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Who knew? The answer to life was so simple.
» By Jack Cully
For centuries, people have continually argued about the right way to live. How should we live? Should we act entirely ego-centrically? Or should we follow a wholly altruistic line of life? Is there an equilibrium; a point between these two extremes at which we should live? There are countless books claiming to "improve your life forever" or "show you the key to the meaning of life", but no one has even come close to providing a definitive answer.
Until now. I'm going to convince you, right here, right now, on the correct way to live. No; correct is a little too clinical. I'll rephrase. I'm going to show you the best way to live; a way in which maximises personal gain, as well as gain to others. And it's a little idea by a French man, called Existentialism. Jean-Paul Sartre, a post Second World War writer, claimed that the key to living a good life was to live with the phrase "essence precedes existence" at the forefront of our minds. But what does this mean? It means that ourselves - that is, our thoughts, emotions, opinions - all take precedence over our actual existence. So, ultimately, we are able to create the best way in which we are to live. This means that you can be who you truly want to be; there are no limitations or definitions of "humanity" as such; rather, it is your duty to create this concept of "humanity" - what the perfect human should be like; how the perfect human should act.
At this moment, I think Sartre would like to offer a little more guidance. So far, his sentiments have been excellent; claiming very "righteously" that you can be you, regardless of the pressures of life, or regardless of what people say you should be, or say you should do. But, this does not allow for objective scope. Indeed, if I were to take Sartre's ideas too literally, then I could go about murdering everyone I encounter and then claim this to be morally acceptable; justifying my actions with "Oh, I'm an existentialist; It's just what I do".
Kant, a hugely prominent figure in the world of philosophy, claimed in terms of morality, we should act according to our duty to his "Categorical Imperative". This imperative has two main dimensions. Firstly, it dictated that we should act in a way which could be universalisable - that is, that in every moral situation we find ourselves in, we act in a way which would be objectively and universally acceptable. Take, for instance, lying. Kantian principles would say that lying is categorically, and therefore always, wrong - simply because it is impossible to justify on a universal scale - if everyone were to lie, the world would be a terrible place, as everyone would be constantly deceived. And so, lying is not concordant with the categorical imperative. "Do not lie" is also something that is consistent with the other dimension of this categorical imperative. This dimension is rather more simple - it just says that we shouldn't treat humans as a mere means, but always as an ends too. Essentially, treat humans as humans, and not as instruments that we use to achieve what we want.
With Kant's ideas applied to Sartre's basic principle that essence precedes existence, it seems like we're on to something. I mean, Sartre allows me to think what I want to think, do what I want to do - and Kant's moral principles will keep me in line when I may take it too far.
"But what about when I have to do something?", I hear you cry. What would Sartre say to us if we were to be obliged to something? So, for example, what happens if I've promised to empty to the dishwasher, or do a little bit of extra homework? Well, Sartre's answer is an interesting one. He says that obligation is not created by other people. Instead, it is created by us. So, even though I am forced to empty the dishwasher at home, or to do that bit of homework, it is my choice to accept that responsibility. In this way, Sartre's principal principle shines through: "You are free, in any sense except for perhaps the moral, to do what you will".
For me, the real strength of this line of thought is that it allows for so much freedom. We are told that there is no set way of life. No way in which we are expected to be, no way in which we ought to act. Instead, its our responsibility to create the ideal version of humanity. And this is exactly where Sartre can catch us out. It is the individual's responsibility to create an idea of humanity; and follow that idea. Where would the world be without charity? Where would the world be without acts of kindness, or without compassion for others? Would I really have a good life if I went around murdering? Would others? There's no doubting it'd be a worse place. So, we must allow for charity, compassion and kindness in our own lives too, as well as not hurting others - simply because it is our duty to create the perfect idea of humanity. Clever Sartre.
Until now. I'm going to convince you, right here, right now, on the correct way to live. No; correct is a little too clinical. I'll rephrase. I'm going to show you the best way to live; a way in which maximises personal gain, as well as gain to others. And it's a little idea by a French man, called Existentialism. Jean-Paul Sartre, a post Second World War writer, claimed that the key to living a good life was to live with the phrase "essence precedes existence" at the forefront of our minds. But what does this mean? It means that ourselves - that is, our thoughts, emotions, opinions - all take precedence over our actual existence. So, ultimately, we are able to create the best way in which we are to live. This means that you can be who you truly want to be; there are no limitations or definitions of "humanity" as such; rather, it is your duty to create this concept of "humanity" - what the perfect human should be like; how the perfect human should act.
At this moment, I think Sartre would like to offer a little more guidance. So far, his sentiments have been excellent; claiming very "righteously" that you can be you, regardless of the pressures of life, or regardless of what people say you should be, or say you should do. But, this does not allow for objective scope. Indeed, if I were to take Sartre's ideas too literally, then I could go about murdering everyone I encounter and then claim this to be morally acceptable; justifying my actions with "Oh, I'm an existentialist; It's just what I do".
Kant, a hugely prominent figure in the world of philosophy, claimed in terms of morality, we should act according to our duty to his "Categorical Imperative". This imperative has two main dimensions. Firstly, it dictated that we should act in a way which could be universalisable - that is, that in every moral situation we find ourselves in, we act in a way which would be objectively and universally acceptable. Take, for instance, lying. Kantian principles would say that lying is categorically, and therefore always, wrong - simply because it is impossible to justify on a universal scale - if everyone were to lie, the world would be a terrible place, as everyone would be constantly deceived. And so, lying is not concordant with the categorical imperative. "Do not lie" is also something that is consistent with the other dimension of this categorical imperative. This dimension is rather more simple - it just says that we shouldn't treat humans as a mere means, but always as an ends too. Essentially, treat humans as humans, and not as instruments that we use to achieve what we want.With Kant's ideas applied to Sartre's basic principle that essence precedes existence, it seems like we're on to something. I mean, Sartre allows me to think what I want to think, do what I want to do - and Kant's moral principles will keep me in line when I may take it too far.
"But what about when I have to do something?", I hear you cry. What would Sartre say to us if we were to be obliged to something? So, for example, what happens if I've promised to empty to the dishwasher, or do a little bit of extra homework? Well, Sartre's answer is an interesting one. He says that obligation is not created by other people. Instead, it is created by us. So, even though I am forced to empty the dishwasher at home, or to do that bit of homework, it is my choice to accept that responsibility. In this way, Sartre's principal principle shines through: "You are free, in any sense except for perhaps the moral, to do what you will".
For me, the real strength of this line of thought is that it allows for so much freedom. We are told that there is no set way of life. No way in which we are expected to be, no way in which we ought to act. Instead, its our responsibility to create the ideal version of humanity. And this is exactly where Sartre can catch us out. It is the individual's responsibility to create an idea of humanity; and follow that idea. Where would the world be without charity? Where would the world be without acts of kindness, or without compassion for others? Would I really have a good life if I went around murdering? Would others? There's no doubting it'd be a worse place. So, we must allow for charity, compassion and kindness in our own lives too, as well as not hurting others - simply because it is our duty to create the perfect idea of humanity. Clever Sartre.
I'm Lost For Words
» By Jack Cully
It's a rare occasion. I love words like Boris loves his bikes. In fact, you're probably more likely to catch Rooney reading Aristotle than to manage to stop me talking. I love it. I love words. I love language! Like, really. Language, language, language (see? Shut up Jack!). I love how it can be manipulated so acutely; so thoroughly in order to achieve almost exactly what your brain requires. (hmm... too pretentious?!).
Imagine with me, if you will - a world with no words, no language - nothing with which we could communicate. Imagine we didn't have, what Chomsky called LAD (I found this anagram somewhat amusing), which, as well as meaning "a man who is boisterously macho in his behaviour", means, to Chomsky, Language Acquisition Device. What Chomsky meant by this is that all humans have an innate "device" with which we could learn language. Now, imagine we didn't have that. Imagine the blank looks on other people's faces when you look at them. Imagine having to fend for yourself, with no co-operation with anyone else. There would be no organisation, and so modern structures like roads and streetlights wouldn't exist. Everywhere would be wild, nature would reign supreme. We'd have to hunt, we'd have to fight, we'd have to be predatory. Heck, we'd be animals!
Let's think about this in practical terms. There would be no books. No conversation. No organisation. No diplomacy. In fact, we'd probably have killed each other by now. Or, more importantly, we'd never have evolved into the dominant species on the this planet. Crucially, though, we wouldn't know stuff. There would be no Philosophy (in the "love of knowledge" sense) - and so, no investigation. There wouldn't be science, there wouldn't be technology. How would we live?
Well, thank God it did develop or we wouldn't have all these things today. The very iPad I write this piece on (yes, I know... I'm a slave to Apple) wouldn't be here. Socrates wouldn't have philosophised in the first place and my favourite subject Philosophy wouldn't exist. Anyway, I think I've made my point.
However beneficial language has been for us though, I reckon we have become much too dependent on it - it has consumed our brains totally. We can't think without language! And so, this question has played on my mind for a while now; does our nationality, our origin, our language affect our mindset? I've come to conclude that yes, of course it does! It is simple fact; some languages have constructs that differ from others. The Japanese have words that have a frustrating amount of meanings - "kondo" means "this time", "next time" and "last time". In Filipino, "gigil" exists - meaning "the urge to pinch or squeeze something that is unbearably cute". "Mamihlapinatapai", in Yaghan, means "a look between two people that suggests an unspoken, shared desire". Ever felt embarrassed watching someone being humiliated? That's "pena ajena" in Spanish. These language-specific examples give us an insight into the workings of the brains of people from these cultures; which does vary depending on their geography and situation.
In a shrinking yet giant and diverse world, can we all gain the same knowledge of the same concepts? On the same ideals on, say, free will? Can we appreciate snow like the Eskimos do? No. And this is where Philosophy gets exciting.
Not all words mean the same for everyone. A classic example of this comes from the language we share with the United States. Where we Brits know the true definition of "thong" (I needn't explain), their "thong" is something a lot less provocative: a flip-flop. This is a rather radicalised point, but it stands nonetheless. Put simply some words mean different things, to different people. Some people misunderstand. Some people just have different concepts of different things, in their minds. My concept of the colour "blue" may be something entirely different to another's: they may see my red. Though it seems unlikely, there is simply no way of knowing whether or not this is the case: I cannot see his blue, and he cannot see mine.
The point I'm making here is this: we cannot know how some people interpret the world. Of course, language is humanity's answer to this problem, and so it has developed over time. Language has developed in such a way that accommodates the goings-on in everyday life - if I ask "Can I have a cup of tea?" the receiver knows what this means, and, if I'd have been more polite, the person with whom I was interacting would provide me with what I wanted, or even, to show understanding, but also to refine my request, they may reply: "Milk? Sugar?"
Think about it; are there things in the mind that do not require language? Try it now - try and muster up something that does not correspond to a certain word, phrase or description. Difficult, isn't it? This is why language, in whatever form, has consumed us, and it's a scary thought - that without having acquired language, we simply would not possess the concepts we have today. This is also true in a slightly inverted situation. If we were brought up around Spanish, or French, rather than English, we could have concepts or constructs within the mind which are very different to the ones we have now - simply because of situation or geography!
Ancient Philosophy originates from Greece, and is consequently written in Greek. So, the ancient writers - Plato, Aristotle - all wrote in Greek. The very structure of the language they just so happened to have learned may mean that we simply cannot interpret some terms or phrases into English. This means that when translated into English, their meaning really could be lost totally and completely; reinterpreted or misinterpreted. We English speaker simply may not know what good ol' Aristotle meant at all. Isn't that scary, fellow Philosophy folk?
Imagine with me, if you will - a world with no words, no language - nothing with which we could communicate. Imagine we didn't have, what Chomsky called LAD (I found this anagram somewhat amusing), which, as well as meaning "a man who is boisterously macho in his behaviour", means, to Chomsky, Language Acquisition Device. What Chomsky meant by this is that all humans have an innate "device" with which we could learn language. Now, imagine we didn't have that. Imagine the blank looks on other people's faces when you look at them. Imagine having to fend for yourself, with no co-operation with anyone else. There would be no organisation, and so modern structures like roads and streetlights wouldn't exist. Everywhere would be wild, nature would reign supreme. We'd have to hunt, we'd have to fight, we'd have to be predatory. Heck, we'd be animals!
Let's think about this in practical terms. There would be no books. No conversation. No organisation. No diplomacy. In fact, we'd probably have killed each other by now. Or, more importantly, we'd never have evolved into the dominant species on the this planet. Crucially, though, we wouldn't know stuff. There would be no Philosophy (in the "love of knowledge" sense) - and so, no investigation. There wouldn't be science, there wouldn't be technology. How would we live?
Well, thank God it did develop or we wouldn't have all these things today. The very iPad I write this piece on (yes, I know... I'm a slave to Apple) wouldn't be here. Socrates wouldn't have philosophised in the first place and my favourite subject Philosophy wouldn't exist. Anyway, I think I've made my point.
However beneficial language has been for us though, I reckon we have become much too dependent on it - it has consumed our brains totally. We can't think without language! And so, this question has played on my mind for a while now; does our nationality, our origin, our language affect our mindset? I've come to conclude that yes, of course it does! It is simple fact; some languages have constructs that differ from others. The Japanese have words that have a frustrating amount of meanings - "kondo" means "this time", "next time" and "last time". In Filipino, "gigil" exists - meaning "the urge to pinch or squeeze something that is unbearably cute". "Mamihlapinatapai", in Yaghan, means "a look between two people that suggests an unspoken, shared desire". Ever felt embarrassed watching someone being humiliated? That's "pena ajena" in Spanish. These language-specific examples give us an insight into the workings of the brains of people from these cultures; which does vary depending on their geography and situation.
In a shrinking yet giant and diverse world, can we all gain the same knowledge of the same concepts? On the same ideals on, say, free will? Can we appreciate snow like the Eskimos do? No. And this is where Philosophy gets exciting.
Not all words mean the same for everyone. A classic example of this comes from the language we share with the United States. Where we Brits know the true definition of "thong" (I needn't explain), their "thong" is something a lot less provocative: a flip-flop. This is a rather radicalised point, but it stands nonetheless. Put simply some words mean different things, to different people. Some people misunderstand. Some people just have different concepts of different things, in their minds. My concept of the colour "blue" may be something entirely different to another's: they may see my red. Though it seems unlikely, there is simply no way of knowing whether or not this is the case: I cannot see his blue, and he cannot see mine.
The point I'm making here is this: we cannot know how some people interpret the world. Of course, language is humanity's answer to this problem, and so it has developed over time. Language has developed in such a way that accommodates the goings-on in everyday life - if I ask "Can I have a cup of tea?" the receiver knows what this means, and, if I'd have been more polite, the person with whom I was interacting would provide me with what I wanted, or even, to show understanding, but also to refine my request, they may reply: "Milk? Sugar?"
Think about it; are there things in the mind that do not require language? Try it now - try and muster up something that does not correspond to a certain word, phrase or description. Difficult, isn't it? This is why language, in whatever form, has consumed us, and it's a scary thought - that without having acquired language, we simply would not possess the concepts we have today. This is also true in a slightly inverted situation. If we were brought up around Spanish, or French, rather than English, we could have concepts or constructs within the mind which are very different to the ones we have now - simply because of situation or geography!
Ancient Philosophy originates from Greece, and is consequently written in Greek. So, the ancient writers - Plato, Aristotle - all wrote in Greek. The very structure of the language they just so happened to have learned may mean that we simply cannot interpret some terms or phrases into English. This means that when translated into English, their meaning really could be lost totally and completely; reinterpreted or misinterpreted. We English speaker simply may not know what good ol' Aristotle meant at all. Isn't that scary, fellow Philosophy folk?