John Whitmire

A key philosophical feature of Peter Jackson’s film interpretation of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings is its use of fantasy to inspire a “recovery” of the actual or, in other words, a reawakening to the beauty of nature and the many possible ways of living in healthier ecological relation to the world. Though none of these ways is perfectly achieved, this pluralistic view is demonstrated in the various lifeways of Hobbits, Elves, Men, and Ents. All of the positive relationships embodied in the films—to trees, mountains, horses, and vegetable gardens—involve loving care and attention, receiving nourishment and livelihood without instrumentalization, or reducing nature to mere resource. The films also vividly display a variety of ugly and destructive ways of using the land to accrue power and wealth. These noxious ways, specifically because they actively destroy the lands that they use, always need more. They will thus eventually annihilate the beautiful ways of being if they are not actively resisted. Some of those who would rather be tending their own trees, gardens, or horses or even wandering in the wild forests must therefore turn their attention to struggle and resistance instead. This is a struggle full of grief, and at times even verging on despair, but it is marked by the refusal to give up hope. Indeed, what Jackson and Tolkien have to say about hope is as important in responding to the ecological crisis as anything they have to say about nature, inasmuch as they help to remind us that even in our own times, “there is still hope.”

Hope is arguably the linchpin virtue of The Lord of the Rings. In this essay, as part of a larger project intended to establish this claim, I take up Appendix A.I.v to The Lord of the Rings, the relatively self-contained “Part of the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen.” Through a close study of the drafts for this section available in the Tolkien Archives at Marquette University, only some of which have been previously published in The Peoples of Middle-earth, as well as one discovery in the Bodleian, I demonstrate that this short text, one of the very last that Tolkien prepared and finished for The Lord of the Rings, evinces a gradually increasing emphasis on the importance of hope to the narrative project as a whole. I argue, finally, that this suggests the need for both increased scrutiny of the nature and development of hope in The Lord of the Rings and the broader legendarium, as well as a return to the manuscripts for in-depth analysis of the development of (other) particular issues and themes in the texts.

A key philosophical feature of Peter Jackson’s film interpretation of J.R.R. Tolkien’s _The Lord of the Rings_ is its use of fantasy to inspire a “recovery” of the actual or, in other words, a reawakening to the beauty of nature and the many possible ways of living in healthier ecological relation to the world. Though none of these ways is perfectly achieved, this pluralistic view is demonstrated in the various lifeways of Hobbits, Elves, Men, and Ents. All of the positive relationships embodied in the films—to trees, mountains, horses, and vegetable gardens—involve loving care and attention, receiving nourishment and livelihood without instrumentalization, or reducing nature to mere resource. The films also vividly display a variety of ugly and destructive ways of using the land to accrue power and wealth. These noxious ways, specifically because they actively destroy the lands that they use, always need more. They will thus eventually annihilate the beautiful ways of being if they are not actively resisted. Some of those who would rather be tending their own trees, gardens, or horses or even wandering in the wild forests must therefore turn their attention to struggle and resistance instead. This is a struggle full of grief, and at times even verging on despair, but it is marked by the refusal to give up hope. Indeed, what Jackson and Tolkien have to say about hope is as important in responding to the ecological crisis as anything they have to say about nature, inasmuch as they help to remind us that even in our own times, “there is still hope.”

The pace of globalization has disenfranchised many, alienating them from participation in local modes of self-governance and placing their political agency in an exceedingly fragile position. This alienation cannot be simply overcome, because institutional mediation, as Ricoeur argues, is constitutive of politics: political representation operates by its own rules, partially disconnected from the represented world. Using Ricoeur's work on narrative and alienation alongside Mouffe’s radical democratic theory, we re-envision what political participation could look like outside the traditional nation-state: an agonistic citizenship of discursive struggle, embodied in overlapping communities of interest that work in transparent, democratic ways. We argue that we must begin reorienting ourselves (thinking and acting) as “citizens” of these supra-local communities, rather than merely of our state (which nevertheless remains important). By re-plotting our narratives of political engagement, we can respond positively to the alienation created by globalization, while avoiding the extremes of hyperglobalism and protectionist nationalism.

In this paper, I examine the claim that Nietzsche was already mad (or on the verge of madness) when he wrote Ecce Homo, arguing that this assumption, not the book’s quasi-autobiographical style, has been the chief impediment to a serious philosophical consideration of the text. I briefly take up several recent treatments of the work that attempt to counter the claim of madness commonly made about it, noting that while each of them gives us a good partial rejoinder, they all miss a crucial approach that helps make a great deal more sense of the text. Ecce Homo’s exceedingly bombastic claims, and much of its strange style, can be best explained by noticing Nietzsche’s incorporation of several traditional elements of Judeo-Christian apocalyptic narratives: a first-person narrative describing a revelatory disclosure (and the subsequent interpretation of that revelation); a cosmic dualism of forces (Dionysus and “the Crucified”) and radical eschatological worldview; and an exhortation to shift our cognitive and behavioral comportment to reflect the altered perspective on the world disclosed in that revelation. Thus construed, the text is no more a work of “madness” than the book of Revelation. It is, rather, the ironic appropriation and redeployment of a series of literary techniques and stylistic elements that highlight the importance of Nietzsche’s life and work as the destined surmounting of the (ostensibly) life-denying Christian worldview.

In a famous 1964 interview with _Le Monde_, Jean-Paul Sartre describes the evolution in his thought from the writing of _Nausea_ up to the publication of his autobiographical Les Mots. While not rejecting his earlier literary and philosophical work, he does recontextualize it in light of his own existential growth in the previous two decades, which he attributes to his confrontation with the reality of human suffering – specifically, that of a child dying of hunger. In this essay, I use Sartre’s interview as an entrée to a discussion of some of my students’ and my own existential development, by way of my emerging use of a variety of pedagogical practices (service learning, narrative teaching, civic engagement) in an interdisciplinary philosophy course called “Religion, Suffering, and the Moral Imagination.”

Several deconstructive readings of Kierkegaard from the early 1980’s and 1990’s begin with a critique of the role the aesthetic plays in The Point of View for My Work as an Author in order to trouble the entire (ostensive) hierarchy of religious-ethical-aesthetic. These readings suggest that there is no way to discern with certainty whether the signature “Kierkegaard” (here and elsewhere) indeed refers to the factical author, or is just another playful aesthetic pose. From this point, they go on to challenge the received view that the first authorship as a whole should be understood as fundamentally religious rather than aesthetic. I argue that this is a largely unsuccessful move, because these readers do not do full justice to Kierkegaard’s understanding of the transfiguration (or appropriation) of the lower stages of existence into the higher, in the balancing of the self. Re-reading the autobiographical texts with this in mind shows that the authorship is indeed a religious enterprise, even granting the questionable status of The Point of View. I conclude by arguing that On My Work as an Author represents a more successful autobiographical transfiguration of the aesthetic within the ethical-religious stages – and hence a more complete balancing of his own self – and that this work should also be understood as an act of witnessing. Indeed, for Kierkegaard to witness in a way other than through his writing would be a kind of despair, insofar as he would be willing to be someone other than himself.

Their paper begins with the observation that, even though many philosophers, especially in the twentieth century, have had personal experience of exile, they rarely treat the topic of exile directly in their philosophical works. Existentialist thinkers such as Heidegger, it is true, have employed exile as a metaphor for the human condition, yet the concrete experience of political exile has been treated as somehow lacking the universality that canonical philosophy needs. This paper warns against the temptation to conflate the real situation of exile with a general condition of existential unbelongingness. It goes on to trace two major threads in the history of the philosophical treatment of citizenship, the one deriving from Plato and the other from Kant and to explore their relevance to contemporary debate around the moral and legal status of those who seek refuge abroad from war, oppression, or other kinds of threat in their homeland. The Platonic tradition treats citizenship as deriving primarily from association with a land; it views foreigners as having the potential to contaminate the polis and any citizen who spends time away from the polis as likely to betray it. While many features of the Platonic position have not survived to the present, it is noteworthy that, for indigenous peoples in many parts of the world, attachment to the land remains of fundamental importance. At the same time, though migration of many kinds has become extremely common, some individuals and governments in the first world still demonstrate a visceral belief that refugees and immigrants to their country will somehow corrupt or contaminate it. The Kantian position, by contrast, treats citizenship as, ideally at least, cosmopolitan and global. It envisages nation states as moving towards “an enduring and gradually expanding federation likely to prevent war”. Consequently, the stranger seeking refuge abroad from life-threatening persecution in his or her own country has what Kant refers to as a “right of resort” in another country. While Kant argues that we must therefore not show hostility to such people, our obligations to them do not extend to philanthropic hospitality. This assertion of a limited obligation to displaced persons forms the basis for much contemporary discussion around the rights of refugees and migrants. Globalization, of course, has not taken quite the form that Kant envisaged. While the United Nations asserts the universality of human rights, and certain clusters of countries, such as those in Western Europe, have moved towards federation and free internal movement of their citizens, so-called globalization has taken place primarily on the economic, rather than the political, level. The extreme international mobility of investment capital from first-world countries in search of cheap labour is not currently matched by an acceptance within such countries of the rights of third-world citizens to migrate to their shores in search of higher wages and improved living conditions. Finally, this paper offers a critique of both the Platonic and the Kantian positions and argues the need in the modern world for institutional arrangements which represent a variety of interests and struggles across national boundaries.

This dissertation interrogates the notions of selfhood, agency, and subjectivity in the autobiographical works of Jean-Paul Sartre, Friedrich Nietzsche, Søren (Soren) Kierkegaard, and Jacques Derrida, all of which are significantly under-researched in the philosophical literature. I show, in each case, that the autobiographical works have a significant philosophical core that deserves drawing out, particularly with relevance to the knot of problems surrounding the quaestio mihi factus sum—the question, enigma, or mystery that I am. I situate each work within the context of the author's larger treatment of the same issues in the more “theoretical” works, and then proceed to show that the autobiographical works all present a slightly different or more advanced picture of things, which is in each case at least partially dependent upon the genre itself. In the case of Sartre, this amounts to a real balance between freedom and the force of circumstances in Les Mots (Words); for Nietzsche, the virtual effacement of all conscious activity in Ecce Homo. For Kierkegaard and Derrida, the primary difference is performative: they are doing something in their autobiographical texts that they are not elsewhere. Kierkegaard's On My Work as an Author is, as he says, a “deed” rather than a “work”; likewise, Derrida's Circonfession (Circumfession) is an attempt to enact an “event.” I further establish that there is a veritatem facere, a “making,”“doing,” or “performing” of the truth, in each autobiographical text—in the form of an integration of our past into our current situation (Sartre), an affirming of our fate (Nietzsche), a witnessing before God (Kierkegaard), and a testifying to our responsibility to the Other (Derrida). I conclude by reflecting on some of the more significant successes, failures, and problems inherent in these autobiographical projects, in light of philosophical reflection on the genre.

A close reading of Nietzsche's post-1885 reflections on subjectivity and selfhood yields neither the voluntarist subject of his "existentialist" works ('Gay Science'; 'Zarathustra'), nor the complete dissolution of the self of some postmodern readers (Foucault, Deleuze). Instead, we find a quasi-phenomenological analysis of the (seemingly unitary) body as a multivalent, ceaselessly warring multiplicity of impulses and affects. Normatively, however (for the "higher" individual), this ontological diversity is yoked together by a single master-drive, creating a "social structure composed of many souls." In Nietzsche's late anthropology, then, the unity of personhood lies between existentialist and postmodern accounts, as a 'functional achievement'.

I discuss a learning outcome of the Western Carolina University, Department of Philosophy and Religion, which focuses on a student’s development and pursuit of a meaningful, thriving, well-lived life, as a corrective to the poverty of existential reflection in the academy. We achieve this Socratic goal via a targeted series of assignments throughout the student’s education, a required pro-seminar on the topic of human flourishing, and other elective courses. The self-reflective, narrative assignments are designed to help students develop their own tentative position on a flourishing life, consider whether and how they are pursuing that vision, and articulate meaningful ways to integrate potential vocations with a fulfilling existence. Students are introduced to these questions in introductory classes; take a pro-seminar analyzing various positions on ‘the good life’ drawn from numerous philosophical, religious, and literary texts, with a research paper assignment critically evaluating one position of their choice ; and, in their final year, revisit their earlier ‘meaning assignments,’ examining retrospectively their academic career and personal development, and prospectively their postbaccalaureate life and career. I conclude with some suggestions for programs keen to incorporate a similar outcome into their own curriculum.

Sartre's Les Mots has given rise to widely divergent competing readings in the philosophical literature, which tend to view it either as a simple continuation of his earlier, radical libertarianism, or as part of an alleged wholesale renunciation of the position we find in his early texts. I argue that most of these readings ignore the very real tensions in Words between the freedom of consciousness and the weight of circumstances. I further argue that Les Mots is a performative text whose double writing (originally composed 1954-1957; rewritten 1963) demonstrates for us that, whereas we cannot simply renounce our past and the original meanings mediated to us in childhood through our families, we do have the power to take it up in ways that skew those meanings in somewhat different directions. No matter what we do, however, the blurred outlines of those original meanings will always remain.

We argue that Paul Ricoeur’s work on narrative and alienation provides a largely untapped, though potentially fruitful way of re-thinking the question of political agency within the context of globalization. We argue that the political agency of many around the world has been placed in an exceedingly fragile position due to the rapid pace of globalization, the movement of multi-national corporations from their previous national headquarters, etc. We use Ricoeur’s work to argue that the alienation of globalization is not something that can be simply overcome either in a unified world-state or a retreat to protectionist nationalism, because institutional mediation—and consequently alienation—is in some sense constitutive of all politics: the world of political representation operates by its own set of rules, which are at least partially disconnected from the represented world. Using the work of Mouffe, a radical democratic theorist, we then flesh out an ideal of agonistic citizenship (which recognizes both the need for and the inevitability of discursive struggle in politics) in a number of overlapping communities of interest, rather than tying political participation solely to the sovereign government of my state. The state will remain important, but because globalization has disenfranchised so many from their participation in “local” modes of self-governance (tied to the state in which they live), we have a responsibility to re-envision what political participation means outside the traditional context of the state. Rather than merely citizens of a particular state, we need to begin thinking of ourselves politically—and then acting—as “citizens” of Green Peace, Human Rights Watch, Doctors Without Borders, or whatever other supra-local concrete universals or communities of interest to which we belong, investing the time and energy there that we might previously have invested solely in our state’s government. (By implication, we must also ensure that these organizations work in transparent democratic ways themselves.) We believe that by re-plotting our narratives of political engagement in this way, we can positively respond to the alienation created by globalization, while avoiding both the extremes of “McWorld” (hyperglobalism) and “Jihad” (complete skepticism towards, or war against globalization) that Benjamin Barber and David Held have recently described.

I argue in this paper that philosophers have tended to neglect most autobiographies, even explicitly philosophical ones, due to invalid presuppositions about genre demarcations, and that they would do well to consider them for the resources they offer in terms of constituting positions on selfhood and agency. I further argue that Jacques Derrida offers a productive theoretical framework for understanding philosophical autobiographies as performances, or instances of "making" the truth (Augustine's veritatem facere) by "testifying" or "witnessing," and analyze both Derrida's "Circumfession" and Søren Kierkegaard's 'On My Work as an Author' as examples of this kind of performance.