No constraints. No limits. The only difference between my present and my ideal future is the amount of effort and patience that I've used.
I'm working at Zia Records. I've wanted to work there since the first time that I ever laid my eyes on the store's interior; I'm guessing that I was around 13 years old, but I might have been closer to 15. I just remember walking in there and being assaulted by so much music that I stumbled around in awe, and decided that I'd work there in the future. Fortunately, I did not forget this thought, and when I had an opportunity to jump on employment there, I did. The best part? I have left work with a smile every single day.
I'm beginning to create a sense of discipline in myself. Having to keep a schedule, unsurprisingly, is helping me stick to the plans that I write out. It's not foolproof, of course, but I'm keeping more of my momentum and losing less to laziness. I found an 11 week discipline journal through my friend Perry; it is giving me a numerical representation of who I'd like to be. That is to say, having mapped out what my "ideal" self would complete within a nearly perfect day, I can then measure myself against what I'd wish to become. It's somewhat difficult for me, because I'd like to hold myself to high standards, and it stings knowing that after I have finished a day, my ideal has stayed so far ahead of me. However, the reverse of this is taking in the knowledge of my self discovery as far as bad faith goes- knowing that I'm not performing to the best of my ability is helping me to strive towards that goal.
Lately, I've been feeling particularly lonely. I've been working a lot, with next to no internet connectivity AND no phone. So while I can socialize at work, it is much more difficult to organize anything after work. I guess it's not really a /i/bad/i/ thing, seeing as though I feel more self reliant when I'm alone (fitting in well with my goal of self discipline), but it's starting to feel as though (forgive how whiny this sounds?) there's nobody paying attention to me. More often than not, I'm alone to my thoughts and whatever task I'm participating in. It's striking to me, really, because for my entire life I've felt like there has been a spotlight on me, with almost all of my elders investing time in my existence, and now… I'm the only one that really has anything to do with it. I'm responsible for how I use my time, and it can either help me or hinder me.
So I planned out my 11 Week goals with that in mind. I've got responsibility and desire, and I have to battle my desire in order to raise myself up to the needs of my responsibilities. Obviously, guitar is the most important thing, so I broke that up into "physical practice" and "mental practice". I've spent a lot of time focusing on the physical side of guitar playing, so I've lowered the amount of points that I get for doing that and raised the amount from mental practice. Beyond that, I'm deciding to work on various things that I have wanted to be active in. I'm aiming to actually brush my teeth, to work out regularly, to cook new meals, and to raise my general level of activity around my apartment. In essence, I'm using these goals as a guide towards what I would consider "adulthood".
It's complicated, though. At this point in my life, this responsibility isn't going to leave me. In the past, my sense of duty has come and gone, swaying with the events of whatever my current predicament has been, but now! Now it's a matter of my entire future. I've never felt so much pressure to perform at my best. I can't give my future self the struggle of knowing that my past was all in vain. I want to look back, years in the future, and know that all of the shit that carved me into who I am was actually worth the carving. To know that I am worth something and there's a reason that I wasn't able to kill myself. I can look towards these things with the strictness of my philosophical beliefs, or I can dissect it into my personal symbolism, the "shadow" of my being as Jung would call it; between my yin and yang, I'm finding out what is actually worth my time.
I read my tarot cards, today. I've never really shared them with anybody before, and I am not planning on sharing them, either. It has been a very long time since I've pulled them out; I only answer my questions with them when they call to me. In this case, it's because I've been dreaming about people that I haven't met. I'm watching the bricks to my future fall into place, my cobblestone path slowing developing before me. So in a way, I feel like I needed to read my cards as a tether to this transient and ambiguous greater reality. I can't say that it's truth or the future or anything beyond the probability of which cards find me, but I also cannot deny the intuitive essence, the spiritual resonance, that I feel when my cards are in my hands. I inherited my tarot decks when my mother passed, and in a way, I feel like they are how my mother can share her voice with me again. Imagination, spirituality, and fate; no matter what they are in reality, my experience of them is inherently valuable- to me.
I'm terrified of the hurdles in front of me. I can't afford to stop and quit.
So I'll keep walking forward. Hopefully the bricks will keep being laid in front of me.
If not, I think I'll have to place them there myself.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
Twenty Second proof of my existence: On Existing
My existence is a constant struggle against accepting my past and preparing for my future.
I can't say that I'm happy to be here. I find single moments, on occasion, or very rarely, a sequence of moments, that make everything worthwhile; but for the most part, I'm extremely unhappy. It's not so much that I reminisce, more so that I dwell on the past. There are things in my past that I'd much rather forget and move on from, not to mention the thoughts that I'd like to escape.
It sometimes feels like there's another person inhabiting my body, just living to sabotage my entire future, working their way in, one momentary decision at a time, and frankly, I'm both accepting and rejecting this individual every time one of these moments comes up. It's cliché, but I almost as if I'm some kind of walking contradiction, a paradox of success and failure and a disarray of useless thoughts compiled in this mass of poorly developed ideas. I wonder how I've survived this long just about every day, frankly, and with a past rife in suicidal behaviours, I don't think it's unwarranted.
This leads me into some of the biggest questions that I have for the universe. What is fate? What is predestination? Is it possible for free will to exist within the framework of fate? Is fate the same thing as determinism? Do I have a destiny, and if so, do I have any control over it? And perhaps most importantly, can I someday be happy?
Because I'm tired of waking up, minutes before my alarm, talking to friends in my dreams about how inauthentic my reality is. I think it's time to transcend my past, to evolve into the person that I wish I was.
I exist. My past does not, anymore. So why is that such a difficult truth for me to accept?
I can't say that I'm happy to be here. I find single moments, on occasion, or very rarely, a sequence of moments, that make everything worthwhile; but for the most part, I'm extremely unhappy. It's not so much that I reminisce, more so that I dwell on the past. There are things in my past that I'd much rather forget and move on from, not to mention the thoughts that I'd like to escape.
It sometimes feels like there's another person inhabiting my body, just living to sabotage my entire future, working their way in, one momentary decision at a time, and frankly, I'm both accepting and rejecting this individual every time one of these moments comes up. It's cliché, but I almost as if I'm some kind of walking contradiction, a paradox of success and failure and a disarray of useless thoughts compiled in this mass of poorly developed ideas. I wonder how I've survived this long just about every day, frankly, and with a past rife in suicidal behaviours, I don't think it's unwarranted.
This leads me into some of the biggest questions that I have for the universe. What is fate? What is predestination? Is it possible for free will to exist within the framework of fate? Is fate the same thing as determinism? Do I have a destiny, and if so, do I have any control over it? And perhaps most importantly, can I someday be happy?
Because I'm tired of waking up, minutes before my alarm, talking to friends in my dreams about how inauthentic my reality is. I think it's time to transcend my past, to evolve into the person that I wish I was.
I exist. My past does not, anymore. So why is that such a difficult truth for me to accept?
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Twenty first proof of my existence: On Creativity
So a few moments ago, I decided that I was going to write this. I sat simply, my legs careening over the edge of my bed; my mind blank. That is to say, my decision was made, but I had absolutely no idea what to discuss. This got me thinking, brainstorming what exactly I should write about- and I started to realize that I do similar things (in so far as the act of brainstorming goes) whenever I'm trying to create something.
It's not a clear process by any means- decidedly not, even. It's vague and nebulous and requires this sense of being lost, like the first time a child becomes separated from their parent in a bustling, emotionally vacant mall. When I'm creating something, I grope around the back of my mind for a thread, just the skeleton of an idea. With this thread, I find my outline, and from there, I break it into the parts that create it- be they ink, sounds, or just future plans- and then I see if I can figure out how to improve them.
In many ways, I think that this is another form of bad faith in my life, because I often do not finish drawing the outline. I think my best examples are with music and drawing- I've got something like 30 separate little snippets of songs, and I'm still not fleshing them out and then I've got 3 or 4 drawings that I've started, but never worked on a second time. It's not that I don't think about it, but I... I get bored of it, and I move on to something else, and the boredom of completion becomes an unseen vision, the sense of future-past without clarity of dejà vu. So I'll look to them, but can't remember what I wanted them to be.
On rare days, I'll be in the middle of a task, but I'll be zoning out, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts- when inspiration strikes. I've noticed that it's frequently when I'm thinking about anything that I'm either extremely emotional about or quite apathetic about, rather than just random thoughts. Regardless, I am struck unaware with a burst of thought in the middle of of the textile's creation, and it is of better quality than most of my other ideas. There's form to these ideas, and it's these that I'm more adept at finishing. It's different, though, than my ordinary process, because I usually cannot just "work" on them in the sense that I just improve the separate parts of the idea, and I'm constantly waiting for another strike of inspiration.
I think my point is that with some discipline, I can start bringing the first realm of ideas, the threads, into the realm that the inspired ideas are in- I just need to finish the outlines, and continue fleshing them out. But... it needs to be when I start. Either that, or I need to learn how to work on my old projects.
It's not a clear process by any means- decidedly not, even. It's vague and nebulous and requires this sense of being lost, like the first time a child becomes separated from their parent in a bustling, emotionally vacant mall. When I'm creating something, I grope around the back of my mind for a thread, just the skeleton of an idea. With this thread, I find my outline, and from there, I break it into the parts that create it- be they ink, sounds, or just future plans- and then I see if I can figure out how to improve them.
In many ways, I think that this is another form of bad faith in my life, because I often do not finish drawing the outline. I think my best examples are with music and drawing- I've got something like 30 separate little snippets of songs, and I'm still not fleshing them out and then I've got 3 or 4 drawings that I've started, but never worked on a second time. It's not that I don't think about it, but I... I get bored of it, and I move on to something else, and the boredom of completion becomes an unseen vision, the sense of future-past without clarity of dejà vu. So I'll look to them, but can't remember what I wanted them to be.
On rare days, I'll be in the middle of a task, but I'll be zoning out, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts- when inspiration strikes. I've noticed that it's frequently when I'm thinking about anything that I'm either extremely emotional about or quite apathetic about, rather than just random thoughts. Regardless, I am struck unaware with a burst of thought in the middle of of the textile's creation, and it is of better quality than most of my other ideas. There's form to these ideas, and it's these that I'm more adept at finishing. It's different, though, than my ordinary process, because I usually cannot just "work" on them in the sense that I just improve the separate parts of the idea, and I'm constantly waiting for another strike of inspiration.
I think my point is that with some discipline, I can start bringing the first realm of ideas, the threads, into the realm that the inspired ideas are in- I just need to finish the outlines, and continue fleshing them out. But... it needs to be when I start. Either that, or I need to learn how to work on my old projects.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Twentieth proof of my existence: On living conciously
Now that class is over, and I've taken a small moment to really browse over my thoughts, I think I've found some of my biggest flaws in my current state of mind when compared to my ideal state of mind.
The biggest one, the most daunting hurdle to my ascent into a lucid existence, is discipline. I must say, discipline is not something that I have a great deal of practice in. For much of my life, I've skirted by in almost every task by completing the bare minimum, taking a sort of pride in this half-planned personal obsolescence; my lack of effort while still maintaining results was my goal, that is, a balance between lazy and successful. But as I've grown, I'm starting to notice that there's no longer an excuse for that. By not having the discipline to maintain some form of active momentum in my achieving my goals, I'm practically taking one step forward and two steps back.
It's not to say that completely without discipline, however. I've made some large strides in my focus within the last few months, and I'm still making some progress. It's just frightfully slow, I guess.
Past discipline, is just the concept of self respect and self reliance. I'm quite prone to staying in, locking myself in my room, and just... melting away and forgetting about the outside world. In the past week, I've laid in my bed watching almost an entire day's worth of anime. I forget to eat, and avoid taking care of myself. Even with this knowledge, I still find it extremely difficult to break out of the habit. I think this is one of the stronger habits that I formed in the past few years, though it isn't as prevalent during my periods of activity when compared to my lack of discipline.
So for now, I believe that my next goal would be to work on taking these thoughts and actually taking the thought into the realm of action. It's one thing to know that I'm slacking off; it's another thing entirely to stop doing it.
I think Kierkegaard said it best:
"But the present generation, exhausted by its deceitful efforts, relapses into total indolence. Its condition is that of one who has only fallen asleep towards morning: first of all come great dreams, then a feeling of laziness, and finally a witty or clever excuse for staying in bed."
I would love to disagree with him, here. I'd love to say that I'm doing everything that I can to reach my grandiose and bold moves for the betterment of myself and society... but right now, it's 4:36 in the morning, and I've yet to go to bed. More than likely, I'm going to wake up and roll over, take a shower, and go back to bed.
This is my life, for now- I'm working on changing it one action at a time.
The biggest one, the most daunting hurdle to my ascent into a lucid existence, is discipline. I must say, discipline is not something that I have a great deal of practice in. For much of my life, I've skirted by in almost every task by completing the bare minimum, taking a sort of pride in this half-planned personal obsolescence; my lack of effort while still maintaining results was my goal, that is, a balance between lazy and successful. But as I've grown, I'm starting to notice that there's no longer an excuse for that. By not having the discipline to maintain some form of active momentum in my achieving my goals, I'm practically taking one step forward and two steps back.
It's not to say that completely without discipline, however. I've made some large strides in my focus within the last few months, and I'm still making some progress. It's just frightfully slow, I guess.
Past discipline, is just the concept of self respect and self reliance. I'm quite prone to staying in, locking myself in my room, and just... melting away and forgetting about the outside world. In the past week, I've laid in my bed watching almost an entire day's worth of anime. I forget to eat, and avoid taking care of myself. Even with this knowledge, I still find it extremely difficult to break out of the habit. I think this is one of the stronger habits that I formed in the past few years, though it isn't as prevalent during my periods of activity when compared to my lack of discipline.
So for now, I believe that my next goal would be to work on taking these thoughts and actually taking the thought into the realm of action. It's one thing to know that I'm slacking off; it's another thing entirely to stop doing it.
I think Kierkegaard said it best:
"But the present generation, exhausted by its deceitful efforts, relapses into total indolence. Its condition is that of one who has only fallen asleep towards morning: first of all come great dreams, then a feeling of laziness, and finally a witty or clever excuse for staying in bed."
I would love to disagree with him, here. I'd love to say that I'm doing everything that I can to reach my grandiose and bold moves for the betterment of myself and society... but right now, it's 4:36 in the morning, and I've yet to go to bed. More than likely, I'm going to wake up and roll over, take a shower, and go back to bed.
This is my life, for now- I'm working on changing it one action at a time.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Nineteenth proof of my Existence: On Existentialism
Existentialism is the act of living consciously, with responsibility and authenticity towards one's self and society, in order to fully appreciate the dichotomy of absurdity and beauty in the world.
That's how I see it, at least. I mean, it's a very mutable philosophy, constantly growing and evolving and morphing and congealing upon itself, slowly becoming that which it is. To me, this as a template for a kind of lucid being is a fantastical concept; that there can be other people trying to look through this philosophy as a lens gives me hope for a world beyond that which I seem to pay the most attention to.
I named this blog "There is a potential universe in which I exist." because there have been times in my life that I did not believe this. It is a statement of personal choice, as I am attempting to create some form of consistency for myself, though it initially served as a grade. I've kept a number of half-journals through the years, as a sort of tether to the world- when I descend into a state of unhappiness, I sometimes browse through my journals, trying to find some half finished idea, or some memory that can pull me back into reality. It's not really fun for me to live with my head in the clouds anymore; now that I've felt the ground underneath my feet, and coincidentally realized that I might actually be capable of creating happiness, I know that while it's not easy to live consciously, the results are worth the effort.
In the past few months, I've had to confront many my personal demons, with varying levels of success. I've struggled with my focus, with my family, with finances, and fulfilling myself as a lucid being has fallen to the wayside, for much of it. There have been a few times when I've considered just packing my stuff and leaving, not looking back. Just as an escape, really, to avoid facing the things that are brooding over my horizon.
But right now, I can't help but feel excited for my future. It's going to be difficult, and there are going to be many facets to what I need to work on. I know that I'm living in bad faith, in multiple places, in my life. I'm far from true to who I want to be and I have a lot of work on the path towards self respect and honesty. But... knowing this is new. I've never gone this deep, so to speak, into why I've acted this way, and why I've felt this way.
So more than anything else, existentialism, to me, is a way to feel comfortable in my skin. It's self respect and responsibility, to myself and to the people around me. I've lived in a bubble for a long time, and I still have a lot to work on- and now I know that there is a world out there.
It almost seems trivial to me, but these realizations are already making huge changes in how I perceive my life.
That's how I see it, at least. I mean, it's a very mutable philosophy, constantly growing and evolving and morphing and congealing upon itself, slowly becoming that which it is. To me, this as a template for a kind of lucid being is a fantastical concept; that there can be other people trying to look through this philosophy as a lens gives me hope for a world beyond that which I seem to pay the most attention to.
I named this blog "There is a potential universe in which I exist." because there have been times in my life that I did not believe this. It is a statement of personal choice, as I am attempting to create some form of consistency for myself, though it initially served as a grade. I've kept a number of half-journals through the years, as a sort of tether to the world- when I descend into a state of unhappiness, I sometimes browse through my journals, trying to find some half finished idea, or some memory that can pull me back into reality. It's not really fun for me to live with my head in the clouds anymore; now that I've felt the ground underneath my feet, and coincidentally realized that I might actually be capable of creating happiness, I know that while it's not easy to live consciously, the results are worth the effort.
In the past few months, I've had to confront many my personal demons, with varying levels of success. I've struggled with my focus, with my family, with finances, and fulfilling myself as a lucid being has fallen to the wayside, for much of it. There have been a few times when I've considered just packing my stuff and leaving, not looking back. Just as an escape, really, to avoid facing the things that are brooding over my horizon.
But right now, I can't help but feel excited for my future. It's going to be difficult, and there are going to be many facets to what I need to work on. I know that I'm living in bad faith, in multiple places, in my life. I'm far from true to who I want to be and I have a lot of work on the path towards self respect and honesty. But... knowing this is new. I've never gone this deep, so to speak, into why I've acted this way, and why I've felt this way.
So more than anything else, existentialism, to me, is a way to feel comfortable in my skin. It's self respect and responsibility, to myself and to the people around me. I've lived in a bubble for a long time, and I still have a lot to work on- and now I know that there is a world out there.
It almost seems trivial to me, but these realizations are already making huge changes in how I perceive my life.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Eighteenth proof of my Existence: On bad faith and lucidity
In class today, we discussed a thought experiment about a "good-life" salesman; selling the ideas of how to best live one's life with two choices- living a life of avoiding bad faith and living a life without worrying about bad faith.
I didn't really think too much of this in class today. Lately, my thoughts have been extremely convoluted; I'm worrying about money, I'm worrying about music, I'm worrying about my family, and everything else has kind of faded into the background. It's been mostly to my detriment, by sleeping in and missing class, I feel like I have deducted points out of some imaginary "existentialism" piggy bank, and lost out on a meaningful discussion that could, with time, make a huge impact on my life.
Fortunately, I didn't miss the day on bad faith, and that kinda woke me up into a state of lucid consciousness again. I've taken the past few days with a grain of salt, and I've paid attention to some of my habits. Since everything in my life tends to point me towards music, I'll use that as a foil to explain my thoughts on Sartre's bad faith.
I said in my last post that my guitar practice has been a source of bad faith, and I stand by that; today, however, I inspected it a little bit more closely than I had before, and I think that it's worse than I thought it was. That is, I know that I've been slacking on the practice, but more than that, I'm not paying attention to what I'm playing. So in a very real sense, I'm not lucid of my decisions while I'm doing the one thing that frees me from what Sartre would call my anguish, but I'm instead wrapping myself up within it- I'm basking in it without even noticing how ignorant I am of my playing, of my note choice, of my melodies.
I spoke in class, today, and I said that I'd rather know why I'm sad than not know why I'm happy; and now that I have a clear cut, personally dear issue to really case my argument, it makes a lot more sense. Because when I pay attention to my music, when I really take the time to swim through it, rather than just gliding along with my head lost in the clouds, I appreciate it more. I can play my melody with conviction, knowing that it's going to highlight and support the notes of the chords underneath it, rather than just dancing all over the fretboard, ecstatic but blissfully ignorant of how mechanical my playing is. When I play with the conviction of my lucidity, when I consciously choose my notes and control my future, it's not just happiness that I find- it's a very real sense of self actualization.
So yes, I have lived without worrying about bad faith- as my happy and aimless love of my music has carried me through my life many years- but now that I know the difference, and I can hear my own, unique voice flourishing with my awareness, I don't think I'll ever go back. I can't imagine going back, when this is so much more fulfilling.
I think I'll have to go with avoiding bad faith. It has made me appreciate my life a little bit more, even if only for moments at a time.
I didn't really think too much of this in class today. Lately, my thoughts have been extremely convoluted; I'm worrying about money, I'm worrying about music, I'm worrying about my family, and everything else has kind of faded into the background. It's been mostly to my detriment, by sleeping in and missing class, I feel like I have deducted points out of some imaginary "existentialism" piggy bank, and lost out on a meaningful discussion that could, with time, make a huge impact on my life.
Fortunately, I didn't miss the day on bad faith, and that kinda woke me up into a state of lucid consciousness again. I've taken the past few days with a grain of salt, and I've paid attention to some of my habits. Since everything in my life tends to point me towards music, I'll use that as a foil to explain my thoughts on Sartre's bad faith.
I said in my last post that my guitar practice has been a source of bad faith, and I stand by that; today, however, I inspected it a little bit more closely than I had before, and I think that it's worse than I thought it was. That is, I know that I've been slacking on the practice, but more than that, I'm not paying attention to what I'm playing. So in a very real sense, I'm not lucid of my decisions while I'm doing the one thing that frees me from what Sartre would call my anguish, but I'm instead wrapping myself up within it- I'm basking in it without even noticing how ignorant I am of my playing, of my note choice, of my melodies.
I spoke in class, today, and I said that I'd rather know why I'm sad than not know why I'm happy; and now that I have a clear cut, personally dear issue to really case my argument, it makes a lot more sense. Because when I pay attention to my music, when I really take the time to swim through it, rather than just gliding along with my head lost in the clouds, I appreciate it more. I can play my melody with conviction, knowing that it's going to highlight and support the notes of the chords underneath it, rather than just dancing all over the fretboard, ecstatic but blissfully ignorant of how mechanical my playing is. When I play with the conviction of my lucidity, when I consciously choose my notes and control my future, it's not just happiness that I find- it's a very real sense of self actualization.
So yes, I have lived without worrying about bad faith- as my happy and aimless love of my music has carried me through my life many years- but now that I know the difference, and I can hear my own, unique voice flourishing with my awareness, I don't think I'll ever go back. I can't imagine going back, when this is so much more fulfilling.
I think I'll have to go with avoiding bad faith. It has made me appreciate my life a little bit more, even if only for moments at a time.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Seventeenth proof of my existence: On Sartre and Bad Faith
If I were to categorize the time that I've spent in this existentialism course by personal utility, I think today would fall at the very top of the list. On talking about bad faith, I feel like there are many of my personal habits that require further inspection; in short, I feel that I am acting in bad faith on a number of levels. I do not believe that I am even at a level of authenticity in my own being to enumerate them, and frankly, this gives me pause. I don't think I've had a realization of this calibre in years, and I would be lying if I said it didn't terrify me.
More than anything else, I define myself as a guitarist. In terms of the course, my "they", my personally chosen subsection and title in a group as a group member, is a guitarist. And... yet, I do not look honestly at my progress of learning. It's extremely disconcerting, knowing that I'm lying to myself like this. On the one hand, I've got my personal goals as a guitarist, by Sartre the "transcendence", and with the other hand, I've got my lack of disciplined and consistent practice, by Sartre the "facticity". So as a form of bad faith to my own personal authenticity, I'm living vicariously through the transcendent ideal of being a professional guitarist, while completely ignoring the facticity of my not practicing enough to ever achieve that goal.
I've looked at this before, I've thought about my lack of practice, but I've never really crept deeper than that. Even with a background in psychology, completely aware that it is a bout of cognitive dissonance, I have only just now taken the philosophical and moral responsibility to my own perceived being-in-itself. I feel completely taken aback by this critical avoidance of self-responsibility, and talking about emotions yesterday, I also feel like I've taken away my ability to avoid feeling it, as I clearly stated my personal stance on emotion in conflict with my dissonance. I'm not sure if it is entirely freeing or if the understanding is freezing me in my tracks, but as it stands now, I feel like the woman in Sartre's thought experiment- I'm feeling the weight of decision in an unchosen, non-lucid sense, with my hand stuck between the actions of self-creation and self-depreciation through inaction, and I have no way to wriggle out of this self reflection.
It is extremely uncomfortable, emotionally and mentally, but... I cannot help but feel that once I can reasonably solve this, I will make huge strides in my goal towards becoming who I am.
More than anything else, I define myself as a guitarist. In terms of the course, my "they", my personally chosen subsection and title in a group as a group member, is a guitarist. And... yet, I do not look honestly at my progress of learning. It's extremely disconcerting, knowing that I'm lying to myself like this. On the one hand, I've got my personal goals as a guitarist, by Sartre the "transcendence", and with the other hand, I've got my lack of disciplined and consistent practice, by Sartre the "facticity". So as a form of bad faith to my own personal authenticity, I'm living vicariously through the transcendent ideal of being a professional guitarist, while completely ignoring the facticity of my not practicing enough to ever achieve that goal.
I've looked at this before, I've thought about my lack of practice, but I've never really crept deeper than that. Even with a background in psychology, completely aware that it is a bout of cognitive dissonance, I have only just now taken the philosophical and moral responsibility to my own perceived being-in-itself. I feel completely taken aback by this critical avoidance of self-responsibility, and talking about emotions yesterday, I also feel like I've taken away my ability to avoid feeling it, as I clearly stated my personal stance on emotion in conflict with my dissonance. I'm not sure if it is entirely freeing or if the understanding is freezing me in my tracks, but as it stands now, I feel like the woman in Sartre's thought experiment- I'm feeling the weight of decision in an unchosen, non-lucid sense, with my hand stuck between the actions of self-creation and self-depreciation through inaction, and I have no way to wriggle out of this self reflection.
It is extremely uncomfortable, emotionally and mentally, but... I cannot help but feel that once I can reasonably solve this, I will make huge strides in my goal towards becoming who I am.
Sixteenth proof of my existence: On Sartre, Emotion, and Free Will
Today was an animated discussion. Regrettably, I missed class yesterday, and with it, the introductory talks on Sartre; however, I read the materials and was significantly impacted. I think the notion that Sartre brings up in terms of emotion being a choice is relevant and almost entirely accurate, in my experience.
In discussion, we brought up the point of fate. Now, personally, I am diametrically opposed to the idea of fate. I feel that for fate to be possible, there is no room for free will, that the universe is entirely deterministic and small physical reactions completely determine all events in the world. To me, this goes against everything I believe, essentially absolving all individuals of the responsibility of their choices, since they don't actually HAVE choices. But... I think that this is not the case, that we all have the opportunity to change the world as we see fit, from moment to moment.
Tying this back into Sartre's definition of emotion, I absolutely believe that it is our decision as to how we feel. Though, I must separate Sartre's definition of "true emotion" into its constituent parts, in my theory, as both physiological emotion and psychological emotion- physiological being our physical and chemical response to an event and psychological being our reflection on an event. Of course, these are not all encompassing terms or definitions, but I feel they break down Sartre's concept of emotion fairly accurately for the scope of this blog post.
In discussion, we brought up the point of fate. Now, personally, I am diametrically opposed to the idea of fate. I feel that for fate to be possible, there is no room for free will, that the universe is entirely deterministic and small physical reactions completely determine all events in the world. To me, this goes against everything I believe, essentially absolving all individuals of the responsibility of their choices, since they don't actually HAVE choices. But... I think that this is not the case, that we all have the opportunity to change the world as we see fit, from moment to moment.
Tying this back into Sartre's definition of emotion, I absolutely believe that it is our decision as to how we feel. Though, I must separate Sartre's definition of "true emotion" into its constituent parts, in my theory, as both physiological emotion and psychological emotion- physiological being our physical and chemical response to an event and psychological being our reflection on an event. Of course, these are not all encompassing terms or definitions, but I feel they break down Sartre's concept of emotion fairly accurately for the scope of this blog post.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Fifteenth proof of my existence: On Death
We're discussing Heidegger, still, and he's touching on the nature of death in terms of Da-sein; as a contrast to yesterday, I'm not having that much trouble understanding what he's talking about; being-towards-death is a concept that I very much understand, at a very primal, intuitive level. I'd go so far as to claim an authentic view of it, even.
I've almost died at least 5 separate times now, to memory, throughout my life. I mean, those experiences have shaped my view of life, as a person, that it is extremely difficult for me to pull them out of focus. I've been obsessed with death in a nearly tangible way since I was around one and two years old, being constantly reminded of how imminent and transient our death and lives can be.
My first experience is not one that I remember clearly. I've heard stories, I've had nightmares, and I've got a sense of understanding of it, but I do not remember anything other than the cold that came with it. See, my parents were moving from Washington state to Arizona, and we drove down the coast to get here- I was, from the stories, not quite two years old.
When we started going through Nevada, I began to develop a fever and it spiked around 104°F, and my parents brought me to the hospital; but they couldn't stop my fever from climbing, and they had to put me in an ice bath to break my fever. So I don't really remember it, consciously, but I've been haunted by dreams of that experience for nearly all of my life.
My second experience was about five to six years later. I grew up asthmatic, using my albuterol inhaler at school, and my albuterol breathing machine when I was at home, but sometimes I forgot about it, or I didn't really think I needed it at the time. Unfortunately, I did need it, with a relatively high frequency, assuming I was fond of breathing.
Anyways, I skipped a night one time after a heavy day of running around, and I woke up quite suddenly in the middle of the night, completely unable to breath, save for a rapidly eclipsing second of the sharp and raspy breath so common in asthmatics.
I was terrified. My body was resisting me, forcing me to struggle to stay awake, and I did the only thing I could think of doing- I made as much noise as I possibly could, waking my brother and my mother up. I vaguely remember my mother running to my room and starting to yell at me for rousing her, and then she ran over to me, saw how little I was breathing, and called an ambulance. Apparently, I turned blue on way there, and the paramedics got there just in time to hook me up to oxygen.
The crazy part was waking up in a hospital. I mean, I had absolutely no idea where I was, there were needles in me and there was beeping and it was dark and scary and there was nobody around. I tore out the needles and a nurse came running, and woke my mother up to calm me. Needless to say, I felt very mortal after that, and developed a rather intense bout of insomnia that has been recurrent since that experience.
My third experience my first serious miscalculation of an inebriant. I was 12 years old, and I had found my mother's oxycontin and taken some, intending to see what exactly I was missing. I overdosed, and spent a good 5 hours recalling the exact same terror that I felt when I had my asthma attack- I couldn't breathe, but since it was an opiate, I also couldn't move. So I waited. And did my best to continue breathing. Obviously I was successful, but that was probably more fear inducing than any of my earlier experiences. The combination of not being able to breathe while simultaneously not being able to move is a fear that I would not wish on many people.
My fourth experience was fast, happening in an instant and being complete within the second. It was April 1st, 2003, and I was riding my bike on the wrong side of the road and a driver of an SUV was turning right onto Southern Ave, but never looked that way since they were watching for traffic. I remember being totally nonplussed and riding right in front, and in the very next second, I remember reeling away into first lane of traffic lying on my back. The moment I notice that I'm looking at the sky, there's a split second of roar and a semi is driving inches away from my skull. I don't remember moving, but I somehow got up and wandered off to the side of the road, and the driver ended up dropping me off back at my house; but I never got their information.
My fifth time crossing paths with death is still somewhat fresh in my memory. It was about 3 years ago, and it was another overdose. I'd really rather not talk about that one, though.
I can't speak for anybody other than myself, but these all had a profound effect on my demeanor. Every single time, I was not the same person afterwards, and I slowly fell back into my patterns of living day to day, but I can always feel this sort of residue from my life, feeling like there's something keeping me alive.
For better or worse, it changes my perspective on life when I take the time to remember that I've survived through all of that. I accept that death isn't something that I can expect, for the most part. I accept that my friends have passed, I accept that my mother has passed, I accept that we're all gonna die someday. There really isn't that much we can do about it, yet.
I've been thinking about it, though, and I still don't think that I really live in the being-toward-death state of mind. Like, I appreciate my existence, but I'm still trying to face my existence with death in the they; that is, I'm still anxious and terrified of it, and I think that I mitigate the fear of dying (more clearly, the fear of dying before I've left a legacy) by just zoning out and trying to avoid thinking about anything at all. At the same time, occasionally I'll have a sudden memory and it's like a fire is lit underneath me and I'll struggle and spin and make real progress towards my goals. And I've known people to die, and I've felt the death of my mother first hand, emotionally, but at the same time, even with my brushing up next to death, I still can't really synthesize the feeling. I said in class that it's like a sticker and you can feel the residue of almost dying, but lately it's like I'm just trying to wash the residue off.
That's one of the biggest benefits of taking this class, really. I'm starting to realize that life isn't necessarily a moment by moment grasp of happenings, not really a matter of subject and object and emotion here or whatever, and I am starting to believe that the concept of living in the "now" is flawed, too. I mean, we're constantly living on the edge of Time's razor blade. "Now" is just a split second between the past and future, and if we don't simultaneously live in all three, with our foundation in the past, our sights set in our future for our goals, and our wits about us ready to pull the trigger, there's really no point to going on. I've gone through each of those separately, to some extent, and without the others, I don't really think it's fruitful. Live in the past, and one ignores the future, only to hang on to the shards of reminiscence with depression; live in the future, and it's like watching the carrot as you race down the track, only to worry about you'll ever get it. But I think that with all three, it's more than possible to achieve something that's inherently valuable. I guess that's my understanding of it, at least.
I guess I can't really say that I understand the former view, of not having a sense of death, so I can't really compare it to "before", but I can say that when I keep my experiences closer to me, I live with more conviction, and attempt to refute my predisposition towards almost dying. It's taking some work and serious self reflection, but sooner or later, I'll be able to look myself in the mirror and actually see myself eye to eye. If nothing else, I've lived through too damn much to just shit on myself and lock up in my room, slowly rotting into a pile of self depreciation. I deserve to at least try to smile, if not for the memory of those that died before me, at least to make the terrible times worth living through. But it's not enough to just dream of the future, any more. It's not enough to hope and watch things go by.
I've got to actually speak up and try to grab them.
I've almost died at least 5 separate times now, to memory, throughout my life. I mean, those experiences have shaped my view of life, as a person, that it is extremely difficult for me to pull them out of focus. I've been obsessed with death in a nearly tangible way since I was around one and two years old, being constantly reminded of how imminent and transient our death and lives can be.
My first experience is not one that I remember clearly. I've heard stories, I've had nightmares, and I've got a sense of understanding of it, but I do not remember anything other than the cold that came with it. See, my parents were moving from Washington state to Arizona, and we drove down the coast to get here- I was, from the stories, not quite two years old.
When we started going through Nevada, I began to develop a fever and it spiked around 104°F, and my parents brought me to the hospital; but they couldn't stop my fever from climbing, and they had to put me in an ice bath to break my fever. So I don't really remember it, consciously, but I've been haunted by dreams of that experience for nearly all of my life.
My second experience was about five to six years later. I grew up asthmatic, using my albuterol inhaler at school, and my albuterol breathing machine when I was at home, but sometimes I forgot about it, or I didn't really think I needed it at the time. Unfortunately, I did need it, with a relatively high frequency, assuming I was fond of breathing.
Anyways, I skipped a night one time after a heavy day of running around, and I woke up quite suddenly in the middle of the night, completely unable to breath, save for a rapidly eclipsing second of the sharp and raspy breath so common in asthmatics.
I was terrified. My body was resisting me, forcing me to struggle to stay awake, and I did the only thing I could think of doing- I made as much noise as I possibly could, waking my brother and my mother up. I vaguely remember my mother running to my room and starting to yell at me for rousing her, and then she ran over to me, saw how little I was breathing, and called an ambulance. Apparently, I turned blue on way there, and the paramedics got there just in time to hook me up to oxygen.
The crazy part was waking up in a hospital. I mean, I had absolutely no idea where I was, there were needles in me and there was beeping and it was dark and scary and there was nobody around. I tore out the needles and a nurse came running, and woke my mother up to calm me. Needless to say, I felt very mortal after that, and developed a rather intense bout of insomnia that has been recurrent since that experience.
My third experience my first serious miscalculation of an inebriant. I was 12 years old, and I had found my mother's oxycontin and taken some, intending to see what exactly I was missing. I overdosed, and spent a good 5 hours recalling the exact same terror that I felt when I had my asthma attack- I couldn't breathe, but since it was an opiate, I also couldn't move. So I waited. And did my best to continue breathing. Obviously I was successful, but that was probably more fear inducing than any of my earlier experiences. The combination of not being able to breathe while simultaneously not being able to move is a fear that I would not wish on many people.
My fourth experience was fast, happening in an instant and being complete within the second. It was April 1st, 2003, and I was riding my bike on the wrong side of the road and a driver of an SUV was turning right onto Southern Ave, but never looked that way since they were watching for traffic. I remember being totally nonplussed and riding right in front, and in the very next second, I remember reeling away into first lane of traffic lying on my back. The moment I notice that I'm looking at the sky, there's a split second of roar and a semi is driving inches away from my skull. I don't remember moving, but I somehow got up and wandered off to the side of the road, and the driver ended up dropping me off back at my house; but I never got their information.
My fifth time crossing paths with death is still somewhat fresh in my memory. It was about 3 years ago, and it was another overdose. I'd really rather not talk about that one, though.
I can't speak for anybody other than myself, but these all had a profound effect on my demeanor. Every single time, I was not the same person afterwards, and I slowly fell back into my patterns of living day to day, but I can always feel this sort of residue from my life, feeling like there's something keeping me alive.
For better or worse, it changes my perspective on life when I take the time to remember that I've survived through all of that. I accept that death isn't something that I can expect, for the most part. I accept that my friends have passed, I accept that my mother has passed, I accept that we're all gonna die someday. There really isn't that much we can do about it, yet.
I've been thinking about it, though, and I still don't think that I really live in the being-toward-death state of mind. Like, I appreciate my existence, but I'm still trying to face my existence with death in the they; that is, I'm still anxious and terrified of it, and I think that I mitigate the fear of dying (more clearly, the fear of dying before I've left a legacy) by just zoning out and trying to avoid thinking about anything at all. At the same time, occasionally I'll have a sudden memory and it's like a fire is lit underneath me and I'll struggle and spin and make real progress towards my goals. And I've known people to die, and I've felt the death of my mother first hand, emotionally, but at the same time, even with my brushing up next to death, I still can't really synthesize the feeling. I said in class that it's like a sticker and you can feel the residue of almost dying, but lately it's like I'm just trying to wash the residue off.
That's one of the biggest benefits of taking this class, really. I'm starting to realize that life isn't necessarily a moment by moment grasp of happenings, not really a matter of subject and object and emotion here or whatever, and I am starting to believe that the concept of living in the "now" is flawed, too. I mean, we're constantly living on the edge of Time's razor blade. "Now" is just a split second between the past and future, and if we don't simultaneously live in all three, with our foundation in the past, our sights set in our future for our goals, and our wits about us ready to pull the trigger, there's really no point to going on. I've gone through each of those separately, to some extent, and without the others, I don't really think it's fruitful. Live in the past, and one ignores the future, only to hang on to the shards of reminiscence with depression; live in the future, and it's like watching the carrot as you race down the track, only to worry about you'll ever get it. But I think that with all three, it's more than possible to achieve something that's inherently valuable. I guess that's my understanding of it, at least.
I guess I can't really say that I understand the former view, of not having a sense of death, so I can't really compare it to "before", but I can say that when I keep my experiences closer to me, I live with more conviction, and attempt to refute my predisposition towards almost dying. It's taking some work and serious self reflection, but sooner or later, I'll be able to look myself in the mirror and actually see myself eye to eye. If nothing else, I've lived through too damn much to just shit on myself and lock up in my room, slowly rotting into a pile of self depreciation. I deserve to at least try to smile, if not for the memory of those that died before me, at least to make the terrible times worth living through. But it's not enough to just dream of the future, any more. It's not enough to hope and watch things go by.
I've got to actually speak up and try to grab them.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Fourteenth proof of my existence: On Heidegger and Obfuscation
I tried to read the excerpts from Being and Time. I really, really did. I sat down, I opened the book, and I died, slowly, bit by bit. Being-in-the-world? What is that? I understand the need for a different set of words to describe these concepts, and I appreciate the specificity that this approach gives it, but frankly, I feel like the nature of the wording is completely obtuse and difficult to understand. I can't tell how many times I got lost, wondering which "being" I was reading about, just completely confused as to what form of Da-sein was being discussed.
I really want to understand what he's talking about- when we watched the Solomon lectures, it began to make sense, but... I'm just not holding onto the material. I think it will make more sense after I reread it again. More than anything else, I think this boils down a lack of focus on it. Perhaps I should read it bit by bit, a little more slowly.
I really want to understand what he's talking about- when we watched the Solomon lectures, it began to make sense, but... I'm just not holding onto the material. I think it will make more sense after I reread it again. More than anything else, I think this boils down a lack of focus on it. Perhaps I should read it bit by bit, a little more slowly.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Thirteenth Proof of my existence: On Unamuno and the tragic sense of life
In my mind, the tragic sense of life boils down to the appreciation of the conflict between the desire to act and the actuality of inaction; the goal is eternal happiness, through virtue and personal ethics, and the path there is the belief that it is attainable in its own right, rather than through prescribed dogma.
That is to say, being a lucid, conscious human being is to feel that internal dissonance of knowing that one needs to act, of the thoughts regarding possible action, and the inaction before or after the act itself; in following our personal beliefs and acting upon them rather than getting lost within our thoughts on them, we strive as individuals to attain our eternal happiness- but for it to be "real", in a sense, we have to act upon what our core beliefs are, rather than the core tenets of dogmatic faith, so that our view of eternal happiness is integrally our own.
To make a comparison, looking at the Myth of Sisyphus, in order for him to be happy, he must push the rock of his own belief that this is the proper course of action.
Aside from that, I feel that Unamuno was essentially bringing light to a psychological cognitive bias- the confirmation bias, which is a tendency of people to favor information that confirms their beliefs or hypotheses. However, I feel he is discussing it in an individual sense, in so far as when we act on thought rather than belief, we give reason to our action after the fact, giving us reason to belief a certain way. So personally, I feel that he's arguing that for us to really seize the Kierkegaardian ideal, we have to essentially overcome this bias. Anyways, those are my thoughts on it, at the very least.
That is to say, being a lucid, conscious human being is to feel that internal dissonance of knowing that one needs to act, of the thoughts regarding possible action, and the inaction before or after the act itself; in following our personal beliefs and acting upon them rather than getting lost within our thoughts on them, we strive as individuals to attain our eternal happiness- but for it to be "real", in a sense, we have to act upon what our core beliefs are, rather than the core tenets of dogmatic faith, so that our view of eternal happiness is integrally our own.
To make a comparison, looking at the Myth of Sisyphus, in order for him to be happy, he must push the rock of his own belief that this is the proper course of action.
Aside from that, I feel that Unamuno was essentially bringing light to a psychological cognitive bias- the confirmation bias, which is a tendency of people to favor information that confirms their beliefs or hypotheses. However, I feel he is discussing it in an individual sense, in so far as when we act on thought rather than belief, we give reason to our action after the fact, giving us reason to belief a certain way. So personally, I feel that he's arguing that for us to really seize the Kierkegaardian ideal, we have to essentially overcome this bias. Anyways, those are my thoughts on it, at the very least.
Twelfth proof of my existence: On Dostoevsky's 'Notes from the Underground'
When I was younger, I based my entire existence on the premise that the world was inherently unjust, and that as a moral agent, it was my moral responsibility, that is to say obligation, to rebel against this system. I did not act out of self interest, rather I acted out of spite, reminiscing over how unfree I was, save my thoughts and actions.
In that past, I would say that I agree with the Underground man in almost every sense. Were my liver to have gone bad, I feel that I would not have taken care of it, simply to hold power over my circumstance. I would suffer, but I would suffer with the knowledge that I was asserting my thoughts upon my world. It would suck, physically, but I could think of no greater cause for self determination.
Now? I'm not so certain that this would be my choice. I would certainly suggest a more moderate view of sorts, so far as asserting our ability to choose a non-good is an integral piece of free will; however, I also feel that it is our goal- as opposed to obligation- as individuals to care for ourselves and more often than not act in self interest. So while I would certainly act of spite on occasion, often out of emotional distress, I would sooner act in the interest of myself and those ideals that I hold as important. This way, I feel, is both more rational and also irrational; I do not feel that the ideals showed in Dostoevsky's notes are mutually exclusive, because I believe that it's possible to live by personal choice as well as by the greatest self interest.
Why is it that he claims that acting out of self injury is the greatest advantage? This confused me- I understand that it's the crux of free will, in his argument, but to call that an advantage? I'm defining advantage as "A condition or circumstance that puts one in a favorable or superior position."; by this definition, I cannot see how self injury can possibly be beneficial. I mean, there's certainly a personal sense of control, I suppose, but beyond that I'm lost.
Sometimes, though, spite is the best choice we have- especially in the face of injustice.
In that past, I would say that I agree with the Underground man in almost every sense. Were my liver to have gone bad, I feel that I would not have taken care of it, simply to hold power over my circumstance. I would suffer, but I would suffer with the knowledge that I was asserting my thoughts upon my world. It would suck, physically, but I could think of no greater cause for self determination.
Now? I'm not so certain that this would be my choice. I would certainly suggest a more moderate view of sorts, so far as asserting our ability to choose a non-good is an integral piece of free will; however, I also feel that it is our goal- as opposed to obligation- as individuals to care for ourselves and more often than not act in self interest. So while I would certainly act of spite on occasion, often out of emotional distress, I would sooner act in the interest of myself and those ideals that I hold as important. This way, I feel, is both more rational and also irrational; I do not feel that the ideals showed in Dostoevsky's notes are mutually exclusive, because I believe that it's possible to live by personal choice as well as by the greatest self interest.
Why is it that he claims that acting out of self injury is the greatest advantage? This confused me- I understand that it's the crux of free will, in his argument, but to call that an advantage? I'm defining advantage as "A condition or circumstance that puts one in a favorable or superior position."; by this definition, I cannot see how self injury can possibly be beneficial. I mean, there's certainly a personal sense of control, I suppose, but beyond that I'm lost.
Sometimes, though, spite is the best choice we have- especially in the face of injustice.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Eleventh proof of my existence: On Nietzsche and Consciousness and how I'm incapable of not rambling.
Today we discussed the thought experiment that Nietzsche proposed, of the demon which tells you of infinite recurrence.
I... am not sure how I would react to this quandary. I mean, from just the text, I guess I'd more than likely ask the demon to prove to me that it would be the case, because I would immediately assume that I was dreaming if a demon popped out of nowhere talking to me. Assuming that would be taken care of and I had proof or whatever, I'd probably be terribly depressed. I mean, I've had some pretty good times, but I've had far, far more bad times. Knowing that I would have to eternally live through that would be tantamount to enduring a personal hell again.
I've been through a lot that I don't really talk about; in the past 4 years, I've gotten past addiction, my mother has passed away, my younger brother has been arrested, my entire family has splintered because of the arrest and the reason for the arrest, leading to my stepmother and father to get a divorce. I broke up with my fiancé from an almost 7 year relationship and immediately hopped into a rebound that, while great for a few months, ultimately broke my heart. I'm terrified of life when I'm at my worst. I've certainly grown from these circumstances, and I've channeled my sadness into my music, but... I've tried, actively, to commit suicide in my past. I've barely clung onto life each time, and since I'm assuming that the demon would be visiting me in the future, that insinuates that I've yet to reach my lowest. Frankly, if that's the case, I don't think that any amount of self actualization could possibly bring me out of that despair.
Of course, there has been quite a lot of good, as well. I just... I dunno, I have trouble seeing it. Obviously I'm still here, so the moments or extended spans of time have been worth living for, and I certainly enjoy playing guitar enough to make it a career. Honestly, it's my lack of perspective on how to see and harness the good in life that drove me to enroll in this class; firstly, I've had an interest in existentialism for a number of years, and secondly, because Thad was the instructor, and then the pin that cemented the deal was that it was a summer class.
I took Thad's PHI 101 course my freshman year of college, back in '08, and he was my very first professor, the first professor I talked to at ASU as a student. In retrospect, I can't imagine anything more pertinent to his influence on me as an ASU student- even just looking forward from that, in September of 2011, I was extremely depressed and I remember encountering Thad in passing, walking through Coor, and he remembered me by name, and said that I had struck him at some point. I guess it's not that unique, but I only remember speaking up in PHI 101 a single time; and on that particular day, I was particularly lonely. So it it just... it sparked something in me, really. If nothing else, I knew that I was interested in taking another class with Thad. And since you're reading this, Thad, I'm sorry that I'm talking about you in third person so much, and I'm too damn shy to actually thank you for all of this in person; you've had an incredible impact on me as a person, and I thank you immeasurably for that.
Tying this back to the whole demon thing...
Now, if I had the ten years after this visitation like we talked about in class, I might fight and cling to life, building up my ability to face and transcend my past, to fight as hard as I possibly could to make sure that my life was worth something. I think that in the face of such sadness, I would have no other choice. I mean, I've fought tooth and nail to get to where I am now, and I have no plans on giving up again. This doesn't mean that I won't, and I'm terrified of that, but at this juncture, I'm certain of my ability to hold on to rational thought through adversity. I am, in fact, alive (much to my former self's dismay, though I do appreciate the humour of being depressed about being a "failure" and then ultimately failing at suicide.) and with that in mind, I'm doing only myself a disservice by not continuing to look to personal improvement.
So really, I don't know. If I ever meet this demon, I guess I'll found out. Until then, I think I'll just pretend that I have, and face my past as though I've still got the next ten years to live. Because if I've learned anything from my life, it's that there are moments to be found in the future that make it worth living.
I... am not sure how I would react to this quandary. I mean, from just the text, I guess I'd more than likely ask the demon to prove to me that it would be the case, because I would immediately assume that I was dreaming if a demon popped out of nowhere talking to me. Assuming that would be taken care of and I had proof or whatever, I'd probably be terribly depressed. I mean, I've had some pretty good times, but I've had far, far more bad times. Knowing that I would have to eternally live through that would be tantamount to enduring a personal hell again.
I've been through a lot that I don't really talk about; in the past 4 years, I've gotten past addiction, my mother has passed away, my younger brother has been arrested, my entire family has splintered because of the arrest and the reason for the arrest, leading to my stepmother and father to get a divorce. I broke up with my fiancé from an almost 7 year relationship and immediately hopped into a rebound that, while great for a few months, ultimately broke my heart. I'm terrified of life when I'm at my worst. I've certainly grown from these circumstances, and I've channeled my sadness into my music, but... I've tried, actively, to commit suicide in my past. I've barely clung onto life each time, and since I'm assuming that the demon would be visiting me in the future, that insinuates that I've yet to reach my lowest. Frankly, if that's the case, I don't think that any amount of self actualization could possibly bring me out of that despair.
Of course, there has been quite a lot of good, as well. I just... I dunno, I have trouble seeing it. Obviously I'm still here, so the moments or extended spans of time have been worth living for, and I certainly enjoy playing guitar enough to make it a career. Honestly, it's my lack of perspective on how to see and harness the good in life that drove me to enroll in this class; firstly, I've had an interest in existentialism for a number of years, and secondly, because Thad was the instructor, and then the pin that cemented the deal was that it was a summer class.
I took Thad's PHI 101 course my freshman year of college, back in '08, and he was my very first professor, the first professor I talked to at ASU as a student. In retrospect, I can't imagine anything more pertinent to his influence on me as an ASU student- even just looking forward from that, in September of 2011, I was extremely depressed and I remember encountering Thad in passing, walking through Coor, and he remembered me by name, and said that I had struck him at some point. I guess it's not that unique, but I only remember speaking up in PHI 101 a single time; and on that particular day, I was particularly lonely. So it it just... it sparked something in me, really. If nothing else, I knew that I was interested in taking another class with Thad. And since you're reading this, Thad, I'm sorry that I'm talking about you in third person so much, and I'm too damn shy to actually thank you for all of this in person; you've had an incredible impact on me as a person, and I thank you immeasurably for that.
Tying this back to the whole demon thing...
Now, if I had the ten years after this visitation like we talked about in class, I might fight and cling to life, building up my ability to face and transcend my past, to fight as hard as I possibly could to make sure that my life was worth something. I think that in the face of such sadness, I would have no other choice. I mean, I've fought tooth and nail to get to where I am now, and I have no plans on giving up again. This doesn't mean that I won't, and I'm terrified of that, but at this juncture, I'm certain of my ability to hold on to rational thought through adversity. I am, in fact, alive (much to my former self's dismay, though I do appreciate the humour of being depressed about being a "failure" and then ultimately failing at suicide.) and with that in mind, I'm doing only myself a disservice by not continuing to look to personal improvement.
So really, I don't know. If I ever meet this demon, I guess I'll found out. Until then, I think I'll just pretend that I have, and face my past as though I've still got the next ten years to live. Because if I've learned anything from my life, it's that there are moments to be found in the future that make it worth living.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Tenth proof of my existence: On why Nietzsche is bullshit
Reading about "Master Morality" and "Slave Morality" makes me insane. Like, I can grasp the concepts in perspective, but it just seems so... asinine to define humanity in that way. I get that there are people out there that are total dicks and that don't care about anybody else, but to me, good and evil and good and bad are the same thing. I'm not sure if I'm just getting hung up on semantics or what.
Even the analogy that Nietzsche is using, I feel, does not really fit the observations, in my opinion. People are so much more complicated than sheep and hawks, and I feel that it does society, and ethics, a disservice to try to so neatly compact us into roles as "only predator" and "only prey" because that is so commonly not the case. The lamb has no choice in how to live, no choice in how to do much; the hawk has no choice in the same sense. But people? I mean, yeah, there's a caste system, but that doesn't mean we don't have the freedom to choose other things!
It's just really shaky grounds to me. I feel like this was something that Nietzsche was very strongly opinionated about, and I just can't see them as mutually exclusive ideas. I can't see it as "you're either the hawk OR the lamb" when our ability to choose necessitates that we can be either/or. I mean, I can accept it in Nietzsche's terms, through the lens of his definitions, but translating it to my beliefs, or seeing through my personal lens, it just seems so asinine and petty- and inaccurate. Which is funny, to me, because I tend to use petty differences as ground for philosophy; I love a good semantic argument.
I am seriously frustrated by this.
Even the analogy that Nietzsche is using, I feel, does not really fit the observations, in my opinion. People are so much more complicated than sheep and hawks, and I feel that it does society, and ethics, a disservice to try to so neatly compact us into roles as "only predator" and "only prey" because that is so commonly not the case. The lamb has no choice in how to live, no choice in how to do much; the hawk has no choice in the same sense. But people? I mean, yeah, there's a caste system, but that doesn't mean we don't have the freedom to choose other things!
It's just really shaky grounds to me. I feel like this was something that Nietzsche was very strongly opinionated about, and I just can't see them as mutually exclusive ideas. I can't see it as "you're either the hawk OR the lamb" when our ability to choose necessitates that we can be either/or. I mean, I can accept it in Nietzsche's terms, through the lens of his definitions, but translating it to my beliefs, or seeing through my personal lens, it just seems so asinine and petty- and inaccurate. Which is funny, to me, because I tend to use petty differences as ground for philosophy; I love a good semantic argument.
I am seriously frustrated by this.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Ninth proof of my existence: On Nietzsche, Truth, and the Übermensch
As I understand Nietzsche, truth is inherently untrue in so far as there is no possible realm with which we can view it objectively. That is to say, we are inherently forced into viewing things subjectively, in our personal perspective, and thusly cannot prove them without a shadow of a doubt.
I used an example in class, of having two separate spheres of thought- like a Venn diagram - containing on one side all true ideas, theories, beings, all facts; and the other containing all falsities. Now, the individual contemplating it would be outside of both, neither true nor false, and as such, could not deduce whether or not either one of them would be "objective", because the individual would only have his or her perspective on the matter. I couldn't think of any proper defenses to this in the class, so I'll posit one now- how would that individual determine which one is necessarily true or false, when it could be either or? I posit that he could not, but the more I think about it, the less sure I am of it. I still find it to be an interesting quandary, however.
Moving on to another example I made in class on the nature of truth, I was asked how to prove, given lack of objective truth, that 1 + 1 could equal something other than 2. This, I feel, I am more capable of answering.
Take for example, the mathematical fact that the repeating decimal, .99999999999... etc is equal to 1. So, as a society, we agree on this as a mathematical fact; there seems to be a certain truth about it and to it. But let's say that "1" is a pie, and we took away .0000000000000000...1 percent of it away, the tiniest possible crumb that could still be considered part of the pie. Now, I would argue that subjectively, the pie is no longer entirely whole, as we've taken the tiniest crumb away from that pie. Follow?
Now let's say we did that with 2 pies, two separate pies. So we've got .9999999999999 of one pie and .99999999999999 of the other pie; for all intents, when we look at them, we see two pies. But when we consider the tiniest little piece that we've taken away, is it not the case that they are in fact now incomplete, adding to 1.9999999999999..8 pies, in essence?
I guess my argument is that while there appears to be an objective reality, I do not believe that we can escape the subjective nature of our perspective. I also believe that Nietzsche would agree with me entirely, in so far as truth, like the pie example, will always have a limit, some perspective which calls into the argument a case in which "truth" is an accepted, inarguable paradox. And with that in mind, I do not believe that objective truth will or can ever be the case, personally.
With that in mind, I believe that Nietzsche's Übermensch, or Overman, is doing their most conscious choice to reach the limits of our knowledge, of our consciousness, of our very existence. I believe that since Nietzsche is arguing against the possibility of objective reality, it's our responsibility as thinking members of the herd to our absolute best to strive towards the limits of capability. I believe that Nietzsche wants humanity to evolve.
At the very least, my personal perspective has led me to that conclusion, and Nietzsche puts it into terms that I understand and agree with.
I used an example in class, of having two separate spheres of thought- like a Venn diagram - containing on one side all true ideas, theories, beings, all facts; and the other containing all falsities. Now, the individual contemplating it would be outside of both, neither true nor false, and as such, could not deduce whether or not either one of them would be "objective", because the individual would only have his or her perspective on the matter. I couldn't think of any proper defenses to this in the class, so I'll posit one now- how would that individual determine which one is necessarily true or false, when it could be either or? I posit that he could not, but the more I think about it, the less sure I am of it. I still find it to be an interesting quandary, however.
Moving on to another example I made in class on the nature of truth, I was asked how to prove, given lack of objective truth, that 1 + 1 could equal something other than 2. This, I feel, I am more capable of answering.
Take for example, the mathematical fact that the repeating decimal, .99999999999... etc is equal to 1. So, as a society, we agree on this as a mathematical fact; there seems to be a certain truth about it and to it. But let's say that "1" is a pie, and we took away .0000000000000000...1 percent of it away, the tiniest possible crumb that could still be considered part of the pie. Now, I would argue that subjectively, the pie is no longer entirely whole, as we've taken the tiniest crumb away from that pie. Follow?
Now let's say we did that with 2 pies, two separate pies. So we've got .9999999999999 of one pie and .99999999999999 of the other pie; for all intents, when we look at them, we see two pies. But when we consider the tiniest little piece that we've taken away, is it not the case that they are in fact now incomplete, adding to 1.9999999999999..8 pies, in essence?
I guess my argument is that while there appears to be an objective reality, I do not believe that we can escape the subjective nature of our perspective. I also believe that Nietzsche would agree with me entirely, in so far as truth, like the pie example, will always have a limit, some perspective which calls into the argument a case in which "truth" is an accepted, inarguable paradox. And with that in mind, I do not believe that objective truth will or can ever be the case, personally.
With that in mind, I believe that Nietzsche's Übermensch, or Overman, is doing their most conscious choice to reach the limits of our knowledge, of our consciousness, of our very existence. I believe that since Nietzsche is arguing against the possibility of objective reality, it's our responsibility as thinking members of the herd to our absolute best to strive towards the limits of capability. I believe that Nietzsche wants humanity to evolve.
At the very least, my personal perspective has led me to that conclusion, and Nietzsche puts it into terms that I understand and agree with.
Eighth proof of my existence: On Nietzsche, epistemological nihilism, and the Übermensch
Yesterday, I did my absolute best to take another step on the rope held between beast and übermensch. I descended upon the unwary prey, my interviewer, and let loose a torrential outpouring of understanding and desire for a job with Zia Records. I grasped at his need of musical depth, we spoke of many topics ranging from banjos to the UPT style of Borders pre-close. I aspired to inspire my inquisitor, to bring him to a final realization that I, in fact, was the best employee he would ever encounter. Unfortunately, there's a second mandatory interview, and I'm left to wonder whether or not I got that, if at all.
In my mind, the Übermensch, or Overman as we've talked about in class, is in essence an analogue to the Christian God. That is, he's a source of ideas and morals and goals, of games and rituals, he is that which humanity strives to become; however, unlike God, he's just another one of us. He's a man, or woman, that has fully understood their life, and through their enthusiasm for living, defined life by their terms. This is diametrically opposed to the more base life of the beast, a life of living moment to moment, defined by the herd instinct of the many, choosing to follow what the others say simply because it's the "right" (in the sense that he goes on to explain in "Between Good and Evil", which we'll get to in my next two posts) thing to do. The beast has no lucidity to them, they define consciousness as being aware of how to live, rather than WHY to live, and the Übermensch, well, the Übermensch decides WHY to live. This lucidity, this grasp of the game of life and the nature of consciousness as a herd mentality just clicks with me- to transcend into the Übermensch is to act less as the Shepard (which the Christian God would be considered), as it is to act as the explorer, so that other inquisitive and wondering minds can follow in their own time. The Übermensch is the one that takes classic morality, strips it of the fluff that Christianity imbues it with, and makes it essentially their own- all with the instructions laid for the following people simply through the lens of the life of Übermensch (to me, I think of my many heroes to be goals. Jimmy Page, Joni Mitchell, Benjamin Franklin, Henry David Thoreau, etc...), and I think that Nietzsche might agree with me that there's no way of knowing if it will be one person.
This leads me to epistemological nihilism- the argument that we cannot know anything for certain, as we are incapable of truly verifying the information we receive. As I follow it, I can understand the delineation of objective truth and subjective truth to be the presence of absolutes- this post, for example, is absolutely online. You're not holding it as a paper, say, and any other person can follow your steps to read it; subjectively, you may have enjoyed it, but they may not have. Follow?
To me, epistemological nihilism is the rejection of objective truth. It's the assumption that while we may see "something", and others may agree with us that "something" is there, we can never be absolutely certain. This gets into a lot of really dense ideas about what IS truth, and what can be assumed real and how can we possibly continue learning if we never really know, etc... but I think that I can glean an idea from it that falls in parallel without be as nihilistic and depressed; I think that there's an analogue between considering epistemological nihilism as possible and setting the Übermensch as a goal. For, if knowledge is impossible to truly grasp, but one does not give up in search of knowledge, then isn't one trying to find the limits of knowledge? Is not the individual aiming to become, in essence, the Übermensch? I believe this is the case. I believe that the Übermensch, in realization that God is dead, decides unequivocally to continue living, to continue growing, and to never give up in that growth.
So when the Madman tells the crowd of atheists that God is dead, I believe he is inciting them to grow in spite of this fact. He is telling them that there is no definition beyond our own personal lens with which we see the world, because WE as unique individuals, define our own lives. Is that really so mad?
I've always heard that Nietzsche read as depressed and despondent, finding no love of life and giving up. However, having read more of him now at this stage in my life, I think I must disagree. I think Nietzsche is arguing that anything is possible, since nothing is known, and we should all aim to become this Overman, this Übermensch, simply because we CAN. There's no definition of life, and there's no reason to define life, so why not do it anyways?
In my mind, the Übermensch, or Overman as we've talked about in class, is in essence an analogue to the Christian God. That is, he's a source of ideas and morals and goals, of games and rituals, he is that which humanity strives to become; however, unlike God, he's just another one of us. He's a man, or woman, that has fully understood their life, and through their enthusiasm for living, defined life by their terms. This is diametrically opposed to the more base life of the beast, a life of living moment to moment, defined by the herd instinct of the many, choosing to follow what the others say simply because it's the "right" (in the sense that he goes on to explain in "Between Good and Evil", which we'll get to in my next two posts) thing to do. The beast has no lucidity to them, they define consciousness as being aware of how to live, rather than WHY to live, and the Übermensch, well, the Übermensch decides WHY to live. This lucidity, this grasp of the game of life and the nature of consciousness as a herd mentality just clicks with me- to transcend into the Übermensch is to act less as the Shepard (which the Christian God would be considered), as it is to act as the explorer, so that other inquisitive and wondering minds can follow in their own time. The Übermensch is the one that takes classic morality, strips it of the fluff that Christianity imbues it with, and makes it essentially their own- all with the instructions laid for the following people simply through the lens of the life of Übermensch (to me, I think of my many heroes to be goals. Jimmy Page, Joni Mitchell, Benjamin Franklin, Henry David Thoreau, etc...), and I think that Nietzsche might agree with me that there's no way of knowing if it will be one person.
This leads me to epistemological nihilism- the argument that we cannot know anything for certain, as we are incapable of truly verifying the information we receive. As I follow it, I can understand the delineation of objective truth and subjective truth to be the presence of absolutes- this post, for example, is absolutely online. You're not holding it as a paper, say, and any other person can follow your steps to read it; subjectively, you may have enjoyed it, but they may not have. Follow?
To me, epistemological nihilism is the rejection of objective truth. It's the assumption that while we may see "something", and others may agree with us that "something" is there, we can never be absolutely certain. This gets into a lot of really dense ideas about what IS truth, and what can be assumed real and how can we possibly continue learning if we never really know, etc... but I think that I can glean an idea from it that falls in parallel without be as nihilistic and depressed; I think that there's an analogue between considering epistemological nihilism as possible and setting the Übermensch as a goal. For, if knowledge is impossible to truly grasp, but one does not give up in search of knowledge, then isn't one trying to find the limits of knowledge? Is not the individual aiming to become, in essence, the Übermensch? I believe this is the case. I believe that the Übermensch, in realization that God is dead, decides unequivocally to continue living, to continue growing, and to never give up in that growth.
So when the Madman tells the crowd of atheists that God is dead, I believe he is inciting them to grow in spite of this fact. He is telling them that there is no definition beyond our own personal lens with which we see the world, because WE as unique individuals, define our own lives. Is that really so mad?
I've always heard that Nietzsche read as depressed and despondent, finding no love of life and giving up. However, having read more of him now at this stage in my life, I think I must disagree. I think Nietzsche is arguing that anything is possible, since nothing is known, and we should all aim to become this Overman, this Übermensch, simply because we CAN. There's no definition of life, and there's no reason to define life, so why not do it anyways?
Monday, July 22, 2013
Seventh proof of my existence: On Kierkegaard and Clemence
We talked about Kierkegaard and Clemence, today. More accurately, we held a discussion between the two of them; as how they would hold the other in terms of Kierkegaard's three modes of living- the aesthetic, the ethical, and the religious.
Avoiding just summing things up, I'd have to say that I'm still entirely unsure about all of the details for the discussion. For a while, I figured that Clemence would be an aesthetic, and that he was entirely selfish with no thoughts as to his community. But it was brought up that he is living a principled life, and while he is arrogant and selfish, he's still doing some things to help improve the community, even if it's by judging himself publicly. And then, I began to wonder- what if Clemence was actually in the religious sphere? I mean, he is proselytizing self judgement, and was declared the pope- but then in class the delineation between sin vs guilt was made, and while I don't entirely agree, I'm inclined to follow the logic that it is actually a relevant difference; especially when considering that for Kierkegaard, God isn't an amorphous being, it's particularly the Christian Yahweh. So my theory of an entirely hedonistic, self reverent Clemence doesn't seem to work in that scenario.
I honestly am completely lost on this subject. I feel like I'm going around in mental circles, and I can't figure out a place to set my roots, so to say.
Totally different topic, I figure since this is my blog, I may as well share. After class, on a whim from a short momentary memory, I recalled that Zia's was hiring. So I went in there and applied, and they called me back a little while after I got home with a time for an interview. So... I'm pretty stoked, 'cause my existential pain has been increasingly about fiscal responsibilities, and a job at a record store would be a dream come true. So I guess, in essence, I've followed my passion and found myself in a much better and happier position. It's crazy to me to think that something as benign as a random decision to wander off just a little bit more north of my usual haunts led to something as awesome as an interview at Zia's, but I'll take what I get. Happily.
I've also been reading the Nietzsche, and a lot of it is resonating with me quite strongly; particularly the idea that consciousness is inherently the herd instinct, and that self reflection is an essentially useless struggle against something entirely absurd. I've never thought about it that way, I guess, but it really strikes me as a possible truth. Also, I'm rather fond of whoever translated this, because it's very fluid to read his writings, so far. I'm enjoying it quite a bit more than I thought I would.
Avoiding just summing things up, I'd have to say that I'm still entirely unsure about all of the details for the discussion. For a while, I figured that Clemence would be an aesthetic, and that he was entirely selfish with no thoughts as to his community. But it was brought up that he is living a principled life, and while he is arrogant and selfish, he's still doing some things to help improve the community, even if it's by judging himself publicly. And then, I began to wonder- what if Clemence was actually in the religious sphere? I mean, he is proselytizing self judgement, and was declared the pope- but then in class the delineation between sin vs guilt was made, and while I don't entirely agree, I'm inclined to follow the logic that it is actually a relevant difference; especially when considering that for Kierkegaard, God isn't an amorphous being, it's particularly the Christian Yahweh. So my theory of an entirely hedonistic, self reverent Clemence doesn't seem to work in that scenario.
I honestly am completely lost on this subject. I feel like I'm going around in mental circles, and I can't figure out a place to set my roots, so to say.
Totally different topic, I figure since this is my blog, I may as well share. After class, on a whim from a short momentary memory, I recalled that Zia's was hiring. So I went in there and applied, and they called me back a little while after I got home with a time for an interview. So... I'm pretty stoked, 'cause my existential pain has been increasingly about fiscal responsibilities, and a job at a record store would be a dream come true. So I guess, in essence, I've followed my passion and found myself in a much better and happier position. It's crazy to me to think that something as benign as a random decision to wander off just a little bit more north of my usual haunts led to something as awesome as an interview at Zia's, but I'll take what I get. Happily.
I've also been reading the Nietzsche, and a lot of it is resonating with me quite strongly; particularly the idea that consciousness is inherently the herd instinct, and that self reflection is an essentially useless struggle against something entirely absurd. I've never thought about it that way, I guess, but it really strikes me as a possible truth. Also, I'm rather fond of whoever translated this, because it's very fluid to read his writings, so far. I'm enjoying it quite a bit more than I thought I would.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Sixth proof of my existence: on Kierkegaard and the nature of Choice and Anxiety
I guess, in essence, this subject leaves me confused. I mean, what really makes us people? Do we get to make choices, or do we have the illusion of choice? Does lucidity in choosing mean that we are capable of actually living life passionately, or is that something else entirely?
I wish I had answers to this. My life lately has changed drastically, and I'm not quite sure where the pieces are going to fall now that they're in the air. Equally important, I think, is the fact that I'm not sure which I'm more anxious about- the reality of my situation, or the multitude of possibilities stemming from this reality. I honestly do not know what is going on or what is going to happen, but what I do know is that it's happening. Were I to be the sailor on this ship, I'm not so certain that I even HAVE a sail, let alone a rudder, but I do know that the current is pulling me along and that I'm entirely lucid of that fact. Does this mean that I'm living in the right way? Am I still the master of my fate, even if I'm not sure what my choices are, since I'm subconsciously deciding what to do?
I don't know. I'm curious as to what Kierkegaard would say about my situation. I feel like he'd have good insight, whether or not we're religiously compatible, and I'd love to hear him talk about it. I'm just so lost right now, and to hold onto the metaphor, it would be really, really nice to have an anchor to just hold the current so that I could weigh out my options and see what all my decisions are. Rather than that being the case, I need to choose and I need to choose quickly, or else I'll be swept up by the current. Does that mean that I'm actively letting my circumstances decide my life, though?
I hope not. Regardless, I'm anxious, and I don't even have the luxury of know what of.
I wish I had answers to this. My life lately has changed drastically, and I'm not quite sure where the pieces are going to fall now that they're in the air. Equally important, I think, is the fact that I'm not sure which I'm more anxious about- the reality of my situation, or the multitude of possibilities stemming from this reality. I honestly do not know what is going on or what is going to happen, but what I do know is that it's happening. Were I to be the sailor on this ship, I'm not so certain that I even HAVE a sail, let alone a rudder, but I do know that the current is pulling me along and that I'm entirely lucid of that fact. Does this mean that I'm living in the right way? Am I still the master of my fate, even if I'm not sure what my choices are, since I'm subconsciously deciding what to do?
I don't know. I'm curious as to what Kierkegaard would say about my situation. I feel like he'd have good insight, whether or not we're religiously compatible, and I'd love to hear him talk about it. I'm just so lost right now, and to hold onto the metaphor, it would be really, really nice to have an anchor to just hold the current so that I could weigh out my options and see what all my decisions are. Rather than that being the case, I need to choose and I need to choose quickly, or else I'll be swept up by the current. Does that mean that I'm actively letting my circumstances decide my life, though?
I hope not. Regardless, I'm anxious, and I don't even have the luxury of know what of.
Fifth Proof of my existence: On Clemence, Judgement, and the nature of Guilt
Post? What post? Do you think Clemence would post? I think you're avoiding your own judgement by judging me for not having a 300 word post. That's rude, isn't it?
Monday, July 15, 2013
Fourth Proof of my Existence: Self reflection on Clemence
I suppose, in a very real, though simultaneously surreal, way, I find myself mirrored in Jean-Baptiste Clamence, from Albert Camus' "The Fall". There have been many points in my life where I have felt like everything was handed to me, from very simple things like finding money on the ground, to the slightly more complicated cases that Clamence describes with the nature of his charm; sometimes, in fact, it feels like I'm watching somebody else's life. It's not really a good or bad thing, necessarily, but I think it's a side effect of my reading the story, especially with it being written in the second person perspective.
We talked in class about him Clamence being arrogant, being a braggart and prideful man; however, I insist this is not the case. I believe that Clamence is, rather than sharing a story with the intention of elucidating his listener, merely recollecting what happened to him. I think the character is being simply honest, and I do not agree that it's a form of boasting. Were it the case that he was being boastful, would he not skip or at the least streamline the negative sides of the story? Why would he brag about his mistakes and shortcomings in the first place? I guess I just don't understand how he can be seen that way, I suppose.
Also, one thing that struck me about the novel is that I find Clamence to be strikingly similar to the protagonist of Chuck Palahniuk's "Fight Club", in so far as he begins the story with everything he wants- his self reflection is a matter of finding definition, of deciding to continue living- and then there's a moment of clarity (be it Clamence hearing the laughter or the meeting of Tyler Durden) and following that it becomes a game of self destruction. So following my disagreement with Clamence's exposition being a matter boasting, I have to ask; what if Clamence is not recollecting his past to us, the readers, but rather he is recanting to himself? Could that, perhaps, be why there is such honesty and clarity, not to mention the lyrical and stream of consciousness form of the novel? I must say, I'm curious, and I might go so far as to declare that I believe that Camus wrote this novel as a character study on his own ideal self. Obviously I'm not certain, but I think it would be fitting, especially as a foil to his stark and simple Mersault from "The Stranger". Anyways, I'm just curious.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Third proof of my existence: Musings on the absurd; is Sisyphus like us?
Discussing Albert Camus' "The Myth of Sisyphus", one encounters many ways of appreciating, or observing, the absurd. The question, in my mind, is whether or not our lives are comparable to the life of Sisyphus. To me, there's no doubt that Sisyphus is living an absurd life- he's condemned, or allowed, to push a rock up a hill for all eternity, as an immortal punishment for rebelling against the gods; the absurd notion that from that point on, his is an experience limited to a bland, repetitive, and all together meaningless (from my perspective) task. So then the question is whether or not we, as individuals with choices, are similar to Sisyphus; is our collective individual experience absurd?
In class, my table was discussing moments of absurdity, as a momentary and transient occurrence; but through the full discussion while we were in a circle, I began to ponder things a slightly different way. What if it's not a moment of absurdity that we experience, but rather it's this- our existence as a whole is absurd, and our non-experiential moments are the transient ones. That is, when we have those "moments" of cognizant absurdity, we're possibly dipping into our greater individual reality?
So metaphorically, we are starkly similar to Sisyphus, in so far as my classmate Heston put it, and I paraphrase with abandon, "We're born, we do some things, and we die"- that the whole experience from an outsider's perspective would seem entirely pointless without the momentary and individual sense of ascribed meaning. To put it in another light, it could be the case that there is no greater meaning to our lives, that all of the meaning we find in life is found in those moments of triumph, metaphorically when our goals are reached much like when Sisyphus finishes pushing the rock up the hill.
I'm really uncertain about all of this, and I'm looking forward to continuing the discussion tomorrow; to anybody reading, I've got one question to you- do you think that Sisyphus, if given the opportunity, would commit suicide, or would he continue to roll the rock up the hill? Perhaps not suicide in the literal sense, but maybe in a momentary one- what if Sisyphus had a chance to take a day long break, or something similar? Would that integrally alter the meaning of his experience, if either in the literal or momentary sense?
In class, my table was discussing moments of absurdity, as a momentary and transient occurrence; but through the full discussion while we were in a circle, I began to ponder things a slightly different way. What if it's not a moment of absurdity that we experience, but rather it's this- our existence as a whole is absurd, and our non-experiential moments are the transient ones. That is, when we have those "moments" of cognizant absurdity, we're possibly dipping into our greater individual reality?
So metaphorically, we are starkly similar to Sisyphus, in so far as my classmate Heston put it, and I paraphrase with abandon, "We're born, we do some things, and we die"- that the whole experience from an outsider's perspective would seem entirely pointless without the momentary and individual sense of ascribed meaning. To put it in another light, it could be the case that there is no greater meaning to our lives, that all of the meaning we find in life is found in those moments of triumph, metaphorically when our goals are reached much like when Sisyphus finishes pushing the rock up the hill.
I'm really uncertain about all of this, and I'm looking forward to continuing the discussion tomorrow; to anybody reading, I've got one question to you- do you think that Sisyphus, if given the opportunity, would commit suicide, or would he continue to roll the rock up the hill? Perhaps not suicide in the literal sense, but maybe in a momentary one- what if Sisyphus had a chance to take a day long break, or something similar? Would that integrally alter the meaning of his experience, if either in the literal or momentary sense?
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Second proof of my existence: the case against Meursalt's rationality.
So, today in class we discussed the first part of "The Stranger", by Albert Camus; we spoke of rationality and emotion, choices and individuality, and in large part, whether or not rationality was part of or separate from emotion.
For most of the day, I was on the fence. I felt that rationality, in most circumstances, was completely separate from emotion. However! With new input from my own family's drama, I'm no longer so convinced; as I'm currently extremely rational and extremely emotional, I find the two states of mind to not, in fact, be mutually exclusive. As it turns out, for me at the very least, it's entirely possible to be both entirely rational and simultaneously emotional; were this not the case, I'm almost certain that I would be committing a crime against my sibling for his actions.
Tying this again with Camus' "The Stranger", I, in my earlier iteration, would have found myself going in an entirely different direction; I would have argued that Meursault was an entirely- absurdly, even- rational being, that he grounded himself in nothing but the moment and never once looked forward. However, given my new personal view of the world, I think it could possibly be the opposite. Perhaps Meursault is entirely irrational; perhaps being lost in the moment, entirely at the mercy of his environment (rather than his emotions or his rationality), is his condition. That is, perhaps he's not as astute as I once figured; perhaps the reason that he shot the Arab was only because he felt like it. Not because it would support his bond with Raymond, rather, perhaps he only shot the Arab because it suited him at the moment- it was an instantaneous choice, with absolutely no rational reasoning behind it. Perhaps if he had taken another a breath, he would have held his finger on the trigger and warned the Arab that if he continued, he would shoot. Maybe he would have had another scuffle with the man, maybe he would have shot him without mortally wounding him; regardless, I now feel that he had no part in rationally choosing to shoot the man. Had I committed my previously mentioned crime against my sibling, I might be able to say that there was a rationale; that I consciously made a choice to let my emotions control me.
However, in my livid state, there was no loss of control. I did not commit a crime, and I stayed my emotions, rationally. As such, I no longer feel that the two states of being are opposite sides of a coin; rationality and emotions are not mutually exclusive in my mind, and with this new information, I think that Meursault is not a rational man- I think that he's ruled by the moment, as diametrically opposed to ruling the moment. He is a product of his surroundings, rather than being the multiplier. If this is the case, then I think that the argument against his being a rational being can be made.
For most of the day, I was on the fence. I felt that rationality, in most circumstances, was completely separate from emotion. However! With new input from my own family's drama, I'm no longer so convinced; as I'm currently extremely rational and extremely emotional, I find the two states of mind to not, in fact, be mutually exclusive. As it turns out, for me at the very least, it's entirely possible to be both entirely rational and simultaneously emotional; were this not the case, I'm almost certain that I would be committing a crime against my sibling for his actions.
Tying this again with Camus' "The Stranger", I, in my earlier iteration, would have found myself going in an entirely different direction; I would have argued that Meursault was an entirely- absurdly, even- rational being, that he grounded himself in nothing but the moment and never once looked forward. However, given my new personal view of the world, I think it could possibly be the opposite. Perhaps Meursault is entirely irrational; perhaps being lost in the moment, entirely at the mercy of his environment (rather than his emotions or his rationality), is his condition. That is, perhaps he's not as astute as I once figured; perhaps the reason that he shot the Arab was only because he felt like it. Not because it would support his bond with Raymond, rather, perhaps he only shot the Arab because it suited him at the moment- it was an instantaneous choice, with absolutely no rational reasoning behind it. Perhaps if he had taken another a breath, he would have held his finger on the trigger and warned the Arab that if he continued, he would shoot. Maybe he would have had another scuffle with the man, maybe he would have shot him without mortally wounding him; regardless, I now feel that he had no part in rationally choosing to shoot the man. Had I committed my previously mentioned crime against my sibling, I might be able to say that there was a rationale; that I consciously made a choice to let my emotions control me.
However, in my livid state, there was no loss of control. I did not commit a crime, and I stayed my emotions, rationally. As such, I no longer feel that the two states of being are opposite sides of a coin; rationality and emotions are not mutually exclusive in my mind, and with this new information, I think that Meursault is not a rational man- I think that he's ruled by the moment, as diametrically opposed to ruling the moment. He is a product of his surroundings, rather than being the multiplier. If this is the case, then I think that the argument against his being a rational being can be made.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
First proof of my existence
Here I am, laying on my bed. I'm typing up my first blog post for PHI 304, my existentialism class that I've only just started the day before. I wasn't sure what I was going to end up writing for it, and frankly, I'm still a little hazy, but I think it's important (due to both the realization that it's for a grade and that given the course material, self reflection is an invaluable tool to understanding) that I show in writing what my thoughts on the course are, and with that, I'll begin.
I've been interested in existential philosophy for a few years now. My aunt Heather showed me the movie "Waking Life", by Richard Linklater, which is an exploration in lucid dreaming, death, and existentialism; after watching it, I realized that this brand of philosophical thought was relatively close to my own, extremely personal ideology. I'd spent years trying to figure out how best to live my life (which, of course, I'm still working on), and to accept this as a one try, one run situation meant to me that I needed to immediately accept responsibility for my own enjoyment of life- that is, if I were to accept the absurdity of my own sentient mind, it would then follow (in my mind, at least, if not formally, yet) that I should aim to enjoy as much of my sentience as possible.
Now, as to how this reflects on the first class period in PHI 304, I'm not entirely certain. What I do know is that we spoke to each other, and I've got a sinking suspicion that by the end of the class, I'm going to have met some of the most interesting people to be found around the ASU Tempe campus. Hopefully, I can prove to myself, if not others, that I'm also one of these people; I've had a colourful life, and perhaps sharing stories about it will help to alleviate some of my depression in regards to lack of meaningful social interactions.
I've been interested in existential philosophy for a few years now. My aunt Heather showed me the movie "Waking Life", by Richard Linklater, which is an exploration in lucid dreaming, death, and existentialism; after watching it, I realized that this brand of philosophical thought was relatively close to my own, extremely personal ideology. I'd spent years trying to figure out how best to live my life (which, of course, I'm still working on), and to accept this as a one try, one run situation meant to me that I needed to immediately accept responsibility for my own enjoyment of life- that is, if I were to accept the absurdity of my own sentient mind, it would then follow (in my mind, at least, if not formally, yet) that I should aim to enjoy as much of my sentience as possible.
Now, as to how this reflects on the first class period in PHI 304, I'm not entirely certain. What I do know is that we spoke to each other, and I've got a sinking suspicion that by the end of the class, I'm going to have met some of the most interesting people to be found around the ASU Tempe campus. Hopefully, I can prove to myself, if not others, that I'm also one of these people; I've had a colourful life, and perhaps sharing stories about it will help to alleviate some of my depression in regards to lack of meaningful social interactions.
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