Once a man and woman were walking through a vigorous jungle and they came across the Manager. The Manager sat on top of a mighty waterfall, in a boat that floated on the edge without going over. The man and woman called the Manager and were responded to thus: “Behold all that I manage! The roots, the trees, the birds and the wildcats! All of this jungle is because of me. I make the conditions according to which every part of this world is cultivated. Look at my work. Look at how it grows and shrinks in unison with itself. What do you say about it?” The man and woman looked at each other. Then they looked at the jungle. Dense patches of flora and fauna interwove in confusing patterns. Large, tall areas of difficult brush blocked paths to nearby watering holes. The ripest fruits were too high on their branches to be picked, and animals and insects were violent and ferocious. The man and woman looked at each other again, then at the Manager, and said, “We are Artists, and we think your work could use a bit of aesthetic cultivation. We admire the technical feat of this jungle, it has grown thick with raw luster, but we do not think it is beautiful. In order for it to be beautiful, it must be reworked. Only exploration of harmony’s possibilities can make a thing beautiful. This jungle, rather, seems as if it has had only one type of harmony imposed on it.” There was a short silence, and a few wild birds scattered from a distant tree. The Manager then scoffed with fervor and nearly fell out of the boat. “Reworked? Beauty? Ha!” the Manager shouted, “You two would uproot and antagonize my system in the name of something so empty, so prone to deception, as Beauty? You are heretics! Enemies of plan, plot, and administration! Tell me, what would your aesthetic cultivation contribute to the delicate balancing of carnivorous and herbivorous animals? What would your beautification do to help maintain equalized irrigation throughout the live and dead lands? What in this world would Beauty do to keep the insect populations at sustainable levels? Nothing! That’s what! Only by structures and strictures are such divine feats accomplished, and yes, you may call such acts of equation and balance Art if you like, but they are so much more! Beyond the ideal of Beauty, of Harmony, mere reflections of a well structured sky, there is the ideal of Perfection, pure and continuous consistency!” Again, the man and woman looked at each other. They looked deep into one another’s eyes, and they kissed, long and potently. Meanwhile, a wild panther was crouching in the thick, tall grass on the river’s bank, and two flying turkeys were drinking from the river. Gobbling, splashing and slurping, the turkeys acted in unison. Indeed, their movements were completely symmetrical. From a certain angle of sight, the turkeys were basically indistinguishable, as perfect twins are. They moved and acted in the same ways continually. Furthermore, they stood equidistant from one another and from the panther. Following its instincts, the panther crept in ambush, sometimes moving slightly toward one, then slightly toward the other, then keeping still, looking back and forth at each. The panther did this, but it never lunged, and eventually the turkeys flew away. The panther stood up, shook its head, and walked back into the jungle. “Your system,” the man and woman shouted to the Manager, “pays for its consistency with freedom. The freedom to imagine alternatives, to make choices based on nothing but whimsical, senseless urges is drained, neutered, by your design. Why must everything work toward equilibrium? Is stasis not the absence of action, of living? Tell us, when equilibrium is attained, what can be gained? More equilibrium? That is impossible. No, beyond equilibrium there are only varying degrees of asymmetry, of chaos. And what is your place among all this equality? Are you not above it, controlling it, managing it? There is always asymmetry! Tell us, when did survival cease to be a series of contingent revolutions and become the necessary result of domination? Please, let us overturn your land. We will bring new life to it, and it will approach Beauty.” Trees and vines swayed in a warm breeze. A large snake swam down the river. The Manager cursed the Artists and threatened to punish them if they used any part of his jungle. The Artists lowered their heads and walked off.
Over time, the waterfall on which the Manager’s boat floated became weaker. The water level of the river decreased. The water level lowered so much that the Manager’s boat ran aground on a rock hitherto hidden by the roaring river. Moreover, because of the scarcity of water, the Manager’s jungle had begun to eat itself. Flora and fauna were dying. Fruit was rotting. The animals had been driven to appalling acts of strange, cruel brutality. The Manager decided to venture out, up the river, to find and fix what had gone wrong. The venture was long and difficult. As time passed, and the jungle got deeper, the Manager began to see changes in the land. The rotting had stopped. There were many lively streams full of water. The flora and fauna were vibrant, there were new types, and they were not tangled with each other, rather, they formed patterns pleasing to the eye. The changes led the Manager away from the river and far into the new territory. Refreshing water holes appeared, and there were always clear paths leading to them. There were trees with ripe fruit growing on all branches, but mostly on those which made the fruit easy to reach. The insects and beasts were friendly and peaceful, to their own and to one another. The Manager felt afraid. This might be a new jungle; or worse, this might be an unknown part of the jungle, a part that was not accounted for when the system of balance had been designed. The Manager felt a sense of failure, of incompetence. Here, the resources were obviously overabundant, even ornamental, but back at the waterfall whole families, species, were starving and dehydrated. The Manager traveled through these lands in despair, questioning what they meant. One day, on a hike along a manicured path, the Manager came across a roaring river. The river was familiar. It was the river of the waterfall that had been the Manager’s perch! The Manager rejoiced at finding the river again, at being next to its grounding, humbling power, and finding it in full health. But this feeling did not last. In the distance, some way down stream, there was a big, elegant, working structure in the middle of the river. The structure looked like it held the river and manipulated it, coercing it to flow in ways that were not natural. The structure was a dam. The Manager was shocked. How could this be? How could this dam be hitherto unknown. How could it have been constructed? And what was its purpose? But there, in the distance, walking, balancing, along the edge of the dam, were the Artists. They embraced, kissed each other and looked out at the land. The Manager became furious. The Artists had caused the abatement of the river. They had built a dam far upstream from the Manager’s waterfall, and developed an irrigation system, and were using the river’s water to cultivate jungle land according to their tastes. The Manager confronted the Artists and said, “You, heretics, have ruined the jungle! You have caused part of it to rot! If you keep this up, the rot will spread, and the jungle will be decimated! I hate you! You are my enemies! And I will break your dam before it destroys my work completely!” To this the Artists replied, “Don’t you see how wonderful we have made this part of the land? Do you not appreciate the Beauty here? Please, let us come to the rotting part of the jungle. We will spread our beauty there too!” The Manager replied, “No! I see the price of your Beauty, your Deception. This type of life is not sustainable. All jungle lands are mine, and there is only one way this jungle, this whole jungle, can be cultivated. It is my way. I know secrets of this river you do not. I will end the problems you have created.” With this the Manager set off into the Artists’ jungle. The Manager traveled through its cultivated lands for a long time, noting its embellished delicacies, questioning their implications, and remembering the rotting jungle far away.
One day the Artists were admiring their work, their beautiful land, sitting beside their dam considering how it might be added to, or rebuilt, when an immense amount of water came rushing down the river. The power of this rushing water was wondrous, awesome. The Artists’ dam was broke to splinters with ease, along with their irrigation system, and the rushing water continued downstream. They heard the Manager bellow from a peak far away, “I have reached an ancient, natural dam, a node in my system, without which you could not have built yours. I have temporarily loosened this node, to restore equilibrium to my jungle!” The Artists looked at each other and whispered softly, as lovers do, “We love our work, and we live by it. This river loves our work too, and it will not let us perish.” They then kissed and lowered their heads, as if in thought, and walked off.
“A definition of a concept uniquely determines what objects exemplify the concept under any possible circumstances. There is more than one way to do this. The most straightforward kind of definition is an explicit definition. An explicit definition gives necessary and sufficient conditions for something to exemplify the concept. For example, one might define ‘bachelor’ by saying that something is a bachelor iff it is an unmarried man. But frequently in logic, mathematics, and technical philosophy, we encounter definitions of another sort. For instance, in the propositional calculus we might define ‘formula’ by stipulating:
(i) an atomic formula is a formula;
(ii) if P is a formula the ~P is a formula;
(iii) if P and Q are formulas then (P&Q) is a formula;
(iv) nothing is a formula that cannot be obtained by (i)-(iii).
Pollock, John L. Technical Methods in Philosophy. Boulder: West View, 1990. Print. p. 37
ON RELATIONS
Ikiru. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. Perf. Takashi Shimura and Miki Odagiri. Toho International Co. and The Criterion Collection, 1952 and 2004. DVD.
ON CONDITIONS FOR THE POSSIBILITY OF PEDAGOGY
Synecdoche University
At a university campus, somewhere in the U.S., two graduate students walk casually along manicured paths during late afternoon.
PAT: What’d you get on your paper?
RICH: ‘A’. You?
PAT: Same. What’d you write about, again?
RICH: About how beauty is a tool for fascism in Morrison, Kramer, and Speer. You?
PAT: Ya. I wrote about Hoover’s use of info about people’s sex lives. I argued that Theoharis is an apologist for Hoover.
RICH: Mmmm. That’s pretty good.
PAT: Thanks.
PAT: Do you want coffee?
RICH: No. I’m cutting down.
PAT: I want to get some.
The campus bell chimes the hour.
PAT: Hey, if you knew that one of your teachers was sleeping with a student, what would you do?
RICH: (takes a breath) Hmm. Which student?
PAT: Let’s just imagine.
RICH: Grad student?
PAT: Sure.
RICH: They have any classes together?
PAT: Uh, no. But it’s likely they will. She’s in the same program he’s part of.
RICH: The teacher’s the guy?
PAT: Does it matter?
RICH: Nope. I’m just trying to figure out who you’re talking about.
PAT: No, not the point. I want to hear what you would do if you knew it was happening.
RICH: That’s funny. Because, now that you told me, don’t I know it is happening? If you know it’s happening, then, I suppose, now I know too. Right? Cause you just told me. Transitivity—
PAT: Again, not the point. It’s hypothetical. Just tell me what you would do.
RICH: —That’s how disease gets spread. Heh. I suppose I’m already doing what I would do.
PAT: Okay, so you’d just gossip about it?
RICH: Like you?
PAT: C’mon, Rich. I said it’s hypothetical. Your epistemic games get old quick.
RICH: You’re calling me out on epistemic games? What do think hypotheticals are?
PAT: Fine, whatever.
A student on a skateboard rolls past them, between them.
RICH: Look, it’s a rotten thing to do. Alright? I think it’s corrupt. No matter who came on to who. My analogy would be crapping in a community pool—only inconsiderate and incontinent people do it. A little restraint does a body good. If I knew who it was, I would do my part to get them fired. Mine, yours, all our degrees are less valuable if our program gets a reputation for being a sex club.
PAT: That’s what I was looking for. Thank you.
Pat’s phone buzzes. She looks at it and silences it.
PAT: I’m kind of surprised though. Don’t, or didn’t you have a crush on **?
RICH: Ooh, and disappointment fills my bowels. I confided in you and asked you not to bring that up.
PAT: That’s why I bleeped it out. I had to bring it up, it’s pertinent.
RICH: Crushes are innocent. They don’t affect anything except the imagination. Part of their fun is that you don’t have to deal with the actual, the real causal details of doing it with someone.
PAT: Causal details.
RICH: Yeah.
PAT: But what if they, the teacher and the student, love each other?
RICH: Love? Like how? Like a parent loves a child? Like an alcoholic loves a drink? Like a husband loves a wife? Like a teacher loves a student? Your question is vague.
PAT: Okay. Like a husband loves a wife, Rich.
RICH: Mmm. I’ll say this, part of the way married couples love each other involves assuaging, consoling, encouraging each other when one or the other or both are uncertain. When paths become confusing, complicated, or treacherous, one’s spouse, as part of spousal love, helps one deal with those paths. But when it comes to the way a teacher loves a student, this encouraging/consoling property of love isn’t there.
PAT: How so? When I’m reading passages from Derrida that undermine the way I’ve always thought of myself, my relation to the world, my “path” looks pretty confusing and scary. Am I supposed to go to a husband with these worries? What if he hates Derrida and refuses to read him? I go to my teacher and get guidance or encouragement or whatever you call it.
RICH: Yeah, but you go to your teacher as a student. I’m talking about the other way around, the way a teacher loves a student, not the way a student loves a teacher. Of course students love teachers for helping them through complicated, confusing paths. But are teachers supposed to love students for the same? Not at all. When the students start showing the teachers the way through difficult paths, the teacher-student relationship has dissolved, the teacher isn’t a teacher anymore and, thus, cannot love the students in the way a teacher does. The teacher is devolving and loving the students as a student loves a teacher. See? If a teacher loves a student the way a husband loves a wife, the love ruins the teacher-student relationship, or at least changes it into a completely different one.
They arrive at the coffee shop
PAT: I don’t know. I’m getting a coffee. You coming?
RICH: I’ll wait here.
Pat goes in. People are walking busily in and out. Rich stands outside watching evening hues push up on the clear sky. Pat comes back holding a coffee, with Jackie, who is a fellow student and holding a coffee as well.
RICH: Hi Jackie.
JACKIE: Hi.
RICH: So, shall we keep walking or go to class. It’s still a bit early, I think.
PAT: Let’s sit down.
The group finds a place to sit and settles down.
RICH: Pat and I were just talking—
JACKIE: I know. She told me.
Jackie looks for something in her oversized purse and sips her coffee.
JACKIE: At this level, when going to school is basically like going to the office, you really think it’s wrong to be intimate with faculty? Are we children? Are we bound to some religious doctrine? Teaching is about feeling. If a teacher feels especially drawn to a particular student, or the other way around, it makes the relationship between them more potent. It makes each want to do their best, and the instruction becomes more enriching for both. Teaching is an exchange, just like sex. In fact, how do you think people even get sex, consensual of course? They build toward it by many little exchanges. As the exchanges happen, they feel out where they’re leading them. If the exchanges lead to sex, well, if it’s good, that’s something to be happy about, no?
RICH: Whoa. Okay. Getting off pretty impetuously, Jackie. I guess, now I might know who’s the one doing it with a teacher. Heh.
Jackie quits her purse.
JACKIE: Save the ad hominem attacks for someone who doesn’t know a fallacy when she sees one. If you think you’ve got a response to me, say it. If not, be quiet and listen.
RICH: Ah, but Jackie, that was my response. I suspect you mistook my gesture toward pathos for a personal attack. I was merely pointing out that your suddenness seemed especially emotionally driven. And that’s nothing against you, but it should cause pause in your argument. Because, isn’t sex tied to emotion? Aren’t lovers always emotionally involved, no matter how much they claim they’re not? And if they’re truly not, isn’t that, well, sociopathic?
JACKIE: People can have sex without being “emotionally involved”. Apparently you’ve never had any fuck-buddies.
RICH: And I might guess you’ve had many. But maybe we can agree that a good number of people get emotionally invested in their sex lives. I might even argue that that makes them better. But another time. For now, I’ll say that the classroom, like the office, is a delicate environment. If we want to think green, I think we can say that both places have their own ecosystem. Not only that, the ecosystem of the classroom, at least, is a goal driven one, no? Teachers, if they’re teachers at all, necessarily work toward causing their students to learn. That is, they intend to cause their students to become more aware, in a controlled, beneficial way. This is a difficult thing to do, Jackie. How much more complicated do the complexities of sex and its relation to emotions make the job? My answer: way too complicated, to the point of bringing the classroom to entropy.
JACKIE: Part of being an adult is being able to manage complexity.
RICH: Isn’t self restraint in the face of sexual appetite managing complexity?
JACKIE: Your implicit theory about a teacher’s role is skewed. A teacher is not over and above the class. A teacher is not an authority figure. A teacher is not a boss, or some hierarchical presence that the lowly ones, the students, must answer to. A teacher is an equal. A teacher is a friend. I said the student-teacher relationship is an exchange. It’s symbiotic. You talk about ecosystems. What if some perverse outside force prematurely stops an exchange before it fulfills its telos? What if that outside force holds the symbiosis unnaturally, fixes it at one point in its growth? Does this not defeat the system?
RICH: Yes, but that’s exactly what sex in the classroom does.
JACKIE: That’s a puerile statement. My point is: as parts of a process of give and take, an ecosystem as such, we should let things flower as they will. Part of being an adult is upholding all the give-and-takes you’re involved in. Do you understand? Part of being mature is not allowing one exchange to ruin or taint another. It’s this fluidity, back and forth, that empowers people. Exchange gives people capital and/or means of production. Constant exchanges, constantly evolving exchanges, give everyone involved much to give others and have themselves. In this way people are empowered. Inventing precedents for shut-off, limits for give-and-takes, is only a way of prescribing power, contracting it, hoarding it, creating hierarchies and hegemonies.
RICH: (upset) Wow. Jackie, you’re intense. I totally don’t believe anything you just said. I think the idea that fluidity empowers people to the point of dissolving hegemonies is irrational. I think the idea that sex between a teacher and a student could be a natural part of evolving exchanges that take place in the classroom is wildly specious. And I think the claim that a teacher is not an authority but a friend is flat out false. Think about it, think Althusser and Nietzsche, isn’t fluidity quite tyrannical, fascist? In such a structure, where everybody gives and takes constantly, as you say, won’t exchanges themselves become the objects of power? Won’t the people who are able to generate the most give-and-takes simply have their way with others who cannot? Instead of the stable, the fluid will be the monarchs. And sex between a teacher and student that evolves from exchanges in the classroom is like a weed in a flower garden, it threatens to change the flower garden into a weed garden, it threatens to change, say, a literature class into a sex class. The teacher “evolves”, as you say, out of his role as literature teacher and into some bizarre role as sex teacher. But we need literature, and thus literature classes. So we can’t have them supplanted. Furthermore, not an authority figure, really? A friend? Frankly, I think this is absolutely wrong. A teacher is not a friend to his students. He may be friendly, but the moment he becomes a friend I think he steps out of his role as teacher. What do you think we’re doing in grad school? Learning how to be friendly? No. We’re developing an expertise; we’re becoming better at a set of skills than other people, so when our skill set is needed, then we may provide authoritative demonstrations and or knowledge of it. A teacher is a person who has taken on the obligation of training others in his skill set.
Rich then stands up and spits on the ground.
PAT: Well, I think it’s time to head to class.
The sun has set and the students walk to their class without saying another word.
ON EXCEPTIONALISM
"BATMAN
Gotham needs its true hero.
Gently, he turns Dent's head so the good side of his face is
up. Gordon looks from Dent's face to Batman. Understanding.
GORDON
You? You can't-
BATMAN
Yes, I can.
Batman stands. Faces Gordon.
BATMAN
You either die a hero or live long
enough to see yourself become the
villain. I can do those things
because I'm not a hero, like Dent. I
killed those people. That's what I
can be.
GORDON
(angry)
No, you can't! You're not!
Batman hands Gordon his police radio.
BATMAN
I'm whatever Gotham needs me to be. Call it in.
INSERT CUT: GORDON STANDS AT A PODIUM AT DENT'S FUNERAL. BEHIND HIM IS A LARGE PHOTOGRAPH OF DENT SMILING.
GORDON
...a hero. Not the hero we deserved, the
hero we needed. Nothing less
than a knight. Shining...
GORDON (V.O.)
They'll hunt you.
BATMAN (V.O.)
You'll hunt me.
INSERT CUT: GORDON, ON THE ROOF OF GOTHAM CENTRAL, AXE IN HAND, WATCHED BY AN ASSORTMENT OF COPS AND REPORTERS...
BATMAN (V.O.)(CONT’D)
You'll condemn me, set the dogs on
me...
GORDON TAKES THE AXE TO THE BAT SYMBOL- SPARKING, SMASHING...
BATMAN (V.O.)(CONT’D)
...because that's what needs to happen.
INSERT CUT: ALFRED HOLDS THE LETTER FROM RACHEL. THINKING.
BATMAN (V.O.)(CONT’D)
Because sometimes the truth isn't
good enough...
INSERT CUT: ALFRED BURNS THE ENVELOPE FROM RACHEL.
BATMAN (V.O.) (CONT’D)
...sometimes, people deserve more. Sometimes people deserve, to have their faith rewarded.
INSERT CUT: LUCIUS FOX TYPES HIS NAME INTO THE SONAR MACHINE. FOX HITS THE "X". THE MACHINE FLASHES RED "SELFDESTRUCT WARNINGS". THEN DIES. FOX SMILES TO HIMSELF.
Batman hurries off. LIMPING into the shadows.
JAMES
Batman?!
James RUNS down the stairs to join father-
JAMES (CONT’D)
Why's he running, Dad?!
Gordon stares after Batman.
GORDON
Because we have to chase him...
EXT. WAREHOUSE -- CONTINUOUS
As Cops race into the buildings the DOGS get the scent and
pull away from the doorway, following the SHADOW into the
stacks of shipping containers...
INT. WAREHOUSE -- CONTINUOUS
James looks at his father, confused.
JAMES
He didn't do anything wrong!
Gordon stares after the Batman. The sound of the dogs
becoming louder and more ferocious.
GORDON
Because...
EXT. DOCKSIDE ROOFTOPS -- CONTINUOUS
The Batman LURCHES between shipping containers. STUMBLING.
BLEEDING. He makes it to the bat-pod...
GORDON (V.O.)
...he's the hero Gotham deserves...
but not the one it needs right now.
So we'll hunt him, because he can
take it. Because he's not our
hero...
The bat-pod streaks through Gotham's underground streets, the
Batman's cape fluttering behind. A wraith...
GORDON (V.O.)
...he's a silent guardian, a watchful
protector... a dark knight.
The Batman races up a ramp into a blinding light-
CUT TO BLACK."
Gotham needs its true hero.
Gently, he turns Dent's head so the good side of his face is
up. Gordon looks from Dent's face to Batman. Understanding.
GORDON
You? You can't-
BATMAN
Yes, I can.
Batman stands. Faces Gordon.
BATMAN
You either die a hero or live long
enough to see yourself become the
villain. I can do those things
because I'm not a hero, like Dent. I
killed those people. That's what I
can be.
GORDON
(angry)
No, you can't! You're not!
Batman hands Gordon his police radio.
BATMAN
I'm whatever Gotham needs me to be. Call it in.
INSERT CUT: GORDON STANDS AT A PODIUM AT DENT'S FUNERAL. BEHIND HIM IS A LARGE PHOTOGRAPH OF DENT SMILING.
GORDON
...a hero. Not the hero we deserved, the
hero we needed. Nothing less
than a knight. Shining...
GORDON (V.O.)
They'll hunt you.
BATMAN (V.O.)
You'll hunt me.
INSERT CUT: GORDON, ON THE ROOF OF GOTHAM CENTRAL, AXE IN HAND, WATCHED BY AN ASSORTMENT OF COPS AND REPORTERS...
BATMAN (V.O.)(CONT’D)
You'll condemn me, set the dogs on
me...
GORDON TAKES THE AXE TO THE BAT SYMBOL- SPARKING, SMASHING...
BATMAN (V.O.)(CONT’D)
...because that's what needs to happen.
INSERT CUT: ALFRED HOLDS THE LETTER FROM RACHEL. THINKING.
BATMAN (V.O.)(CONT’D)
Because sometimes the truth isn't
good enough...
INSERT CUT: ALFRED BURNS THE ENVELOPE FROM RACHEL.
BATMAN (V.O.) (CONT’D)
...sometimes, people deserve more. Sometimes people deserve, to have their faith rewarded.
INSERT CUT: LUCIUS FOX TYPES HIS NAME INTO THE SONAR MACHINE. FOX HITS THE "X". THE MACHINE FLASHES RED "SELFDESTRUCT WARNINGS". THEN DIES. FOX SMILES TO HIMSELF.
Batman hurries off. LIMPING into the shadows.
JAMES
Batman?!
James RUNS down the stairs to join father-
JAMES (CONT’D)
Why's he running, Dad?!
Gordon stares after Batman.
GORDON
Because we have to chase him...
EXT. WAREHOUSE -- CONTINUOUS
As Cops race into the buildings the DOGS get the scent and
pull away from the doorway, following the SHADOW into the
stacks of shipping containers...
INT. WAREHOUSE -- CONTINUOUS
James looks at his father, confused.
JAMES
He didn't do anything wrong!
Gordon stares after the Batman. The sound of the dogs
becoming louder and more ferocious.
GORDON
Because...
EXT. DOCKSIDE ROOFTOPS -- CONTINUOUS
The Batman LURCHES between shipping containers. STUMBLING.
BLEEDING. He makes it to the bat-pod...
GORDON (V.O.)
...he's the hero Gotham deserves...
but not the one it needs right now.
So we'll hunt him, because he can
take it. Because he's not our
hero...
The bat-pod streaks through Gotham's underground streets, the
Batman's cape fluttering behind. A wraith...
GORDON (V.O.)
...he's a silent guardian, a watchful
protector... a dark knight.
The Batman races up a ramp into a blinding light-
CUT TO BLACK."
The Dark Knight. Dir. Christopher Nolan. Screenplay by Christopher Nolan and Jonathan Nolan. Perf. Christian Bale and Heath Ledger. Warner Bros., 2008. DVD.
ON HUSSERLIAN EXPLICATION OF HOW OTHER EGOS ARE CONSTITUTED
Recognizing an Other ego is something we beings do often and fairly well. It is also a primitive condition for communication and, thus, for being understood. However, it is also problematic. In arguments about understanding, about the ability of one to understand an Other, it is sometimes claimed that ego (or, in non-Husserlian jargon, self) is situated within a set of experiences, the scope of which it can never transcend. To me, this seems too strong. An ego (self) must be able to transcend what belongs to it, its own experiences, or its world is solipsistic. The following is, I think, a good defense against solipsism.
“I am aware of my own body and thoughts, and I have some amount of control over both these things. I can control what I think and talk about. I can move my arms, stand up and sit down, and touch or pick-up objects that surround me when and how I want to. I have all of these experiences. I am an ego.”
With this passage and its preceding assumptions in mind, we can enter the problematic. Consider these questions: How does one ego understand that something else has experiences, i.e., how does one ego understand whether some thing other than itself is an ego too? How do I understand that another being is aware of its own body and thoughts, has similar control over its actions, and has experiences in remotely the same way as me? How does one ego recognize an Other ego?
"...when it comes to real-world understanding, it seems that there is no simple way to skim off the top level, and program it alone. The triggering patterns of symbols are just too complex. There must be several levels through which thoughts may 'percolate' and 'bubble'."
Hofstadter, Douglass R. Godel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Braid. New York: Basic Books, 1999. Print. p. 569
ON THE COMPLEXITIES OF SYNTHESIS
Inland Empire. Dir. David Lynch. Perf. Laura Dern and Justin Theroux. Absurda, 2007. DVD.
"Those, however, who assert the absolute reality of space and time, whether they assume it to be subsisting or only inhering, must themselves come into conflict with the principles of experience."
Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Pure Reason. Trans. Paul Guyer. Ed. Allen Wood. New York: Cambridge UP, 1998. Print. p. 166
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