I have been reading Kant’s first critique for a few weeks now after picking it up again after an interim of deeper philisophical study not present during my first go of it. Slogging through it, thoroughly enjoying it, gaining a lot of insight into the way in which we percieve the world. Then I lapsed into a spiral.
My mind overtook me, and the deep subjectivity convayed in the subject matter consumed me for a bit, which I still do not see myself as out of entirely.
The punches of deep subjectivity, realizations that my apperception alone, based on synthesis of the things I’ve picked up, were driving me, seemed to hit me all at once.
I have not, to this point, thought of myself as one driven by an underlying, yet uncongnized suspicion of deep objective truth in this world. Yet, perhaps the deep paralyzation I felt indicated that that is not the case.
It was a weird feeling. Perhaps combined with an underlying stressor building up for whatever reason, but I came to a point of hopelessness and ‘existential dread’ I do not usually reach.
For now at least, I am putting down the Kant, and picking up the Aristotle. Ethics, specifically the Nichomachean Ethics, seems to be especially auspicious for this moment I am in.
I feel hard-reset.
Metaphysics, I am sad to say, seems to have conquered me for the time being.
It is not that I am never going to be ready, or even that the break I am going to take is going to be long. But it seems to me the joke I have been making, under the auspicies of the difficulty and the density of the material, that I may be 29-30 before I have finished with the Critique, may have contained more trurth then I knew.