Pamprepius, a Greek of Egyptian Panopolis, is born to watch the world he loves slowly dying. The old gods and traditions of his people, being replaced by the new faith of Christianity, the future seems dark. After making a name as a great poet and finding fame hollow, he sets out to save the faith of his fathers and learns at last what it means to truly believe in the light of the gods.
The following paper was recently published in Critical Logic. A direct link where a PDF can be downloaded is here: https://ojs.library.ubc.ca/index.php/clogic/article/view/20167
This paper explores the modern struggle for meaningful self-definition under capitalist cultural hegemony by drawing on the ancient Greek concept of kleos and Antonio Gramsci’s notion of “the simple.” It argues that kleos, when reinterpreted as a communal and socially formative striving rather than aristocratic individualism, offers a pre-capitalist model of recognition rooted in shared intuitive experience, analogous to Gramsci’s “simple” – the pretheoretical, affective ground of subaltern consciousness. The paper examines how capitalist structures distort value into commodified forms of fame or
prestige, creating scarcity in symbolic capital and fostering alienation, particularly among youth seeking identity and purpose. By critically juxtaposing this reified capitalist notion of status with a rearticulated kleos and Gramsci’s “simple,” the paper discloses both the contemporary existential restlessness and the latent potential for a transformative praxis. It suggests that reclaiming social meaning as a communal, generative act rooted in “the simple” can contribute to building a new ideological terrain and fostering the self-organization and leadership of subaltern groups. The paper highlights the philosophical and political relevance of this rethinking, engaging with Gramsci’s philosophy of praxis and the formation of critical consciousness. It proposes areas for further research, including comparative analysis with other pre-capitalist models of esteem, empirical investigation of contemporary youth culture, and the intersection of social recognition with concepts like redistribution. Ultimately, the paper contends that recognizing the intuitive striving for meaningful being-in-the-world inherent in “the simple” and reflected in the communal aspects of kleos uncovers a latent potential for a more authentic, collective form of self-realization, offering hope and inspiring action towards a more just and humane society.
“I have striven not to laugh at human actions, not to weep at them, nor to hate them, but to understand them.” — Benedict Spinoza.
Would you attempt to photograph God? Would it even be possible? What about calculating how long it takes for the bread and wine of the Mass to become the blood and body of Christ? I am an aficionado of those types of “ghost hunting” shows you often see. Although I am often highly skeptical of the claims presented, I find such light entertainment to be a cozy and comforting way to relax in the evenings. However, like a true skeptic of the ancient Greek variety, I neither affirm nor deny—a concept the Skeptics called epoché—the existence of such entities as the spirits of the dead, but rather withhold judgment about something it may not be possible to know. Such beliefs, I think, share a family resemblance to faith, and faith is something you either have or you don’t.
It sounds odd to mention ghost hunting and faith or religion in the same breath, but it shouldn’t be. Certainly, ghosts or spirits are very much a religious matter, or at the very least have religious implications. What is more, for some, the very idea of communing or attempting to commune with a dead person is considered a blasphemous undertaking; perhaps it is understandable why the two concepts are so often treated differently in people’s minds. I have often observed that, is not the very idea of a ghost a contravention of divine justice? If souls can thus choose to remain on Earth, they can thus choose to escape the punishments of hell, even if only temporarily. However, one characteristic that distinguishes the one activity from the other is in their differing methodologies.
Religion often stands in opposition to science, or at least takes little or no stand at all on the domain of the scientist. The ghost hunter, on the other hand, is almost in love with the seemingly scientific. Every self-respecting paranormal investigator is never without their equipment. That is, cameras, video, and sound recording devices, as well as the ubiquitous flashing EMF meter to aid in the detection of a ghostly presence. None of these tools has been ratified by any scientific body as either useful or necessary in substantiating paranormal claims, not because of bias against such claims by mainstream science, but because such methodology is not genuinely scientific, but merely appears to be so. The methods science uses to demonstrate a phenomenon is valid—rigorous, repeatable, quantifiable evidence, ruling out alternative explanations, testable hypotheses, and peer-reviewed verification—are incompatible with the reported conditions in which ghosts are claimed to appear.
This is not to say that spirits are not real, only that such phenomena do not conform to the types of phenomena that modern science is equipped to determine and reveal; that’s why they call it paranormal or “supernatural” after all. If, then, the attempt to use science or what appears as science to prove the paranormal is genuinely occurring is a waste of time, why do ghost hunters continue to employ it? The cynical answer is that such behavior has become expected by the audience that enjoys watching such hunts, and content creators must fulfill their audience’s expectations if they hope to get views and clicks, along with the revenue said views and clicks provide.
However, the source of those audience expectations, I think, can be explained as arising from a place far more mundane, but no less horrifying than any ghostly revenant caught on camera could instill—Ideology.
The 20th-century French Marxist philosopher Louis Althusser argued that capitalist society is perpetuated by ideological state apparatuses (ISAs); that institutions like schools, media, and even sports clubs, appear at first to be apolitical, but when examined closely aid, if ever so suddenly, in reinforcing the views of the ruling class and help in the concealment of the capitalist exploitation of class.
Here is where, for Althusser, the problem with the sciences arises. Although science can be autonomous when purely theoretical, its social applications remain ideological. The political implications of this can be seen in the ways modern universities silo academics into smaller and smaller niches and the way that tenure is dangled like a carrot to those scholars who don’t rock the boat and focus upon the quantifiable measure of publication as a means to assess academic value, regardless of the ultimate quality of the research produced. On the level of the average university undergraduate, one is often confronted by paywalls to academic papers if one’s university is not wealthy enough to afford the increasingly exorbitant fees to access.
“What does all of this have to do with ghost hunting?” I hear you say. More than at first appears, for outside its uses as a tool for the perpetuation of capitalism, modern science is, whether for good or bad, the default worldview that all school children are introduced to early on. Lest I begin to sound like an anti-science quack, let me assure you as well as I can that I am nothing of the sort. Science, as a tool, is neither good nor bad, but can only be judged by the uses that people make with it or think they are making with it. But this is beside my larger point, that, whether most people are aware of it or not, they attempt to conform to the appearance of science, even if ultimately they disregard or outright dismiss the findings of science altogether when said findings stand in the way of belief.
But if it’s not the scientific establishment that they are ultimately attempting to win over, then who? From the standpoint of belief, it is obviously they themselves that they are trying to convince. In an age of science, where imperialism and experimentation are the sine qua non of truth and factuality, even the believer must resort to science, or a crude semblance of it, if they are to believe the unbelievable. If one claims that they believe in ghosts as part of their faith, that is acceptable. However, faith does not require evidence, but evidence is apparently what ghost “hunters” would be seeking; otherwise, there would be no need to hunt for and defend the existence of what they already believe to be there. It is a testament to the extent science has impacted our culture that even the faithful unwittingly wish to justify faith through empiricism.
But this is to go about things from the wrong end, for what they are truly after is not so much a belief that requires verification to “prove” such things exist as it is a deep unconscious desire to, if they reflected deeply enough upon it, resurrect within themselves some form of faith as it used to be, a renewal of faith within themselves of the divine in a place and time when the divine is often hardly believed in even by the believers.
Every unexplained sound, every inexplicable shadow, and every clammy hand felt in the darkness when they are alone is a personal indication that they are not alone. But with faith, one is always alone, even in the presence of multitudes. So Kierkegaard in Fear and Trembling explains this concept as the “Knight of Faith.” Before one can even reach a state of faith, one must first undergo an act of “infinite resignation,” to abandon all hope of attaining one’s earthly expectations or desires, to accept that they may quite possibly never be realized at all; it is a manner of acknowledging this world’s limitations. However, the Knight of Faith goes even further. They make a leap of faith, embracing the impossible, even while having abandoned all earthly hope. They live in paradox, fully apart from the everyday world while at the same time, engaging in a deep, and deeply personal, relationship with God that is theirs alone.
Kierkegaard uses the attempted sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham to illustrate the idea. Abraham, ordered by God to sacrifice his beloved son Isaac, attempts to complete God’s demand even in the face of its seeming absurdity, and because it is precisely a demand from God that only he can hear, Abraham must enact it without a word to anyone, for who else would understand?
In this sense, the truly faithful must live their faith alone, as the communion with the divine, the enacting of faith, is something each of us can only participate in as individuals. This is similar to the experience that ghost hunters attempt when trying to demonstrate that the undemonstrable is as pointless as it should be insulting to the believer. For the experience of the divine is noncommunicable to share, it would be a contradiction, for although one may share the tenets of a faith in common with others, faith itself is a matter only for the conscience of the individual. Ghost hunting, then, is perhaps a step backward in time to the Witch of Endor or the miracles of the Saints.
But even a venerable early father of the Church, a saint himself, Augustine of Hippo, had this to say on the miraculous: “Although… the Lord brought many visible miracles in order that faith might sprout it first and be fed by infant nourishment and grow to its full strength by and by out of this softness (for as faith become stronger the less does it seek such help); He nevertheless wished us to wait quietly without visible inducements for the promised hope in order that the just might live by faith[.]” (De Pecatorum ii.52).
And again elsewhere: “For the Holy Spirit is not only given by the laying on of hands amid the testimony of temporal sensible miracles, as He was given in former days to be the credentials of a rudimentary faith, and for the extension of the first beginnings of the Church. For who expects in these days that those on whom hands are laid that they may receive the Holy Spirit should immediately begin to speak with tongues?” (De Baptismos III.21).
Yet, despite these admonitions, the desire to experience the miraculous continued and continues to this day, the “miracles” of modern science, just being a current manifestation of this drive to find the supernatural in the natural. However, ironically, by intending to prove such phenomena by empirical or semi-empirical means, they have missed the meaning of the supernatural altogether.
This is not to say that there are no individuals out there who are atheist or agnostic in sentiment, and genuinely believe such phenomena can be explained by natural science, only that I think such cases are rare, and that if they examined more honestly their motivations they might discover that the true source of this impulse is less simply intellectual curiosity then it is a hidden hope to prove to themselves that either death is truly the end or, the possibility of something more than the material awaiting to be seen.
“Aren’t people absurd! They never use the freedoms they do have but demand those they don’t have; they have freedom of thought, they demand freedom of speech.” Often paraphrased: “People demand freedom of speech for the freedom of thought they seldom use.” — Soren Kierkegaard1
I would like to preface this essay, briefly, with an acknowledgement as to its lateness. However, that acknowledgment is not an apology. Although the events I discuss may no longer be timely in the journalistic sense, good thinking is done on its own time and no one else’s.
In her book Slow Philosophy: Reading Against the Institution, Michelle Boulous Walker2 starts her discussion with a reference to the biographical film Hannah Arendt by Margarette von Trotta. Arendt, an academic philosopher commissioned to report on the trial of Adolf Eichmann (a series of articles that would later comprise her book Eichmann in Jerusalem and establish her concept of the banality of evil in the public consciousness), is under constant implied pressure to meet the deadlines for each installment of her account. But, as Horace advises us to keep our verses from the public for at least nine years, genuine and profound thinking cannot be done to order. Reflection is a careful, creeping process, and my thinking on these issues has been of the nature of a slow gestation. If, then, my thoughts are not as profound as I would like them to be, perhaps I should have left them in the oven a little longer on the bake.
Over the last few years, stand-up comedian Dave Chappelle has created a series of controversies in his comedy specials through jokes made at the expense of transgender people and the LGBTQ community at large. It has been difficult for some to understand why and how their favorite entertainer went wrong, and, subsequently, many remain on the proverbial fence as to whether or not they should condemn or condone this unnerving and controversial type of comedy. In this debate, the Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard may be of some help to them.
Kierkegaard, a nineteenth-century thinker most often considered the father of existentialism and associated with dreary-sounding books such as Fear and Trembling and The Sickness Unto Death, has a surprising amount to say about comedy and humor in general. In his day, he was even embroiled as a victim in a campaign of what we might today call cancel culture, when a Copenhagen newspaper, The Corsair, decided to make him a target of public ridicule. However, despite the great hurt it brought to him and the fact that he was, at least partly, responsible for the attacks, Kierkegaard never attempted to paint himself as a martyr for free speech or implied his speech had been censored; in fact, he continued to publish well after these events.3
Although he wrote about the nature of comedy in many places, one work lays out his most comprehensive views on the subject, his Concluding Unscientific Postscript to Philosophical Fragments. In this rather long work, I will focus on only one passage and only a footnote at that. However, though brief, I believe it displays more than enough on its own to aid us in determining the qualities of Dave Chappelle’s current form of comedy and provide an appropriate lens through which we might interpret it.
Kierkegaard’s views on comedy are complex—too complex to fully relate in the brief space available. However, insofar as it relates to the current topic, we may interpret Kierkegaard’s view of the ironist as close to the way we might describe the stand-up comedian of today. The ironist is often a commentator upon society and its follies, very much as comedians often present themselves to be, so that is where we will start. He begins with a quote from Aristotle’s Rhetoric:
“Aristotle remarks, ‘Irony is more free spirited than ribaldry, for the first is employed on one’s own account, the second on that of another.’” The ironist himself enjoys the comic in contrast to the prankster, who in making something laughable is at the service of others. An ironist, therefore, who needs the help of relatives, friends and a hurrah-gang in order to be able to enjoy the comic is by the same token a mediocre ironist and on the way to becoming a scurra. But there is another sense in which the ironist has the comic within him, and by being aware of it has insured himself against having it outside him. Once an existing ironist falls out of his irony he becomes comic, just as, e.g., Socrates would have done if, on the day of his judgment, he had become a figure of pathos. It is here the warrant lies, when the irony is not a malapert impulse but an existence-art, for the ironist then, precisely through the ironic mastery over himself, solves greater problems than a tragic hero.4“
Ribaldry is a type of humor that is rude and offensive and often involves making fun of someone at that someone’s expense. The ribald comedian is only interested in making others laugh, even if it means hurting someone’s feelings.
Irony, on the other hand, is more free-spirited than ribaldry, because the ironist does it for his own sake, not for others. The ironist has the true spirit of the comic within them, being aware of the absurdity or incongruity of life and using irony to express it. The ironist does not need external validation or support to appreciate the comic, unlike a mediocre ironist who depends on the reaction of others. The ironist protects him- or herself from becoming an object of the comic by not losing their sense of irony or detachment from the situation. If they do, they become a figure of ridicule or pity, like a scurra or a figure of pathos.
A scurra is the Latin term for a sponger, someone who lives off others without giving anything in return. A mediocre ironist is on the way to becoming a scurra, because they rely on others to enjoy the comic, and they do not have a refined or elegant sense of humor.
Pathos is a term that refers to the element in an experience or in an artistic work that makes us feel compassion, pity, or sympathy. It is also an emotion of sympathetic pity.An existing ironist becomes a figure of pathos if they fall out of their irony, meaning that they lose their ability to see the humor or the contradiction in the situation, and they become a victim of it. Kierkegaard uses the example of Socrates. If Socrates had become a figure of pathos on the day of his judgment, when he was sentenced to death, he would have lost his dignity and his wisdom. Chappelle’s contradiction of attacking an imperiled minority while amplified by a majority platform is a remarkable blind spot for someone usually so self-aware of racial and social injustice.
Irony is not a rude or impudent tendency but a way of living or being, Kierkegaard contends. The ironist, through their ironic mastery over themselves, solves greater problems than even tragic heroes, a tragic hero being defined as one who suffers a downfall due to a flaw or mistake. The ironist, by using irony, can overcome the challenges or contradictions of life without succumbing to them or becoming tragic objects themselves, thus navigating complex realities with insight and resilience.
The comic ironist, the truthteller about society, stands aloof, detached from the situation they describe. However, Chappelle has become very far from detached. Beneath all the smiles and punchlines, he has made it very clear that he perceives an imbalance of power between the LGBTQ community, which he mistakenly views as predominantly white, and people of color like himself who dare to question that community’s legitimacy. In his anger and desire to please those who agree with him, he has devolved to the level of the scurra—a jester whose anger binds him to his position. No longer detached from it, he falls to a level of pettiness that desires only to be hurtful, a stance unworthy of his former fame and intellect.
From here, it is up to Chappelle to decide to either listen to his critics and attempt to heal the hurt he has inflicted or, by Kierkegaard’s analysis, risk becoming a subject of pathos. For Chappelle, more than perhaps any other modern comedian who has lately had a fall from grace, has the farthest to fall and, therefore, is the most likely to become a tragic figure brought down by a fatal tragic flaw he failed to see. His journey from revered comic ironist to a figure flirting with tragedy remains a cautionary tale about the perils of pride.
As already stated, Kierkegaard’s views on the comic are far more complex and nuanced than I have made them appear here; it might be pointed out that his depiction of the ribald scurra could apply to any comedian who is paid for what they do. However, this is not my intent to argue. There was nothing like the professional stand-up comedians as we now know them in Kierkegaard’s day, but Kierkegaard did care deeply for the concept of authenticity, and whether one agrees with him or not, Chappelle has certainly changed from who and what he used to represent. More than a typical “professional,” Chappelle was once perceived to be different, a true “detached” ironic observer and commentator of our times, who could provoke thought as much as laughter. That Chappelle, who engaged critically and thoughtfully with his material, is no more. Today, he seems more aligned with the crowd-pleasing tactics that appeal to a different kind of audience—one that may not be interested in challenging their own views or assumptions. Ultimately, however, Kierkegaard’s analysis sheds more light on Chappelle’s audience than on Chappelle himself.
In Concluding Unscientific Postscript, Kierkegaard discusses those who preface a hurtful joke with, “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but…” This phrase reveals that the person knows the joke is in poor taste, yet they choose to share it anyway. By doing so, they show that its offensiveness doesn’t bother them—in fact, they implicitly agree with the joke’s premise. They seek out someone who will validate their shameful pleasure by sharing in their laughter. The audience, in turn, becomes complicit, as the laughter serves to legitimize the hurtful content. When a comedian like Chappelle does this on a public stage, the dynamic changes.
What was once shameful becomes more socially acceptable, and those who take offense are dismissed as killjoys or overly sensitive. We’ve all encountered this type of audience in grade school—those who bully or demean others to boost their popularity. It becomes easier for others to join in the laughter, even if they know it’s wrong, because objecting would risk their own social standing. Such humor, however, lacks the depth and introspection of true irony or satire; it is merely the mockery of a clown, intended to entertain at the expense of others. Any intelligent and empathetic person who still finds this material entertaining, despite its harmful effects, must ask themselves: Why? Are they genuinely amused, or are they just seeking the comfort of the crowd’s approval?
Apropos of my upcoming trip to Italy, I thought I would publish this little translation of mine from Goethe’s Roman Elegies.
As a curious side note, this was completed on January sixth, 2021.
How we were ever once so happy,
Only now can be found through you.
1.
Speak to me, stones, oh speak, you lofty palaces!
Streets, spare a word! Spirit, stir yourself not?
Yes, all is animated within your hallowed walls
Eternal Roma; for me, all is still.
O, who whispers to me, at which window I glimpse
That lovely beast who refreshes as she burns.
I have not planned the paths I trace in travel to and fro
And back and forth, I sacrifice my time.
Still, I consider church and palace, ruins and columns,
The way a thoughtful man is meant to do.
But soon enough, it’s over: then just one temple appears to me
Only Cupid’s temple now the worshipper receives.
You may be a world, O Rome, but lacking love
The world being the world, Rome would not be Rome.
Abstract:
This article examines the intersection of capitalism, patriarchy, and Heideggerian ontology, arguing that modern corporate feminism unwittingly reinforces patriarchal structures by adopting capitalist notions of success. Drawing on Heidegger’s concepts of Erschlossenheit (world disclosure), Geworfenheit (thrownness), and Verfallen (fallenness), it critiques how capitalism conditions individuals—especially women—to conform to a masculine mode of Being, structured by technological enframing (Ge-Stell). Using the work of Federici and Eisenstein, the article highlights how capitalism exploits unpaid and waged labor in ways that obscure its dependence on gendered hierarchies. While women’s increasing participation in the professional sphere is often seen as progress, it is argued that this merely reproduces the patriarchal logic embedded in capitalism. To transcend this cycle, the article proposes an ontological reorientation through Heidegger’s distinction between authentic and inauthentic modes of being, emphasizing poetic poiesis over technological enframing. By integrating critical theory and feminist critique with Heideggerian existentialism, this work calls for a transformation not only of social institutions but of the fundamental way Being is disclosed, challenging the ideological structures that sustain capitalist patriarchy.
Lancelot Kirby 