Wednesday, September 26, 2012

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?


Wednesday, September 19, 2012

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...

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

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?