Heidegger on an Education in Thinking

The following words of Heidegger’s have been on my mind for the past couple of weeks.

We all still need an education in thinking, and before that first a knowledge of what being educated and uneducated in thinking means.  In this respect, Aristotle gives us a hint in Book IV of his Metaphysics (1006a ff.).  It reads…”For it is uneducated not to have an eye for when it is necessary to look for a proof, and when this is not necessary.”

This sentence demands careful reflection.  For it is not yet decided in what way that which needs no proof in order to become accessible to thinking is to be experienced.  Is it dialectical mediation or originary intuition or neither of the two? Only the peculiar quality of that which demands of us above all else to be admitted can decide about that.  But how is this to make the decision possible for us before we have admitted it? In what circle are we moving here, inevitably?

Aristotle’s passage–and its non-kissing cousin in EN–have become more and more deeply embedded in my thinking and teaching.  My Seven Deadly Sins course this summer (now just ended) in many ways pivots on the EN passage.  I take that passage to insist on differences in kind among objectivities, differences in kind among, say, geometry and history and philosophy and rhetoric.  I have grown increasingly resistant to attempts to solder philosophy to science or to mathematics–or to whatever.  (Not that I was ever very receptive to such attempts.)  Philosophy is its own thing and not another thing.  Perhaps Heidegger gets a little too invested here and there in soldering philosophy (or thinking) to poetry (that is a topic for another time), but generally he is acrobatically adept at sundering philosophy from other things.  (Heidegger inherits the form of his Idealist predecessors’ metaphilosophy even if he rejects its specific content. –Compare him here to Bradley or to Oakeshott.)

Anyway, I do not like thematizing philosophy as argument, as argumentative.  Why should philosophy be beholden to proof?  I do not mean that philosophy should jettison proof or that proof does not matter.  But why should it be essential?  I am happy to say that argument has its place, an honored place, in philosophy.  But there is no reason to believe that gaining admittance to philosophy requires an inference ticket (apologies to Ryle).   –That does not mean that we just throw open the doors–free admission!  –No, but some things may get in without an inference ticket.  –Ok.  But what, and why, and when, and how?  –We need a sense of what is relevant in philosophy, to philosophy, and a sense that relevance itself is not a matter (always) for proof.  (In what circle are we moving here, inevitably?)  We need to understand what it looks like to be educated and uneducated in philosophy, so that we can embark on our philosophical education.

We glimpse here why the vocabulary of late Heidegger runs through the all the inflections of ‘receptive spontaneity’, why hearkening and following a path become leitmotifs of the work.  The claim of relevance is not always to be established by argument; sometimes the claim of relevance is simply the peculiar quality of certain things, a claim that demands acknowledgment from us.  We hearken to such things.  We follow in their paths.  Their relevance is their solemn power, calling us to free response. We make ourselves available to thought.

 

 

Season 3 Q3: Change?

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Spoilers!

This is the last in the series of short essays I have been writing.  It is also likely to be the last Chuck-related essay I write for a while.  Other tasks demand my attention.  I thank those who have read and commented on these essays.

 

 

We cannot step into the same river twice.  –Heraclitus
We cannot step into the same river once.  –Cratylus

Change is hard for us.  It is hard to endure. It is hard to understand.  Each hardness hardens the other.  While we are changing, especially early in the change, we have a hard time knowing exactly what is happening to us.  We have a hard time putting up with it.  We have a hard time conceptualizing it.  While we are changing we are somehow in a passage and a transportation between two worlds which seem to have no real unity–a murky one behind, a brightening one ahead. But we cannot see clearly into either or see clearly during our passage. As we change, we are doing our undoing; we put off the old person so as to put on the new, but the new is not a ready-made.

Season 3 is the season of change in Chuck, the moulting season.  I do not deny that changes have been underway since the pilot.  I do not deny that changes continue in Seasons 4 and 5.  As Chuck says in vs. the Coup d’Etat, “change is inevitable”.  Still, S3 is the season of the most fundamental changes, the season in which Chuck and Sarah finally break free of the asset/handler relationship that has imprisoned them and find their way to a new relationship, a relationship in which each of them is renewed, changed.  I have addressed some of the central changes in the first couple of essays (here and here).  In this final one, I want to address some of the larger issues of S3 and of the series.

Abstractly stated, the problematic dynamic between Chuck and Sarah involves three things.

(1) Sarah is changing and wants to change, and she needs Chuck to help her.
(2) Chuck needs to change but Sarah fears him doing so.
(3) Chuck does not fully believe in the depth of the change in Sarah.

(1) Sarah is changing and wants to change.  She has changed enough to recognize that Chuck represents both the tutor of her change and, in some way, its destination.  She needs Chuck to teach her how to change and to be there as what she is changing for.  But this means that she does not want Chuck to change.  If he does, he imperils her education in change and the goal of her change.  One of the most unsettling features of S3 is Sarah’s despair over the changes in Chuck.  She despairs for him, first and foremost, but she also despairs for herself.

Sarah is in the midst of change, in the middle of her transportation between two worlds, when her tutor seems to abandon her and deprive her of the result of the change she most desires–him.  Sarah’s despair causes her to flail about wildly, even if it is hard to notice it given the amount of attention Chuck’s even wilder flailing draws.  Sarah ends up with Shaw as a slumping stand-in for Chuck; Shaw becomes her substitute teacher.  But he is about as effective as substitute teachers normally are, that is, not very.  While under Chuck’s tutelage, Sarah was oriented on her future–even her forays into her past are for the sake of her future.  Under Shaw’s tutelage, Sarah orients on her past; she starts trying to identify not the person she is to become but the person she was (Sam).  While Sarah wounds Chuck when she shares her name with Shaw, Chuck and Sarah will both eventually realize that it is not her name, not her real name.  It was Sarah’s name but is no longer.  Shaw educes nostalgia of a sort in Sarah (he is trapped in a different sort of nostalgia himself) but he cannot manage Sarah’s passage into her future, her transportation to a new world.

(2) Chuck needs to change.  Sarah fears his changing and takes it to be unnecessary, but it is necessary.  Sarah loses faith for a while in Chuck (and in herself as a consequence).  She is focused only on the way others–Beckman, Shaw, Casey–picture the result of Chuck’s changing.  She really cannot imagine anything else clearly herself.  Chuck is no help here, because he only knows he is changing; he cannot see clearly what he is changing into, and, adding to the confusion, he sometimes believes he needs to change into what Beckman et al. want him to become.  Chuck is a hero and has behaved heroically frequently enough for his heroism to be a settled feature of his character–Sarah recognizes that it is.  Because she recognizes this about Chuck, she sees his changing as unnecessary:  he is a hero; he does not need to become one.  But Chuck does not see himself as Sarah sees him.  He does not recognize what she recognizes.[1]

Recall the exchange in vs. the Final Exam.  Chuck, nauseated and unbalanced by the sudden assignment to kill the mole, asks Sarah what he will be if he is not a spy.  She answers that he will still be Chuck, and that is good enough.  Sarah means what she says–he will still be Chuck, the hero, and his not being a spy is inconsequential.  (That last claim fudges:  given how things stand between them, personally and professionally, if Chuck is not a spy he will probably not be with Sarah–and that is consequential, and Sarah knows it. But of course, to her credit, she is not really thinking about them at this moment, only about him.)  But Chuck hears her as sentencing him to the Buy More, as sentencing him to being (to use a later line) alone in Burbank.[2]

Although being alone in Burbank is preferable to being a killer, Chuck now knows what he wants to do with his life and who he wants to do it with–to be a spy with Sarah. He wants that so desperately that he is willing to entertain killing the mole, although he cannot will to kill him.  (This is why we see his trigger finger begin to squeeze and then release the trigger:  he cannot do it.  He cannot kill simply to realize his dreams.  But that he can so much as squeeze the trigger measures his desperation.)

Chuck needs Sarah to help him become what he wants to be, to help him to understand what it is he wants to be.  But they are in an impossible situation.  He needs her to make real his change; she fears his change and resists it–wants nothing to do with it. She feels guilty, regrets, that he even wants to change. He cannot explain and she cannot help.

(3) Sarah is changing at a depth that mostly eludes Chuck or is hidden from him.  Chuck wants Sarah to change.  He fears that the change he sees is either merely apparent or temporary or superficial.  It does not help that Sarah is not always aware of how deeply she is changing.  For example, at the end of S2, Sarah believes she can leave Burbank, leave Chuck, and go with Bryce to Washington.  She is conflicted; yet, she believes she can do it.  She cannot.  During Ellie’s wedding ceremony, Sarah realizes that her belief is false.  She can no longer choose to be a spy if choosing it means she will have to abandon Chuck. But Chuck does not know how deep this change reaches in Sarah.  –He lingers in unclarity about this, to lessening degrees, until S4. The ghost of this lingering helps make the end of S5 so unsettling–it is as if, at some level, Sarah did not change after all. –And Sarah’s anger and pain and hurt serve to mask the depth of the change in her.  Chuck cannot see that she does not want to choose the spy life if that choice costs her him.  She does not want him to choose it since she thinks that choice must cost him her.

****

I could say more about these changes.  I say some more about them in my book.  But, even though I could say more, I will finish here.  Perhaps the most impressive achievement of Chuck is the fundamental but believable and emotionally satisfying changes in its main characters.  Few shows have managed such changes.  Relatively few have really tried.

Change is hard.  Portraying it is hard.  As characters change, they go out of focus for themselves and, as a result, for the audience. But we can, with patience and with a disciplined imagination, bring into focus why they go out of focus.

S3 is messy.  It admits this near the end of vs. the Three Words.  To straighten up some of the mess, we have to remember that we can conceptualize change (to the extent that we can) only by contextualizing it between a past (world) and a future (world).  We have to see the changes as changes, as in passage or in transportation.  No still snapshot alone will make sense or help us to make sense. Now, I cannot straighten up all the mess of S3; I have not tried.  But if we keep in mind that fundamental changes are underway, we can explain some of the mess, excuse some of the mess, and, perhaps, ignore the rest.  We can face the changes.


[1] Besides, being a hero–unless you hail from Krypton or chance bites from radioactive spiders–is not exactly a career choice.

[2] Among the many challenges of S3 is recognizing just how different Sarah’s vision of Chuck is from his of himself, and recognizing the centrality of Chuck’s vision to what happens between them.  Sarah sees him as a hero, and as a man who can educate her in what it means authentically to be human.  He sees himself as a underacheiver, losing and losing on his way to being a loser.  –Is Sarah’s vision more just?  Yes. –Is it as efficacious as Chuck’s vision?  No.

As Chuck will tell Sarah in vs. the American Hero, he has hated himself for all his existential maundering–his (personal and professional) indecisiveness, caused by his inability to get over his failures:  his failure at Stanford, his failure with Jill, his failure to escape the Buy More, his failure to get out of his sister’s apartment.  (N.B., if this isn’t the only time Chuck uses the word ‘hate’, it is one of a very few.  ‘Hate’ is not one of Chuck’s words; but there it is, falling off his lips, characterizing his relationship with himself.  (One’s self is the one self one cannot fail to have a relationship with.  The only question is what that relationship is to be. Even failing to have a relationship with oneself turns out to be having a particular relationship to oneself. I am deeded to me.))  Chuck’s self-hatred nourishes the roots of S3’s darkness (as do Sarah’s hurt and regret). Acknowledging it and overcoming it is Chuck’s task.  So, despite the fact that Sarah’s vision of Chuck is more just, his vision of himself has more explanatory power, particularly in the arctic night of the first 13 episodes of S3.  

Season 3 Q2: Why Does Chuck Refuse to Run? Or, The Man Who Walked Backwards

This is the second in the short series of essays on S3.  Spoilers!

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No other moment in Chuck more decisively shapes the entire series than the moment when Chuck meets Sarah at the train station in Prague.  He sees her; he smiles wanly; he begins to walk toward her. He heads to break her heart.

As he walks, Frightened Rabbit’s song, “My Backwards Walk”, plays.  That song centers the scene, the series.   The song takes us into Chuck’s interior, into his inner life, and allows us to move on his pulse. It sheds light on the motives that he does not or cannot provide to Sarah in what he says to her.

I want to investigate some of the lyrics of that song–in the context of the scene, in the context of the series. But let me say this by way of framing the investigation: the singer presents himself as breaking with a lover, but the singer’s actual point is that he cannot manage to do it, that he does not want to do it.  This makes the dominant image of the song so powerful.  The singer presents himself as leaving, as walking away from his lover, and yet he is walking backwards:  he is moving away, or trying to, but he remains fixated on her, oriented upon her. He is steering by her even as he tries to leave her.  He is not simply sneaking a backwards glance, like Lot’s wife at Sodom–he is, as paradoxical as it sounds, walking away toward her.  It is not the best strategy for leaving; but, then, he doesn’t really want to leave.

Before I turn to some details, let me quote a parabolic passage of Kierkegaard’s, from his Works of Love:

When a man turns his back upon someone and walks away, it is so easy to see that he walks away, but when a man hits upon a method of turning his face toward the one he is walking away from, hits upon a method of walking backwards while with appearance and glance and salutations he greets the person, giving assurances again and again that he is coming immediately, or incessantly saying “Here I am”–although he gets farther and farther away by walking backwards–then it is not so easy to become aware.

Kierkegaard here plays with direction.  He imagines someone who walks away from someone else, but who does so while facing the person, saying things and gesticulating as if he were walking toward the person.

Chuck plays with direction in the scene I am considering.  But plays even more complicatedly with direction.  Chuck walks toward Sarah while he walks away from her, but he walks away backwards.  He walks toward her–in order to walk away from her.  And he walks away from her by walking away toward her.  Chuck does not mean to confuse anyone with all this walking to and fro.  Rather, Chuck means to exemplify  just how complicated Chuck’s state of mind is.

Sarah’s last name, ‘Walker’, has been important to the show from the beginning.  Her first action on the show is to walk toward Chuck, who is standing at the Nerd Herd desk.  That walk becomes the true icon of the show, more iconic, really, than the dark Intersect sunglasses.  It is the true icon because it compresses into one action all the action of the show:  the whole show tracks Sarah’s walk to Chuck–a walk that itself does not proceed exactly in a straight line. If you stop and think about it,the iconicity of her walk is clear, and it is insisted upon:  the show returns to that walk obsessively–from a variety of angles and in a variety of ways.[1]  But we have not yet seen Chuck walk toward Sarah in any iconic way, and when we finally do, he is walking toward her, but walking backwards toward her.

The difference between Chuck’s and Kierkegaard’s backwards-walking man is that Kierkegaard’s man really walks away.  He pretends not to be walking away–perhaps his pretence fools him too.  But he is walking away.  Chuck is not walking away, not really, not for good. He does know he risks losing Sarah.

So this again is the complicated image, our paradox:  Chuck walks toward Sarah there on the platform.  That is what is happening in physical terms.  But he is walking away from her as he does so–he never turns his back on her.  Because he still takes his bearings from her, still steers by her, he is walking backwards toward her.

“My Backwards Walk” begins:

I’m working on my backwards walk
walking with no shoes or socks
and the time rewinds to the end of may
I wish we’d never met then met today

I’m working on my faults and cracks
filling in the blanks and gaps
and when I write them out they don’t make sense
I need you to pencil in the rest

To understand these words in the scene, we need to move backwards in time, to the fateful conversation between Chuck and Sarah near the end of vs. the Break-Up. Although that conversation seems initially to involve them both making up excuses for not remaining close and growing closer, for refusing to bank on a future together, it actually involves them both revealing their deepest fears about the future.  Chuck eventually says to Sarah that even if they were together, they could not be together (“Even if our relationship were real, it wouldn’t really be real”).  He gives various reasons–but the one I want to focus on now is this:  He imagines them as misfit for each other because he imagines himself continuing to work at the Buy More while she continues to work as a spy.  Chuck rightly cannot see how that would go.

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The reason why I focus on these words is that they frame the lyrics. Chuck has known–when he allows himself to reflect on it–that if he and Sarah are to be together, more has to change than the handler/asset structure of their relationship.  He knows that he has to change. At bottom, what Chuck knows is that, independent of the handler/asset structure, he and Sarah would still be unequal.  He would be a Nerd Herder; she would be the CIA’s top spy.  The difference in their careers and in their career success presents as much a problem for them as class differences did for lovers in earlier times.  In a sense, Chuck is poor, Sarah is rich. Chuck feels like he has to make good, be somebody, if he is going to be a match (consider that word) for Sarah.

When Chuck downloads the new Intersect, when he acquires all these new abilities (e.g., Kung Fu), he transmogrifies from computer to weapon, from a posture of receptivity to one of spontaneity.  (Beckman’s comment to Sarah:  “You were protecting Chuck from the world, now you are protecting the world from Chuck.”)  As Chuck struggles to understand the significance of his transmogrification, the NSA and CIA have already made plans for him–he will be trained to be a spy, a super-spy.  No expense is to be spared.  Powerful people, presumably Beckman and others of her ilk, begin to whisper to Chuck about what he could do, about what he could be, about his duty.  All this would turn anyone’s head, make it hard to come to any realistic self-assessment, to sort out what you want from what you are being told you want.  But for Chuck, who has been so long an underachiever, who has looked like a loser so often, even to those closest to him (Casey, Awesome, Ellie), the chance to finally be a winner, to be a force, must be especially compelling.

Chuck has been painfully aware of the distance between himself and Sarah, of his dependence on her.  Chuck has never been able to credit himself with genuine heroism, with any kind of self-possessed competence (outside of video games and electronics, both of which he derogates while still loving).  In the pilot, Chuck has a post-it stuck to his computer screen:  “You are a professional nerd”.  This is a bit of wry, bitter self-deprecation.  For Chuck, the word ‘professional’ is meaningless in the context of the post-it sentence–and that is his point to himself.  There are no professional nerds, there are only bigger and smaller nerds–losers of differing size.  Chuck longs for the status of a professional; this is something he admires in Sarah, and it is a reason why, when she rejects what he wants or rejects advances from him as “unprofessional”, Chuck tends to be moved by her rejection.  This is also the reason why he is so sure that Sarah will choose Bryce or Cole or Shaw over him:  they are professionals, they are matches for her.  But, with Sarah, Chuck is overmatched.

The first word to consider in the lyrics is the repeated ‘working’.  In S3, Chuck is working, working on himself.  He is trying to become better, to become more.  He wants to acquire the standing of a professional.  Chuck wants to be a spy.  He wants to be like Sarah.  He wants to be her equal, he wants to be a match for her.  He wants to follow in his father’s footsteps.  He does not precisely want to imitate his father (for example, he does not want to abandon the people he loves, even if for good reasons); he wants instead to emulate his father, to be what his father was but to be it in an improved way.  The new Intersect has equipped Chuck to reach his goal, and doing what Beckman wants seems to him to be his way of working on himself.

Chuck is engaged in a project of self-transcendence.  And Chuck’s project faces a twofold problem:  One, Sarah is the catalyst of the changes in him; she matters more to his project than does the Intersect.[2]  He needs her with him if he is to become what he wants to become.  Two, and as is true of every project of self-transcendence, Chuck cannot forecast with any accuracy or in any detail, exactly what he wants to be when he transcends himself.  After all, although he can say, “I want to be a spy”, he also knows that he does not want to handle real guns; he has no taste for lying; and deceiving others, particularly those he loves, demoralizes him.  (Under Shaw’s manipulative influence, Chuck will waver on some of these points, but he never wholly succumbs.)

Chuck can name what he wants to be–“a spy”–but he has no clarity about what that actually means:  we might say that Chuck is working to create a concept, ‘spy’, the marks of which are still in flux.  He is more clear about what are not marks of his concept than of what are marks of it:  for example, does not fall in love is not a mark of Chuck’s concept; ignores or imprisons his own emotions is not a mark of Chuck’s concept; carries a lethal weapon is also not a mark of Chuck’s concept.

These two problems make clear the point of the lines

I’m working on my faults and cracks
filling in the blanks and gaps
and when I write them out they don’t make sense
I need you to pencil in the rest

Chuck is working on his faults and cracks, trying to be a better man.  He is filling in his blanks and gaps.  But the problem is that he needs Sarah to help him figure out what he is trying to be, to help him create the concept he wants to instantiate.  When he writes the marks out they don’t make sense.  He needs Sarah to pencil in the rest.  But he knows that Sarah resolutely opposes his becoming a spy; she wants to keep Chuck from the spy life.  Sarah, however, means by ‘spy’ why Beckman and Shaw mean by ‘spy’.  She does not yet understand that Chuck wants to keep their word but exchange its meaning for another, new one.

But of course, as he walks toward Sarah in Prague, Chuck is at best fitfully and unclearly aware of all of this.  He knows he feels compelled to do what he is doing.  He also wants to do what he is doing.  But what he is doing turns out not to be what Beckman takes him to be doing or what Shaw, later, will take him to be doing.  All hands agree:  Chuck is becoming a spy.  But Beckman and Shaw mean something by the term that Chuck will not end up meaning by it. This manifests itself in his inability to flourish under their training.  They are not training him to be what he wants to be–but he is not himself clear about the source of the trouble.  Given what Chuck will eventually mean by ‘spy’, his emotions will turn out to be a strength, not a weakness.  He fails under Beckman because she is teaching him things he does not want to know and failing to teach him what he does. But Chuck is only a bit more aware of this than Beckman, and she is not aware of it at all.

Because Chuck is still so much in the dark about what he is doing, what he is trying to become, he cannot enlighten Sarah effectively when he tries to explain why he will not run.

Chuck knows he cannot explain.  That knowledge prompts the wan smile when he sees Sarah.   What is going on in him is still in process, and it is going on deep within him.  He cannot yet give it voice.  All he is sure of is that he cannot finish whatever has begun in him by running with Sarah.  He does not realize though that she is not the problem–the running with her is the problem.  Chuck is in the crucible.  To leave now would be to leave half-finished. It sucks to be where he is, it hurts, and it will get worse.  He will learn that the crucible is not spatially located in Prague; he is carrying it with him; he will carry it all the way back to Burbank, where it will change its form, but its severe test will continue.

As I have said, Chuck is not remotely clear about all this.  All he has is a feeling, a concretion of hints and suggestions that have characterized his life since Sarah found him.  That he will decide to become a spy presents itself, albeit in a form not explicitly thematized, as early as the first scene of the pilot, when Chuck and Morgan are pretending to be spies so as to escape from Ellie’s party.  Being a spy is already lodged in Chuck’s imagination, and to a degree not to be explained by being a fan of Bond films.  (In fact, as we realize as the show continues, the explanation goes the other way around:  his imagining being a spy is why he so loves Bond films.)  As Chuck’s father suggests, being a spy is in Chuck’s blood.

Still, on the platform in Prague, Chuck is undergoing the early stages of these change into a spy, his sort of spy.  He knows that Sarah will not understand the changes, and he knows that he cannot help, because he does not yet understand them.  The best he can manages is the misleading, treacly stuff he says:  “A life of adventure”, “Helping people”.  But those things do not make anything clear for Sarah.  She thinks he is choosing for himself the last life she would choose for him–and choosing it instead of choosing her.  He is not doing that.  But he cannot explain what he is doing.  Chuck foresees his problem when he sees Sarah on the platform. He knows that the current state of things between them makes their parting unavoidable:  he cannot go; she cannot accept his not going.  The tragedy, like all tragedy, is necessitated.  Character is fate.  All Chuck can do is let her go, and hope they can find each other again. To do what he feels compelled to do, Chuck believes he must remove or distance Sarah from his life.  He can’t, of course; but he does try.

I’m working on erasing you
just don’t have the proper tools
I get hammered, forget that you exist
there’s no way I’m forgetting this

Think back once more to the conversation late in vs. the Break-Up.  Sarah tells Chuck that when he gets rid of the Intersect and resumes his normal life, he will forget her.  He rejects what she says:  “I very much doubt that.”  Sarah is part of Chuck even then, and more so as they stand on the platform.  He cannot forget her, no matter how hard he tries.  He cannot erase her without erasing himself. (One lesson of vs.Phase Three is that Sarah goes as deep in Chuck as he does.)   He does not have the proper tools to erase her.  He can bury himself in work.  (As he will do in Prague.) He can bury himself in drink.  (A strategy that he tries later in S3.)  But there is no way he is forgetting her.

I’m working hard on walking out
shoes keep sticking to the ground
my clothes won’t let me close the door
these trousers seem to love your floor

I been working on my backwards walk
there’s nowhere else for me to go
except back to you just one last time
say Yes before i change my mind

say Yes before I…

you’re the shit and I’m knee-deep in it

Chuck desperately wants to say Yes to Sarah.  He wants to go with her.  He cannot go with her.  He wants her to say Yes to a question he cannot ask.  She wants to say Yes to a kiss Chuck cannot give.  Chuck needs Sarah in order to become what he wants to be.  He is not clear enough about what he wants to be clear about that.  He alienates the deepest part of himself by alienating her, thus causing unintentionally his own suffering in S3.  He starts trying not to love her; he starts telling himself he does not love her.  He works hard on walking out.  He will keep miserably at it, keep trying not to love her until Morgan tells him categorically that he does loves her.  Morgan knows:  Sarah’s the shit and Chuck’s knee deep in it.  When Chuck finally admits that, the Intersect begins to function again–because Chuck’s heart begins to function again.

Back and forth.  Backwards and forwards.  To and fro. Towards and fromwards.  The ancient Greeks conceptualized our relationship to the past in an image that reverses the one we use.  We conceive of the future as in front of us.  The past is behind us.  We walk forward into futurity.  But they conceptualized themselves as walking backwards into futurity.  The past is available to be seen, since they face backwards. The future is unseen since they are walking backwards into it.  Like the Greeks, Chuck walks backwards towards his future, toward Sarah, although neither of them can see that as they stand brokenhearted on the platform.


[1] We even get to see other women make that walk toward Chuck–Lou and Hannah.  But Sarah’s walk is premonitory in ways that theirs are not  Neither of them are a comet appearing in Chuck’s life, although each does cross Chuck and Sarah’s stars for a time.

[2] There is a good reason why, in their conversation on the beach in the finale, Chuck says that his life really changed, not when Bryce sent him the Intersect, but when he met a spy named “Sarah”.  Sarah makes Chuck the best version of himself.  The Intersect never, neither in early versions nor in late, has that power.  The Intersect adds to Chuck’s already great potential; Sarah actualizes Chuck’s potential. Chuck’s quandary has never been his lack of potential.  It has always been actualizing his potential.  

Philosophy as a Managerial Concern (Heidegger)

In the phenomenology of spirit, as consciousness’s becoming-other-to-itself and coming-to-itself, “forms” of consciousness emerge, as Hegel says; but this emergence of forms of consciousness has nothing to do with the procedure, now becoming routine and stemming from various motivations, of classifying the so-called types of world views and types of philosophical standpoints according to just any schema.  These typologies and morphologies would be a harmless way of passing time, if at the same time the odd idea were not in play that, by placing a philosophy in the net of types, one has decided on the possible and of course relative truth of that philosophy.  This urge toward classification and such like always begins at a time when the lack of the power to do philosophy gets the upper hand, so that sophistry comes to dominate.  But sophistry provides itself and its own barrenness with some respectability by first catching whatever ventures to emerge in philosophy in the net of standpoints, and then, having given each type a label, by leaving it with the people.  This label sees to it that, regarding the philosophy in question, one will be interested in its label only so as to compare it with another label.  Subsequently, the literary discussions about the label give rise to a literature which in its kind may be quite considerable.  Consequently, the Kant literature is not only more important than Kant himself, but above all else it reaches the point where no one any longer gets to the matter itself.  The procedure reflects the mysterious art of sophistry, which always and necessarily arises along with philosophy and controls the field.  Nowadays the power of sophism has “organized” itself, one of the many indications of this being the popularity of typologies of philosophical standpoints–typologies which appear in various disguises (manuals and series).  Philosophy becomes a managerial concern–a diabolical condition to which the younger scientific minds, rare enough as they are nowadays, fall prey in their prime.  But the reason for mentioning these seemingly remote things at exactly this point is the fact that in their confusion these typologies appeal to Hegel’s Phenomenology, in the belief and pretense that in Hegel a similar typology is aimed at, although without the benefit of contemporary depth psychology and sociology.

Heidegger, Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit (p. 29)

Although this seems as timely as when it was written in the 1930’s, if not more so, I am interested in it right now because I think there is a similar understanding of Bradley afoot, as if he were spreading a net of types in his work.  He is not–no more than Hegel was.  His work is no more managerial than Hegel’s.

Anyway, sophistry is internal to philosophy, always present when philosophy is present.  Sophistry is philosophy’s shadow.  And the rise of the isms is always a bad sign, in a time, in a country, in a department, in a mind.

 

 

 

Boldness

Perhaps the greatest lesson the [18th] century learned from its long, scrupulous, and imaginative comparison of it own experience with the larger past was the value of boldness; not the soi-disant boldness of negativism, of grudgingly withholding assent as we seek to establish our identities, prate of our integrity, or reach into our pockets for our mite of ‘originality’.  None of us, as Goethe said, is really very ‘original’ anyway; one gets most of what he attains in his short life from others.  The boldness desired involves directly facing up to what we admire and then trying to be like it.  –Walter Jackson Bate

Teaching Russell

My Intro to Phil class is reading Russell’s Problems with me.  This is my first time to teach out of Problems in an extended way; although I have taught the first few pages a number of times when working on arguments for sense-data in other classes.

We read the first part of Plato’s Theaetetus (through the ‘knowledge’ =df perception sections) and then we read Descartes’ Meditations (all of it).  In previous versions of the class, I moved from Descartes to Wittgenstein’s Blue Book or into Kant’s Prolegomena.  I eventually gave up on the Wittgenstein, mainly because the dialectic (its crisscrossing of the landscape, to borrow a PI image) is so complicated that I found the students really couldn’t keep up.  Of course, the Plato is dialectically complicated too, but it is better signposted, and falls into clearer large sections, even if the intra-sectional arguments are sometimes formidable.  (Does Socrates acccept or reject the Heraclitean Fluxiness that he introduces when he discusses knowledge-as-perception or not? etc.)

I eventually gave up on the Kant because there is too much distance, as it were, between Descartes and Kant for the students to really understand what Kant is doing.  I also found that it is hard to motivate the students to sympathize with Kant if they have not felt the milking-the-he-goat-into-a-sieve pointlessness that often attends philosophical argumentation.  (Let me be clear:  I have in mind feeling that in a way that earns the feeling, by having been burned by philosophical argumentation in the past, burned while–and because–you were inwardly, actively and sympathetically trusting in philosophical argumentation.  Students sometimes–too often–feel that philosophical argumentation is pointless; but they haven’t earned that feeling.  That kind of cheap felt pointlessness does not serve to motivate sympathy with Kant.)  So the students lack the background both of understanding and of earned affective response needed for the Prolegomena to do its simultaneous ending-and-beginning work.  Giving up on Wittgenstein and Kant has led me to Russell.  So far, so ok.  Moving from the Meditation to the Problems, while not seamless, is reasonably straightforward:  “Is there any knowledge so certain that no reasonable person could doubt it?”–the beginning of Problems strikes the students as quite familiar.  We will see how it goes the final couple of weeks.  I will report back.

Cicero on Inconsistency with Yesterday

You appeal to my writings, and testify to what I may at some time have said or written. You may deal in this way with others, who in their discussions follow prescribed rules. We live for the passing day ; we say whatever strikes our minds as probable ; and so we alone are free.

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