To the dear reader — student, lecturer, researcher, free individual.
The text "I" which you hold in your hands is not a monolith carved in stone. It is, rather, a footprint in the sand, left by a long journey from one state of consciousness to another. It is a map of a path already walked, but by no means is it an instruction manual on how or where you should go. For the highest value of any map is to inspire the creation of one's own.
I know all too well how easy and tempting it is to live by templates offered to us by society, culture, and even education. There exists a multitude of ready-made answers to the questions "Who are you?" and "What ought you to do?". These frameworks provide a sense of security, yet the price for it is frequently our own uniqueness. The "He" spoken of in the essay lived precisely in such a world, striving to conform, to prove, to win. Yet true development begins not with a victory over others, but with the quiet courage to call oneself into question.
Therefore, this brochure is conceived not as a lecture, but as an invitation to dialogue. To maximum openness and a free exchange of thoughts. There are no "right" or "wrong" interpretations here — there is only your personal interaction with the text, your response, your resonance. I am not sharing truth, but merely the experience of one possible path toward the self. Your task, then, is to find your own.
My primary desire is to remind us, time and again, that each of us possesses the right and the potential to feel absolutely free. Free from expectations, from imposed obligations, from the fear of making a mistake. This freedom is not a final destination, but a continuous, continual process of development. It is a daily creative act, where the principal work of art is you yourself.
Do not read this text as an instruction manual. Use it as a key to unlock the door to your own unique "I".
With respect and openness.
"I" — the most laconic and enigmatic word in language. It simultaneously denotes everyone and no one, a specific person and a metaphysical figure. But what happens if we turn "I" not merely into an object of speech, but into the very content of a literary work? It is precisely this point of tension between subjectivity, language, and philosophy that serves as the linchpin of the course "The Literary Philosophy of Selfhood".
What we conventionally term the "hero", "narrator", or "lyrical I" acquires new dimensions in this course. We are not simply studying a character — we are studying the construction of subjectivity that emerges through language, rhythm, narrative structure, and philosophical tension. Selfhood in literature is not a reflection of a ready-made essence, but a process of writing in which the "I" opens up, dissolves, multiplies, doubts, negates itself, and refashions the image of its internal core.
The course is built upon the premise that a literary text can be the vehicle for a philosophical gesture, and that this gesture does not necessarily assume the form of a doctrine — sometimes it is a cry, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a question that demands no answer. At the centre of our reading is Daniel A. Freedman's philosophical work "I", which we examine as:
Within it, we perceive a resonance with the following thinkers: Jean-Paul Sartre, Albert Camus, Martin Heidegger, George Berkeley, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Inayat Khan, Umberto Eco and Italo Calvino, Julia Kristeva and Roman Jakobson.
This course does not provide an answer to the question "Who am I?". It explores how the "I" arises in language, how it is embodied in an artistic structure, and how the boundary between the "I" and the "text" becomes blurred. It can grant a state: a state of profound attentiveness to one's own inner world, as if to a text that is still being written.
"I"
I am I.
He is also I,
But earlier,
Many years ago.
The day before yesterday's,
Just like yesterday's he, —
And that is I,
But in the flesh.
The one who passes by you every day without touching, —
This is also I,
But the one who argues with you,
Proves something, —
That too is he,
Which is to say, I,
But years ago.
I am I now,
When I allow myself to observe myself,
Observing my own life and death in equal measure.
He is I,
When he was peeping,
Observing the lives of others,
Sometimes even interfering in their personal lives.
He is when I played a race with myself,
Which is to say, with life,
And when I invaded life,
Into the very thick of it
And rushed headlong who knows where.
Today I am the one
Who walks calmly and without haste,
While life hurries,
Overtaking me with the prolonged whistle of a steam train
Or the roar of a supersonic aeroplane.
How strange!
Everyone is hurrying somewhere,
And I alone am not rushing...
Yes, true,
Then I was conquering life,
Now I am no longer troubled even by death…
Then I thought
That my muscles and joints
Sustained the spirit within me,
And the force of gravity governed our lives.
Now I know
That there is no other force
Except
The force of will,
The sole force
That maintains my body in equilibrium
And the entire surrounding space in harmony…
Then they told me
That I must eat everything on the plate,
Now I know
That it is much better to give it to others,
And even the last berry is divided in half.
Then I thought
That life is what I see with my eyes.
Now I know
That what is visible to our eyes,
Everything that can be seen,
Is nothing other than death,
Since it is precisely this that is subject to destruction.
A tree,
More precisely, what I see as a tree,
Its crown, its leaves,
Grows up, dries up, and crumbles,
But that invisible thing
That it radiates around itself, —
Nurtures and heals me.
Previously I thought
That my voice did not penetrate through walls.
Now I know
That a single thought of mine,
Concentrated in the right direction,
Restores lost peace
In the hearts of those close to me
Who are thousands of kilometres away…
Many years ago it was drummed into him
That the children conceived from his seed
Were his children.
Now I see
How many people, strangers to one another,
Live under one roof,
Call themselves one family,
Being bound only by a false human principle.
These people resemble one another externally,
But are strangers in the main thing —
In the understanding of freedom.
Nonetheless, they condemn themselves
By such a "life"
To a certain death in a cage
Created by their own hands,
Or rather, by delusion.
I also know
That I can be a father to very many
Conceived not from my seed,
Thanks merely to a single smile
That appeared on my face in time
And found reflection in time
On the faces of those random passersby
Met upon my path.
And even now many still think
That a man and a woman
Can possess each other
Thanks to the exchange of rings
And a corresponding entry in a beautiful book.
But even then,
Many years ago,
I knew that this was not the guarantee of success.
And, truth be told,
Even now I do not know
Where that boundary lies
Which suddenly turns the relationship of a man and a woman
Into something redundant,
Very often after many years
Of mutual love
And entirely healthy relations…
Once they used to select teachers for him,
Now I choose
My Teacher myself
And I am in no hurry,
I am not afraid to miss "knowledge" unnecessary to me.
Then they whispered to him from all sides
That evil lurks in everything.
But now I notice good
Even in the most evil person,
Understanding that, if there were not at least a little good in them,
They would have died long ago.
And then everyone asserted,
And now everyone asserts,
That the most beautiful women
Can be met at beauty pageants.
And for a long time he believed this,
Every year during the next pageant
Thinking that at last he had found the true one.
And where are they now?
Alas,
I do not see them around me…
Then he thought
That things serve man
To create his comfort.
Now I know
That the swiftest parting with any object
Is the surest guarantee of my health,
Good well-being, and the prolongation of my life.
Therefore, I have learned to buy things
Needed by me only for the current twenty-four hours…
In those distant times
A victory over a woman
Was considered sexual contact.
But now I derive immense pleasure
From admiring a woman who excites me
From a distance.
This fills me with positive charges
Which I can later share
With whomsoever requires it…
Previously he,
Which is to say, I the student,
Passing an exam,
Had to prove to the entire honourable teaching staff
That on other planets there is no life,
Only here, on Earth.
But now I know
That I would not live for an hour
If I did not allow myself to rest there,
Bathing in wondrous music
On the planets that surround the Earth,
For it is precisely here, on Earth,
That death alone is capable of surviving.
And he who has not learned
To constantly migrate across the Universe
Is doomed to a certain death,
And furthermore in an iron cage
Whose name is Planet Earth.
Then he, which is to say, I the youth,
Took you women indiscriminately,
Everything that had a female gait
And wore a skirt.
Today you choose me.
And — those of you
Who sense my special, finest vibrations
And my total relaxation,
An unearthly masculine strength
That allows me to love selflessly,
Forgetting about myself,
Remembering only you,
All night long,
Every evening,
The whole year round…
Then he enjoyed
Everything that surrounded him:
People, the plant world,
Cities, luxury,
Not noticing how his body
Was filling with poison,
Stank and grew empty.
Now I find solace
Only within myself.
Here reigns peace, quiet, equilibrium,
Which no one and nothing can disrupt,
And the largest cities I bypass
As previously — the completely naked desert.
And I no longer forget
To lay my pillow out on the windowsill in the morning,
As my mother used to do,
Plumping up the down in it
With caring and deft hands,
Releasing to all four winds
The trapped, and therefore already dead,
Superfluous fragments of my dreams…
Previously I thought
That it was enough to learn to swim
To cross a river.
Now I know,
Praise be to one of the Teachers,
That true happiness is enclosed
In the skill of walking on water,
And not in the struggle with waves
Easily tossing us wherever they please.
Having learned to walk on water,
One can not only cross seas and oceans,
But also
Manage to fulfil the Programme of Life,
For we all know
That one can defeat the waves,
But the struggle with waves
Takes too much strength from a person.
I have no time left for that…
He,
Which is to say, I the schoolboy,
Was taught the most complex formulas.
Today I derive my own,
The simplest:
A white line on a black background
Or a yellow stripe on a dark blue background.
Previously they drummed into me
That the ether is colourless,
But now it is precisely the ether
That places at my disposal
The entire world:
Colours, forms, sounds,
Transforming my life
Into a continuous twenty-four-hour dream
Of uninterrupted colour-sound combinations...
That is why I am already invisible,
My body,
Having dissolved into a multitude of tiny rainbows,
Has become the most perfect musical instrument in the world
And does not dissonant,
Is no longer an obstacle...
Neither for you,
Nor for life,
Nor for death,
Nor even...
For myself...
Such is this "I",
Presumably intolerable and obnoxious, —
And you will be right, sir or madam, to think so, —
Who brought a slight confusion into Your head.
Who knows...
Maybe tomorrow You will be I,
For once God Himself became me.
Who knows, who knows...
Better be on your guard...
The author is unable to finish this narrative
And therefore is forced to reserve the right
To further expand the text.
Up to infinity...
He offers his apologies in advance
To the esteemed readers
For the possible inconvenience in connection with this,
Fully realising
That he has no grounds to encroach
Upon the right to call himself a man of letters,
And what he has written — a literary work.
However, one may assume
That this inconvenience for some
Will turn into a benefit in the future —
A better assimilation
Of what is already, presumably,
Strange material.
The author sleeps a great deal.
Hence, most likely,
The problems arise.
One can safely say:
He sleeps very much.
Almost all the time.
If not — all of it.
Sometimes he wakes up
And then does not know what to do with himself.
Opening his eyes and seeing
That the world has not changed in the slightest
Since the time of his last sleep,
He grabs paper, a pen, and writes.
He writes in a great hurry,
Fearing that the bed will call him
Before he manages to record his memories.
And so it turns out —
The thoughts gradually grow stagnant,
Discharge somewhere
And vanish completely.
Then he puts down the pen and paper
And goes to sleep.
It is interesting that, while he sleeps,
He lives.
Just like others
When they are awake.
He does not understand
Why those around do not sleep just as he does…
Why everyone walks,
Fusses,
Makes noise
And does not let him sleep.
Some of them simply make noise,
But do not touch him.
Others do not simply make noise,
But also try with all their might
To wake him up.
It seems to them that he is just like them,
And ought not to sleep when they are awake.
But he continues to sleep,
Turning over to the other side
So they cannot see his face.
He understood even earlier
That when people do not see his face,
It is easier for them.
They pester him less.
And if they see it,
They cannot calm down.
It seems to them all the time
That he is mocking them,
That life is easier for him than for them,
And that he has not deserved this —
To sleep.
Or they do not understand
How it is he has not died yet,
Since he sleeps so much
And wakes up for so short a time
That he does not even manage to eat.
Others, as they love to repeat,
Feel sorry for him.
Sorry that he does not live at all,
Deprives himself of the joys of life,
Of which, according to them,
There is an incredible abundance.
To a third group, it gives no peace
That he does not go to work,
Does not take children to kindergarten,
In a word,
Does not perform his duties.
"What sort of duties are these? In general, what is a 'duty'?"
"What could it be?" —
He asked himself in bewilderment, —
"After all, no one taught me this.
I was born in an era
When these foolish things did not yet exist.
'Duty', hm, a strange, bloody word
And smells of something unpleasant."
Indeed,
They have all seemingly conspired
To deprive me of my sole occupation —
Sleep.
"Have you lost your minds, people? Let me sleep!"
And with these words
He would place his head back on the pillow
And immediately fall asleep…
The work "I" cannot be confined within the boundaries of a single genre. It deliberately exists at the intersection of several traditions:
This split creates an internal dialogue sustained through time. Applying Paul Ricoeur's concept of narrative identity, we can assert that the text constructs a plural "self", unfolded in time and open to interpretation. Within it weave the voices of the past "self", the present "self", and even an ironic agency commenting upon its own train of thought. This polyphony is not a conflict, but rather a dynamic process of self-knowledge through narrative.
Conclusion: "I" stands as a vivid example of existential-poetic prose, demonstrating how literary form can serve as an instrument for profound philosophical and psychological investigation.
Aim of the Lecture: To investigate the philosophical foundations of the work "I", analysing its existential, ontological, and metaphysical components.
Today we shall examine the work "I" not merely as a literary experiment, but as a fully-fledged philosophical act. This work is not a narrative about a life; it is a manifesto proclaiming the primacy of individual consciousness over collective reality.
The core of the text is a radical existential revolt. The author systematically deconstructs the fundamental bases of social life, which he deems to be illusory cages.
The author proposes his own theory of reality, dividing the world into two tiers.
The ultimate goal of the narrator's journey is total transcendence, a stepping beyond the boundaries of one's own "ego".
Conclusion: The philosophical journey into "I" begins with the revolt of the individual in the spirit of Sartre and Nietzsche, transitions into an ontological revision of reality in the spirit of Plato, and culminates in a mystical merging with the world that recalls Gilles Deleuze's concepts of "becoming" and the "body without organs."
Aim of the Lecture: To analyse the text "I" through the prism of Carl Jung's analytical psychology, existential psychotherapy, and humanistic psychology.
Today we shall plunge into the psychological depths of the work "I". This text can be viewed as a unique document of inner life, a protocol of profound psychological transformation. We shall utilise twentieth-century psychological theories as lenses through which we may better comprehend the intricate path of the narrator.
The most productive framework for analysing "I" is the analytical psychology of Carl Gustav Jung. The central split of the text into "He" and "I" serves as an almost ideal illustration of the Jungian structure of the psyche.
The entire narrative of the work can be read as a metaphor for the process of individuation — Jung's central concept denoting the journey toward becoming a whole personality.
The critique of society within the text resonates deeply with the tenets of existential psychology.
Conclusion: The psychological journey of the protagonist of "I" can be encapsulated by the concept of self-actualisation from Abraham Maslow's humanistic psychology. The narrator consciously renounces lower-level needs (security, belonging, esteem) for the sake of the full realisation of his unique potential.
Aim of the Lecture: To synthesise the literary, philosophical, and psychological analysis of the work "I" through the lens of the author's artistic practice.
Today we shall unite our previous perspectives to demonstrate that "I" is, first and foremost, an artistic manifesto, a theoretical comprehension of a unique creative practice that its author, Daniel A. Freedman, embodied throughout his life. Let us recall his biography: a "synaesthetic architect", a "poet of photons", a creator of "laser symphonies."
The creative quests of the author of "I" are part of a grand European tradition of avant-garde art that sought to liberate colour, form, and sound from the dictates of representationalism. It began with the radical gesture of Kazimir Malevich and his Suprematism. The idea was taken up by the Ukrainian avant-gardist Klyment Redko, who anticipated light-sound synthesis. Concurrently, these ideas found embodiment in the Bauhaus school, where artists like László Moholy-Nagy experimented with new visions of light, form, and "total" spatial experience. Drawing upon this experience, Daniel A. Freedman creates a new type of theatre, where artistic sound and light are self-sufficient resources.
We can now read key passages of "I" afresh. The passage regarding the "ether" that supplies "colours, forms, sounds" and transforms life into "a dream of continuous colour-sound combinations" ceases to be a mere metaphor. It is a description of the goal to which the artist aspires. This idea is not new — the symbolist poet Arthur Rimbaud assigned colours to vowels. But in "I", this concept is driven to its absolute. The final transformation of the hero, whose body becomes a "musical instrument" composed of "rainbows", is a manifestation of the ideal synaesthetic artist.
The aesthetics of stillness and contemplation, opposed to a "life in a hurry", form part of this artistic programme. It echoes the "slow cinema" of Béla Tarr and the sensory poetics of Terrence Malick. They, like the author of "I", seek to shift the viewer's focus from action to state, from plot to the pure experience of time and space.
Note: The Lux Aeterna Light Interference Theatre — The Body Vanishing in Light-Sound. In the performances of the Lux Aeterna Light Interference Theatre, there is no distinct separation between the audience and the stage, between the subject and the artistic environment. There, in the auditorium, where the entire space is permeated by multi-channel sound and artistic light and interference of light — harmoniously perceived as a real intergalactic Cosmos — the body no longer functions as a boundary; it dissolves, scatters, as if into those very "rainbows" mentioned by the narrator in "I". This is not a mere metaphor. At a certain stage of immersive immersion, when sound is not just heard but breathed, and light does not illuminate but envelops from within, the viewer's bodily sensation of weight, boundaries, and gravity vanishes. There remains only pure presence in a space of multi-coloured vibration.
Conclusion: From Text to Therapy. "I" is the philosophical key to understanding the holistic artistic project of Daniel A. Freedman. The text theoretically substantiates what the author executed in practice: creating an art of total experience. Its ultimate goal is not merely to impress, but to transform. Today, the content of his theatre is utilised as a therapeutic tool — this is the logical culmination of the path.
Aim of the Lecture: To analyse the work "I" as a cultural phenomenon that critiques and deconstructs key myths and norms of Western culture.
Today we view the work "I" as a mirror of culture. "I" is not merely a personal confession; it is a profoundly counter-cultural gesture. The narrator does not mount the barricades; he simply goes to bed. And it is precisely this act — the act of "sleep" — that becomes his primary weapon.
Our contemporary culture is built upon the cult of productivity. Against this backdrop, the behaviour of the hero of "I" appears as absolute heresy. He inverts basic values: for him, true life occurs in sleep ("while he sleeps, he lives"), whereas the world of active people is a world of fuss and noise. Thus, "sleep" in the text becomes a political and cultural act. It is a passive yet total resistance to a society that demands a human being be "turned on" 24/7. It is an escape from what the philosopher Byung-Chul Han terms the "burnout society."
The author's detachment from duties, work, and formal roles also finds a striking parallel in the works of Ivan Illich. In his manifesto Deschooling Society, Illich radically critiques the institutions that have monopolised the right to define "valuable" knowledge, labour, and productivity.
"I" as a text embodies a protest against precisely such norms: the narrator rejects not merely school or work, but the very idea of external compulsion toward efficiency. In this sense, his stance is not an escape, but a disengagement from the game, a conscious step against the "dress code of success." In "sleep", we discern a metaphor for a de-centred existence — life without the compulsion to show visible results.
The narrator systematically "attacks" the sacred cows of our culture.
Here one can recall Michel Foucault, who analysed how social institutions operate as mechanisms of power that fashion "docile bodies." The narrator intuitively senses this pressure and attempts to slip away from beneath it.
The text exposes the illusoriness of cultural standards. Beauty pageants are an ideal example of what the French philosopher Jean Baudrillard termed a simulacrum. It is a copy without an original. The pageant does not "find" beauty; it manufactures it according to a template. The narrator initially succumbs to this illusion and subsequently sees through it.
Conclusion: The sense of fragmentedness and alienation that permeates "I" is central to many works of contemporary culture, notably the films of David Lynch (Mulholland Drive) and Charlie Kaufman (Synecdoche, New York), which similarly blur the boundary between dream and reality.
Aim of the Lecture: To deeply integrate the work "I" into the mainstream traditions of Western philosophy and contemporary European literary avant-garde, framing it for a Western reader.
Throughout the preceding lectures, we examined the work "I" as an isolated psychological and metaphysical experiment. Today, our task is to position this text within its rightful lineage of Western thought. Is this text a solitary anomaly, or does it actively participate in the long-standing dialogues of British empiricism, European absurdism, and modern continental philosophy?
The narrator's radical assertion that the visible world is an illusion or a form of decay ("what is visible to our eyes... is nothing other than death") finds its most striking Western precedent in the subjective idealism of the Anglo-Irish philosopher George Berkeley. Berkeley's famous dictum esse est percipi (to be is to be perceived) argued that physical matter does not exist independently of consciousness. In "I", Daniel A. Freedman executes a contemporary radicalisation of this idealist stance: the physical tree dries and crumbles, yet its reality is the invisible, non-material radiation that feeds the mind. The text moves from standard empiricism into an absolute immaterialism where the self is the primary laboratory of existence.
If Berkeley provides the ontological framework, Samuel Beckett provides the literary and structural resonance. The narrative architecture of "I" — particularly the "Interpretation" section where the protagonist refuses to leave his bed, slips constantly back into sleep, and finds the waking world static — directly mirrors the landscape of post-WWII European Absurdism. Like the characters in Waiting for Godot or Endgame, Freedman's narrator engages in a total strike against linear action. His refusal to perform social duties is not mere laziness; it is a profound Beckettian realisation that societal metrics of "progress" are absurd loops. The cry "Let me sleep!" functions as a metaphysical refusal to participate in an empty existential theatre.
For a modern British or European reader, the text speaks directly to the current socio-philosophical critique of late-stage capitalism and "24/7 hyper-productivity." Freedman's text operates as a manifesto of Radical Deceleration. By choosing sleep over labour, the narrator actively deconstructs the contemporary Western myth of the self-made, hyper-efficient individual. Sleep is transformed from a biological necessity into a potent weapon of systemic non-compliance.
Conclusion: From Monologue to Universal Manifesto. The work "I" emerges not as a localized anomaly, but as a sophisticated convergence of Western intellectual history. It weaves together the radical epistemological doubts of British Idealism, the structural paralysis of the European avant-garde, and a contemporary critique of systemic efficiency. Freedman presents the Western reader with a mirror of their own intellectual heritage, stripped of dogma and delivered as a pure existential experience.
This analysis is strictly confined to a textual (immanent) approach. All conclusions are based exclusively upon the work "I" itself — its linguistic fabric, structure, and system of imagery, deliberately excluding biographical and historical contexts.
Research Question: How does the work "I" construct and explore the concept of "selfhood," utilising specific generic and stylistic elements?
The work "I" stands as an exemplar of generic syncretism, blending features of several forms.
The central axis of the work is the exploration of the nature of individual consciousness. The "I" within the text is not a static essence, but a dynamic, fluid process of becoming. This is achieved through the juxtaposition of the past "self" ("He") and the present ("I"), illustrating existential choice and self-creation.
Conclusion of the Analysis: The work "I" is a complex artistic system wherein generic hybridity, philosophical saturation, and stylistic features serve a singular purpose — the investigation of "selfhood" as a dynamic, contradictory, and open process.
A separate plane of interpretation for the work "I" is opened by post-structuralism — specifically, the ideas of Roland Barthes and Jacques Derrida, which blur the boundary between author, text, and reader.
According to Barthes, the "death of the author" is an act of liberating the text from the authoritarian figure of the creator. In "I", this idea is realised literally: the author himself vanishes behind a pseudonym, openly negates his literary subjectivity ("The author is unable to finish this narrative..."), instead leaving space for a play of interpretations.
Derridean deconstruction is recognizable in the dynamics of the shifting of meaning: "I" emerges now as a fixation, now as a flux, now as a narrator, now as an object of observation, and none of these identities is permanently fixed. Thus, the text of "I" functions as différance — a deferral of ultimate meaning, a vibration between "he" and "I", between writing and sleep, between meaning and its disappearance.
To summarise a work such as "I" — would mean betraying its open, provocative nature. The analysis conducted has demonstrated that the power of this text lies precisely in its capacity to generate meanings at the intersection of various disciplines. Therefore, we wish to outline merely a few of the many possible directions for future research that this text opens:
The SMART City Institute offers this text not as a final answer, but as a fertile, open question.
REVIEW OF DANIEL A. FREEDMAN'S BOOK "THE PHENOMENON OF 'I': AN INTERDISCIPLINARY ANALYSIS"
The first thing the reader encounters, and what ultimately sets this book apart from countless others at once, making it distinctive, is not merely that it exists in electronic form, nor even that it is hosted on the author's personal site, but precisely the fact that it is tightly woven into the system of all of the author's endeavors (academic, artistic, and methodological), occupying its own organic place among them (a fact reflected, in effect, on the site's title page in the form of a map). Moreover, throughout one's acquaintance with the book, cross-references appear (according to thematic proximity) to its other parts or to the author's other works. Accordingly, it becomes rather simple and convenient to trace the author's creative dynamics across different periods of his life.
In its character and content, the book does not present itself as purely philosophical or purely artistic, but also contains aspects of scholarliness and even methodological rigor.
Structurally, the book consists of: the author's address to the reader; an introduction; the authorial text "I" (the literary-philosophical part); the lecture course (the philosophical-scholarly-methodological part); conclusions and an afterword; a bibliography.
From the author's address, several important motifs present throughout the book can already be traced: first, in several places within the brief address it is emphasized that this is not an "instruction manual," but rather an attempt — through a vision of the phenomenon of "I" (drawn and understood from the author's own life) — to reveal its depths or certain facets to the reader; second, the book is an attempt to inspire the reader to construct their own "I" by liberating themselves from the need to conform to society's usually imposed attitudes and stereotypes — "to call oneself into question"; that is, on the whole, it concerns the need to pause on one's own path and to continually engage in self-analysis of that path (if society is running and rushing, I must stop and reflect on my own experience).
Thus, already from the author's address it becomes clear that the book is, of course, intended for anyone willing or interested, yet, despite its modest length, this is not a text to be simply skimmed through. The book is therefore for everyone — but specifically for everyone who is prepared to devote their own time and effort, and to work with their own consciousness, in order to genuinely derive benefit from the book, so that it does not become merely a pleasant pastime.
From the brief introduction, we learn of the resonance between the meanings offered in the book and a range of philosophers named by the author, as well as of the fact that it is, in the end, difficult to assign the book to any particular genre or style — and so the reader will discover within the text precisely those insights they are prepared for.
The "authorial text 'I'" is, in essence, the first substantive part of the book. This text represents a description and disclosure of the phenomenon of "I," drawn from the author's life as the result of numerous acts of self-reflection. The text is at once simple and complex. Its simplicity lies in its being written in unrhymed verse form. Its complexity, understandably, lies in the fact that, like any philosophical text, it demands pauses, deliberation, contemplation, and, altogether, an inner dynamic of the reader's soul.
The text "I" is built upon an opposition between "He" and "I," whereby the former is likewise "I," but in the past, at a stage when the true "I" had not yet been attained. The author traces, across various stages of his being, how the hypostases of "He" and "I" manifested themselves. "He" is young, unrestrained, ardent, full of aspirations toward success and the self-realization of "I," yet, above all, dependent on upbringing, social institutions, and social demands. "I," by contrast, is a mature, self-sufficient, spiritual, and wisely matured personality — one that, most likely, would not exist without "He." The path to "I" lies through the passage of "He"; the path to wisdom lies through the discarding of the superfluous and the forging of one's own way; the path to maturity and the autonomy of existence passes across the bridge of an immature, excessively dynamic, and socially entangled existence. "I" is simultaneously a liberation from "He," an overcoming of "He," but also a quiet — though at times insincere — gratitude toward "He," through whose passage the formation of "I" itself became possible. Perhaps every person needs, and would benefit from, walking the path of "He" in order to reach the summit of "I," yet, presumably, far from everyone completes this path, not everyone succeeds, not everyone matures into it. For the author of this book, it succeeded.
Here are the characteristics of "He" that the author emphasizes: he hurries, argues with others, observes the lives of others, displays a covetousness for things and concerns himself with the strength of his own body, is wary of evil, suspecting it everywhere, and delights in everything around him.
And here are some characteristics of "I" from the text: he observes himself, does not hurry and competes with no one, concerns himself with the strength of his own will, strives to see the invisible, unites with other people while being a stranger to them, strives everywhere to notice good, does not concern himself with the accumulation of things but parts with them easily, and delves into himself (wherein he seeks peace and calm).
In the opposition of "He" and "I," then, one may trace the opposition between an "I" alienated from itself, absorbed by social dynamics and social demands that it seemingly must answer to, and an "I" immersed in itself, one that works upon itself, thereby distancing itself ever further from the external, material world, full of covetousness and mounting passions. In truth, two extremes, two polarities are present here — from collectivism and social activism to radical egocentrism. Yet, as is known, the truth lies somewhere in between — not in opposition and mutual negation, but in balance and harmony. That is, insofar as I am a social being, I must in some manner participate in and involve myself in various forms of interaction within society. On the other hand, insofar as I am an individual, I must take my own interests into account, attend to my own experience, and shape my own progress. A harmony of the external and the internal.
The metaphor of sleep (the author, who sleeps constantly and wishes not to be disturbed in his sleep), presented at the end of the text "I," attests to this stern, radical image of an egocentric "I" — on the one hand, extremely autonomous, on the other, alienated from everything social. And the question may arise: what caused, what influenced the shaping of the image of "I" in this manner? Weariness of life, of people, of the social? Revulsion? A life-altering upheaval or rupture? The question remains unanswered...
The text "I" is followed by six lectures, which, in various contexts, illuminate the corresponding phenomenon. Each lecture concludes with questions for discussion and recommended reading. The latter, it becomes clear, is intended to disclose more broadly and deeply the problematics addressed in each lecture. The subject matter of the lectures encompasses the poetics of "I," the philosophy of freedom, the psychology of selfhood, art as experience, the cultural code of "I," and the Western context of the phenomenon of "I." Perhaps it would have been worth including, among the lectures' subject matter, a metaphysical-transcendent (properly divine) as well as a socio-political context of "I."
It is interesting that each lecture presents not the customary or established approach to understanding the phenomenon of a "lecture" as some complete, finished answer to a question posed by the lecturer, or as a substantive unfolding of a theme. Each lecture in the book consists only of points, markers, remarks that invite the reader to conduct their own investigation and, subsequently, to arrive at their own conclusions. The value of the lectures in the book is thus, above all, methodological rather than strictly textual or substantive. This is presumably what renders the very approach to presenting the lectures post- or meta-modernist. Each lecture also serves as a concise philosophical-scholarly-artistic explication of the book's first part — the poetic-prose text "I." Such a combination of the first and second parts attests to the fact that the author joins the common and eternally ongoing work of thought, for which no borders exist.
Three questions for discussion are placed at the end of each lecture. Such a modest number does not attest to any limitation on their part, or on the part of the book's author, but only to an effort to focus the reader's attention on what is most important — much like, incidentally, the lecture texts themselves (of rather modest length). At the same time, the glossary and bibliography in the book could have been expanded.
The interdisciplinary analysis of the phenomenon of "I," as one may trace it in the book, consists in: first, the possibilities of unfolding and seeking "I" from the standpoint of philosophy, art history, psychology, and other spheres of knowledge; second, against the backdrop of the lectures' brevity, in the possibilities of constructing a methodology for the formation and architectonics of "I."
A distinctive feature of the book lies in the author's vision of its addressees — those for whom it may prove useful. This is any person prepared to make the effort to derive meanings for themselves through the text. Yet this is not the author's ultimate aspiration — he wishes for the reader, having become acquainted with the book, to attempt to conduct their own investigation of "I" — whether by relying on the methodological markers set forth, or by bypassing them, adding something of their own, creating something of their own. The book is useful both for those beginning the path of philosophizing and for specialists, since the lectures present for this purpose a basic methodological toolkit. That is, a specialist (a lecturer, for instance) is capable of drawing meanings and problematics from the lectures, using them as a foundation for research and presentation to one audience or community or another.
I will conclude this review with a quotation from the book (from the author's afterword) that expresses, presumably, the author's key expectation of the reader: "Where the text ends, the investigation begins." "I" begins where its investigation begins.
26.08.2026 — Yu. M. Khodanych, PhD in Philosophy, Associate Professor
Having passed through this inner odyssey, you may emerge from it altered — or perhaps perturbed. For the author, independence is not aesthetic, but existential. The narrative does not strive for universal truths, but savours the tension of subjectivity. It is a record of a life challenging ready-made templates. Renouncing duty and embracing personal vision, the author offers simultaneously solace and a challenge: how much of our "self" truly belongs to us?
Where the text ends, the investigation begins.