Even in a Savaged Landscape…

If a Lutheran impulse lurks within me, as I noted yesterday, I also have, you might say, a marginally existentialist temperament. When looking for a starting point for making sense of life, I find that point anchored in personal consciousness (with all of its powers included, of course). Before thought, there must be a thinker; before experience, there must be someone to have it. But my position does not extend to affirming what authentic existentialists do, namely that “existence is prior to essence.” For the hard-core existentialist, each human essence (“what we are”) is created by the person’s voluntary action. Curiously, as I grasp this—to the extent that I do—the existentialist’s “existence” is what Aristotle seems to have meant by potential. Potential is a devil of a concept. It must be there, but yet it isn’t—yet. In any case, for me, the core self has “features,” right out of the box, thus something that we are—long before we’ve done anything at all. We are a power of awareness and of will.

Been reading Simone de Beauvoir’s The Ethics of Anxiety. It is an admirable, brief summation of Sartre’s philosophy from the perspective of “the eternal feminine.” I owe Brandon Watson for pointing me in that directed quite some time ago. The book is inaccessible to people who’ve never grappled with Sartre—in whose Being and Nothingness the various core concepts de Beauvoir uses are first defined with plentiful examples; de Beauvoir does not bother with definitions: she is addressing other existentialists. But once those notions are firmly renewed, de Beauvoir’s work is helpful. Reading it came the thought: “Lord, that twentieth century! An absolute desert, a ravaged landscape. And yet spirituality rises from that wreckage nonetheless.”

Reorienting myself in this arcane world of thought and feeling born of ruin, I came across a wonderful short paper by Gordon R. Lewis, of the Conservative Baptist Seminary (Denver, CO), titled “Augustine and Existentialism” (link). Lewis traces the essence of existentialism back to Augustine (354-430). Augustine’s view is only marginally existentialist; he would also have found problems in putting essence second. He, of course, lived in a time of disintegration—that of the Western Roman Empire. The cultural landscape might have been similarly savaged.

I’ve come to think, reading another existentialist, Hans Jonas, in his The Gnostic Religion (link on this blog) that the same spirit, minus philosophical machinery, also inspired Gnosticism, a phenomenon that predates Augustine (say second century AD), with the Hellenistic order coming unraveled. The same phenomenon sprouting, each time, from a landscape of cultural chaos.

Notes on Existentialism

The formalism that this philosophy seems to represent is that there is a difference between Being and Existence, that earlier philosophies saw being as prior and durable and existence either as secondary or as something “added” to essence; thus essence before existence. Existentialism, to the contrary, turns this around: “existence precedes essence,” as formulated by Sartre.

Despite reading Kierkegaard and Sartre (now also reading Heidegger), I’ve always felt untouched by the above philosophical formulation for the simple reason that, try as I might, I can’t detect a shred of difference between existence and being. That difference must have roots in the philosophical notion that goes back to Plato, namely that form is eternal and matter is changeable and therefore instances of it are “corruptible.” Thus existence requires materiality. My own puzzling over the form-matter duality led me in other directions. Here are some points on that:

• In the modern understanding of matter, we find structure (“form”) at the lowest possible levels. In other words, we always find matter already formed.
• We understand reality in terms of processes. Any even superficial study of embryology or the development of plants from seeds reveals a process.
• I resolve the form-matter dualism by holding that form is an intention. The intention behind something that “comes about” may begin very fuzzily, but the steadfast intention guides the process of creation, sometimes by fits and starts. Intention fits my observations (and explains things) much better than a static form or matrix existing in some transcendental realm which is then expressed as a materialized form.
• I see things coming about only in two ways: by chance or by intention. Production of phenomena by chance only requires energy and matter; preexisting things have to be in motion. All other entities that come about come about by intention. And in those cases, “intention precedes existence,” not the other way around. So—if I associate intention with form and from with essence and essence with being (esse means being in Latin)—I am an essentialist.

But aside from this formulaic approach, I feel that existentialism, as it actually originated, introduced valuable new ways of thought—never mind the cosmic conclusions drawn from it by various thinkers. It might have been better if this school of philosophy had been called subjectivism. The genuine rooting of it is a focus on the actual experience of being, existence, or whatever words you wish to use. Heidegger called it “being there.”

In my own thinking about this subject—strictly privately, in hundreds of pages of diary entries extending back decades—the point of departure has always been consciousness, self-awareness, the sharp, alert, awake sort of thing—not the psychologists’ description of mentation. I realize now (my readings of Sartre and Kierkegaard took place in the 1950s and 1960s) that my approach is also grounded in a subjective polarity. I’ve always tended to put the ancient Greeks and the scholastic off to one side—not because their work wasn’t elegant and beautifully developed but because for me it has always seemed to be a game with concepts the direct likes of which I could not detect in myself or in my experience. If I consult my own experience and approach, then my methodology is certainly existentialist. Coming no, going yes—you might say.

Hans Jonas

Precisely because Christianity came to dominate the civilization of the West—it was the successful competitor among many others as the Roman Empire fell apart—its competitors are much less known. One of these was Gnosticism; it manifested in several different strands; these never fused into a single major religion. To speak of a “gnostic religion,” therefore, is to use a metaphor. Those who wander into these woods soon discover that the written remains are sparse, essentially inaccessible without major archeological help (in a manner of speaking). The historical, sociological, and intellectual background is opaque. The texts are, ultimately, tedious. Indeed the interest in Gnosticism today—and stretching back about a century—is itself proof that Western civilization (it used to be called Christendom) is beginning to fall apart. We have entered precisely the same kind of historical period in which Gnosticism once flourished. It was itself one of the “new age” phenomena of the Roman imperial period.

But there is an interest. And with that in mind I would suggest that people with a serious interest in understanding Gnosticism should obtain The Gnostic Religion, written by Hans Jonas. The book originally appeared in 1958. It is available today as a paperback from Amazon and other sellers. Jonas’ is a comprehensive presentation of the subject, placed in its own historical context. He carefully preserves, but properly sorts, the confusions and complexities. He lays out the significant doctrines in sufficient detail, traces the branches of Gnosticism, and, at the end, he also attempts to link the phenomenon to his own era. To put it in a nutshell, he links Gnosticism to existentialism. Which, by the way, initially surprised me. But after pondering the matter, I saw the justice of Jonas’ joining of the two. And, yes, I’d read the whole mind-numbing length of Sartre’s Being and Nothingness. I’ve lived on the Borderzone a long time. I began, in my youth, with people like Nietzsche and Søren Kierkegaard. I once actually read a whole paragraph of Husserl! Heiddegger’s name is one I recognize, and I can give a decent capsule of his central concerns. So I had, you might say, the minimal adequacy to recognize where Hans Jonas was coming from—and whither he was headed.

If the last paragraph is intimidating, it is meant to be. Life on the Borderzone is not light entertainment; it can be used for that—but then so can most things. The materials I present here, however, will benefit the solitary few who hear the call to understand in a genuine way. And where Gnosticism is concerned, a good starting point is Jonas’ book.

Hans Jonas (1903-1993) was a German-born philosopher; he died in the United States. He studied under Husserl and Heiddegger and was drawn to Gnosticism by presentiments within those doctrines of similarities to his own existential leanings. Jonas had many careers—and in philosophy at least three. His earliest phase was the study of Gnosticism and the linking of it to modernity. Later he became what might be called an environmentalist. And last, he developed his own existential view of biology and life in general, casting it in ethical terms.

Gnosticism, for me, is a window into the realms beyond—with an emphasis on the beyond. After having read The Gnostic Religion, encouraged by the powerful insights contained within it, by its synthesizing powers, by the hint that, as the next step, Jonas might advance into the brighter light by means of Gnosticism, I spent around fifty dollars to acquire Jonas’ chief later writings. But this time I was disappointed. When I look through the existential window, I see Being, as it were; but the hard existentialist—and Jonas was of this variety—when he looks through that window, he sees Nothingness. And then the Stoic bravery is to act responsibly despite the yawning nihil over there. But that doesn’t make sense to me. Then, again, I’m of the next generation over.