John Deck’s Contrast Argument Against the Philosophy of Being

John N. Deck is a highly interesting, if obscure, figure in the neo-Scholasticism of the 20th century. I first took note of him in 1989, ten years after his death, when his article "Metaphysics or Logic?" appeared in New Scholasticism (vol. LXIII, no. 2, Spring 1989, pp. 229-240.) Thanks to the labors of Tony Flood we now have a better picture of the man and his work. The case of Deck may well prove to be a partial confirmation of Nietzsche's "Some men are born posthumously."

Herder on the Dream of Life

Ein Traum, ein Traum ist unser Leben
Auf Erden hier.
Wie Schatten auf den Wolken schweben
Und schwinden wir.

Und messen unsre trägen Tritte
Nach Raum und Zeit;
Und sind (und wissen's nicht) in Mitte
Der Ewigkeit . . .

Johann Gottfried Herder

My loose translation:

A dream, a dream is our life
Here upon the earth.
In a sea of shadows we drift and disappear
Like whitecaps on the surf.

Our sluggish steps we measure
By space and temporality;
Moving in the midst (though we know it not)
Of eternity . . .

Lanza del Vasto on Enchainment to Mere Means

Lanza del Vasto, Principles and Precepts of the Return to the Obvious (Schocken 1974, no translator listed), p. 93:

The Pursuit of the Useful raises an endless staircase in front of men.  Whoever climbs it with all his strength and all his thought can but come out of it dead, without even having perceived that he has spent his life fleeing his life.  The difficulty, the satisfactions and the regularity of the pursuit lead him to believe that it is fine, reasonable and good to put himself into it heart and soul.

The idolatry of the Useful is indicated by the fact that 'useless' universally carries a pejorative connotation when the truth is that the Useless Things are the Highest Things.

Kleingeld, Meine Herren, Kleingeld!

Husserl used to say that to his seminarians to keep them careful and wissenschaftlich and away from assertions of the high-flying and sweeping sort.  Unfortunately, the philosophical small change doesn't add up.  Specialization, no matter how narrow and protracted, no matter how carefully pursued, fails to put us on the "sure path of science."

Given that plain fact, you may as well go for the throat of the Big Questions.  Aren't they what brought you  to philosophy in the first place?

This line of thought is pursued in Fred Sommers Abandons Whitehead and Metaphysics for Logic.

Why I Want to Live Long

I want to live a long life so as to be able to experience and reflect upon this bizarre predicament from every humanly possible temporal perspective. For each age of life has its characteristic insights and illusions.  Youth has its truth as midlife its crisis, a crisis risible to the man ten years beyond it: "What the hell was that all about?"  And as the years roll on, and the fire down below subsides, certain insights become possible which were not before.

The owl of Minerva spreads its wings at dusk.  That's true both phylogenetically, as Hegel intended it, but also ontogenetically.  And as I once heard Gadamer say, Die Erntejahren eines Gelehrten kommen spät.  "A scholar's harvest years come late."

On Accomplishing Non-Accomplishment

Successfully resisting the hyperkineticism of one's society, saying No to it by  flânerie, studiousness, otium liberale, traipsing over mountain trails at sunrise and whatnot — this too is a sort of accomplishment.  You have to work at it a bit.  Part of the work is divesting oneself of the expectations of others and resisting their and the larger society's suggestions.  Eradicating one's suggestibility is actually a life-long task, and none too easy.

The world's a vast project of often useless neg-otiation. There is need of those who will 'otiate' it, enjoying "leisure with a good conscience" to cop a phrase from Nietzsche, that untimely saunterer.  Slow down! You'll get to your grave soon enough.  Why rush?  Is the universe in a rush to get somewhere?  Are you any less cosmic, you microcosm?

Affinity

There is the affinity of the blood-related, and what could be called the affinity of propinquity: the affinity of those who grew up together.  But the only true affinity is spiritual.  It has nothing to do with blood or proximity.

Compassion

Feeling compassion for the earthquake victims, he was pleased by his sensitivity, but his warm feeling did not motivate him to do anything such as make a monetary contribution to the Red Cross.  His feeling remained mere sentiment and to that extent mere self-indulgence.

Better to feel compassion than to define it. Better still to act upon the feeling.  But now an interesting question arises.  Would it not be even better to act in alleviation of the other's suffering without feeling the negative affect?  This line of thought is explored in Spinoza on Commiseratio.

A Poem by Robert Dodsley (1703-1764)

From The Oxford Book of Short Poems, eds. Kavanagh and Michie, OUP 1985, p. 100:

Song

Man's a poor deluded bubble,
    Wandering in a mist of lies,
Seeing false, or seeing double,
    Who would trust to such weak eyes?
Yet, presuming on his senses,
    On he goes, most wondrous wise:
Doubts of truth, believes pretences,
    Lost in error lives and dies.

 

The Wild Diversity of the Solutions to the Problem of Human Existence

How wildly diverse the concrete solutions to the problem of life that each works out for himself! 

There was Leon Trotsky the professional revolutionary who worshipped life-long at the altar of politics.   Politics was his substitute for religion.  (If religion is the opiate of the masses, revolutionary politics is  the opiate of the intellectuals.) 

And then there was Trotsky's secretary and bodyguard Jean van Heijenoort who, after finally seeing through the illusions of Communism after years of selfless service to its cause, renounced politics entirely and devoted himself to mathematical logic, becoming a distinguished historian of the subject.  One is struck by the extremity of this turn away from something of great human relevance to something of almost none.  A retreat from messy reality into a realm of bloodless abstractions.  An escape from the bloody horrors of politics into the arcane.  At the same time, a turn from devotion to a great but ill-conceived cause to bourgeois self-indulgence in sex, 'romance,' and love affairs.  Sadly, his fatal attraction to Ana Maria Zamora got him killed in the same place, Mexico City, where Trotsky met his end at the point of an ice axe wielded by a puppet of Stalin.  Zamora shot van Heijenoort with her Colt .38 while he slept .  From revolutionary to bourgeois professor of philosophy at Brandeis University.  But he was never so bourgeois as to respect the bourgeois institution of marriage.

Dr. George Sheehan's escape was into running to which he ascribed a significance it could not bear.  He was an inspiration to a lot of us with his 1975 On Running.  But then came a string of rather more fatuous and portentous titles, starting with Running and Being. As if der Sinn von Sein is poised to disclose itself to the fleet of foot.  All due praise to running, but homo currens qua currens is not on the way to Being.

And then there are those who went from politics to religion.  Unlike van Heijenoort who moved from leftist politcs to mathematical logic, Simone Weil went from leftist politics to religion. "The great error of the Marxists and of all of the nineteenth century was to believe that by walking straight ahead one had mounted into the air."  Exactly right.

Edith Stein, another very bright Jewish philosophy student, went from philosophy to religion.  Seeking total commitment she fled to a Carmelite monastery.  She was murdered by the Nazis at Auschwitz as Trotsky was murdered by the long arm of Stalin in Mexico City.  When I say that Stein went from philosophy to religion, I do not mean that she abandoned the first for the second: she wrote weighty tomes in the convent, Finite and Eternal Being and Potency and Act, to name two.  But they were written under the banner, philosophia ancilla theologiae.

It is fruitful to compare Weil and Stein.  The former, despite her attraction, kept her distance from the Roman church — Kenneth Rexroth speaks of her "tortured prowling outside the doors of the Catholic Church" – while the latter embraced it in the most committed way imaginable.  There is a 'logic' to  such commitment, one that is operative in the lives of many a convert, Thomas Merton being another example:  if it is The Truth that one has found, then surely it demands and deserves total commitment.  Religion really embraced and made existential make a totalitarian claim — which is why the totalitarians of the Left must make total war on it.

But these days I've been reading the slacker poet, Charles Bukowski, so perhaps he deserves a place in this little incomplete catalog.  His epitaph reads, Don't try."  He avoided bourgeois mediocity, no doubt, but along a path that cannot be recommended: one of piecemeal physical and spiritual suicide.  Whatever you say about Trotksy, van Heijenoort, Sheehan, Weil and Stein, they were strivers.  They understood that a life worth living is a life of relentless effort and exertion and self-overcoming.  It is about subduing the lower self, not wallowing in it. 

When I was a young man I came to the conclusion that I had three choices, three paths: suicide, mediocrity, striving.  A lifetime later I verify that my choice of the third was best.

Bukowski gravestone