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.