Sartre
There are three legs to my philosophy as a whole: Nietzsche's false idols, Sartre's definition by the Other, and Kierkegaard's leveling process. Now that's both an inaccurate exaggeration and an exaggerated inaccuracy. But you simply must hear about Sartre.
Back when I was a little kid, oh perhaps 15 years of age, I shared with my audience down at the coffee house my brand new theory: I am no one. I am precisely no one. In fact, I'm solely made up of all the other people I've ever met. Well, they thought it was cute but they didn't think all too much about it. I basically buried the idea until just recently when I realized it was exactly what Sartre had in mind.
To run this philosophy down as quickly as possible to get to the juicy applications, let's start with the assumptions: Existence precedes essence. That is to say, we can define everything's essence by our own experience. And I think therefore I am. That is to say, my consciousness exists (the part that thinks!). But what about this body that keeps following me around. Is that me? Is that an extension of me? How can I know?
Well, when I recognize another consciousness, another subject that I know is just like my own, I become aware of my own body. I have an emotional response to what my body is doing: if I'm naked, I feel embarrassed; if I'm caught stealing, I'm ashamed; if I'm caught looking damn good, I'm proud. And guess what, if there's no one there, I feel none of these! These emotions prove that I am my body (my ego as Sartre liked to put it).
There are some direct applications: first, we can use this to observe what we think about others. The level of embarrassment we feel is different before different people. Way back in the day I dare suggest that, having no flirting technique whatsoever, I would frequently resort to being downright weird in front of girls. I can't remember flat out what it was that I did (I'd have loved to share it with you), but suffice it to say that I would not behave this way in front of my guy friends. Nor would I ever tell them about it. Eventually I realized that telling myself only to act in the way I would in front of everyone would produce better results. This isn't that hard and fast a rule, but it certainly counts for flirting in high school. So what does this say: it says that I felt that my guy friends could understand me more than these random girls. Naturally--they were my friends. Having grown up together we obviously thought pretty similarly. They would know exactly what I was thinking, and know exactly how shitty my thoughts really were. But only they could, and my embarrassment proves it.
One time I was in a grocery store among countless 40 and 50 somethings clad in sweatpants and sunglasses on chains. One in ten brought their offspring, who generally tooled abortively around the store. Remember how kids act? Drunk, screaming, bumping in to you. So imagine this: I see two girls of 8 years at opposite ends of the aisle. They approach each other bitching out their mothers. Then they see each other, and they both become calm and composed and try to look as cool as possible (for a grocery store, a feat worth mentioning). The girls did not feel embarrassment in front of their mothers, only in front of each other. Their change in behavior shows this, and this embarrassment proves that they recognized each other as the most observant of subjects.
And the applications have just begun! Stay tuned for more, but right now I have to go back to work.
Back when I was a little kid, oh perhaps 15 years of age, I shared with my audience down at the coffee house my brand new theory: I am no one. I am precisely no one. In fact, I'm solely made up of all the other people I've ever met. Well, they thought it was cute but they didn't think all too much about it. I basically buried the idea until just recently when I realized it was exactly what Sartre had in mind.
To run this philosophy down as quickly as possible to get to the juicy applications, let's start with the assumptions: Existence precedes essence. That is to say, we can define everything's essence by our own experience. And I think therefore I am. That is to say, my consciousness exists (the part that thinks!). But what about this body that keeps following me around. Is that me? Is that an extension of me? How can I know?
Well, when I recognize another consciousness, another subject that I know is just like my own, I become aware of my own body. I have an emotional response to what my body is doing: if I'm naked, I feel embarrassed; if I'm caught stealing, I'm ashamed; if I'm caught looking damn good, I'm proud. And guess what, if there's no one there, I feel none of these! These emotions prove that I am my body (my ego as Sartre liked to put it).
There are some direct applications: first, we can use this to observe what we think about others. The level of embarrassment we feel is different before different people. Way back in the day I dare suggest that, having no flirting technique whatsoever, I would frequently resort to being downright weird in front of girls. I can't remember flat out what it was that I did (I'd have loved to share it with you), but suffice it to say that I would not behave this way in front of my guy friends. Nor would I ever tell them about it. Eventually I realized that telling myself only to act in the way I would in front of everyone would produce better results. This isn't that hard and fast a rule, but it certainly counts for flirting in high school. So what does this say: it says that I felt that my guy friends could understand me more than these random girls. Naturally--they were my friends. Having grown up together we obviously thought pretty similarly. They would know exactly what I was thinking, and know exactly how shitty my thoughts really were. But only they could, and my embarrassment proves it.
One time I was in a grocery store among countless 40 and 50 somethings clad in sweatpants and sunglasses on chains. One in ten brought their offspring, who generally tooled abortively around the store. Remember how kids act? Drunk, screaming, bumping in to you. So imagine this: I see two girls of 8 years at opposite ends of the aisle. They approach each other bitching out their mothers. Then they see each other, and they both become calm and composed and try to look as cool as possible (for a grocery store, a feat worth mentioning). The girls did not feel embarrassment in front of their mothers, only in front of each other. Their change in behavior shows this, and this embarrassment proves that they recognized each other as the most observant of subjects.
And the applications have just begun! Stay tuned for more, but right now I have to go back to work.
posted by Owen Martin | 11:49 AM
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