Archive for the ‘Book Stuffs’ Category

The Gateway (the other two chapters are now II & III)

Tuesday, March 15th, 2011

I. A Paw In My Face

The Prince lay half-asleep on the beach, a thin layer of sand caked on his right cheek and eyelid. The wintry wind blew cold on his ankles and neck. His gently resting toes were wet from the tide’s rhythmic kisses, which gently pulled a forgettable portion of beach into themselves with each recession. Instinctively, eventually, he dug his feet into the sand to avoid the double chill of wind against wet skin.

A snowshoe cat strolled along the edge of the grass, millimeters away from the beach’s end, but the Prince could not notice. He was overcome with fatigue. The sort of sleepiness that could make a sane, completely sober and awake man lose all sense of identity, memory, and ambition. But for the Prince, the feeling threatened a peaceful death, unconscious and potentially eternal. Only the wind and the undulations of the tide kept him feeling present in this world. Meanwhile, in the recesses of his mind, dark orange orbs with fuzzy black outlines faded into infinitesimal irises, so visually negligible that for lack of focus he could only see darkness. The world turned as he lay still, his will indifferent – non-existant rather – like the clouds floating in the sky above him.

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On Plato’s “Crito”

Monday, June 28th, 2010

How does the power of objective reason infiltrate the budding child’s subjectively egocentric mentality? In the history of mankind, there has hardly been documented an entire behavioral set, or whole personae, as principled as Socrates’, and yet even Socrates, who claims in Crito that he is “and always [has] been one of those natures who must be guided by reason,” on occasion drops hints to his more childish, egocentric nature. There is a subjectivity to Socrates’ reasoning that he shields with language. Consider this exchange from Crito:

S: Ought a man to do what he admits to be right, or ought he to betray the right?

C: He ought to do what he thinks is right.”

Socrates’ language suggests that rightness is very clear objectively, yet Crito’s response twists the meaning of rightness in just such a subtle way as to make it a little more imperfect – that is, rightness is what we believe it to be. Socrates, in embracing Crito’s answer, endorses this level of subjectivity within rightness; however, he seems also to believe that subjective believing is aligned more towards rightness when reason is used as the means to rightness as opposed to any other means (for instance, social acceptance).

Even Socrates’ way of presenting his reason allows for a deeply personal (dare I say even – aesthetic, artistic) manifestation of thought. Yet it’s no person’s reason who he empathizes with, but the entire Athenian state’s. His entire argument which he presents to Crito is from the supposed, personified point of view of the Athenian government or as he puts it, “the law”, which answers and argues and concedes using Socrates’ own tongue. Though the laws of the state are as objective as they are written down, there is truly an element of empathy in Socrates’ understanding of them – by realizing a point of view outside his own, he superficially abandons the simple confines of the child’s self-loving-interpreted-into-self-preserving ego. Of course, the reasonable man is also a grown child with emotions and desires and needs; however, the truly reasonable man (which Socrates undoubtedly, inspiringly is) is sad only when his actions betray virtue; desires only to be engaged with reason; and needs only to live according to his principles. Those principles he accepts as being in some ways contingent, but he respects the means (a la reason) in which they are derived from their contingencies. Insofar as reason is a subjective faculty of the mind, Socrates admits that the arguments of the Laws, which he has been channeling as his own arguments, comes to him as a voice. He says, “This, dear Crito, is the voice which I seem to hear murmuring in my ears, like the sound of the flute in the ears of the mystic; that voice, I say, is humming in my ears, and prevents me from hearing any other.” In this light, reason is not simply a mathematical abstraction of life, but an aesthetic obsession, an artistic arrest by the least likely, yet perhaps most effective, of artists – Reason!

The will to live: on Hermann Hesse’s Steppenwolf & Donna Tartt’s The Secret History

Monday, June 21st, 2010

Prologue: If you want a paper then it’s a paper you’ll get, and it might not be great and it definitely won’t be right, but here it is in all its life-presupposing glory, because that’s all anything is when you see it – something that presupposes a phenomenon. In everything I do, in everything you do, there is life lurking underneath it all, and for us who have seen the glory of life and the boundless heights and chasms of the ego, that life which we know is hiding beneath the bourgeois surface is the only thing for which we live. And for it, eventually, we live out of respect, as Kant would say, respect for the sublime awesome which we know to be there even if we don’t feel it anymore.

Here we begin: If art is the universe rendered into ordered beauty, and the universe is actually indifferent – neither ordered nor chaotic, but a truly contradictory and impossible combination – then what do we make of life? How do we choose to live? I have been gravitating towards the diegetic life, crafting and adapting my mind to perceive the indifferent universe (that is to mean, my whole perceptual space) in artistic fashion, because I am addicted to art, to beauty, to love and movies, but as Nietzsche suggests in Beyond Good & Evil, oughtn’t we appreciate chaos as much as beauty, untruth as much as truth? Or rather, isn’t beauty the appreciation for simply what is – both chaos and beauty? Ah, if only chaos weren’t so damn unpleasant, but after all, “Beauty is Harsh” (Tartt, 510).

[book-spoilers abound herein]

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