icarus fallen

Blog migrated!

2008-03-13T00:37:00.001-07:00

I've decided to move icarus fallen to a new domain.

please visit icarusfallen.decennis.com

Circular Reasoning? Thoughts on Lukacs' Notion of Class Consciousness

2008-03-07T12:33:00.000-08:00

In his History and Class Consciousness, Georg Lukacs attempts to reemphasize Marxism's Hegelian origin and redeem dialectics from attacks of revisionism. Opposing Kantian metaphysics, which makes an arbitrary difference between thing and thing-in-itself, the dialectic is supposed to be a relative dynamic between opposite ideas; in addition, it is supposed to be praxis, or unified thoughts and action. Consciousness is a dialectical notion: it is supposed to be "practical critical activity" with the task of "changing the world" (78). Class consciousness, in addition, "approaches society from another world and leads from the false path it has followed back to the right one" (78). In order to bring historical movement, the proletariat must organize itself and realize its own class consciousness.

This reading of class consciousness, while recognizing its aim for praxis, nonetheless place it primarily in the realm of thought. Even though upon realization of class consciousness action towards revolution must be on the way, the class consciousness itself does not quite contain action yet. This reading suggests that the realization of class consciousness is the exact moment that the thought is leading towards action; and, by virtue of its transition, class consciousness contains both thoughts and action. That which comes before class consciousness is either false consciousness or political unconsciousness; that which comes after consciousness--well, I think orthodox Marxism calls it revolution.

However, an opposing interpretation challenges this reading. It states that realization of class consciousness is revolution already because the proletariat class has already recognized its condition, and changes are already made in thoughts. To this point I object: where forth is praxis, that which unites thought and action? Defenders of this reading replies that because class consciousness is already defined as "thought and action", the realization of such fulfills the dialectics of praxis. But isn't this logic circular? Class consciousness is both thought and action, hence realizing it fulfills both thought and action. This interpretation seems to reduce class consciousness into a mere game of semantics, making it no more than a play of definitions. The condition of the proletariat does not change; perhaps it can imagine its socioeconomic condition changed--but usually we call that "false consciousness".

If we are to talk about Marxism, I think it would be for the best that we stay within its historical materialist framework. And perhaps our critique of it should come from historical perspective as well. For example: why the proletariat? Reliance on this particular class by today's standard seems absurd. Even in Marx's, or perhaps later, in Lukacs' time, such a class would be unable--too uneducated to understand the meaning of alienation, of fetishism, and of class consciousness--to carry out anything on its own. It is merely a reified object to the Marxist intellectuals and politicians, whom, symbolizing thought, required an outlet for action. What of subject-object relations and praxis? Well, I believe that in Hellenic Athens a group of professionals named sophists often taught their disciples ways of deceiving and taking advantage of others through the art of speech.

Berstein, Revisionism and Hauntology

2008-03-06T06:20:00.000-08:00

When the term "revisionism" first appeared in Eduard Bernstein's work Evolutionary Socialism, it lacked its latter stigma as any form of deviance to an arbitrarily established "orthodoxy" of Marxism. Had Bernstein lived, he would have rejected with disgust Mao's calling of Khrushchev "revisionist" and other abuses of his term.

Is Bernstein's revisionism truly "revisionist" by its later attribution? The answer is clear: Bernstein would disagree with Mao by stating that Khrushchev's thaw and destalinization was not enough. Only a genuine move away from Communist ultimate goal and violent means of achieving for parliamentary socialism would suffice the burden of the term "revisionist". Revisionism, in its philosophical grounds, further represents the move away from Hegelian dialectics for Kantianism. Bernstein undermines the theory of value that Marxist creates in Das Kapital. As an associate of Marx and a close friend (and one of the two literary trustee) of Engels, then, Bernstein had truly disowned the original foundation of Marxism.

The historical reception of Bernstein, however, is dim; he was criticized immediately by orthodox Marxists of his time--most famously by Sparticist Rosa Luxemburg, who called him the first of Marxist "opportunists". His "revisionism" was often mentioned as a label against political enemies while his positive contribution to Marxism to call for self-examination: "the further development and elaboration of the Marxist doctrine must begin with criticism of it" (Bernstein, Evolutionary Socialism, 25). His reception outside of Marxism fared no better. Even though European democratic socialist parties in practice followed many of Bernstein's points, they find Bernstein perhaps too tainted by his associations with Marx and Engels for orthodoxy. Had Bernstein been less practical and more capable of producing a sound theoretical work of his own, perhaps he would have found better receptions.

Of course, one must not forget that in the post-Marxist world, the specter of Marx (and his followers, critiques, friends and enemies) lives. Derrida's hauntology found its way even into Marx's prodigal son, Eduard Bernstein. When Bernstein's spirit was invoked by Xie Tao in his famed article last February in support of Chinese adoption of Democratic Socialism, would it know that through such invocation Luxemburg's criticism of Bernsteinian "opportunism" was again conjured into existence as well? Perhaps, instead of criticizing Xie Tao's citation of Bernstein as an anachronism, we can see this act in the light of huantology and accepted our fate that the haunt is long from over.

Intellectual History and the History of Ideas

2008-02-28T23:19:00.000-08:00

While discussing potential topic of my thesis today with my tutor, Darra Mulderry, an expert of American intellectual history in the post-war period, we briefly discussed the distinction between an intellectual history and the history of ideas. It seems like that a paper primarily concerned with the development of ideas in a certain individual or a school of thought should be considered history of ideas, whereas an intellectual history has a more sociological aspect to it as it focuses on the intellectuals and their works. Hence, an intellectual history would be one that attempts to examine different aspects of a thinker, whose thoughts--central as they are--serve as a key that guides to the character of the intellectual(s). Other factors, such as his biographical information, his self-perception of his role as an intellectual, are also important. Whereas the history of ideas is a genealogy of ideas, an intellectual idea would be a lineage of people who produce these ideas. Peter Gordon, in a article titled "What is Intellectual History", makes clear of this distinction:

Intellectual History and the History of Ideas
What is intellectual history? Broadly speaking, intellectual history is the study of
intellectuals, ideas, and intellectual patterns over time. Of course, that is a terrifically
large definition and it admits of a bewildering variety of approaches. One thing to note right off is the distinction between “intellectual history” and “the history of ideas.” This can be somewhat confusing, since the two terms are sometimes used interchangeably: “history of ideas” is a rather old-fashioned phrase, and not currently in vogue (though there is an excellent journal for intellectual historians published under the title, The Journal of the History of Ideas.) But if we are worried about precise definitions rather than popular usage, there is arguably a difference: The “history of ideas” is a discipline which looks at large-scale concepts as they appear and transform over the course of history. An historian of ideas will tend to organize the historical narrative around one major idea and will then follow the development or metamorphosis of that idea as it manifests itself in different contexts and times, rather as a musicologist might trace a theme and all of its variations throughout the length of a symphony. Perhaps the most classic example is the book by Arthur Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being (originally given as the William James Lectures at Harvard University in 1933). This kind of exercise has many merits—for example, it permits us to recognize commonalities in thought despite vast dissimilarities in context, thereby calling attention to the way that humanity seems always preoccupied with certain seemingly “eternal” thoughts. But this advantage can also be a disadvantage. By insisting that the idea is recognizably the same thing despite all of its contextual variations, the history of ideas approach tends to encourage a kind of Platonist attitude about thoughts, as if they somehow preexisted their contexts and merely manifested themselves in various landscapes.

Intellectual history is different from the history of ideas. It resists the Platonist
expectation that an idea can be defined in the absence of the world, and it tends instead to regard ideas as historically conditioned features of the world which are best understood within some larger context, whether it be the context of social struggle and institutional change, intellectual biography (individual or collective), or some larger context of cultural or linguistic dispositions (now often called “discourses”). To be sure, sometimes the requisite context is simply the context of other, historically conditioned ideas— intellectual history does not necessarily require that concepts be studied within a larger, non-conceptual frame. Admittedly, this last point can be controversial: some intellectual historians do adopt a purely “internalist” approach, i.e., they set thoughts in relation to other thoughts, without reference to some setting outside them. This method is usually most revealing when the relations between ideas helps us to see a previously unacknowledged connection between different realms of intellectual inquiry, e.g., the relation between theological and scientific modes of explanation, or between metaphysical and political concepts of causality. But this method tends to reproduce the Platonism which beset the older-style history of ideas approach. Even today, many intellectual historians remain—stubbornly or covertly—internalist in their method. They may pay lip-service to contextualism, but they are chiefly interested in conceptual contexts only. But because internalist styles of argumentation have in recent decades fallen out of favor amongst historians and humanists more generally, those who write intellectual history in the internalist manner often look rather tweedy and traditionalist to their more “worldly” colleagues both within and beyond of the historical discipline. Indeed, intellectual historians who practice this sort of concept-contextualism will not infrequently meet with accusations of quietism, elitism, or political naiveté. Internalism is nonetheless defensible on methodological grounds, though it is important to acknowledge its risks and its limitations.

Metahistory: A Literary Approach to Historiography

2008-02-21T15:07:00.000-08:00

The title Metahistory may seem deceptive: I approached the book imagining that its author, Hayden White, is attempting to create another speculative philosophy of history in the lines of Hegel, Spengler, and Toynbee. Instead, White treats patterns of history in a post-structuralist perspective: he analyzes historiographies of prominent historians and philosophers of history in the nineteenth century alike and analyze their work as result of specific tropes and particular aims of these historians and philosophers. Hence, the works of Hegel, Michelet, Ranke, Tocqueville, Burckhardt, Marx, Nietzsche, and Croce are categorized within the four tropes of metaphor, metonymy, synecdoche, and irony--with White himself writing in irony. In addition, explanations of historiographical works can be based on emplotment, argument, and ideological implication, roughly correlated to one another in this fashion:

Mode of Employment/ Mode of Argument/ Mode of Ideological Implication
Romantic/ Formist/ Anarchist
Tragic/ Mechanistic/ Radical
Comic/ Organicist/ Conservative
Satirical/ Contextualist/ Liberal

White's work, then, is meta-historical in the sense that he perceives language as the key, or meta-aspect, beyond all writings of historiography. A poetic and linguistic approach to history, then, is announced to introduce a post-structuralist reading of writers and interpreters of past events.

Hayden White's work, then, attempts to reject a perception of history that Collingwood sets out in his Idea of History; previous debates on the nature of history is replaced by an array of writers in history characterized by difference in style, while causality is abandoned in place of plurality. However, I am still at this point inclined to subscribe to Collingwood's view that history is the reenactment of thoughts of historians, who are but imaging the thoughts of his treated subjects. In the Collingwoodian sense, history is kept as a continuation of thought, an idea that man consciously "remembers" and attempts to reach through their own thoughts. In this sense, then, history can be kept true regardless of the format that it is kept; man can interpret the artifacts of the past regardless of its status as a historical account, a part of archive, a chronicle of events, or physical object of the past like a palace, a piece of art, or even a coin. On the other hand, the metahistorical analysis of history is itself limited by language--and especially in the form of written language. Its ability of explanation is limited by the form of historical accounts and therefore cannot be complete.

Postwar American Thought: Adorno's Authoritarian Personality and Riesman's Lonely Crowd

2008-02-15T00:22:00.000-08:00

14 II 2008

The task of Adorno et al. in the Authoritarian Personality seems to be an attempt to explain an ideological reality, viz. fascism, as a social result of the formation of what the authors called an authoritarian personality. A fascist state is possible only because characters exhibit potentials of fascism in their character. As Adorno explains, “the major concern was with the potentially fascistic individual, one whose structure is such as to render him particularly susceptible to antidemocratic propaganda” (Adorno et al., 1). The methodology of the study, however, is rather questionable. Through surveys and interviews, Adorno et al. seeks to scientifically identify certain characters with fascist potentials similar to a psychological correlative study. The questions are indirect and never touch on the subject of fascism itself, as Adorno et al. believe that answers to some of these questions reveal certain traits of the character himself (Ibid. 5). Although Adorno et al.’s attempt initially may resemble Mill’s methodological individualism, their method is problematic because it assumes the existence of an authoritarian personality prior to the study; that is to say, from the concrete existence of a fascist society Adorno et al. attributes the problem to the transformation of character into a corresponding personality and that “it is up to the people to decide whether or not this country goes fascist” (Ibid. 10). A preconceived opposition between “democratic” and “anti-democratic” character is hence formed as a result of the authors’ belief (and personal experience). However, we must question the validity of this attempt: is the problem of fascism truly personal or psychological, or is it historical in the sense that both the material condition, in additional to psychological condition of the masses, along with the historical development of the era (urbanization and modernization), may have led to the creation of societies that ultimately are characterized as authoritarian. With this critical inquiry in mind, then, I find the reduction of fascism into a personality, and then into a person’s performance in an arbitrary test’s “fascism scale” questionable. Although it is true that liability to submit to authority, desire to strong leader, and other traits identified in the study are factors that contribute to the success of an authoritarian regime, I think that the source of totalitarianism, however, should be sought elsewhere (Ibid. 231).

However, the Authoritarian Personality, like Riesman’s Lonely Crowd, identifies an interesting historical phenomenon of post-war western thought: the attempt to find individual traits that correspond to social problems. Social conformity seems to hold an important role to both studies: individual’s submission to the general trend or an authoritarian leader’s will contributes to an authoritarian state, while an individual’s adjustment in the three types of societies that Riesman identifies create a social fact of conformity. Unlike the negative connotation in Adorno’s study, conformity in Riesman’s case is accepted as a social fact. Hence the ability to conform is noted as adjustment while the inability to do so is characterized as anomie (Riesman 239). However, such conformity is not the ideal character of human development: Riesman cherishes a more positive way of life characterized by autonomy instead. Riesman avoids the philosophical problem of identifying the exact character of the truly autonomous by characterizing it as a Weberian ideal type (Ibid. 243). It is a matter of choice: while the individual has the ability to conform, he has the choice to either follow or ignore the social norm from his individual will (Ibid. 242). Although the introduction of autonomy seems to give people in a conformist society hope of individuality—questions nonetheless should be raised against its sheer optimism: facing social norm and characterized by his social condition and historical context, how much difference can an individual truly make even if he conceives himself to be autonomous? How is an autonomous man’s will different from a simply selfish will? In this aspect, Riesman’s notion of autonomy seems to be much weaker than Kant’s definition of autonomy that cherishes each individual as the legislator of his own moral laws. Something that links Riesman’s notion to the overall development of society seems to be missing.

Anglobalization?

2008-02-09T08:22:00.000-08:00

9 II 2008

Faithful to its function as a TV series, Niall Ferguson's Empire has a long and rather catchy but at the same time clumsy subtitle: "the Rise and Demise of the British World Order and the Lessons for Global Power". Although the book does not serve as an apology for British Empire, and lack a real, cohesive argument as a result of its limitations (as a TV series), it nonetheless praises Britain's imperial past as a beneficial fact for the world--the creation of a global market and introduction of civilization ("Anglobalization") to a once fragmented world. The "lessons" part is meant for America, the current "global power", which cannot affirm its role as its British predecessors had a century ago. Ferguson states in conclusion:

And yet the empire that rules the world today is both more and less than its British begetter. It has a much bigger economy, many more people, a much larger arsenal. But it is an empire that lacks the drive to export its capital, its people and its culture to those backward regions which need them most urgently and which, if they are neglected, will breed the greatest threats to its security. It is an empire, in short, that dare not speak its name. It is an empire in denial (317).

Well, not much needs to be said about Ferguson's Anglo-American (or rather, just Anglo and its colonial subjects) ethnocentrism. I am not so sure that his solution to Imperium Americana's maintaining of power through a re-enactment of Anglobalization (which, of course, also serves as the title of a lecture he will give in Harvard's History 10b class) is all-together valid. Exporting capital? This sounds familiar: but has the extension of American business interest in other "backward" nations really worked? Exporting "people"? As tourists, may be--but I am afraid that the type of colonization that Ferguson envisions in 21st century is but a satirical anachronism. For this imperium to affirm its status, I am afraid that it has to fare better in its affairs in weak, chaotic countries in which it has made a presence against international and domestic protest. Certainly, its British (and Mongol, Turkish) predecessors had done a much more satisfactory job.

A Polemic Against Freedom: Reading Erich Fromm's Escape From Freedom

2008-02-08T10:29:00.000-08:00

8 II 2008

When approaching Erich Fromm’s Escape from Freedom, questions must be raised concerning his critical analysis of freedom in its relation to modernity. In the very conception of this book, Fromm presents freedom as a polemic between the oppressor and the oppressed—and the battle for its acquisition is presented as a key theme of modern European and American history (1). However, as soon as freedom is seen as something in relation to another thing, as a force against oppression, it cannot be taken as a subject autonomous in itself. Such is the central problem to Fromm’s work: freedom, in its numerous (i.e. two) forms, attains value only as a negative rebellion against a given stage of pre-supposed oppression.

But Fromm does not attempt to resolve the problem of freedom in a philosophical sense; instead, he reduces to psychology, as a mere desire, that is on-par with submission—while man desire freedom to actualize his individuation, he also wishes for submission, so that he can find a form of psychological comfort in authorities internal and external (5). Psychology is supposed to unwind the mystery of these internal authorities; now irrational and unconscious forces, too, are brought to light with the work of Freud despite his historical limitations (7-9). Although Fromm attempts to venture beyond Freud by making man’s nature a product of his culture and historical context, his affinity to a notion of man as subjects that transcend history undermines this effort (11). In this effort, though, an internal contradiction seems to form: Fromm at once desires to analyze “how passions, desires, anxieties change and develop as a result of the social process” but at the same time study “how man’s energies … become productive forces, molding the social process” (12). This note at once masks his notion of freedom with both determinism and humanism; freedom is to remain a subject ever torn between different notions without a clear definition of its own.

Fromm analyzes freedom as a two aspect subject of modern man; at once, with freedom the modern man “becomes more independent, self-reliant, and critical, and he becomes more isolated, alone, and afraid” (104). The first aspect of freedom results from man’s freeing from different institutions that used to chain man together in bonds—but this act of freeing itself makes man more isolated from one another in fear; in the end he is to lose individuality through conformity or submission to authority. But although the result of freedom is stated, the notion of freedom i s unclear. Since it lacks meaning as a subject onto itself, but only as a force that opposes oppression, its nature should hence be analyzed through its effect contra oppression. But Fromm’s freedom is too ambiguous a subject to acquire a clear definition; its effect is at once freeing and enslaving, and hence its subject is left untouched.

Noticing the dual nature of freedom, Fromm offers an answer to “escape from freedom” in an ironic establishment of “positive freedom” (for to “escape” is without a doubt a negative act). It is some form of “realization of the self” that “implies the full affirmation of the uniqueness of the individual” (262). Indeed, it is supposed to be the “full realization of the individual’s potentials, together with his ability to live actively and spontaneously” (268). But, without a substantial definition of freedom itself, even positive freedom is at best an escape—an escape from freedom that we can easily characterize using Fromm’s favorite notion, freedom.

"How to Ace Your Interview"

2008-02-06T22:16:00.000-08:00

6 II 2008

A professor of mine offered the following tips on "How to Ace Your Interview"--since so many of my friends are eager to engage in these activities that are supposed to secure their bright future, and, in their spare time, discuss every aspect of it to make conversations full of excitement.
1. No garlic
2. No beans
3. Only dry sherry
4. No fish to bone
5. Wear a tie

...
Now shut up.
:)

Tax Exempt

2008-02-04T13:37:00.000-08:00

4 II 2008

As I was purchasing a book, i.e. Leibniz's Philosophical Essays, today in Harvard Bookstore, the cashier looked at the title--then, after looking at me for a second, asked with some doubt--

"Is this for a class or for yourself?"

I was rather dismayed at the remark. I thought it was meant as a doubt on my choice of books; but I have certainly bought more obscure books in the past--regardless of the fact that the book indeed is for a rather obscure class on Leibniz's political philosophy--in which, despite its good intentions of hosting its first meeting in an auditorium with the capacity of more than 200 people, comprises of a good company of one professor, two or three graduate students, and about two from the college--
and my presumptuous acts have never caused suspicion from cashier.

"So what difference does it make?" I answered with a question.

"Well, if it is for a class, the book is tax exempt, otherwise it will be the usual."

On that note, of course, I answered that the book was indeed for a class. I have been a frequent visitor to the Bookstore for more than two years now; and I was never told that our state exempts tax for textbooks--perhaps it was just negligence, but perhaps it is one of those laws not remembered by many. I find this business rather strange: the government taxes on used books--books whose original purchase must have already included the tax--but leaves those "for educational purpose" untaxed out of its sheer good will to "support education". Yet what difference does it really make? I could easily have purchased books ranging from Leibniz to Derrida on my own--as I have frequently done so in the past--and would that not be considered education? The decision to exempt tax is entirely arbitrary by the will of the cashier--how does he know which is for a class or for the buyer "himself"?

The question of tax-exemption reminded me of something, so I inquired--"So it's just like the Bible?" As a carry-over benefit from the puritan days, Massachusetts have exempted taxes on all Bibles--at least how it was. But may be not so quick--

"Yeah, that's true. In fact, you can buy Bibles, Korans, and other texts and they are all tax-free."

Indeed, in this liberal-ridden state, we must now extend the historic privilege of the Bible to the Koran, and I suppose, following that logic, Li Hongzhi's Zhuan Falun as well. These religious and quasi-religious texts, along with "designated textbooks", are indeed more needed, if not superior, than other great books. Well, I suppose we can help the rest out by making them "required by class as well"--and soon enough, we'll have make universities debase themselves to teach actual witchcraft rather than economics and government, you know, those higher forms of witchcraft.

For now, Leibniz, and his outdated teachings of iustitia est caritas sapientis sem benevolentia universalis--can enjoy a momentary break from taxation and negligence. The fate of his political philosophy (he'll be mentioned as one of the fathers of calculus probably in every introductory college level math course around the world), however, will probably be the same. Like the last time that such course was offered in wartime Oxford (that's 1939), the effort of Patrick Riley will fare no better than a much greater Ernst Cassirer, whose untimely insistence on German-language reading eventually reduced the course small enough to be held on a table in a nearby cafe. With that in mind, the five or six of us in this modern-day, and to a large extent anti-intellectual place, will make our adventure---perhaps with a heart benevolentia, but probably without the will universalis.

Utterances of a Superfluous Man

2008-01-28T21:32:00.000-08:00

28 I 2008

I have brought up something rather silly to make my mundane e-mail correspondences slightly less than boring:

"Thanks for your reply. I'm just rather bored by the people I deal with too-often recently. You know, to host a party for many and to find yourself to be the only one definitely not-belonging there is rather a bad exercise. Taken as a collective, they need neither philosophy nor, for all intents and purposes, reason in making choices. (exceptions exist and do not require mention here to demonstrate their significance). Hence, for both their peace and mine, I should eschew frequent interaction with people--at least when I see them I will not be bored from both their character and nuances of seeing them everyday. Predictability is boring; just as foreseeing other people breaking up is boring (hence you bet on it to make it worse, but slightly more interesting), foreseeing people making choices for their future in accordance and against their nature but nonetheless following predictable path, too, is boring. Therefore, by staying away from people, most of the time, i will at least be exempted from passing judgments on people too often--which I will as soon as I interact with people. No, these statements aren't emotional; nor are they completely rational--but I think they reflect something intrinsic of a superfluous man. As for your points--they are good, and I shall comment on them to the best of my ability.

1. well, sure--but that's rather difficult. by having others to "share my happiness and sorrow", am I to be equal with them? No, the subject is always judging, and therefore, cannot really take others as equals. Or else I won't be able to legitimately laugh at others' follies, and my own, to lose my subjective monopoly on judgment.

2. the idea of the philosopher king, just like Aristotle's notion of contemplative life, is quite absurd; it just gives a place for philosophers, most of whom are completely superfluous to the function of a society. I mean, people who philosophize (too much) might as well see themselves as superfluous; that way at least they don't have to pretend to be boring old people.

3. well, when I make people embarrassed or feel bad, I intend to do so out of pure spitefulness. I'm not acting for their good; but merely making them feel bad and realize their insufficiencies. Seeing people embarrassed or whatnot will at least make me feel slightly less-than-bored.

Well; enough to be said by a bored individual. At least reading your letter and replying it with this solipsist response is anything but boring. Take them seriously--or not. Regardless I'm already amused--probably to your annoyance, too. Now for the adventure:

'What is Man that Thou art mindful of?'"

Enough said; for our current condition I have nothing more to offer than a simple reversion of Marx:
"Marx said something along the line to instruct the proletariats that they have nothing to lose but their chains, and a world to gain. And what about us? we have everything to lose, except for our chains, and no world to gain. "

I think I will remain bored for quite sometime; meanwhile, I might as well write something to your amusement, whoever you are.

Random Reflections on the Philosophy of History

2008-01-24T18:39:00.000-08:00

24 I 2008

While staying home in Christmas a month ago, I was left with some time of leisure and decided to take a look at Hegel's Philosophy of History. Even though the text seems very insightful concerning the general notion, or rather, the spirit of history, few problems are evident: his facts are rather dated, his understanding of foreign cultures seem to grasp their appearance rather than essence, and, perhaps more importantly, the term "spirit" could easily be replaced by "god". The linear passage of spirit from one civilization to th next and the ultimate praise of the Germanic culture bring further doubt onto the validity of its claims. If history truly were an idealist determinist subject, why does it end in two self-destructive wars in the beginning of last century? Should these apparent decadence of "spirit" be deemed historical accidents or ahistorical, independent events? Hegel, who lived a century earlier and belonged to the particularity of his historical context, cannot adequately answer this question.

In comparison, the philosophy of history of Raymond Aron a century later seemed to be a much more rational version of understanding that better captures reality. The very notion of his philosophy of history itself is but an attempt to understand the limit of historical objectivity rather than an all-fitting system of explanation that aims at the basis of historical knowledge. The foundation of his thought, then, is based on intellectual skepticism, whose doubts leads to a notion of probabilistic determinism guided by reason in plurality of interpretations:

The intelligibility of probabilistic determinism characterizes the world in which the life of the man of action unfolds; the intelligibility of psycho-existential comprehension is born of a meeting with others, a discovery and an enrichment of oneself. The intelligibility of works reveals both the meaning immanent in each of them and the law according to which they follow one from the other; meaning that express one aspect of man and his creative capacity, a law that reveals the essence of the search and its progress. Historical totality preserves this plurality, of which the philosopher takes note, an awareness to which is added, with the always provisional discovery of the unique and essential problem, the effort to make sense of a diversity of periods within human society in a drive toward a goal vaguely outlined by reason.[1]

The implication of Aron's work leaves a far greater room for man as the historical agent to act; whereas in Hegel's world man is but an actor, trapped in his service to the spirit, who perform actions as defined by his context and the development of spirit itself, in Aron's perception man is the key figure who ties history together as he understand, interprets, and acts in accordance to his own historical reasoning.

[1] Raymond Aron, “Three Forms of Historical Intelligibility”, in History, Truth, Liberty, Franciszek Draus, eds. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1985), 53.

Reading Leo Strauss' Natural Right and History

2008-01-11T13:43:00.000-08:00

11 I 2008

Leo Strauss, in presenting the conflict between natural right and history, seems to have based his judgment too much on the conflict between the former idea with a particular school, viz. historicism. According to Strauss, natural right stands for consistency that stands regardless of time, while historicism is a school of extreme relativism, in which no objective knowledge can be assumed without paying attention to historical particularities. Both cases, however, seem to be rather extremist: although natural right stands for that which is natural, or that which is observable universally and objectively, it does not have to be hostile to notions of historical consciousness. Notions of the natural itself, as Strauss demonstrates, changes over time; and it would be prejudice to assume that only the more aged one has claim of validity. Even if the notion itself contains possibility of objectivity, history brings development of its understanding and should not be rejected for objectivity. On the other hand, historical consciousness does not necessarily yield complete subjectivist understandings. Sure enough--each idea only takes shape in its particular historical framework; but this notion does not eliminate possibility of continuation and elements of objectivity in the course of history. To subscribe to this extreme form of relativism contains no fewer error than to follow historical determinism; specific facts particular to a setting and general trends both should be noted in our historical consciousness. The best we can do, in most cases, are but to use our reason to a certain extent to approximate the likelihood of things--any claim of Truth in completion should probably be rejected after skeptical scrutiny.
Regardless, Strauss' analysis of the development from ancient natural right to modern natural law is very detailed and insightful. If things permit, I shall examine the rest of this book in detail.

Historical Uprootedness

2008-01-08T16:12:00.000-08:00

8 I 2008

Simone Weil, in her Need for Roots, demonstrates the errors and severity of the problem of uprootedness. To Weil, the tradition of liberalism that started the French revolution and continued to her days has omitted the concept of roots, and hence, neglects the wellbeing of human souls. The liberal spirit of 1789, a product of the enlightenment, is based on the notion of rights; that is, belief on man’s potential to achieve things and to reserve realms of freedom for himself based on his shared identity with others, based on conditions of equality of being—regardless of whether it is universal manhood, common citizenship, or god that grants such equality. However, the notion of obligation is forgotten; rights, in the sense that Weil perceives, is an antithesis of obligation. While rights attempts to reduce boundaries for common grounds, to free oneself from burdens of birth and imposed requirements, obligation reminds oneself of the very fact that he is ultimately limited and has duties to fulfill. Otherwise rights become a fantasy without roots in human reality. Obligation serves as the moral guidance for rights; through its universal ability of limiting and directing man’s action, it is in itself transcendent and crucial to human reality:

The notion of rights, being of an objective order, is inseparable from the notions of existence and reality. This becomes apparent when the obligation descends to the realm of fact; consequently, it always involves to certain conditions. Obligations alone remain independent of conditions. They belong to a realm situated above all conditions, because it is situated above this world (4).

The concept of obligation, too, is universal, as “all human beings are bound by identical obligations, although these are performed in different ways according to particular circumstances” (4). It is one “not based upon any de facto situation… not based upon any convention… [but] an eternal one” (5). Hence, a question arises: since both rights and obligations inevitably draw upon a notion of universality; why is the seemingly more restrictive notion transcendent and the more liberal notion not? Weil attributes the error of the spirit of 1789 to its anthropocentric arrogance and concurrent desire for universality:

All [the men of 1789] recognized was the [realm] on the human plane. That is why they started off with the idea of rights. But at the same time they wanted to postulate absolute principles. This contradiction caused them to tumble into a confusion of language and ideas which is largely responsible for the present political and social confusion (4).

The enlightenment philosophés and their subsequent revolutionary protégés, by contemplating solely upon that which is human, while still upholding an obsession with the notion of progress, by upholding rights without an understanding of obligation, have created a gap between reality and idea, divine inspiration and human achievement. Hence, as Weil sees, “the liberating current of the eighteenth century found itself without historical roots: 1789 really was an open break” (110). Those who subscribe to the roots, patriots of the tradition and country of France, were executed as traitors, while those who prevailed believed in an illusion of national sovereignty, to revolution, to the belief in change. But these illusions are short lived: with the roots severed, those who want to remain patriots have to cling to the state, an unpopular notion. Hence the patriotic switched from the Left to the Right, from the populist to the aristocratic (111). The changing policy of the patriotic spirit demonstrates the contradiction within the fundamental notions of rights behind the French polity. Without a sense of obligation, the French revolutionary and liberal tradition, then, is an example of historical uprootedness.

Impressions of Hong Kong

2008-01-03T15:25:00.000-08:00

4 I 2008

Rather than the product of a single visit, these thoughts reflect the collective impression on this particular city from both my current trip and the previous one from last August.

the Airport
This is where languages, partings, and first impressions intercept in its usual busy operations. Mechanical waiting lines is inundated by the vibrant shops and shoppers nearby. Movement natural or artificial contradicts the color of florescent light everywhere. Regardless of their nationalities, visitors become close to equals before immigration, knowing that their stay in this international hub is but temporary, and that travelers and exiles alike must make their way home, or elsewhere. Every twelve minutes one of those trains exchange one group of visitors for another for a mere hundred; the visit to this museum of walkers, however, will always be one way, unless you are one of those unfortunate souls trapped in time.

Wan Chai
A happy combination of small shops, meeting places, and luxurious hotels. Compared to its counterpart in Peking, the Grand Hyatt here has a darker, but perhaps more grandiose undertone imbued in its halls. Strangely, noodle shops, laundry shops, and the Joint Press shape my memory much more than the turtle like exhibition and convention center.

Causeway Bay
Layers and layers of shops and malls open until midnight. Neon lights illuminate the busy streets in the evenings, while pedestrians dressed in fashion linger on them, as if the night were more desirable than the day. Ten in the morning, I traversed in this once busy area to find few people around and few shops open. Caucasian faces and Latin alphabets on signs and shop windows make one forget that this place was, and perhaps will be, a part of a distant Oriental culture. Hidden behind the main street I saw signs of small bookshops, forced to retire to second and third floors. From the aged doorways and dirty stairs I climbed to another world that doesn't seem to belong here. My world.

Central
Bank buildings, IFC, and professionally dressed men and women on the street without much expression reminds one that after all, this city is established and known for the dismal science. Sophisticated false consciousness is forgotten by the ephemeral glory; for now we, too, must crunch our numbers.

University
A city upon the hill noted for excellence and English education. This is a vertical place. In clotted space dorms, classrooms, auditoriums, and cafes paint together a completely different picture.

Mong Kok
Compared to Causeway Bay, this place belongs to a different class--infinitely more indigenous. At night, electronic and clothing shops attract much attention from street-goers, while long line waits for the movie theater. Independent sellers and their carts of goods form a street on their own, while booksellers pile themselves on top of one another in two apartment buildings. On one of them, after climbing up six or seven floors, one finds a second hand dealer of classics, and the one on top, a seller of treasure: books in both English and Chinese cover much of contemporary humanistic and social studies, from deconstruction to critical theory. Even the newest books--for instance, Peter Gay's Modernism--are on display here. Its collection of vast interest form a great contrast to its tiny size. Nearby a rather sketchy cybercafe situates, and thus I, sitting here, find my morning full of color.

Lo Wu
As the train approaches China proper, scenes outside reminds one that despite all illusions, the concept of that particular nation long has penetrated the heart of this harbour. No, one needs not look outside to the China Petroleum station to remember that Chinese banks and businesses are everywhere on the streets of Hong Kong, and that the PLA, shaped in a strange rectangular building, occupies a key position in Central. The gate has long been opened. But outside of it, will one find those contemptible shops of fake goods, or a brave new world? Despite this ambiguity, I must leave, to return to homeland of my fear and love.

Simone Weil: Marxism and Oppression

2007-12-06T16:25:00.001-08:00

6 XII 2007

Simone Weil, in her collected writings Oppression and Liberty, reveals inconsistency within Marxism. In her essay “Prospects”, Weil recognizes that although a so-called Marxist state has been set up in Russia, oppression of the people still persists. The transfer of power, stabilized and reinforced by bureaucracy, “has transformed the dictatorship of the proletariat into a dictatorship exercised by itself” (26). The situation is the no better in Germany; the rise of national-socialism creates an alliance between the state and the capitalists. Hence, “what is serious is that nowhere are the worker organized in an independent manner” (27).

Weil, therefore, points to another direction: regardless of state ideology, the true problem that society faces and continues to practice is the oppression of the people. Although Marx successfully has shown that oppression within the capitalist system creates a self-contradiction that would ultimately “hinder production” and bring its own downfall, he fails to recognize that “in our day, any other oppressive system would hinder it in like manner”. Marx does not bring himself to explain “why oppression is invincible as long as it is useful, why the oppressed in revolt have never succeeded in founding a non-oppressive society… he leaves completely in the dark the general principles of the mechanism by which a given form of oppression is replaced by another” (56). With the hindsight of the establishment of USSR and formation of totalitarian states, Weil comes to understand that ideology that claims to free a certain group of the oppressed is in itself oppression.

Furthermore, in order for state apparatus to function, the use of power is necessary, and a distinction between man with power and man without power is created. The very nature of power, according to Weil, leads to more oppression, as man with power faces the two following two struggles against those he rule and his rivals ultimately bounds up; he who is with power is insecure, the nature of these two struggles calls for the man with power to make power itself more oppressive (63). This, in turn, only calls for more threats from his enemies and increase of the oppressiveness of power again. This analysis presents the instability of power, as Weil presents its nature in a vicious cycle:

For, owing to the fact that there is never power, but only a race for power, and that there is no term, no limit, no proportion set to this race, neither is there any limit or proportion set to the efforts that it exacts; those who give themselves up to it, compelled to do always better than their rivals, who in their turn strive to do better than they, must sacrifice not only the existence of the slaves, but their own also and that of their nearest and dearest; so it is that Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter lives again the capitalists who, to maintain their privileges, acquiesce lightheartedly in wars that may rob them of their sons (64).

Although Weil’s analysis is directed towards capitalist states, same can be applied to states that claim to be Marxist. Marx, because of his inconsistency in accepting the contradiction of both “the cult of science and utopian socialism”, cannot resolve to create a society where power structure can be abolished (161). It is from the sheer revolutionary spirit that Marx inherits which the ideology calls for revolutions, towards a society that his later “scientific” analysis cannot fully envision. The real social problem has yet to be solved; oppression stays, with or without Marxism.

Judgment and Hypocrisy

2007-12-01T07:45:00.000-08:00

30 XI 2007

Camus explores the theme of judgment and hypocrisy in his novel the Fall through the personal reflections of the narrator, Clamence. Clamence states that as a judge in Paris, he once had an almost “perfect” life: he had a successful career, helped the poor, and had his way with women. As a lawyer, Clamence judges others in every aspect of his action: and through his judgment of others, he himself feel “free of any duty, shielded from judgment as from penalty [of his defendants]” as “the judges punished and the defendants expiated” (26-27). Hence, through passing judgment on others, Clamence feels a sense of superiority over others; his motivation for defending the poor, pitying the miserable, too, results from this very sense, manifested in a form of moral hedonism:

But you can already imagine my satisfaction. I enjoyed my own nature to the fullest, and we all know that there lies happiness, although, to soothe one another mutually, we occasionally pretend to condemn such joys as selfishness. At least I enjoyed that part of my nature which reacted so appropriately to the widow and orphan that eventually, through exercise, it came to dominate my whole life (20).

Thus, Clamence is generous; for such generosity gives him a sense of control, so that he could become “the master of [his] liberties” (22). Camus, then, successfully portrays the psychology of judgment: it is a faculty that which allows oneself to be beyond the very judgment itself, a process of detachment that creates a sense of moral superiority for action resulted from judgment.

However, Camus soon questions the validity of this statement through Clamence’s encounter of a moral crisis. The incidence of witnessing a woman committing suicide without an urge to save her imbues a sense of guilt into him; the episode of his desire to run over the motorcyclist who deterred him from proceeding when traffic light changes to green makes Clamence realize that he, too, is not innocent, is capable of evil, and cannot be beyond judgment itself. This realization creates a sudden change in Clamence’s life; he closes his law practice and withdraws into a sort of amoral debauchery. At this point, then, Camus reflects the hypocrisy of judgment: its assumption of making one higher than others through judging others cannot hold true as the judge himself is equally guilty as the judged. However, at this stage, Clamence’s reaction is still largely negative: by refusing to judge, Clamence sinks to a state that is below himself and his capacities in cowardice of debauchery, a state of existence no better than that of judgment itself.

Clamence resolves this second stage of his life through his acceptance as a “judge-penitent”: he takes the position of the guilty himself, and nonetheless judges—through acceptance of human capacity of evil, he creates a community of man:

The more I accuse myself, the more I have a right to judge you. Even better, I provoke you into judging yourself, and this relieves me of that much of the burden. Ah, mon cher, we are odd, wretched creatures, and if we merely look back over our lives, there’s no lack of occasion to amaze and horrify ourselves. Just try. I shall listen, you may be sure, to your own confession with a great feeling of fraternity (141).

Hence, Camus’ solution to the problem of judging and hypocrisy does not lie in man’s complete withdrawal from judging; but instead one is to accept the hypocrisy as it is, and judge nonetheless from his understanding of human guilt.

Elusive Impressions - Qin and Han History

2007-11-26T13:00:00.000-08:00

26 XI 2007
I came across Mark Edward Lewis' new book, The Early Chinese Empires: Qin and Han (Cambridge, 2007) last week and read it over the break. This book is the first in a new series on the history of imperial China. As the first in the series and a general survey of the period, Lewis does an adequate job: the book is divided into sections such as "the Geography of Empire", "Imperial Cities", "Rural Society", "the Outer World", "Kinship", and "Law", to present an impressionistic picture of the socio-political life at the time. An overall situation of early imperial China is demonstrated through description of imperial rule, organization of rural society and its taxation, kinship consisted of nuclear families, and the geographical difference between the guanzhong area and guandong area.

However, contrary to classical Chinese historiography, Lewis centers around system, institutions, and overall situation at the time without putting much emphasis on man and event. Hence, the book presents settings without specific characters: instead, one only feels the existence of a collective as the Qin and Han empire. Even opponents, such as Xiongnu and other nomadic groups, and internal elements of unrest such as late Han's problem with permanent generals and religious uprisings, are presented to be a part of the holistic situation. Extraordinary characters and their influence on the course of history are largely deemphasized . In addition, the experimental interruption of Xin dynasty lacks emphasis in the book as well: despite its short presence, it exposed the weakness of a system, a transformation of power, and a re-evaluation of statecraft centered on a certain ideology. Hence, the overall impression of Lewis' book is elusive at best: we are given the situation of the time without vivid characters. Even if they are presented--surely one cannot completely ignore Qin Shihuangdi, Li Si, Xiang Yu, Han Gaozu, Han Wudi, Wang Mang, and Han Guangwudi--they are vague and without dimensions at best, quite contrary to Sima Qian and Ban Gu's vivid accounts of their lives.

Regardless of the book's inadequacy in presenting character and events, its account of institutions for survey purposes is excellent. For example, the discourse on law is especially elucidating, emphasizing the important relation between language and law, the letter of the law versus the spirit of the law. Drawing insights upon Han scholar's emphasis on Chunqiu Gongyangzhuan, Lewis states, "law, in this tradition of commentary, was the quintessential expression of the social powers of language" (238). Further analysis of the relationship between law and lanugae is evident in through Lewis' explanation of Sima Qian's criticism on those who follow too rigidly the letter of the law:

In short, one of the bases of [Sima Qian]'s critique was that law was a rigorous language which gave power to those who mastered its sutleties and permutations but did not always achieve justice as he or others perceived it.... Sima Qian's negative view nevertheless defines law as a distinct form of technically regulated and hence powerful language (240).

Thus, an early question of legality and language is raised: law is a powerful language, and at the same time it is derived through utilization of language.

Regardless, Lewis argues: the understanding of later history of China is impossible without understanding its classical foundation in its social, political, legal, economic, geographical, and philosophical foundations. This book, despite its elusive nature on events at the time, nonetheless completes this task adequately.

Commitment and Community

2007-11-24T07:52:00.000-08:00

21 XI 2007

In Albert Camus’ Plague, two characters with opposite motivations are portrayed with obvious human weakness; Rambert, the journalist from Paris, finds himself not belonging to the situation and wants to break through the quarantine. Cottard, on the other hand, desires the exact opposite: crime of past makes him believe that through the plague the past can be forgotten and that a new community is formed through the collective experience of the plague. Hence, Cottard is anything but excited to see the end of plague.

Through the character of Rambert, Camus explores the theme of commitment. Viewing himself as an outsider, as someone who doesn’t belong to the situation, Rambert initially sees his involvement in the situation as completely accidental and hence find himself justified to escape. Rambert’s excuse is the love he bears for his wife: though this point is proven false when Camus points out that for the most part Rambert’s mind is never on his love, but instead on his own situation. What he fail to recognize is that man has little control of his situation; a situation is given to man and he must face it and make decisions based on it. The people of Oran are given this situation of uncertain fear and death not by their choice: lot is chosen for them. Hence, Rambert belongs as much to the plague as the people of Oran: it is not a matter of whether one belongs or deserves to be in a situation, but that a situation is given to man without his choice, and he can only do what he can within the situation. The character of Rambert, after his failed attempt to escape, suddenly realizes this point and joins Dr. Rieux’s sanitary squad. This act is one of acknowledgement and commitment: acknowledgement that he, too, belongs to the community of the plague and commitment to act within his ability in an unalterable situation. As soon as the situation ends, Rambert is again free to leave this community, to become a foreigner again, and to return to his wife. But regardless he belongs before the situation is lifted. Hence, the plague serves as an act that creates a community that calls for commitment.

Cottard’s case also demonstrates the point that a situation such as the plague unites to create a community. As a man of crime, Cottard is first presented after his attempted suicide: his desire to do away from his past and himself completely after realization that community with those who are not guilty is impossible. Yet, the situation of the plague brings hope to Cottard: he recognizes that in the plague everyone is equal before death again, and that the government administration is no longer functional to track down his crimes. Hence, he happily enjoys this community and takes advantage of the situation through involvement with smuggling. Cottard is portrayed as an opposite to Rambert; although he recognizes the community from the very beginning, no event triggers him to commitment. He wishes the exact opposite, as if suffering of others means nothing to him as long as the illusion of his participation in the collective remains. Thus, Cottard becomes irrationally attached to a situation given to him, which ultimately causes his doom. When he plague is lifted and others celebrate life, Cottard, recognizing that his imagined community ceases to exist, becomes mad and chooses his own doom; the unbearable thought to be alone, to fear, to be wanted drives his senses to lunacy, even though no such action is meant to aim at him at any point yet. Without commitment, Cottard’s view of the community, ultimately, is flawed and illusionary at best.

The situation of a plague represents an absurd state of life; death happens, without any note, to man, upright or corrupt, alike. Its inception and end might as well have nothing to do with the work of the sanitary squad: and the death of Tarrou--a man who has deeply felt the plague within, who spend his life siding with the weak, who realizes that man are equally guilty--demostrate that people who commit to this form of voluntary and communal action, too, may perish through the plague without any reason. Yet what is one to do? It is precisely because of meaninglessness that he find the community of man indispensables, and commitment to protect it, a process to create meaning.

Arrow and Bow

2007-11-15T16:55:00.000-08:00

15 XI 2007
Arrow and Bow
Two streets, named Arrow and Bow, cross one another in front of a chapel. Mixture of both holiness and the secular, if not vulgar sounds of laughter contradict one another: and a small door leads to buildings neither new nor old. They, too, belong to an age long lost and cannot deceive with their antiquated facade. I saw the traffic light, in the rain, reflecting the color red and green to a side door of the chapel. For a brief moment I thought that the red light comes from within, and sought curiosities within. But that, too, vanishes as I approached it; and remained there only was I, venturing into darkness, facing many streets, leading to many places, beyond Arrow and Bow.

Conspiracy Cafe
Small signs with the said name leads to an inconspicuous entrance: praxis of dialectical reasoning reflects a severe contradiction between the masses and this pitiful place. Feelings of uneasiness reminds one that material reality and ideologue stands far apart. Belief is opium; it comforts, nurtures, and creates, for better or worse, hope. Disbelief as belief? A matter far worse: it corrupts the intellect to leap beyond reason, to venture into the unknown. Contemplation of ideas without practice. Half, two-thirds, all of world starve; but alas, I rather suffer exploitation than suffocation of the mind. Indeed, a conspiracy.

Video for Rent
As I briefly ventured into the lives of others, I have forgotten that within this hour or two, I must wake from this dreary dream and recognize that again I allowed delusions to represent reality. At a small price, of course.

Half Price Sale Tomorrow
Idea and snow are two different matters. The former cannot comprehend the lightness, the purity, and the ephemeral nature of the latter. It attempts for something that last beyond, for permanence. Although in reality it may worth only half as much, if not nothing at all, tomorrow
or the day after next. The latter, never quoted a value, attains a sort of longevity beyond its physical state.

Streetlight
That which is light brings warmth only after sunset. An alternative, an artifice, that nonetheless fulfills our desire to see, to explore, to utilize beyond our natural allotment. Not far--perhaps not even twenty meters--away, another joins company. One more, two more, three more, until the entire city shines in dark.

Though it cannot be forgotten that regardless of all this, it is still dark. I fear such quality, as much as i fear myself and my kind. I can stand by a streetlight, by a convenience store, by a house: but I am still exposed to this call of void.

I ventured into areas uncovered by the streetlight.

Nothing beyond...

2007-11-09T05:40:00.000-08:00

8 XI 2007
There indeed may be an afterlife, or some form of reincarnation, that reinforces an idea of immortality beyond death. But assured as these claims may stand: to a subject-unto-death, there truly can be nothing, as long as the subject is still in death--that which is the terminus of time, that which gives life--beyond the notion of death before that peculiar moment happens. That moment, my friend, is one of pain: time disappears as its terminus is reached; the subject-unto-death is to be devoured by a vast notion of nothingness, while realizing the painful doom of his subjectivity. Nothingness is to become the great unifier of all.

Yet the subject-unto-death always contradicts his inevitable fate in every act. He is a part of a family, a geneology, and attempts continuation through procreation. He is a part of a society, a civilization, and attempts to cope with death through the continuation of the collective. He is a man of remarkable statue, and wants his name remembered through achievements. But neither children nor grandchildren, neither his estate or the commune, neither a bard nor an encyclopedia, could truly capture his existence as a subject-unto-death and preserve his subjectivity. Even Virgil, the poet whose task was to immortalize, realized the impossibility of his task: as he writes, Aeneas entering Carthage finds his own image in a series of murals depicting the fall of Troy, but the content already deviates from the real experience of the subject-unto-death. And social order, too, cannot last. A little bit over ninety years ago a revolution realized an Utopian idea in an unlikely but mighty nation, with a historical determinist ideology that claims an end of history. Well proclaimed; yet it is that ideology rather than history that fell not even a century after its realization. Same things could be said to many; achievements of any historical accountability have yet to surpass five thousand years, a tiny fraction of material existence beyond subject-unto-death, and only a small portion of man's existence as a collective whole. Hence, nothing material lasts for a subject-unto-death

As for metaphysical ideas of immortality? These are notions by definition beyond the scope of death, and hence cannot be considered within the scope of death. Sure, let the one live forever in some alternative realm, let him appear in life again as something difference! But these cannot be observed within death, and they do not belong to subject-unto-death as a subject. God might be all powerful, but he is also beyond time and space--and hence, beyond death. To subject-unto-death He is merely an idea that the subject may choose to believe. And the kingdom of heaven, Brahman, nirvana, and other similar notions all share a similar notion: the elimination of the subjectivity. Hence, for a subject-unto-death there can be nothing beyond death. Even if something happens, it is not his concern unless he, too, transcends death through death itself. To create something out of nothingness, is impossible to conceive for subject-unto-death.

If death must come, then let it be a painful one. The subject-unto-death knows that his time is constrained by that moment of doom. He has already allowed his senses to be numbed in quasi-real feelings of the collective; he belongs to a society governed by a state that attempts to solve all problems for him, so he can live "in comfort"--mindless, but blissful. Indeed, we have created a facade that allows our "pursuit of happiness"? What is that notion of happiness? Do we really care to know? If so, we must accept our fate as subject-unto-death first. Society will not die for us; in fact, it will do the very opposite, in vain, but nevertheless heroic. One is to embrace death alone. That process of embracing death contains the fullness of life: its happiness, its pleasure, its sorrow, its pain.

Hence, I, as a subject-unto-death, accept death, as nothingness, as the terminus with nothing beyond so long as I retain my subjectivity.

I affirm life.

Definitions

2007-11-07T17:05:00.001-08:00

7 XI 2007
Time: that which gives unto death; ephemeral attachment to a process towards nothingness; that which gives Being motion; becoming; our best friend on certain occasions, and worst enemy on others.

Being: the subject of becoming; that which through ephemeral existence makes sense of of time; thing-unto-nothingness; that which creates; that which perishes into nothingness; that which torture the other and the being-it-self; the subject.

Other: that which gives Being a sense of the self; the tortured and the torturer; opposition to Being; that which gives Being the sense of wholeness; that which reminds Being its solitude; the object-as-subject; the subject-as-object.

Self: mirror of the Being through its imagination of its own appearance before the Other.

Fate: a collusion between man's will and that which is determined.

God: Being's aspiration for the eternal; that which cannot be measured by Time; that which fills the void beyond nothingness; imagined something that is both of nothingness and beyond nothingness as its creator.

Death: the moment of doom which Being lapses into; that which terminates Time; that which transits Being into nothingness; void; eternal subject of Fate.

Society: imagined community of Being; that which opposes the Self; that which restrains the Being; that which imagines a continuation after Death without transcendence of nothingness; artifice.

Coke: worse than Pepsi.

Shelter for the Homeless

2007-11-05T09:50:00.000-08:00

4 XI 2007
"The average worker, upon whom so many lowly salaried employees like to look down, often enjoys not merely a material but also an existential superiority over them. His life as a class-conscious proletarian is roofed over with vulgar-Marxist concepts that do at least tell him what his intended role is. Admittedly the whole roof is nowadays riddled with holes.
The mass of salaried employees differ from the worker proletariat in that they are spiritually homeless. For the time being they cannot find their way to their comrades, and the house of bourgeois ideas and feelings in which they used to live has collapsed, its foundations eroded by economic development. They are living at present without a doctrine to look up at or a goal they might ascertain. So they live in fear of looking up and asking their way to the destination."
-Siegfried Kracauer The Salaried Masses (London: Verso, 1998: pg. 88)

S. Kracauer raises an important point of middle class life in an industrial (and also post-industrial) society: that it is spiritually homeless. The politically radical, penniless, counter-cultural hippies of 1960s turned into the indifferent, affluent, white-collared "yuppies" of 1980s, whose dominance of the market coined a less-charged "affluent professional" for their title in the 2000s. We will become the salaried mass. That is the concern of the American society, and the fate of most members of my social stratum: we are to become educated, financially-secure, self-reliant "individualists" whose extravagance lifestyle will be justified by our income, and political indifference or conservatism, our wits. In the name of upward mobility we exhibit our virtue, ambition, to place ourselves before the countless steps of a ladder infinite in height. In the name of opportunity we flock from one "economic development" to the next; as mercenaries the highest bidding employer shall have our labor, at a price high enough to support our decadent lifestyle, of course. Or not: we could become misers--but that will only beget us condescensions from our peers; better spend than keep, so long as numbers in our accounts grows. And a belief, an ideology? That means little: Marxism in day one can turn into Trotskite-revisionism in day two. So long as it profits we rather remain homeless in spirit, and find our prospects pseudo-shelters good enough for quite a while.

And what if it fails? No matter, countless other will join; in anonymity we will find the comfort of our individualist-collective more than bearable.

Sartre, the Jewish Question, and Our Situation

2007-11-03T01:04:00.000-07:00

2 XI 2007
Sartre notes in his Anti-Semite and the Jew that the traditional misconception of Jew as a misery species results from the creation of a vicious cycle. Jews, through their inability to assimilate into the Christian society, found themselves in the role of money lenders, one forbidden to Christians through Church dogma. Hence, the Jews have accumulated vast amounts of legal property overtime. Anti-Semites, poor and jealous or aristocratic and condescending, resolve that there ought to be something beyond legal property, or even meritocracy to make an individual whole: that it is they who possess the sense of a nation while the Jews, regardless of how much assimilated they are in the language and property of that nation, does not belong to that commonwealth beget by a common identity. Hence, driven to cultural isolation and identity isolation, the Jews ever stress the importance of their procession of legal property--for the notion of this idea create a sense of citizenship for the isolated Jew (127). The cycle, entirely social in construction, then, becomes vicious and ever-affirming an already dominant image. It creates a social situation that traps the Jew, conscious of his identity, to ever-reside in such an identity in a negative light. Indeed, the Jew "is social man par excellence, because his torment is social" (134).

From this logic, it is also demonstrated that the concept of the Jew is a social construction; a given formed not by the Jews themselves, but through the lens of the Anti-Semites. it is the Anti-Semites themselves who emphasized on this difference between the Christian and the Jew in order to protect their own sense of security, of citizenship. If not--if released from dealing with their Other--they themselves will feel their values diminished. No longer possessing a national identity exclusive to them, the Anti-Semites would realize that they have nothing more than the Jews; in fact, they don't even have the money. Hence, Sartre sees the Jewish problem rather as an Anti-Semite one; it is this notion that created a different concept of the Jew, and must resolve internally to resolve the social tension between the Jews and the Christians. Perhaps a key to this solution is some form of "concrete liberalism" (140).

But interestingly enough, though, Sartre acknowledges that regardless of how the Anti-Semites act, the Jews are not to evade their responsibility in affirming their identity as the Jews: regardless of how assimilated into the host culture, "Jewish authenticity consists in choosing oneself as Jew" (136). By denying his identity, he is inauthentic; by solely relying on the Anti-Semites to resolve the problem, he is the same. The authentic Jew affirmatively wills and chooses his own identity.

This scenario, though dated to 1944 and peculiar to many of Sartre's misconceptions (as his knowledge of the Jew remains incomplete: he was only familiar with Jews of lower or higher class whose indifference to orthodoxy and assimilation to the French culture were reinforced by their socioeconomic class), brings light to our situation. By our situation I actually refer to two different, but intrinsically similar case: first, that of we the Chinese emegre who live and study in a foreign country, and second, the situation of an ancient culture displaced by both modernization and an urge to reconnect to root severed by historical particularities. Regardless, in our situation we too, are like the Jews, severed from our home nation or rooted culture, to experience either a situational or cultural diaspora. Regardless of our identity as Chinese Americans who want to reinforce our status in this foreign nation through acquisition of wealth and stability in lower and higher middle class, through the same profession of business, medicine, and law, or our nation's subscription to modernization and economic prosperity through the loss of its cultural memory, the situation remains very similar to the Jewish one, uprooted from Jewish orthodoxy, away from roots, and everywhere seeks to assimilate to the host culture through acquisition of legal properties or tools.

Of course, we do not have to deal with an "anti-Semite" in our situation; our enemies are largely ourselves: that part of disquietude in our souls calling for a complete synthesis, a final disregard of our peculiar situation at the present in place of nothing worthwhile, a melting port without either responsibility or self-knowledge. The burden to resolve this problem is up to the individual choice; nothing else can decide for him. We are not to forgo our yellow skin, our cultural background, and our sense of the root. The answer, then, is still up to us. We are to choose ourselves as the Chinese authentically.

But, the question is: dare we?

the fallen icarus

2007-11-01T17:16:00.000-07:00

1 XI 2007

We were. We are. Or, are we?
I am.
Where to start? Where to end?
I am.

The subject, regardless of his entanglement of social relations, regardless of his past, his self-styled future, and other forms of things of becoming, is ultimately and inevitably alone. He faces a group, a situation, a problem--alone--to acknowledge his oneness with time. By recognizing his solitude, the subject wills something unto himself, and attempts to make sense out of his condition: that is which I call his being. Being, maturing, evolving, morphing through time, faces its inevitable negation in the end--that is death, a subject of void and unthinkable multitude of expanded nothingness. Thus he makes a choice, which results in an act--and life is hence born to him.

The fallen Icarus is an Icarus whom, upon realizing his condition of falling as a result of his own folly, accepts his fate. He is to drown, to perish, to become void. He recognizes that no one else is responsible for his death except for he himself; and he cannot do anything to alter his fate. Nay, Daedalus, he who bequeath power through human invention, the father figure, is distant--and the gods are indifferent to the fate of a mere mortal. He fears his end. He is bewildered to the condition of his destiny: but through reason he realizes that the choice was his, and it was made with no alternative option at hand. It was he, believing in his infallibility, who flew too high so the wax connecting his wings--creation of human genius--and his natural limb melted. He resigns to his fate; but resignation is not enough. He questions its rationale.

We were. We are. Or, are we?
I am.
Where to start? Where to end?
I am.

With this will, the fallen Icarus faces inevitable death, allowing himself to become a part of time, and his being emerges into becoming, and even that strange notion of nothingness is accepted as an understandable part of existence.

Yes, the fallen Icarus speaks to himself in the very moment when ocean swallows his existence, I am.

Random thoughts on the French Revolution

2007-11-01T14:51:00.000-07:00

1 XI 2007

It took me a while to finish reading Georges Lefebvre's Coming of the French Revolution; though the book (R.R. Palmer translation, Princeton UP) is not of great length, I have delayed its reading too long for other matters, important or not. So a few things can be said on the book and the subject matter:

1. Lefebvre divides the "revolution" into a few parts, the aristocratic revolution, the bourgeois revolution, the popular revolution, and the peasant revolution. In each time the revolution evolves in scale, though it can also be noted that in each time the revolution loses more sense to create a larger, mass movement with neither direction nor leadership. By the time that the revolution declines into a popular one, can we truly identify figures that dominates enough to direct the movement? No, Sieyes and Mirabeau were certainly figures too cautious to follow these movements; and La Fayette? A hero of both revolutions? Or a member of the dying aristocracy? Movements seem to be stirred by general feelings, i.e. irrational; while movements happened, not even its participants were aware of their historical importance. Hence, the need for bread caused one of the most revolutionary, and horrifying, for that matter, event of human history.

2. In terms of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen, its meaning is more symbolic than actual--though the replacement of privileges by "rights" calls for the beginning of a new age. The revolution, however, was more than a smooth judiciary change; the irrational part is to play its role soon after.

3. The role that Louis XVI plays in this scenario is ridiculous. Without a charismatic claim to legitimacy, without a rational system of law beyond his position, his inability to effectively use the force of coercion make his legitimacy of tradition very thin. Again, an example of a mediocrity placed in an unfortunate environment.