The Theory of Dog Scratches
I have the same vision again and again when I think about existential phenomena. I think of all existence as a screen which stretches infinitely back and away from me. It’s golden and appears like a movie screen which I sit in front of with my notepad.
If I were a scientist, I would zoom in to a specific part of the natural world and I would form a theory about the natural world and why it’s doing what it’s doing. I would write down all the characteristics about, say, dogs, and wonder about the fact that they absolutely demand to have their butts scratched and aren’t in favor of the far more palatable head scratches. I’d study the thing, look at all the old data already collected on the thing, and really get a good picture of this dog problem. And I would come to a conclusion about dogs that makes sense and it becomes the Theory of Dog Scratches. And as a scientist, I would feel thrilled with my conclusion because I’ve really cracked the code and figured out exactly what the hell is wrong with dogs.
But as an existential phenomenologist… I wouldn’t do any of that. It would be a waste of time in the eyes of, say, Heidegger, who would ask me to stop staring at the screen and scribbling in my little notebook. He’d say it’s really not doing me any good to describe phenomena in this way. Then he’d push me into this “screen” and I’d become immersed in the phenomena and a part of all that exists. I would become unified with it and my notebook would also probably come into this unified space with me and I’d stare at the notebook and turn it over in my hands and really be with it. I’d ask of the notebook a lot of existential phenomenological questions and I’d probably seem a little crazy to the scientist version of me who really wanted to know about dogs, but instead, I’m inside the infinite unity of things staring at a notebook.
And I think that’s what existential phenomenology is.
Then I get into the tough business of really experiencing and then conveying existential phenomena. It’s the difference between thinking about cooking and actually cooking. You can’t psychically create a meal. While you can think through every single step of the meal, and you can imagine yourself at the store, and chopping an onion, and even invoke, to some extent, the scent of that onion- at the end of it, you just have a psychic meal on an imagined platter. It’s no more real, no more True, than your Theory of Dog Scratches. It’s abstracted and conceptual and you just can’t eat it. You aren’t the dog, you aren’t the eater of the meal, you don’t experience the phenomena.
