Existentialism in Review

Before I turn into a squid of anger, I would just like to say that I’m glad I took this class. I got to read existentialist texts first-hand, which is an accomplishment and an honor. I generally enjoy reading because books are like the best kind of conversations, in which the author tries to be confidential and honest, doing the best to convey what he/she really thinks.  Generally.  Other times, the author is stuck on appearances and can’t manage the vulnerability of honesty.  And it gets on my nerves.

It’s rather a pity to end the class by reviewing the intro, as the introduction was the thing that turned me off in the first place. Thinking about Solomon’s introduction just re-irritates me.  Reason being: it’s unhelpful to say that existentialism cannot be defined because it is a "living philosophy," or that it cannot be named because the movement's name was assigned after the fact. It’s unhelpful because everything in the history of the universe is subject to time, 'kay. Therefore, it is already established that things are changing and in that sense “living.” The point of names and definitions is communication.  Without names and definitions, ideas couldn't be discussed.  It's not necessarily oversimplifying or stagnating.  Furthermore, it is given that names are assigned to movements after the fact.  It’s precisely the same thing within Empiricism—not all “empiricists” asserted each and every “empiricist” doctrine. It is understood that individuals who are put in a category are unique by nature.  Calling the movement "empiricism" is a convention of speech and it’s unhelpful to reject that in the case of existentialism. It’s irritating because it’s as if Solomon attempts to elevate existentialism by making it elitist. If existentialism is superior, then the very nature of the subject will thin out unwanted participants. There’s no need to be supercilious about it.

I also still resent that Solomon says seeing the world as it really is requires living in irresolvable confusion and refusing to grasp for things that make the world seem more familiar or firm. It’s that and statements like that which provoke accusations of existentialism having a machismo attitude. There’s nothing strong about rejecting weakness. There’s nothing strong about denying weakness. There’s nothing strong about insulting weakness. The sad part of it is that to make existentialism machismo, one must forget part of existentialism—the part about being oneself. Granted, it’s inconclusive whether one can be authentic or not. But it’s still true that if you are something, you don’t have to go around being “sincere” about it. A strong person doesn’t have to shy away from weakness, talk about how strong they are, and put down others’ weakness. A strong person isn’t insecure or self-conscious in that way. It’s ironic.

More than strength (or whatever you call it: authenticity, logic, realism, truth), the impression I get from existentialism is guardedness. I think a fair amount of existentialism is founded and perpetuated by pain. Solomon said something similar, more or less, that existentialism is posturing to defend oneself against a hostile world. Some existentialist authors gilt their cynicism with heroism. I used to think cynicism was heroic, too. But now I think it’s sad. I acknowledge that machismo mindsets can be circumstantially good. Sometimes an unyielding, prickly attitude is necessary to survive desperate circumstances. Yet when circumstances change, the actual brave thing to do is regain tenderness while retaining fortitude. It’s a courageous thing to rebuild and have hope, resolve things and take a stand, and be wrong and take a stand again. I freely acknowledge the ensuing eye-rolling. But seriously. The time is near for new beginnings. Don’t cling to facades. There’s something better for you.

On Being and Nothingness and Saint Genet

In Being and Nothingness: Patterns of Bad Faith, I was tracking with Sartre’s definitions of bad faith and sincerity until he said that they’re the same thing. This confused me not only because he previously said they’re antithetical, but also because they didn’t seem remotely similar to me. Maybe Sartre is trying to be cure and trying to assert a contradiction for fashion’s sake, but that’s not satisfying. I can’t get past the feeling that there must be an ACTUAL antithesis to the bad faith/sincerity symbiosis, like mindlessness or something. It’s jolly to say that bad faith and sincerity have a yin/yang thing going on, but to say they’re antithetical and the same thing just rubs me the wrong way. I’m confused.

I thought bad faith meant to recognize a decision must be made but refuse to answer yea or nay, reducing oneself to a thing to which events occur versus an active participator in life. I thought that sincerity meant to be 1) for only oneself exactly what 2) one is. Thus it seemed that an instance of bad faith might be when a person insists on transcendence while doing nothing about facticity, and an instance of sincerity might be striving to align oneself with one’s ideals in an action. This is where I lose track, because I can’t really see how sincerity and bad faith are the same thing. I can see how sincerity is contradictory in itself, however.

For an example of sincerity’s contradiction, say I’m a sweet person. Being sincere, I always try to do the considerate thing. Yet by the very act of trying to be considerate, I’m acknowledging that I’m inconsiderate—or at least that I need to be on guard for inconsiderate behavior inside me. If I focus on being sincerely considerate, it’s presumed that’s because I am inconsiderate and need monitoring. Sincerity poses the paradox of simultaneously being and not-being whatever its object is. The act of trying to be oneself changes the self as it is (the self, pre-trying-to-be-oneself—of God, I’m using hyphens. Heidegger, what have you done), thus making a person into a self other than he/she is. But that’s not the same thing as bad faith. The way I took bad faith was as a type of confrontation avoidance, like from Sartre’s example of a person who acknowledges what he “used to be” yet insists that he is “free to recreate himself,” not accepting any fault. I guess it’s too late to field my classmates for ideas, but it would be nice to understand this.

Regarding transcendence, I feel like the way the group presented the definition was rather different from the way Sartre meant it. We didn’t get a ballpark idea of transcendence, let alone a firm grasp on the concept. Let me offer a ballpark idea here: transcendence is when a person dodges responsibility by claiming he/she is beyond reproach, for no real reason except by claiming that Everybody doesn’t understand. The instruments of bad faith that Sartre discussed illustrated this vague, wafty, frustrating way of dodging the need to give a real answer. I think somehow coming back to this idea might have aided our discussion. I should have said something. Alas.

What interested me in the expert from St. Genet is that Sartre brought up suicide at the end, briefly and out of nowhere. Once the child is charged with the heavy weight of a criminal identity, he does not buckle and resort to suicide. He grimly wills to live in spite of his ignoble meaning and molds his experience into something beautiful. Granted. It just startled me that Sartre would think that a child would commit suicide over being labeled a thief. But I guess suicide after bullying is a popularly acclaimed reality. Children kill themselves because of other people quite frequently, and it’s more often than not as a direct result of someone else’s name-calling. Maybe it disconcerted me (for more than the obvious reasons) because it was a different way to draw in the existentialist theme of suicide from our previous authors. I should have expected it but it took me by surprise.