Voices of Human Reality
Introduction
Voices 1: Voices of the 'Other'
Voices 2: Voices of authenticity
Voices 3: Voices of freedom
Voices 4: Voices of meaningful experiences
Voices 5: Voices of the right and the wrong
Voices 6: Voices of transcending
Introduction to the series Voices of Human Reality
What is the other person for me? What does it mean to be authentic? What is true freedom? What is a meaningful moment? In everyday language we use these concepts quite often, but it is precisely because of this that we neglect to think about them, and usually find it hard to fully understanding their meaning. Presumably, freedom is freedom, the other person is the other person, what more is there to say?
But there is much to say. Throughout the long history of philosophy, many thinkers have written about these concepts and have suggested deep analyses of their meaning. Their approaches are different from each other, and so they form a broad spectrum of perspectives. Each approach sheds light on a different aspect of our lives, and together they create a rich symphony of the diverse facets of human reality. We could say that each of those theories expresses a specific meaning, a single ‘voice’ in the human symphony, a voice that touches us and speaks through us in our everyday life.
For philosophical practice, and philosophical counseling in particular, these ‘voices’ are of great importance, because they can help us examine ourselves, and can shed light on the meanings that speak in our lives. It is difficult for an individual to formulate, out of nothing, the meaning he finds in the concept of freedom, of authenticity, etc. It is easier to use approaches developed by other thinkers as raw materials and sources of inspiration for developing self-understanding.
In this series we will examine a number of everyday concepts – the concept of the other person, authenticity, freedom, meaning, the good and the bad, transcending – as well as several approaches to these concepts – or ‘voices’ – which have been developed by prominent philosophers. We will also explore how philosophical practice can use these ‘voices’ for self-examination.
Voices 1: VOICES OF THE ‘OTHER’
Philosophical practice helps us examine ourselves and our way of life. When we do this, we realize that in everyday life we constantly encounter basic life-issues: Who am I? What is the other person for me? What is important in life? What does it mean to be free? and so on. The goal of philosophical self-examination is to help us understand how we relate to ourselves and our world, in other words the way we respond to the basic issues of life. This is illustrated in the following example.
***
Donna is not a philosopher, but she has her own way of understanding life. Specifically, she has her own way of understanding the meaning of the ‘Other’. This ‘worldview’ shapes her behavior, expectations, hopes and emotions. In many ways it is the ‘cave’ in which she is imprisoned.
"Yes, I am lonely," Donna says. "I like being by myself, otherwise I would lose touch with myself. But I would also like to have a good friend, someone I could really trust. I am already 35 years old, and I know myself very well: I am still hoping to find somebody I could share my feelings with. But I’ve experienced too many disappointments."
Donna has a childhood memory of her grandfather, from a time she was about four years old. She remembers it very clearly: Her grandfather suddenly yelling at her. How strange that Donna should remember this particular moment. Her grandfather had always been so sweet to her, never raising his voice. That was the only time he got angry.
Donna once had a boyfriend, some six years ago. He was a shy and quiet man, and they got along very well. But then he was killed in a car accident. It was a very hard time for her. She felt that he had abandoned her. In fact, she felt angry at him for leaving her. Rationally she knew that this anger made no sense, but nevertheless she felt it quite strongly.
Fortunately, a few weeks later she met another lonely woman, Peggy, and the two became friends. But then Peggy found a boyfriend. "She would disappear for four-five days,” Donna says bitterly, "so I understood that she didn’t really care about me. She had been with me just to exploit me and my emotions."
Eventually Donna opened a training school for dogs. "Animals are easier to get along with," she says. "They never surprise you. If you are friendly with them, they are faithful to you. People, on the other hand, are too complicated."
Indeed, when she sees somebody mistreating or mishandling a dog, she can barely control herself. Not long ago she saw a young woman dragging her dog behind her like a suitcase. Donna exploded. Luckily, a neighbor stopped her from attacking the woman.
"This woman is a monster," she said to the neighbor.
The neighbor tried to calm her down. "She simply doesn’t know how to handle dogs," he suggested.
"If she isn’t a monster," Donna replied, "then she is mentally disturbed."
***
Donna has never put in writing her ‘theory’ about the meaning of the Other, although her life expresses it almost every day. One way to start exploring her ‘theory’ is to look at philosophers who wrote about their conceptions of the Other.
JEAN-PAUL SARTRE – THE OBJECTIFYING LOOK
Sartre describes the appearance of the Other in his book _Being and Nothingness_:
"I am in a public park. Not far away there is a lawn and along the edge of that lawn there are benches."
And suddenly a man appears. "What do I mean when I assert that this object is A MAN?" What is the difference between seeing a bench and seeing a person?
As opposed to a bench, the man over there can see, hear, touch. He has a perspective. The world is seen from his eyes. The world is organized around him. Indeed, the same objects which I see – the tree, the bench, the lawn – are no longer organized only around me. They are no longer MY world. They are HIS world too.
This means that once the other man appears, the coordinates of my world disintegrate. The other man steals the world from me, so to speak. My world flees towards him.
Furthermore, imagine that the man now looks at me. I am seen by him. I am an object of his look. If I was doing a vulgar gesture, I now try to cover it up. If I was talking to myself, I now quickly close my mouth so that he wouldn’t catch me in the act. Because I am the object of his look.
The Other raises a new threat: that I would become an object in his world; that I would no longer be a free subject who constitutes a world, but an object in somebody else's world. And of course, he is similarly threatened by my look.
Donna can borrow from Sartre an interesting insight: that the appearance of the Other means the appearance of a different perspective, and therefore that it means a conflict.
But she has no reason to accept the rest of Sartre's theory. First, many aspects of his theory are different from hers. Unlike him, she is not afraid that others would objectify her, or would rob her of her world. The idea of the objectifying look is not part of the 'map' of her world. And unlike him, she seems to believe that a real togetherness is possible.
Second, adopting Sartre's theory would mean forcing upon herself another limited perspective. It would mean changing her cave for another cave, another theory, another prison. But she has no need in another cave. She wants to use philosophical insight to free herself, not to limit herself.
ORTEGA Y GASSETT – THE HIDDEN INWARDNESS
In his _Man and People_, Ortega describes the other person as a surprise. I suddenly discover that I am not the only inhabitant of the world. Somebody co-exists with me in 'my' world, and now I cannot relax as I did before.
My reaction to the other is: "Who goes there?!"
Previously, my world was cozy and familiar. It was mine. But now the Other has entered my world, and his appearance signifies something disturbing: Behind his eyes there hides his inner world. His inwardness is hidden from my view.
I cannot see his inwardness - his feelings and thoughts and intentions. But through his body I can see that his inwardness relates to me, that it responds to my presence, just as I can respond to his. In this sense, the other is dangerous, because I can never fully predict and control his reactions.
But the Other is not only a problem for me. Because through his appearance I discover my boundaries, my limitations, and thus my capacities and incapacities, my tastes, my opinions. Through the other I discover myself.
Donna can use Ortega's notion of the Other as a dangerous surprise in order to understand her own worldview. In her worldview, too, the Other is a potential danger.
The rest of Ortega's conception is different from hers, but nevertheless the contrast may shed light upon her conception. For her, the Other is dangerous because he is a dark and irrational force, not because he is a hidden inwardness. Furthermore, the place where she encounters herself is her solitary alone-ness, while for Ortega I discover myself in my encounters with others.
EMANUEL LEVINAS – THE OTHER’S FACE
For Levinas, Western philosophy has failed to respect the other person as an Other, as fundamentally different from me, as a reality that is beyond my knowledge. Philosophers have always tried to translate the Other into what Levinas calls 'the Same': into my own concepts. They have always understood the Other as just another 'I'. This is an imperialist attitude, which tries to invade the Different and make it comprehensible.
To truly encounter the Other is to encounter him as radically different. The Other is always beyond my horizons. This means that his appearance shatters my egocentric world. When the Other enters my world I am no longer free to do whatever I feel like. I now have new responsibilities: I must acknowledge other people. The face of the Other expresses the ethical command: "Do not kill me!", don’t obliterate me.
Donna could borrow from Levinas the concept of the Other as a totally Other. But the rest of his world is not her world. The Other for her is not an ethical command, but on the contrary, a threatening force. Thus, through Levinas she might discover an interesting asymmetry in her worldview: For her, the Other signifies obligations towards me, but I have no obligations towards him. The reason for this is clear: Because the 'self' is the location of self-knowledge, rationality, sanity. In contrast, the other person, as an Other, always contains a potential of irrationality and evil.
MARTIN BUBER – I AND THOU
For Buber, I am defined in terms of my relationships. I am not a self-sufficient entity that is independent from others. My relationships are part of who I am.
Buber distinguishes between two kinds of relationship to another person (or more generally, to everyone or everything in our world): I-It and I-Thou. The first type of relationship takes place when I relate to a person as an object – an object of perception, an object of knowledge, an object of manipulation, etc. I look at him, I examine him, I attempt to understand him, I use him. I may do so with good intentions, for example when I try to figure out how to help him. Still, there is a distance between us: I am here, he is there. Our worlds are separated, and I examine him from a distance.
But there is another way to relate to a person: I-thou (I-you). In this kind of relationship, I am WITH the other person. I do not look AT you from across a distance that separates us. I do not try to know you, to exploit you, to help you. I simply am present with you.
In this kind of relationship I am FULLY present. Unlike the I-it relationship, in which I engage only part of myself (my thoughts, for example), the I-thou relationship involves my entire being.
Since my relationships define who I am, I am different when I am I-thou and when I am I-it. I-it relations are often useful for practical purposes. But I-thou is my authentic way of being. It expresses my full being. And although it may last only a few minutes, it gives life to me and to my relationships.
As an example we might think of a husband and wife who always behave towards each other 'appropriately', according to the 'rules'. If the couple does not experience I-thou from time to time, then the relationship is dead.
The I-thou relation is perhaps what Donna desires. On the other hand, unlike Buber she does not define herself in terms of relationships. Also, she is not bothered by distance – indeed, she needs some distance in order to 'be in touch with herself'. Buber's concepts and distinctions are not the ‘language’ of her world.
Nevertheless, through his ideas she might discover that there is a contradiction in her world: On the one hand she dreams of I-thou relations, but on the other hand the Other in her world is essentially distant, hidden, dangerous. I-thou relations are highly valued, but they cannot exist in such a world.
***
None of these theories captures Donna's conception of the Other. This is not surprising. Every theory expresses a particular understanding of a particular thinker. A theory is a single 'voice' in the polyphonic choir of human reality. We cannot expect a living human being to fit into some universal schema.
Indeed, what is special about good philosophers is not that their particular understanding is more true or more universal, but that they are capable of putting their understanding into words. They can speak their 'voice' (or understanding) with great sensitivity, with illuminating observations and distinctions, with deep analyses. And yet, their philosophy expresses no more than one understanding: their own understanding, not Donna's.
Nevertheless, these theories are not without value for her. They can help her become aware of the rich network of understandings in which her life is embedded. After all, her particular experiences are not isolated from the complex network of human experience. Her personal 'voice' is not independent from the rest of the choir. By exploring the variety of human understandings, she can come to understand more deeply the meaning of her particular understanding of life.
If she explores her world in this way, she would probably discover that her Other is unpredictable, surprising, and treacherous. Dog owners are crazy, monstrous, irrational, incomprehensible. Her boyfriend did not just die - he 'abandoned' her. Her good friend Peggy disappointed her. She remembers her grandfather not in the many sweet moments they had together, but in his sudden anger. She longs for togetherness, but the Other always signifies the possibility of betrayal.
The details of her conception is something Donna will have to investigate by herself. She will then come to realize that there are other ways of understanding the Other. Her understanding is only one voice of life in a much richer symphony. Most likely she will be surprised to discover that what she takes for granted is not obvious at all. Eventually she would be able to see the Other, and her life in general, from a broader perspective.
* * *
Donna’s example illustrates that in philosophical practice we are not concerned, as in academic discussions, with the question which approach is the correct one, or which is more accurate as a universal theory. Our goal is to understand the inner logic of the different approaches, expose their assumptions, examine their implications, and in this way learn about ourselves. There is no need to decide between Sartre, Ortega, Buber or Levinas and declare that one of them is correct. It is better to listen to all these approaches as different voices of human reality, each of which conveys different important understandings.
As a philosophical practitioner, I have no interest in trying to capture reality with theoretical descriptions. This is not the way to touch reality. I ‘listen’ to the different ideas and the understandings they express. I open inside me a space for all of them and give them voice like a human choir. At this point of listening I rise to a higher point of understanding, a polyphonic understanding. I am no longer in this or that particular theory. I no longer identify myself with a specific opinion. I am now at a point which overlooks all theories, which appreciates all the voices of reality without judging them as 'correct' or 'incorrect'.
In order to achieve this attitude I need to undergo an inner transformation. This attitude requires that I ‘listen’ beyond myself. I open inside me an inner space for all voices. In this way I go out of my little cave to the place which is beyond caves, to an awareness which is higher than opinions, to an understanding which is not just the sum of many theories, but which is wisdom. This is a place which is many and one, or to borrow the words of Plotinus: 'a presence superior to knowledge'.
And this is what I would like to suggest to Donna: First, that she become aware of her 'theory' of the Other, and realize that it is one cave among others, one voice of human reality among others. Then she would be able to go beyond her particular theory, and beyond all limiting theories.
Voices of Human Reality
Voices 2: VOICES OF AUTHENTICITY
Matt feels confused. He has a good-paying job as a technical writer in a high-tech company, but he is not sure that this is what he really wants to do. He is quite good at writing the texts for his company’s electronic instruments: booklets, manuals, maintenance instructions, reference material. But after work he often asks himself whether he is not wasting his time.
He decides to consult with an acquaintance, Linda. Linda is a philosopher. She is not exactly a friend, but he knows that with her he is welcome to come to speak about his predicaments. In a way, she is his philo-sophical mentor.
“Sometimes,” he tells her, “I feel that I am living a life that is not mine. At work I talk with the engineers, I learn how the system works, I write the text and send it back for comments. Everybody says I am doing an excellent job. But… I don’t know… In the back of mind I feel that all this high-tech business – that’s not me.”
“So why don’t you quit, Matt, and do something you really want to do?”
“In fact, sometimes I think of quitting. I feel I want to change my life, to live differently. I fantasize about becoming a journalist, or a gardener, or… who knows? But these are just fantasies. I don’t really know what I want to do.”
“No clue?”
“No,” Matt replies. “I just want to be true to myself. At work I pretend that I am enthusiastic, that I enjoy the challenges of the job. But I am only pretending. Deep inside I don’t really care. It’s not coming from my heart. Do you think I am betraying myself?”
“Betraying yourself… An interesting expression. Who is this ‘myself’ that you are betraying?”
Matt deliberates. “I don’t know. But I feel that I am not myself. I am a fake.”
“Very interesting. You are telling me that there are two Matts inside you: a true Matt and a fake Matt.” Linda waits until Matt nods in agreement, and then continues, “If so, then the question is: Who is this ‘true’ Matt?”
Matt remains silent for a while. “Yes,” he finally says. “You are right. That’s exactly the question: Which part of me is the ‘real me’? And what does this ‘real me’ want?”
As a philosopher, Linda knows that Matt is asking a familiar philosophical question: What does it mean to be true to myself, or authentic? Rousseau, the 18th century philosopher, was among the first to discuss this issue.
She gives Matt a few pages from Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s book EMILE. “Here, take this home and read it. Contemplate on it, listen to what it says to you, and listen to how you respond to it.”
“How do I listen? How do I contemplate”
“Just relax and read it slowly, quietly. Read one or two paragraph every day. Keep them in your mind throughout the day, and let them work inside you.” Then she adds, “But first let me tell you a bit about Rousseau. It is better to contemplate on a text that you already understand.”
JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU – THE NATURAL SELF
As a young man, Rousseau came from Switzerland to Paris. At first he was enchanted by the Parisian high society, but soon he came to regard it as a fake social game, an external mask. He observed that society makes the individual alienated from his natural, real self.
Just as a seed of a tree contains original tendencies to grow and realize its potentials, every person carries within himself the potential to grow, enjoy life, and realize himself. These original inner energies are what Rousseau calls the natural self, or what can be called the true self, or the authentic self. It is basically good. It likes simplicity and independence, it is self-sufficient, self-motivated, spontaneous, creative and productive.
But society often distorts those inner energies, especially when the young ‘tree’ is still young and tender. Society tends to have negative external influences: social pressure, power-struggles and manipulation, comparison with others (“My clothes are nicer than yours!”). Consequently, the individual may lose touch with his natural (real) self. He then starts playing games, pretending, manipulating, acting according to expectations. Soon he starts identifying with the ‘mask’. He is no longer in touch with his real self.
Rousseau’s picture is therefore dualistic: my inner nature versus external influences. To be authentic is to behave and think and feel from my natural self. To be inauthentic is to live in accordance with external influences.
***
Every morning Matt spends some 20 minutes contemplating a chosen paragraph from Rousseau. He first sits down in a quiet corner, calms his mind, sometimes with the help of a short meditation. Then, when he feels quieter, he contemplates the passage. He doesn’t try to analyze, only to “listen” inwardly to what the text says to him. Later, during the day, he remembers the text every once in a while and thinks about it.
Sometimes a new thought or understanding appears in Matt’s mind, like a bubble rising from the depth of a lake. New words, which are not always in Rousseau’s text, suddenly enter his thoughts. For example, the words ‘fountains of life’ appear inside him, and he starts thinking about them. He says to himself that Rousseau’s ‘natural self’ and ‘social self’ are two different fountains of life. They are two sources of feelings and thoughts and behavior. And maybe there are more such fountains in us.
Matt feels that this new idea is significant. “I now understand,” he says to himself, “that the crucial question is this: Where am I coming from? What is my root, my fountain?”
When Matt meets Linda again, she listens to these new ideas with interest. After a short conversation, she gives him a new text.
JEAN-PAUL SARTRE – I AM NOT WHAT I AM
Rousseau’s approach assumes that there is such a thing as a natural self. Sartre disagrees. Trying to connect to a ‘self’ inside me is a fantasy, or self-deception.
As a human being, according to Sartre, my essence is that I don’t have an essence. In other words, there is nothing inside me that determines my personality, my values, my choices, my beliefs – except for my own free will. I am completely free to choose who I am. Even my past does not take away my freedom: If I made a decision ten minutes ago, I am still free to change it now. Even in jail I can decide what kind of a person I am. In Sartre’s words, I am condemned to be free.
In fact, it is inaccurate to say that I am free. More correctly, I am freedom; I am an openness. To quote Sartre: “I am not what I am, and I am what I am not.” Or: “Existence precedes essence” (i.e., at every moment I determine my essence, or who I am).
All this suggest that authenticity cannot mean being faithful to my inner nature. Rather, I am authentic if I am faithful to the fact that I DON’T HAVE an inner nature; if I am faithful to my openness, to my freedom.
Thus, being authentic for Sartre means that I am aware of my freedom, that I take full responsibility over my life, and don’t pretend that some fact made me the person I am. It means that I do not consider myself a victim of my psychology, of my education, of circumstances, of logical or moral consideration, of God, etc. I don’t have excuses for being the person I am.
***
Matt tells Linda that Sartre’s idea of radical freedom is too extreme. “Obviously I am constrained by my past experiences, by my fears, by my tendencies. My psychology determines many things about me.”
Linda suggests that what is important is not whether or not Sartre’s theory is true, but rather what it has to say to Matt. Besides, even if my psychology limits my freedom, even if my freedom is much narrower than Sartre thinks, his main point still remains: that my ‘true self’ is my freedom, not my psychological mechanisms. To be authentic is to be faithful not to something that already exists in me, but rather to my openness.
For a while they discuss this. Then Linda suggests to leave these issues open.
“Contemplation is not a matter of finding solutions or opinions,” she tells him. “It is a matter of listening to the dialogue between you and the text. Why don’t you put aside your opinions and contemplate this text?”
When Matt contemplates Sartre’s notion of “existence precedes essence,” he is astonished. A thought formulates in his mind: “I am a question, not an answer.”
Later he tries to digest his realization and put it in words. Is it possible, he thinks anxiously, that there are no answers, no meanings, no values, only a never-ending question, a meaningless emptiness? Is it possible that there is no right and wrong in my decision to quit my job or to stay?”
Historically speaking, there is nothing original about Matt’s new understanding. But originality is not the point here. The point is that this understanding speaks to him. It is meaningful in a personal way.
GABRIEL MARCEL – THE WITNESS IN ME
When Linda hears about Matt’s anxiety, she tells him that openness does not necessarily mean emptiness. In fact, existentialist philosophers generally agree that human existence is openness, but not all of them assume that this means that the world is meaningless.
An example is the French existentialist and playwright Gabriel Marcel. Marcel distinguishes between two attitudes to life: observing and witnessing. An observer is somebody who observes life without personal commitment, without giving himself to anything. For such a person, life is a sequence of objective, impersonal facts. He may be active and hardworking, but he is not really faithful to anything. In a world made only of objective facts, there is nothing to be faithful to.
As opposed to an observer, a witness is somebody who agrees to receive life. But receiving is not a passive attitude. For example, when I receive guests in my house, I am an active, committed, creative receiver. I am creative – because there are no formulas that tell me how to receive.
In a similar way, to be a witness means to accept life as if it was a gift, and to respond to that gift in an active and personal way. It means to be faithful to a light, to a vision, to a personal mission. It means that I take upon myself a commitment to be a witness to this light through my particular way of responding to it.
Human reality is open, but it is not open to an empty and meaningless world. Life gives me light, and being faithful to myself means that I respond faithfully to life.
***
When Matt contemplates Marcel’s text, his anxiety is not alleviated. He realizes that he has always been, in Marcel’s terminology, an observer. He would like to be a witness, but a witness to what?
Matt cannot think of any mission to which he can give himself, no light to which he can be faithful. The observer-witness distinction has enriched his understanding of his attitude to life, but it has not shown him any way out.
In his thoughts he starts comparing Marcel and Sartre, and after a while he realizes that there must be many other ways to respond to life’s openness. These two philosophers express only two out of many possible responses. He now has a new understanding: “So far,” he says to himself, “I have been locked inside a very narrow attitude to life, without realizing it. What these texts teach me is that I shouldn’t take my attitude for granted. What I am looking for is not a new career, but a new attitude to myself, a new way of relating to life.”
Excited, Matt tells Linda about his discovery. “The readings you gave me shattered my confidence in my way of life. They shattered the old walls of my old self and opened me to new directions. Now I want to try to explore these new directions. I want to experiment with myself, to investigate other sides in me that are less familiar to me.”
“How are you going to do this, Matt?”
“I don’t know, Linda. I have no idea. I only know that it’s going to be lonely. Whether I go with Rousseau or with Sartre or with Marcel or with some other approach, my challenge is to connect to myself. That’s something I must do by myself, me alone.”
“An interesting observation,” Linda says, “but not everybody would agree with you. Matt, I’d like to give you one more text on authenticity, alright?”
THE ‘CARE’ APPROACH – TO BE CONNECTED
Several feminist thinkers, such as the American philosopher of education Nel Noddings, hold that the traditional conceptions of authenticity are distorted: They are too individualistic, too much centered on the individual (and too ‘masculine’, according to them). They are distorted, because I cannot be a full person unless I am related to others. My relations to others are not a secondary addendum to who I am. My relations to my family, friends, or fellow human beings are an essential part of what defines me. My real self is my self-in-relationships.
Moreover, what makes me a full person (and this can be understood to mean an authentic self) is my CARING relationships. In caring relationship I give and receive, I am open to others, I share experiences with them, and I can take part in their joys and concerns.
Interestingly, at this point these feminist ‘care ethicists’ are similar to the earlier philosopher Martin Buber (see my ‘Voices 1’). For him, too, I can be authentically myself only in I-thou relationships to others and to the world around me.
***
Something is happening to Matt. He feels disoriented by the multiplicity of approaches. Each of the four is eloquent, enlightening, and each makes sense in its own way. But they seem to contradict each other.
“Your disorientation is precious,” Linda says to him. “Be with it, listen to what it says. Don’t suffocate it with answers and solutions.”
“But how is this going to help me make a decision?” he asks Linda. “I came to you because I wanted to find out what I really want to do, how to be true to myself. Don’t you expect me to choose one of these four theories? Don’t you want me to decide whether my true self is my natural self, or my openness to emptiness, or my response to a light, or my relatedness to others, or perhaps something else?”
Linda smiles. “So now you are telling me that you want to choose for yourself a little cozy cave and close yourself in it.”
“But I have to choose something, don’t I?”
“Well, go ahead and choose, then.”
“I wish I could,” Matt replies sadly. “You see, when we started working on these texts I thought it would be easy. I expected to discover the best theory on authenticity; or at least the best theory for me. But now I am even more confused.”
“Don’t lose heart. What seems like an obstacle is sometimes an open door. After all, are you sure you need to choose?”
Linda’s question takes Matt by surprise. For a long time he thinks about it. “The truth is,” he finally admits, “that in my last reading I had a thought, a kind of glimmer in my mind: that there is no need to choose. That I don’t need to make a decision. That I can just look at all those approaches and let them be. Very strange, I don’t understand this completely.”
“Why don’t you go with this understanding? Let it guide you.”
“But I must make a decision, don’t I? If I don’t decide what is true for me, how can I decide whether to remain in my job or to quit and become a journalist or gardener?”
“Yes, on a practical level. On a practical level you need to decide what is true for you, because you have to work somewhere and to make money somehow. But your disorientation, and the glimmer you had in your mind, are suggesting to you that on another level you don’t need to choose. On another level it doesn’t even make sense to choose.”
Matt looks at Linda. Her words are both strange and seductive. “What other level are you talking about, Linda?”
“Call it the level of disorientation. Or, the level of awareness. The name doesn’t matter. From this perspective, these theories are not really theories. What is important about them is not what they describe, but where they come from. They are like the footprints of something, like voices that come from somewhere.”
Matt shakes his head. “When I had this glimmer, I felt hanging in the air. It was a moment of nothingness.”
“Alright, Matt, call this other level ‘the point of nothingness’. That’s the point where you don’t have any opinion, you have nothing to stand on, no cave to live in. You are just there, in awareness, a testimony.”
“But a testimony to what, Linda?”
“A testimony to the life that gave voice to these theories, a testimony to the reality that is at the source of these voices, a testimony to your confusion, and to everything.”
Voices of Human Reality
Voices 3: VOICES OF FREEDOM
Linda is starting a series of weekly workshops on Philosophical Practice, or Philo-Sophia.
“Good morning,” she greets the small group. “The topic that I chose for our first meeting today is freedom. Now, how do we start? One possibility is to start with a discussion. But I don't trust abstract thoughts that are disconnected from concrete experience. So instead, let's look at real events that happened to us. Please take a few moments and think about a situation that you experienced recently, where you felt a sense of freedom, or a sense of lack of freedom.”
John raises his hand immediately. “I've got something. Sometimes I find it hard to control my feelings and moods, especially my anxiety and anger. I wish I could be more free from these emotions.”
“People are less free than they think,” says Annette. “Our emotions control us.”
“I disagree,” Phillip objects. “We ARE our emotions!”
“Just a minute,” Linda says. “You are now talking on a very abstract level. I asked you to choose a specific, concrete event that you experienced.”
“I thought we were trying to do philosophy,” Angela says.
“Philo-sophia, not academic philosophy. In Philo-sophia we want to hear life, not just abstract theories. We listen to the living moment, to particular experiences, to specific events.”
“But isn't philosophy about ideas?”
“You would be surprised how many philosophical ideas you can find in a simple everyday moment.”
Annette looks at her questioningly, and Linda explains. “In everyday life we constantly interpret our world. We give meaning to things that happen to us. We do this not just through our conscious thinking, but mainly through our feelings, through our choices and behavior, through our hopes and fears, in short - through our everyday attitudes. For example, when you feel guilty because you broke a promise, your bad feeling is saying: ‘Breaking a promise is morally wrong'. And when you obsessively want to know everything your husband is feeling and thinking, your obsession may be a statement: ‘Love means being transparent to each other'. So you see, each one of us has ‘theories' about life, although we are usually not aware of them. We LIVE these ‘theories', we don't THINK ABOUT them.”
“You are telling us,” Michael comments, “that we are all philosophers.”
“Exactly. We all have ‘theories' about basic life-issues. The problem is that these ‘theories' are usually automatic, narrow and rigid. They act like patterns of behavior, patterns of emotions, patterns of thought.”
“Alright,” Ruth says. “I think I understand what you want us to do. I have an experience I'd like to share with you.”
She tells the group how last month she had volunteered to play with sick children in a nearby hospital. Soon, however, she started feeling suffocated. The obligation was a burden. Her afternoons were no longer free, and she was unable to go out with friends, or take a walk by the sea, or simply sit in a cafe and sip coffee. “I don't go out very much, but I like to feel that I have the freedom to do it.”
For several weeks she felt like a prisoner, until she decided to resign. “When I stepped out of the building I felt free as a bird. I stretched my body and felt my freedom. It was absolutely exhilarating: Wow, now I can do whatever I want!”
“And what did you do with your new freedom?” Phillip asks her.
“What did I do? Nothing in particular. I simply enjoyed it. I enjoyed the fact that I had no obligations.”
“Very interesting,” Linda says. “The freedom that you enjoyed was a very specific kind of freedom: It was freedom-from: absence of constraint.”
ISAIAH BERLIN - NEGATIVE AND POSITIVE FREEDOM
Isaiah Berlin, the 20th century British philosopher, distinguished between ‘negative freedom' and ‘positive freedom', or what can be called ‘freedom-from' and ‘freedom-to'. (Although this distinction is not new, he was probably the first to formulate it explicitly.) To be free in the first sense means that there is no restriction that restricts my actions. (This ‘absence' of restrictions is the reason why it is called ‘negative' freedom.) If, for example, I live in a democratic society, then nothing prohibits me from expressing my political vision. I am free-from restrictions.
Nevertheless, in another sense I may not be free. If I lack the courage and the autonomy to think independently, then although I am free-from restrictions, I don't have the inner resources to realize my freedom. I am not free-to express a personal vision. I don't have ‘positive' freedom.
Thus, when we speak about freedom we may distinguish between two elements: the resources that enable me to express my freedom, and the obstacles that limit this freedom. It is a distinction between the prisoner's powers and the prison walls, between the prisoner and the prison.
Of course, my prison need not be external to me. My fear or shyness, for example, can also restrict my freedom. In this sense it can be my prison.
***
“Yes,” Ruth says. “I now realize that my experience was a moment of freedom-from.”
“In other words,” says Linda, “your desire to be free speaks in the language of negative freedom.”
After a short conversation Ruth realizes that some other recent experiences also expressed a similar conception of freedom. For example, last week a friend knocked on her door. “I like her, but it bothered me that she didn't first call me to see if I was available. I felt that she was forcing me to be with her. So I didn't open the door and pretended I wasn't at home.”
Linda agrees that this could be understood as another experience of freedom-from, but she cautions that there is still much to explore in Ruth's conception of freedom. Life is more complex than a simple theory.
“Still,” Ruth says to her, “it's amazing how much of me there is in one small event.”
“Absolutely. That's the art of Philosophical Practice: to listen to the simple, everyday moment.”
***
“Good,” Linda says. “I think we now understand our goal: We are trying to explore the philosophical conceptions of freedom that are found in our everyday attitudes - not in our abstract opinions, but in our actual experiences.”
She now asks the participants to go back to their experience of freedom (or lack of freedom), to close their eyes and contemplate on it. “Bring the experience to your mind as vividly as you can. And then try to figure out the ‘theory' of freedom that it expresses.”
After several minutes, when they open their eyes, they find it very difficult to put into words their conceptions of freedom.
“What am I supposed to say about my experience?” “I can't say anything intelligent about it!” “I am lost…”
Linda smiles. “In order to make it easier for you, let me give you a little lecture about several philosophical theories on freedom.”
The participants are surprised. “Theories?” “I thought you wanted us to listen to life, not to theorize!” “Are you sure that my experience would fit into one of those academic philosophies?”
“Of course not. But theories can be a source of inspiration. It's like reading a poem or a novel: It can inspire you to express your own personal voice.”
JOHN DEWEY - THE FREEDOM TO GOVERN MYSELF
For Dewey, the 19-20th century American philosopher, freedom is much more than freedom-from. To be free I must be able to make conscious choices and translate my choices into action. But choosing does not mean following my capricious desires or my spontaneous feelings. It means that I have goals and projects, that I examine them critically and rationally, revise them when needed, and act according to them. In this sense I govern and direct my life. I do so both by rationally determining my personal plans and aims, and also by influencing my community and the social conditions in which I live.
A free person, therefore, has long-term projects and goals, as well as the flexibility to modify them when conditions change, and the open-mindedness to examine alternatives and choose between them. It is somebody who has a distinctive approach to life, and a distinctive manner of social involvement, based on critical and rational reflection.
EPICTETUS - FREEDOM FROM PASSIONS
According to Epictetus, the ancient Stoic philosopher, we suffer not because of things that happen to us, but because of our attitude to those things. The man who loses his savings suffers not because of the loss of money, but because he feels attached to the money. In other words, he suffers because he mistakenly regards it as necessary for his happiness.
In this sense we are not free, because we are ruled by our passions and desires. These desires make us depend on things that are not in our control. After all, we don't have complete power over our possessions, our health, accidents, other people's reactions to us, our fortunes and misfortunes.
To be free, therefore, means to control our desires and passions, to let our reason determine our lives, and thus to be independent of things beyond our control. This means that we accept the divine Logos that governs the world, and live freely in accordance with our nature as human beings. Such a freedom is a state of inner tranquility, self-control, detachment, and complete acceptance. Although the individual continues to be active in the world and to perform his duties, he accepts with equanimity whatever happens, whether success or failure.
Such an inner state is very difficult to achieve. In order to develop it, it is necessary to engage in arduous spiritual exercises. Only so can we free our rational thought from the prison of our passions.
KRISHNAMURTI - FREEDOM FROM THE PAST
Krishnamurti, the 20th century Indian-born thinker, held that most people are imprisoned in what they already know and learned, in other words, in the past. We desire what was pleasant yesterday, we hope for the praise that we received last week, we are afraid of what was painful last year, we try to be what our parents or priest told us we should be. Consequently, our hopes and desires and fears are rooted in past experiences. We struggle to make more money, to become ‘important, to be powerful and famous, because we have been conditioned by our past. Such struggles do not make us happier, but only more mechanical, frustrated, fragmented.
To liberate ourselves, therefore, means to break loose from the chains of the past. It means to be present here and now with a mind that is completely open, sharp, intelligent and not burdened by past knowledge. It means that our mind is fully aware and open to the present moment.
HENRI BERGSON - LIBERATING THE WHOLENESS OF MY BEING
For the 19-20th century French philosopher Henri Bergson, we are usually not in touch with the fullness of our inner life. Our inner life is like a symphony that is made of myriad shades of emotions and thoughts and feelings and sensations. These shades continuously interact with each other and develop in novel ways. The result is a holistic flow, creative and spontaneous, in which every moment is shaped by the past and gives birth to new unexpected combinations and qualities.
However, for the sake of language and communication, we isolate specific fragments in our consciousness and give them generic names: ‘a fear', ‘a hope', ‘a pain'. Consequently, we are like a listener who cannot hear the symphony as a whole but only the separate sounds. These separate qualities are like dead leaves floating on the true river of our life. Thus we come to have fixed opinions and attitudes, rigid tastes and emotions, and we do not live the ever-developing fullness of our inner lives. In this sense we are imprisoned in the rigidity of the dead leaves.
However, it sometimes happens in special moments, when I need to make an important decision, that something inside me revolts. All of a sudden the hidden living river erupts through the dead leaves. I then decide to do something against my familiar opinions, against my fixed preferences, against my age-old fears and ideals. I act not because of any specific reason, but because the action expresses my entire being - my personal history and my present energies and my sense of myself and of life: I did this because this is who I am.
This, for Bergson, is a moment of real freedom, because it expresses the spontaneous and creative flow which is my personality. My previous actions emerged out of dead fragments of my life, but now they emerge from the wholeness of my being.
***
“These theories are almost opposed to each other,” exclaims Sara. “Epictetus wants to free our rationality from the prison of feelings, but Bergson wants to free the flow of feelings from the prison of rational thought. For Dewey, long-term decisions should be freed from momentary experiences, but for Krishnamurti the present moment should be freed from the past. Bergson wants my actions to emerge from my past, but Krishnamurti wants us to be in the present moment. Dewey wants us to use reason in order to achieve our personal desires, but Epictetus wants reason to overcome our desires.”
Linda nods, but John interrupts. “These theories made me think about a recent personal experience. The other day I met a young woman, and immediately I felt attracted to her. I said to myself: ‘No, John, don't fall in love now, you have just ended a relationship, and you need to be alone for a while.' But it didn't help. For the past two weeks I have been fighting against this attraction, but it's stronger than me. I can't get the woman out of my mind, although rationally I'd like to free myself from her.”
“And who is your ‘I' that wants to free itself?” asks Michael. “Are you the rational thought that wants to free itself from the attraction, or are you the attraction that is fighting against the rational thought?”
“Hmm… A good question… I feel that this attraction is a foreign invader, but I don't know why …”
Linda comes to his aid. “I'd like to give all of you a tool that can make it easier to understanding our ‘theories' of freedom. Is it alright with you, John, that I am interrupting you?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“We can call this tool ‘a dictionary of concepts'. To see what I mean, look at the theories we examined. You will see that although they all deal with freedom, each one of them uses very different concepts. For Krishnamurti, for example, the concept of the past versus the concept of the present is central. But for Epictetus these concepts are not important. For him the distinction between what we control and what we don't control is crucial. But not for Bergson. For Bergson the central concept is the holistic flow of consciousness. He even gives it a name: ‘duration'. But for Dewey the flow of consciousness is completely irrelevant.
“So you see, each approach to freedom is based on specific central concepts. Each theory has a different ‘dictionary of concepts'.”
“You are telling us,” Sara interrupts her, “that we should try to find the dictionary of our personal theory.”
“Exactly. Try to see which concepts are relevant to your moments of freedom or un-freedom. Is it the concept of ‘self control'? Or ‘limitation'? Or perhaps ‘self-expression? Try to write down the four or five most central concepts - not too many, otherwise it would be too confusing. This ‘dictionary' will help you formulate your ‘theory' of freedom.”
The participants now break up into small groups. For half an hour they help each other examine the conceptions of freedom that are embedded in their experiences. In a sense, they act as each other's philosophical counselors. Together they note patterns and examine them, formulate ‘dictionaries of concepts', and develop personal theories of freedom.
***
“Have you finished, Michael? So please choose a second experience of freedom, and try to work on it. I am sure you are more complicated than one single theory.”
Finally the participants finish their work. They gather together in a circle to share their insights. John explains the central concept in his experience of attraction: ‘disconnection'. His attraction to the woman was disconnected from the rest of his inner life. It was disconnected from his other emotions, from his plans, from his thoughts. “It felt like a foreign body in my soul. My whole being revolted against it.”
Others, too, share their experiences. Sara found that her experience was centered on the concepts of ‘outside invader' and ‘freedom fighter'. She had been free because she managed to make a decision in spite of her parents' pressure, and against other people's opinions.
For Phillip the central concepts were ‘spontaneity', ‘obstacles', ‘effortless' and ‘deliberation'. His experience was that of flowing spontaneously, without effort, without planning.
“I learned a lot about myself,” Angela says. “But what should I do with my new understanding?”
“This, of course, is a crucial question,” Linda replies. “We are starting to discover some of the ‘theories' that characterize our attitudes to life. These theories can be helpful in everyday life: They help us organize the world and deal with it. They are our guidelines: how to make choices, how to interact with others, how to achieve our goals, how to understand ourselves. The problem is that these personal theories also limit our world. They make our attitude to life mechanic, narrow, one-dimensional. Reality, after all, is much broader, much richer, much more multi-faceted than our little theories.”
“Like the cave in Plato's allegory,” murmurs Annette.
“Yes, in many ways our personal theories are like Plato's cave. They may be convenient and practical, but they give us only shadows of reality.”
“So what do we do?” “How do we get out of our caves?”
“We will have to explore this question in our future meetings.”
Voices of Human Reality
Voices 4: VOICES OF MEANINGFUL EXPERIENCES
It is the beginning of the second meeting of the philosophical practice workshop. The participants are eager to hear what philosophical theories Linda has prepared for today.
Linda shakes her head. "If you are interested in philosophical theories, then you should go to the university and take philosophy courses."
"No, seriously…"
"I am serious. In Philo-Sophia, philosophical theories are never a bottom line. They are a ladder to climb on, a step on the way. We examine them, we see their power and inner logic, and then we go beyond them. Because our goal is to be much more than any theory. Our aim is to be children of a broader reality."
Now Linda smiles, and her voice becomes lighter.
"Today," she announces, "we will philosophize by drawing. We will draw our philosophical understandings."
"Draw?" "A philosophical drawing?" "You want us to draw our ideas?"
"Sometimes a drawing can express more than words. A drawing can give voice to a different understanding inside us that comes from a different part of our being. But first let me say a few words to explain what we will be doing."
Linda explains that the topic of today's workshop will be meaningful experiences.
"Are you talking about the meaning of life?" Ruth asks.
"No, that question is too big for us. Philosophers sometimes distinguish between 'the meaning OF life' and 'meaning IN life'. The first is about life as a whole: What is the purpose of my life? What is life for? But we want to look at simple moments WITHIN life, at everyday experiences. So let's talk about meaningful actions or situations, like a meaningful conversation, or a meaningful decision, or a book that was meaningful to you."
"What do you mean by 'meaningful'?" Michael interrupts her.
"I don't want to give a definition, because I want to leave the concept open for investigation. But generally speaking, we can think about 'meaningful' as more or less synonymous with 'significant' or 'it made a difference to me', as opposed to 'trivial' or 'insignificant' or 'unimportant'. So our question today is: What makes an experience meaningful? When does a situation become significant to me?"
Linda now asks the participants to recall recent situations which they found meaningful. "Let's hear a few of them, to make sure that we are on the same wavelength."
Annette is the first to describe her experience. She tells the group about a meaningful decision she reached after many hesitations.
Phillip describes a meaningful conversation with his brother, in which they discussed some hard feelings between them.
John describes how, in the middle of a bitter argument with his girlfriend, he suddenly understood something important about himself.
Angela describes a music performance which she gave, and which was important to her.
"Very good," Linda says. "So far you have described specific examples. Can you now go deeper and try to understand WHY these situations were meaningful to you? What was it about Annette's decision that made it a meaningful moment? What made Phillip's conversation with his brother more significant than other conversations?"
"You are asking," Ruth said, "what makes a meaningful moment meaningful."
"Exactly. I'd like you to examine the experiences you chose and see what made them as meaningful as they were. But I don't want to hear your answer in words. I want you to draw it."
Linda gives each participant a sheet of paper and puts some color pencils in the middle of the circle. "Please draw the meaningful situation you have in mind, and try to express in what way it was meaningful. You can do it in an abstract drawing, in a figurative drawing, or in any way you want. But please don't write any words on the paper. Only lines and shapes."
For ten minutes the participants are busy drawing. Linda walks between them and looks at their work. When they finish, everybody gathers together.
"Phillip, your drawing caught my eye. Would you like to show it to the group?"
Phillip shows his drawing of the meaningful conversation he had had with his brother.
"These two rivers," he explains, "start at the bottom of the page, and they go towards the top of the page. They represent me and my brother. As you can see, at the bottom of the page we are distant from each other. This was the situation between us before the conversation. And here is our conversation," he points to the middle of the page where the two rivers turn towards each other. "After the conversation, as you can see in the upper part of the page, the two rivers are closer together."
"I noticed," Linda comments, "that at the bottom of the page the two rivers are turbulent, with many waves - does this represent anger?" Phillip agrees, and she continues. "Because it's interesting that after the conversation your two rivers remain just as turbulent as before. It seems that the conversation did not change your anger. Was this your experience of the conversation?"
"Hmm, interesting… I wasn't aware of this … It's true that the problems between us were not resolved. The same disagreements and anger remained."
"In other words," Linda says, "the conversation was meaningful to you not because it solved problems, but because of something else."
Phillip nods, but John interrupts him. "There's something else in your drawing: The two rivers never touch each other anywhere on the page, even during the conversation."
Phillip looks at his drawing thoughtfully. "Well, I guess you are right. My brother and I still feel distant from each other. The old tension between us still exists."
"And yet," Linda says, "you say that the conversation was meaningful. What was meaningful about it?"
"The fact that we became aware of the tension, of the differences between us, of the anger. We can no longer pretend that they don't exist."
"It sounds to me, Phillip, that you are saying that this conversation was meaningful because it made you aware of the problems between you. This is an interesting conception of meaningfulness: To be aware of the truth is meaningful. It would be good to explore this in more detail."
Then the other participants show their drawings, and similar conversations follow. At the end of the long discussion Lisa says, "Now that we have a deeper understanding of our own conceptions of meaning, let's have a look at the theories of several interesting thinkers."
CHARLES TAYLOR - MEANING AS PART OF A 'HORIZON'
A general perspective on the nature of meaning is offered by the contemporary Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor. In his book "The Ethics of Authenticity" he notes that we cannot decide arbitrarily what would be significant to us. I cannot simply decide that from now on I will find meaning in drawing circles on the sand, or in copying numbers from the telephone book.
Of course, it is possible to imagine a way of life in which drawing circles on the sand is meaningful. For example, if in my worldview a circle is a symbol of perfection; if drawing a circle allows me to connect to it and to participate in perfection; if I regard perfection as the pinnacle of existence, and so on and so on - then we can understand how drawing circles on the sand might be a significant action to me.
This shows that an action can be meaningful only if it is part of a worldview - a network of beliefs and values - which gives meaning to this action. What makes an experience meaningful is that it is part of a 'horizon' that makes sense of this experience and gives it its value.
Meaning, therefore, depends not just on our subjective tastes and feelings, but also - and most importantly - on our worldview. Meaning is based on our way of understanding the world, and as such it can be discussed, questioned, and supported by reasons.
ALBERT CAMUS - TO EXPERIENCE MORE
In his "The Myth of Sisyphus," Albert Camus, the 20th century French Existentialist, asks whether life is worth living. Although we are not discussing the meaning of life but rather the meaning of specific actions within life, nevertheless a certain element in his discussion is relevant here.
For Camus, the world as we experience it is 'absurd' - devoid of meaning and values. Theories and doctrines about God, the afterlife, morality and meaning are mere speculations. The only thing we know for sure, the only thing we can rely on, is what we experience directly.
This means that it makes no sense to make a value-judgment about my actions. What matters is not whether my action is noble or vulgar, good or bad, but that it allows me to have direct experiences of life. What counts is whether the action gives me the only thing that I know exists: life-experiences. Thus, the important thing is not 'better experiences' but 'more experiences': a larger variety of experiences which I experience fully, consciously, passionately.
In short, we can say that an action is significant if it gives me new and powerful experiences, if it allows me to experience life more fully and passionately.
ERICH FROMM - OVERCOMING OUR ISOLATION
In his book "The Art of Loving" Erich Fromm, an influential humanistic psychologist, explains that our central need is to overcome our isolation. Our self-awareness makes us aware that we are separate entities, separate from nature, separate from other human beings, and separable from our loved ones because of death or other uncontrollable circumstances.
This creates in us a tremendous anxiety, which Fromm describes as the root of all anxieties. Consequently, we are constantly trying, in a variety of ways, to overcome our separateness by connecting to others and to the world. Some of these ways are destructive: conformity with the group, for example, or fusion with a nationalistic ideology, or distorted relationships of dependence and loss of self. They are destructive because through them we lose our personal freedom and identity.
But other ways of overcoming our separateness are deeply meaningful: creativity connects us to worlds beyond ourselves; true friendship and true love connect us to other people. These are meaningful experiences to the extent that they allow us to transcend our boundaries, while at the same time to preserve - and even enhance - our integrity and personal identity. In real love we actively express our capacity to give from the center of our being, thus expressing our personal potency and our individuality.
From this perspective, meaningful experiences are those in which we overcome our separateness without losing our identity. Indeed, Fromm says that one of the most meaningful and exhilarating experiences of life is when the wall between me and another person breaks down, and we feel togetherness and union.
WILLIAM JAMES - THE STRUGGLE FOR AN IDEAL
In his lecture "What makes life significant" William James, the 19-20th century American psychologist and philosopher, argues against two conceptions of meaning. On the one hand, he rejects the view that a meaningful situation is one in which our needs are satisfied. After all, when we have everything we need physically and spiritually, with no struggle or difficulty, then life is boring and empty. On the other hand, James also rejects the view, which he attributes to Tolstoy, that every struggle and hardship is necessarily meaningful. James reasons that a hardship that is not directed at any goal or ideal is pointless and dull. It is significant only if it has a purpose.
Thus, a meaningful situation is characterized by two elements: First, it contains a struggle, persistence, determination. Second, it also contains an ideal towards which the struggle is directed. James is talking here not only about dramatic struggles for glorious ideals, but also mundane struggles for better living conditions, for success at work, etc.
The inner attitude involved in such a struggle is explained in James' discussion of the will (in his series "Psychology: a briefer course"). James explains that normally all kinds of ideas in our mind activate our behavior. However, in a meaningful struggle we keep a specific idea in our mind with the effort of attention. We hold on to this idea and thus overcome our tendency to choose easier, safer, more comfortable paths. This makes our struggle heroic, and thus meaningful.
A meaningful action therefore involves a struggle of mental effort - an effort to fix our attention on an ideal, and to disregard other distracting ideas, such as those expressing doubt, fear, or laziness.
***
Now Linda concludes today's activity. "One reason I told you about the four theories was to help you think more deeply about your own conception of meaningful situations.
"But I also hoped that you would realize that your personal way of understanding meaning is not the only way. There are many different ways of understanding, many different 'voices of meaning' that can speak in our lives. And if you really open yourself to them, not just theoretically but personally, you will no longer take for granted your usual conception, your normal private 'theory'. In fact, you will lose confidence in any theory. Because you will realize that each of those theories is reasonable in its own way, each one makes sense, each one expresses a real 'voice' in life - and yet they are so different and often even contradictory!"
"But why do you want to confuse us like this?" Annette wonders.
"In order to realize how we take for granted our personal 'theories'. Usually we identify ourselves with them, we follow them automatically without thinking, often without awareness. As a result we are stuck in patterns of behavior, of emotion, of thinking. The little lecture I gave you was an invitation to 'listen' to other 'voices' of human reality."
"Are you suggesting," Angela asks, "that we should free ourselves from all our conceptions and patterns?"
Linda shakes her head. "I don't think we can. We are human beings, flesh and blood. There are limits to our ability to change our biological tendencies and our psychological patterns and our social programming. The point of Philosophical Practice is not to make us super-human. We are not trying to abolish our patterns of understanding, but rather to look beyond them. The point is to open in us an awareness to the larger horizons of reality. You can call it 'the additional dimension', or simply 'wisdom'."
"The additional dimension?" Michael wonders. "Additional to what?"
"Additional to our ordinary attitudes, to our usual states of mind. After all, with or without philosophy, we will continue to live our normal everyday life, with our familiar emotions and emotional patterns, with our likes and dislikes, with our old preferences and anxieties and hopes. You can call this 'the psychological dimension'. Philosophical Practice doesn't try to change this dimension."
"Are you saying," John asks, "that we shouldn't try to change ourselves for the better?"
"By all means, change yourself as much as you can, why not? It might help you to read inspirational books, or go to a psychotherapist, or do yoga and meditation. My point is that this is not the role of Philosophical Practice."
"So what's left for Philosophical Practice to do?"
"Its goal is wisdom, in other words, to develop the additional dimension. This is an awareness that is open to all the different 'theories', that listens to the many voices of reality, much beyond our limited psychological boundaries."
"It's like the eye of the hippopotamus, isn't it? The hippopotamus is under water, but its eyes peep above the water. They can see broader horizons."
Linda smiles. "Nice metaphor, John. You could also say: In one sense we remain ourselves, but on another dimension we become greater than ourselves."
"It sounds nice," Annette says. "But how do I do it in practice?"
"A good point," says Linda. "Here is a little exercise that will give us a taste of this additional dimension: During the coming week try to be aware of meaningful moments, like the ones we have discussed today. Notice the kinds of meaning that appear in those moments.
"But at the same time try to look BEYOND your usual conceptions of meaning, beyond your ordinary 'theories'. Your goal is to experience - not to analyze but to experience - those moments from the perspective of a variety of theories of meaning.
"For instance, if reading books is usually meaningful to you, then try to experience the reading from the perspective of Camus, for example, or of Fromm. Or, if normally you find significance in passionate moments, perhaps like Camus, then try to experience these moments from the perspective of what Annette or Phillip told us today. In short, try to experience your everyday moments from different perspectives."
"But can we really do this? I am afraid that after a minute I will slide back to my usual attitude."
"Of course, Phillip. On one level we will continue to experience things just as always. But in our additional awareness we will also take part in other perspectives beyond our usual 'theories'. We will be in the moment, but also beyond the moment. We will be enclosed in our usual patterns, but we will also 'hear' other voices of meaning.
"For me, this is the heart of Philosophical Practice: to realize that I am more than my familiar small self. To be in my awareness beyond the boundary of my limited psychological patterns, and to listen to the many voices of human reality."
Voices 5: VOICES OF THE RIGHT AND THE WRONG
Angela and Phillip visit the philo-sopher Linda at her home.
"We are enjoying your philo-sophia workshop," they tell her. "But we were wondering: What is the difference between philo-sophical practice and psychotherapy?"
"That’s a difficult question, because there are so many approaches to psychotherapy and to philo-sophical practice. But I would say that one important difference is this: Psychology deals with the person’s psyche - that’s why it is called ‘psycho-logy’. It focuses on the subjective processes that take place in (or between) people: emotions, thoughts, behaviors, etc.
In contrast, philo-sophical practice, or philo-sophia, focuses on something that happens not in the person’s subjectivity, but between the person and something else. It focuses on the dialogue between the individual and what I call ‘voices of human reality’.”
"When you say 'voices', do you mean ideas, meanings?"
"Not exactly, Angela. An idea, or a meaning, can be something abstract and impersonal, something that doesn’t touch me. By ‘voice’ I mean what you might call ‘a living idea’: an idea (or a meaning) that moves me, speaks to me, tempts me, creates in me a new understanding. And I can respond to it and converse with it – in other words, philo-sophize."
“Are you talking about unconscious voices in our minds? I think Freud talked about being aware of our repressed, unconscious experiences.”
“I don’t think, Phillip, that these psychological concepts would be helpful here. Let’s not translate philo-sophia into the psychological jargon. Voices of reality are not simply subjective creations of our mind. They express certain ways of understanding – they have an inner logic, assumptions, distinctions, networks of concepts. They say something to us, something we can understand and communicate and discuss. This is the focus of philo-sophia: voices of human reality, or if you prefer - ‘living ideas’.”
"I see,” Phillip says. “But I thought that psychotherapies, too, deal with ideas – for example the idea of love.”
“Most psychotherapies regard love as a psychological event – a subjective process inside the person. Therapists don’t usually philo-sophize with clients about the concept of love. I agree that some therapies, like existential psychotherapy, philo-sophize to some extent. They are therefore not completely psychological. They contain a philo-sophical element.”
“Would you say, then, that psychotherapy and philo-sophia are two different ways to help people deal with their personal difficulties?”
“I don’t think so, and this is another important difference between psychotherapy and philo-sophia. A therapy, by definition, tries to improve the person’s life: to resolve a personal problem, to alleviate difficult feelings, to improve functioning in the family, and so on. For me, this is not the goal of real philo-sophia. Philo-sophia doesn’t try to solve or improve anything. Its goal is a dialogue with the voices of human reality, and the new understandings that this raises in us. In this sense a philo-sopher is more like a poet than a psychologist.”
“That’s a bit abstract,” Phillip says. “Can you give an example?”
“Sure. Let's take a topic that is often discussed in standard academic philosophy: the right and the wrong.
“In order to understand this topic, let’s say you are in a moral (ethical) dilemma. For example, you can either lie to make your friend feel good, or tell the truth and hurt her. Or, you can either make a special effort to keep your promise, or alternatively break your promise because nobody will ever know or care. How do you decide which action is morally (ethically) right? How do you determine what you SHOULD do?
“Several ethical approaches give different answers. We can regard them as different ethical voices that speak in us and move us, at least sometimes.”
EMMANUEL KANT – RESPECT FOR PEOPLE’S RIGHTS
The answer given by the 18th century German philosopher Emmanuel Kant is commonly called ‘deontological’ or ‘duty-based’ ethics. For Kant, my action is morally right if I act with the intention of fulfilling my moral duties.
What counts as a moral duty? Kant believes that there is a general moral law that determines all our moral duties. He offers several formulations of this law, which he believes are equivalent to each other.
According to one of these formulations, our duty is to act in a way that would respect the people involved (both me and others) as rational, autonomous individuals. More accurately, we should treat people not only as a means for some purpose, but also as having their own inherent worth as persons. For example, it would be morally wrong for me to enslave another person, because I would be using him as a tool for my own satisfaction. Similarly, it would be wrong for me to lie to somebody, because I would be manipulating her without respecting her right to know and decide freely.
From this perspective, when I face an ethical dilemma I should ask myself: How can I fulfill my duty to respect people as rational, autonomous persons? In other words, how do I behave in a way that would respect their right to control their lives, their rights over their property, their responsibility for their actions, etc.?
JOHN STUART MILL – AS MUCH HAPPINESS AS POSSIBLE
The 19th century British philosopher John Stuart Mill offers a different answer (which he developed from Jeremy Bentham’s philosophy). From his perspective, an action is morally right or wrong only if it influences people’s happiness or suffering. If it makes no difference to anybody, then it is neither right nor wrong.
What makes my action right or wrong is its consequences: It is morally right if it adds to the world more happiness (or less suffering) than alternative actions which I could have performed. It is morally wrong if it produces more suffering (or less happiness) than another action which I could have performed.
Thus, whenever I am free to choose between several actions, I ought to choose the one that would bring as much happiness to as many people as possible (including me). For example, I should tell the truth rather than lie whenever the truth is likely to bring more happiness than the lie. But I should lie when the lie is likely to result in more happiness.
Mill called his approach ‘utilitarianism’, because it tells us to maximize ‘utility’, which for him meant happiness.
From this perspective, when I face an ethical dilemma I should ask myself: How do I act in a way that would add as much happiness to as many people (including me) as possible?
A popular sub-type of utilitarianism (which perhaps Mill himself believed) should be mentioned here: rule-utilitarianism. Rule-utilitarianism focuses not on the happiness produced by one particular action, but on the happiness produced by TYPES of actions. It focuses, for example, not on the consequences of my particular lie, but on the consequences of lies in general.
Accordingly, when I face an ethical dilemma I should ask myself: If most people acted like me, which type of action would result in the most happiness to the world?
ARISTOTLE – TO BE A VIRTUOUS PERSON
The approach called ‘Virtue Ethics’ was common in ancient Greek philosophy, although it has been revived by several contemporary thinkers. According to this view, the basic ethical issue is not ‘What is a right action?’ but rather ‘What is a virtuous person?’ or in other words, ‘Which personality traits are virtues?’
If, however, somebody insists on asking the question: “But which action is morally right?” the answer could be: “Once you become virtuous, the right actions will automatically follow.”
Everything depends, then, on how we understand what a virtuous person is. And different philosophers developed different answers to this question. Each answer portrayed different personality traits as virtues.
For Aristotle, moral virtues are habits which we learn and develop by practice, and which are between two extremes: between excess and deficiency. Courage, for example, is a virtue because it is between cowardice and rashness. Similarly, moderation is a virtue because it lies between pleasure-seeking and abstinence.
From this perspective, if I face a moral dilemma I should ask myself: What kind of a person should I be? Which personality traits should I maintain and develop?
If, for example I wonder how much money I should donate to charity organizations, then I should ask myself: Should I be a stingy person? Or generous? Or something in between?
CAROL GILLIGAN – DEVELOPING CARING RELATIONS
Carol Gilligan, a contemporary American psychologist, was one of the pioneers of so-called ‘feminist ethics’, or ‘care ethics’. In her book ‘In a Different Voice’ she suggested that traditional ethics represents masculine ways of thinking. She went on to identify a feminine way of ethical thinking, based on the concept of ‘care’.
Putting aside the question of males versus females, Gilligan’s point was to distinguish between two kinds of ethics: justice-based and care-based. Justice-based approaches (‘masculine’), such as utilitarian and deontological ethics, are focused on the question who is right and who is wrong. They attempt to define general principles that would determine rightness and wrongness. Their main concern is how to respect the individual as an individual – to respect his rights, freedom, happiness.
On the other hand, for care ethics (which Gilligan regards as feminine) the important thing is the caring relationships between people. The main issue is not how to respect the individual’s rights or happiness, but how to develop and maintain personal caring relationships.
From this perspective, when we face an ethical dilemma, our main question should not be: Who is right and who is wrong? but rather: How can I behave in way that would express and develop caring relationships between us?
***
“These ethical theories are not completely new to us,” Angela and Phillip say. “They were already mentioned in our classes at university.”
“Very good,” Linda says. “That will make things easier. Now I’d like us to continue with two more steps. First, let’s discuss these four theories and try to understand what they say, like in academic discussions. We want to clarify their inner logic, their implications and assumptions, their strong points and weak points, where they agree with each other and where they disagree.
“But unlike academic discussions, we are not trying to determine which approach is 'correct'. We only want to explore what these theories say to us in everyday life.”
“And what will be our second step?”
“Well, Angela, we will do a meditation exercise on these theories.”
The word ‘meditation’ takes Phillip and Angela by surprise. Linda chuckles. “Soon you will understand.”
For about an hour they discuss the four ethical approaches and analyze several case-studies of ethical dilemmas, some of them imaginary and some real.
Angela tells them that several days ago she experienced a dilemma. Her brother was depressed, but he refused to tell her the reason. Later she found his personal journal on the table. Her first reaction was to open his journal and read it, so that she would understand his problem and be able to help him. But on the other hand she also felt she had no right to violate his privacy. For a long time she sat by the table, the journal in her hand, unable to decide.
“That’s a clash between the deontological voice and the utilitarian voice,” Phillip suggests. “Respecting the person’s right for privacy versus making him happier.”
They discuss this for a while. Then they analyze a few more personal dilemmas.
“Alright,” Linda summarizes. “I think we have a good understanding of these four ethical voices. In the philosophical literature they are usually viewed as theories that contradict each other. Philosophers who regard themselves as utilitarianists, for example, argue against the deontologists, and the deontologists defend themselves and respond with their own attacks.
“But for us, this academic controversy is irrelevant. Each of these theories expresses a real moral intuition in our lives. Each of them expresses a real voice – a voice that speaks in us in certain situations but not in others. Because many ethical voices speak in us, not just one ‘correct’ theory.”
“What you are telling us,” Angela suggests, “is that in philo-sophia the main point is not whether an idea is correct, but whether it is real for us – in other words, whether it speaks in us, whether it is active our lives.”
“Wait,” Phillip objects. “Don’t we need to decide which theory is correct in order to make ethical decisions?”
“Of course you have to make decisions,” Linda explains. “And if the different ethical voices contradict each other, then you will need to decide whether to go along with the deontological voice, or with utilitarianism, or with another voice. But it is not the role of philo-sophia to make this decision for you. Philo-sophia doesn’t solve your dilemmas, it only explores their meaning.”
Linda now starts the second part of the meeting. She teaches Angela and Phillip a simple meditation. “Let’s close our eyes.”
After ten minutes, the minds of the three are tranquil, focused, and receptive.
“And now,” Linda says in a quiet voice, “let us imagine ourselves in Angela’s dilemma. Imagine yourself sitting by the table, holding the personal journal of your brother (or somebody dear to you). You can feel his sadness, his pain. You can see his sad eyes and hear his sad words. Now look at his journal in your hands. You have a choice to make: Either you open it, or you leave it closed. Imagine the happiness that you can bring him, but also imagine his privacy that you can violate.”
Linda falls silent for a few minutes, allowing them to get into the imagined situation.
“Now,” she continues in her quiet voice, “listen to yourself. Listen to the voices of your conscience, listen to the ethical voices that speak in you. What do you hear? What goes on inside you?”
After a while Linda asks them to put down on the table the imaginary journal and step out of the imaginary room. When they are ready they can open their eyes.
“In my meditation,” Angela says, “I felt confused. Each voice pulled me in a different direction, and I felt helpless, unable to decide. But then I had a realization. I realized that whichever alternative I chose, I would violate something. If I read the diary, I would betray my brother’s confidence. And if I didn’t read it, I would be unable to help. This made me sad. I felt I couldn’t possibly do the right thing. And then it struck me that that’s what life is like: We always fail in something… I wanted to cry…”
“Thank you for sharing with us this beautiful moment,” Linda says. “You described a real philo-sophical moment. It was a moment of 'hearing' - or understanding - a new voice in life. It would be very interesting to continue exploring it.”
“Well… I don’t know,” Angela hesitates. “Now that I think about it, maybe I was too sentimental. I am no longer sure that what I said was true.”
“Of course, a voice is only a voice, it doesn’t claim to be a True Theory. It is only one thread in the complex fabric of human reality.”
For a while they talk about Angela’s insight. Then it is Phillip’s turn to describe his meditative experience.
“I don’t have much to tell. All I could think was that the deontological voice was correct: It’s wrong to violate somebody’s privacy like that.”
“Alright,” Linda says. “And? Anything else?”
“I’m afraid not. All I could think was ‘that’s wrong’. I realized that I was listening only to the deontological theory. I realized that to declare one theory ‘correct’ is to silence all other voices. And yet that’s what I did.”
“Very interesting!” Linda smiles at Phillip. “You gave voice to an interesting realization.”
***
“That was fascinating,” Angela says. “But why did we start with an academic discussion about ethical theories? Why not start with meditation, and forget about the discussion?”
“Because if we meditate about something, we want to know what we are meditating about. We want our understandings to come from a good knowledge of life, not from confusions.”
“As you said,” Phillip remarks, “philo-sophia is a dialogue with the voices of reality.”
“Exactly. To be a philo-sopher is to remember that you are not just in your subjective feelings and subjective thoughts, but you are also encountering reality. You are not just in your psychological processes, but also conversing with real voices. Of course, we are not denying that we have psychological processes - pains and anxieties and satisfactions and so on, but for us they are not very interesting. From the philo-sophical perspective our psychology is the soil that gives birth to the main thing: new understandings of new voices. It is the soil where new flowers grow.”
“The flowers of Sophia.”
“Right. In everyday life it is so easy to lose ourselves in our psychological soil. Philo-sophia reminds us that we are not just the soil, we are the flowers too.”
“Are you saying,” Phillip asks, “that our psychology isn’t important? That we shouldn’t bother to feel better, or to overcome our anxieties?”
“Certainly you should. On the psychological dimension you will continue to do all of that. Without the psychological dimension, there is no life. There are no flowers without soil.”
“But Linda, I don’t see how philo-sophia is going to help people. Their difficulties and their pains are not going to go away!”
“Maybe so, Angela. Pain hurts, confusion is confusing, tedium is boring, anxiety chokes – these are facts. Philo-sophia doesn’t try to undo these psychological facts, but to unfold their meaning. Poets write poems about them, philo-sophers philo-sophize from them. Philo-sophia doesn’t resolve problems in life, but develops an additional awareness of their meanings, of their richness and depth. Because although on the psychological level our pains and anxieties are difficult, on the additional level they are our treasure. We have no richer treasure than them, no richer soil than the life we now live.”
Voices of Human Reality
Voices 6: VOICES OF TRANSCENDING
Annette visits the philo-sopher Linda at her home. She wants to consult her about something that bothers her.
“On the surface,” Annette explains, “everything is fine with me. I have a good job and a group of friends, and I get along with my new boyfriend. But I feel a kind of ennui, boredom. Sometimes I feel I have already seen everything there is to see.”
In the conversation that follows, Annette describes several examples of her experience of ennui. Linda points out a certain pattern in that experience, and they discuss the meaning of this pattern. At the end of the meeting, Annette starts to understand why she has a lot of energy to begin new projects, but quickly afterwards she is no longer interested.
A few days later Annette returns to Linda. “I have been thinking about what we said. I now realize that I am stuck in one narrow ‘theory’ about what life should be like. There is no place in my world for gradual progress, slow development, long-term projects – everything has to be new and exciting. But what can I do? I can’t change myself all of a sudden. I am not a piece of clay. I cannot decide that from now on I will enjoy the routine.”
“Annette, so far we talked about you, about your life, about your ‘theory’ of the world. We could continue to explore all this. There is a lot more to discover, and a lot more to say, and maybe new doors will open up. But I suggest a different direction. Let’s forget your problems and your boredom. Let’s get away from your world and discuss something else.”
“Like what?”
“Any philosophical topic, it doesn’t really matter which one. But this morning I wrote something about transcending - about going beyond ourselves. Do you want to talk about it?”
“But I have never thought about myself in terms of transcending. This topic isn’t connected to any concern I have.”
“Very good, Annette. If we want to do philo-sophy, then we should not be too preoccupied with our personal problems. This is an illnesses of our psychological culture: We are too preoccupied with ourselves, with our little worries, with our anxieties and pains and satisfactions. If we want to grow philo-sophically, then we must also look beyond our personal concerns and personal needs. We must grow beyond ourselves.”
“But, Linda, how is a discussion on transcending going to be significant, if it is so foreign to my life?”
“An encounter with new voices – it doesn’t matter on what topic – opens us beyond the narrow perimeter of our lives. When a new understanding touches our being, it teaches us how to listen beyond our familiar self. The moment of a new understanding, when a flash of realization stirs our entire being, is a precious moment: It is the experience of expanding beyond our narrow boundaries, of being more than ourselves. It teaches us how to be in touch with a greater reality.”
“So is this what philo-sophy tries to do?”
“Yes,” Linda says. “This is, for me, the heart of philo-sophy: To open in myself a new space, broader than my usual perimeter of life. If I learn how to listen to the voices of reality, beyond the usual patterns of thought and behavior, a new world will open up for me, a new dimension of meaning and understanding. To philo-sophize is to explore that different dimension.”
“So why discuss traditional philosophical texts?”
“Traditional texts by good philosophers help us to learn the languages of new voices. Discussing them is like an exercise in listening and understanding. Of course, this kind of discussion is very theoretical, but it prepares us for the real dialogue, for the living encounter. So let us start today’s language class: languages of transcendence.”
HEIKHALOT MYSTICISM – A HEAVENLY JOURNEY
Literally speaking, transcending (or going beyond) means rising above the ordinary plain of existence to a higher level of reality. This assumes that there is a level of reality that is higher than the material world.
Some mystics talk about transcendence in this literal sense: To transcend is to rise to a higher world. An example is the enigmatic books of Jewish Heikhalot mysticism, written about 2000 ago (long before the classic Jewish Kabala), which describe fantastic journeys to heaven. The mystic ascends to the seven heavenly palaces, where he sees great wonders such as angels, palaces, holy creatures and the divine throne. (All this may be metaphors, but it is hard to know what the unknown writers of the Heikhalot books had in mind.)
PLOTINUS – GOING BEYOND THROUGH CONTEMPLATION
It is possible, however, to believe in the possibility of rising to higher levels of reality without believing in mystical journeys to other worlds. Plotinus, the 3rd century philosopher and mystic, held that reality is a series of emanations, from the most perfect to the least perfect: The highest level of reality is the One – a unity beyond distinctions, divisions, and change. From the One emanates the next level of reality called the Intellect (Nous). From the Intellect emanates the Soul, and from the Soul emanates Nature, which includes our bodies and the rest of the material world.
All of creation, including the human soul, seeks to return to its source. The higher part of our soul is therefore constantly turned toward the Intellect and the One. But the lower part of our soul forgets its source and is preoccupied with material objects, such as bodily pleasures, money, food, fame.
That is why we often identify ourselves with our lower desires, and we forget our higher source and our true longing. But we are also capable of identifying ourselves with the higher part of the soul. Through intellectual contemplation we can turn to our source and attain union with the Intellect, and through it with the One. Interestingly, Plotinus’ student, Porphyry, writes that Plotinus had attained such a union four times during the years he stayed with him.
If we put aside the details of Plotinus’ complex metaphysical system, the basic idea is that we can go beyond our everyday concerns and turn toward a fuller, more fundamental, more perfect reality. This going-beyond does not mean that we literally go from one place to another, but rather that we identify ourselves with our true nature and true desire, and connect to the higher reality through contemplation.
PAUL TILLICH – THE SYMBOLS THAT TAKE US BEYOND
For the 20th century German theologian Paul Tillich, the ‘beyond’ cannot be captured in a description or theory. This raises the question: How can we possibly relate to such a reality?
Tillich answers in terms of 'symbols': Symbols can point to realities that lie beyond our descriptive knowledge. For instance, a religious symbol such as Jesus on the cross is only a symbol – there is no Jesus on the cross in heaven - but this symbol directs us toward divine reality which cannot be described in words or pictures. Similarly, the national flag points to the country's power and dignity. Poems and poetic imagery point to aspects of nature which cannot be objectified.
Symbols should be distinguished from signs. A traffic sign, for example, is a metal object that points to another thing, such as a nearby hospital, or the command to stop. A sign, like a symbol, points to something beyond itself. But whereas a sign functions by an arbitrary social convention (the ministry of transportation decided that this is what the sign means), a symbol does not depend on a convention. It has a life of its own in our hearts and lives. For example, we cannot arbitrarily replace the Christian mass with a dancing party and expect that the new ritual would mean the same thing.
This is because a sign is external to the object to which it points. A symbol, on the other hand, cannot be separated from the reality to which it points. A symbol is part of that reality. The national flag not only points to the country's pride, it is also part of it.
Most importantly, a symbol opens to us realities which we have no other way to experience. Conversely, it opens our inner being to those realities. In this double sense, a symbol opens a gateway between us and realities that are beyond the normal boundaries of our knowledge. It allows us to participate in them and experience them.
KARL JASPERS – TRANSCENDING THROUGH MY WAY OF BEING
The idea of transcendence (the ‘beyond’) plays a central role in the writings of Karl Jaspers, the German existentialist philosopher and psychologist. According to him, in everyday life we experience ourselves as living in an objective world – a world of stones and trees and stars. But we also encounter hints - or what Jaspers calls ‘ciphers’ – that point to what lies beyond objective reality, and beyond the boundaries of human knowledge.
We encounter these ciphers in everyday experiences, in nature, in communication with others, in religion, in art and philosophy. There is no technique or method that produces these experiences. We receive them like a gift. When we contemplate them, we get a sense of the limits of our knowledge. Ciphers then bring transcendent reality to our minds and bring us in contact with it. However, ciphers cannot give us any positive knowledge about the ‘beyond’. Transcendence is not an objective reality that can be captured by objective descriptions and theories.
For this reason, reading a cipher is not like looking at an object that is outside me and independent from me. The model of subject-object does not apply to transcendent reality, because the clear distinction between the two does not hold. I can read a cipher only through my own way of being, through my inner struggles to reach it. I can read it only by becoming my true self (or what Jaspers calls Existenz), through my authentic relation to myself and to life. Connecting to the beyond through ciphers is therefore an inner action. It cannot be verified and transmitted in an objective or generalized way.
NIETZSCHE – OVERCOMING MYSELF
Friedrich Nietzsche, the 19th century philosopher, denies the existence of a transcendent or divine reality that lies beyond the material world. Nevertheless, the idea of transcending plays an important role in his philosophy – in the form of self-transcending, Self-transcending, or self-overcoming, means going beyond my nature and creating my self, my values, my life.
For Nietzsche, our natural self is raw materials: chaotic needs and drives and desires. Our challenge in life is to go beyond this primary material by molding it, shaping it, giving it style. In this sense we are the artistic creators of our own lives, but we are also the creation itself.
Thus, our task is to overcome ourselves and be a self-creation, or an ‘over-man’. Indeed, the noble life – the life of the over-man – is a constant process of passionate and intense self-overcoming. As Nietzsche says in Thus Spoke Zarathustra, man is a rope over the abyss, a constant going across.
This process is extremely difficult. People are often too weak, lazy, and conformist for this dangerous and intensive struggle of self-overcoming. We often opt for comfort and safety and want to be like others. In this sense, the over-man not only overcomes his natural animalistic energies, but also the herd-animal in him, the ‘sheep’ that wants to follow the herd.
***
“Such different approaches!” Annette remarks. “But there is also a similarity: All these thinkers are dissatisfied with ordinary life. They want something higher, something more real.”
“An interesting point, Annette. And they seek it in different ways: through mystical journeys, through contemplation, through symbols, by being authentic, by overcoming our lower drives and needs.”
For a few minutes Linda and Annette discuss this. Then Linda says, “So far, Annette, we have been thinking about these texts from the perspective of our ordinary concepts and opinions. This kind of thinking is fine, but it has its limitations. It expresses only one way of understanding, one specific ‘voice’. There are other ways of understanding, based on different concepts, different assumptions, different logical connections.”
“But, Linda, I can’t think of any other ‘voices’ in me, except for my ordinary way of thinking and understanding.”
“You are right, Annette. Normally we are so immersed in our familiar attitudes that we are not aware of other fountains of understanding, other sources of ‘voices’, other ‘voices’ of reality. It isn’t easy to connect to those other fountains. Our everyday patterns of thought and emotion ignore and suppress them. The result is that we identify ourselves with our ordinary ‘voice’, with our ordinary way of understanding. Today let’s invite other ‘voices’ into ourselves. Let us open inside ourselves an inner space and let them to speak in us.”
“Are you talking about meditation?”
“I am talking more generally about philosophical contemplation. Philosophical contemplation means that we listen to other ‘voices’, other than the ordinary ones we already know from everyday life. One way to do it is to use a text that touches us. Did anything touch you in the five approaches to transcending?”
“Yes, Jaspers’ idea that I can connect to something beyond myself only when I am myself. I am not sure why this idea touched me - I don’t believe in God. His ‘beyond’ is not my ‘beyond’.”
“Good. Let’s read a couple of paragraphs from Jaspers and invite into ourselves a different way of understanding. I’d like to teach you a text-meditation that is based on an ancient technique called Lectio Divina. Today we will do the simplest version. Some other time I will teach you more complex ways of doing it.”
Linda now instructs Annette to calm her mind. Then she gives her an excerpt from Jaspers, and asks her to read the text very slowly. “When you read, open a space inside you for the text to speak. Try to understand it, but don’t impose your ideas on it. Push aside your thoughts and opinions, and just listen to what the words say to you.”
Annette reads very slowly and quietly, almost whispering:
“Reading ciphers is so unlike comprehending a being independent of me, that it is quite impossible unless I am myself… In my actions – in resistance, success, failure, and loss… I have the experiences in which I hear the cipher. What happens, and what I do in it, is like question and answer. I hear from what happens to me, by reacting to it. My wrestling with myself and with things is a wrestling for transcendence… What I grasp in reading ciphers of transcendence is thus a being I hear by STRUGGLING for it. It is indeed only with transcendent being that I have a sense of being proper; there alone do I find peace. But I am always back in restless struggle, am forsaken like someone lost; I lose myself when I lose contact with being.” (PHILOSOPHY, Volume 3, Springer-Verlag 1956, pp. 131-133).
“That’s enough, Annette. Did any part of this text strike you?”
“Yes, the part that says: ‘It is indeed only with transcendent being that I have a sense of being proper; there alone do I find peace.’ I felt that it said to me that I am myself only when I am beyond myself. When I am stuck in my narrow self, when I am busy with my personal concerns, I am not really myself. This is perhaps not what Jaspers meant, but it’s what the words mean to me.”
“Good. Now focus on this paragraph, and again let the text to speak in you. Read it several times and just listen inwardly to the ‘voice’ that speaks to you. You can also ask questions if you want.”
Annette slowly reads three or four times. After a while Linda asks, “Can you remember moments in the past when this ‘voice’ spoke in you?”
“Yes, last week, in a middle of a very busy day. It was the end of the semester, and I had some very important exams. I studied from morning to midnight, and I was very pressured, but also bored to death. I couldn’t stand it anymore. And then I looked outside my window and saw a bird on a tree. And suddenly I felt that life is much bigger than my exams, much wider than my boredom – that life includes not only me, but also this bird, and the tree, and all the birds in this city, and all the trees in the world. I saw that I am just one little atom in a big ocean. I felt very peaceful. My anxiety and boredom were no longer the center of the world. I returned to my books, and for the rest of the day I continued studying, but without the pressure. I can’t explain it. I felt as if I was no longer only Annette. I was more than Annette, I was with the entire world, and yet I was very much myself.”
“That is a very beautiful voice, Annette. Let’s explore it together.”
“You mean analyze it?”
“Later, Annette. First I suggest that you ‘listen’ to it a little more. Invite it to speak in you. Push aside the everyday Annette, your everyday way of understanding, and let this other ‘voice’ speak. Can you connect to it?”
“Yes, I think I can.”
“Good, so keep yourself connected, and let’s talk about yourself, about your boredom, about life in general. Let’s hear what this other Annette has to say.”
Afterwards Linda and Annette analyze that new voice, its assumptions, its inner logic, its language. In a later meeting Annette will return to that voice, and perhaps will find additional voices.
Linda explains that in philo-sophical practice it is not enough to explore our existing patterns of understanding, because we also want to go beyond them towards greater horizons. It is not enough to listen to the ‘voice’ of our small perimeter, we also want to open ourselves to other voices of human reality.
“There is a point where you are no longer just your ordinary ‘voice’. The walls of your narrow world crack, and dormant fountains of new voices awaken. Getting to this breaking point is not just a matter of talking and analyzing. It is a matter of way of being. That’s why philo-sophia is not just philosophy. Voices are much more than ideas, because they also come from fountains of life that animate them. Therefore, inviting a new voice into yourself is much more than theorizing – it is opening a space inside you, attending to new experiences and new voices, receiving them, and engaging them.
“This is the point of rupture: You no longer belong to any specific voice, because you are with all the voices of reality. Your psychology may continue to function in the same old patterns, but your understanding is now open to the many fountains of understanding, of life, of plenitude. This is the point of Sophia.”
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