Archives for posts with tag: philosophy

Famed existential philosopher Søren Kierkegaard was all about dat ass. I mean, not really. Only for about half a book. Within that half a book he created a philosophical outlook that drew its inspiration from Don Juan, the eternal seeker of dat ass. The aesthete, personified by Don Juan, is compelled to constantly seek pleasure; an unquenchable hedonist lifestyle. This is not an obsessive addiction to poon under which Don Juan suffers, it is an authentic choice made with genuine intent. This is how Don Juan chooses to live his life. This authenticity manifests itself when Don Juan continues to chase tail even in the face of fatal consequences. It’s not that he can’t stop, Bro just won’t stop.

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I use the misogynistic manipulation of hundreds of women to make a point. 

The aesthete is not limited to lethal amounts of promiscuity. Sex is just an easy metaphor for any kind of pleasure. Kierkegaard follows up the story of Don Juan with a series of diary entries by a man who meticulously creates a scenario where a woman falls madly in love with him toward the ultimate aim of marriage. Of course, he leaves before the wedding because love was the conquest to be won, and must be won yet again in the next town. Settling down is antithetical to the aesthete who must repetitiously manifest their pleasure until, presumably, the happy ending.

Which brings us to Meredith Grey. Meredith Grey can never settle down. Meredith and Derek Shepherd are constantly on again and off again because they are not allowed under the premise of the serial drama to have functional peace between them. She and Doctor McDreamy are faced with an impossible relationship goal because they live in a universe built on the principles of the aesthete. Never settle. Always seek new pleasures. If it seems like things are on the verge of structured and maintainable happiness, BAM! Car crash! Meredith must begin anew.

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ANGUISH!

It is the same with every serial. In How I Met Your Mother, Ted Mosby would never be able to actually meet “The Mother” until ratings began to drop. The promise of the show needed to be constantly pushed back in order for the hedonic loop to continue. It’s not that the characters themselves are modern manifestations of the aesthete, but that the nature of the show itself builds those principles into the foundation of the universe. No character is immune because they exist under the scripted laws of serial television where stability is seen as stagnation and stagnation means cancellation.

The aesthete is not condemned as a morally reprehensible lifestyle choice. It is an option among others on how to live life in the face of existential dread. One cannot sink into nihilistic despair if they never stop gamboling around long enough to pay attention. Kierkegaard would certainly not place it at the top of his list as far as options go, similarly to how the Hindus do not admonish those on the path of desire despite its own lower status. It is a way of life to grow out of, but there is nothing intrinsically wrong with it.

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Hot dog legs may be a smidge immature, but condemnation just seems a bit pretentious

There is still a problem with the television serial as a manifestation of the aesthete. It’s not necessarily its celebration and propagation of the philosophical aesthetic lifestyle, as its immaturity is not a serious enough criticism of its value to dismiss it. The problem arises in the vicarious living that television encourages. Our Don Juan hopefuls may never reach even the fairly low peak of the aesthete lifestyle if they spend their time sitting and watching Barney Stinson live out Kierkegaard’s guilty pleasure on their TV set.

We can understand Kierkegaard’s aesthete through our television screens, but we can’t live it. We get sucked into the hedonic loop without even the benefit of the hedonist pleasure that would otherwise accompany it. We escape nihilistic despair through distraction, certainly, but we escape it without doing any actual living. We escape through death.

The role of leadership is often left unquestioned as a noble pursuit. Leaders are heroes, heroines, paragons of virtue whom we admire from afar. Even the vicious and corrupt, those leaders who govern by fear and intimidation, they too achieve a pernicious admiration, infamy in the maintenance of their tyrannical claim. They stand above us, statuesque, leaving no choice but to look up to them.

A leader is someone whom others follow, but if everyone’s goal is the same, why not walk in tandem, side by side? Why create an exploitable hierarchy at all? Leadership bestows upon us certain privileges, and in creating that role, we dilute our common goals with aims of obtaining those privileges, abandoning our original pursuit for the sake of immodest greed. If our goals diverge, obtaining followers would require coercion, and leadership would be simple charlatanism; deception, bribery, and extortion becoming our highest virtues. If we are on common ground, leaders are an unnecessary risk. If we differ, they are charming despots, apathetic in their oppression of our autonomy.

The first justification is wisdom. Leaders are knowledgeable, and so are justified in their position. This role is the teacher or the guide who provides us with knowledge that would be difficult to obtain on our own. Yet the goal of the teacher is not to hoard their position of prestige over the student, but to give of themselves until the student becomes their equal. The goal of the guide is that one day the trail may be shared with a peer. The intrinsic hierarchy of intellectual authority is tempered by its altruistic directive toward equality.

The second justification is that of stratagem. Leaders are keepers of the big picture, overseers of the forest while others focus on the trees. However, this is not a position of power; it is a different vantage point. If everyone’s goals are ultimately the same, the overseer serves more as a conductor of an orchestra, guiding the beauty of the process. Others follow because they see their goals fulfilled, not because of any power being exerted over them. If the goals diverge, or the leader ignores the minutia of the trees at the expense of their followers, those followers are well within their rights to adopt or elect new, more conducive, leadership.

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In a game that’s mostly pawns, you think they’d have some issue with their expendability. Maybe instead of marching forward against others just like themselves, they ought to turn around and demand change from those behind them sending them to their deaths.

The third justification is the figurehead. This is the leader people rally behind. The leader as symbol. One action or event may have thrust them, even unexpectedly, into the front of the crowd. This is not a position one can seek, since it is most often an accident. They are those who inspire us, never asking for followers because their goal is not actually to lead.

The fourth justification is organization. This is the person who takes the first step. The leader who sees where progress needs to be made, and seeks other like-minded people to share in this goal. This is a leader with initiative. They are not one step in front of everyone else, as the organizer might see that a figurehead ought to be the most visible in achieving their shared goal. The organizer simply sets up the march.

The final justification is change. This leader is someone who makes a difference. The world follows the new path that this leader has laid down. This leader is anybody. To quote the historian and social activist Howard Zinn, “Missing from such histories [of social activism] are the countless small actions of unknown people that led up to those great moments. When we understand this, we can see that the tiniest acts of protest in which we engage may become the invisible roots of social change.”

A leader stands above others not because they exist in some power hierarchy over the rest of us, but because they embody one or more of these characteristics. Power within leadership is inherently coercive and corrupting. A leader is a friend who inspires us to be better; a parent who teaches us how to tie our shoe; someone who cleans up the mess, not because they made it, but because it needs to be cleaned. Or a leader can be you, making a tiny difference in the lives around you.

Meat Loaf is known for three things: being the sole visible casualty of anarcho-conformism in Fight Club, singing songs about doing anything for love except for one thing, and going great with ketchup. The philosophy of Fight Club is soul-crushingly tedious, sugary tomato paste isn’t particularly scintillating either, but I am dead set on writing a blog about Meat Loaf, so I guess we’re stuck with that one song of his that everyone thinks is about anal.

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But I won’t do that!

Meat Loaf is pretty clear about all the things he would do for love.  He would run right into a metaphysical plane of existence, for instance, and then come back. In addition, he would never lie to the person he loves, and that’s a fact. When pressed about his commitment to doing anything for love, Meat Loaf agrees to all sorts of conditions: coordinating his lover up or down according to which direction is most suited for the occasion, helping her move, and adjusting the thermostat.

What’s less clear is what he wouldn’t do. Near the end of the song, Lorraine Crosby accuses Meat Loaf of eventually cheating on her, just like every other man. Meat Loaf says that he won’t do that. This makes the song somewhat confusing since saying that you’ll do anything for love except screw around on your partner isn’t the most conventional vow.

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“If you *REALLY* loved me, you’d have sex with that woman!” “Nah babe, I would do anything for love, but I won’t do that!”

I mean, unless there’s a silent third party in the song that Meat Loaf is in love with, but he won’t have sex with this third party while he’s still in a relationship with Lorraine? Let’s just assume for the sake of this blog that Meat Loaf and Lorraine Crosby have a weird swingers thing going on. In any case, Meat Loaf has made a vow, and regardless of how far his relationship goes, he will not give up this one part of his autonomy.

Let’s get real for a moment here. To give you all a tantalizing glimpse into my own love life, I once had an argument with a past girlfriend where she was upset because I had asked her to pay for bowling after I had paid for supper. It was her belief that as the man, I should pay for the dates to their completion, and in return, she, as the woman, would prepare home cooked meals for me. I’m not the biggest fan of gender roles, personally, so we got into a bit of a tiff. The relevance here is that she exclaimed, “I would do anything for you!” and my reply was that this clearly was not the case, as she wouldn’t pay for bowling.

People make this claim all the time, despite the fact that most people have limits, be it screwing around, paying for two rounds of bowling, or having anal sex. Even the most devoted person probably wouldn’t kill their parents for love. “But Lorraine Crosby would never ask me to do such a thing!” Meat Loaf might exclaim, “She’s not that kind of person!” Who decides what kind of person Lorraine Crosby is? I’ll give you a hint: it’s not Meat Loaf. My ex-girlfriend believed me to be a man’s man, which I am definitely not, so she would do anything for me only insofar as I adhered to that mold. We make this claim of eternal devotion if, and only if, we have confined our partner into a box that we define.

The importance of this analysis is obvious when we look at cases of desperation. If a man will only treat his partner well if she acts in such a way that conforms to his idea of what a lady should be, for instance. Or the unrequited stalker who would do anything for his obsession except leave her alone. I would do anything for love, but I won’t allow self-determination or independence.

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I would sing for her, kill Beasts for her, but only so long as she doesn’t read books! She might start getting ideas, thinking…

Jean-Paul Sartre posited that any relationship is about transforming your partner into an object, or becoming the object they wish you to be. The person who would truly do anything for love, including killing their parents, has abandoned themselves completely and exists only as their partner’s whim. On the flip side, we are fully prepared to give the entirety of our autonomy only after we’ve convinced ourselves of our partner’s objectification.

Jean-Paul Sartre is a miserable sod, so let’s ignore him. Let’s focus on Meat Loaf. Meat Loaf is clear in his boundaries. There is no way he is going to screw around, no matter how much her love might depend on it. Meat Loaf is also great at communication: the entire song is a dialogue between two partners hashing out their expectations for the relationship. Both are allowed their autonomy, but this hinges on fundamental respect and a commitment to overcoming ambiguity with dialogue. Meat Loaf would not, in fact, do anything for love, and it is only for this reason that those two love birds might have a shot after all.