Mood ...

Look around. On any day there is reason enough for any person to be in any mood—happy or unhappy, hopeful or hopeless, heartwell or heartsick—so that 'Why are you in such-and-such mood?' may reasonably be answered: 'X and Y and Z.' But, at least in my experience, moodish reasons are generally not moodish causes. For me, there's almost always a causal inexplicability to moods, an arbitrariness. They seem to come in from and go out to: nowhere. First I am sad, sighing over everything. Next I'm happy, smiling on the world beatifically. Then I am depressed, wanting to pull completely away from everybody and withdraw sullenly into myself. Meantime the external conditions of my life are unchanged. So what gives?

'Mood is like the Niger River in Africa; no one knows its source, no one knows its outlet—only its reach is known!'

—Johannes Climacus, K. XII.1.237.

(Note: To the detriment of the analogy, the source of the river was discovered in 1879. How rude!)

Comicality ...

What is it for something to be comic? What is comicality? The literature here is small by comparison, but many of the great philosophers had something to say, if only in hurried passing. Moreover, there is even appreciable unanimity. Most everybody who wrote on the formal questions (ut supra) put forward some version of what the textbooks call the 'incongruity theory.' Here the form of the comic is the contradictory, the mismatched, the disparate, the out-of-place. (Stanford's mediocre encyclopaedia entry speaks of multiple theories of humour competing, but they don't really compete at all. For one is a theory about what it is for something to be comically laughable, another is a theory about why we laugh derisively, another is a theory about laughter's long-gone evolutionary wherefrom, and so on. They're all in different categories.)

But the above needs straightly to be qualified, for not all such contradictions are comic (and some are even tragic). Going back at least to Aristotle (Poetics V), the specifying mark of the comic has been painlessness: painless contradictions are comic, whereas painful are tragic. (It is a perverse sense of the comic that laughs at physical injury or at mental suffering.)

So. Mismatch seems to be of the essence of the comic. And that means that it is essentially juxtapositive, essentially relational. In an excellent footnote to the Postscript, a footnote that takes up most of the page for several pages, Johannes Climacus writes on the fundamental relationality of the comic: 'The comic is a relation, the misrelation of contradiction, but painless' (XII.1.514). And that's not a bad definition of comicality. Genus: misrelation. Species: painless. (All cases of comicality are cases of painless misrelationality. But may we also convert that proposition? Put differently, a painless misrelation is necessary for the comic, but is it sufficient? It's hard to say. Some cases of the same don't seem particularly comic. But the comic comes in degrees, like the tragic. And maybe such cases are of but low comic degree.)

Let's have some examples:

'Hamlet swears by the fire tongs; the comic is in the contradiction between the solemnity of the oath and the reference that annuls the oath, no matter what the object is ...

'Holophernes is said to be fourteen and one-fourth feet tall. The contradiction is essentially in the latter part. The fourteen feet is fantastic, but the fantastic does not as a rule speak of fourths ... The person who laughs at the fourteen feet does not laugh appropriately, but the person who laughs at fourteen and one-fourth feet knows what he is laughing at ...

'When a man applies for a permit to go into business as an innkeeper and the application is turned down, this is not comic. But if it is turned down because there are so few innkeepers, it is comic, because the reason for the application is used as the reason against it. For example, there is a story about a baker who said to a poor woman, "No, mother, she does not get anything; there was another recently who didn't get anything, either. We can't give to everybody." The comic is in his seemingly arriving at the sum total "everybody" by subtracting.

'When a girl applies for a permit to go into business as a public prostitute and the application is turned down, this is comic. One correctly considers that it is difficult to become something respectable ... but the turning down of an application to become something contemptible is a contradiction. Of course, if she receives a permit, that also is comic, but the contradiction is a different one, that the legal authority shows its powerlessness simply in showing its power, its power by granting the permit, its powerlessness by being unable to make it permissible ...

'When a soldier stands in the street staring at the glorious window display in a fancy gift shop and comes closer in order to see better, when with his face really aglow and his eyes fixed on the finery in the window he does not notice that the basement entrance extends inordinately far so that he vanishes into the basement just when he is about to have a proper look—then the contradiction is in the movement, the upward direction of the head and gaze and the underground direction down into the basement ...'

At the end of the multi-page footnote, after forwarding several more specimens of the comic, J. Climacus writes: 'Let these examples suffice, and everyone whom this footnote disturbs may leave it unread.' Here the comic is in the displacement of the disclaimer, coming only when it is too late to act upon.

As a rule, comedians are poor philosophers of comedy. That is, they know when something is comedic—if they're any good—but they don't really know why. (They know the comic by praxis, not theory.) And, no, comedians needn't be philosophers of comedy, (just as such philosophers needn't be comedians). Nonetheless, many comedians nowadays could do with some philosophical lessons. For example, stand-up comedians could learn that explicitness is not in itself comic, that ribaldry and scurrility are not in themselves shortcuts thereto. Explicitness may serve comicality as matter to form, but that goes for anything and everything. It is comic when a dear-old punctilious grandma speaks with sailorly coarseness. And, contrarily, it's comic when a roughneck vulgarian speaks with fastidious politesse. (Think of how masterfully G. Bernard Shaw plays with these themes in his Pygmalion.) But non-comic anecdotes are not made comic by being translated into the explicit, not eo ipso. An anecdote is comic if painless misrelations are present, inasmuch as they're present.

More later.

Scientism — epistemological & metaphysical ...

Historically, scientism has been a qualitiless epistemology—that is, scientismists limited human knowledge to quantity. Thus Nietzsche (from the notebooks):

'Our "knowing" restricts itself to ascertaining quantities ...' (5.36) 'Everything for which the word "knowledge" makes any sense refers to the realm where there can be counting, weighing, measuring, refers to quantity ...' (6.14)

And thus Russell (and the positivists generally):

'Physics is mathematical, not because we know so much about the physical world, but because we know so little: it is only its mathematical properties that we can discover ...' (An Outline of Philosophy, 171)

'The physical world is only known as regards certain abstract features of its spacetime structure ...' (Human Knowledge, 240)

Now, such epistemological scientism leads directly to a scepticism vis–à–vis metaphysics. For science works with ultrararefied mathematical abstracta. Going back to Russell:

'It is not always realised how exceedingly abstract is the information that theoretical physics has to give ... All that physics gives us is certain equations giving abstract properties of their changes. But as to what it is that changes, and what it changes from and to—as to this, physics is silent ...' (My Philosophical Development, 13)

Yes, as to whatness, as to quiddity, we are very much in the dark—if we're scientismists. (Truly, then, scientismists as such never know what they're talking about.) But, then, why be scientismists? After all, there isn't even a logically-valid way to affirm scientism, as such affirmations are extrascientific. For example, the proposition 'The only knowable propositions are scientific' isn't scientific (∴ isn't knowable). What about comparatives? You might think that the dictates of mathematics are surer than those of other dictators. You might say: 'I may be most sure of mathematics.' But, again, this proposition isn't itself among the most-sure assurances of mathematics. Compare the Reformation slogan: sola scriptura. The problem here is that the scriptures themselves do not say sola scriptura, that the slogan is itself extrascriptural. So if it's true, it's false. Similarly, scientism's dicta are extrascientific. And if they're true, they too are false.

Nowadays, however, scientism is also a qualitiless metaphysic—that is, scientismists now limit not just what may be known to quantity, but also what may exist. See, all those ultrararefied abstracta somehow became submundane concreta.

The new scientism has no masterly philosopher-generals in its army. (Surprise, surprise.) Its soldiery is mostly of scientists and journalists—some of whom are very sharp qua scientists and journalists. Problem: scientism is a philosophy, the battlefield, the weaponry, are philosophical. (Too bad for scientism!)

Nietzsche contra mathematism ...

From Nietzsche's late notebooks:

' "Mechanistic view": wants nothing but quantities, yet force is to be found in quality; mechanistic theory can thus only describe processes, not explain them (2.76) ... Within the mechanistic view of the world (which is logic and its application to space and time), that concept ["cause and effect"] reduces to the mathematical formula — using which, as must be emphasised again and again, nothing is ever understood, but is denoted, distorted (2.139) ... Might not all quantities be signs of qualities? ... Reducing all qualities to quantities is nonsense (2.157) ... Our "knowing" restricts itself to ascertaining quantities, but we can't stop ourselves experiencing these quantitative distinctions as qualities (5.36) ... Quantities "in themselves" do not occur in experience, [...] our world of experience is only a qualitative world, [...] consequently logic and applied logic (such as mathematics) are among the artifices of the ordering, overwhelming, simplifying, abbreviating power called life (6.14) ...'

(Nietzsche's emphases. Cf. posts on G. Strawson.)

Semper eadem ...

Ma jeunesse ne fut qu'un ténébreux orage,

Traversé çà et là par de brillants soleils;

Le tonnerre et la pluie ont fait un tel ravage,

Qu'il reste en mon jardin bien peu de fruits vermeils.

Voilà que j'ai touché l'automne des idées,

Et qu'il faut employer la pelle et les râteaux

Pour rassembler à neuf les terres inondées,

Où l'eau creuse des trous grands comme des tombeaux.

Et qui sait si les fleurs nouvelles que je rêve

Trouveront dans ce sol lavé comme une grève

Le mystique aliment qui ferait leur vigueur?

— Ô douleur! ô douleur! Le Temps mange la vie,

Et l'obscur Ennemi qui nous ronge le coeur

Du sang que nous perdons croît et se fortifie!

...

'D'où vous vient, disiez-vous, cette tristesse étrange,

Montant comme la mer sur le roc noir et nu?'

— Quand notre coeur a fait une fois sa vendange

Vivre est un mal. C'est un secret de tous connu ...

Ascesis ...

‘The ascetic makes a virtue of a state of distress.’

‘In solitude the solitary man consumes himself, in the crowd the crowd consumes him. Now choose.’

—Nietzsche (Human, All Too Human, §76, §348)

Probably a soul-doctor would to most prescribe more solitude, that they may develop inwardness. But my prescription would say: Take two socialisation pills at mealtimes, however hard to swallow, wash them down by helloing three people, whom you do not know, and remember that your athenaeum is not a hideaway. My beloved Pascal wrote that man does not know how to stay quietly in his room (Pensée 136). I know how to do that rather well. (‘The celle welle continued waxeth swete.’*) But I do not know how to mix noisily at a party, that's the thing. Had I lived in another age, everything would be settled naturally. There were places for me then, more or less corresponding to my inner preoccupations, monasteries and hermitages and anchoritic towers.† But it seems I live in the present age, chronologically displaced, an anachronism. All the same, I know that I would make a poor monk. Yes, I would make a most excellent recluse, a withdrawn melancholy penitent summa cum laude. But that's not the same, is it? Truly, I would be too much a worldling among the monastics then, as I am too much a monastic among the worldlings now.

*Thomas à Kempis (Imitatio Christi, I.20.26). 

†Then again, ‘habyte and tonsure lytel avaylen’ (Ibid., I.17.6).

Homo totus ...

A man, as a rational animal, is a psychosomatic totality. He is not a standalone psuchē. He is not a standalone sōma. Both psuchē  and sōma are abstracted from the ousia that is a man. The danger is (and has ever been) that of concretising the abstractions, resulting in plural ousie rather than a singular ousia. (Cf. the trio of posts on G. Strawson's metaphysics below.) 

Soul-body holism was widespread in pretheoretic ancientry. We find it notably among the ancient Hebrews. The standard Hebrew word for soul in the Old Testament, nephesh, is a word for man altogether. 'The LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life — and man became a living soul [nephesh]' (Genesis 2.7). So a man's soul is his self. (And so it is also in the Koran, the Arabic nafs being cognate with the Hebrew nephesh.) The soul-body Orphism of the (prototheoretic) Greeks is probably the nearest antiquity comes to mind-machine Cartesianism. Aquinas summarises the Orphic-Platonic anthropology as follows: 'Plato claimed that a human being is not a composite of soul and body but that a human being is the soul itself using a body, just as Peter is not a composite of a human being and clothes, but rather a human being using clothes' (Summa contra gentiles, II.57). In this way we are led to a flesh-despising Gnosticism. Take Plato's Cratylus 399d-400c, wherein Socrates is playacting as etymologist (cf. Gorgias 493a, 524b, Phaedo 64a):

SOCRATES: ... Sōma may be variously interpreted, and yet more variously if a little permutation is allowed. For some say that the body is the grave (sema) of the soul which may be thought to be buried in our present life, or again the index of the soul, because the soul gives indications to (semainei) the body. Probably the Orphic poets were the inventors of the name, and they were under the impression that the soul is suffering the punishment of sin, and that the body is an enclosure or prison in which the soul is incarcerated, kept safe (sōma, sozetai), as the name sōma implies, until the penalty is paid.

Neo-Platonic philosophies of man were made normative in the west by Augustine and in the east by Gregory of Nyssa. It was the later rediscovery of Aristotle and of hylemorphism that brought about a shift to an older way of thinking, now systematised. For Aristotle (and thereafter Aquinas et al), the soul cannot be a body—it is in a body. (De anima II.2, 414a.) A man is insouled body, informed matter. And there is much to say for hylemorphism. (It is adductive, not reductive. It explains without explaining away. And so on.) But Aristotelian hylemorphism is also theory-heavy. Nevertheless, it seems the best thing we've got, comparatively.

Lately I've been reading Wolfhart Pannenberg's systematics, and here I've found a reaffirmation of my feelings. He writes: 'Of all the philosophical positions held in antiquity, only the Aristotelian approach could lead to the right conclusion' (II.184). But he goes on thereafter to name his many qualms. R.W. Jenson says much the same thing, that hylemorphism is 'a solution that is [qualifiedly] satisfactory,' but that theology has not generally 'been up to the subtlety' thereof (II.110 of his systematics).

On today's much-trumpeted neuroscientism, we are not insouled bodies (ad modum Aristotle and Aquinas) but inskulled brains. And here, again, are two ousie. It's a brain-body dualism. However, as P.M.S. Hacker notes, brains are organs, not organisms:

'It makes no sense to apply psychological predicates such as "thinks," "remembers," "perceives," "imagines," "wants," "decides," "feels happy," and so forth to the brain. It is a mistake to apply predicates that signify attributes of an animal as a living whole to its parts — a mereological fallacy. Just as it is a mistake to ascribe the property of keeping time to the fusée of an eighteenth-century table clock [...] so too it is a mistake to ascribe to a person's brain the property of thinking that it is raining or of deciding to take an umbrella' (in Human Nature: A Categorical Framework, p. 306).

Just so. And as for Pannenberg:

'Only in the field of intersubjectivity and in consequence of the awareness of the I-relativity of one's own self-consciousness can a distinction between made between body and soul. Over against the soul as the inner world of consciousness stands the body, which, like the things of the world and in distinction from the inner world of my consciousness, is there for others as well as myself. It is tempting to regard the inner world of the consciousness as the true I in distinction from the body. But this is unduly to restrict the concept of the soul as well as that of the ego. In pointing to the speaker, the word "I" always indicates the physical individuality of the speaker. If we are to view the living body as insouled inasmuch as it is living, then the term "soul" must cover more than the inner world of the consciousness. It must also include the unconscious, which is related to one's own corporeality and its history' (II.194).