Ryan Wasser

The intellectual life can be reduced to one of two broad impulses: an impulse that looks at the nature of right-being with respect to Being itself, and an impulse that looks at the nature of particular beings apart from Being as an all-encompassing construct. This was a view proffered by the American meta-philosopher William Barrett in the middle of the 20th century, but it is also a view that characterized the thinking of philosophers such as Heidegger, Aquinas and Parmenides. To the extent that any human being can speak knowingly about transcendental ideas like "Being" and "non-Being"—matters that have historically been "dealt with" through the arts—how-to-be with respect to those paradigms is, by all accounts, a relatively new question that has, since the development of the printed word, found itself subordinated to the sciences as modern and digital technology have taken hold. For present-day academics, this should not come as a shock. Consider the following: Humanities funding, while consistent in technical (if not actual) growth, has been consistently dwarfed by funding for the sciences, and the number of Humanities degrees awarded in 2022 fell precipitously to almost pre-millennial levels, registering a "sharp 7.3 [one-year] drop between 2021 and 2022" along with a near twenty-four percent decline since the most recent high in 2012 registered in that poll. This data is not definitive, but is interpretable as a bell-weather of a cultural attitude that views those within Higher Education as, according to Noam Chomsky, being "completely dissociated from anything that's happening," thriving solely on their field of study by "[running] around the conferences and [getting] professorships."This would not be a problem were it not for the reality that, in spite of their global reach and power, technology and science have not only failed to contribute to the psychological welfare of our species, they have actively contributed to one of humanity's most pernicious woes, namely, the fact that so many people are so painfully alone in spite of the species' unparalleled connectivity. Nick Cave once wrote in a letter that with respect to the multitude of temptations "that . . . eat away at [our collective] creative spirit[s]," none are as "fiendish," he said, "as that boundless machine of artistic demoralization, ChatGPT." This is significant because in spite of human frailty "we still find the resilience to do and make beautiful things," which is precisely why the manner in which a person is educated, to put it at its absolute mildest, is of supreme moment in relation to the development of a harmonious, intellectual life. Unfortunately, contemporary education seems to have shied away from pedagogical models that accentuate intellectual harmoniousness, instead choosing to focus on patterns of education oriented by marketability and acquiring and maintaining funding, oftentimes at the expense of students and educator. In short, without emphasizing the Humanities, the problem of "the sciences," to wit, the miasma of unfettered measurement, tabulation and prediction, will only worsen. This disquisition aims to show that the development of the intellect and that facet of "the good life" to which it relates is dependent upon the dissolution of the perceived distinction and divisions that separate the arts and sciences. Such a task can only be achieved through a thorough reinvigoration of aesthetic education that stands in close proximity to the sciences as two inextricably linked and, in fact, mutually interdependent manners of encountering the world. As such, my work concerns itself with aesthetic education and will be a literal extension of Schiller's Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man, both in terms of the possibility of aesthetic knowledge with respect to contemporary personological science as well as what a developed model of aesthetic education might look like in practice. Ideally, the text will be broken into two parts, with the first focusing on the question about the "purpose" of aesthetics and aesthetic education, after which I defend the need for greater attentiveness toward aesthetics as a discipline in lieu of the modern sciences. As a practical corollary, the second part of the text is composed of a variety of “Essays on Interiority” that demonstrate the interdependence of science and art with respect to what might be colloquially referred to as a “well-rounded human.”

There are only a few aspects of existence that can be described as universal to the human species. One of those universals is consciousness, the experience of "I" and the concomitant awareness of being finite that "I" experience in the face of what is perceivably although perhaps not literally an infinite cosmos. Within the experience of "I" there are other universals that everybody recognizes as constitutive of what it means to be human in the first place, perhaps none so much as emotional sensation. However, there is one universal that seems to avoid meaningful recognition even if it is not ignored outright, and perhaps that is because "the world" as we experience it is so complicated and our lives so enmeshed in its trappings that to wonder about its nature would be akin to marveling at the biomechanical genius involved in the manipulation of tools with the human hand. Though understandable, there is great utility in developing a nuanced conceptual model of the way we construct and experience the "worlds" in which each of us resides. In this essay, I utilize the underlying principles of Susan Haack's foundherentism to describe an ontological conception of "world" that is more accessible to those both within and outside of the continental tradition of philosophy, highlighting the often-overlooked mutual interdependence of seemingly disparate philosophical traditions

A prevailing concern in aesthetics is the meaning and purpose of art, and with respect to that concern, there are just as likely as many philosophies about the matter as there are individual pieces of art in the world. I believe that Kant (2001) was correct that this is a result of the human capacity for taste, that faculty that makes the judgment of beauty possible, which is ultimately subjective in spite of the feeling that such intimations are necessary and are therefore sufficient to warrant universal appeal (p. 89/5:204). Scholarship, therefore, finds itself in a bind, since that implies that the search for universal artistic meaning would be a fool's errand, that determining the value of artistic works necessarily requires case-by-case analyses, and that the development of the aesthetic sense of the utmost importance to those in the humanities, especially at a time when reproductions of famous works can be had on the cheap. We must not forget that in spite of these difficulties, art has something to say, and as such, it falls upon scholars to pay attention to what is said in order to better understand art in generalis to the extent that such understanding is possible. In this article, I explore the idea of presence as it pertains to the meaning of Jon Carsman's work in light of the stated purpose of his artistic life, to "give [the viewer] a feel of what it is like to be there when [he] was" (Petrillo 2003, p. 5).

[To readers: Please consider visiting the journal's website to read this work.] In spite of referring to the human tendency to "breath together" or share the same spirit, the word "conspire" has developed a negative connotation in contemporary society, specifically as it pertains to theorizing about conspiracies as a result of the human proclivity to recognize patterns recognition and coalesce common themes amongst those with shared perceptions into something resembling a unified narrative. This proclivity has only become more pronounced with the dawn of the Internet age, and as a result, the tendency to assume the actuality of certain conspiracies and insulate ourselves from viable, competing ideas has led to a series of microenvironments not dissimilar from those that allow for the proliferation of cancerous cells in the human body. In this article, I draw out the analogy between cancer and conspiracy theorizing in order to present readers with a clearer picture of the deleterious effects of the contemporary phenomena such as unbridled political polarization and the effect of sociopolitical news coverage presented by low-correlation outlets, otherwise known as "echo chambers."

At first blush values such as diversity appear to be worth striving for. The question is whether or not such values—which have become increasingly prevalent the institutional credos of academia—are values as such, that being that they are things of moral worth (Value, n.d.), or if they are something else altogether. My unpopular suspicion leans toward the latter. Personal opinions, of course, can hardly be said to be good justification for a withering critique, however, these opinions of mine mirror similar concerns held by moderate and conservative opinions of the matter (Pew Research Center, 2017). As such it is beneficial to examine these issues rigorously separated from the pathological rhetoric that typically insulates them from outside reproach. Anecdotally speaking, since "diversity" seems to be the chief concern among these groups both in the academic setting and the world at large, the crux of this article will be anchored by a Marx-influenced assessment of the actuality of diversity as a social work in the academic environment, and the effect such projects might have if my suspicions prove to be correct.

Although trauma has been an explicit topic of psychological interest since at least the late 19th century, as a phenomenon it has largely evaded deeper analyses that might other reframe the way the condition is perceived and understood. A Theory of Trauma attempts to address the exigence of trauma-based research, first, by approaching the matter using phenomenological, philological and hermeneutical methods in an attempt to extract an ontological understanding of trauma from the otherwise ontical body of work that characterizes both historical and contemporary psychological works surrounding the matter. The second half of the text is dedicated to reorienting the reader in terms of the nature of thought itself, an effort grounded by one of Heidegger's later works, What is Called Thinking?, in terms of the reasoning people have for considering matters as deep-rooted as trauma, and finally, in practical terms, to wit, identifying manifest forms of trauma by way of anecdotal vignettes.

The question at hand is whether or not a liberal arts education can be politically neutral, but the very fact that this question is phrased in the curious manner that it is, which is to say that we place emphasis on "can" as opposed to "is" or "how we might better ensure," speaks to the nature of a problem that much more deeply rooted than the mere question of scholarly polarization. Borrowing from Christopher Schlect of New Saint Andrews College, we might say that the "liberal arts teach us how to learn—how to freely gain knowledge and understanding," and that the manner in which they do this is by teaching students not only methodologies for solving problems that are presented to them, but also how to identify problems of their own accord (79). That would mean, by definition, that a political neutral liberal arts curriculum would necessitate not only an active awareness of one's ethical orientation, but also an active tempering of the biases that accompany that orientation out of respect for the spirit of liberalism and in recognition of one's own fallible nature. Unfortunately, since, as I intend to illustrate, our moral and therefore political senses are similar to aesthetic taste as described by Kant in his third critique, they carry with them the paradoxicality of pure subjectivity tethered to the expectation of universality, making the possibility of political neutrality in the liberal arts a grim proposition, to put it at its absolute mildest. In order to determine whether this problem is in any way manageable, it is necessary to analyze of the nature of moral and political taste in a general sense, the rhetoric that educator use toward members of opposing moral frameworks, how that rhetoric is buttressed by institutional teloi, and finally, how different systems of normative ethics might contribute to neutrality in the liberal arts.

There is a troubling trend in contemporary writing pedagogy to construe classical approaches to writing instruction "as fixed, static entities . . . produced by asymmetrical power relations that . . . reinforce oppressive or stereotypical attitudes and ideologies" (Mutnick and Lamos 25). In place of the classical tradition, progressive educators, following the lead of Paulo Freire, have championed student-centered approaches to education, in effect developing students in the service of themselves as opposed to in the service of knowledge as is characteristic of classical approaches. In this article I argue against the pedagogical monism that characterizes contemporary educational models by positing an integrated model of writing instruction that builds contemporary, theory-driven frameworks on top of historically valid and progressively developed principles, using the languages of modernistic and classical architecture as a mnemonic. Using the "Palladian Arch" as a guiding image, I then close my article by describing how vertically-aligned, foundational approaches such as process pedagogy and genre and rhetorical studies relate to the horizontally-aligned, theoretical approaches that ultimately lead to the apotheosis of each student's intellectual persona.

The nature of "silence" is something of a recurring theme of contemplative philosophies far and wide, but more often than not silence is relegated to being little more than a mere concept or worse, a completely social phenomenon that chalks the matter up as some negation of humanity's "linguistic" way of being. Silence, it would seem, is "nothing" of the sort, but the only way to determine whether or not that is the case would be to contemplate exactly how silence ought to be considered, if, in fact, silence can be considered at all. In this article, I wrestle with the ontological reality of silence using Heidegger's treatment of the Nothing as a waymark, ultimately revealing the interrelatedness of presence and silence as conditions, and opening up possible avenues for new discussions related to meditative and contemplative practice.

At first blush, values such as diversity appear to be worth striving for. The question is whether or not such values—which have become increasingly prevalent in university mission statements—are values as such, which is to ask whether they are things of moral worth (Value, n.d.), or are something else altogether. My unpopular suspicion leans toward the latter. Personal opinions, of course, are hardly a justification for an impassioned critique, however, my opinions mirror those held by moderate and conservative witnesses to the sociopolitical climate of academia (Pew Research Center, 2017) as well as individuals who would typically be considered classically liberal such as Peter Boghossian (2021). Because of this concordance and in order to understand the constitutive relations of academic production, it becomes necessary to critically examine the nature of institutional values, separate from polemical rhetoric that either seeks to construct a "straw man" of them in order to lay them low or insulate them from outside reproach altogether Since "diversity" seems to be the chief concern among interested groups both in the academic setting and the world at large, this article's point of access to the relations of production in academia will be anchored by a Marxian assessment of diversity as a product of social labour in the academic environment.

There is a famous and important dictum reminiscent of the medieval age posited by Carl Jung in Alchemical Studies, the thirteenth volume of his collected works: in sterquiliniis invenitur—in filth it shall be found (35). Translated for modern society this might be better understood as “that which is most valuable will be found in the place you least want to look.” If there is one source in the corpus of popular culture that best typifies “the last place we would want to look” for masculine values, it would be Mads Mikkelsen’s portrayal of Hannibal Lector, particularly Lector’s relationship with FBI profiler Will Graham during the first two seasons of the HBO series Hannibal. By stripping away the perverse horror of Lector’s actions toward Graham, and treating their relationship as an absolute value, I systematically explore the series’ portrayal of masculine nurturing in a way that reveals potentially praiseworthy facets relevant to modern masculinity.

Ecce Homo, Nietzsche's autobiography, is distinguished it the rest of his oeuvre and discloses, in no uncertain terms, by its profound candor in bringing to question a topic of vital importance that has remained a central concern of the cultural zeitgeist especially as a reaction to various events of the 21st century: trauma. Trauma [τραῦμα], a Grecian term that traditionally refers to "a wound," underpins much of Nietzsche's writing, and is present in observations of his own lived experience, those of notable décadents such as Socrates and Wagner, and even his discussions of ethics and morality. Nietzsche's willingness to engage with his personal trauma—what he might refer as a Dionysian affirmation of being—is precisely what allows him to stand head and shoulders above other thinkers in terms of unadulterated authenticity. The relationship between trauma and authenticity is, if nothing else, a well-documented if not understated occurrence both in texts of antiquity as well as contemporary scholarship, therefore understanding trauma as a precondition for the authentic individuation of ek-sisting beings is a concern of uncommon consequence. In order to understand trauma in this regard, it becomes necessary to examine it within the context of its manifestations, in this instance the life and works of Nietzsche, as well as on its own terms as a phenomenon.

Shaili Jain's The Unspeakable Mind (2019) is an impressive examination of the stress experienced by a veteran community that too often is handled with a sense of clinical sterility that borders on inhumanity, or a that of pandering condescension. However, what is striking about Jain's text is the lack of analysis of how trauma manifests in what Heidegger would refer to as average everydayness. This, to me, seems like a missed opportunity, especially as it pertains to trauma-based ethics since all too frequently manifestations of trauma do not occur as they are portrayed to in popular culture, but in the day-to-day and moment-to-moment living of those who deal with trauma. In this article I interrogate everyday manifestations and ideal manifestations of trauma using a comparative lens. My hope is that by focusing my analysis on my process of engagement with traumatic experiences I can help develop new discussions about trauma that will both allow for the discovery of new modes of thinking-about trauma as well as illuminate more nuanced methodologies of healing for those effected by post-traumatic stress in future research.

There are only a few aspects of existence that can be described as universal to the human species. One of those universals is consciousness, the experience of "I" and the concomitant awareness of being finite that "I" experience in the face of what is perceivably although perhaps not literally an infinite cosmos. Within the experience of "I" there are other universals that everybody recognizes as constitutive of what it means to be human in the first place, perhaps none so much as emotional sensation. However, there is one universal that seems to avoid meaningful recognition even if it is not ignored outright, and perhaps that is because "the world" as we experience it is so complicated and our lives so enmeshed in its trappings that to wonder about its nature would be akin to marveling at the biomechanical genius involved in the manipulation of tools with the human hand. Though understandable, there is great utility in developing a nuanced conceptual model of the way we construct and experience the "worlds" in which each of us resides. In this essay, I utilize the underlying principles of Susan Haack's foundherentism to describe an ontological conception of "world" that is more accessible to those both within and outside of the continental tradition of philosophy, highlighting the often-overlooked mutual interdependence of seemingly disparate philosophical traditions while providing readers with a relatable heuristic for individual comportment.

In his postapocalyptic novel, Those Who Remain, G. Michael Hopf (2016) makes an important observation about the effect crises can have on human psychology by noting that "hard times create strong [humans]" (loc. 200). While the catastrophic effects of the recent COVID-19 outbreak are incontestable, there are arguments to be made that the situation itself could be materia prima of a more grounded, and authentic generation of humanity, at least in theory. In this article I draw on Heidegger's early, implicit ethic of finitude as well as his later work surrounding the nature of technology, and place them into dialogue with a global milieu contextualized by worldwide pandemic. I approach this discussion from two different angles: in the first part, I explicate the ethic of finitude, and use it as a framework to describe the observable behavior of communities worldwide in order to better understand how global crises impact the psychical welfare of individual human beings. In the second part, I apply lessons given to us by the later Heidegger, specifically those oriented around the movement away from calculative thinking, in an effort to define a loose, albeit fundamentally ennobling prescriptive aimed at easing the existential strain of the situation we have found ourselves in. *This is a pre-print of an article published in Human Arenas. The final authenticated version is available at DOI: 10.1007/s42087-020-00142-6

Morality has always been a pressing issue in video game scholarship, but became more contentious after “realistic” violence in games became possible. However, few studies concern themselves with how players experience moral dilemmas in games, choosing instead to focus on the way games affect postplay behavior. In my thesis I discuss the moral choices players encounter in the Metal Gear series of games; then, I analyze and compare the responses of players with and without martial career experiences. My argument is that the moral choices players encounter during gameplay affect them differently, particularly if they have life experiences related to medical trauma, law enforcement, fire fighting, or military career fields, and that the behavior of those players will be observably different from players without the same experiences. In chapter one I present my personal history with Metal Gear, before moving on to the literature review in chapter two, which focuses on scholarship about the Metal Gear series of games and video game research as a whole, particularly studies concerned with how violent content affects players. In chapters three and four, I analyze Metal Gear Solid 3 (2004) and Metal Gear Solid V (2014/2015) in order to gain insight into the moral dilemmas posed by each game. In chapter five I report the results of a survey about player responses towards the game dilemmas given by martial and non-martial groups to identify observable patterns of behavior in how they act and react towards each scenario. This is a preprint version of the official paper until an update is produced. The current official version is available at the West Chester Digital Commons in the external link section below.