Knowledge Has No Respect For Reputation.
The development of my philosophy came about as follows: My girlfriend of some time ago, inviting me to sample her very first souffle, accidentally dropped a spoonful of it on my foot, fracturing several small bones. Doctors were called in, X-rays taken and examined, and I was ordered to bed for a month. During this convalescence, I turned to the works of some of Western society's most formidable thinkers - a stack of books I had laid aside for just such an eventuality.
Scorning chronological order, I began with Kierkegaard and Sartre, then moved quickly to Spinoza, Hume, Kafka, and Camus. I was not bored, as I had feared I might be; rather, I found myself fascinated by the alacrity with which these great minds unflinchingly attacked morality, art, ethics, life, and death. I remember my reaction to a typically luminous observation of Kierkegaard's: "Such a relation which relates itself to its own self (that is to say, a self) must either have constituted itself or have been constituted by another." The concept brought tears to my eyes. My word, I thought, to be that clever! (I'm a man who has trouble writing two meaningful sentences on 'My Day at the Zoo.')
True, the passage was totally incomprehensible to me, but what of it as long as Kierkegaard was having fun? Suddenly confident that metaphysics was the work I had always been meant to do, I took up my pen and began at once to jot down the first of my own musings. The work proceeded apace, and in a mere two afternoons, with time out for dozing - I had completed the philosophical work that I am hoping will not be uncovered until after my death, or until the year 3000 (whichever comes first), and which I modestly believe will assure me a place of reverence among history's weightiest thinkers. Here is but a small sample of the main body of intellectual treasure that I leave for posterity, or until the crime scene clean up team comes.
1. Critique of Pure Dread.
In formulating any philosophy, the first consideration must always be: What can we know? That is, what can we be sure we know, or sure that we know we knew it, if indeed it is at all knowable. Or have we simply forgotten it and are too embarrassed to say anything? Descartes hinted at the problem when he wrote, "My mind can never know my body, although it has become quite friendly with my legs."
By 'knowable,' incidentally, I do not mean that which can be known by perception of the senses, or that which can be grasped by the mind, but more that which can be said to be 'known' or to possess a 'knownness' or 'knowability', or at least something you can mention to a friend. Can we actually 'know' the universe? My God, it's hard enough finding your way around in Cramlington.
The point, however, is: Is there anything out there? And why? And must they be so noisy? Finally, there can be no doubt that the one characteristic of 'reality' is that it lacks essence. That is not to say it has no essence, but merely lacks it. (The reality I speak of here is the same one Hobbes described, but a little smaller.) Therefore the Cartesian dictum "I think, therefore I am" might better be expressed "Hey, there goes Andy with a saxophone!" So, then, to know a substance or an idea we must doubt it, and thus, doubting it, come to perceive the qualities it possesses in its finite state, which are truly 'in the thing itself,' or 'of the thing itself,' or of something or nothing. If this is clear, we can leave epistemology for the moment.
2. Eschatological Dialectics As a Means of Coping with Machine Toe and a Dry Weave.
We can say, without being bogged down in the dark matter/dark energy/string theory debat, that the visible universe consists of a substance, and this substance we will call 'atoms,' or else we will call it 'monads'. Democritus called it atoms. Leibnitz called it monads. Fortunately, the two men never met, or there would have been a very dull argument. These 'particles' were set in motion by some cause or underlying principle, or perhaps something fell off something, somewhere. The point is that it's too late to do anything about it now, except possibly to eat plenty of raw fish. This, of course, does not explain why the soul is immortal. Nor does it say anything about an afterlife, or about the feeling my uncle Andrew has that he is being followed by Albanians. The causal relationship between the first principle (i.e., God, or a strong wind) and any teleological concept of being (Being) is, according to Pascal, "so ludicrous that it's not even funny (Funny)." Schopenhauer called this 'will,' but his doctor diagnosed it as hay fever. In his later years, he became embittered by it, or more likely because of his increasing suspicion that he was not taller.
3. The Cosmos on Five Quid a Day.
What, then, is 'beautiful'? The merging of harmony with the just, or the merging of harmony with something that just sounds like 'the just'? Possibly harmony should have been merged with 'the crust' and this is what's been giving us our trouble. Truth, to be sure, is beauty - or 'the necessary.'
That is, what is good or possessing the qualities of 'the good' results in 'truth.' If it doesn't, you can bet the thing is not beautiful, although it may still be waterproof. I am beginning to think I was right in the first place and that everything should be merged with the crust.
Oh, well, here's a parable to simplify this idea. A man approaches a palace. Its only entrance is guarded by some fierce Huns who will only let men named Julius enter. The man tries to bribe the guards by offering them a year's supply of choice chicken bits. They neither scorn his offer nor accept it, but merely take his nose and twist it. The man says it is imperative that he enter the palace because he is bringing the emperor a change of underwear. When the guards still refuse, the man begins to breakdance badly. They seem to enjoy his dancing but soon become morose over the treatment of the source material. Out of breath, the man collapses. He dies, never having seen the emperor and owing the Steinway people sixty pounds on a piano he had rented from them in August.
*Aphorisms It is impossible to experience one's own death objectively and still carry a tune.
* The universe is merely a fleeting idea in God's mind - a pretty uncomfortable thought, particularly if you've just made the down payment on a house.
* Eternal nothingness is O.K. if you're dressed for it.
* If only Dionysus were alive! Where would he drink?
* Not only is there no God, but try getting a plumber on weekends.
One Night At Robert Johnson - Roman Fluegel B2B with Oliver Hafenbauer. by Thoughts On Love And Smoking. on Mixcloud