Once upon a time, there was a magnificently wealthy king, who lived in a grand palace with sprawling gardens, good wine, and more gold than you could shake a ruby-encrusted sceptor at. One day, the king, in his hubris, invited a weary (but famously wise) traveler to his palace. The king enthusiastically gave the traveler, named Solon, a grand tour of his palace, all the while showering him in hospitality. At the end of the tour, the king asked (expecting already to know the answer) who Solon considered to be the happiest man among mortals. Solon's answer surprised him.....
For those of you who don't know the story of Solon and the King of Croesus, the king gets a huge slice of humble pie along with a side-dish of wisdom: Count no man happy until you see how he dies. What does that mean? And what does it have to do with philosophy? Well, as I considered Aristotle's conception of eudaimonia, it seemed closely connected to Solon's now famous proverb.
Eudaimonia is a lot of things: an activity, self-sufficient, continuous, complete-in-itself. However, I don't recall there being a standard set (the proverbial measuring stick) by which man can determine whether or not he has achieved eudaimonia. Further, for being the bee's-knees in self-sufficient and complete flourishing, it seems as though eudaimonia can be too-easily stolen away by tragic circumstances. Aristotle even mentions at one point that eudaimonia cannot be achieved unless a man's material needs are provided for; hence, man can only contemplate nearly continuously, as he must occasionally stop to do trivial little things like eating, sleeping, and (so I hope) occasionally bathing. If, however, some exceedingly tragic circumstances befall a person, one does not have the leisure time to devote to things like contemplation. Maslow's faithful hierarchy of needs kicks in, and suddenly needs like philosophical enlightenment and self-actualization have to wait.
It's at this point that Solon re-enters the picture. What then, dear Solon, is the measure of eudaimonia? Solon's answer is both ominous and familiar: Count no man happy until you see how he dies. Even if you strive for eudaimonia your entire life, even if you master the intellectual virtues and you've practiced the character virtues until you're acting magnanimous in your sleep, whether you have reached your goal or not cannot be determined until after you die. After all, before that point, your situation can change, and your eudaimonia (or pre-eudaimonia, since you can't be said to have the real-deal until after you die) can be taken away. I don't know about you guys, but I'd be pretty peeved if my eudaimonia got snatched away from me at the last minute, particularly after a life-time of hard work and habituation aimed at building it up. It seems to me like something as complete and self-sufficient as eudaimonia should be a bit more permanent.
Just a fun, existentially troubling thought before this semester's end. Perhaps I'll post a cheerier one before finals actually roll around.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Why can't I be taught moral virtues again?
At this ridiculous hour (oh sleep, my allusive friend), I find myself contemplating how frightfully mistaken Aristotle is in claiming that the intellectual virtues are a prerequisite to the moral virtues. While I already took this issue up in my small-group assignment, it's a problem that strikes a personal philosophical chord within me. Further, I feel that this mistake stems largely from establishing moral virtue as something that must be learned through practice and intellectual virtue as something that can be taught. If Aristotle had considered that both forms of virtue can be taught and/or learned through practice, then the need for intellectual virtue as a prerequisite to moral virtue would be largely eliminated. Here's why...
Intellectual virtue is useful because it acts as an instructional compass by which a person discerns what is right or wrong in a given situation. As such, intellectual virtue must be acquired first in this model because otherwise the person in question has no means by which to aim (with any degree of accuracy) toward moral virtue. However, there are instances in which intellectual virtue can go awry, deviating from this purpose. One easily cited example is the intelligent sociopath, who devotes all of his or her time toward developing intellectually while using said intellect to exploit others. Despite this, intellectual virtue MUST be a prerequisite to moral virtue, right? Because how else are we wayward humans going to hit the mean between excess and deficiency? A lucky dart throw or toss of the dice, perhaps? Unfortunately, this is where I feel Aristotle's model leaves us, if you accept the shortcomings of intellectual virtue. Let's tweak the model a bit.
If moral virtue can be taught, then there is no need for intellectual virtue as a prerequisite. In fact, given this possibility, moral and intellectual virtue could be developed at the same time, and indeed moral virtue could provide the impetus for the development of intellectual virtue. Just as Aristotle suggests that the intellectual virtues direct us toward the mean of moral virtues, so could learning moral virtue direct us toward a more virtuous use of intellectual gifts. If, for instance, we have learned from our parents that courage is a moral virtue, and have similarly learned how to largely avoid its deficiency and excess, then we could easily be directed towards an intellectual exploration of courage. Further, the intellectual virtues would still be desirable, even if they are no longer a prerequisite for the moral virtues, because they lead to happiness and they enable a person to more deeply appreciate moral virtues.
Intellectual virtue is useful because it acts as an instructional compass by which a person discerns what is right or wrong in a given situation. As such, intellectual virtue must be acquired first in this model because otherwise the person in question has no means by which to aim (with any degree of accuracy) toward moral virtue. However, there are instances in which intellectual virtue can go awry, deviating from this purpose. One easily cited example is the intelligent sociopath, who devotes all of his or her time toward developing intellectually while using said intellect to exploit others. Despite this, intellectual virtue MUST be a prerequisite to moral virtue, right? Because how else are we wayward humans going to hit the mean between excess and deficiency? A lucky dart throw or toss of the dice, perhaps? Unfortunately, this is where I feel Aristotle's model leaves us, if you accept the shortcomings of intellectual virtue. Let's tweak the model a bit.
If moral virtue can be taught, then there is no need for intellectual virtue as a prerequisite. In fact, given this possibility, moral and intellectual virtue could be developed at the same time, and indeed moral virtue could provide the impetus for the development of intellectual virtue. Just as Aristotle suggests that the intellectual virtues direct us toward the mean of moral virtues, so could learning moral virtue direct us toward a more virtuous use of intellectual gifts. If, for instance, we have learned from our parents that courage is a moral virtue, and have similarly learned how to largely avoid its deficiency and excess, then we could easily be directed towards an intellectual exploration of courage. Further, the intellectual virtues would still be desirable, even if they are no longer a prerequisite for the moral virtues, because they lead to happiness and they enable a person to more deeply appreciate moral virtues.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Virtue vs. Justice: the Inner and Outer Worlds Distinction
Aristotle lines it up pretty clearly. Virtue deals specifically with an individual's moral state; as such, virtue is associated with a single individual's inner world and does not involve other people. Justice, on the other hand, is like virtue on a macro-level; justice involves acting virtuously (according to the doctrine of the mean) in relation to other people. While it seems there can be a reasonable amount of overlap here (I mean, both concepts have to do with the overall cultivation of the good), the distinction between virtue, associated with the inner-world of a single person, and justice, associated with interpersonal relations with others, seems an important distinction for the construction of a just society. Here's why...
If you imagine society like a brick wall, the integrity of that wall relies partially on both 1) the soundness of each individual brick, and 2) the overall stability of the wall, which results from the orientation of each of the bricks to one another. As you've probably guessed, 1) and 2) correspond to virtue and justice, respectively. If you have a wall in which the bricks seems to be laid stably in relation to one another, but each of the bricks is crumbling, old, or weak, then you have an infrastructure for what could be a just society built on non-virtuous citizens. I would be willing to argue that this sort of brick wall (or society) doesn't exist, as it seems that both the wall and the society (built upon spurious foundations) would crumble despite the attempt at structure. So, it would seem (and I think Aristotle would agree) that virtue is a necessary prerequisite to a just society, insofar as society is made up of individuals.
However, if I stay true to my metaphor, just because a just society (or a brick wall) necessarily means that the individual units of which it is made are sound does not mean that having sound individual units (bricks or virtuous people) necessarily leads to a just society. Here is where I believe, to a certain extent, Aristotle and I part ways. In Aristotle, it seems like justice should naturally flow from virtue; one should almost guarantee the other by its very nature. If you consider the brick wall again, though, it is possible to have a brick wall comprised of perfect, completely sound bricks....and to still have a crap brick wall. The relation between the bricks must be such that the wall is given structural integrity by its very design; it's not enough that the individual bricks are perfect (or virtuous, take your pick). As such, the distinction between justice and virtue is useful because, despite their overlap, they are different things and their relationship may not necessarily be reciprocal.
If you imagine society like a brick wall, the integrity of that wall relies partially on both 1) the soundness of each individual brick, and 2) the overall stability of the wall, which results from the orientation of each of the bricks to one another. As you've probably guessed, 1) and 2) correspond to virtue and justice, respectively. If you have a wall in which the bricks seems to be laid stably in relation to one another, but each of the bricks is crumbling, old, or weak, then you have an infrastructure for what could be a just society built on non-virtuous citizens. I would be willing to argue that this sort of brick wall (or society) doesn't exist, as it seems that both the wall and the society (built upon spurious foundations) would crumble despite the attempt at structure. So, it would seem (and I think Aristotle would agree) that virtue is a necessary prerequisite to a just society, insofar as society is made up of individuals.
However, if I stay true to my metaphor, just because a just society (or a brick wall) necessarily means that the individual units of which it is made are sound does not mean that having sound individual units (bricks or virtuous people) necessarily leads to a just society. Here is where I believe, to a certain extent, Aristotle and I part ways. In Aristotle, it seems like justice should naturally flow from virtue; one should almost guarantee the other by its very nature. If you consider the brick wall again, though, it is possible to have a brick wall comprised of perfect, completely sound bricks....and to still have a crap brick wall. The relation between the bricks must be such that the wall is given structural integrity by its very design; it's not enough that the individual bricks are perfect (or virtuous, take your pick). As such, the distinction between justice and virtue is useful because, despite their overlap, they are different things and their relationship may not necessarily be reciprocal.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Greatness of Soul: Akin to Modern Pride, yes?
Greatness of Soul (aka: magnanimity) is a virtue akin to what may be understood today as justifiable pride. Someone who manages to achieve this mean is someone who believes himself worthy of great honor and reward...and he actually is. That brings us to the endgame of the magnanimous man: honor. One who achieves greatness of soul isn't just of any nature; for instance, he is not a man of mediocre moral fiber who recognizes as much, and who accepts appropriate honor and reward for his mediocrity. The magnanimous man strives for, and achieves, the highest good among men; as such, someone who has achieved greatness of soul is worthy of (and accepts) great honor. While the man who has greatness of soul is at an extreme in regard to the magnitude of his claims, greatness of soul is a mean insofar as the claim the magnanimous man makes is right.
If this is so, then what is the excess and deficiency of greatness of soul? First, I'll address the excess. The excess, vanity, is the lesser of the two vices. The vain man considers himself to be worthy of more honor than he actually is, and so considers himself to be of greater moral worth than is really the case. The deficiency, which Aristotle seems to regard as the greater of the two vices, is what he calls smallness of soul (but what I would call humility). The small-souled person claims for themselves fewer honors and moral deserts than they rightly deserve; however, unlike with the great-souled man, Aristotle portrays the small-souled individual as being of a more variable character. For instance, the great-souled man is, by definition, worthy of great honors. The small-souled man, though, may be worthy of very few or a substantial amount of honors, and yet believes himself undeserving.
When I think of Greatness of Soul, I think of Gimley from Lord of the Rings. He is a proud character, proud both of himself in regards to his accomplishments and skills and in regards to his dwarvin culture. He takes no insults upon his character when he believes them to be undeserved, and (the majority of the time, short of some comic-relief moments) he does so rightly. Further, he does not claim any honor or desert that rightly belongs to his comrades. Lastly, he's just a great dwarf, and I mean great in the fandom and in the Aristotelian type of way.
If this is so, then what is the excess and deficiency of greatness of soul? First, I'll address the excess. The excess, vanity, is the lesser of the two vices. The vain man considers himself to be worthy of more honor than he actually is, and so considers himself to be of greater moral worth than is really the case. The deficiency, which Aristotle seems to regard as the greater of the two vices, is what he calls smallness of soul (but what I would call humility). The small-souled person claims for themselves fewer honors and moral deserts than they rightly deserve; however, unlike with the great-souled man, Aristotle portrays the small-souled individual as being of a more variable character. For instance, the great-souled man is, by definition, worthy of great honors. The small-souled man, though, may be worthy of very few or a substantial amount of honors, and yet believes himself undeserving.
When I think of Greatness of Soul, I think of Gimley from Lord of the Rings. He is a proud character, proud both of himself in regards to his accomplishments and skills and in regards to his dwarvin culture. He takes no insults upon his character when he believes them to be undeserved, and (the majority of the time, short of some comic-relief moments) he does so rightly. Further, he does not claim any honor or desert that rightly belongs to his comrades. Lastly, he's just a great dwarf, and I mean great in the fandom and in the Aristotelian type of way.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Sibling Rivalry Battle Royale: The Mean, Excess, and Deficiency
Having read Book II of Nichomachean Ethics (for the second time around), I'm always struck by the doctrine of the mean. I know that what's about to follow isn't the most philosophically groundbreaking material that I could write about, but it is something very near-and-dear to the realm of human experience. That, of course, is something I appreciate the most about Aristotle: his down-to-earth quality (well, moreso than Plato, anyway). As you might imagine, the empiricist in me is as happy as a kid in a candy store. But I digress...
Anyway, the doctrine of the mean has always seemed marvelously, intuitively, and infuriatingly human to me. The manner in which human beings are supposed to aim for the mean is equally so. Since Aristotle is so fond of moral virtue being developed through action, I will propose a personification of the doctrine of the mean in the most action-packed environment most college students get to engage in these days....the party environment. Consider the token example of this doctrine, the mean of courage accompanied to the party on either side by his brothers cowardice and rashness. At this party, courage would be like the over-achieving older brother; neither of his siblings quite know how he became such a virtuous goody-two-shoes, nor do they have the slightest idea how to emulate him properly. In any case, he somehow manages to enjoy the party without making a blubbering idiot of himself, and other party-goers are better (more cheerful, perhaps more virtuous) for his company.
Rashness is the drunken party boy who takes what he believes to be the boldness and extraversion of his older brother WAY too far; he is the guy with a lamp-shade on his head at the end of the night, and the same guy that brings other party-goers down with him a dangerous drunken stupor...not exactly the picture of virtue. Lastly, you have cowardice, who recognizes that Rashness has just gone completely off the deep end and, at any rate, is too busy being a nervous (okay, agoraphobic, possibly wetting himself) wallflower to engage in the party; this guy is not deriving any virtue from his activity, and the other people at the party aren't exactly deriving a great deal of enjoyment (or virtue) from his company, either.
The problem with the excess and deficiency is the same issue you see in many sibling rivalries. Courage just seems so perfect, and impossible to copycat, that all the other two can do are settle with approximations. The only difference is.....all human beings are the younger brothers (or sisters) in this situation. We all display different dimensions of excess and deficiency, and we all shoot for that ideal of the mean....and sometimes, we get it right. But we're human, fallible, the younger siblings of absolute virtue; we're never going to get it exactly right all the time.
This example carries over further into aiming for the "lesser of two evils," trying to emulate the mean by overshooting and coming closer to the vice that is closest to it. Granted, Rashness gets himself into some serious trouble, but at least he interacts with people at the party; the same cannot be said for cowardice. Humans go through this continuous cycle of sliding from one extreme (excess) to the other (deficiency), and occasionally hit right on the mark. As I said, this doctrine is very human. That's one reason it resonates with the imperfection in all of us.
Anyway, the doctrine of the mean has always seemed marvelously, intuitively, and infuriatingly human to me. The manner in which human beings are supposed to aim for the mean is equally so. Since Aristotle is so fond of moral virtue being developed through action, I will propose a personification of the doctrine of the mean in the most action-packed environment most college students get to engage in these days....the party environment. Consider the token example of this doctrine, the mean of courage accompanied to the party on either side by his brothers cowardice and rashness. At this party, courage would be like the over-achieving older brother; neither of his siblings quite know how he became such a virtuous goody-two-shoes, nor do they have the slightest idea how to emulate him properly. In any case, he somehow manages to enjoy the party without making a blubbering idiot of himself, and other party-goers are better (more cheerful, perhaps more virtuous) for his company.
Rashness is the drunken party boy who takes what he believes to be the boldness and extraversion of his older brother WAY too far; he is the guy with a lamp-shade on his head at the end of the night, and the same guy that brings other party-goers down with him a dangerous drunken stupor...not exactly the picture of virtue. Lastly, you have cowardice, who recognizes that Rashness has just gone completely off the deep end and, at any rate, is too busy being a nervous (okay, agoraphobic, possibly wetting himself) wallflower to engage in the party; this guy is not deriving any virtue from his activity, and the other people at the party aren't exactly deriving a great deal of enjoyment (or virtue) from his company, either.
The problem with the excess and deficiency is the same issue you see in many sibling rivalries. Courage just seems so perfect, and impossible to copycat, that all the other two can do are settle with approximations. The only difference is.....all human beings are the younger brothers (or sisters) in this situation. We all display different dimensions of excess and deficiency, and we all shoot for that ideal of the mean....and sometimes, we get it right. But we're human, fallible, the younger siblings of absolute virtue; we're never going to get it exactly right all the time.
This example carries over further into aiming for the "lesser of two evils," trying to emulate the mean by overshooting and coming closer to the vice that is closest to it. Granted, Rashness gets himself into some serious trouble, but at least he interacts with people at the party; the same cannot be said for cowardice. Humans go through this continuous cycle of sliding from one extreme (excess) to the other (deficiency), and occasionally hit right on the mark. As I said, this doctrine is very human. That's one reason it resonates with the imperfection in all of us.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Diotima on Immortality: A Question of Infamy
Diotima attributes several characteristics to love, including the desire to be attached to that which is good and the desire for that attachment to be an eternal one. She continues by saying that human beings naturally want immortality so that they can be attached to the good forever. This leads to the idea of immortality by generation, and pregnancy through both body and mind. Using these, men come as close as they can to immortality. In the case of Hesiod and Homer, this immortality comes from "pregnancy of mind," as they created poetry that carried their names into history. The next (and more perplexing claim) that Diotima makes is that this same pregnancy of mind led Achilles to risk his life for Petroclus; as she puts it, he would not have risked his life for his lover if that same action would not have given him an eternal, heroic name.
This led me to an interesting question: can this same drive for immortality occur outside of Love? I think it can (as many media-based bad guys have shown), but I'm wondering what the explanation would be from Diotima's standpoint. Why do I ask? Consider some of history's bad guys: Vlad the Impaler, Attila the Hun, Marquis de Sade, Elizabeth Bathory. They all have two things in common; each of them attempted immortality (from Diotima's description) in one form or another, and each of them did horrible things to attain this goal. It seems that, in these instances, these individuals are seeking an eternal attachment something....in this case, though, the "something" is not the good. So, because it is not oriented toward the good, then this kind of striving for immortality isn't based in love, despite having many of the same characteristics. My question is this: what are bad guys striving for? If heroic fame grounded in love is what motivated Achilles, then what is infamy grounded in and how does it motivate the actions of men in a similar manner to love?
This led me to an interesting question: can this same drive for immortality occur outside of Love? I think it can (as many media-based bad guys have shown), but I'm wondering what the explanation would be from Diotima's standpoint. Why do I ask? Consider some of history's bad guys: Vlad the Impaler, Attila the Hun, Marquis de Sade, Elizabeth Bathory. They all have two things in common; each of them attempted immortality (from Diotima's description) in one form or another, and each of them did horrible things to attain this goal. It seems that, in these instances, these individuals are seeking an eternal attachment something....in this case, though, the "something" is not the good. So, because it is not oriented toward the good, then this kind of striving for immortality isn't based in love, despite having many of the same characteristics. My question is this: what are bad guys striving for? If heroic fame grounded in love is what motivated Achilles, then what is infamy grounded in and how does it motivate the actions of men in a similar manner to love?
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Eryximachus on Love: A Parallel to Christian Love
Eryximachus's description of love is, by far, my favorite and the most familiar to me. Of the perspectives on love offered in the Symposium thus far, Eryximachus's description seems to most closely resemble the Christian perspective on love. More specifically, there are several parallels between 1st Corinthians chapter 13 and his exposition on the nature of love. Here are just a few similarities I noticed.
First, let's address all this hoop-la about love being the root of other virtues (excellence, wisdom, goodness, etc.), and the claim that love is a prerequisite to these other virtues. If indeed love inspires the other virtues, so much so that the gods could not become the masters of their individual fields without love, then there is a distinct parallel between the importance of love in this description and the following passage from 1 Corinthians chapter 13:
"If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing."
----http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+13&version=NIV
In both cases, all other accomplishments mean little in the absence of love.
Further, Eryximachus claims that love is just precisely because it is not forceful, and suggests that all the virtues for which love is a prerequisite are characteristics of love itself. This follows along nicely with 1 Corinthians chapter 13:
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
----same source as previous quotation
Granted, not all of the "virtues" mentioned in this passage from Corinthians correspond with the virtues Eryximachus associates with love. In fact, there is some debate as to whether or not some of the virtues associated with love by Christians would be considered virtues at all to the Greeks (hope, for example). However, the point still stands that, in both accounts, many virtues are listed as being distinct characteristics of love, suggesting (perhaps more strongly than one should be comfortable with, in all cases) that possessing the virtue of love is not just a prerequisite to all the other virtues: it's a prerequisite to the path of the good life. Can one even set forth on the path to the good life without love? Good question. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on the matter.
P.S. Ironically, Socrates believes that all the previous dialogues (including Eryximachus's) don't touch on the truth of love. While Eryximachus provided a worthy praise of love, one must wonder whether the parallels between Christian love and his exposition result (from a Greek perspective) from a romanticized conception of the thing.
First, let's address all this hoop-la about love being the root of other virtues (excellence, wisdom, goodness, etc.), and the claim that love is a prerequisite to these other virtues. If indeed love inspires the other virtues, so much so that the gods could not become the masters of their individual fields without love, then there is a distinct parallel between the importance of love in this description and the following passage from 1 Corinthians chapter 13:
"If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing."
----http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+13&version=NIV
In both cases, all other accomplishments mean little in the absence of love.
Further, Eryximachus claims that love is just precisely because it is not forceful, and suggests that all the virtues for which love is a prerequisite are characteristics of love itself. This follows along nicely with 1 Corinthians chapter 13:
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
----same source as previous quotation
Granted, not all of the "virtues" mentioned in this passage from Corinthians correspond with the virtues Eryximachus associates with love. In fact, there is some debate as to whether or not some of the virtues associated with love by Christians would be considered virtues at all to the Greeks (hope, for example). However, the point still stands that, in both accounts, many virtues are listed as being distinct characteristics of love, suggesting (perhaps more strongly than one should be comfortable with, in all cases) that possessing the virtue of love is not just a prerequisite to all the other virtues: it's a prerequisite to the path of the good life. Can one even set forth on the path to the good life without love? Good question. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on the matter.
P.S. Ironically, Socrates believes that all the previous dialogues (including Eryximachus's) don't touch on the truth of love. While Eryximachus provided a worthy praise of love, one must wonder whether the parallels between Christian love and his exposition result (from a Greek perspective) from a romanticized conception of the thing.
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