The Disunity of Philosopher's Self

One of the most fundemental questions in philosophy concerns the nature of the self. A common argument that bothers me is the one that vindicates the unity of the self. Kant's 'transcendental unity' is a briliant move in the history of philosophy - it establishes the intuitive, wished-for and logically inevitable unity of the self.

This assertion does not rest at ease with the way I understand myself. I have a strong feeling that I am not the person I was a year ago, and in some ways - not even the one I was a moment ago. In fact, I really hope that I am not the same person; I have made a serious effort to be a better one. I recognize some of the faults stubbornly resist - and although I reluctantly accept them as fundamental parts of my essence, I resent more the attempt to box me in my self. In many respects, the difference is greater than the resemblance; in no way is there an identity.

Not only am I a different person in different periods of life but also I believe that there are several distinct perennial selves, recurring at different times of the day and other periodic cycles. My night-self puts the alarm clock away from the bed not only because he's being super-rational but also because he knows my morning-self is a tired, grumpy and selfish person. And when I say 'selfish', I mean it in the narrowest sense of the word: he only cares for him-self. The complex relationship of my night-self and morning-self is poorly described as an inner struggle; the rich stories of these two can only be told with two distinct references. As far as language can indicate our understanding of reality, reality as it is presented to us or even reality itself - it indicates that the unity of the self will not suffice here. Something else is necessary.

One implication of this natural tendency on the studies of philosophy is the attempt to construct a comprehensive doctrine from different writings of one person. This goes both ways: in understanding one's philosophy, it is usually being examined in light of that one's other writings and in writing philosophy, many philosophers try to write in the context of their other writings, generally avoiding contradictions and incoherences. While it may sometimes seem right to continue one's previous work, to further develop previous ideas or to supplement them, I do not see why this is must always be the case. It seems to me that this may be come in the way of reinventing and innovating one's self (which I take to be, as noted above, quotidian). Surely, there's a psychological element in this. People want to believe that there is a comprehesive framework to all the good ideas they have had over the years but this may actually impede their philosophical development. I do not wish to deny that there is value in developing comprehensive doctrines: aesthetic, scientific and even philosophical values. However, I do believe, based on my own short experience in life, that there are different mutually exclusive takes on the world that are honestly held in different times of life, and therefore it seems to me that fidelty and integrity demand that these differnet takes are given voice.

I concede that such learning of philosophy can help understand the philosopher better, but it seems to be of less philosophical interest; it belongs to the businesses of history and gossip. If a philosopher wishes to restate or continue any of her or his previous writings, let them make the reference.

Can I now honestly defend an opposite stance in another piece of writing?
If one is to take anything I wrote here seriously, than the answer is yes.
Could you then hold it against me?
I think you could.