Divining a path forward

A program, a lament, a vision

I think a lot, about why I am here, about what I am to do. About what I am called to do. About a path, and the obstacles that block its road. What are the problems I must write on? There are many problems, most so particular, that they are void of significance. Others so broad, that they grasp nothing at all. It is cause of finding something, that lies somewhere in between. So what is this problem? That underlies all particular problems, but is not so detached from them, that it ceases being of interest? That is broad enough to serve as a program, and particular enough to give cause for investigation? 

I feel, there is a conspiracy against freedom, and against your self. This is the only conspiracy of which we are certain, it is the oldest, the only one, the most dangerous, the one most clearly definable. Yet, it seems to lack a theory. Since time immemorial, forces conspire to distract you from what you are. Forces conspire to deceive you, and finally, to destroy you. This is no conspiracy thought out by some evil elites, hiding behind the curtains, although these elites sure lend a helping hand. This is a conspiracy brought forth by life itself, a transcendental deception, so you will, lying dormant in each and every heart. Waiting, to conspire against us. Life itself, and its companion thought, seek to conspire against life.

To live is to be deceived, into not living at all. In freedom, arises the desire to deny our own freedom. With the existence of ourselves, comes the possibility to destroy ourselves. This is the root con-spirare; life, working together with what is foreign to itself, to conspire against itself. Life, daring to depart from itself, with no intention whatsoever to return home. Freedom, daring to chain itself to determination.

Everyone helps along. The brightest of minds, conspire against life. The best of heart, conspire against freedom. All willingly mingle with what is foreign to life, becoming so enamoured, that they value foreign matter over themselves. Becoming so enamoured by what is foreign, that they forget themselves. 

“without them knowing, they flee outside it, or better, outside themselves, and so cannot grasp what they have fled from; indeed, because they have destroyed themselves.” (Plotinus, VI.9.7. 30)

 To live, is to mingle with what is foreign to life. To live, is to value more what is encountered in life, than life itself. It is the realization, that the only terror lies in ourselves conspiring against our selves. “Life turning against Life.” No amount of knowledge will save you, if it is undertaken for this end. No ‘other’ will help you, if you seek him only, to flee yourself. The tools with which life conspires against itself, are always foreign to life. A tool, is not us, but some-thing other, that we use. For what? To either strengthen life, to increase our own capacity to act, to broaden our freedom. Or, to weaken life, to make us slaves. The bad craftsman, is the one, unable to help himself when his tools break. What are these tools? Technology, and opinion. We enslave ourselves to the technologies we create, to the chains we forge ourselves. But before we put chains around our ankles, we are of the opinion that chains are to be wished for. Opinion? What is heard but unexamined, what is thought, but not by oneself. A belief, of which one knows not the roots. One only knows a proof as proof, if one understands all the steps leading up to it.

Life, conspiring with what is foreign to itself; technology, and opinion. In order to make life flourish, or in order to break life. Using what is foreign, in order to bring us deeper into connection with ourselves, or in order to forget our selves. These are the most primal modalities of life, to either seek to express itself in the world, or to use the world to dim its own expression. There is this life, whether it suits your definition or not. And you either embrace it, or seek to be done with it. There is this free will, and you either use it to affirm your will, or you use it to deny your will. There is this self, and you either listen to it, or you listen to what is other. 

“But what is life? What is the self? Where is it? In the body? Elsewhere? What is freedom? Where is it? In the individual? In the people?” These are questions worth asking, but like all questions, there is a time and a place for them. And this time will come again. But when life seeks to destroy itself with unseen ardour, when the self seeks to deny its own existence, and when freedom is being taken away at unseen speeds, we are idiots for asking these questions. We question so hard, how these things are possible, and in doing so, we forget that they are. We are at such a point, where we have questioned ourselves into oblivion. And at such a point, it is much wiser, to remind ourselves of the existence of what is questioned, and of the one who questions.

The history of thought is one of cycles, of questioning, and of abiding in what is questioned. Of pursuing what is new, and of reminding ourselves of what has been forgotten in this pursuit. After endless questioning for arche, an Athenian had to remind us of the one doing the questioning. After long searching for the ideal life in the polis, Plotinus had to remind us of the life of the Gods. After long talk of being, a desert father had to remind us of Life. After long talk of categories, Descartes had to remind us of what is prior to any category. After long talk of experiential knowledge, Kant had to remind us of its preconditions. After long talk of dialectics, Nietzsche had to remind us of power. And after long talk of ‘deconstructing the self’, we must be reminded that there is a subject doing the deconstructing. After endless questioning of freedom, we must be reminded that there is someone freely questioning themselves into slavery. After long talk of questioning the distinction between nature and artifice, we must admit that our artefacts are killing us. After questioning our identity, we must remind ourselves of that inborn confidence, to merely say: “I am who I am.” 

Philosophy is not merely questioning. This is the pursuit of children and madmen. One fool can ask more questions than seven wise men can answer. Philosophy is questioning, so as to find out what survives all questioning. Philosophy is questioning, so as to realize that there is someone doing the questioning. Philosophy is not merely questioning, but also asking, what drives me to question this? From what will, from what mode of life, does this question stem? Is it a life that seeks to live? Or a life that seeks to turn against itself? Is this the question of a self that loves itself, or the question of a life that hates itself? Is this the certainty of self-affirming doubt? Or the doubt of the paranoid, of the indecisive, of the half-hearted and weak of will, dragged around by whatever grasps their attention, unable to judge what is right? Is it a question that seeks to build? Or a question that seeks merely to destroy? Is this a problem set by one who seeks to overcome the problem? Or the problem set, by those who seek to bathe in the intoxicating rush of the problematic. It is a nice feeling, isn’t it? To dive headlong into petty problem after petty problem, to feel fear rushing through your veins, to think yourself busy with the most complex structures of thought, the most complex problems, while the masses bathe in simplicity. All this complexity, all this effort of thought, because we dare not face the simplicity that is doing the thinking.

It is in all not a matter of thought and its perceived complexity, of the specific explication it undertakes. It is a matter of the direction of thought, of what is implicated, in its explication. In the service of life, or in the service of the world and its opinions? There is nothing special about us, or the times we live in. We might ask different questions, but the truth remains the same. There is nothing smart, in questioning our own will, it is a questioning so simple, that the Ancients thought not of entertaining it. So what is different? The tools, and the opinions. What remains? The choice, for a living thought that seeks to use what is foreign for its own betterment, or a self-weary life that seeks its own undoing. The existents with which the world deceives life into turning against itself change, but this deception, and this turning itself, remain the same. It is not a question of seeking progression or conservation, of left or right, of ‘solidarity’ or ‘freedom’. All life goes forward, it is a question of who is doing the seeking, of who seeks to extend his hand, and of who seeks to liberate whom from what. Is it a life seeking life, a thought that seeks to think itself, or a thought that seeks only to serve opinion? Do we seek “the life of the gods”(Plato, Phaedrus. 248A1), or the life of swine feeding on matter? It is not a question of ‘unity’ or ‘diversity’, of ‘identity’ or ‘difference’, but of valuing real unity, and real diversity. Diversity rooted in unity, and a unity of such strength, that it is able to bring forth diversity. Of seeking real identity, and recognizing real differences. All sides are deceived. The magician cannot enact his deception, if one side of the audience can see behind the curtain. Ask these questions, and you won’t end up on the left. But neither will you end up on the side of those who seek to conserve the life-denying opinions of yesterday. With a little luck, you’ll end up with the truth, with what is right, regardless of the times.  

It is not about who one reads, but with what eyes one is doing the reading. With an eye that seeks to strengthen itself? Or an eye that seeks to excuse its own slavery? With an eye that seeks to truly understand? Or an eye that only seeks to fit what it finds, in to a preconceived narrative? Who is reading the Symposium? He who seeks to disperse love into matter, or he who seeks to unify love towards something higher? Who reads Descartes? He who seeks to lose himself in the metaverse? Or he who seeks to know himself? Who reads Spinoza? He who seeks to act from essence? Or he who seeks an excuse for his miserable existence? Who reads Deleuze? He who seeks to understand the mad? Or he who seeks madness? Who reads Scripture? He who seeks to line the pockets of the Vatican? Or he who seeks the Heart of Christ? These are the questions one should ask. The questions that lead us evermore to the Delphic inscription. Know thyself, before you seek to know the world. For all you know, the one looking at the world, is only there to flee from the one doing the looking. Our times have it backwards. They all scream; ‘know yourself, start with the world!’ Delve into its sciences, feed upon its riches. But knowledge can be used to harm, and the feeding might as well be a poisoning. 

The highest form of life seeks independence, the highest form of life seeks the life of the Gods. Autarchic, free from all dependence, not needing to depart from itself. The highest form of thought, seeks ideas that stand upon their own feet, and not upon the opinions of today.

“All those thoughts that are preferable for themselves are free, but those whose knowledge is based on something else are like slaves.” (Iamblichus, Protrepticus).

All thoughts that are thought because they are true, are free. All thoughts that are thought because they serve the agendas of today, are unfree. The highest form of life, is a life that is so full of itself, so free from what is foreign, that it can overflow to help others. This is the most indubitable of dogmas carried over from Antiquity, the basis for all ethics. 

“Everywhere, what depends only on itself is superior to what depends on something else, because what is free is superior to what is not free.” (Iamblichus, Protrepticus)

How could it be otherwise? How can, what is in need, be better off than what isn’t? How can, what is weak, be stronger than what is strong? How could a slave, be freer than he who is free? 

But we have not listened, and the lowest form of life asks, ‘Perhaps it is different, perhaps it is better, to be dependent? Perhaps it is better, to be free from oneself? Perhaps it is a sign of strength, to depend upon an enemy? Perhaps it is better, to value what is other over ourselves? Perhaps, complexity is a sign of truth? Perhaps, strength lies in recognition of weakness? Perhaps freedom, lies in freely complying to slavery? Perhaps our problems are not the problem, but we humans are the problem, and we must trans-form into what is other?’   

It is a twisted thought, and a twisted life. It is no health of mind, but a sickness of the heart. ‘But what is health?’ It asks. ‘What is the difference?’ The devil surely invented questioning. But which devil? The one that seeks to test our belief, so that we might strengthen it? Or the one that seeks merely to destroy our belief? The one that seeks to test us, so that we might come out stronger? Or the one that seeks to enslave us? Socrates, or a sophist?

So what do we seek? A life, but what form it will take, no human can tell us. No other can tell you. The life of Odysseus is ours; deceived all around by whatever and whoever seeks to deceive us into renouncing what we know to be our home, and what we know to be our destiny. And this deception starts, with making us believe that there is no home, that there is no self, and no destiny. This deception starts, with making us believe, that there is no difference, between one choice or the other. Between right and wrong, between a truthful life and a life of falsehood. Making us believe, that it does not matter what we think or do. That all is the same, because all is different. 

"It is truly slavish to be attached to life but not to a good way of living, to follow the opinions of the masses but not to consider it important that the masses follow our own, and to be after money but not to care at all about beauty.”  (Iamblichus, Protrepticus)

Perhaps it is right, that not all are to be saved. For as it is said, some seek a life worth living, while most seek only to stuff themselves like cattle. But what can be done, is saving the former from the tyranny of the latter. Deep within life, lies dormant, the desire to flee itself, to conspire with what is foreign, against itself. To cling on to those opinions, to those problems, that help life escape itself. Not to seek death, to be sure, a quest the best of us undertake, but to seek a life of such low intensity, that it is neither dead nor alive. We honour the dead, but the undead merely disgust us. This desire to flee, makes us easy prey, for those with worse intentions. It is because we conspire against ourselves, that others can conspire against us.

Plotinus speaks: 

“If one supposes oneself inferior to things that come to be and perish and assumes oneself to be the most dishonoured and mortal of the things one does honour, neither the nature nor the power of god could ever be impressed in one's heart.” (Plotinus, V.1.1.)

How could it be otherwise? Why would one value, what one encounters, more than oneself? Who in this life, is more important, than this life? How will he be strong, who values dependence, over autarchy? How will he be free, who willingly gives over his attention to sorcery? How will he know to help others, when he cannot even know or help himself? How will he care about others, who cares not for himself? How will he be interested to fight destruction, when destruction is what he secretly seeks?

“Of what will he be deprived, who has long been alienated from what can be taken from him, who is in possession of his true self?” (Iamblichus, Protrepticus)

How will he be nudged, who values no thing but himself? How will he be deceived, who listens only to reason? How will he be harmed by name and shame, who knows the identity that lies beyond all identification? 

We have renounced the task of learning how to die, but neither have we learned to live. Lukewarm, guided not by Ideas, but only by opinion. 

‘But what is an Idea?’ You ask. ‘Where is this Idea?’ You ask. ‘I cannot see it, I cannot feel it, experience has never touched it.’ This might well be true, but as Kant knew, 

“nothing is more damaging and unworthy of a philosopher than a vulgar appeal to supposedly contradictory experience.” (Kant, KrV A316/B373)

It might well be, that you have never seen Beauty. But how could you have? You have no Idea, driving you to search, making you practice, making you yearn, shaming your insignificance, driving you onwards. We lack development in our manners of thinking, we lack difference. What is true, is what everyone can agree on, it is said. And hence, because we, untrained slaves, have not seen God, have not seen Beauty, have not seen a Man, we refuse to believe the wise men of old who devoted their lives to ‘the vision’ that lies at “journey’s end.” (Plato, Republic, 532e3) The most valuable problems, occur only to the most valuable people. We have fallen far, haven’t we? Thinking the kingdom of God, can be attained without force. Thinking we can have a life, without having to suffer Life. Believing we can have the end, without the journey.

A future is only possible, for those who can see past present values, as health is only possible, for those who can see past present sickness. But we have lost the ability to see far, haven’t we?

“The more evolved the eye, the higher the evolutional status of its organism. The eyes of modern man are no match for the eyes of his forebear who could navigate a ship at night with the help of constellations.” (Dimitrios Fousekis, The End of The New, 19.) 

Only seeing what is in front, shaming those who tell of future horror, laughing at those who know a stronger past. Not for one second thinking, that there is someone doing the seeking. There is nothing new. Enamoured by what is foreign to itself, life seeks to conspire with it, to conspire against itself. We experience a sick life, and instead of fighting the sickness, we cling to the sickness, and proceed to scorn life. A life mingles with what is foreign to itself, and pays the price. A life fails to listen to Life, and pays the price. A life is deceived by the joys of the flesh, and sells itself, to gain more of the same. In the depths of ourselves, lives this secret desire, to dare to depart from ourselves, and seeing what is other, to conspire with it, against our selves. 

I have no definite answers, but I see the problem, more clearly, every day. It is our lack of distinction, our love of what is complex, of what is other, over ourselves, our lack of confidence, our lack of self, our lack of belief. And perhaps most of all, our lack of seriousness. Who among us, takes seriously the authors he reads? Who among us, takes seriously the ideas he holds? Who among us, takes seriously the criticisms he spews out? Who among us, is not willing to renounce himself for a big enough bag of gold? Who is not nudged into compliance, at the slightest inconvenience? Our minds still carry the stains, of the ideologies of past and present. Our bodies are still weakened by generations of devolution, and addictions of the flesh. Our souls are still obscured. But the Idea lives, the vision is divined, and “although distracted by the horses, this soul does have a view of Reality, just barely.” (Plato, Phaedrus, 248A4-5)

Sources:

Plato. Complete Works. Edited by John M. Cooper. Cambridge: Hackett, 1997.

Plotinus. The Enneads. Edited by Lloyd P. Gerson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018.

Iamblichos. Aansporing tot de filosofie. Ingeleid en vertaald door Henri Oosthout. Kampen: Klement, 2006.

Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Pure Reason. Translated by Paul Guyer and Allen W. Wood. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998.

Fousekis, Dimitrios. The End of the New. 2020.