appeal and seem more familiar to humanity; which totally makes sense. Nothing is more fascinating and familiar to man than man, and man likes familiarity, so it only seems natural that religious leaders from long, long ago whenever all of this was taking shape, intent on attracting as many followers as possible, would have chosen to depict God as an omnipotent, man-like being. What could be more unnerving, and in turn, convince people to follow a doctrine more than the shaking fist of an all-seeing, all-knowing 'superman' of sorts?

But back to the notion of God as a concept. I like that idea. I like it a lot. Although a concept is by nature intangible and, as Kierkegaard states, it would be foolish to try to prove the existence of the intangible, it seems way more plausible to view God as a concept rather than a big man in the sky; albeit a concept might not attract as sizable a congregation as an omnipotent being. But a concept wouldn't give man the 'license' to kill in His name that his God seemingly does. A concept wouldn't prevent people from living their way of living for fear of eternal retribution. A concept is more of a suggestion; a gentle nudge in the right direction. Whereas a God is an absolute and non-negotiable decree; like being thrust into a line you'd better not leave. So I guess I agree with Kierkegaard in respect to the detriment of Christianity by way of the modification of God by man. Man took an idea, radically transformed that idea into something that better suits him (a man-like being), and accepts and abides by the 'word' of this being as he sees fit. And perhaps worst of all, humanity accepts these truths as absolute, (in most cases at least) not because he sought truth or salvation, but simply because he was born into it and had his head dunked (again, in most cases) as an infant and without his consent into magic water. If it's that easy to become a Christian, doesn't that diminish its significance?

I also think that the classification of a concept (God) - something that is universal and far-reaching - into a religious doctrine - something with limits and specifications – confines man's perspective on God and hinders man's capacity to understand God. By understand I don't mean have God all figured out - if there is in fact a God, I'm almost certain man lacks the capacity to 'understand' (for lack of a better term) him or her or it or they. Maybe understand wasn't the best choice of word. Interpret is better. Confining God to a religious doctrine inhibits man's perspective on God as well as his interpretation of God. If one's interpretation of God deviates from that of one's prescribed (by birth or otherwise) religion, then it is essentially invalidated by that religion. And isn't God supposed to be all about inclusion? They say God loves all his children, right? So isn't a religion so steadfast in the posits of its doctrine, that it is unwilling to allow for even the slightest deviation, thus, making it more exclusive than inclusive, actually operating in a manner in direct opposition to that of God? And doesn't that too diminish its significance?

THE FALL

Monday night's discussion was awesome. I think some really important questions were brought up and answered in a bunch of different ways, all of which might be right. We seemed to sit on the weighty questions for a while, come up with a bunch of different (and equally plausible) answers, debate the merit of these answers, refine these answers, ultimately agree to disagree, and then move on to the next question and do it all over again. All of our discussions up to this point seem to unfold this way, which I think is interesting because it's kind of reflective of the nature of existentialism. It's like, we talk and realize we disagree, and know we're all never going to agree, so we agree to disagree, and we always end up in the same place. But the part that's kind of like existentialism is that even though we know exactly how it's going to end, we enter the discussion and actively participate and prescribe a lot of meaning our opinions, knowing all the while where we're going to end up. So I guess in existential terms, discussion is analogous to death. But about The Fall...

We sat on the meaning of the 'fall' for a while and came up with a few different interpretations. I interpreted the meaning of the fall to be a fall in the biblical sense, a fall from grace. Everybody knows the story, Adam and Eve eat an apple after God told them not to, so God gets mad, furrows his godly, white brow, and boom! we have The Fall of Man. In this story, the fall marks man's fall from the grace of God and exile from the Garden of Eden. In Camus' story, the fall also marks Jean-Baptiste's fall from 'God', but who is God in Camus' (an outspoken atheist) literary world? Well, considering there are only two real characters in The Fall, you and Jean-Baptiste, it has to be one of the two. I think Camus meant for Jean-Baptiste to be interpreted as God in The Fall, because he takes it upon himself to hand judgement down to everybody, and in Jean-Baptiste's world, everybody is guilty in one way or another. This is interesting because it's akin to Adam and Eve's original sin, both Jean-Baptiste and Christianity assert guilt-by-birth in one or another. Taking all this into consideration, it's like Camus has used our world as a paradigm for Jean-Baptiste's world, and successfully re-created our world using just two characters, which is seriously remarkable.

Our discussion deviated a little from direct text, and brought us to the question of whether or not true altruism exists. After Jean-Baptiste's fall, he came to the realization that all the good he had been doing, all of his acts which he thought were altruistic, were in reality self-serving. Given the definition of altruism - the principle or practice of unselfish concern for or devotion to the welfare of others – one would initially assume that it not only exists, but is demonstrated quite often. But if you really delve in and give it some serious thought, the existence of true altruism is contestable. By definition, altruism posits that one performs actions, solely for the benefit of others and receives absolutely no reward in exchange. This would suggest that actions that are typically considered altruistic, like Jean-Baptiste helping the blind cross the street, are in some way self-serving - Jean-Baptiste is rewarded with a warm, fuzzy feeling, thinks others think highly of him, and thus, feels better about himself. It seems that a truly altruistic act, would require the sacrifice of one's life (assuming that one will no longer be able to experience human emotions after death) for the benefit of others. However, even this gets a little fuzzy because during that split second before dying, the 'altruistic' individual would have the capacity to experience that warm, fuzzy feeling. I'm not sure true altruism does exists, not because of it's definition (albeit there may be some fundamental flaw in the definition of altruism that prevents any act from completely fitting the bill), but rather because it doesn't seem like there would be any evolutionary explanation for it to exist. Sure, altruism encourages the welfare of humanity, but as innately selfish creatures I'm not sure the welfare of the rest of humanity would be as desirable as self-preservation. Conversely, there are other facets of humanity that exist in the absence of any glaring evolutionary explanation.

And just like Monday night discussions, I conclude without coming to any major conclusion. I still have more questions than answers. When I started typing, I knew how it would end, I knew I wouldn't come to any concrete conclusion. But I typed anyway, and I believed my input was meaningful, and maybe I typed to help me forget that I knew exactly how it would end. And I'll do it all over again next week and the week after that and the week after that and the week after that...

THE STRANGER

Meursault, Meursault, Meursault... what to say about Meursault. I'll start off by saying that Meursault is a weird dude. He's completely amoral and is seriously lacking in the emotions department. He lacks the capacity to judge morality versus immorality, and in doing so (or rather in failing to do so) inadvertently challenges society's moral codes. In addition to, and probably as a result of, his amorality and inability to judge right from wrong, Meursault is also honest – at times brutally so. To me, his lack of emotional capacity and psychological detachment make Meursault a character as intriguing and appealing as he is frustrating and obscene – especially when it comes to his relationship with Marie. Half of me thinks he's great for being so earnest with her and leaving no room for her to misinterpret his feelings, while the other half of me wants to shake him for not even trying to really love her. Meursault and Marie are pretty similar when you really think about it. Meursault derives nearly all his of pleasure, or really any feeling at all for that matter, from the physical world, be it the cool of the ocean or the taste of coffee. Like Meursault, Marie is also highly receptive to the physical world, she often kisses or hugs Meursault and makes it clear that she enjoys having sex with him, however, in spite of their similarities, Meursault and Marie have one major, glaring difference. Whereas Marie's physical responsiveness to Meursault indicates her underlying emotional affections, Meursault's responsiveness is purely physical, because the physical world is really all Meursault has the ability to recognize. I'm certain Camus meant for Meursault and Marie to be so similar and yet to glaringly different, and I think Meursault's final passing thoughts of Marie in which he states he can't feel anything for her if she isn't physically present, exemplify the extreme limit to his emotional capacity.

Meursault's emotional detachment and lack of traits so inherent to humanity, isolate and make him a stranger (hence the title) to society and perhaps to himself as well. Society doesn't understand him, nobody (Meursault included) can seem to make any sense of his crime or provide an answer as to why he did it. Without any apparent rhyme or reason, the judges, prosecution, and majority of the courtroom attempt to construct their own rationale as to why Meursault shot a man to death. The courtroom's insistence that there must be some explanation for Meursault's action and the prosecutor’s unyielding attempts to attribute his crime to his callousness, illustrate humanity's often unavailing attempts to find rational explanations for the endlessly irrational happenings of the universe. Camus uses the trial to illustrate the futility and absurdity of this subconscious and ubiquitous human act.

Although I would like to disagree with Camus' major assertions illustrated by the novel – those of the absurdity of the universe and the futility and meaninglessness of human existence – I find it difficult to do so. Camus suggests that because human existence has no meaning, people try to construct a rational order by which to live their lives and create concepts that give their lives meaning. There is certainly solace in the belief that everything happens for a reason and your life has great purpose or destiny, but it seems much more rational and reasonable to accept the void Camus proposes. In fact, to me it seems more rational to deny the existence of any rationality or order of the universe and to reject attributing any great meaning to existence, than it is to insist that there is great meaning to life and some sort of logical order and structure to the universe. If everything means nothing and one accepts the absurdity of the universe, life seems simple and pressure-free, and one could certainly find solace in that. It seems to me that no matter which doctrine you live by, either that life has great meaning or no meaning or somewhere in between, you'll find solace in something, be it destiny or death. And as long as you find solace enough to keep the absurdity at bay, you'll exist. Whether by destiny or chance is irrelevant, you'll exist – and what could possibly mean more than that?

EXISTENTIALISM INTRO

I suppose my most profound feeling after the first day of PHI 304 was that of relief. Relief because I could stretch, really stretch, and move my legs for the first time in about one hundred and twenty minutes. Relief because I was now free to return my sister's phone call and ask my nephew how his first day of kindergarten was (although an existentialist might tell you that I am free to call my sister at any time, and in the same breath tell you that I have a responsibility to myself and to my future to be present for every minute of every class, but I'll save that for another post...). Relief because the sun was beginning to set, making my bike back to my apartment slightly cooler, slightly less hellish. Relief because after a couple of hours with Thad, existentialism didn't seem so daunting. It seemed intriguing and important and impossibly profound. And most importantly, on a level that I can grasp and understand and really appreciate.

Existentialism has a reputation for encompassing some pretty heavy stuff, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. The austerity and gloom and potential for sorrow that accompanies “heavy” stuff, has a certain allure and promotes catharsis, which I believe is a fundamental component of the human condition and totally necessary to maintain sanity. And austerity and gloom and sorrow must be purposive or else they wouldn't exist (and neither would The Smiths), right? But the austerity and gloom and sorrow that might accompany existentialist thought can also be super intimidating and unwelcome and not something you want to get into too often. This may be why so many people dismiss existentialism as – like my friend eloquently put it - “sad shit.” Forty eight hours ago, I might have agreed with him. But now, I'd beg to differ. I might even flat out tell him he his wrong. Either way, I'd certainly argue his definition and put up a fight, armed with little more than a few pages of Soloman's scholastic introduction to existentialism, and a couple hours discourse with a self-proclaimed “non-expert” Ph.D (I might also argue that claim).

I guess I'll start where Soloman did, with a quote from Sartre: “The idea I have never ceased to develop is in the end that a man can always make something out of what is made of him.”This suggests that no matter what one's circumstances, no matter what kind of hand one has been dealt in life, it is not only each individual's choice, but each individual's responsibility to make the best of it. This proposition lies directly in line with one of the more famous or perhaps infamous existentialist quotes, Nietzsche's “God is dead.” Although I'm sure Nietzsche's quote has been misinterpreted - it's unlikely that a great thinker such as Nietzsche would accept the most common notion of God, that of an all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful, totally omnipotent creator, and even more unlikely that he would suggest that an entity so powerful could die as man dies – parallels can be drawn between the two aforementioned quotes. If “God is dead,” meaning that human logic defies and disproves the existence of God or any other omnipotent deity, than man can no longer take comfort in or hide behind the notion of God. Man must take responsibility for his actions and forge his own path. Although we are thrust into this world with varying physical and mental capabilities, every human being has the ability to choose, and with this ability comes the responsibility to choose the path most beneficial for himself and humanity as a whole.

I know I'm just scratching the surface, and as a novice, my ideas may be a bit vapid or misguided, but I look forward to learning more about existentialism, and I hope that by the end of this semester I'll have a semi-firm understanding of existentialist thought that will allow me to form thoughtful and informed opinions on the subject.