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.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Leucippus and Democritus: Atom-Smashing Parmenides!
Considering their time, Leucippus and Democritus weren't too shabby on their conception of the atom as the building block of all that is. In a flurry of philosophical theories where the elements (Avatar: Last Airbender elements, not the flashy chemistry ones), the gods or some indefinite substance called the boundless is supposed to make up the entirety of the universe, it's refreshing to see two philosophers who are a little less wide-of-the-mark. What's more, one major detail in their philosophy gives poor Parmenides (one of my least favorite philosophers of the bunch) a much-needed swift kick in the pants.....they grant their version of "what is not" (aka: the void, the nothing, the empty) to actually exist, as opposed to being simply the negation of atoms (aka: what is, the something). And, blessed relief, this move takes their theory out of the aggravating realm of rational skepticism (which is where you end up if you question the tenability of sense experience; thanks a lot, Parmenides).
This representation of "what is not" is highly reminiscent of the way modern folk might describe space (the final frontier). That interesting observation having been made, their basic theory of atoms is what's really impressive because (yet another bow to Parmenides) atoms actually satisfy the Parmenidian pre-requisites for existence. The characteristics of atoms that made this possible were their indivisibility, their constancy (unchanging nature), their indefinite number, their uniformity and their exemption from the coming-to-be and passing-away process. Granted, not all of the assumptions about atoms that made them Parmenides-Approved are actually accurate; after all, with today's advanced technologies, we actually can split atoms. It's just an expensive (not to mention explosive) process. Nonetheless, in a time when philosophers were struggling to meet Parmenidian standards for their understanding of coming-to-be and passing-away, Leucippus' and Democritus's philosophy is both scientifically and philosophically ahead of its time.
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| With regard to Parmenides, I wholeheartedly agree. |
This representation of "what is not" is highly reminiscent of the way modern folk might describe space (the final frontier). That interesting observation having been made, their basic theory of atoms is what's really impressive because (yet another bow to Parmenides) atoms actually satisfy the Parmenidian pre-requisites for existence. The characteristics of atoms that made this possible were their indivisibility, their constancy (unchanging nature), their indefinite number, their uniformity and their exemption from the coming-to-be and passing-away process. Granted, not all of the assumptions about atoms that made them Parmenides-Approved are actually accurate; after all, with today's advanced technologies, we actually can split atoms. It's just an expensive (not to mention explosive) process. Nonetheless, in a time when philosophers were struggling to meet Parmenidian standards for their understanding of coming-to-be and passing-away, Leucippus' and Democritus's philosophy is both scientifically and philosophically ahead of its time.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Empedocles: Thought Provoking and Existentially Satisfying!
For those of you who were mildly distressed with all this coming-to-be and passing away nonsense, whether you're Zeno and Parmenides and make the distinction based on that which-is and that which isn't, or you're Anaximander revelling in that sin which is coming-to-be, Empedocles should be a sunny reprieve from such unsettling philosophical notions. Why? Because he sees a false dichotomy between that which is eternal and that which is effimeral. In a move that would make modern high school physics teachers proud, he suggests that everything is made up of some mixture of the roots (fire, water, air and earth) and the forces of Love (bringing together) and Strife (hateful force of tearing apart), and that the matter of these are neither created nor destroyed as things come into and out of being; rather, different amounts and mixtures of an ever-existent whole (comprised of the roots, Love and Strife) mix together (or break apart, as the case may be) to create different beings. As such, when a creature "dies," the eternal parts that make it up simply return to the whole and are re-mixed into something new. In other words, everything that is is in some way tied to the eternal. This seems to nicely wrap up the issue of that which-is and that which-is-not, plus the convenience of humans being able to trust their sensory experiences. Again, a nice reprieve, and certainly easier to deal with on an existential level than some of the other philosophers we've studied thus far.
Considering all these things, there are a few thoughts that come to mind that seem worth discussing. First, while no mention of it is made, Empedocles's use of the roots, Love and Strife to physically make up human beings might be interestingly extended to the use of these fundamental building blocks to form individual human dispositions. In this way, particularly because Empedocles was a physician, perhaps his idea of the roots, Love and Strife can be compared to the four humors, in that the four humors also identify both physical and dispositional characteristics of individuals. Carrying this idea a bit further, Empedocles implies quite often that Love (Aphrodite) is a force of good, versus Strife, which is a force of evil. As such, could the dispositional makeup of a person (particularly their goodness versus their badness) be explained based on the degree to which either Love or Strife participated in their formation? I honestly don't know, though the prospect itself is rather interesting.
Another thought worth pondering is the parallel between Love/Strife and Eros/Chaos. In both cases, there exists one fundamental driving force for bringing the fabric of existence together (Love and Eros), as well as a single driving force for tearing things apart (Strife and Chaos). Perhaps Empedocles has been influenced by Hesiod as well as by Parmenides and Pythagoras.
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| When I Googled Empedocles, this picture turned up. He certainly looks cooler than those other philosophers do. |
Considering all these things, there are a few thoughts that come to mind that seem worth discussing. First, while no mention of it is made, Empedocles's use of the roots, Love and Strife to physically make up human beings might be interestingly extended to the use of these fundamental building blocks to form individual human dispositions. In this way, particularly because Empedocles was a physician, perhaps his idea of the roots, Love and Strife can be compared to the four humors, in that the four humors also identify both physical and dispositional characteristics of individuals. Carrying this idea a bit further, Empedocles implies quite often that Love (Aphrodite) is a force of good, versus Strife, which is a force of evil. As such, could the dispositional makeup of a person (particularly their goodness versus their badness) be explained based on the degree to which either Love or Strife participated in their formation? I honestly don't know, though the prospect itself is rather interesting.
Another thought worth pondering is the parallel between Love/Strife and Eros/Chaos. In both cases, there exists one fundamental driving force for bringing the fabric of existence together (Love and Eros), as well as a single driving force for tearing things apart (Strife and Chaos). Perhaps Empedocles has been influenced by Hesiod as well as by Parmenides and Pythagoras.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Zeno: The Poster-Child for Couch Potatoes
I hate running. My lungs wheeze in protest, my muscles cramp
up and my everything sweats. The only good part of running is when it’s over,
and you can drink a couple-dozen gallons of water before hitting the showers
and plopping back down on the couch. So, naturally, I look for any excuse in
the book to avoid the abhorrent activity. Luckily for me, Zeno offers the
perfect excuse: Motion doesn’t actually exist, so why bother?
Reading Zeno, the one aspect of his philosophy that
repeatedly sticks out to me is the concept of infinity. In particular, he goes
through quite the rig-a-marole to prove motion doesn’t exist using the concept
of infinity. Consider Zeno’s first three
(out of four) arguments regarding motion. The first is the Dichotomy, the
argument that “there is no motion” because a given distance between A and B can
be infinitely divided in half (half the distance between A and B, and that half
is divided in half, and so on) (Curd 68). The infinite number of divisions
means that point B can never be reached from point A. Personally, if I were one
of those unfortunate souls who ran the Bear Trail on a regular basis, just the
thought of this argument would be enough to make me strongly reconsider my
daily exercise regimen.
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| Infinity? That seems like an awful long time for morning cardio. |
Infinity rears its ugly head yet again in the Achilles
argument. As Zeno describes it, “the slowest as it runs will never be caught by
the quickest [because] the pursuer must first reach the point from which the
pursued departed” (Curd 68). In other words, as a result of Dichotomy, the
pursuer will never reach the point at which the slow runner started because the
distance must be infinitely divided, meaning that the slow runner will always
be ahead of the fast runner. Admittedly, this argument doesn’t particularly
help my cause; all I’d really have to do to win a race (assuming I’d ever start
one) is start a few feet in front of all the faster runners in order to win,
regardless of how agonizingly slow I decided to run. However, the chances of me
reaching the finish line (pesky Dichotomy argument) are pretty much non-existent,
so that doesn’t give me much incentive.
The third argument (which, as it so happens, has no fancy
name like the first two do) states that “if…everything is always at rest when
it occupies a space equal to itself, and what is moving is always ‘at a now,’”
then the moving object in question is motionless (Curd 69). This concept
reminds me of watching an instant replay of a football game frame-by-frame. As
the player moves in space, he is frozen motionless in each individual frame as
the play moves forward. The motionlessness of each frame, though , applies to
all movement (or lack-thereof?); as long as we occupy a space equal to
ourselves and every moment in time is a “now,” then we are not actually moving.
This certainly takes some of the glamour out of instant replays. It also makes
me think that, no matter how much running I do (presumably for my own good), I
won’t actually be moving. This seems to defeat the purpose of running, which is
active motion to get me in shape. As such, really, why bother?
I honestly didn’t understand the last argument (I think it
would’ve required a blackboard and lots of bad doodling), but I’m sure it in
some way proves my point, too. If someone wants to help me prove my point
further, feel free to leave a picture representation (because really, that’s
what it would take) in the comments box below.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Please Parmenides, be a bit more clear!
As Nietzsche paints him, Parmenides is the pessimistic step-ancestor of Descartes. By that, of
course, I’m referring to cogito ergo sum,
the now-commercialized catchphrase of Descartes and a foundational idea in
Parmenides thought. For Parmenides, empirical evidence is useless; that which
is empirical is gathered through observation (i.e., our senses), and the senses
cannot be trusted to provide any true insight into that which exists.
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| Say what you want, you're not going to convince a dog that leftovers don't exist. Perhaps keener canine senses are all the more deceiving. |
So, it would seem that our senses trap us in a proverbial
hall of mirrors, unable to make heads or tails of reality and far too confused
to know which direction grants escape from the illusion. How then, you may ask,
can we know anything if not through the use of our senses? After all, empirical
evidence is the stuff science is built on, and that junk seems pretty real to
me (until you start getting into some of the freakier theoretical physics).
Logic, that oddball among all other philosophy classes, makes a valiant rescue.
Parmenides claims that it is only through logical inference that the truth of
matters can be discovered, and indeed the foundation for that (as far as I
could make out from Nietzsche, anyway) is thought. To be honest, I missed the
part where Parmenides made sense of why thought is trustworthy when information
gathered from the senses is not (yeah, Parmenides, at least Descartes made his
reasoning on that matter semi-clear). For the sake of moving the conversation
forward, I’m just going to let him have that one and assume that I legitimately
missed something in the text. If any of my humble readers would be so kind as
to explain this to me, I’d greatly appreciate it.
What can be gathered more clearly from Parmenides thought, though, is the common denominator for all of the Pre-Socratics thus far: the concept of the one. That which-is is whole, unmoving, unchanging and eternal, with no beginning and no end. That which-is is the one, and constitutes all (the only singular thing) that actually exists. Anything that has passed away or come into being fits squarely in the other camp, that which-is-not; this includes, of course, human beings, who (last time I checked) are generally quite fond of the notion that they exist.
Now, some confessions, and a few questions I’d like to ask of anyone who happens upon this page with a deeper philosophical understanding than my own. I must admit at this point a deficiency in my certainty of Parmenides’ philosophy; these are the conclusions that I came to as I understood his philosophy, so any additional helpful perspectives you have would be welcomed. As far as I could discern, there was no proof given for Parmenides’ existence, and only the statement of thought being part of that which-is alludes to this possibility. From his perspective, is there any logical evidence that other humans exist? Is there any logical evidence that HE exists? If not, then what exactly are we (other than non-existent, because that really clears nothing up)? To say that we are phantasms of another person’s senses assumes that other people exist to be deceived by their senses. I also see little point in articulating a philosophy for non-existent people to read and understand their non-existence. It seems there are some pretty fundamental questions here that need answering in order for his philosophy to be moderately cohesive.
What can be gathered more clearly from Parmenides thought, though, is the common denominator for all of the Pre-Socratics thus far: the concept of the one. That which-is is whole, unmoving, unchanging and eternal, with no beginning and no end. That which-is is the one, and constitutes all (the only singular thing) that actually exists. Anything that has passed away or come into being fits squarely in the other camp, that which-is-not; this includes, of course, human beings, who (last time I checked) are generally quite fond of the notion that they exist.
Now, some confessions, and a few questions I’d like to ask of anyone who happens upon this page with a deeper philosophical understanding than my own. I must admit at this point a deficiency in my certainty of Parmenides’ philosophy; these are the conclusions that I came to as I understood his philosophy, so any additional helpful perspectives you have would be welcomed. As far as I could discern, there was no proof given for Parmenides’ existence, and only the statement of thought being part of that which-is alludes to this possibility. From his perspective, is there any logical evidence that other humans exist? Is there any logical evidence that HE exists? If not, then what exactly are we (other than non-existent, because that really clears nothing up)? To say that we are phantasms of another person’s senses assumes that other people exist to be deceived by their senses. I also see little point in articulating a philosophy for non-existent people to read and understand their non-existence. It seems there are some pretty fundamental questions here that need answering in order for his philosophy to be moderately cohesive.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Pythagoras: More than Just a Math Guy
If you're anything like me, all you knew about Pythagoras before taking a philosophy class (and possibly even after that) was that he was responsible for the beginning of your high school geometry class nightmares. However, despite the fact that the Pythagorean theorem is what Pythagoras is most popularly known for, there's a lot more to him than he's given credit for nowadays.
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| Pythagoras's greatest achievement can be duplicated by a cat with a pizza box. |
"Big deal," you say, "he discovered the basis for geometry and part of chaos theory. That's hardly a basis for a religion." After proposing the fundamental ordering principle of the universe, Pythagoras decided to give this whole religion thing an encore that has been appropriately dubbed the "transmigration of souls." To me, this seems like a fun Greek twist on the concept of reincarnation. In a cycle that lasts a measly 3000 years, the immortal soul goes through a cycle of being "reborn" into a new animal every time its previous body dies; further, the newly transmigrated soul has no memory of its previous lives. Eventually you're reborn as a human, die, then have to wait another 3000 years to be a human being again (Curd 25). This doesn't make a lot of sense when you realize that Pythagoras claimed to have been a human in past lives several times within the span of 3000 years, but maybe (as a favorite of Hermes) he was given some special treatment.
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| Maybe pizza box cat is really Pythagoras reincarnated. |
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
The Human Mind: Easy-Bake Oven of Deities
Xenophanes raises several important (and, to the modern reader, what may seem like obvious) issues regarding Greek religion. His argument can ultimately be boiled down to human beings projecting their own nature upon the divine. Consider, for instance, Clement's quote about horses, oxen and lions (oh my!). The argument is made that, if these animals had the capacity to create works of art, the figures they'd draw would be "gods like horses, and oxen like oxen, and each [of these animals] would render the bodies [of their gods] to be of the same frame that each of them have (Curd 34)"
Taken one way, humans are only doing what any creature with the capacity to imagine deities would do: making their gods in their own image. It's not evidence taken only from the Greeks, either; the Ethiopians and the Thracians are cited as imagining their deities in exactly the same manner (Curd 34). What easier way to make a religion than to create gods that are glorified (and shinier) versions of human beings? And, of course, this form of religion comes absolutely problem free, right? Enter the next part of Xenophanes argument: human iniquities, including "all deeds which among men are matters of reproach and blame: thieving, adultery, and deceiving one another (Curd 34)." In making the gods in their own image (in specific reference to the Greeks), they also endowed the gods with all manner of human flaws. It seems difficult to me to put my faith in a pantheon who is equally as susceptible to temptation as I am.
Xenophanes appears to feel the same way, except he adds in that instead there exists a single supreme god "not at all like mortals in form or thought" who remains unchanging and controls the universe by the power of thought (Curd 31, 35). Further, this kind of god could be far-removed from humanity (as opposed to constantly interfering like the traditional Greek pantheon), and could be eternal. This brings up another complaint that Xenophanes had with the set-up of Greek religion; the gods were all born, which means that there is a point in time in which the gods did not exist and consequently couldn't have control of the universe. In Xenophanes eyes, this was equally as impious as suggesting that the gods could die (Curd 36). All in all, the traditional Greek pantheon leaves a lot to be desired, from their inability to consistently set a good example for their human followers to their finite existence leaving open a lot of questions about who was running the universe before they came along.
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| If I were a horse, this is totally the way I'd imagine my almighty deity. |
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| Though they fail at setting an acceptable moral precedent, at least Ares and Aphrodite's behavior has the makings of an interesting dollar-store romance novel. |
Xenophanes appears to feel the same way, except he adds in that instead there exists a single supreme god "not at all like mortals in form or thought" who remains unchanging and controls the universe by the power of thought (Curd 31, 35). Further, this kind of god could be far-removed from humanity (as opposed to constantly interfering like the traditional Greek pantheon), and could be eternal. This brings up another complaint that Xenophanes had with the set-up of Greek religion; the gods were all born, which means that there is a point in time in which the gods did not exist and consequently couldn't have control of the universe. In Xenophanes eyes, this was equally as impious as suggesting that the gods could die (Curd 36). All in all, the traditional Greek pantheon leaves a lot to be desired, from their inability to consistently set a good example for their human followers to their finite existence leaving open a lot of questions about who was running the universe before they came along.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
An Existential Greek? Nietzsche and Anaximander
Nietzsche, in his engaging and dramatic way, interprets this quote of Anaximander's as an expression of existentialism. While today the existentialist movement is considered a small part of the history of philosophy (and also manages to make its way into quite a few comic strips), Nietzsche describes it as the second great step of the Greeks toward a philosophical tradition. Beginning with Thales, who asserted that everything was water and, in effect, that all is one, Anaximander took the next big step by putting Thales philosophy in a human context. Sure, all is one; but if, as Anaximander asserts, the "one" is not water but an indefinite and infinite substance, then the question of how human beings can be becomes a truly perplexing one. After all, "that which truly is...cannot possess definite characteristics, or it would come-to-be and pass away..." (Nietzsche 47). As such, human beings cannot be part of the indefinite, infinite substance, because they have definitive qualities that make them susceptible to passing away, something that sets them apart from the fundamental principle.
I haven't yet decided whether or not I agree with Nietzche. It is certainly possible for people to have had an existential crisis before the emergence of the philosophical movement known as existentialism. However, Nietzsche posits that Anaximander's philosophy itself was existential, a different claim altogether. The claim that human beings continue to linger in existence is because of their guilt for treading on the ground of the fundamental principle is certainly an existential position, but it's unknown whether Anaximander himself would agree with this interpretation. I'll have to think on the position more before I make any decisions. Hmm.....
Fun question for readers.....based on the reading, do you think that Anaximander has been presented as a step toward the Overman? I have my own opinion on this, but I'm interested to know what you all think.
Fun question for readers.....based on the reading, do you think that Anaximander has been presented as a step toward the Overman? I have my own opinion on this, but I'm interested to know what you all think.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
A Brief Reflection: Solon on Sappho
It is said that, upon hearing one of Sappho's works over wine, that Solon asked to be taught the poem, claiming, "I want to learn it, and then die." Part of me imagines that this is where the modern phrase, "I can die happy" originates from, based on the context of Solon's philosophy. Solon famously claimed that one could not count a man's life happy until he died. Considering that he was so deeply enthralled with one of Sappho's poems that he wanted to "die" (literally? I don't know, though taking it literally certainly makes for a stronger claim on Solon's part) after learning it, this gives the reader a unique insight into the depth and quality of feeling evoked by Sappho's work (in this case, a feeling of deep happiness).
If Solon is to be considered a contemporary of Sappho, then we as readers can reasonably trust that he understood and appreciated her work, and that he received it in the way it was intended to be received (a luxury we cannot so readily afford to ourselves). As such, his reaction reflects how other Greeks of her time would have reacted to her work; if they all felt so strongly as Solon, perhaps the strong emotional reaction her work received from audiences shows why she was one of the few renowned female poets of her time. Having read only one of her poems, I could feel the yearning evident within the language of the piece, the emotional intensity of Sappho's desire for her prayer to be answered and for the love she has for another person to be reciprocated.
If Solon is to be considered a contemporary of Sappho, then we as readers can reasonably trust that he understood and appreciated her work, and that he received it in the way it was intended to be received (a luxury we cannot so readily afford to ourselves). As such, his reaction reflects how other Greeks of her time would have reacted to her work; if they all felt so strongly as Solon, perhaps the strong emotional reaction her work received from audiences shows why she was one of the few renowned female poets of her time. Having read only one of her poems, I could feel the yearning evident within the language of the piece, the emotional intensity of Sappho's desire for her prayer to be answered and for the love she has for another person to be reciprocated.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Disney and the Ancient Greeks
I think it wise to preface the following commentary with a little background information. I've taken two classes in my college career that have required me to read the Odyssey and the Iliad (in that order), and I'm vaguely familiar with Hesiod already as a result of my mythology class last semester. As such, I'm familiar with invocations of the Muses, and admittedly I have a habit of skipping that part of Greek works, both because it rarely has anything to do with the rest of the story and because it always reminds me of Hercules (yes, the Disney film). For the sake of demonstrating how very distracting that image is, I posted a short video featuring the Disney Muses above. In order to debunk this distracting image, here's a short comparison of the Disney Muses vs. the Hesiod/Homer Muses.
Let's begin with the obvious differences. Disney only portrays 5 Muses; as Hesiod so adeptly points out, there are actually nine, one for every day that Zeus spent with Memory in her bed chamber. In addition, the Disney Muses do not look even remotely Greek, though I rather enjoy Disney's soulful rendition of the Muses and their musical numbers. However, there are some subtleties in the comparison worth noting, as well. In Disney's Hercules, the Muses haven't inspired any of the characters or been invoked for the sake of giving man the capability to write, story-tell, sing or otherwise artistically relate any story to the Greek populous; rather, the Disney Muses are the story tellers. In both Hesiod and Homer, though, the Muses are simply called upon and given credit for the writer's ability to recount, in Hesiod's case, the theogony of the gods and, in Homer's case, the epic account of the Trojan War and of Odysseus's journey home. Another subtlety worth mentioning are the similarity between the stories told by the Disney Muses and Hesiod's and Homer's stories, inspired by the Muses. Both stories revolve around the glory of the gods, such as the Disney Muses recounting Zeus's overpowering of the Titans and "ruling the world while still in his youth," and the actions of great heroes, like Disney's Hercules (or the actual Greek Heracles) and Homer's Odysseus and Achilles. In addition, just like in Homer's epics and in Hesiod's Theogony, the Hercules film opens with the Muses and closes with the Muses. If nothing else, perhaps this comparison serves to show how ancient Greek works are understood, appreciated and interpreted in the context of our modern culture.
And now, here's "Zero to Hero," for your viewing pleasure.
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