Julian Marias and the Importance of Philosophical Reflection

Julian Marías Aguilera was born on June 17, 1914 in Valladolid, Spain. The prolific Spanish philosopher died on December 15, 2005. Marias authored over sixty books and hundreds of genuinely philosophically reflective and culturally relevant essays.

Marias is the best known disciple of Ortega y Gasset. Ortega and Marias belong to the School of Madrid, as this group of philosophers has subsequently come to be known. Both thinkers are superb essayists. They are both proponents that clarity of mind and the ability to communicate one’s findings should be the superlative prerogative of responsible thinkers. This is a matter of pride for both of them, and as Ortega has said, the greatest courtesy that a thinker can have for his readers.

While Marias is as technically proficient as any other competent thinker, he had the great advantage of not being an academic philosopher. This kept him from drowning in useless pedantry. Marias does not riddle his books and essays with hairsplitting and impenetrable jargon. He was also wise enough to never embrace timely and indefensible fashionable notions. Instead, Marias is every bit the consummate thinker.

The first impression one gets from his work is the depth of scope and freedom of thought that his work invokes. This is a very rare condition in contemporary philosophy. Much like Kierkegaard and Unamuno, for instance, the vital impact of his thought will undoubtedly be best felt and vindicated with the passage of time. This is what occurs with the work of true thinkers.  

Also of considerable importance to his thought  is the fact that Marias never abandoned the fundamental and recurring themes of philosophy. He addresses questions of death and immortality as readily as he does concerns on the nature of time and eternity; philosophical vocation and vital essence, and primal freedom and democracy. He managed this by writing insightful and rational essays that, as embarrassing as this should sound to “professional” philosophers, retained the ability to make sense. Marias was a proponent of common sense.

Equally noticeable in his thought is the refusal to obfuscate matters that can be addressed and cleared up by using unpretentious language and the practice of intellectual honesty. As to the importance of the latter, much can be said about Marias’ use of conscience as a major tool in the arsenal of the philosopher.

To his credit, Marias does not allow himself the self-indulgent arrogance that is the staple of those who place reason at the service of ideology. For instance, when he writes about moral questions, he does so from the basic realization that little of value can be accomplished if moral conscience is not first addressed. Hence, Marias avoids misusing the many clichés that today inform our many vacuous notions of “ethics.” Marias understood that ethics without conscience is a futile exercise.

This means that he does not allow theoretical concerns to cloud his better judgment. Marias was already a mature man in the 1930s and '40s, and thus was able to witness the devastation and inhumanity brought on when totalitarianism was being justified by many modish, progressive intellectuals. His refusal to become entranced by a bevy of criminal intellectual movements during those vile decades of the twentieth century caused Marias a great deal of personal strife and suffering.

For Marias, genuine philosophical reflection signifies a healthy mode of life. Lamentably, many academic philosophers have traded the autonomous freedom that philosophy renders its sincere practitioners for the lure of fashionable scholarship. Not Marias. To him philosophy is a vocation and way of life. Marias views reason as a tool that ought to be used in the service of life.

Philosophical reflection is neither a sport nor a chic intellectual manner of securing notice. For instance, Marias has written a great deal about the proliferation of literary prizes and those who solicit them. For Marias, intellectuals and writers who covet awards are particularly shameful, given the intrinsic rewards that these vocations should offer.

Because Marias is a sincere and loyal exponent of his teacher and friend, Ortega y Gasset, some critics consider his work to be a mere offshoot of Ortega’s. This is a clear sign that such simplistic critics have not read his work. While he owes much to Ortega as a thinker, he can also be said to have been influenced by the ancient Greeks and Christian thought, as well. One major point that these critics overlook when they make these baseless claims is that Marias is a Catholic philosopher, while Ortega’s work essentially lacks any semblance of a religious or Christian vein.

What Marias does so well is to fuse the best currents of traditional Catholic thought with rationalist and existential themes. Marías is a Christian personalist. This makes Marías’ thought more akin to that of Maritain, Marcel and Lavelle, for instance, than to many other contemporary thinkers. This is also why metaphysical anthropology plays such a central role in his work.

Marias informs us that man possesses a core being that we must come to terms with. This is what allows us to become autonomous persons. However, we can only attain to such a dignified height in light of the interaction that man has with the world. Metaphysical anthropology stresses the being of man and not his biological component. In this respect, Marias’ thought can also be compared to Marcel’s given both thinkers concern with fidelity to truth and the necessity to remake one’s Christian faith on a daily basis. For Marcel, this takes the form of Catholic existentialism, while Marias can be considered a personalist.

Metaphysical anthropology is Marias’ best manner of explicating his understanding and vision for man. While anthropology tackles the question, "What is Man?" it normally does so from a cultural, societal or historical perspective; rarely does it attempt to prove man’s essence, as this is manifest in the world. Marias’ concern is focused on man’s essence, rather than what happens to this entity, as we deal with the exigencies brought on by the world. For this reason, Marias’ major concern can be said to be metaphysical in scope. However, man transcends the world, according to the Spanish thinker. This makes man a transcendence-seeking being who must come to know his own freedom and limitations.

Among his most distinguished books, we find his seminal History of Philosophy, a work that was first published in 1941. This work is still in print, especially in English. This is a book that displays a profound understanding of etymology in philosophy. Marias isolates the importance of the philosophical lexicon back to its Greek, Latin, French or German roots. In this work Marias tries to understand philosophy not so much in its historical importance, but rather how thought captures the very essence of the human condition. The beauty of this work is that it can be read by anyone that has an interest in philosophical thought.

Philosophy is essentially a discipline that confronts, and thus attempts to organize raw reality. This is what is at stake in philosophical reflection, and not so much the language used to communicate this underlying reality. This is a fine example of what both, Ortega y Gasset and Marias refer to as philosophy-as- biography.

Another of Marias’ exemplary works is his book on Ortega, Jose Ortega y Gasset: Circumstances and Vocation. This book plays a central role in explicating the intricacies and importance of Ortega’s thought. Marias continues to be the most prolific and competent exponent of Ortega’s thought. Here, Marias attempts to demonstrate Ortega’s place in the history of philosophy, especially in what is considered the philosophy of life movement, dating back to the nineteenth century.

Marias’ Philosophy as Dramatic Theory is a collection of essays, where Marias tries to make sense of spirit in human existence. This is perhaps Marias most original and demanding work. Among the most interesting essays in the book, we find “Philosophy and Literary Genres,” “Atheism and Contemporary Philosophy,” “Meditatio Mortis: The Theme of our Time,” and “Energy and Reality in the World.” Marias brings a commendable freshness and scope to these eternal themes.

Other of Marias’ books include The Historical Method of the Generations, a book which clearly demonstrates the intellectual prowess and depth of the Spanish thinker. In that work Marias analyzes the meaning of history and culture from the perspective of his theory of generations. The central point of this work is to bring to light the respective duties and responsibilities inherent in the study of human generations.

Marias views mankind as consisting of individual, differentiated entities that exist in a realm that is not only objective and external, but also as an objectifying condition that man must transcend. Reality presents itself as resistance, if not as a venerable obstacle to man. The work of the true philosopher, then, consists of seeking and defining the essences that rule over human existence. Marias adds: “Empirical structure exists between the notion of ‘personal life’ and every concrete and individual life. This is the only way that we can come to realize the form of personal life which we know directly, that is, man."

Philosophical vocation is what Marias calls “responsible vision.” This is a responsible vision because the thinker does not invent worlds or relative realities as part as his personal projects, rather only responds to the demands of reality proper, which is always a step ahead of us.

When philosophical reflection is practiced sincerely, this process also serves as a humbling, cathartic undertaking. Humility comes from the thinker’s desire to use reality as his starting point, and not as a prescribed social/political end. While life moves along well, man seems to grow in existential stature, like an arrogant pheasant. In other words, when life is “what I think it ought to be” then we do not become preoccupied with the significance of categories of reality, because we are under the illusion that all reality originates with my view of it. This narcissistic, radical skeptic attitude, however, is a sure vehicle for us to arrive at profound disillusionment, and often, as we have repeatedly witnessed throughout history, also the seed of social-political violence.

Marías describes philosophical reflection as a responsible vision because it allows for the enactment of responsible action. To qualify this activity as responsible is interesting for several reasons. Marias considers that truth – here he uses the Greek word aletheia – is such that it always hides. For this reason, whoever directs his energy into uncovering truth – true thinkers – does so from a form of courage that, he may or may not know in advance, the dangers that he will encounter.

Philosophical reflection is also a paradoxical activity. Yet as Ortega has stated, this paradox is only obvious to those who reflect. Philosophical reflection tries to answer concerns that are often merely intuitive. Ironically, the answers to some problems are sometimes not fully demonstrable, yet remain as a foundation of truth. If we believe that the more obvious aspects of reality can be taken as such, then we will also find it useless to philosophize. It is only when we make progress, as Marias argues, from the obvious to true understanding that we come to value philosophical reflection as a vital activity. Philosophical reflection, in a few words, comes about as an existential inquietude.

Yet existential inquietude does not have to mean a heavy-handed assault on reality and the security that we enjoy in our personal lives. This is a venerable myth or misguided impression that relativists and radical skeptics continue to promoted.

Marías’ thought on existential questions debunks these popular and destructive notions. His work can be referred to as being a personalist conception on man.

According to Marías, life recognizes itself from the point of view – the only one possible, if we are to be sincere – of life as an encounter with personal essence. The tension that exists between the world and human consciousness and our understanding of it, can never take place in the absence of the person. If only for this very interesting detail, man continues to be the conscious center of the cosmos, as we know it.

Yet human consciousness does not exist as an abstraction. Human reality, Marias explains, does not fulfill the simple condition of merely being another participant in “life,” but rather it is the modality that separates man from the background that is nature. Marías writes: “The first significance of the expression ‘life’ appears when everyone of us talks of his life, that is, when this is merely a question of my life.”

The importance of metaphysical anthropology is related to vocation because it confronts the man of flesh and bones with his individual destiny.

Human liberty cannot be communicated in quasi-philosophical or social/political abstractions.

Happiness

            In our current world of cynicism and cultural/spiritual dissolution, there is much confusion as to what constitutes happiness. In our time, happiness is conceived as a commodity, even though to be fair, this aspect of man has always been with us since time immemorial. Today, many people have come to regard happiness as a right that is conferred on us as an entitlement by the state and other welfare institutions.

             However, keeping with the nature of commodities, happiness thus, is something that merely fulfills a function of our day-to-day activities. Because happiness is viewed as a commodity - a cheap one that can easily be prostituted according to timely demands - it is then not difficult to realize why so many vacuous souls today view happiness as something that must always be attained from the outside, something one picks up off a candy store shelf, as it were.

            The plastic surgery industry is a vivid but lamentable example of what happens to people when they opt for a life that is lived merely for the moment. So, too, is our home foreclosure disaster. I suppose that pity is the worst emotion that one can reserve for some people. Such vanity speaks for itself: Vanitas, in Latin means emptiness.

             Horace is right in asserting that it is reason and sense that remove anxiety, not houses that overlook the sea. Needless to say, ours is not a time that has any use for wisdom. This, of course, is one of the central contradictions and potent ironies that inform our time, because judging by all practical accounts, people in our day and age can make tremendous gains by incorporating wisdom in their lives.

          Happiness is truly a condition of human beings that should concern us as whole persons. Realistically, when we talk about happiness and contentment, we are talking about the state of our being during any given stage of our lives. This may ebb and flow throughout our lives, of course, the key, however, is to remain reasonable in the demands that we make of objective reality.

            This mature sense and sensibility for happiness is one that is pre-reflective in nature. In other words, if one has to ask what happiness is, then clearly that person, like characters in Woody Allen films, is definitely not happy. This, then, is contentment. This may seem like a strange notion to vain people.  In our time, rarely do we ever concern ourselves with the totality of Being, "the glow of being," Sinatra refers to this in one of his marvelous songs.

            People in our age have gotten so insipid that we constantly hear cries of “What good is wisdom for?” This is readily followed by the question, “What do you mean by wisdom?”           

Unfortunately, the insolvent degree of our characterless age is also well represented by the professional class. This is one reason why I have no desire to dwell in textbook accounts of happiness. This would only amount to an exercise in fruition. What the philosophy and ethics professors have to say about happiness today does not concern me the slightest. One cannot live vitally and authentically by embracing sophomoric notions that originate in graduate seminars that have little or no bearing on the real world of people of flesh and bones.

"Rain"

Francisco Mittag stood on the steps of the small church, where he had just attended the noon Mass. He watched the rain for several minutes. It had rained for three days.

The town square was empty. The uneven cobblestones of the small plaza were slippery. The rain continued falling, even though this was a gentler rain than when he entered the church, about an hour earlier. Francisco opened his umbrella and smiled.

Holding his black umbrella high above his head momentarily, Francisco looked out into the distance, where the narrow street ended. The steady rain created a bluish-white film that occluded his vision. He could not see the nearby hills.

Walking in the rain, Francisco got the impression that the world had gotten smaller. He noticed that all the storefronts were closed. He stopped and listened to the sound of the August rain hitting his tout umbrella. He watched the water trickling down all around him creating an enveloping and cascading circle of cool water.

Francisco Mittag looked in the direction of his home, about seven city blocks due east. He stood and thought. Then he turned his sight to the hills that began at the edge of town. He began walking westward.

Sloshing through water that in some places was about two inches deep, he smiled again. Now fifty-six years old, Francisco had not taken an idle walk in the rain since the time he was a young boy.

Looking around, he became perplexed in not encountering a single person in the small shops or in the street.

Francisco’s legs were soaked up to just right below the knee. He walked for a while.  Several minutes later, he stopped walking and turned around to glance at the town behind him. The steady rain created an opaque film that erased the bright contours of the town, much like the pencil drawings of many a bored child at school.

The rain did not let up.

Francisco continued walking. When he reached the beginning of the tree line that signaled the upward slope of the hills, he paused. The town had virtually disappeared. Only the church steeple was barely visible.

He walked into the woods. The tall canopy provided by the trees afforded him a respite from the rain. He sat on some rocks that he and his friends used to climb as young boys.

Closing his eyes, Francisco began humming Debussy’s “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun.” He was immediately transported back to the small living room of his childhood house, where his mother sewed while listening to soft, impressionistic music. Francisco imagined his two sisters sitting nearby on the dining room table playing with dolls. He remembered how the three of them laughed when their father dozed off on his wingback chair and dropped the book he was reading. This was a nightly occurrence. Francisco smiled.

The rain continued. He placed the umbrella in the space where his left elbow met his bicep. He locked it in place, like a toddler holding a toy. He could not see the town. “How small the world seems,” he thought.

He then leaned back, his head now resting in the gap between two young trees. He kicked some standing water and smiled. Francisco then closed his eyes and slept.  

The Embrace of Scientism Does not Amount to Self-Knowledge

What would constitute total, engulfing knowledge?  If the knowledge that we reap from science or philosophy is considered in terms of monetary value, then clearly our age can be said to be richer than any previous.

 The average person today has come into contact with the inner principles of such a complex miasma of human endeavors that one cannot help but marvel at how easy it all now seems. Science has given us seemingly untold control over our sense of utility.

Realistically, we can say that we have come to know in the first decade of the twenty first century whatever it is that we are capable of knowing. What else is there to knowing, for the moment?

Of course, this is paradoxical. Parmenides said it best when he asserted that all we know is being, and not non-being. How else are we to point out the obvious?

        For a time, perhaps even dating back to the ancient Greeks, it seemed that man would come to possess himself in the glare and fullness of self-understanding. No different than a newborn babe looking around its newly found environment and finding itself awed by the sight of its own little hands, man, too, danced around his own existence in the anticipation of closing the field of self-knowledge. The hope was that this would come after the initial discovery of some of the principles that govern physical existence.

        

        However, the physical conditions that govern human beings, we now realize, are only one aspect of the human condition, no matter how hard some radical skeptics try to debunk this common sense understanding. The embrace of scientism does not amount to self-knowledge.

Excerpt from my book Philosophical Perspectives on Cinema

At one end of the scale the world – persons, things, situations – is given to us in the aspect of “lived” reality; at the other end we see everything in the aspect of “observed” reality.

- José Ortega y Gasset

      Somerset Maugham is correct in his assessment in The Summing Up that philosophers are responsible for offering the “plain man a vision and suitable, even if tentative, answer to human concerns.”

      He argues that to evade this aspect of the discipline is to neglect a central aspect of the philosophical vocation. Maugham writes: “But the plain man’s interest in philosophy is practical. He wants to know what the value of life is, how he should live and what sense he can ascribe to the universe. When philosophers stand back and refuse to give even tentative answers to these questions they shirk responsibilities.”

      Some critics argue that cinema is an escapist medium. To some degree this is not only true, but also at times, it even serves a therapeutic purpose. Perhaps we should be sincere and remind ourselves that in a truer sense, all entertainment is escapist. However, human forms of entertainment can be rather imaginative, instructive, innovative and varied, from: the subtle relaxation of fishing, to the mental prowess of a chess match, to a baseball game or gardening.

      Yet to this we must add the relevant qualification that all forms of entertainment are ecstatic — to use the ancient notion of being outside ourselves — that is, they help to situate our existence in the world-at-large, as it were.

      Hence, cinema is valuable as an artistic form on its own merits because it acts as a kind of representation of human life. Part of the reason for this — as is also the case in personal life — is that the greatest lessons taught by reality proper usually go unnoticed by the average person in their immediacy. Let us not forget that experience alone teaches us nothing. We must reflect on the meaning of our experiences in order to understand them.

      If we do not reflect on the meaning and value of our experiences, then we just merely pass through the world without ever taking inventory of the purpose and meaning of our lives. This is perhaps where the work of the well-meaning commentator can find its strongest justification.

      From a strictly philosophical perspective - realism - or the attempt to see things as they really are without idealization, over-intellectualization, or ideological blinders should in principle serve as the fulcrum from which the thoughtful person can access the meaning of a film.

      However, raw reality - what can be referred to as the immediacy of experience - can never be truly surpassed. Ironically, it is precisely because of reality’s translucent quality that we often take life for granted. In other words, commentators, as well as the reflective viewer, serve as students of reality who try to reconstruct vital reality by reflecting on what any given film is attempting to accomplish. We are responsible players in this dramatic marriage, just as much as we are in our ability to decipher objective reality.

      Hence, the appeal of cinema for most people resides in its apparent portrayal of reality and its power to transform aspects of human existence into entertainment value. To the philosophical commentator, this quality can be brought to life through a film’s structural narrative, and the lingering impressions, emotions and thoughts that it can give rise to.

      The most interesting dilemma for the student of human life is that the objects of knowledge - as these exist in their immediacy - often absorb us in such a manner that we tend to forget ourselves. This is hardly a bad thing, however. Isn’t this perhaps also a good description of human life itself?

      This process necessitates a lapse in time that is necessary in order for reflection to occur, much like the light of a dead star that will continue to be seen for the duration of the time that it takes light to travel the distance between the star and Earth.

      However, cinema finds itself in a historically precarious situation today. Much like many aspects of human life, it has been cheapened, robbed of any inherent redemptive value. The problem is that in many cases cinema has become entertainment for the sake of entertainment, or what is essentially a dispensable, hollow, and disposable medium…just like human life, today.

      The denizens of aesthetic relativism and those who have radically politicized western culture have succeeded in blurring the line between high and low cultural expectations to such an extent that this medium now seems destined for certain aesthetic bankruptcy. The myopia for pretentious and coerced “theory” and radical ideological consumption, have had far-reaching and utterly destructive consequences that dictate how we think of cinema as well as leisure, in our time.

       Cinema has traditionally showcased its unique and privileged capability in its regard for secular and religious humanism. For instance, this understated humanism is evidenced in the camaraderie that is so effectively placed on display in William Wellman’s film Battleground, as well as in the surreal inner vitality felt by Bertrand in François Truffaut’s The Man Who Loved Women.

       Equally ennobling is Nick Charles’ sophisticated and urbane wit in The Thin Man series, and the ethereal weightlessness and fanciful mayhem of Frank Capra’s You Can’t Take It With You. These films embrace profound depictions of fundamental aspects of human existence.

       For instance, few other aspects of human existence are as exalting as laughter - the act of celebrating life by keeping proper perspective - a form of checks-and-balances over the trivial and mundane.

       And yet, also corresponding to the human condition is the stark, existential horror of living under communist dictatorship that Alec Leamas encounters in The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, the cathartic and joyful innocence of children in Albert Lamorisse’s Red Balloon, and the out of this world mayhem of Eliseo Subiela’s Hombre mirando al sudeste. Cinema can help us understand ourselves, as a culture, but most importantly, as autonomous individuals, and the purpose and meaning of our lives.

Camus

     There are very striking philosophical similarities between Camus' The First Man and his first book, A Happy Death. In A happy Death, which he completed in 1938 at the age of twenty-five, the author develops a very interesting, if not altogether original idea that has the thinker attempting to capture the essence and immediacy of death. In this work the young Camus is concerned with living a good life in order to have a “happy” death.

     In other words, Camus’ main contention has everything to do with the Socratic notion that philosophy is a preparation for death through a conscious readiness to die. A Happy Death is essentially a meditation on the values of a future oriented existence that is aware that the future is already imbedded in a vitally lived immediacy.

     The theme of the passage of time is a central and unifying theme in these two works. In A Happy Death, Patrice Mersault, the autobiographical main character comes to the realization that to possess time can be both, magnificent as well as a very dangerous thing. The rallying point of this contention is that idleness is a fatal condition that can foster existential stagnation and mediocrity. However, this cannot be said of the creative life. Instead, Camus argues that true reflection can only take place when framed by the presence of idle time.

     In The First Man Camus equally follows through with this same concern that he had as a younger man. The death of his father in the latter work signifies the horror that the passage of time can mean to a reflective soul. Mersault and Jacques desire transcendence. In both cases, the consensus is that happiness originates from having a pure heart and the necessary will to implement the virtues thereof.

     Camus’ situation as a philosopher and writer was rather precarious. There is a sense in which he can easily be regarded as a stoic. His notion of metaphysical rebellion showcases a courageous engagement with reality that leaves no room for external blame or sentimental rationalization.

 

     In addition, he also does not allow metaphysical rebellion the indiscretion of becoming the basis and escape valve of ideology. This perspective on human reality alone makes Camus' very original, especially for a Twentieth-Century thinker, a time when many intellectuals were mere mouthpieces of Marxism. As a stoic, Camus did not shun the world of men and retire to a private existence. This is evident from his engagement in the French resistance and his voicing concern for those people who suffered  Soviet-bloc, communist atrocities.

 

     However, there is a also a very reserved and dignified side to Camus the man, which he found to be at odds with Camus the public entity. Yet he seems to have found a resolute answer to this dilemma by demanding that the autonomy of the thinker, as one who attempts to bring coherence to what Kant has called the “chaos of sensations,” is respected.

 

     The thinker for Camus is always a creator of worlds. A very strong indication of the respect that he felt for other thinkers and the creative process itself is seen in the scant number of negative references that he makes to the work of others.

 

     In The Myth of Sisyphus Camus does make mention of Dostoyevsky when he writes of The Brothers Karamazov and Kafka’s The Trial and The Castle, but he always does so in a positive light. His references to Nietzsche, Kierkegaard and Chestov are merely instances of praise that allow Camus to argue a particular point. The rest of The Myth of Sisyphus is an exploration of the nature of life and death and the Socratic question of what constitutes a worthwhile life.
 
     Equally true, in the The Rebel Camus stirs clear of offhanded criticism of the thought of others. In the first part of that work the focus is on man’s place in what he considers an absurd universe. The first part of the The Rebel is reminiscent of the vital and intellectual honesty of the thought of such thinkers as Marcus Aurelius, Kierkegaard and Nietzsche, to mention just a few.

Auto-gnosis, Subjectivity, and the Role of Maxims in Philosophical Reflection

 

Philosophy triumphs over past ills and ills to come,

but present ills triumph over philosophy.

                                                                                

 —  Francois Duc De La Rochefoucauld

      Sitting outside late into the night and starring into the infinitely vast array of star clusters, nebulas, and galaxies the amateur astronomer becomes privy to the sublimity of space and time. However, the real joy and beauty of the aforementioned transcends mere scientific respect for the laws of astro-physics. Scientists explain questions of space and time through quantification of one form or other. Yet the fundamentally vital concern in all of this is the realization that the awe and wonder of space and time does not pertain so much to that reality itself, but to the fact that there should be a subject that can fathom such things. To scrutinize this reality in mere scientific terms amounts to a detriment to this particular human experience — making it an incomplete experience, at best. What is the role of the subject in this respect?  Instead a broader concern has to do with the vital nature of subjectivity and its relationship to the metaphysics of existential autonomy.

      The introspective qualities of this question subsequently lead me to ask: How come that most works of philosophy, with a few marked exceptions outside the thought of the ancient stoics, and modern thinkers such as Wilhelm Dilthey, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and movements like philosophy of life, phenomenology and existentialism have not allotted the question of subjectivity – a more prominent role as the seat of differentiated human existence? 

Historical examples abound where what is truly addressed is not man as a differentiated cosmic and reflective subject, but rather as a theoretical and elusive collective mankind that, quite frankly, cannot help but to remain faceless. My pre-occupation with this subject matter — that is, my immediate and vital interest here is not necessarily in understanding the historical whereabouts of mankind — our origins in space and time, our collective sub-conscious or other such commonly held anthropological conceptions of man.

       I suppose there is a place — even a special place in the history of ideas for a detailed and scientific consideration and treatment of this subject. However, the pressing necessity for today is to recognize that the overwhelming treatment of this question has taken place in an inane positivistic manner. The inability of positivistic theories to recognize man as a transcendent being has played itself out to such a degree that it can longer make sense of individual, differentiated man in a technological age. Today we have the vitally pressing need for an understanding of man that allows for the recognition and further development of man as an autonomous being. Perhaps the great irony of our time is that man has never been in greater need of embracing a genuinely felt and sincere autonomous personality and form self-expression.

      I must confess that I have never encountered “man” — at least not in the impersonal, abstracted form which science, and lately, the social sciences have constructed. Scientific renditions of man have fashioned man into a phantasmagoric specter that no longer recognizes itself. This clay caricature has invaded the sublime places were man once dwelled and in so doing has depleted man’s reservoir of meaning in all of its configurations.

My concern, then, has to do with subjectivity and how this is embedded in the structure of autonomous persons. The question of subjectivity and individual autonomy can only retain a genuine connection to reality when it is proposed by the subject itself. This activity is no other than the genuine calling forth of personal vocation. Leszek Kolakowski pinpoints the scope of this problem best when he writes in Modernity on Endless Trial:

                   Those who hate gardening need a theory. Not to garden without a theory is a shallow, unworthy way of life. A theory must be convincing and scientific. Yet to various people various theories are convincing and scientific. Therefore we need a number of theories. The alternative to not-gardening without a theory is to garden. However, it is much easier to have a theory than actually to garden.