A Drunk Philosopher’s Post

[VerticalOntology]

Friends, colleagues, philosophers—I’ve had a little too much to drink, and while I’m still somewhat drunk, I’m in a hurry to share a kind of insight.

You know, Plato was right when he said that philosophy is the art of dying. Damn, that was well said.

We philosophers are, in essence, half-dead from birth. Philosophy is not really about intelligence or intellectual ability. I must admit, I consider myself somewhat stupid. The whole point is that philosophers are somehow already a little—or perhaps significantly—dead. We are not fully involved in this world. We always feel slightly alien, like guests merely passing through. We hear the same scream that resounds through Munch’s painting. That is what it is all about. Nothing else.

Through books, quotations, and hints—openly or secretly, publicly or privately—we merely exchange knowing glances, winking at one another, simply to make sure that we exist.

The Gnostics had something like this too. I would not call myself a Gnostic, but there is something truthful in hearing Sophia’s otherworldly call.

I do not particularly like alcohol. I simply had to drink tonight, and suddenly I understood why other people enjoy it, whereas for me it has always been merely a social obligation or, very rarely, a way of numbing stress.

Alcohol muffles that piercing sound of horror—the sound that is so close and familiar to us, and so unpleasant to everyone else.

It is obvious, then, that a philosopher is not a human being, but a monster.

[180Proof]

Well I have sobriety (8 years so far) to thank for my sleepy solitude.

[Jay]

Congrats! Working on a long string of clean-and-sober years myself.

[Ciceronianus]

Well, some philosophers are or were monsters, certainly. The name of one of them begins with “H.”

As Montaigne notes, we can’t govern events but we can govern ourselves. Pretending as some philosophers do that we’re somehow apart from the world is, I think, merely frivolous. But we need not let things beyond our control destroy us.

[Scorpion]

I believe I once wrote a short short poem on how to make a scoundrel a philosopher and a philosopher a scoundrel. Simple. Wine.

I’ve seen Dionysian frenzy and also drunken stupor. Victory in battle may depend on knowing the difference.

Nietzsche dichotomized certain aspects of the world into Apollonian order vs. Dionysian chaos. I’ve never understood dualism. Peirce is said to have preferred trichotomies. Advaita (no 2-ness) is attractive but esoteric/abstruse.

An old man told me this joke about a man who walks into a bar and sees another fellow man drinking to glory. He asks, “why drink so hard?” The reply, “I’m sad.” The two part. After a week or so, same man same bar and the same person is drinking to high heaven. “Sad today too?” queries the man. “No, today I’m happy,” comes the reply.

[j_j]

@VerticalOntology

We philosophers are, in essence, half-dead from birth. Philosophy is not really about intelligence or intellectual ability. I must admit, I consider myself somewhat stupid. The whole point is that philosophers are somehow already a little—or perhaps significantly—dead. We are not fully involved in this world. We always feel slightly alien, like guests merely passing through. We hear the same scream that resounds through Munch’s painting. That is what it is all about. Nothing else.

Well said, my friend ! I like the stupidity part too. It’s not about being clever. To me it’s more like a “stupid” simplicity, a stupid honesty. And this comes from having a foot already in the grave. Schopenhauer writes somewhere that a person who doesn’t frequently feel the “unreality” of the world is no born foolosopher. A technician might be respectable. The philosopher is not respectable. Of course some try to rescue the disreputable philosopher role by transforming that role in a technician, a language mechanic perhaps.

@VerticalOntology

Through books, quotations, and hints—openly or secretly, publicly or privately—we merely exchange knowing glances, winking at one another, simply to make sure that we exist.

I’m personally very fond of the “muted post horn” in The Crying of Lot 49. The novel is great anyway, but that piece of it really glows for me.

There’s also the FOR MADMEN ONLY sign in Steppenwolf.

I can appreciate the reference to gnostics. That metaphor gets something right, though I think you’ll agree that the philosopher doesn’t have a “cure” for the world. The philosopher is a necessarily marginal parasite on hide of Moloch.

@VerticalOntology

It is obvious, then, that a philosopher is not a human being, but a monster.

I think the “philosopher” —not the technician or the clever person but the stupidly honest and half-fatally detached — is in touch with with monster. Our “philosopher” may in fact be a gentle, tolerant person. Because he’s “already dead” and so is everyone else. Sort of. He or she is prematurely aged, but I’m not talking about the portly respectable father of the city, a man born for earnest pontificating at the nearest podium. More like the ragged tattered man in The Grapes of Wrath, who is back from the “dream” of California and collides with the Joads who are on their way there.

[bonathan]

Gasp

You’re a monster!

[quentin]

1. Plato’s description of man; featherless biped

2. Diogenes stormed into Plato’s dungeon with a plucked chicken:

3. “Behold! A man”

Which order is correct? 123? 321? 213? 312?

Which array of numbers are correct? Does this make sense?

[VerticalOntology]

@j_j

I think the “philosopher” —not the technician or the clever person but the stupidly honest and half-fatally detached — is in touch with with monster. Our “philosopher” may in fact be a gentle, tolerant person. Because he’s “already dead” and so is everyone else. Sort of. He or she is prematurely aged, but I’m not talking about the portly respectable father of the city, a man born for earnest pontificating at the nearest podium. More like the ragged tattered man in The Grapes of Wrath, who is back from the “dream” of California and collides with the Joads who are on their way there.

Yes, that is very close to what I meant. I am not saying that the philosopher is a bad or evil person. The monstrosity lies precisely in his detachment from the processes of life, in his living as though at a distance from them. Others do not necessarily have to sense it. But inwardly, he is like a spy, a stranger, an observer, a dead man—in other words, a monster.

[j_j]

@VerticalOntology

The monstrosity lies precisely in his detachment from the processes of life, in his living as though at a distance from them. Others do not necessarily have to sense it. But inwardly, he is like a spy, a stranger, an observer, a dead man—in other words, a monster.

Music to my eyes. A “monster” in the sense of freak.

[Punshhh]

I would say that philosophers, like mystics and shaman are social outsiders. But this does not mean that they are unable to play a full part in society. They have to work at it though, because they have, by developing their insights, stepped out of the stream of consciousness, or immersed involvement that ordinary people (people who are not outsiders) have.

But this separation, is not really a separation, but rather a feeling of separation, as a result of a process of overanalysing, or deconstruction of, social or intellectual norms.

What is more likely is that we become a monster, by becoming lost in all this rhetoric. Or becoming so adversarial, that we can’t relate to other people anymore.

For me my monster is benevolent, always focussed on kindness, humility and trying to listen to and observe what other people are saying, or signaling. A kind friendly monster is not any more a monster.

[VerticalOntology]

@Punshhh

For me my monster is benevolent, always focussed on kindness, humility and trying to listen to and observe what other people are saying, or signaling. A kind friendly monster is not any more a monster.

Plato’s allegory of the cave tells a slightly different story Even a kind and benevolent outsider may still appear monstrous to those inside the cave.

[Tom_Storm]

@VerticalOntology

The monstrosity lies precisely in his detachment from the processes of life, in his living as though at a distance from them. Others do not necessarily have to sense it. But inwardly, he is like a spy, a stranger, an observer, a dead man—in other words, a monster.

This is exactly how you’d hear actors, writers, social workers and many other occupations describe themselves.

But would it not also be true that good philosophers may not be spies, strangers, dead men, or monsters, but rather participants, appreciators, and people of wisdom?

Or do you hold to the view that to be taken seriously a person must be against the grain in some way?

[Joshs]

@VerticalOntology

Yes, that is very close to what I meant. I am not saying that the philosopher is a bad or evil person. The monstrosity lies precisely in his detachment from the processes of life, in his living as though at a distance from them

Isn’t philosophical detachment a means to an end rather than the primary goal? Isnt detachment a necessary prelude to burrowing beneath unexamined presuppositions? And isn’t the aim a clarification an enrichment of understanding for the purposes of more effective sense-making? In other words, doesn’t philosophical inquiry move in the direction of an intensified intimacy with life? Perhaps it is what we detach ourselves from which is the source of our alienation.

[Jay]

@Joshs

doesn’t philosophical inquiry move in the direction of an intensified intimacy with life?

I like that. Do you think phil inquiry gets us that intimacy? Or does it take us only to a certain point, when a different praxis is called for?

[Tom_Storm]

@Joshs

And isn’t the aim a clarification an enrichment of understanding for the purposes of more effective sense-making?

What are some characteristics of effective sense-making? I’m assuming it means more than simply efficiently meeting one’s own needs, since we can do that in ways that harm others.

@Joshs

In other words, doesn’t philosophical inquiry move in the direction of an intensified intimacy with life?

I’m wondering if you could say a bit more about what an intensified intimacy with life looks or feel like.

[Punshhh]

@VerticalOntology

Plato’s allegory of the cave tells a slightly different story Even a kind and benevolent outsider may still appear monstrous to those inside the cave.

Two points on this, firstly the philosopher isn’t outside of the cave. That thought is illusory, or like a Christ complex.
Secondly, a kind, humble monster, a gentle giant, so to speak, doesn’t fit the criterion of a monster. Other than in respect of size.
This issue brings up two foundational principles of spirituality. Firstly that to progress spiritually does not mean, or require, a move away from society, or the self (to leave the cave). That is a myth.
Secondly, that a powerful being (relative to others), is not a threat to others, if that being is benevolent and humble (more so than the others)*

*This principle is of great import to mystics and occultists. That one offers one’self up freely to any other who is kinder, more humble and compassionate than one’self. Provided one’self is sufficiently kind, humble and compassionate. This can only be a positive, because the other who is welcomed in could not possibly be a danger to oneself, even if they are as powerful as God.

[Jackal]

I think it is possible you might just be an introvert. A wordy one at that.

Let me guess, you prefer solitude or a quiet night in reading or watching your favorite book or movie over a night out with friends at the club or cinema?

You are perfectly fine not seeing another soul for days, perhaps even weeks (or longer!) on end? (Provided you still have some way, some confirmation like a forum such as this or a passing car to inform you the entire world and all humans did not vanish or pass away without your knowledge)

Does this sound like you? If so, I suspect my initial suspicion will be proved to be wholly accurate. Ergo, your mind is simply wired in a way that differs dramatically from those who are extroverts, possibly the so-called “majority” of persons (the common man).

Point being, there is nothing “wrong” with you, certainly not “monsterdom.”

[VerticalOntology]

@Punshhh

Two points on this, firstly the philosopher isn’t outside of the cave. That thought is illusory, or like a Christ complex.

I wasn’t speaking about myself, but about Plato. In Plato’s own imagery, the philosopher is precisely the one who is capable of ascending out of the cave—and who must later return to it. So if you regard this idea as illusory or as a kind of Christ complex, your objection is to Plato’s conception of the philosopher, not to anything I claimed about myself.

The mention of a monster was simply an allusion to Žižek—a short meme video featuring him was posted here recently.

Besides, I don’t think that describing myself as not particularly intelligent, but rather as partly dead, amounts to delusions of grandeur.

[Fooloso4]

We should not miss Plato’s playfulness here. Socrates is about to go to his death. Socrates tells his friends that,

Other people may well be unaware that all who actually engage in philosophy aright are practising nothing other than dying and being dead. (Phaedo 64a)

Simmias responds:

Goodness, Socrates, you’ve made me laugh, even though I wasn’t much inclined to laugh just now. l imagine that most people, on hearing that, would think it very well said of philosophers-and our own countrymen would quite agree-that they are, indeed, verging on death, and that they, at any rate, are well aware that this is what philosophers deserve to undergo.(64b)

In other words, for most people, and we should include here the jury that convicted Socrates, the only good philosopher is a dead philosopher.

Socrates has argued that although for some people it is better to be dead that alive, it is impious to do this good to themselves. They should await “another benefactor” (62a)

Of course, that it may be better for some to be dead, it does not follow that it is better for Socrates or other philosophers to be dead. Nor does it follow that those who condemned Socrates to death were his benefactors or benefactors of the city.

Socrates goes on to argue that death is the separation of the soul from the body and that the body is an impediment to the pursuit of truth.

But presumably, then, the soul reasons most beautifully whenever nothing else bothers it, neither hearing nor sight nor pain nor any pleasure, and it is just by itself to the greatest extent possible, bids the body farewell, has as little communion and contact with it as it can, and reaches towards
what is. (65c)

Many might conclude that such asceticism is itself a kind of death. We have good reason to think that Socrates himself did not practice such asceticism. Early in the dialogue the seventy year old Socrates is greeted by his wife and a son young enough to be carried in her arms.