Why study Philosophy?

Hello to everyone, and for all the new visitors, welcome to Areté! If this is your first time on the site and you’re interested in entering our fabulous cash-and-prizes-for-comments contest, this is an excellent post to start out with if you wish (see the details for the contest here). Don’t worry if you feel philosophically uneducated – we value and encourage the input of all you philosophers out there! So here’s a nice, accessible introductory sort of topic for everyone.

My friend and I were enjoying a meal yesterday in Valhalla, and began to discuss the inevitable stresses that come along with course registration time. What follows is the paraphrased transcript of our conversation. When asking about the classes she had signed up for, she made the comment that she got “stuck with a philosophy class.”
Why ever would she choose that phrase?
“Philosophy is just a big waste of time. You won’t ever really use it. I don’t know why you or anyone would want to think about that kind of stuff and just end up wasting your life,” she replied.
Ok, I responded, but if I were to ask you what wouldn’t be “wasting your life,” what kind of living you think is best, can you really be sure you are right? “The uncontemplated life is not worth living,” said Socrates. How can you stand living your life without really pausing to consider the best way to live it? You only have one shot in this game of life, and the risk of blowing it, or of living for a lie or in futility, is just too high to take. You agree that you want to be happy, but are you sure you know what happiness is – do you know that the kind of happy you want is really for the best kind? In philosophy, your quest is to find the best way to live and the best way of being happy; instead of blindly feeling around in the dark on a path you haven’t clearly seen and aren’t sure of the destination, philosophy can offer some light to live by.
“But what if you’re just wasting all this time for nothing? What if you never find the truth or whatever and let your whole life slip away while you’re reading what a bunch of dead people wrote? Why should I care what Plato said? I know he’s a pretty smart guy, but what if he’s wrong? Even if I live and do things without knowing it’s the best way, at least I’m still living, while you will just waste your entire life and never come up with an answer. Or what if you find the truth and it’s depressing? What if there is no point? I’d rather just live without thinking about it too hard, and be happy.”
Well, there is that possibility that the contemplative life will not make you happy. But it’s a chance you have to take. It’s better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a pig satisfied, said John Stuart Mill. You may not be happy as you’d normally think it, but that is only part of the whole truth of it. Your dissatisfaction is a better life than the carefree pig. Can the pig really be happy?
“Yes, pigs are happy. And they don’t think about the things we do. That’s how we should live.”
Pigs don’t think about things at all. They can’t be happy; content, probably, but not happy. Only we can ever really be happy. Let me tell you about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. (**Click on the link to read the story I told her about.) They’re content in the cave, all their needs are provided for, but you wouldn’t say you’d want to live like that. They’re not happy and can’t be, while living by the distortive, man-made fire (representing man-made, artificial knowledge).
Once dragged out into the Sunlight (that is, divinely-created, transcendent knowledge of the whole world outside of their little cave), they can think, and see for real, and know, and live and be happy.
“Ok fine. Here’s my life philosophy: I don’t want to think all the time about everything about life. I just want to be happy, and I don’t mean just little happiness. Like, I mean, lasting happiness. Not just, I don’t know, sort of happy now, but in a more lasting way. Real happiness.”
That’s actually what Aristotle says about happiness – or for the Greeks, eudaimonia or flourishing. That’s exactly the kind of happiness I think we all want, but you have to make you live the right way to get it! So you see, even you agree with Aristotle about something about life.

**** So what are your thoughts about philosophy? A big “waste of time” or is it the only way to live? Or maybe something in between, an enjoyable diversion to talk about at the coffee shop? Does it give us the answers to questions about life, or just more unanswerable questions? Is it even possible not to philosophize? (Consider Aristotle: "If you ought to philosophize you ought to philosophize; and if you ought not to philosophize you ought to philosophize: therefore, in any case you ought to philosophize. For if philosophy exists, we certainly ought to philosophize, since it exists; and if it does not exist, in that case too we ought to inquire why philosophy does not exist – and by inquiring we philosophize; for inquiry is the cause of philosophy.")

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The Paradox of the Unexpected Hanging

You have been sentenced to death by hanging. The judge who condemns you to this fate informs you that your execution will satisfy two conditions. First it will take place some time in the early morning on one of the days of the following work week. Second you will not know which day you will die until the executioner appears in your jail cell to lead you to the gallows. You will be surprised. There does not appear to be any reason to think that your hanging cannot take place just as the judge has ordered. But a seemingly plausible argument leads to the conclusion that the judge's conditions are unrealizable.

In my last post I celebrated the birthday of Martin Gardner. Continuing in this theme, I now recount a paradox discussed by Gardner in one of his columns (and reprinted in his book The Unexpected Hanging).

Your execution must take place no later than Friday. Suppose you make it to Thursday afternoon. You now know that you will be executed on Friday, violating the second of the judge's pronouncements. So you cannot be executed on Friday. Now suppose you make it to Wednesday afternoon. Since Friday has been eliminated, you know on Wednesday that you will be executed on Thursday, again violating the surprise condition. So Thursday is out. The same reasoning will rule out Wednesday as well. Continue this line of reasoning until you have eliminated Monday. Therefore on no day of the week can you be surprised by the hangman.

As with all logical paradoxes, seemingly impeccable reasoning leads to a conclusion that is clearly at odds with reality. For having been convinced by your reasoning that you will not be executed, you are understandably surprised when the hangman arrives on Wednesday morning to carry out the orders of the judge.

So I leave it to you to resolve this paradox with the words of Bertrand Russell, who urged those who think about logic "to stock the mind with as many puzzles as possible, since these serve much the same purpose as is served by experiments in physical science."

The Log Lady

On a less scholarly note, my favorite television show is Lynch's and Frost's masterpiece, Twin Peaks. There's all sorts of really interesting issues raised in the show, and one enigmatic character-- the "Log Lady"-- has some particularly interesting things to say. Consider, as she notes in Episode 10 (of season 2), "Coma":

"Letters are symbols. They are building blocks of words which form our languages. Languages help us communicate. Even with complicated languages used by intelligent people, misunderstanding is a common occurrence."

"We write things down sometimes - letters, words - hoping they will serve us and those with whom we wish to communicate. Letters and words, calling out for understanding."

She continues exploring this topic in Episode 11, "The Man Behind Glass": "Miscommunication sometimes leads to arguments, and arguments sometimes lead to fights. Anger is usually present in arguments and fights. Anger is an emotion, usually classified as a negative emotion. Negative emotions can cause severe problems in our environment and to the health of our body.

"Happiness, usually classified as a positive emotion, can bring good health to our body, and spread positive vibrations into our environment. Sometimes when we are ill, we are not on our best behavior. By ill, I mean any of the following: physically ill, emotionally ill, mentally ill, and/or spiritually ill."

So, let's consider her argument. I'll enclose her arguments in [brackets] rather than "quotes" because I'll paraphrase some. [Letters are symbols which are the building blocks of words]. So far so good. All words are built from letters (although not necessarily exclusively from letters). What is interesting, she notes, is that [letters are symbols]-- and we all know what the symbols signify; I have not met another English speaker who could express a different idea of the letter "a" from my own. Words are composed of letters (and other characters, but which serve similar functions as symbols). However, even though words are composed purely of universally (in the context of a language) accepted characters, miscommunication occurs; this implies that either individuals really disagree on what letters are references of, or that a word is greater than the sum of its characters.

We explicitly use [letters and words to call out for understanding], and this is their explicit purpose. However, [miscommunication is a common occurrence]. Now, she says, consider: sometimes, [miscommunication leads to arguments] (which seems reasonable to me), and [arguments sometimes lead to fights] (which also seems coherent). Additionally, [in both arguments and fights, anger-- which is usually classified as a negative emotion-- is usually present]. By "negative emotion", the "Log Lady" refers to [that which can cause severe problems in our environment and to the health of our body]. This can be understood as that which is not a "positive emotion", an emotion that [can bring good health to our body, and spread positive vibrations into our environment].

So, then, letters are symbols which, when used in words to communicate, usually (being "a common occurrence") end in miscommunication. Miscommunication tends to end in negative emotions, which [can cause severe problems in our environment and to the health of our body]. There is a definite implication here that letters themselves can actually cause negative emotions. What does she suggest as a resolution,

In Episode 15, "Lonely Souls", she argues, "Balance is the key. Balance is the key to many things. Do we understand balance? The word 'balance' has seven letters. Seven is difficult to balance, but not impossible if we are able to divide. There are, of course, the pros and cons of division."

So, then, it would seem that one can overcome the problems of miscommunication through "balance", but there is the epistemological problem of whether one actually understands it, because such an understanding requires division of the primordial references of experience. If one is willing to take a primordial element-- whether a letter in a word or an experience in a memory-- and cut it apart in order to study it, there are problems. She explores this too, in Episode 22, "Double Play": "A death mask is almost an intrusion on a beautiful memory. And yet, who could throw away the casting of a loved one? Who would not want to study it longingly, as the distant freight train blows its mournful tone?" On the one hand, if one one does not seek balance in communication, one risks miscommunication, which can yield negative emotions with detrimental effects. However, if one seeks balance, one finds situations where balancing requires division, and one must decide whether analytical study-- whether of a word such as "balance" or an experience such as the loss of a loved one-- will merit the end result.

The conclusion? As stated in the final episode, Episode 29, "Beyond Life and Death", one finds at the end of this puzzle "...an ending. Where there was once one, there are now two. Or were there always two? What is a reflection? A chance to see two? When there are chances for reflections, there can always be two - or more. Only when we are everywhere will there be just one."

When one takes a word, an experience, or a television show, one can either approach it holistically and take the chance of miscommunication, or divide that which is not naturally divided. Such a division means that, [where there was once one, there are now two]. However, [where there are chances for reflections, there exist chances for division], and one can only avoid such a division if one's approach is completely consistent in its indivisibility can one avoid absolute division. In essence: either approach a situation holistically, or be prepared to encounter a situation where "There is as much space outside the human, proportionately, as inside" (The Log Lady, Episode 9, "Arbitrary Law").

Sorry, quite a bit of talking there. Whether there is anything of significance-- or even philosophical consideration-- is certainly up for debate. I think there's some really interesting issues raised, though. And you should certainly watch Twin Peaks when you have the chance. Unfortunately, the Pilot Episode is only available on the newest version, the "Definitive Gold Box Edition", due to a licensing issue they had, but I can assure you that it's worth picking up, renting, or finding online if you have the chance.

Chrysippus on Free Will and Responsibility

While reading this morning, I came across a passage in my book that I think relates well to our discussion on fatalism earlier this semester and also to the topic for tomorrow night: free will and addiction, and the ethical responsibilities for self-harming actions. The author starts by detailing the beliefs of the Stoics concerning the free will, or for them, the lack of it, possessed by human beings – except for the sage, but that’s a different topic. As the author puts it, for the Stoics, events of nature and human events are “parts of the universal casual nexus which is fate, providence or God, and so…predetermined.” Their critics attacked this viewpoint by claiming that if everything were predetermined, there would be no responsibility or good deeds able to be praised or bad deeds to be condemned, just as we were conjecturing about the existence of morality in a fatalistic world in one of our prior club meetings. Yet Chrysippus, one of the most eminent of the Stoics, argued for the compatibility of fatalism and responsibility in 2 ways. First, even if our actions are really predetermined reactions to external influences or impressions, they are still our own reactions. Chrysippus writes:

“Although it is the case that all things are constrained and bound together by fate through a certain necessary and primary principle, yet the way in which the natures of our minds themselves are subject to fate depends on their own individual quality. For if they have been fashioned through nature originally in a healthy and expedient way, they pass on all that force, which assails them from outside through fate, in a more placid and pliant manner. If, however, they are harsh and ignorant and uncultured, and if they are pressed on by little or no necessity from an impulse they hurl themselves into constant crimes and error. And that this very thing should come about in this way is a result of that natural and necessary sequence which is called fate. For it is, as it were, fated and a consequence of their type itself, that bad natures should not lack crimes and errors. It is just as if you throw a cylindrical stone across a region of ground which is sloping and steep; you were the cause and beginning of headlong fall for it, but soon it rolls headlong, not because you are now bringing that about, but because that is how its fashion and the capacity for rolling in its shape are. Just so the rule and principle and necessity of fate sets kinds and beginnings of causes in motion, but the impulses of our minds and deliberations, and our actions themselves, are governed by each person’s own will and by the natures of our minds.” (Gellius, Attic Nights 7.2.7-11 = LS 62D)

So, we may wonder, if it is our developed natures, which have been predetermined before our birth, (that is the reason for our throwing the stone from the hill) which cause our reaction to outside influences, and the reaction is ours (we do the throwing) – can it still be our responsibility for the event or its outcome? If we blame what we have been predisposed to, our natures that have been given to us, but it is still we who (must) react in a certain way, how much responsibility is ours? For Monday’s talk, is an addiction, presumably something of nature, our responsibility or only reactions to external forces?

The second part of Chrysippus’ argument for responsibility and fatalism is that our actions (or reactions) do make a difference, even though predetermined. The author explains: “To say that certain things are fated to happen does not mean that they are fated to happen regardless of what anyone does beforehand, but rather that certain outcomes and the actions which are necessary to bring them about are ‘co-fated’ with one another.”

This seems quite the paradox, then. It may be clarified as the author shows if we think about an example from the Greek tragedy Oedipus. It would be complete nonsense to say that Oedipus’ father would have had a child whether he slept with a woman or not. Yet he chose to take that risk even after being warned by the oracle that his son would kill him. He wouldn’t have chosen otherwise, but it was still his choice; it is his responsibility, even if the action (or reaction) was predetermined.

What do we think of this argument? Coherent and conclusive? Confusing and lacking?

An Attempt at Defining "Art"

Greetings,

On Monday, Philosophia Religioque met and discussed the philosophy of music. One relevant topic that came up was the definition of "art", and what demarcates it from other content. While I am not yet 100% convinced that my definition is necessarily right, I proposed that "art", properly understood, is intentional indirect communication. I'll start by explaining what is meant by those terms, and then get into some of the issues that can be derived from this definition.

At its core level, art is a kind of communication; in fact, I would consider art to fall under the genus of communication. Merriam Webster states that communication is "an act or instance of transmitting". If a painting could only communicate through its visual imagery, and there existed an invisible painting (which I do believe can be understood in concept, even if it's unlikely that one will ever exist), that painting would not be art, because it would be incapable of communication. However, I believe that many things in life qualify as "communications"; thus, this is a broad element, on which I will not say too much more at the moment.

If art is a kind of communication, what kind it? Well, I argue that art is necessarily intentional communication. What is intentional is the communication itself. Say, for example, that I look at the computer monitor in front of me and note its subtly sloping angles, well-rounded curves, and bi-colored palette. While it is true that the monitor might communicate to me a poignant message about the nature of the human condition/experience, such a communication would not have been the intention of the monitor manufacturer, and thus that communication would have been insufficient for the monitor to be considered "art" (although I am not necessarily excluding the possibility of other communications, of course). Even bad art-- whether angsty teenage poetry or annoying pop songs-- serves as intentional communication.

However, while a communication must be intentional to be art, intention is insufficient. For example, if I tell you in a monotone voice, "go outside", that is an intentional communication, and yet is not art (I would argue, and would believe to be non-controversial). This is because that which is communicated through art is necessarily indirect; while direct communication can exist in art, that which transforms an intentional communication into art is its indirectness. In film, for example, certain movies are clearly direct intentional communication, and are thus not understood to be art, while certain movies are very intentional communications-- and yet the communication is entirely indirect, such as in Maya Deren's Meshes of the Afternoon (which you really should watch). As this example hopefully illustrates, direct communication is necessarily not art, whereas indirect communication can be art if it is intentional.

Some interesting things result from this. First, a painting itself would not be art; rather, the communication-- the experience, perhaps, or maybe the performance-- would be the art. This would be in coherence with my understanding of nominalist theory. Additionally, I think that early cave paintings would not be considered art, unless they were doing more than sheer direct illustration. Lastly, good analytic philosophy would necessarily not be art (if I understand correctly), because I think that it attempts to be as direct as possible, whereas continental philosophy-- such as the works of Kierkegaard and Nietzsche-- has the potential for actually being art and philosophy at the same time, as some of their philosophical contributions are intentional, yet indirect.

Happy 95th Birthday to Martin Gardner

I would like to dedicate my blog post to someone who has had an enormous influence on my choice of career. On Wednesday Martin Gardner, the former Scientific American columnist and prolific author, turns 95. I was probably in the 6th grade when I was first exposed to Gardner's writing. At the time I had no idea what philosophy was or that there were grown-up people who actually made a living as philosophers. But I was fascinated by math even when I found it difficult, and I was especially impressed by Gardner's popular writings on math and logic. I remember picking up a book with the odd title The Unexpected Hanging at a bookstore in New York. Opening it, I discovered a collection of essays drawn from Gardner's column on recreational mathematics. The first chapter was devoted to a famous paradox involving a man condemned to hang but without knowing on which day of the week his execution would take place. Gardner wrote clearly and intelligently about what was to me a highly complex and convoluted topic. I was hooked and the path that would lead me eventually to logic began.

After that first encounter, I became a passionate fan, reading as many of Gardner's books as I could get my hands on. I had found an author who shared my interests: not only logic but science and pseudo-science, Alice in Wonderland, cryptography, computers that can learn to play games, magic, and the fourth dimension. It wasn't until much later that I learned that Gardner majored in philosophy at the University of Chicago, a student of Rudolph Carnap, one of the founders of analytic philosophy.

I was happy to see a birthday tribute to Gardner in today's New York Times. I wish him a very happy 95th and many, many more.

Self-Interest Rightly Understood

This is a pretty contentious topic, and I will confess that the view to follow is probably not a “politically correct” opinion. Nowadays this admittedly is not the most popular view to argue for, but I hope to stir up some good debate, especially with those who disagree.

The issue here is that of the obligation to uphold certain positive rights, and in particular for this post, the right to be free from hunger; perhaps it does not even warrant the title “right,” but giving it that higher station helps the opponent and, in good faith, I will give them the best argument they can muster. On a Google search, including quotation marks, the “right to be free from hunger" yields 573,000 results, and similarly, the “right to food” gets 642,000 hits. By clicking on any of these links, your heart will undoubtedly be moved by the pictures of terribly skinny children and touching appeals to save the world from starvation. Resources are scarce there, but very abundant for you here. So give a small donation and do your part to help out a little. Have a heart; it’s your duty as a human being – you owe it to those less fortunate than yourself.

And they are absolutely right in this regard. Do not yet misunderstand me: starvation is bad, and giving to charity is good. I’m not advocating complete solipsistic selfishness. Where the argument fails is after all of that. In the more extreme realms, some people and organizations out to do good call for the upholding of the right to be free from hunger by redistributing wealth, especially in the wealthy United States. The problem is that this makes the free choice of giving however much to who or what an individual decides and takes that liberty from them, now forcing whoever has an excess to share the wealth with those who have a deficit. Opponents may argue that force (or bribery with tax breaks, for that matter) is needed, for otherwise most people would not logically choose to part with their earnings. How cynical a view of humanity this is indeed! I do not believe altruism to be so foreign and unnatural an idea to many people. Though there is merit to the idea that people will give more when encouraged, governmental force is not the right way, either by our own country’s taxation or by even more remote demands placed upon the country as a whole by global organizations like the UN. (What is the right way, you may be asking? I’ll leave that for you to decide, or perhaps address it in a later post)

The extremists like to say that all lives are equal, that I’m not any more valuable or worthy to eat and have prosperity than someone over in Africa just because I was born here. We can’t really be about justice and equality if we think otherwise, right? We’re all equally deserving of the goods that any person or nature produce; it’s a small world and we’re all the same after all. I do not believe that all the do-gooders are really wishing for such total equality out of great desires of personal self-sacrifice or good will. Some (I’ll call them the Lip-Service Extremists) say such magnanimous things, self-deprecating and diminishing themselves by denying their extra-special worth. In their better-than-thou way, Lip-Service Extremists want to argue that, of course, I’m awesome, and you’re awesome, and everyone else in the whole world is just equally awesome human beings, aren’t we great? Because we’re all so awesome, we should not deny material things to those just as awesome as us. We’re not just accidents living between two abysses; we are capable of doing good for all humanity and we can have a wonderful utopia where everyone is worth the same and no one will be too wealthy and no one will starve or be bothered by thinking about pesky things like the rights to property and prosperity. But, really, our Lip-Service Extremists want to feel important themselves. By claiming that everyone is significant, they’re claiming that they too are significant. The more value they give all others, the more they attribute greater and greater worth to the whole human species, including more value for themselves. By saying that he is just as worthy as I am to live in equal prosperity, you’re implying that you yourself are really something special. Yet extreme equality does nothing to bolster the value of humanity as a whole. Quite the opposite, in fact, all redistributing the wealth does is work to equally devalue the individual. The irreducible, irreplaceable individual is not really unique anymore, he is no longer irreplaceable; his worth is no longer dependent on what he does or who he is.

People are not equal. You are (presumably) a better, more valuable human than, say, your average serial killer. It is simply a detrimental lie to revert to equalizing, and thus devaluing, everyone (Orwellians will attest to this). Your worth doesn’t depend on making another or all others equally awesome! There is, in fact, quite a contradiction with the very notion of equal awesomeness. You can still be important, caring, and unique without valuing all others as equally deserving of all things. Your worth is not contingent on anyone else, and you shouldn’t make it so – such dependence only works to devalue the distinctiveness of your individuality.

Zach on Value: A Justification of Ticket Scalpers

Greetings,

I'd like to present a theory on value; let me know what you think. I'll call it "Zach's Theory of Value"; someone else has most likely come up with it first, and as soon as someone points out who it was, I'll gladly note that in this topic. As far as I know, the work is original, but who knows-- I might have heard it in passing one day and forgot my source.

I argue that all value is subjective, and most value is subjectively relative. Let's stay with the simple, primary element for now, subjectively relative value. Rather than give a definitional or axiomatic argument, I'll argue by example.

Say that there are two parties: Band X and the Groupie. For now, assume that Band X directly sells the tickets; while in actuality the process is much more complex, the complexity can be accounted for by this system. For Band X, a ticket is worth, say, $30; considering their time and their investment(s), that's about the price point per ticket where it's worthwhile to them to have the concert. For the Groupie, a ticket is worth $75; they love Band X, and it's absolutely worth 10 hours of work to go hear the band. If Band X sells the ticket for $50, Band X gains $20 in subjective value (they sold a $30 ticket for $50), while the Groupie gained $25 in subjective value (they acquired a $75 ticket for $50).

Say that a ticket scalper decides to get in the fray. He purchases all the tickets from Band X for $50; thus, Band X acquires $20 in subjective value (they sold a $30 ticket for $50). The ticket scalper then sells the tickets to Groupies, for whom the tickets are worth $75, at $60 a pop. The ticket scalper gains subjective value (they sold a ticket that they paid $50 for at a $60 price point), and the Groupies gain subjective value (they gain a ticket that's worth $75 to them for $60).

I'm arguing that mutually beneficial voluntary free market transactions, such as the ones I described, generally result in the net creation of subjective value. The first transaction, without the ticket scalper, netted $45 of subjective value-- $25 for the Groupie and $20 for the Band. The second transaction, with the ticket scalper, netted $45 in value as well-- $20 for the Band, $10 for the Scalper, and $15 for the Groupie.

Therefore, transactions are capable of generating subjective value. Adding middlemen to the mix, such as ticket scalpers, redistributes that subjective value, but it does not actually decrease the subjective value generated.

There's all sorts of fun implications from this argument, and several places where we could go, but I'd like to start with that, and perhaps go further if there's interest in the issue. Thoughts?

Happiness and the Heart of Darkness

I’d like to begin with the following quotation from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics describing why humans need happiness: “Clearly there must be some such end since everything cannot be a means to something else since then there would be nothing for which we ultimately do anything, and everything would be pointless.” (*Note: Taken from a photocopied excerpt of Book 1 read in a former class – I could not find the translator or page number.) For Aristotle, “happiness” was more analogous to the idea of excellence, something achieved with intent, with purpose and habit – a lifelong way of living. The final four words from that quote always jump out at me – everything would be pointless if there were no happiness? Life, then, is inextricably bound to this idea of happiness, which explains the restlessness of our souls. But what happens if we never achieve this happiness? Is the mere journey towards it enough, or without the achievement, is life simply “pointless”?

There are some who argue that happiness is really an unachievable ideal, but zealously and tirelessly pursued anyway – this is the view of humanity that is illustrated in Joseph Conrad’s masterpiece, The Heart of Darkness. In the novel, the narrator Marlowe discovers knowledge about humanity that he would rather have kept locked away, far out of reach. In his exploration into the wild hearts of men, he discovers humanity to be, ultimately, hopelessly depraved. Without the societal constructs of law, religion, accountability, community, and guilt, men revert to their innate, bestial inclinations. It presents a very Hobbesian state of nature where life is merely nasty, brutish, and short. The “savages” are completely unalterable from their bestiality. However noble the attempts to convert, all attempts are futile. One line, in fact, from one “civilized” man to another, is that they need to “exterminate the brutes!” which is ironic when Marlowe later realizes that all are as equally brutish as the “savages” to whom he refers; there really is no “them” versus “us.” Though even with this being the true state, most people cannot handle the weight of such knowledge. Most people choose to live in the comfort of artificial light, either due to obliviousness or denial, and go on with their ultimately pointless lives.

Marlowe goes on the journey to see what knowledge he hopes Kurtz (discussed later on) can reveal to him, supernatural knowledge about the meaning of life that no one else can possess. It turns out to be very different knowledge than he expected. In the beginning of the journey, he catches glimpses of this unpleasant truth himself, but decides to submerge himself in mediocre tasks to keep his mind occupied elsewhere instead. (Compare this to why most humans fill their lives with innumerable meaningless tasks.) He ultimately discovers that there is no real light outside of the impenetrable darkness, only artificial, society-created light. Kurtz was the most devoutly religious, idealistic, moral, promising, etc. young man who became the most successful manager for the British ivory company; and he died as the most corrupt savage imaginable. If he can fall from the “light” to his natural, innate, brutish human character, no one is safe. As Kurtz lay dying, Marlowe realizes the purposeless that can become of a wasted life, and as he returns to London, he sees that the “civilized world” is filled with hypocrites who pretend not to know better, and are satisfied. This is especially embodied in the character of the Intended, Kurtz’s fiancé, who represents the bulk of humanity living in society. She is hopeful, incessantly and wishfully romantic, and completely naïve, yet somehow content. In the end Marlowe decides to lie to her about the true nature of Kurtz to keep her in this illusory, idyllic world, and keep her from knowing the truth; he decides it is better for society to carry on in their fictitious bustling lives. Only a few really come to grips with the truth – the nihilistic void in their hearts. Ought he have shared his knowledge of the true light that is, really, utter darkness, or was he right to keep the people content?

The life we live is the only one we are given, so obviously we want to make it the very best that we can. We all constantly strive to accomplish: we set plans, make goals, and see them through. There seems to be a constant unrest within our very core telling us to keep trying to improve, not to settle, not to grow too complacent. We want to be something more than what we are now, and to have more than we now have. We seem to be continually discontent. Our human condition drives this; we know our own finitude and knowledge of death can motivate us. We are incessantly driven towards “the better.” Maybe this is a little hubristic, our thinking we can really change things and that we are somehow perfectible. Yet no matter how many things we accumulate or tasks we accomplish, there seems to be some residual feeling of incompleteness, an enduring sense of emptiness, a longing for more, and the bitter sting of idividualistic isolationism. As Conrad writes, “We live as we dream – alone;” and again I’ll ask, when happiness seems unreachable, is life just “pointless”? Maybe all of this working, all the busyness with which we fill our lives is in an attempt to divert this sense of nihilism. If I keep working and attaining, all will not be for naught – I will matter.