An essay on authenticity

 I read an article in Philosophy Now by Paul Doolan, who ‘taught philosophy in international schools in Asia and in Europe’ and is also an author of non-fiction. The title of the article is Authenticity and Absurdity, whereby he effectively argues a case that ‘authenticity’ has been hijacked (my word, not his) by capitalism and neo-liberalism. I won’t even go there, and the only reason I mention it is because ‘authenticity’ lies at the heart of existentialism as I believe it should be practiced.
 
But what does it mean in real terms? Does it mean being totally honest all the time, not only to others but also to yourself? Well, to some extent, I think it does. I happened to grow up in an environment, specifically my father’s; who as my chief exemplar, pretty much said whatever he was thinking. He didn’t like artifice or pretentiousness and he’d call it out if he smelled it.
 
In my mid-late 20s I worked under a guy, who was exactly the same temperament. He exhibited no tact whatsoever, no matter who his audience was, and he rubbed people the wrong way left, right and centre (as we say in Oz). Not altogether surprisingly, he and I got along famously, as back then, I was as unfiltered as he was. He was Dutch heritage, I should point out, but being unfiltered is often considered an Aussie trait.
 
I once attempted to have a relationship with someone who was extraordinarily secretive about virtually everything. Not surprisingly, it didn’t work out. I have kept secrets – I can think of some I’ll take to my grave – but that’s to protect others more than myself, and it would be irresponsible if I didn’t.
 
I often quote Socrates: To live with honour in this world, actually be what you try to appear to be. Of course, Socrates never wrote anything down, but it sounds like something he would have said, based on what we know about him. Unlike Socrates, I’ve never been tested, and I doubt I’d have the courage if I was. On the other hand, my father was, both in the theatre of war and in prison camps.
 
I came across a quote recently, which I can no longer find, where someone talked about looking back on their life and being relatively satisfied with what they’d done and achieved. I have to say that I’m at that stage of my life, where looking back is more prevalent than looking forward, and there is a tendency to have regrets. But I have a particular approach to dealing with regrets: I tell people that I don’t have regrets because I own my mistakes. In fact, I think that’s an essential requirement for being authentic.
 
But to me, what’s more important than the ‘things I have achieved’ are the friendships I’ve made – the people I’ve touched and who have touched me. I think I learned very early on in life that friendship is more valuable than gold. I can remember the first time I read Aristotle’s essay on friendship and thought it incorporated an entire philosophy. Friendship tests authenticity by its very nature, because it’s about trust and loyalty and integrity (a recurring theme in my fiction, as it turns out).
 
In effect, Aristotle contended that you can judge the true nature and morality of a person by the friendships they form and whether they are contingent on material reward (utilitarian is the word used in his Ethics) or whether they are based on genuine empathy (my word of choice) and without expectation or reciprocation, except in kind. I tend to think narcissism is the opposite of authenticity because it creates its own ‘distortion reality field’ as someone once said (Walter Isaacson, Steve Jobs; biography), whereby their followers (not necessarily friends per se) accept their version of reality as opposed to everyone else outside their circle. So, to some extent, it’s about inclusion versus exclusion. (The Trump phenomenon is the most topical, contemporary example.)
 
I’ve lived a flawed life, all of which is a consequence of a combination of circumstance both within and outside my control. Because that’s what life is: an interaction between fate and free will. As I’ve said many times before, this describes my approach to writing fiction, because fate and free will are represented by plot and character respectively.
 
I’m an introvert by nature, yet I love to engage in conversation, especially in the field of ideas, which is how I perceive philosophy. I don’t get too close to people and I admit that I tend to control the distance and closeness I keep. I think people tolerate me in small doses, which suits me as well as them.

 

Addendum: I should say something about teamwork, because that's what I learned in my professional life. I found I was very good working with people who had far better technical skills than me. In my later working life, I enjoyed the cross-generational interactions that often created their own synergies as well as friendships, even if they were fleeting. It's the inherent nature of project work that you move on, but one of the benefits is that you keep meeting and working with new people. In contrast to this, writing fiction is a very solitary activity, where you spend virtually your entire time in your own head. As I pointed out in a not-so-recent Quora post, art is the projection of one's inner world so that others can have the same emotional experience. To quote:

We all have imagination, which is a form of mental time-travel, both into the past and the future, which I expect we share with other sentient creatures. But only humans, I suspect, can ‘time-travel’ into realms that only exist in the imagination. Storytelling is more suited to that than art or music.