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Luis Villoro's The Challenges of the Coming Society

Luis Villoro (1922-2014) was a Mexican philosopher, historian, writer, diplomat and revolutionary who was born in Barcelona, Spain. His father was Spanish, and his mother was Mexican. He arrived in Mexico at the age of 17, and studied at the Facultad de Filosofía y Letras of the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM), where he obtained his master’s degree in philosophy in 1949 and his doctoral degree in 1963. He also did postgraduate study at the Sorbonne in Paris, and at Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich.

      In 1948, Villoro became a member of the Hyperion Group (el grupo Hiperión), a group of young Mexican philosophers who were students of José Gaos (1900-1969) at UNAM, and who were influenced by Gaos to explore phenomenology and existentialism. The Hyperion Group was mostly active from 1948-1952, and included Ricardo Guerra (1927-2007), Jorge Portilla (1918-1963), Emilio Uranga (1921-1988), Salvador Reyes Neváres (1922-1993), Joaquín Sánchez Macgrégor (1925-2008), Fausto Vega (1922-2015), and Leopoldo Zea (1912-2006).

      From 1948, Villoro taught at UNAM, where he was named professor in 1954. From 1971, he was a researcher at the Instituto de Investigaciones Filosofícas. From 1974-1982, he was professor at the Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana (UAM), and from 1972-1982, he was a member of the Board of Governors of UNAM. From 1980-1981, he served as president of the Asociación Filosófica de México, and from 1983-1987, he served as permanent delegate of Mexico to UNESCO in Paris.

      Honors that he received included membership from 1978 onward in The National College (El Colegio Nacional). He also received the National Prize for Arts and Sciences (el Premio Nacional de Ciencias y Artes) in 1986, and the University National Prize (el Premio Universidad Nacional) in 1989. He also received honorary degrees from the Universidad Michoacana de San Nicolás de Hidalgo in 2002 and the Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana (UAM) in 2004.

      In the 1990’s, Villoro secretly joined the EZLN (Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional, Zapatista Army of National Liberation). The Zapatistas were, and are still, a leftist revolutionary group based in the southern state of Chiapas who advocate political and economic autonomy for indigenous peoples. They also oppose economic globalization, and they call for indigenous peoples to have greater control over their land and local natural resources.

      Villoro, who was in his 70’s when he joined the EZLN, adopted “Luis Villoro Toranzo” as his nom de guerre. He wore a black beret, and he acted as a sentinel at EZLN guard posts. He kept his membership in the group hidden from even his wife and children.¹ He died in March 2014, at the age of 91, in Mexico City.

      In May 2015, a memorial gathering that was held in Oventic, Chiapas in honor of him and of the late Zapatista leader Galeano drew over 5,000 people. In accordance with his wishes, his family turned over a box containing his ashes to the Zapatistas, so that it could be buried at the foot of a tree in Oventic, Chiapas.

      Villoro’s work as a philosopher centered on such fields as the philosophy of history, political philosophy, social philosophy, ethics, and epistemology. His writings included Los grandes momentos del indigenismo en México (1950), El proceso ideológico de la revolución de independencia (1953), La idea y el ente en la filosofía de Descartes (1965), Estudios sobre Husserl (1975), Creer, saber, conocer (1982), El concepto de ideología y otros ensayos (1985), El poder y el valor: Fundamentos de una ética política (1997), Estado plural, pluralidad de culturas (1998), De la libertad a la comunidad (2001), Los retos de la sociedad por venir (2007), and La significación del silencio y otros ensayos (2008).

      Los Retos de la Sociedad por Venir: Ensayos sobre Justicia, Democracia, y Multiculturalismo (The Challenges of the Coming Society: Essays on Justice, Democracy, and Multiculturalism) is concerned with such questions as: What is the relation between justice and power? How does justice promote the ability to resist oppressive power? How may society ensure that everyone’s basic rights are respected? How can society prevent the social, economic, or political marginalization of particular social, ethnic, or minority groups? What are the implications of tolerance as a principle of transcultural ethics? How is multiculturalism similar to, or different from, cultural relativism? How is a transcultural ethics similar to, or different from, a universal ethics of human rights? How does the unitary, homogeneous nation-state differ from the plural, multicultural nation-state?

      Villoro describes three main challenges for the society of the future: the promotion of justice, the promotion of democracy, and the promotion of interculturality (multiculturalism). Unless these three challenges are met, we will not be able to achieve social consensus and unity in the context of a plurality of conceptions of the common good.

      To understand the meaning of justice, we may start by trying to understand what justice is not (what injustice consists of). Injustice may be a wrongful harm or injury caused by others. It may also be an infringement of basic rights or a restriction of basic human freedoms, due to domination or oppression by those in power.

      In the face of oppressive power, a response may be to take the moral position of non-power (no-poder). The opposite of the person eager for power is not the powerless person, argues Socrates in Plato’s Republic, but the person who refuses to make the will to power his goal. To seek a life not marked by power, but free from all will to power—that is the aim that, in contradiction to Thrasymachus’s argument that “might makes right,” constitutes the life of the good person.²

      Escaping from power is not equivalent to accepting powerlessness, says Villoro. It is resisting powerlessness. It is not allowing oneself to be subjugated and dominated by those in power. To take a position of non-power may also be to confront power with an opposing counter-power (contrapoder). Counter-power may be a resistance to both powerlessness and the pursuit of power.³

      Counter-power may be exercised in a number of ways: as passive resistance, as non-collaboration, as refusal to comply with the norms established by those in power. It may be exercised by a single individual, by a group, or by a whole class of individuals.

      Injustice may take the form of exclusion of certain persons or groups from access to the social, economic, and political goods that are enjoyed by the rest of society. The experience of injustice by the excluded may lead to their dissent from, and opposition to, the viewpoints held by those who have excluded them. The excluded may proclaim to those who have excluded them, “We are subjects worthy of value. That value equalizes us with you. It transcends our differences.”⁴

      Thus could be described the situation of persons or social groups excluded from a community of communication by not being considered valid interlocutors in any possible dialogue that could lead to rational consensus.⁵ Villoro explains that the philosopher Enrique Dussel distinguishes an ideal community of communication from a real community in which there are no excluded members and all members can participate in a “community of justice.” In a real community, each member may have the right to situate themselves in a position of exteriority that recognizes their differences from the rest of the community, but also affirms the community as a convergence of free and equal members.⁶

      Villoro says that the idea of justice, starting with the negative experience of exclusion, does not conceive justice as a definitive, final arrangement, but as a historical process that proceeds through various stages. In each stage, the historical meaning of social justice approaches a state in which exclusions and differences are overcome.⁷

      Justice therefore demands non-exclusion. In a just society, no one is excluded from participation in equal citizenship. A just society is one that permits and favors “the good life” (however that term may be defined) for all its members, and that makes “the good life” possible for all.

      Villoro describes two models of justice, the “deontological model” and the “teleological model.” According to the deontological model, priority is given to rules that are universally valid, and actions are just if they fulfill the rules or norms that govern them. According to the teleological model, priority is given to rules that are valid for the particular situation that individuals are confronted with, and actions are just if they fulfill a worthwhile end or they result in something good.  

      According to Villoro, the way to arrive at knowledge of the content of justice differs in the two models. In both models, justice cannot have subjective validity for an individual without representing their own self-interest. Justice is seen as a general rule or objective value that is valid for every individual. But how can we attain knowledge of this general rule or objective value? If the measure of objective value is the universalizable character of the rule—as in the first model—then the way to attain knowledge of the content of justice will be the universal acceptance, by all individuals, of that rule.⁸ If, on the other hand, the measure of validity of the rule is the good—as in the second model—then the way to arrive at knowledge of the content of justice will be recognition of the aims or ends that individuals actually pursue. Objective value will be seen in whatever is beneficial to, or is regarded as good by, all individuals in a socially determined whole. To know the just, we must therefore be able to determine what is good for all individuals in the context of their relations with one another.  Knowledge of the common good will not be derived from intersubjective consensus, but from discovery of the ends and values that unify society.⁹

      Villoro explains that the two models of justice are complementary, but that their difference is expressed as four antinomies: (1) the antinomy of the subject, (2) the antinomy of normative order, (3) the antinomy of the type of association, and (4) the antinomy of duty and ends.

      The antinomy of the subject is that, according to the deontological model, the moral subject is seen as an abstract subject who is not situated in a particular social context, and who is capable of impartial, universalizable judgments. According to the teleological model, however, the moral subject is seen as a concrete subject who is situated in a particular social context, and who acts to fulfill their own conception of the good.

      The antinomy of normative order is that, according to the deontological model, the rationality of universalizable norms as opposed to socially accepted modes of behavior may justify projects of change or reform of the existing social or political order. On the other hand, maintenance of existing norms may be favored over the claims of specific groups who have suffered from social inequality. According to the teleological model, however, projects of change or reform must be adequate to present circumstances, and they must respond to the distinct realities that constitute society. The durability of a just social order may depend as much on recognition of the specific needs of each social group as on continuation of existing political structures.¹⁰

      The antinomy of association is that, according to the individualistic conception of justice, corresponding to the deontological model, society is a means of realizing the aims of the individual. Political society fulfills this purpose by guaranteeing basic rights. The public space offers scope for the actualization of individual liberties. It is therefore a place of competition between individuals and groups. This competition must take place within the framework of tolerance and respect for basic rights, which permits cooperation for mutual benefit.¹¹ According to the communitarian conception of justice, corresponding to the teleological model, however, the aims of the individual are realized within a community. The proper aims of the individual include the pursuit of the common good. Competition between individuals must be replaced by pursuit of the good of the whole community.¹²

      The antinomy of duty and ends is that, according to the deontological model, the morally right is given priority over the morally good. The universality of moral norms is given priority over the plurality of conceptions of the good. According to the teleological model, however, the idea of justice cannot be separated from the idea of the good. The fulfillment of individual rights cannot be separated from the fulfillment of the good of society as a whole.

      Villoro explains how each of these antinomies may be overcome. One strategy may be to consider how the idea of justice can change over the course of time. Another strategy may be to consider how we can respond to the negation or denial of justice, injustice.

      Thus, the antinomy of the subject, which reflects the difference between the abstract, universalizable subject and the concrete, situated subject, may be overcome by the situated subject who acts on the basis of universalizable principles to oppose injustice.

      The antinomy of normative order, which reflects the difference between universalizable norms and socially specific norms of behavior, may be overcome by the situated subject who responds to their own concrete situation by acting according to universalizable principles that they have abstracted from that situation.

      The antinomy of association, which reflects the difference between individualist and collectivist approaches to justice, may be overcome by the coexistence of individualist and collectivist principles in society, and by the freedom of individuals to pursue their own interests as well as the interests of society as a whole.

      The antinomy of duty and ends, which reflects the difference between the morally right and the morally good, may be overcome when the universality of a moral rule is seen as having a specific cultural and historical context. The universality of the moral rule is therefore seen as only one of a plurality of social, cultural, and historical conceptions of the good.

      Villoro describes the political right and the political left as moral postures or moral attitudes toward democracy, but he confines himself to discussing the political left. “¿Qué es la izquierda?” (“What is the left?”) he asks. His answer (my translation) is that the left

“is not a system of beliefs or an ideology, but a collective attitude against domination…The disruptive attitude cannot be translated into collective action if it is not motivated by the interests of those who suffer under the domination of the system…However…in a complex society, the groups who suffer domination are various, and their interests may be dissimilar…A system of domination creates many diverse groups that have their own interests. The counter-power (contrapoder) facing this system must express the interests of all in their diversity. The actual left cannot be less than a multiple, heterogeneous movement. There is not a class or privileged sector of dissidence. There is no revolutionary vanguard. A dissident program cannot be reduced to a class ideology…All dominated groups share, in distinct ways, a common interest: to rightly liberate themselves from domination. They can therefore unify their voices in the same counter-power. This will be the task of a movement of the left.”¹³

      Principles of intercultural ethics, explains Villoro, include mutual tolerance, respect for cultural autonomy, respect for cultural authenticity, respect for cultural valuative rationality, and respect for cultural efficacy. Any system of intercultural ethics must also recognize that each culture is unique and not replaceable by others. It must recognize and appreciate the multiplicity and diversity of cultures.

      Tolerance, says Villoro, does not consist merely in accepting coexistence with other cultures and not interfering with them. Rather, it implies concern with the fortune (suerte) and destiny of other cultures, concern with sharing their aims and understanding their values, and concern with assisting them to satisfy their basic needs. It implies reciprocity.¹⁴

      Respect for cultural autonomy may be expressed as non-interference with, and non-domination of, other cultures.

      Respect for cultural authenticity may take the form of recognition of the true, as opposed to the misperceived or misappropriated, aspects of other cultures, as well as respect for the integrity of the customs, traditions, and value systems of other cultures.

      Respect for cultural valuative rationality may be expressed as recognition of the extent to which (or the efficacy with which) other cultures are able to integrate their proposed aims and preferred values into the lives of their members.

      Respect for cultural efficacy may be expressed as recognition of the capacity for other cultures to fulfill their roles and functions.

      Villoro argues that the aim of a participatory democracy in a pluralistic society should be the transition from a single, homogeneous state to a plural, heterogeneous state that respects its own internal diversity.¹⁵ More than tolerance is necessary to maintain the unity of the plural state. Cooperation is also necessary.¹⁶

      The traditional conception of the nation-state responds to the question of how to establish unity in a society in which there are varying conceptions of the common good by saying that unity is achieved by imposing a single historical conception of the common good on all members of society. Multiculturalist conceptions, however, provide a different response: unity is achieved by reciprocal recognition of social and cultural differences, and by acceptance of the plurality of existing conceptions of the common good. Unity results from freely made accords between various social and cultural groups who have different viewpoints.¹⁷

      Villoro explains that according to cultural relativism, the validity of a particular culture’s traditions depends on the viewpoint of the observer, and the traditions of any culture may be considered to be as valid as those of any other culture. Thus, cultural relativism calls into question the claim of any culture to be universal and to represent a model for all other cultures. Absolute relativism, however, holds that all cultural traditions are equally valid, no matter how oppressive or dominating they may be in relation to the traditions of other cultures. Absolute relativism is therefore incompatible with multiculturalism, since multiculturalism is opposed to any form of cultural oppression or domination.

FOOTNOTES

¹Ángeles Mariscal, “Philosopher-Historian Luis Villoro was Secret Zapatista Sentinel,” translated by Jane Brundage, CNN Mexico, May 3, 2015, translated May 7, 2015, at https://dorsetchiapassolidarity.wordpress.com/2015/07/07/philosopher-historian-luis-villoro-was-secret-zapatista-sentinel/.

²Luis Villoro, Los Retos de la Sociedad por Venir: Ensayos sobre Justicia, Democracia, y Multiculturalismo (México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 2007), p. 18.

³Ibid., p. 18.

⁴Ibid., p. 24.

⁵Ibid., p. 26.

⁶Ibid., p. 27.

⁷Ibid., p. 35.

⁸Ibid., p. 48.

⁹Ibid., p. 49.

¹⁰Ibid., pp. 92-93.

¹¹Ibid., pp. 94-95.

¹²Ibid., p. 95.

¹³Ibid., pp. 132-134.

¹⁴Ibid., p. 149.

¹⁵Ibid., p. 183.

¹⁶Ibid., p. 184.

¹⁷Ibid., pp. 198-199.

      

Emilio Uranga's Analysis of the Being of the Mexican

Emilio Uranga (1921-1988) was a Mexican philosopher who was born in Mexico City. From 1941-1944, he studied medicine at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM), but he then entered the Facultad de Filosofía y Letras of UNAM to study philosophy, where he was taught and influenced by the Spanish philosopher José Gaos (1900-1969), who was a faculty member at UNAM from 1939-1969.

      In 1948, Uranga became a member of the Hyperion group (el grupo Hiperión), an intellectual community of young philosophers who were influenced by Gaos and the existentialism of Heidegger and Sartre. The group included Ricardo Guerra (1927-2007), Jorge Portilla (1918-1963), Salvador Reyes Neváres (1922-1993), Joaquín Sánchez Macgrégor (1925-2008), Fausto Vega (1922-2015), Luis Villoro (1922-2014), and Leopoldo Zea (1912-2006). The group was named after the Greek mythological figure Hyperion, a Titan, son of Uranus and Gaia. Hyperion was the father of the sun god Helios, and was a symbol of illumination, watchfulness, and wisdom. The Mexican philosopher Gustavo Escobar Valenzuela, who was later a student of Uranga’s at the UNAM in the 1960’s, explains that Hyperion was also “hijo de la tierra y del cielo, encargado de unir lo concreto con lo universal” (“son of the earth and sky, charged with unifying the concrete with the universal”).¹

       From 1953-1957, Uranga studied at the universities of Freiburg, Tübingen, Cologne, and Hamburg, before doing further study at the Sorbonne and receiving his doctoral degree in philosophy. He later taught at the Facultad de Filosofía y Letras of the UNAM. His major writings included Ensayo de una ontología del mexicano (1949), Dos teorías de la muerte: Heidegger y Sartre (1949), Análisis del ser del mexicano (1952), Kant y Santo Tomás (sobre el problema de la verdad) (1954). Goethe y los filósofos (1958), A la sombra de Hegel (1958), Astucias literarias (1971) and ¿De quién es la filofofía? (1977).

      Uranga’s reputation began to decline in the 1960’s, as he became an increasingly outspoken defender of the Mexican government against its left-wing opponents, even after the Tlatelolco massacre in 1968. He alienated himself from many of his friends, and became increasingly isolated and withdrawn from society. He died in Mexico City in 1988.

      In his Analysis of the Being of the Mexican (Análisis del ser del mexicano, 1952), Uranga says that the being of human beings is accidental insofar as it is contingent on events other than itself. Being as accident is a being reduced or disrupted by its merging with nothingness. There is in it both a clarity and an obscurity in which being and nothingness communicate.²

      To see the being of human beings as accidental is also to see it within the horizon of possibility of accident itself. To try to escape the condition of accidentality is to seek an illusory substantiality. The being of human beings is not “substantial,” in the sense of being non-accidental. It is thrown toward both being and nothingness, and this ontological equivocality is what makes it “accidental.”³

      Uranga’s point of reference is not the human (lo humano), however, but the Mexican (lo mexicano). His project is not to construct an ontology of the Mexican by starting from the human, but to construct an ontology of the human by starting from the Mexican. He explains that in the mode of being of the Mexican can be seen the mode of being of the human. Whenever we affirm that the being of the Mexican is accidental (just as we may affirm that the mode of being of the American or European is accidental), a horizon of meaning opens up for our reflection.

      Taking the concept of the Mexican or Mexicanness as a starting point for an ontology of humankind also avoids the prejudices and presuppositions that have traditionally been associated with the taking of the European as a template for humankind in general. The European may not interrogate its own mode of being as European if it identifies the human as European and not as Mexican or as any other non-European mode of being.⁴

      Mexicanness (Méxicanidad) is not something with rigid contours that can be subsumed under a simple definition. It's not fixed, invariable, or monolithic. It may accommodate social class, ethnic, regional, and historical differences. Uranga quotes the philosopher Samuel Ramos (1897-1959) as saying, “Una cosa es utilizar una filosofía para explicar al mexicano y otra cosa es utilizar al mexicano para explicar una filosofía” (“It’s one thing to utilize a philosophy in order to explicate the Mexican, but another to utilize the Mexican in order to explicate a philosophy”). Ramos explains that if philosophy is utilized to investigate Mexicanness, philosophy may to some degree help us to discover its true nature. But if Mexicanness is used to explicate a philosophy, we may make the mistake of assuming that what we’ve found in Mexicanness was not already present in that philosophy. We may not recognize the true nature of Mexicanness at all.⁵

      Uranga claims that all ontology of the Mexican is “autognosis” (self-knowledge) of the Mexican, but that the converse does not hold true. There are productive and rewarding autognostic modalities of the Mexican that are not ontological.⁶ For precise knowledge of the Mexican to be attained, however, ontological investigation is necessary.

      What is the final outcome of any autognosis of the Mexican? How does the being of the Mexican explain the many and diverse experiences of Mexicans? An answer, says Uranga, is found in the openness of the being of the Mexican to possibility, to contingency, to accident. Autognosis of the Mexican reveals that the being of the Mexican is “accidental.”

      Whenever we recognize accident in the horizon of human existence, we discover previously unknown complexities in its ontological structure, and thus we also recognize human existence in the horizon of accident.⁷

      All remoteness from being as accident implies a certain attempt at substantialization, explains Uranga, and all nearness to being as accident implies a certain attempt at accidentalizing ourselves.⁸ To be open to, and not to try to evade, the accidentality of our own being is also for us to be open to humanness in its deepest sense. We may search for something to make us feel more secure and substantial, but the courage to open ourselves to all that is human, and the willingness to express our affinity with others by demonstrating such qualities as compassion, empathy, kindness, and mutual respect, enables us to more clearly understand our own being.

      According to Uranga, the Mexican (or Mexicanness) may be conceptualized as the human (or humanness), and the human may be conceptualized as the Mexican. Thus, the concept of the Mexican has both nationalistic and humanistic aspects. However, nationalism can have its dangers, and can separate the Mexican (or Mexicanness) from the human (or humanness). If nationalism becomes a delimitation or confinement of the human, then the ontology of the Mexican becomes a kind of anti-nationalism, since it attempts to explain how the being of the Mexican is open to all that is human. Thus, the ontology of the Mexican understands the Mexican and the human as an inseparable pair (pareja) of modes of being. The human is understood as the Mexican, and the Mexican is understood as the human.

    

FOOTNOTES

¹Gustavo Escobar Valenzuela, “Emilio Uranga (una aproximación)”, in Humanismo mexicano del siglo XX, edited by Alberto Saladino García (Toluca: Universidad Autónoma del Estado de México, 2004), pp. 495-504.

²Emilio Uranga, Análisis del ser del mexicano, y otros escritos sobre la filosofía de lo mexicano (1949-1952), edited by Guillermo Hurtado (México: Bonilla Artigas Editores, 2013), p. 40.

³Ibid., p. 122.

⁴Ibid., p. 68.

⁵Ibid., p. 142.

⁶Ibid., p. 78.

⁷Ibid., p. 49.

⁸Ibid., p. 45.

Questions of Language

“Are All Philosophical Questions Questions of Language?” is the title of an article by Stuart Hampshire that was published in the Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volume XXII (1948, pp. 31-48). Hampshire says, first of all, that in order to answer the question of whether all philosophical questions are questions of language, we must be able to distinguish philosophical from non-philosophical, and linguistic from non-linguistic questions.

      Regarding the distinction between philosophical and non-philosophical questions, there may be some questions that are borderline in nature; however, there are also many questions that are recognized as being distinctively philosophical. Regarding the distinction between linguistic and non-linguistic questions, there may be some questions that are neither purely linguistic nor purely non-linguistic, but are in fact both linguistic and non-linguistic. Another way of saying this is that if non-linguistic questions are “questions of fact” as opposed to “questions of language”, then there may be some questions that are both “questions of fact” and “questions of language.” There may also be some linguistic and non-linguistic questions that are neither purely “questions of fact” nor purely “questions of language.”

      Regarding the question of whether the distinction between philosophical and non-philosophical questions is identical to that between analytic and synthetic questions, Hampshire explains that the answers to questions of language may include not only analytic, but also synthetic statements (statements about the actual uses of words or sentences in a particular language), and that philosophical questions cannot therefore be wholly analytic if they are questions of language.

      If all philosophical questions are questions of language, then all philosophical problems may be regarded as linguistic problems, and philosophy may be regarded as an activity involving the analysis of language in order to resolve linguistic confusions, obscurities, or ambiguities. According to this view, problems created by linguistic confusions may dissolve when subjected to linguistic analysis, and such analysis may not require consideration of matters of fact, other than facts about the ordinary uses of language.

      However, Hampshire criticizes this view, arguing that many important philosophical problems have been suggested by, or refer to, developments in the physical sciences and mathematics.¹ While such problems may be clarified by analyzing differences between the terminology of ordinary language and the terminology of the physical sciences and mathematics, they may not arise solely from confusions or ambiguities in the uses of ordinary language.

      Hampshire also criticizes the view that if all philosophical questions are questions of language, then they constitute requests for definitions of, or criteria of use for, the terms they contain. He says that if all philosophical answers are prescriptions for language use or rules for language translation, then we may still be left with no explanation as to why we might, for some purposes, prefer one language to another or why we might decide not to translate.²

      Moreover, the question of whether a given way of using language is confusing may in the final analysis be an empirical question. Whether philosophical problems are resolved by clarifying the meaning of words or sentences may also be an empirical question.

      Hampshire explains that a “question of language” may be a “question of definition” insofar as it may be a question of how the meaning of words or sentences is to be defined. However, he argues that it’s misleading to say that all philosophical questions are questions of language if the term “questions of language” is taken to mean merely “questions of definition.” Philosophical questions may be empirical, as well as definitional questions.

      He concludes that a definitive answer to the question of whether all philosophical questions are questions of language may depend on the particular language in which philosophical questions are expressed, and on whether philosophical questions that arise when one particular language is used also arise when other languages are used. Some philosophical questions may arise with the use of only some, and not all, languages. Whether all philosophical questions are questions of language may therefore be an empirical, as well as analytic question.

FOOTNOTES

¹Stuart Hampshire, “Are All Philosophical Questions Questions of Language?”, reprinted in The Linguistic Turn: Recent Essays in Philosophical Method, edited by Richard Rorty (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1967), p. 287.

²Ibid., p. 289.

The Projective Character of Being

In the 2015 NBA draft, when Kristaps Porzingis was selected by the NY Knicks as the fourth overall pick in the first round, he was widely regarded as a “project,” a player whose skills would have to be developed over the course of a few seasons before he would be ready to play at an NBA level (a NY Times headline said, “2015 NBA Draft: Kristaps Porzingis is a Big Project for the Rebuilding Knicks.”¹). However, in his first season, Porzingis proved his doubters wrong by showing remarkable skills as a shooter, rebounder, and defender, averaging 14 points, 7 rebounds, 1.9 blocks, and 28 minutes per game and becoming one of the Knicks’ most exciting and beloved players.

     In what sense then is it possible for all of us to rightfully say of ourselves that we are “projects”? If we see ourselves as individuals whose social, professional, or technical skills need to be further developed and refined, as people whose lives are incomplete and unfinished, as human beings whose possibilities and potentialities remain only partially actualized or fulfilled, then we may rightfully describe ourselves as “projects.”

      We may also describe ourselves as projects insofar as we project ourselves into the future and imagine ourselves to be what we have the potential to be and what we might possibly become. Our projectedness may be defined by the extent to which we direct ourselves toward the future and think of the future in our thinking about ourselves. Our projectedness may also be defined by the extent to which we think in terms of what we may, could, or should become.

      We may also be projects insofar as we are unschooled, unrefined and unpolished in our skills and abilities, and insofar as we are undisciplined and unreliable in our behavior. We may also be projects insofar as we are “not ready for prime time” and are unprepared for the challenges that await us.

      We may also see ourselves, or be seen by others, as projects if we have obvious flaws or deficiencies that need to be corrected. We may be seen as projects if we are inattentive to our tasks and undisciplined in fulfilling our duties. We may be seen as projects if we are easily distractible or capable of lapses of judgment, if we are perceived as untrustworthy and undependable, and if we are seen as lacking in steadfastness and commitment.

      We may also be seen as long-term or continuing projects if considerable time and effort will need to be invested in us in order for us to fulfill our duties as fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, teachers, students, friends, colleagues, supervisors, employees, etc., and in order for us to fulfill whatever other duties we may be called upon to acknowledge and comply with. At some point, we may have to decide whether our own investment of time and effort in a given person or project is worthwhile, and whether a given project that seems not to be making progress will ever fulfill its potentialities. If a project ultimately seems to be promising and to be a worthwhile investment, then we may simply have to await its further maturation and development. We may have to be patient, and renew our investment of time and effort, and wait for a successful outcome.

      Martin Heidegger, in Sein und Zeit (Being and Time, 1927), describes the projective character of being-there (Da-sein) by saying:

 “The projective character of understanding constitutes being-in-the-world with regard to the disclosedness of its there as the there of a potentiality of being…And as thrown, Da-sein is thrown into the mode of being of projecting. Projecting has nothing to do with being related to a plan thought out, according to which Da-sein arranges its being, but, as Da-sein, it has already projected itself and is, as long as it is, projecting. As long as it is, Da-sein always has understood itself and will understand itself in terms of its possibilities.”²

Thus, Heidegger says that our being is inseparable from our projecting of ourselves into the future. Our being is disclosed to us as thrown possibility. The “there” of being-there is the “thrownness” of its being, because being-there discovers that it is always being-in-the-world.

      José Ortega y Gasset, in a series of articles entitled “¿Qué es conocimiento?" ("What is Knowledge?", 1931), based on lectures he delivered in 1929-30 at the University of Madrid, describes the projective character of being by saying:

“When I say that “I am a project,” I am referring to the fact that my mind sometimes deliberately sets about to think of the future and to construct, at pleasure, a program to live by. I am not a program I have thought about; if at all, I am the one who is thinking of his future…Thus, I would likewise say that I encounter myself being the project I am before I wonder which project I am. What is more: none of us has ever succeeded in thinking through the project each one of us is. That is why at Delphi the commandment, “Know thyself!” was inscribed as a utopian imperative and, so to speak, as a summit hardly reachable [by us].”³

Thus, Ortega y Gasset says that our becoming our future selves discloses to us the project that our present selves are. We anticipate ourselves constantly in the present, and we project ourselves into the future through our present actions.

FOOTNOTES

¹Scott Cacciola, “2015 N.B.A. Draft: Kristaps Porzingis Is a Big Project for the Rebulidng Knicks,” in The New York Times, June 25, 2015.

²Martin Heidegger, Being and Time: A Translation of Sein und Zeit, translated by Joan Stambaugh (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996), p. 136.

³José Ortega y Gasset, What Is Knowledge?, translated and edited by Jorge García-Gómez (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2002), p. 132.