The Paradoxical Gifts

Samantha Restoule
COST 3006
Professor Sarah Shea
Friday December 12th 2014
The Paradoxical Gifts
Erazim Kohak brilliantly introduces the idea of the three paradoxical gifts. These gifts are paradoxical because at this point, society has attributed negative characteristic like fear and resistance to things which are inevitable facets of the natural word. In The Embers and the Stars: A Philosophical Inquiry into the Moral Sense of Nature, Kohak suggests that we hold the responsibility of reacquainting ourselves with the night, with solitude, and with pain. In fact, he believes that there is something to be said about all three of these gifts – that they are actually fundamental for an authentic human experience, that "these gifts enable us to see" (Kohak, 45).
First, Kohak offers a new perspective in regards to the gift of night. Nowadays, it is very normal that many of us sleep with night-lights on; darkness and silence have somehow gained authority over the course of time to a point where we fear them. In fact, we go out of our way to abolish the darkness and all that comes with it, as it has "ever appeared to us as the shroud of evil deeds" (33). We strive for perpetual light; think of a city: you can see their glares from afar and there are street lights everywhere, leaving very few dark corners. Technology is like the light of day to us – we need it in order to feel safe and comfortable. There is something about being in the dark which makes us feel defenseless and vulnerable; there is an air of mystery which leaves us feeling uneasy. We think of knowing as seeing, thus in the dark man is convinced he knows nothing. Is it not strange to think that especially considering that half of our lives are unwillingly yet obviously, lived in the night? Therefore, Kohak states, it would be beneficial for us to change the way we think about illuminating the night. An oil lamp, for instance, "does not violate the night. The house is still dark and at peace, only over the table a golden circle of light inserts a sphere of human doing" (34). Oil lamps have now been replaced with gas and electric lights, which in turn have banished the darkness and the night instead of making peace with it. According to Kohak, this creates a false sense of "godlike power", where we think we are omnipotent and can manipulate nature. We are urged to reflect upon the idea that "the night, too, is our dwelling place" and that "it is good, deeply good, to kindle a light in the darkness, though not against it" (34). In other words, we belong in the darkness just as much as we belong in the daylight. Both are essential to create the whole which is our lives, and we shouldn't attempt to fight or banish it, but instead try to dwell in it harmoniously.
With regard to the night, Kohak goes on to talk about dusk – the time in between day and night. While we are on the path of accepting nature and all of its gifts it has to offer, paradoxical or not, this midpoint is not to be left out. Dusk is a time for philosophy. It is "the art of the intermediate vision" (Kohak, 32). There is something to be said about this time of the day, that it somehow separates us from the rest of the world – from the hustle and bustle of techne, and the softness of the night. Everything is not as illuminated as it is during the day, but it is also not yet fused into unity by the darkness. It is at dusk that we can begin to understand things such as moral sense or the rightness of the seasons. We can look at our own societies from an absolutely different standpoint; here we can question it, contemplate and reflect, gain perspective and grow to be more mindful. Is being truly and genuinely mindful, not our responsibility as human beings? Moreover, isn't being mindful what enables us to be fully present and find meaning? When we begin to ask ourselves such questions about life, we are indeed philosophising. When we are able to find that balance between night and day, techne and poeisis, we are able to see differently.
The second paradoxical gift Kohak goes on to discuss is that of the gift of solitude. He says that loneliness and solitude have become synonymous, although this couldn't be further from the truth. He asks "What has changed in the way we experience solitude that is has become something to be dreaded rather than cherished?" (38). We dislike feeling alone so much that often turn on the radio, not to listen to it, but merely to drown out the silence. Could it be that we struggle with facing ourselves when we are alone? That our reality becomes all too real, so much that we cannot bear the responsibility of being human? Or is it because, as per Kohak, that "we are convinced that truth is in communication" (34) and alienation brought about by everything else? To answer this question, he contrasts loneliness and solitude: loneliness is a condition of feeling abandoned and cut off from communication whereas solitude is the condition of being alone in the presence of a living, familiar world (39). In other words, it's all about perspective – one can treat being alone as either a gift or a burden, as chance to contemplate or a time to feel sorry for themselves. The difference between the two lies merely in the mindset one has in regards to being alone.
The third paradoxical gift presented by Kohak is the gift of pain. Humans strive to minimize the occurrence of pain in their lives – physical and emotional. But is it not pain that teaches us the value of joy? Just "as it takes darkness to understand the light, and solitude to realize how truly fundamental solitude is to our being" (35), "we must reintegrate pain into the rhyme and reason of our being" (40) and that pain is actually one of our greatest teachers. Kohak is urging us to understand that pain is inevitable, as is loneliness and darkness, and also that pain is the "tragic sense of life" (44). Despite this, there is still so much opportunity for joy. He makes the enlightened claim that if we can find it within ourselves to take a step back and truly realize our place in nature, in the cosmos, that pain does not matter as much. Once we accept that everything holds its own place and time in nature, we are able to alleviate suffering and let go – this is to know grace. He clearly illustrates this point when he says "The wisdom of bearing pain can neither be avoided nor abolished but can be shared when there is a whole living creation to absorb it" (45). The forest lives, and it graciously absorbs our grief. It is brilliantly humbling to think of how small we are in the world; our tiny place urges us to realize that the world does not, in fact, revolve around us. Kohak says that man is at the center of his own universe thus his pain appears to him an event of cosmic significance. It is true that when we are alone, our pain is so much our own; we feel as though the world is punishing us or trying to bring us down. The Truth is that we are a part of something so much bigger, and when we can finally turn towards, and trust the healing power and reconciliation of nature, our pain becomes merely a part of a greater whole. Our problems seem so small when you look at them in the grand scheme of things.
In Acquainted with the Night: Excursions Through the World After Dark, Christopher Dewdney also takes on the difficult task of presenting to his readers a brand new perspective regarding the night. He, too, makes the claim that there is something profound to be said about the night and elaborates on Kohak's idea that the night is just as much our dwelling place as is the day. He gives the Oxford English Dictionary definition of night: "the period of darkness which intervenes between day and day, that part of the natural day during which no light is received by the sun, the time between evening and morning" (Dewdney, 4). Although this definition is technically correct, it certainly takes something away from the night – something intimate, deep and poetic. For Dewdney and Kohak, "the reverse is true, night is the rule and light is the exception" (3). The night is when we experience some of the most special moments in our lives thus we must start being more accepting of it and of everything it has to offer. One of these gifts is intimacy: he states that the dark is "especially sweet" for new lovers. This is because, in the dark when our vision diminishes but marvellously all of our other senses are heightened – our touch and our voices seem to be buzz at a higher frequency. Maybe we cannot see the physical objects around us, but we are certainly able to see, and even more so feel truths. Linked to this idea of intimacy is the statement that the night is feminine; in French it is called "la nuit" and in Spanish "la noche". Could this be because of its inherent softness, mysteriousness and subtleness? These qualities are often tapered off when in fact they are some of the most astonishing gifts from the world which make us experience awe and wonder, like we are infants again. You hear a lot of people saying they "hate surprises" and there's this whole idea of "the fear of the unknown", but are those moments not the ones which truly get your heart racing? When you're not quite sure what's going to happen, is not partially thrilling? Mystery and the fear that comes with it are merely some of the inevitable facets of nature which we must begin to not only accept, but embrace and completely take in so that we can begin learn from our experiences and grow as people. Dewdney also talks about nature and, like Kohak, believes that solace is brought about by the acceptance of nature and its natural law. For them night and also for Martin Heidegger it is a real presence and just like everything else in nature, is has much to reveal to us. He supports this claim when he says "Deeply, intimately, we are shaped by the night. It is part of us. The rhythms of our bodies, the ebb and flow of our moods, the very pulse of our minds, are vitally linked to the daily cycle of light and dark" (2). If we are vitally linked to nature, then are we not still able to see in the dark? Perhaps not the things we regularly see in the light, but the deeper things which are covered by a layer of darkness. Dewdney said "the luminous world is that which we do not see" (1). Nature would never leave us blind in the dark; it always has some sort of clarity to offer. Is it therefore not possible that we can in fact, see more clearly in the dark than we do in the day? Is the light not, as Robinson Jeffers would say, a "luminous darkness"? It is so true that the night sky has taught us more about our place in the world and the cosmos than the day has and as mentioned before, it is when we understand our place in the cosmos that pain, solitude, silence and darkness aren't really such a big deal anymore – we understand that there is nothing to fear as we are participating in this greater whole. It may seem like the world is crumbling underneath us when something bad, but when you think of yourself as a mere part of thing that is so much bigger than you, it is impossible for it to fall apart. Thinking of that in terms of technology, understanding where it belongs in nature and what kind of role it should play in your life is crucial. Technology, or techne are not only beneficial to our being, but they are also inevitable, just as the night are nature are our dwelling places too. Balance is the key.
Briefly, Erazim Kohak's profound articulation of the three paradoxical gifts presents to the reader a brand new perspective on darkness, solitude and pain. He enlightens us on the importance of nature and the acceptance of its natural laws. Kohak, Dewdney and Heidegger are all saying the same thing: that nature reveals itself – everything has its time and place, so why try to control it? By doing so, we are merely alienating ourselves and repudiating the utmost reward of being human: the power to profoundly and completely feel. It is not easy to allow ourselves to be vulnerable, but it is when we open ourselves up that we are able to experience and understand the grandeur, the impressiveness and the glory that the world has to offer. This state of raw, openness and nakedness of the soul is where we can truly begin to marvel at the world. Is it not better to feel everything, rather than nothing at all? "Is the comfort of the drug worth the loss of sensitivity it exacts?" (43). The meaning of life is not to be numb and comfortable, but to be fully present, accepting and enthusiastic about whatever is thrown at us. Kohak gifts us with a wonderful new perspective: that despite the fact that we live in a technological world, the world of techne, nature will persist.
Bibliography
Dewdney, Christopher. "First Night" Acquainted with the Night: Excursions Through the World After Dark. NewYork: Bloomsbury, 2004., pp. 1-16.
Heidegger, Martin. "The Question Concerning Technology" Basic Writings, trans. William Lovitt, ed. David Farrell Krell. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1993., pp. 307-342.
Kohák, Erazim. "Theoria" The Embers and the Stars: A Philosophical Inquiry Into the Moral Sense of Nature. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1984., pp. 3-46.





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