I’m ready to tell you all about something that happened to me just last year. An event that regretfully led to drastic consequences that included my strong distrust in others and having to put things I loved on hold. You know how I keep saying that I’m going to do more anime reviews and end up, well, not doing as many as I promise? This was one of the side effects that –irrationally– resulted from the following trauma; and for that, I do sincerely apologize to my fans.
This is my second part of my critique on my earliest memory. To see the first part, click here.
So if you’re reading this and you’re scratching your head, “Where’s the dialectical part? You didn’t explain it very well!” Well that would be a problem, if the term “dialectics” was the main focus of these essays. Now if I were here to talk about dialectics, I may as well have just copied Phenomenology of Spirit verbatim. If you read my account and still scratch your head, it’s fine. Dialectics are a dense subject that’s usually boiled down to a basic dynamic of competing structures or theories talking about the same thing. They yell, they clash, they fight over which one is the dominant account of the thing that is being observed, when in truth they are just picking apart specific things that are but partially true about the same thing.
And that is the crux of why everyone hates Hegel!
This isn’t so much a well, drawn-out thought piece, as it is a reflection on the kind of writing that I do. For starters, I don’t consider myself an analytical philosopher. Sure, my past couple of editorials have focused on that modern style of breaking down logical arguments in the works of Descartes, Peano, or Mill, who were figures of the analytical style. But the lessons they teach are boring to me, frankly because they just don’t feel alive, unless I give them context.
I suppose I would talk a little more about continental philosophy in the future, and give my thoughts on the works of Hegel, Marx, or any and all of the Existentialists. I’ve been told countless times that my life is more like Sartre’s right now, and Lugones is my go-to philosopher/literary critic for a lot of my own worldview at the moment. But there’s always been something that bugged me about this strange differentiation between what is philosophy and what is philosophy proper: why is it that we don’t talk to each other?