Writing Philosophically

When I began studying Metaphysics and Phenomenology, I thought about the sensation of peripheral vision, of knowing something is there. Still, it sits behind a veil of what is to be revealed. The way I describe the metaphysical is like a net with a hole in it. When discussing philosophy, we submerge a net with a large hole into the water. We know we have caught something, but by the time we bring the net back up to the surface, the something has already swam away into the depths of the ocean.

When we think of philosophers, what name comes to mind? Perhaps Plato or Aristotle and his work on Metaphysics? What about Schopenhauer or Hegel? Heidegger? I have always wondered if, when we read works by these philosophers, we often think that they speak philosophically rather than about philosophy. When the net is directly submerged in the ocean to catch something, it will have a hole or a flaw because the metaphysical has an indirect way of being, like peripheral vision. One cannot catch this way of Being directly but must lure it in with bait, a bridge that ties to the metaphysical. 

Consider this example. I have read Being and Time by Martin Heidegger, and while it is a great work, I must accept that it is only writing about philosophy, not philosophically. It was not until I read his poetry that he touched on the nature of philosophy. But even in his poetry, he brings up (to his detriment) Being, which reverts him to talking about philosophy. The reader knows intuitively that he has not chosen to emerge himself entirely into the art of writing philosophically because he feels the need to tell the reader that he is talking about his philosophical beliefs. In this poem, it’s as if he began to forget what he was trying to explain, submerging himself into the metaphysical. Then, realizing the ocean was too deep, he remembered what he was talking about and felt the need to announce it. 

“When on a summer’s day the butterfly

settles on the flower and, wings

closed, sways with it in the

meadow-breeze…

All our heart’s courage is the

echoing response to the

first call of Being which

gathers our thinking into the

play of the world.

In thinking all things

become solitary and slow.

Patience nurtures magnanimity.

 He who thinks greatly must

err great.”

Martin Heidegger,  Poetry, Language, Thought

It is a strange thing I’m saying that the people we would consider to be philosophers only talk about philosophy and how they reach into the ocean with holes in their nets, but how could they write philosophically without mentioning philosophy in the first place? The difficulty faced here is that these philosophers attempt to grasp what lies beyond the veil, in the deep ocean, in a very masculine way. But I don’t believe that metaphysics by nature is masculine at all. The metaphysical takes the form of the feminine. 

I must distinguish meanings here when speaking of the terms masculine and feminine. My terms for these concepts are much different than the general understanding. Masculine is not a provider who protects and leads. Feminine is not a compassionate, soft-spoken, meek thing. I understand masculine and feminine to be movements. Masculine is the movement of what is contained and perceived in reality. Feminine is expansion, everything that could be but is not yet realized. 

*I would like to expand on my definitions of masculine and feminine, but I will save it for another essay.

By facing philosophy in such a masculine way, there is no room for expansion because what is has already been decided. Whether it is Spirit, Will, or Being-in-the-world, whatever the thing that was trying to be captured is, it is already lost in terms and structures forced upon it. Even this essay attempts to capture something with a direct masculine net. 

So, if I believe that many well-known philosophers only write or talk about philosophy, who writes philosophically? Who is hiding behind the veil of the expansive feminine?

“I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.”

Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis

Franz Kafka, one of my favorite writers, was not a trained philosopher, and I do not believe he ever considered himself one. Still, he understood a concept far beyond that masculine containment of reality. He understood that he could not understand. Yet in that acceptance, he submerged into the expansive feminine metaphysical nature. 

There are other storytellers who I do not think would call themselves philosophers, but they swim, too. Camus, Dostoyevsky,  Woolf, Austen, and Orwell were some storytellers who probably wrote knowing that no one could understand what was happening inside them. Still, we did in the experience of reading their art. We experienced it, too. We felt it without willfully trying to capture a thing we could hold.

What if what we are trying to catch is not meant to be caught but unfolded in an experience? Did it ever occur to us that maybe we should be swimming in the deep ocean, too, phenomenologically shaping and shifting with the water? Notice how different people could read the same story, and the author is not attempting to come at the reader yelling, “This is what I’m trying to explain to you.” Instead, it sits back like the intuition of a wise older woman, letting the reader decide how the story will shape their lives because the metaphysical is a very private thing. However, in its privacy comes some universal understanding that is unspoken. Writing stories that do not attempt to contain something particular is writing philosophically. It throws away the net and sits behind the eyes, moving under the water's surface to flow and feel it all, knowing that nothing was meant to be captured in the first place. 

*Thank you for reading! More whimsical short stories and existential, talking about metaphysics and phenomenology essays to follow soon!