How I Interpret Phenomenologically

Phenomenological interpretation of the sort that I practice is an attempt to submerge in the lived position of what I interpret.  The interest grounding the phenomenological interpretation is not in coming to agree or disagree with what is interpreted, but in rendering the position itself inhabitable by the reader in the way it was inhabited by the author.  Each attainment of this inhabited space is tentative, and we can introduce more material from the author to continue to adjust it - even to track differences over time.  With this inhabited standpoint, we may switch to a critical interpretation which will positively assess its limits, perhaps through imaginative variations that shatter the view (make it impossible to maintain).

Phenomenological interpretation clearly assumes somethings external to it, namely, that the position is able to be inhabited by the interpreter, and that if this position is uninhabitable that it must be rejected as even a possible standpoint.  This could be due to the author's poor description rendering the entry into the position impossible or, at an unfortunate extreme, the recognition of a form of experience that is otherwise than human (or rational).

Of course, there will be a circularity in using this interpretation technique to establish what 'humans' are determinatively, but it can serve regulatively in relating ourselves to those who it is possible for us to relate to.  But this circularity itself plays a role in the process of addressing the command 'know thyself' because it more and more clarifies what is involved in the universal human experience (in the limits of the interpretive process) and what is learned.  This being said, phenomenological interpretation has its sweet spot in texts that express elements of universal human condition (all texts due, to some degree).  This could be a text in any style, be it a poem, a work of philosophy or fiction.  Some genres are easier for reconstructing the lived experience, and some are harder.  Some may be open to multiple standpoints that are blurred together (either antinomic or complementary), and which may need to be separated.

As I practice phenomenological interpretation more I find greater confidence in an ability to inhabit the standpoint of an author and then emerge into the text of any number of other authors who had also led me to inhabit the same standpoint.  This enhances my interpretation of these other philosophers as well, since I find new routes to inhabiting their own standpoint.  Additionally, when moving between authors in dispute, I can find where terms are functioning differently for each within the same conversation by comparing where I can submerge myself in one author and emerge in the other.  Also, reading a tradition that has inherited its terms with an understanding of how to submerge myself in both reveals how one generation takes up another, and inherits what was thought in it, without exactly preserving the standpoint.

Biographically speaking, my reading technique is originally motivated by a rejection of contention and dispute as adequate ways of advancing understanding.  Ideally, when a dispute emerges, I think it is crucial that the conversation be allowed to completely settle the dispute before giving any arguments for what is to be done or understood.

We need to be able to communicate with each other better than we do, and even when people seem very difficult to understand, and it seems like a burden to understand them, we should be practiced, patient and gracious enough in our understanding - liberal enough with our understanding - to try to resolve our disputes at their foundation.  This requires each to work on understanding themselves as a means of discovering this foundation.

As a way of closing this out, I want to consider the significance of the name 'phenomenological interpretation.'  A year ago I was happy to call this sort of interpretation 'philosophical', and now I have decided to refer to it as 'phenomenological'.  There is a sense in which I have not settled on an understanding of 'philosophy' and 'phenomenology,' and that putting them in connection with the task of a technique or program for reading does violence to them.

For 'philosophical' interpretation, I was trying to emphasize the friendship aspect of the manner in which I interpret, which at the same time seems to require that one does their own work; that one gives themselves entirely to the interpretation.  'Phenomenological' interpretation here places emphasis on the way in which taking on a different position can alter the way that things appear - not always by adding new hypotheses, but exactly by removing them and clarifying the view in order to get to a description of more and more 'pure' phenomenon. (The use of the term 'pure' here, which must - form me - involve the removal of 'empirical' content, must seem strange.  It does to me as well, but there is a sense that all empirical content brings with it a specificity that is specifying and has the character of a hypothesis, and so paradoxically, in an analysis of experience to get to its structure, there is something of a struggle exactly against the material that is provided.  This seems to be why the form of experience is described in 'formal' language.  Understanding 'formal' language is itself an interesting task.)

Honesty as the Criterion of Philosophy

   For some time a consideration of philosophy as dependent only upon honesty has come to feel particularly apt for describing the unique situation the philosopher (and the interpreter of philosophy) finds himself.  Due to the strangeness of this suggestion, and the general merit I feel in developing it further, I will exposit it and develop some directions for further consideration.

   To be clear: honesty is not only required in philosophy.  What I mean to emphasize here is that while other activities, such as science, have their special organizing concepts and principles assumed (even if they are not clear), the philosopher has none of these.  So, while the scientist depends on some special principles and their honesty, the philosopher must simply remain honest.  However, I also want to explain how the honesty demanded of the philosopher is unique.

   Typically we can understand honesty in terms of not lying, and this holds for both philosophy and the sciences.  Being dishonest in a science may involve falsifying or ignoring certain pieces of evidence in order to maintain something that should be abandoned or called into further question.  We can also deceive ourselves by accidentally including evidence that should not properly be considered; this may mean the inclusion of bias or data that does not actually fit within the domain of the science.  There is much more that can be said concerning this, and much more that can be clearer, but I will have this suffice.

   The philosopher is in a different circumstance because there is no settled domain of objects, nor any principles which cannot be questioned: the 'work' of the philosopher is just as much a perennial problem of philosophy as anything else.  Because of this, the philosopher need not worry about including objects or thoughts that are not in the domain of philosopher.  However, precisely because the philosopher has no domain of objects that is settled the philosopher must be wary of all organization of thought that directs us, and must ask again and again into any such organization.  This is where some difficulties in the philosophical life emerge, and which I can only deal with in terms of a reflection on the philosophical life.

   When one opens up all sorts of questions, and strives towards pure contemplation, we typically develop anxieties of various sorts, and these lead to a tendency to end philosophical consideration by determining a principle.  This succumbing to anxiety is how a philosopher can fail to be honest in their own contemplation, so far as the goal is pure contemplation.

   Whenever the philosopher stops asking into the organization of thought or objects, and settles on some organization in order to advance, a science is established.  This is no wicked thing, but for the purposes of keeping science clear in its aim (and to allow philosophy its problematic aim), it is important to see this distinction.  From recognizing this risk of concealing the questionable from view, and considering this a dishonesty, it becomes clearer how particularly the philosopher can lose his way through dishonesty (even if this lose is at the same time a gain to science).

   This sort of honesty where we challenge ourselves to understand more comprehensively whatever it is that we understand can, perhaps, help us understand the Delphic maxim, "know thyself", as well as help the reflection of other attempts at understanding philosophy.

   If we suppose the philosophical lifestyle of contemplation is important in-itself (relative to life), perhaps it is important to consider exactly how we get pulled out of contemplation.  What is it that allows anxiety to emerge?  It is not simply a matter of pure thought, but a kind of dissonance between the world and our challenging of it and our role in it.  Perhaps all our practical engagements are reflections of anxiety that constantly seek for a means to overcome whatever stifles our contemplative life and the world and denies us leisure?  This seems like a productive line of inquiry for future work.

Themes in Philosophical Reading and Writing

   There are many attitudes we employ when writing or reading.  Here I am interested in the particularly philosophical attitude.  I have recently written on how I understand philosophical interpretation generally, and here the same subject must be held in mind while addressing the role of theme in philosophical reading and writing.

   A theme is not simply what is written about, but that which organizes what is set down in the exposition.  Even if a theme is not expressed directly there will be something guiding the organization of the exposition, and so an unspoken theme; even when there is an explicit stated theme, it is not necessary that this is what actually ends up guiding the reading.  

   Honest writers and readers are able to tell when the theme is unclear, even when one is stated.  Understanding the theme does not simply consist in knowing by what term the theme is called, but by gathering the exposition around what is called.

   Often, readers complain when a theme is not made clear from the very first moment so that the writing can advance in the form of a deduction or a list of testable facts that can pertain to the theme.  Writers may also despair of themes when they are not clear in advance to the writer.  These difficulties have no place in philosophical reading and writing, but only where a theme has been settled into the principle of a science around which knowledge can begin to organize itself.  Philosophy does not organize knowledge in this way, but must continually work out its theme.

   When philosophically reading or writing on a theme we confess a lack of understanding, yet this lack contains precisely enough understanding to get started, for we at least know that we don't know.  Philosophizing on a theme is an exploration of what understanding we may attain in the exposition of the theme, and this as a practice in understanding generally.  

   Setting down a theme in exposition (a triple redundancy) establishes a center point that brings different thoughts together.  Each of these thoughts, while they guide us to and from the theme, are only guiding because we hold to the theme as the center around which the thoughts are arranged and which the thoughts also clarify.

   Keeping themes in mind, we may set to our philosophical reading and writing with a better orientation to the task, and guarded against disappointments that result from demanding too much in despairing themes that are not already settled.  If we deny all themes that are not established, we deny thought, which has its peculiar work in exploring its inexplicable relation to what we fail to grasp.

Kant and the Principle of Sufficient Reason

For Leibniz, the principle of sufficient reason demands that for everything that is there must be a reason. Leibniz reasons that because there is no contingent thing that can be a sufficient reason for all other contingent things, we must look beyond the totality of existing things towards something which the totality can derive its existence from. This being that is the reason for the totality is God, and because God's essence is existence we have no need to demand a further reason for his existence.

Kant is considered to have advanced beyond Leibniz by showing that the sort of proof that Leibniz gives fails in what it promises. However, we should not be too quick to think that this rejection places Kant in complete opposition to Leibniz, since Kant still employs the principle of sufficient reason in the same manner that Leibniz does. We should consider just how different Kant's position is from Leibniz'.

Kant constrains the term 'existence' to apply only to objects of an actual experience, and since God is an object of even a possible experience, existence is improperly applied to him. Further, existence, as well as the other modalities of possibility and necessity, are not properties of things, but only represent the manner in which something is related to our mode of knowing it. In Kant's terminology, God isn't even possible; God is 'problematic', that is, we can think Him consistently, but have no way of knowing if he is possible or impossible (since He cannot be an object of possible experience). From this standpoint we easily see that Kant finds great problems in arguments for the existence of God. However, Kant does not count God out in this way, but realizes he must seek a different approach.

While showing that the ontological argument does not work, Kant still accepts the principle of sufficient reason as making a valid demand on us; the difference between Leibniz and Kant on this point is that Kant doesn't allow the demand from the principle to cause him to overstep the limits of his knowledge. However, Kant does show that we at least thinking beyond the boundary of theoretical reason, but just thinking beyond this boundary does not prove any existence.

However, what Kant calls 'practical reason' thinks intelligible being in terms of a necessary demand of the moral law. Under the heading of practical philosophy, Kant can begin to work towards the same position Leibniz maintained, however Kant will not attempt to maintain it as a known fact, but rather as a postulate of our practical manner of thinking. The best we can do is say 'God ought to be' as an expression of our constitution as knowers struggling against the demand our moral life places on us. I won't dwell on Kant's practical thought in relation to Leibniz here, but will only go into closer detail concerning Kant's use of the principle of sufficient reason for maintaining our capacity to think the intelligible.

Kant considers cause in the following way: whenever something happens, it presupposes something prior - a cause. (It is important to emphasize a happening.) If the cause is thought in terms of a happening, then it also must be thought as having a prior cause; if it is not thought in terms of a happening, then it is thought outside of the temporal order. Thus we can think a causal order stretching back indefinitely in the natural order, as well as spontaneous causes that are technically thought as supernatural. This shift from the natural order to the super-natural order is exactly how Leibniz argues for the existence of God. However, Kant still maintains that our capacity, and even need, to think these supernatural causes does not prove their existence, but a peculiarity of our form of cognition. In the realm of practical reason, Kant maintains that freedom, immortality and God are three postulates (roughly, assumptions); as postulates they are thought as really existing, however, we do not know them to exist even still.

Now, if Leibniz is to be similar to Kant, we would expect to find that there are moral grounds supporting Leibniz' determination of the existence of God, and not merely theoretical grounds as appears to be the case in his argumentation. It is plain to see that Leibniz' work is highly oriented towards living the best life possible, so there may be room to discover a reason to interpret Leibniz as operating from the very beginning in a practical mode, and so potentially being very close to Kant in the end. I hope to continue to look into this in further study.

How I Interpret Philosophically

Interpreting a text always involves a manner of interpreting. The manner of an interpretation informs how the material interpreted is organized, as well as what material is included or excluded from the interpretation. Depending on what is being interpreted, and why, different strategies may be employed. In reading to get 'the gist' most material will be excluded from the interpretation; in performing a detailed textual analysis, certain qualities (such as, alliteration, use of large or short words, &c) will be included in the interpretation; when reading for pleasure there may be more openness to reaction. These and many other ways of interpreting are familiar to us. I want to convey what it is to interpret in a philosophical manner.

Just as we may read Plato to get the 'gist' or Aristotle's Topics for enjoyment, interpreting philosophically is not restricted to 'philosophical texts'. Just like other manners of interpretation, sometimes it feels more natural and other times it does not. Most works considered 'philosophical' are good candidates, but also a large amount of poetry, fiction and scientific works. I will restrict myself here to more paradigmatic cases.

The primary characteristic of philosophical work, and so a quality of typical candidates for philosophical interpretation, is that ideas employed in order to understand something are being evaluated or first established. In these cases there is something being conveyed that will help guide the interpreter in understanding a great number (and often all) things that fall within the domain considered. For example, with Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, we can understand human experience of existences in terms of its limits, basic elements and structures. Just as philosophy works in evaluating and establishing ideas by which we think, philosophical interpretation also does this.

When interpreting philosophically one attempts to ground the ideas presented in it positively, that is, the interpreter strives to be able to navigate the domain the ideas present. In order to do this effectively, it is not enough to repeat the manner in which the ideas were set out, but rather to use the exposition of the ideas to guide an original undertaking in drawing the ideas out of the interpreter.

In the Mediations on First Philosophy, Descartes doubts his opinions, knowledge and experience of the world. In order to interpret Descartes philosophically, it is not sufficient to simply take what seems to be his conclusion - that the only thing we cannot doubt is ourselves, and when we consider what else we know from this, we also find that we know God best of all. Nor is it sufficient to go through some procedure of doubt that we understand, and then come to some conclusion - that I cannot doubt myself, but I can doubt the existence of God. Not even following Descartes' procedure and attaining the same result is sufficient for philosophical interpretation. What is called for is an original grounding of Descartes' thought which results in a new understanding of his procedure and results.

Through bringing about an original ground in the interpretation, one authenticates what is being interpreted, and can fully integrate it into their own understanding without any conflicts. This means philosophical interpretation is not concerned with agreeing or disagreeing with what is being interpreted. Instead, philosophical interpretation is a practice in thinking and understanding that cannot be attained in interpretations the stop at agreement or disagreement.

Such an interpretive procedure may be thought to efface the text interpreted. If I come to some new way of thinking Descartes' position so that I can also maintain it, then am I not just reading into Descartes in order to smooth out difficulties? No. If we can suppose that Descartes really did maintain the view that he wrote about, coming into possession of the capacity to understand that view, even if we also uncover its limits, is not "reading into" Descartes, but understanding what was left unsaid.

No philosopher can convey the understanding of their thought directly, but can only do their best to convey their thought in the hope that it will be understood. Because of this, every philosophical interpretation cannot be expressed without itself becoming another philosophical system that can only hope to be understood philosophically which means understood better.

Even if a philosopher has attained to completeness in their system to the extent that any interpretation will not prove it to be limited, the system itself will still not have encapsulated the understanding of itself; it is still up to the interpreter to attain an understanding, and a philosophical understanding makes what is understood its own, and recognizes the need to do so continuously.

What value does philosophical interpretation have? One may suggest a number of things, but they would all point in the wrong direction. There is no specific value to philosophical interpretation, since it may ultimately demand re-integrating and grounding any of these values. As Plato said, philosophy begins in wonder, and so does philosophical interpretation. This wonder should be thought of as an experience that frees us for thinking - not one that already has a determined and expected result - and which calls on us to enter into our interpreting philosophically.

Understanding the Question, "Why there is something rather than nothing?", Part II: Kant

When considering the title question with regards to Leibniz, I found that the Twenty-Four Statements (as titled by Heidegger) supported two different ways of thinking 'nothing'. There was one sense that concerned just that something is actual or not. The other sense of nothing was the privation of goodness in things that were possible; the best of the possibles were the ones that became actual.

The cause (= real ground) of there being something rather than nothing in Leibniz is an absolute being (God), and this being is necessary simply given that there are actual things. There is nothing higher than the absolute being, and so nothing is just privation of what brings something into actuality - relative goodness. Kant determines the thingness of things in a different manner than Leibniz - a manner that does not involve the ethical aspect of life, and the result is very different. For Kant, we are constrained to objects of a possible experience. I will consider, now, how Kant thinks the question of why there is something rather than nothing in terms of the object of possible experience.

In the end of the Appendix to the Analytic of Elements in the Critique of Pure Reason there is a short passage concerned with 'Nothing'. This section begins with the following:

"Before we leave the Transcendental Analytic we must add some remarks which, although in themselves not of special importance, might nevertheless be regarded as requisite for the completeness of the system. The supreme concept with which it is customary to begin a transcendental philosophy is the division into the possible and the impossible. But since all division presupposes a concept to be divided, a still higher one is required, and this is the concept of an object in general, taken problematically, without its having been decided whether it is something or nothing. As the categories are the only concepts which refer to objects in general, the distinguishing of an object, whether it is something or nothing, will proceed according to the order and under the guidance of the categories." (A290 B346)

We can let Kant's discussion of the kinds of nothing stand on its own here, but take up the investigation of the problematic - the merely intelligible object in general which is divided conceptually into the possible and the impossible. The possible is already a something, while the impossible is already a nothing.

The determination of something or nothing is along with the Categories, and the Categories have significance, as we learn in the chapter on the Schematism, as a priori time determinations. The category of possibility means: "the agreement of the synthesis of different representations with the conditions of time in general." (A144 B184) So, if we consider the difference between something and nothing the problematic object which these are divided from, we can see that it is temporality generally that divides them. The problematic object is intelligible while not being in time.

If we ask the question, "why is there something instead of nothing at all?", and try to answer with Kant's conception of nothing, we only get the difference between a thing and the kinds of negations of determinate negations of temporality. There is no answer here. But, as with Leibniz, we can allow ourselves a sense of nothing as negation of 'actuality', and another sense of nothing beyond this sort of negation of something.

For Kant, the problematic is a nothing in more than the sense of negation of something, but in terms of the limits of our theoretical cognition. We could also remark that from the perspective of theoretical reason, Leibniz' 'real ground' would be just as likely absolute Being as it would be absolute Nothing.

If we consider how the problematic can give us an account of question, we can be sure that theoretical reason will have nothing to do with it. Theoretical reason will always send you looking for prior causes forever, which is something we should do, but also cannot answer our question. To get a handle on the answer for our question, we must constrain ourselves to think the problematic in one way or another. Kant gives us the manner in which we do this in his discussion of freedom in the resolution to the third antinomy.

In the third antinomy, Kant is addressing the conflict between a supposed first cause, and the necessity of there always being a prior cause. Kant's resolution is that both sides of this dispute can be true. While we must think everything that happens in terms of something that comes prior, it is not necessary that we think the prior as only appearance. Therefore, we can think something prior in a temporal way - according to an order of nature - and an a-temporal way - according to an order of freedom. But, we cannot arbitrarily decide when to think according to the temporal or not, since cause is a necessary a priori connection of representations. When are we constrained to think in accordance with a cause outside of time? Kant's answer for this is - when we think the moral: when something ought to be.

For Kant, then, the transition to Practical Reason first gives us a determination of the problematic. For theoretical reason, the problematic was indeterminate concerning its being or non-being, but with practical reason we are constrained to think the problematic in terms of being, and so to employ our temporal/theoretical scheme back onto the absolute in order to make it intelligible as a being. This illustrates how the practical determines the noumenal realm in a certain way due to the constraints of our faculties, and so shows how we must operate in relation to the absolute, but at the same time denying any real knowledge of it.

For Kant, the question "why is there something rather than nothing?" is entirely senseless for theoretical reason, but under the constraints of practical reason, the question takes on a significance for us. I not look at the answer that Kant gives to this question, but would rather take some time to consider Leibniz' and Kant's approaches to the question.

For Leibniz, the question already had moral significance, while Kant was restricted at first to a purely theoretical view, from which point the question was senseless, and then showed the transition to the moral view wherein the question takes on sense again. In terms of the ethical being involved in the question, both Kant and Leibniz are in agreement. However, for Leibniz, who didn't clarify the being of beings theoretically, the actual was constrained to be whatever was already the best (highest good), while for Kant, the actual had nothing to do with the good, but rather it was the moral demands placed on us that first allow us to think to the problematic in a determinate way. Kant shows how a system like Leibniz' can first be thought up, which first grounds it critically. I will leave off the fruitful comparison between Kant and Leibniz here.

Understanding the Question, "Why is there something rather than nothing?", Part I: Leibniz

I have been struggling with finding access, by my own means, to the question Heidegger poses in Introduction to Metaphysicsthrough the history of Philosophy. The question is not an innovation of Heidegger's, but is asked, and often answered, in the history of Philosophy.

Leibniz answers the question in what Heidegger calls the Twenty-four Statements, since, he says, there ought to be a ground for the fact that there is something. For Leibniz, it seems for there to be something requires the possibility of bringing possibilities into actuality. Since there are actual things, it is necessary that these possibilities are brought into actuality, and that whatever is the cause (the 'real ground') of this stepping into reality (coming into existence) is also the necessary ground of the fact of actualities. Of course, this ground is none other than God.

Here is an illustration of Leibniz's work here in terms of the elements involved: 1) the actual that is, and which is known; 2) the demand that we account for the actual's being instead of nothing; 3) the possible from which the actual steps into existence; 4) that which is necessary in the face of the fact that the possible does step into existence.

Any of the actual things could just as well have been nothing, and, for Leibniz, many of possibilities did not come to pass. Coming to pass is determined by God on the basis of the most good. (Goodness now is understood in a way mediated first by the fact that something is rather than not, and should be understood in terms of existence, and not our preference.) For something to not come into existence is for it to have contradicted whatever did come to pass, and also not being as good as what did come to pass.

(I must mention, in defense of Leibniz, that it seems highly important to see the choice to place goodness at the root of the decision of what should be is not arbitrary. The highest order decision about what is actual should align with the highest knowledge of it, and so should be knowledge of what is best, and ultimately good. Here, goodness should not be considered in terms of morally good, since it seems ethics is determined by Leibniz at the end of the Twenty-four Statements in terms of coming to understand the goodness of the world, and to situate our minds to not be at odds with the goodness of existence by expecting things out of it that we should not. This means that the way things are opposed to our desires should have a regulative impact on us so that we come to understand the world better and change ourselves to not be at odds with it.)

So something is, in which case it is the most good, or something is not, which is to say it contradicts the good or is less good. What does nothing mean here? Nothing is not the contradictory, or the less good, since these are still possibilities. Nothing must be understood as something else. Things have less reality if they are less likely to come into existence, and so nothing would seem to be a privation, in some degree, of goodness. So nothing here is not a mere not being actual but a privation. If this is the case, then when we look out and see that there are actual things, we can't suppose that it could have been nothing, since nothing is just privation of what is. This may give us some right to understand nothing is another sense, that is, whatever is not actual is nothing.

The dual notion of nothing we have is first, nothing as privation of goodness or contradiction with what is good, and second, nothing as not being actualized. It appears that the second approach to nothing dominates the question Leibniz answers of why there is something rather than nothing. Because he is focused on the second sense of nothing, he can see the actual in opposition to its alternative, and not just different in degree. The dividing line between something and nothing, then, is determined on the basis of there being goodness (which is our highest way of thinking the best and so the highest kind of knowledge we tend towards). But this goodness is decided on the basis of what simply is (which could have still been anything). This establishes a kind of circle that is driven by the pursuit of the highest kind of knowledge for us.

Looking at the four-fold division above, then we can note that (2) the demand that we determine the question is driven by the demand to know the highest, and so the direction of (4) how we determine what is necessary is established in this practical manner (rather than upon an analysis of the 'objectivity of the object', which is an alternative approach).

Cartesian Doubt as Doubt of the Subjective

   When Descartes exerts his capacity to doubt, we see him capable of doubting all manner of objects.  However, Descartes fails to doubt the subject (Ego), which saves his project from its death spiral.  I intend to explore Cartesian doubt as being better understood as doubting the subjective, rather than the objective; in order to do this I will first articulate what I mean by subjective and objective, and then show how Descartes' thought should be seen in light of this, and how our considerations of Descartes may benefit from a new kind of emphasis on the subjective.
   When I speak of the objective, I mean whatever is said of objects, while when I say subjective I mean whatever is said of the subject.  So, if I say, "that car is red", I am saying something objective, whereas if I say, "I am cold", or, "that car is Red, for me", I am saying something subjective.  Often we use 'subjective' exclusively in relation to a bias of a subject, so that if someone says, "that cake is tasty", we would realize it may not be tasty for everyone, and so we would say that the statement is subjective.  I want to say that this statement was objective, since it pertains to the cake, not the subject, however, it should have been said, "this cake is tasty, for me".
   We often express ourselves objectively when we mean it subjectively, as we saw with the cake.  I realize this is pedantic, but I want to be as clear as possible since I will be holding myself to this in discussing Descartes. Strictly speaking, all speaking in a subjective mode is rather an objective mode: the subjective cannot truly be communicated, for this would mean actually transmitting the state of the subject.  If this were possible, reporting, "I am cold", would make others cold.
   Now I ask, when Descartes doubts objects what does he accomplish? The passive cognitions of perceptions and understanding of the objects are unaffected; the cup is still experienced as a cup just as it was before the doubting.  What difference is made by doubting?
   Because doubt does not affect my passive cognitions, but instead my active ones, I should consider how my active cognitions relate to the cup.  As active, I am a willing or unwilling being.  This suggests that my doubt of the cup just pertains to my attitude towards possible activity with the cup.  We can see here a hint that my doubt of the cup is a doubt of my capacity to effect something, and not of some property the cup possesses.
   More general than our activity with the cup seems our doubt of its existence.  What does doubting the existence of the cup mean?  Something vague like, there appears to be a cup, but there is really no cup?  If we are considering if the cup is a mirage or dream, then we attribute to the appearance of a cup the status of something which is not a cup.  This sort of attribution to the cup is objective, since it pertains to an understanding of the cup.
   While there is a sense of 'doubting' in taking the cup to be a mirage, it should still be described not as a doubt of the thing, since we doubt how we first understood it, but this is still ultimately a doubt of the subject.  We are doubting how the cup which appears to us is understood by us, then changing our assessment of the object to a mirage or dream; in this new understanding of the object, which is positive, we once again just have our own abstinence from activity with the object, such that we see the difference between the non-mirage and mirage is set by actions (not passions).
   In brief: if we do not simply doubt the cup as understood by us, but are concerned that the appearance of the cup is an appearance of something, but not how that something really is, then we are not concerned with any passive element of our cognition, since these are exhausted entirely on the appearance, but instead are concerned about acting.
   There are some benefits afforded by this emphasis on the subjective in reading Descartes: first, it clarifies what doubt consists in; second, we can get a sense of the passive and active elements of cognition insofar as they have an impact on the discovery of certainty of Ego; third, we can clarify the discovery of certainty in the Ego by noting that all sorts of activities were able to be abstained from save for the activity of cognizing (doubt itself is active cognizing); fourth, we can clarify what existence means by clarifying what it means to be able to doubt or not doubt it (perhaps this will help us understand the proof of God in the third meditation).
   We also find ourselves with some new murky elements in Descartes ripe for exploring, such as, what is the relation between the active and passive elements of cognition, and how are they bound together as one Ego? This union of action and passion may also help clarify the more central role that the will develops in the fourth meditation which I have discussed before.  I hope to investigate this soon. 

Re-Evaluating the 'Substance' of Descartes' Cogito

   A traditional reading of Descartes' Cogito is that the subject is a substance of the sort that is separate from, stands 'under' or 'alongside' cognitions (the 'seeming appearing', willing and unwilling, loving and hating, &c). A recent discussion with a friend provided an opportunity to question this traditional reading of Descartes in a novel way with relation to the 'Self' concept; it occurred to me to consider if the Cogito is better described by reference to the cognitions themselves, the very 'surface of things', to the 'seeming appearing', rather than something that stands 'under' or 'alongside' these cognitions.
   The consideration that led me to this reading involves a discussion of what I will refer to as the depth of the 'Self' concept. Different thinkers consider of the Self as having different depth, and so use the term (and some others) in different ways. I must give an account of what I mean by 'depth' here before I can continue on to the interpretation.
   I will assume for the discussion here that the term 'experience' will mean the broadest sense of experience, such that all possible contents are recognizable within it. For some thinkers' terminology, a perception is considered equal to an experience (or an experience is considered simply perception). In this way, all possible content of thought are treated as not necessarily relational external to the perception (relation would just be another thing within the perception). In this manner of speaking, the Self, thought as the perceiver, is given negatively as the container the perception. Here, the subject is given in advance (a priori), since it is the stage wherein the experience is given.
   Others, such as Kant, speak of experience as a synthesis of different perceptions, such that the subject really does not come about except through laws of the organization (synthesis) of perceptions into experience. In this case, the subject is not a ground of the perception, but a result of the synthesis of perceptions.
   When there is only one perception required for the Self, I say that there is less 'depth' (and this is not at all intended in a pejorative sense). Descartes is a thinker who seems to take the subject to be thought in a single moment, as it were, and not considered an entity synthesized in reference to cognitions. But, if there is nothing that stands outside cognitions to identify with the subject, the subject will be the cognitions themselves, related to a cognition of their relation (also in the same perception), and so here the subject is a mere thinking (thing), while still being matter (though of a cognitive, not material, sort). A 'thinking thing', then, does not need to imply an object that then thinks which is separate from cognitions, but apparently could be taken to be the cognitions themselves related by a cognition - put awkwardly, the Cogito is simply a 'thinking'.
   To clarify why I consider this reading of Descartes seriously, I will first clarify why I think that Descartes' subject/Self concept has the depth of a single perception.
   The reason that it occurs to me to say that the subject in Descartes has minimal depth is that Descartes treats the subject as requiring preservation moment to moment, where preservation is explicitly treated as equivalent to creation. If we were to be skeptics, the Self could have just been created -now- with all of its current cognitions. Descartes requires God as our creator and preserver, where God simply refers to the continuity of Descartes existences as a condition.
   Here we can already catch a glimpse of why it is incorrect to call the subject in Descartes a substance (something Descartes himself admits), since it is not self-caused, or unconditioned. Also, because the entirety of the self needs preservation we can see how the entirety of the Self must be in the momentary perception so far as it is cognizable at all.
   The argument for the necessity of the idea of God also gives some weight to reading Descartes as a 'thinking' rather than a 'thinking thing' (where thing is an underlying substance). The proof involves how all finite ideas are only possible with an infinite idea as their ground (from which the finite ideas came). Descartes is a finite idea, and he requires that ground for his origin. (I will pass over supposed problems in this argument, since the purpose here is to try to assess the character of the Self, as Descartes thinks it. I do think the difficulties here can be resolved.)
   These considerations leave me with much to consider. First of all, I am interested in how this division of terms forms a complete account, and how such a division of terms is comparable to those of other writers. Next, I consider the development of a 'moral proof' (like Kant's) to become more recognizable here. Insofar as we accept the unity and continuity of the subject we believe in God as a preserver, and, in the Fourth Meditation, insofar as we act in the world and accept the continuity in things there, we accept God as the preserver of those things as they are, and as they are given to us. Certainty, which is a condition for truth for Descartes, requires this transcendent relationship with the divine.
   The last thing that I continue to wonder about is the nature of the doubting that Descartes carries on in the start of his inquiry. Ultimately it seems that he is rejecting a world view where the objects and subject are conceived of substances that preserve themselves, rather than simply rejecting objects of experience (he explicitly maintains the certainty of the objects insofar as they are merely appearance). Descartes is not deceived by his experience, but by the world view he has inherited. Doing an exposition as he does on the real dependence of our cognitions on the transcendent, and comparing it to the messy way his contemporaries may have maintained it, can easily meet the task set in the letter to Sorbonne, where Descartes says that he will give a proof of God that atheists can accept.

Understanding Authenticity and Inauthenticity in 'Being and Time'

   In the interest of trying to make things simple before they are complicated I want to suggest a way of guiding ones reading of Being and Time through a simple statement of the ultimate relevance of the authentic/inauthentic distinction. There is a lot to draw out of a distinction such as the authentic/inauthentic, but we should strive to situate ourselves with the term in such a way that it informs a larger scope of our interpretation before we begin to suggest elements that are not so obvious (yet which may be quite important nonetheless).
   'Authentic' and 'inauthentic' can become distracting because they have an air of moralizing about them. Does Heidegger mean to see that people who are inauthentic, or who spend more time being inauthentic than authentic, are somehow bad? Even though Heidegger denies this flat out in the text, there is still a tendency to read him as doing so with a wink. But my questions for such readers are: how is such a reading helpful in clarifying the core issue of the text? Would we choose to distract ourselves from what the main issue is while at the same time needing to contradict what is said in the text about authentic and inauthentic? Does moralizing seem to offer any benefit to the main objectives of the text? Does Heidegger ever suggest in other works that such moralizing is beneficial for understanding his work?
   Heidegger himself does not necessarily do a good job of clarifying what role the terms are to serve in his work explicitly (and with good reason, since he works through exposition), but if we are allowed to assume that he did not develop these terms blindly, or on a tangent, then we should be able to see why these centrally featured terms are relevant for the main theme of Being and Time.
   The main problem of Being and Time is simple to put: how do we formulate the question of the meaning of Being (read as: to be). Clearly, we can say, "What is the meaning of Being?", so what is outstanding in the formulation? In short, the meaning of the question! We need to make sure that we actually ask about Being (to be), but how are we to know what to do? It's not clear how to understand the way Heidegger wants to ask the question at first. In fact, we can understand how he could by no means provide an answer to the meaning of this question of the meaning of Being prior to working the question itself out. The very formulation of the question is a puzzle that occupies the whole of Being and Time, and it is examining this puzzle that gets us farther into an understanding of the text.
   In some way we must make a theme of 'Being' such that we can inquire into it, but we must do so in such a way that we can first figure out what is being discussed at all. Heidegger may as well ask "what is the meaning of 'puffinstuff'?", since he can't come out and tell us, and may not himself understand precisely what he is asking about. But he does know what he is asking into (at least through a vague fore-understanding, something average), and he can provide a great deal of hints that hook us into the tradition of talking about 'Being' and 'beings'; these clues are negative, and he employs them in circling around trying to get ever closer to what he wants to discuss. Now, how does authenticity get us closer in our circling to an understanding of Being?
   A rough definition of 'authentic' may help: ones encounter is 'authentic' whenever the Being (to be) of what is encountered becomes a concern. So, to use an example, if I am using a hammer and it 'breaks' or 'fails', then I may not take this in stride. I may stop and look at the thing which has become conspicuous. When the equipment fails, we can make a theme of its Being (the manner in which it is). Now, the Being of Dasein is a question for Fundamental Ontology, and Dasein is not ready or present-at-hand like a hammer, and so Dasein does not simply break or fall apart. However, the equipment which we may engage with is not itself authentic or inauthentic - it is our concern with it that is. Do we "encounter ourselves" authentically or inauthentically? This is a possibility of our Being, and just as an authentic encounter with the hammer makes a theme of its Being possible for us, an "authentic encounter" with Dasein would make the Being of Dasein a possible theme.
   (Along with Heidegger, we should be wary of treating Dasein as something ready or present-at-hand. This is why I put 'encountering ourselves' above in scare quotes above: we clearly do not encounter ourselves in some manner akin to a hammer. This should be evident in that authentic and inauthentic encounters with objects ready or present-at-hand are possibly ways for Dasein to be.)
   Now, Being-towards-death, resoluteness, &c are all important in how we are to understand Dasein's being authentic. I will not develop the interpretation of these further here since my intentions are simply to indicate the relevance of the authentic/inauthentic distinction and provide an indication of some direction from there.
   Now, does 'inauthentic' serve us in any way in terms of how it is possible to make something the theme of some discourse? We can note right away that it at least forms a different possibility for the Being of Dasein from authentic so we can narrow down further what the authentic is. A more interesting thing to note about the inauthentic is that, in being closely aligned with 'averageness' and 'everydayness' it is closely aligned with the starting point of the inquiry - we cannot define 'Being' and then inquire into it, we begin with a more or less average understanding of Being, an understanding that for many is influenced by the tradition of philosophy in such a way that asking into its meaning is daft. The tradition coaxes us into inauthenticity.
   The problem with the question of the meaning of Being is that we do take it inauthentically (not concerning our Being) at first, or not at all. The work serves as an exposition to the question, and this exposition of the question is itself the answer, in a sense, as far as philosophy has to offer it. What does the exposition consist in? Does it consists in going from an inauthentic encounter with Being to an authentic encounter with Being? (I note that Kant, in the Critique of Pure Reason, Doctrine of Method, says that Philosophy cannot properly define anything, but can rather only operate on expositions of its concepts. Heidegger seems to obey this, and reveal something very important about this remark by Kant - even if by accident.) What of 'Phenomenology' as a discourse? Can such a discourse on Being be possible in any other way than one which forces the reader into authenticity?
   Perhaps these sorts of reflections can be crucial for understanding Being and Time, perhaps not, but these occur to me as powerful suggestions of the importance and relation of 'authentic' and 'inauthentic' to the overarching goals of the text.

The Threat to the History of Philosophy

   I wish to submit an account of how Philosophy, from very early times, has become embroiled in dispute, and how this dispute has become the core of what is recognized as Philosophy, rather than the love of Wisdom. I mean to do this through considering the use that Philosophy makes of the "History of Philosophy".
   It is fair ask: what is the History of Philosophy? I can give a few rough answers to this question. One definition that occurs to me is that it is a history of some great thinkers and their 'philosophical theories' or 'schools' that have such theories. These 'schools' of thought are sometimes different branches of a single older 'school'. They may agree in some ways, but they also disagree in other ways.
   Often a contemporary student of philosophy will learn the History of Philosophy (at least in part), and choose a side, or develop their own theory. The choice of a 'school' or the development of the theory is not to be guided by anything but the search for 'Truth' (in some sense), and generally this is very sincerely maintained. The 'philosopher' will defend the 'Truth' of their 'school' against competing 'schools' that also claim the 'Truth'. This, once again, is how things often seem to occur, and how things have gone for a long time.
   It is a very old tradition of philosophy that engages with its history in such a way. Some sort of engagement with history is always required, however, there is another competing understanding of Philosophy that many philosophers pay tribute to before entering into their disputes - that Philosophy is the love of Wisdom. This understanding of the word, as most know, is in the very etymology of the word 'Philosophy'. Now, the question I ask is this: in what way does the manner in which we engage with the History of Philosophy resemble something like a love of Wisdom or provide materials for such a love?
   Our engagement with, and assigning ourselves to, the tradition by defending the rightness of a theory from the history does not take itself to be in pursuit of Wisdom, but actually to have attained to it already. Defending a theory of ones own design is also seemingly the result of already having attained Wisdom (this is not referring to the Preface of Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit). Perhaps, if Wisdom must be considered as still outstanding, then is it to be understood as everyone joining the same 'school' or agreeing on a theory? In my humble estimation, Wisdom is not loved or pursued in our 'discipline' of Philosophy that engages with the History of Philosophy in this manner described above. Rather, we continually forget that in seeking Wisdom we are seeking a better life, something that the defense of a theory is insufficient for.
   By no means do I wish to lament the tradition of brilliant philosophers that have been handed down to us in the canon, nor do I want to reject what the tradition offers - something that has been referred to as theories. I do want to suggest that the love of Wisdom has a tendency to reorganized itself around its own history, rather than to love Wisdom. Once more, I do not want to suggest that there is no wisdom in the tradition, but rather that the actual pursuit of Wisdom is often supplanted with a pursuit of conflict among the 'schools'; this conflict may contribute to the unfolding of Wisdom as a secondary matter, but I have difficulty seeing the pursuit of a better life as its primary aim. (Note: In the remainder of this post I will treat Philosophy and love of Wisdom as distinct.)
   I have a speculation concerning how the organization of Philosophy around a tradition leads to a different mode of Philosophy that involves and increases mutual opposition rather than a pursuit of Wisdom that an individual may undertake. This speculation does not see the disputes we find in Philosophy as anything unnatural, but as rather being the most natural sort of thing, and partly an indication of why the pursuit of Wisdom is so difficult. I hope to focus on particularly a threat of distraction that the History of Philosophy holds for the pursuit of Wisdom, and to show how this threat may also clarify for us the difficulties of the pursuit.
   Now I have a question for those engaged in the pursuit of Wisdom: what part of the pursuit of Wisdom is properly concerned with accepting or rejecting something, and what does the acceptance or rejection of something contribute to the pursuit? I will try to sort this out in a rough manner.
   When we accept or reject a standpoint, we take a stand, and from taking a stand we open up certain possibilities. By a 'standpoint' I clearly do not mean some physical location - it is assumed that many people can share the same standpoint. From where we stand we are able to 'continue on' until the standpoint becomes insufficient. In order to accept something new (or anew) we must already have a standpoint to move from. The transition to a new standpoint will be considered an advance as long as we don't fall back to the old standpoint. Generally, the value of accepting or rejecting for the pursuit of Wisdom is to be found in either stopping when one accepts or continuing when we reject.
   From here I can make some general observations concerning a few trends in the engagement of the History of Philosophy in relation to accepting and rejecting and standpoints.
   Some philosophers in the tradition are concerned with justifying their standpoint (or a historical one), and to convince others of its sufficiency; others argue that no standpoint is itself sufficient, and that we must always be in the habit of moving from one to another. There is a third group who are not so much considered with making the theme of their discussion a particular standpoint, or the impossibility of holding to a single standpoint; rather, they recognize the necessity of at least having a standpoint at any time. This last group asks about what it means to have a standpoint. Each of these groups of philosophers offer a different sort of engagement with the History of Philosophy.
   The first group, which Kant called Dogmatists, engage the History of Philosophy by defending particular standpoints (or adding their own to the history). In this way, Dogmatists will only be able to engage with a philosopher by finding a particular standpoint. The second group, which Kant called Skeptics, also depends on finding particular standpoints, but with the addition of revealing insufficiencies in them such that they cannot be maintained alone. I note again, that the engagement with the History of Philosophy by Dogmatists and Skeptics require that particular standpoints are found in the History of Philosophy. (I also must note that Dogmatism and Skepticism are not to be considered here as insulting titles.  I have a post on what Kant means by Dogmatism here.)
   The third group, which Kant fancied he initiated, are Critical Philosophers. Critical Philosophers do not seek particular standpoints in order to defend them, but rather to clarify what a standpoint is.  The engagement with the History of Philosophy by a Critical Philosopher does not stop at finding particular standpoint to accept or reject, but considers how a particular standpoint builds itself on a standpoint considered generally.  Of course, to articulate what a standpoint in general is assumes a particular standpoint, but the purpose is not to remain standing on the same particular point or to leave it, but to continually clarify what any standpoint is - something one can do no matter where one is in fact standing.  (Note: Critical is not meant to suggest being antagonistic to any position.)
   With some variation on Kant's emphasis, I will add that Critical Philosophers can only absolutely reject a standpoint that contradicts standpoints in general, that is, Critical Philosophers reject non-standpoints. Incidentally, such rejections do not take place very often. Because of this the Critical Philosopher does not require an interest in accepting or rejecting standpoints, as long as they are standpoints that one may have. A Critical Philosopher will come to understand how a standpoint is 'standable'. A Critical Philosopher cannot borrow the evaluation of standpoints in general from the tradition, but must work themselves and consider their own standpoint apart from any other, and use the 'essence' of how it is that they stand in examining other standpoints. In this way, the Critical Philosopher is always in a process of self-discovery, and not merely historical consideration. Dogmatists and Skeptics always assume in maintaining a standpoint some understanding or other of what a standpoint is and can be, but without Critical Philosophy, Dogmatists and Skepticists never understand what a standpoint generally is and entails.
   From the perspective of Dogmatism and Skepticism, only one 'school' or parts of 'schools' will have value, and the others are to be despised and deprecated. For the Critical Philosopher, every 'school' has value precisely in how it can contribute to the understanding of a standpoint generally. Dogmatism, Skepticism, and Critical Philosophy all participate in each other, and even towards the overall ends of the pursuit of Wisdom. These are all specializations, however, and no one of them can constitute a proper engagement with the History of Philosophy or the love of Wisdom.
   The tendency towards Dogmatism and Skepticism often overlooks the possibility and need of Critical Philosophy in the requirements of maintaining a standpoint. And in the fervor of defending and attacking standpoints, Critical Philosophy is interpreted as having to defend a particular standpoint, instead of offering suggestions at understanding standpoints. As a result of treating Critical Philosophy as something that either accepts or rejects standpoints, a critical resource is missing in the overall balance of the study of Philosophy.
   The general ignorance of Critical Philosophy, and even more, the interpreting of Critical Philosophy as either Dogmatic or Skeptical, is, to me, what contributes to the complete domination of debate in Philosophy as a field. The domination of debate is a continual sign of forgetting the commonality of standpoints. The ongoing abstract debates ultimately lead Philosophy to fail as a whole in engaging with anything more than abstract theories, and this will continually hinder engaging once again with Philosophy contributing to living a good life directly, and for fulling making use of the History of Philosophy as something that continually informs at all points our ability to live a good life.

The Locus of 'Time' in Kant and the Revaluation of Interpretation of Transcendental Philosophy

   It is indisputable that the term 'time' plays a central role in the Critique of Pure Reason, and there are some ways that 'time' is discussed in order to highlight what seems to be a natural difference between Kant's use of the term and the use by his contemporaries and our contemporaries. For example, Leibniz and Newton were in conflict as to whether space was real, or merely consisted in relations, and contemporary physics discusses space-time.
   In the Transcendental Aesthetic Kant calls time a pure form of intuition which  makes appearances possible in a certain way. Usually what Kant is said to have introduced here is that time is not real, but a structure that we contribute to experience ourselves; this characterization is not really incorrect, but it is also incomplete to some extent. The prevalence of discussing 'time' as it appears in the Transcendental Aesthetic may result in an imbalance in understanding what work time plays in Kant's thought.
   Time features very notably in the pure concepts of the understanding - the categories - and this is underscored in relation to intuition when the schematism is found to be the point of homogeneity between pure concepts and intuitions. With all of this, how is it that 'time' is trapped in being understood merely in terms of its description in the Transcendental Aesthetic? To give an obvious (and possibly too glib) assessment of this we can observe simply that the Transcendental Aesthetic comes first, and so is given a certain priority above how time is used in the Transcendental Logic.
   However, we must ask ourselves: what sort of priority does intuition have over pure understanding? It certainly has sequential order in terms of where it is discussed in the Critique, but it is not the case that the faculty has a logical priority to the pure understanding. Because there is a way of understanding intuition that does give a logical priority to it, I should explain what I mean.
   A priority is given to intuition over understanding when the relation to the faculties is understood in terms of a timeline (this being something temporal), and this timeline understood in a very 'scientific' manner: we receive input in our senses, our minds interpret this input and the result is an experience (a more complicated timeline is available in the Deduction of the Categories). This sort of timeline is helpful only to a limited degree, for it introduces a certain risk if it is leaned on too much and too literally.
   The starting point for Kant personally, and he claims all of us, is not intuition, but rather experience itself, and intuition and the other faculties (understanding, imagination) are only formal structures of this experience spoken of in terms of 'powers' or capacities. In a certain sense this gives us a sort of liberty to reverse the timeline and say that experience divides into intuition and understanding, which were connected in the experience originally through the imagination, and that the meaning of time in the imagination (schematism) is more important to take as characterizing time than simply how it operates as a pure form of intuition - and it certainly does operate in this way, but only as a mode of time in relation to objects of possible experience; a mode that does not have any possible object without the categories. This timeline could become just as problematic if leaned on too much, but it stands to show that depending on the sort of story you want to tell, you have different ways of construing the timeline.
   Going further, taking what is homogeneous between intuition and pure concept as the starting point for the understanding of time is not helpful without first recognizing how experience reveals the sort of objects described by Kant. When we are in the narrow view of the Critique of Pure Reason, where only theoretical reason is under discussion, then these objects appear in a rather strange way - they do not have a practical context.
   This is the sort of awkward theoretical understanding of 'things' that leads thinkers, such as Heidegger, to criticize Kant, since his first Critique begins in a place where objects are determined first as (to borrow Heidegger's term) vorhanden (present-at-hand) instead of zuhanden (ready-at-hand) in the context of some concerned engagement in-the-world. This criticism is deserved if we are to stop all at once at theoretical reason, but if we think Kant himself stops here we are mistaken, and if we give a priority to theoretical reason because it came in the first Critique, then we are revealing we are prone to the same error we make by interpreting the priority of the Transcendental Aesthetic for determining the basic source of the interpretation of 'time': the Critique of Practical Reason and the Critique of (the Power of) Judgment cannot be left out here. I will briefly sketch a picture that will show a potential way of reorienting Kant interpretation.
   The most important part of the Critique of Pure Reason can be seen as the introduction of the ideas (soul, World, God), and the problem of understanding these ideas through theoretical reason alone - that is, the most important part of the first Critique is that which shows that general lack on the part of theoretical reason. The ideas, as they concern theoretical reason, serve as regulative principles for guiding us towards higher forms of knowing (according to the different syllogisms - categorical, hypothetical and disjunctive). We now have a context in which - once again borrowing from Heidegger - the vorhanden shows itself as a mode of zuhanden wherein there is a concern being dealt with - the advance of knowledge. This, however, still does not get back to a characterization of the zuhanden, nor does it comprehend objects primarily in their equipmentality or concern contexts.
   A major short coming of theoretical reason is that in only comprehending objects of a possible experience it only admits of one mode of causality in understanding its objects - causes of nature - while the alternative found in the resolution to the third Antinomy - causes of freedom - are impossible for it (theoretical reason). Practical reason, then fits itself underneath the first Critique as a more basic way of understanding objects, since practical reason must make use of theoretical reason - but not in a way that is exhaustive of its dealings with things. Here the context of directed practical action is brought in as a more fundamental way of thinking objects, and noumena are found to operate for us in a way that is just as immanent as phenomena are for theoretical reason by itself (aside: I take Heidegger's use of the term phenomena to more more or less encompass both of Kant's terms phenomena and noumena).
   We should be able to see here how clearly the notion of object, when allowed in its more broad arena of practical reason is opened up to all sorts of involvements. Further, the ideas themselves (soul, World and God) also have a broader context in which they need to be understood when not narrowed down to merely theoretical reason. I will not even begin here how the third Critique continues to expand the arena, but will save this for another time. I will allow the reader to derive for themselves (or ask) concerning further implications of this way of seeing a reversal of priorities in Kant that leads him to evade the supposed criticisms of operating too much in a 'cartesian' mode.

Guideline for Concrete Philosophical Interpretation

(In reply to a discussion I wrote this description of my method. I will modify it and represent it here. The original is here.)

   My practice of interpretation has been the most concrete result of any of my work in philosophy. The individuals who have had the greatest impact have been teachers, philosophers, and particular revelations from philosophical methods I have encountered (critical method of Kant and Phenomenology of Heidegger being two of the most important). The following is a description of my interpretive process in some general terms. I hope that it can do something to reveal what is at stake when I engage with a text. I also hope that this can help me to continue to develop explicitly what interpretation entails as certain holes in my process are inevitably pointed out to me. (I have tried to put my assumptions in bold as they occur.)
   I am studying Philosopher X who has position Y.  I am interested in interpreting position Y.  This means I already have an interpretation which is called into question.  Some key assumptions I make as I proceed in my reinterpretation are as follows: first, that position Y was actually maintained by Philosopher X; second, that positions that are internally contradictory cannot be maintained by anyone.
   My next move is to consider if position Y is making an a priori or a posteriori claim. If a posteriori, then I can see what sorts of empirical knowledge would be required to maintain the point. I can usually determine if some relevant facts were not available or overlooked, but in this case I can easily understand how position Y was maintained with the outstanding evidence. If, however, I take the claim to be a priori, then I will continue considering the position in a different manner.
   A proof of something a priori always has a starting point that is analyzed as regards what is necessary for it. For our example, this starting point will be called 'object' Z.  (The result of such analysis can be a priori and still involve empirical concepts, or purely a priori and contain no empirical concepts; I will assume that we are dealing with a purely a priori case.)  There are two general ways that an analysis of 'object' Z, regarding what is purely a priori in it, can err: first, that the analysis may mistakenly included empirical concepts as part of its purely a priori result, and then used them in the derivation of position Y; second, that the 'object' Z was not fixed, and changed over the course of the analysis.  The analysis of Philosopher X's analysis burdens me with an additional question now. What is Z?
   Z is the 'object' that Philosopher X analyzed such that they were constrained to maintain position Y.  Now, this still leaves open the possibility that position Y is maintained in error, but if I am to understand the error I need to have a clear interpretation of Z in order to characterize the error as one of analysis (including empirical concepts as a priori ) or inconsistency in the object (first analyzing one thing, then later another, for the purposes of one conclusion).  Unless it is very clear that one of these errors has been committed, I will assume that it has not pending further consideration.  (Incidentally, I find these errors are rarely committed.)
   In order to have found position Y to be false, we must implicitly have an interpretation of 'object' Z that leads to an inconsistency with our understanding of position Y.  We could have misinterpreted position Y, or we could have misinterpreted 'object' Z, or both (usually if one is off, the other is too). Because of my first two assumptions (first, that position Y was actually maintained by Philosopher X, second, that positions that are internally contradictory cannot be maintained by anyone) I have at least a misinterpretation of 'object' Z or position Y (and in either case a misunderstanding of Philosopher X).
   From here comes a series of interpretive experiments and data gathering. I will re-examine definitions, look for hints of what 'object' Z is, look at explicit statements about what is being attempted in the section and even work and corpus, examine position Y again, consider in relation to similar positions, consider comments that Philosopher X makes concerning positions they mean to contradict, look at how they address criticisms of their position.
   Depending on what my experimenting uncovers, I may deem it necessary, ex hypothesis, to reinterpret position Y in a way that makes it consistent with 'object' Z as its starting point, or reinterpret 'object' Z such that position Y is a valid conclusion from it. Both of these scenarios leave open the possibility of position Y being ultimately something I would not maintain, though I will understand clearly on what basis I do not maintain it. If this is the case, then I consider further what it is about these (usually 'object' Z) that I have difficulty maintaining. What has gone unsaid about 'object' Z or position Y that I can further derive with my current understanding? Do any of these conflict with what Philosopher X has said? If so, I should probably reconsider something.
   New evidence can cause me to re-evaluate any of these steps I have mentioned from the very start. This sort of interpretation takes a considerable amount of effort and patience, but I have also found it to be very rewarding. This has been my procedure while studying Kant, and it has resulted in what I find to be a very good reading that I would not consider charitable, but rather consistent with, and mindful of, what has been said. Kant is really the most complete interpretation I have of any thinker, but it is still incredible to me how much room there is still to re-evaluate it. Also, there are many other figures in the history of philosophy who are involved in such an interpretive process: Plato, Heidegger, Gelven, Descartes, Leibniz, Nietzsche, Hegel, as well as countless others. These figures I frequently compare, not to belittle any position by something similar that came before, but as a way of letting philosophers clarify each other, both where they seem to agree and where they seem to disagree.
   My interpretations do not advance with a goal of vindicating a philosopher or not, but with enabling myself with the highest quality interpretations I can so I can continue my own work in the presence of these thinkers. At the end of the day, my work involves being thoughtful about my own life, and for this I will take as many friends as I can while trying not to lean on any of them.

Descartes and Deception

   One primary benefit of a phenomenological or philosophical interpretation is that it tries to see the phenomena that an author is discussing (even implicitly) first hand. The advantage of this is that we can use this as a common starting point for interpretation even when such a starting point has not been provided, and such a starting point is universally available.  However, sometimes it can be quite difficult to catch a glimpse of what an author is encountering, and sometimes direct glimpses of particular concepts are impossible (for example, monads).  But where a glimpse is impossible, one can ultimately trace the concept or idea back into a relation with phenomena.
   Even when the method of a philosopher is apparently straightforward, as is the case in Descartes' Meditations, it is easy to not pay enough attention to the method and what it assumes to be effective. Descartes' manner of doubting presupposes the intelligibility of deception, as well as the importance of the sort of things we may be deceived by; this latter assumption is tentative on our part.  If we consider what the essence of deception is, we find that Descartes' own procedure of looking at the world and doubting is much more complicated than it initially seems. I mean to attempt an overview of some of the current difficulties in my current considerations of Descartes.  By putting it down as a starting point I can hopefully return to it in order to advance.
   Because Descartes is interested in something indubitable, he decides that if he can find any reason that he could doubt something then he will disregard it.  Here we must clarify this procedure on a number of points:  first, a guarding against the characterization of the method as hyperbolic or radical doubt; second, deception itself must be clarified, which will require that we understand the sort of thing that the indubitable is such that we cannot be deceived by it.
   Descartes does not desire to doubt everything, rather he desires the indubitably of some foundational starting point (or if we go by his letter to the faculty of Sorbonne, he means to prove the existence of God in a manner satisfactory to atheists).  To call his method hyperbolic doubt would be to characterize the method by part of its result after the fact.  I suggest that we try to characterize Descartes' inquiry as being cautious, though I will hold off on giving it some specific name.  It may be a better plan when reading and discussing Descartes to emphasize the care that Descartes means to have at the basis of his inquiry rather than the degree to which the results shake the foundations of his former outlook on life.  With this preliminary characterization I will advance to discussing deception in Descartes.
   Characterizing deception will help us to fully disclose the sort of care that Descartes takes in his work.  Put casually, deception supposes that the way things are given to us may not relate to how they are in some un-given form.  I have put this in a very unassuming manner to begin with intentionally as I want to make use of it to point out that there is something given and something not given that are required as either corresponding or not when there is a potential for deception. However, the casual manner of putting it leaves a lot of questions unanswered. I do not want to presume that this un-given thing is to be characterized as a substance, or thing-in-itself, or any other specific thing even though it may be any of these or something else in the case of Descartes.  Something else of note here is that we are not sure if deception is due to our own faculties or to the objects giving themselves in a false way, or through some other means, nor do we know the specific character of what is given.  I mention all of this so we can try to consider the wide area of possibilities available to us in understanding the sort of deception that Descartes is concerned with. It may be only one possible determination of these, or all possible determinations may fit; in each case we would have different ways of characterizing the given and un-given.  As expected, we will now need to try to get a sense of what the indubitable is for Descartes such that he can be deceived by anything else.
   We can perhaps characterize what is indubitable to Descartes with reference to what he finds to be indubitable: that he thinks, he is - the Cogito.  This is not all that Descartes finds to be indubitable, and not even what is most indubitable. (It is quite interesting to consider the option of degrees of indubitably. Why would this be more puzzling than degree of reality or perfection?)  Even though we have some of what Descartes finds to be indubitable, the proper understanding of the ego cogito is still only grasped through a recognition of what has been overcome, namely, deception.  Our interpretation here is in a place where we can co-determine deception and the indubitable.

Guides from Greek Thought:
   The Greek word for 'false' is pseudos (ψεῦδος) which involves dissembling.  Does this suggest that Greek thought also ran in parallel with Descartes' thinking on deception?  (I am considering this in relation to Heidegger's interpretation of Greek thought in his Parmenides.) This may or may not hold, but this comparison may be fruitful.

What is the Archimedean Point in Descartes' Meditations?

My relationship with Descartes’ Meditations on First Philosophy is one of loving frustration.For a cursory report of the history of my interpretation: I have gone from not being able to accept the Cogito, and being offended by the 'assumption' of God, to accepting the Cogito, and being suspicious of a change in method that resulted in a complete breakdown in meditation four.Most recently I have perceived something in the fourth meditation that may allow me to understand a continued continuity after the Cogito, and a chance to continue to meditate along with Descartes.I hope to present some of my recent work with the Meditations to get some feedback and answer questions (hopefully) about this approach.

In the first two meditations Descartes does a terrific job explaining what he is doing in such a way that it follows more like a story than an argument.In the third meditation, there is a change in presentation: what was a story of adventures in skepticism becomes more like a scholastic argument for the existence of god, specifically an ontological proof.The change in presentation left me wondering how to continue meditating along in the same manner as before, since, for example, it is easier to understand what it is like to doubt but much harder to understand what ‘eminence’ is like (this required some digging).Here I allowed myself to simply change my interpretive method to a more argumentative style, and could accept Descartes ontological proof with some reservations.(Descartes does not seem to be doing anything other than saying he is limited and therefore depends on something unlimited, which is acceptable taken formally – some concerns with this are still available to me, but I will spare them.)

The fourth meditation instantly frustrates readers with what appears to be intellectual negligence.Descartes declares God to be good:

“For, in the first place, I discover that it is impossible for him ever to deceive me, for in all fraud and deceit there is a certain imperfection: and although it may seem that the ability to deceive is a mark of subtlety or power, yet the will testifies without doubt of malice and weakness; and such, accordingly, cannot be found in God.”(http://www.wright.edu/cola/descartes/meditation4.html)

Where is the argument for this?Maybe we can attempt to construct something about evil as privation, and then argue that deception is evil, but I think there are some reasons this approach is to be avoided.At this point many readers I know throw up their arms in despair; I was included in this group until recently, when I found a new direction for my interpretation.

As Descartes continues in the fourth meditation he says something very interesting:

“It is the faculty of will only, or freedom of choice, which I experience to be so great that I am unable to conceive the idea of another that shall be more ample and extended; so that it is chiefly my will which leads me to discern that I bear a certain image and similitude of Deity.” (ibid.)

Speaking formally, our will is equal to God’s, though His has much greater extension (speaking materially).I had read this a number of times before – every time I had gone through the Meditations – but the last time I was reading it something clicked.

If we take Descartes to be looking for an Archimedean point on which he can build a trust in the world and proceed with certainty in his inquiries into nature, then it often seems as if the Cogito is this point on which everything turns.Now, while this is true, it often seems that the infallible ground of our knowledge is that we cannot doubt our own existence.However, I suggest considering that the real Archimedean point is found in the fourth meditation - our possession of unlimited will.What is the value of this suggestion?First of all, it leads us back to a new consideration of Descartes radical doubt.

If we can doubt the existence of everything “outside of us”, but cannot doubt ourselves, there is still no reason to act or take any cognition as the basis for action.If we do act, we are assuming a reason on which we have acted and a ground in taking the seeming appearing of the world around us to be legitimate.It seems to me that this assumption Descartes takes to be a good God. Now, before we get suspicious, we do not need to immediately pull in assumptions from Descartes’ (and our) culture when we are discussing God, rather we should consider exactly what Descartes requires from the concept ‘God’ for his argument and only that.First of all, we know we are limited, and depend on something unlimited; second of all, what appears to us is not a lie.I hope to focus on the second of these leaving the concerns about the first behind. The development up to the fourth meditation constitutes an epistemic theodicy.This theodicy seems to be required as an assumption, a priori, for anyone who involves themselves in the world through actions, since the ground of trusting “external” objects is something that assures their suitability to know them, which would need to be a being that can guarantee our continued existence (omnipotence), has a grasp of thing in themselves (omniscient), is required to acknowledge in every case (omnipresent), and would not lie to us (epistemically benevolent, which may be the only benevolence required). As a student of Kant, I immediately see a connection between the primacy of will in Descartes and Kant’s Practical Philosophy, I also see a relation to Kant’s moral proof of God.Now, Descartes does not necessarily see his argument as I do, however, this interpretive hypothesis explains a lot for me and gives me reasons to return to the text to explore the predictions it makes. I hope this hypothesis can help anyone reading this to also see if they can make sense of the continuity of the Meditations.

On Socrates and Telling People How to Read

   A common reading of Socrates is as a gadfly who provokes people into asking questions and thus helps them to attain wisdom through realizing that they do not understand some concept as well as they supposed.  However, Socrates characterizes himself as never intending to lead others into being ponderous, but rather as genuinely seeking to learn from them – it is only a side effect of his questioning that others are thrown into confusion, not the result of a scheme.  Now, there may be some textual evidence to support that Socrates is, at times, toying with an interlocutor, but to read Socrates as the essential gadfly is to make the hero of Plato’s dialogues into a trouble maker, and – I feel – this degrades Plato’s dialogues immensely.

   While I am interested in getting further into the literary discussion of the character of Socrates (and I hope that broaching the subject leads to at least some discussion on this matter), it is actually a different matter that leads me to bring him up.  The reason why I have always been so taken by Socrates is that he is always genuinely asking, and never telling others what they should do philosophically.  What would he tell them, seeing as he doesn’t himself know?  If he were to be able to tell you how you should live, he would be a sophist (as the concern of the Protagoras seems to characterize them).  What I mean is that in matters of loving wisdom, Socrates has nothing to offer in terms of advice; he only has questions, and questioning seems to nearly exhaust his own pursuit.

   We often tell others what to do with impunity in cases where we are concerned that they are acting contrary to their own ends.  For example, yelling, “Watch out!” to someone about to be hit by a projectile is not really is usually safely assumed to be a good idea, and acceptable behavior because you assume that this unfortunate does not wish to be hit.  What is more a matter of concern is telling someone what ends they should take rather than advising them how best to conform to their own ends.  This is a problem for me in philosophical discussions when I feel like I am on the verge of simply telling others how they should read a text.  This leads me back to my discussion of Socrates.

   In the reading of Socrates as a gadfly, he is covertly trying to get people to ask questions because he thinks that this will contribute to their living good lives, or becoming wise, in short, to become a lover of wisdom.  This version of Socrates can be seen as helping people to be more in line with their ends, and maybe the enthusiastic philosopher will allow themselves to see it in this way: everyone is really pursuing wisdom, though in a confused manner, and Socrates just helps them to recognize that they would better pursue their (essential) ends by asking more questions.  There is certainly a sense in which I find this agreeable, and I think this is a central element in Plato: everyone ultimately has the Good as their end.

   While I am happy to glibly agree with Plato that everyone does what they think in best, even if they are in error, I can understand concerns about this manner of speaking that would rather emphasize what we immediately hold as our task.  A distinction is here in order.  I take an end to be explicit when it is known to the pursuer that they are acting in order to attain that end; an end is implicit when it is being pursued without recognition, for example, if one end is assumed in following another end.  Gadfly Socrates is concerned with explicit ends, since he wants people to take being thoughtful as their goal.  The Socrates I idealize for myself is concerned with implicit ends, and so is interested in self-inquiry so he can discover what it is that he depends upon; for example, the way that Socrates inquiry into the virtues seems to lead to the consideration of wisdom as an implicit end of all of them so that the pursuit of courage is covertly a pursuit of wisdom.

   Now, my concern of telling others how to read philosophical texts aligns me with sophists since I am telling others what is good for them (though I don’t charge).  I am also sometimes like my less preferred Socrates, and simply pose interesting questions about what we depend upon in our interpretations of texts, and so reveal that a different end is already assumed in our reading than we recognize on the surface.  It is much less frequent in social situations that I attain to the ideal Socrates, and only for brief moments.  How might I increase my chances of simply participating in questioning, without anything to prove?  What is preventing me from attaining to this idea?  Ultimately I think that I get hung up on others who are going about different tasks then I am in questioning, and that simply ignoring them is not an option socially, and simple questioning isn’t necessarily met with sincerity – and quite frequently suspicion (a topic I hope to address soon).

   A parting concern: this reminds me a lot of an essay by Schiller (that I need to reread) on the difference between simple and sentimental poetry.  To present the matter of this essay in its relation to this blog post: Socrates is simple because he just attends to his questioning naturally, whereas I am sentimental Socrates (not that I have earned that name), since I react and attempt to act as Socrates while holding him as an ideal.  Schiller would seem to suggest that no matter what, Socrates will always have the advantage over me in his manner of the pursuit of wisdom.  This makes sense, unless I can manage to forget about Socrates and concentrate on the questioning.  This is a difficult task for me, since Socrates is a constant inspiration.