I-Thou: How You Make Me Real

Ich-Du, German for "I-Thou" ("Thou" being archaic English for "you," when it is both singular and the subject of a sentence), is a concept created by the philosopher Martin Buber. It is also the title of his book written on the subject.

"I-Thou" is what it's called when man enters into a certain kind of relationship. In it, man encounters another being. This encounter is a meeting, between two persons, two subjects. Both sides are equals, in the sense that neither side is acting nor receiving, dominant nor submissive. It's a sharing of a mutual experience, a mutual awareness, a mutual realness. Reciprocity is the key word, meaning that both sides equally share everything about themselves. One cannot enter into the I-Thou relationship without the fullness of your being; you must be yourself, entirely and sincerely. In the I-Thou relationship, you are confronted with the reality of another conscious person who's experiencing life just like you are, and you're doing it together.

I-Thou doesn't just exist between people. It can exist between man and nature, man and art (in any form), man and the universe, and man and G-d. But still, in some sense, these relationships exist between two beings; when in the I-Thou relationship, nature is not a thing, art is not a thing. They are as alive as you and I, and they both receive from us and take away. But throughout our lives, the Thou's that we encounter are more often than not people, who are much more easy to relate to and communicate with.

Buber believed that this relationship is what makes us "real." He says, "Through the Thou, man becomes an I." Before I come into contact with another person, I haven't truly become myself. People are by nature social; relationships are almost deeper than instinct, for even before someone is born his entire existence exists only as a relationship to his mother, and once he's brought into the world every necessity of is provided for him only through a fellow person. 

If man were to hypothetically live in solitude, never to meet a fellow person, could he be whole? Our thoughts and feelings spring from the heart like seeds, which have no purpose but to be planted in the soil of the "other." Left to remain in our own minds unfulfilled, they seem incomplete, indeed, even as if they're crowding our minds, as if we can't move on until they're released to be heard by another. People who are forced, either by punishment or misfortune, to live cut off from the world are frequently found later on to have somehow recorded their own thoughts. Not only do our minds need release, but our bodies as well. It's instinctive to desire affection, both friendly touch and sexual pleasure. They contribute to our overall comfort, health, and emotional well-being. As G-d is recorded as saying after creating the first human, "It is not good for man to be alone." It goes against everything about ourselves to remain by ourselves.

Let's look at The Inferno. In Hell, Dante is confronted with suffering to an unimaginable degree. Humans naturally share in the pain they see others suffering from, whether physical or psychological. In fact, that's where the word "compassion" comes from; "com" means "with", "passion" means "suffering" (literally; think "Passion of the Christ"). Twice throughout his adventure, Dante's senses fail from the sheer amount of torment that he confronts, and he loses consciousness. To Buber, this is indicative of the natural state of the I-Thou relationship. Dante is confronted with other beings, and because he relates to them fully and sincerely, he is affected almost as much by their suffering as they are through the give and take of the relationship, collapsing under the weight of an entire world's sorrow.

Another example is n the third circle of Hell, where Dante meets Ciacco, the Hogg, a man he knew from Florence. Ciacco is among the gluttons, living covered in an eternal shower of refuse and waste. Bloated and occasionally torn to pieces by the hell-hound Cerberus, Ciacco desperately calls out to Dante. He's ecstatic to meet another person, especially one not yet dehumanized by Hell, and questions Dante liberally about the state of Florence. Before returning to his bed of filth, Ciacco pleads with Dante, "But when you move again among the living, oh speak my name to the memory of men!" The tone in his voice is heartbreaking. The last image we have of him is his lying back down in the waste, forever indistinguishable from it. Ciacco, in some primal sense, knows what Buber knows. He will forever cease to exist if men forget his name. Everything he was, he thought, he did will have been in vain if he is forgotten. Indeed, having one's name cease to be mentioned means to no longer exist, because only that is real which exists in between men. Ciacco can take the endless torment. He's accepted it. It means that he's been returned something for what he brought into and took out of the world. It's proof that he existed, that he exists, and that whether for good or bad, his life had an impact and a purpose. To deprive him of remembrance is to make him nothing.

No fate could be more bleak.

And so, in the I-Thou, man glimpses eternity. Not only is man not real until he has this relation with another person, the entire external world cannot be real to him until he comes to this point. As we learned in class, Descartes teaches us that the only thing we can ever be sure of is our own existence. His proof? Our consciousness. Our thoughts and experiences that make up the wonder that is our "selves," show that we must exist. Buber diverges slightly; while this may prove that we exist, we do not fully become ourselves until we encounter another "self," just as real as our own, and yet separate. Once encountered, the world has gained our trust. Descartes believes we can't know anyone else exists, whereas Buber does. The proof is in the experience, and in that experience alone, eternity is captured and truth exists.

Grief-Bacon, and What It Has to Do with the Meaning and Complexity of the Human Condition

In the German language, there's a word for the weight you gain due to emotional overeating. It is kummerspeck. It translates literally as, "grief-bacon." There's no equivalent for this concept in the English language. Similarly, jayus, an Indonesian word, refers to a joke told so badly that you just have to laugh at it. Ya'arburnee is an Arabic word that you use when you want to tell the person you love that you hope you die first, because you wouldn't be able to stand living if they passed away first. It means, literally, "may you bury me."

There's tons of words that have no direct English parallel. And there are plenty of English words that don't have copies in other languages. So, why is this important?

Most of you probably know that I carry around a Bible in school, as well as a few other religious texts that vary from week to week, like the Qur'an and Hindu scriptures, for example. It seems really odd, and it is, I guess. Believe me, it's a conversation starter; people ask me about it all the time. But nothing's more interesting to me, and believe it or not, things like "grief-bacon" are the reason why.

Think about language for a second. We use certain things so often, making them so natural to us that we don't really ever stop to think about them. Language is one of them. At its most basic level, language is a system that we use to communicate objects, ideas, and experiences to other people. Not only that, but we use it to organize and categorize our thoughts, beliefs, habits, friends, and interests. Even further, language is the framework in which we think. We use it as an instrument to both interpret and interact with the world around us and life in general.

We don't think too much about how we think. But imagine trying to think without using words. Maybe you'll get some images, some emotions, or recognition of some sensations, but what could you really... think about? Language is so much more than a way to communicate. It's the machine we use to understand, to ponder, to solve problems, to develop as people. Language is the incarnation of who we are, in our minds, and when we use it internally or externally, it's representing us as people in a way that nothing else can.

Running with this idea, what really amazes me is noticing how many different languages there are, and the similarities and differences between them all. It'd be amazing enough if we had a way of communicating complex ideas and messages to each other, but how much more so when there are countless variations of this method. If language makes up the framework in which we think and understand, then different languages must be different frameworks.

The way you organize thoughts and understand things is significant. If you use a system that has words for concepts that mine doesn't have words for, and yours organizes thoughts and ideas differently than mine does, then we'll probably have different thought processes, problem solving methods, and ideas about the world. Because we're interpreting the world around us in different ways, we'll both have a different experience of life.

That's amazing to me. That's why I study world religions in philosophies. Just like language is a framework that exists in different forms and dialects that we can utilize to think and live, so are religion and philosophy. Throughout the world, across both time and geography, you'll find innumerable systems of belief and thought that understand reality and the human condition in totally different ways.

Religion and philosophy are the cornerstone of what makes a culture what it is. No matter how secular or modern a culture becomes, it's still indelibly marked by its religious heritage. Weddings are held at churches and temples despite the beliefs of the soon-to-be-spouses. Funerals are more often than not religious ceremonies. Religious circumcision, bar mitzvahs, and confirmations are performed even by largely secular families. The most central cycles of life; birth, coming of age, marriage, and death, are marked by religion. Even our every day language is full of "Oh my G-d!"'s, "Jesus Christ"'s, "Bless you"'s, "Hell"'s, and, "G-d forbid"'s. An outsider might consider us a pious culture if he didn't know any better.

Each culture has its own philosophy (or set of philosophies) that it tends to abide by, too. Here we have ideas like the American Dream, which is that anyone can come from any background and be successful and happy due to their own ability combined with the opportunities unique to our country. Another part of the modern American philosophy is tolerance, which is the acceptance of all types of people, beliefs, and groups, regardless of race, sex, belief, or nationality. These define America, and are the basis of how we work: our government, justice systems, parenting techniques, schools, and work environments are based on them.

One can benefit from understanding the various cultures and belief systems found throughout the world without having to accept them. Regardless of your worldview, stepping out of yourself and learning a completely alien way of understanding the world will always be valuable. It can make you more well-rounded, more understanding, more cultured, more intellectual, and more able to relate to all people, regardless of creed, nationality, age, or culture.

That's why I study the things I do. I want to be a more understanding person, and I want to be able to relate and empathize with the rest of the world. Understanding many things relevant to everyday life requires a knowledge of specific religions and cultures. Geopolitical conflicts like those in the Middle East, famous and influential works of art, literature, and politics throughout history, and interacting with people in your community with different backgrounds and cultures than you all require this. To me, if you want to understand people better, then you need to understand how their hearts and minds work, because a lot of times they work very differently than yours.

And also, knowing phrases like "grief-bacon" is pretty boss.