The Rube Goldberg of Philosophy

In one of the presentations last class, the point was made that Aristotle has an apparent obsession with classification and distinction-making. To the extent that this allowed him to gain insight into the mechanical functioning of human living, one could argue that it was a very good thing. To the extent that it unnecessarily complicated his models, one could argue that it may not have been such a good tendency. What is meant by "unnecessary complexity" is that distinction which either a) doesn't exist or b) possesses no material impact on the understanding of the theory as a whole, and therefore acts as an obstruction to acquiring this understanding from the more essential components. As the presenter argued, Aristotle's distinction between intellectual and moral virtues may be an instance of unnecessary complexity. The argument was not so much that the qualities Aristotle attributes to intellectual and moral virtues do not exist, but that making a hard and fast distinction between the two, and then discussing their uniqueness and removal from each other might have actually been detrimental to a complete understanding of virtues. This argument is based on the reasoning that ALL virtues seem to possess, to some extent at least, both the "intellectual" property of being transmittable through teaching, observation and study, and the "moral" property of self-habituation. The argument left the door open to go eve further and suggest that, even if Aristotle's implied separation exists, it is not material to one's understanding and its inclusion may serve to obscure the true nature of the pursuit. I'm not sure if I buy this argument wholesale, but it does raise an interesting question about philosophy in my mind.

What is the proper relationship between complexity and simplicity, and specific applicability and general relevance? In more empirical lines of scientific inquiry, theories are considered most useful, robust, and attractive when they can be described as "parsimonious" (a term I thought was primarily concerned with financial miserliness, but that I recently read in a political science journal referring to the more simple/general end of this spectrum). In philosophy, though, there seems to be a place for analysis along the entire continuum (though Aristotle would likely argue that he aims for the mean...). It is not apparent to me whether this is a good thing, a bad thing, or merely the way things are. On the one hand, philosophy is a gigantic academic field, containing within itself a sub-focus or field of study for just about every other academic discipline there is. While one can study philosophy of engineering, for example, it is very difficult to conceive of the inverse being possible. In this way, I think it is acceptable for philosophy as a discipline to have a more nebulous and ambiguous set of rules and expectations.

The journey of 1000 words begins with...

Aristotle’s moral philosophy, as explained in his work Nicomachean Ethics, has often been interpreted as simply making objective claims about the nature of the good life and prescriptions regarding the way it is achieved. However, a deeper reading of Aristotle’s ethical views yields a subtle and complex picture that manages to retain much of the commonly held understanding. This interpretation still acknowledges that Eudaimonia is the Telos toward which all human activity is ordered, that complete virtue and a complete life are objectively and universally required for Eudaimonia’s attainment, and that virtuous action is consistent with the perfectly balanced “mean” found on the spectrum from deficiency to excess of a certain capacity. The divergence occurs when examining the way that virtuous disposition prescribes virtuous action in specific situations.

In Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle makes it clear that the scope of his discourse excludes any conversation regarding the way a specific individual ought to respond to a specific situation, opting instead to focus on the more “scientific” pursuit of finding the highest end of human activity and the elements of the pursuit of this end that most people hold in common. When attempting to explore the region of specific prescription that Aristotle left untouched, it would be possible to believe that the mean exists at a single, objectively excellent point along the continuum from excess to deficiency, and that anything precluding an individual from acting in this way disqualifies them from acting in a fully virtuous manner. The problem with this view is that it seems to violate Aristotle’s readily apparent opinion that “the intermediate is… not one, and is not the same for all” (1106a 32-33). This paper will argue that a virtuous disposition will prescribe not one, but a range of different responses to a situation that will vary depending on the circumstantial context. Several factors contribute to this “context.” When considering such factors, one is tempted to primarily focus on scenario specific details and considerations of an individual’s capabilities and handicaps. In addition to these factors, this paper will argue that societally generated codes of conduct, expectations and norms play an important role when prescribing specific action in specific circumstances.

This perspective on Aristotelian virtue ethics is salient because it allows the possibility that two societies both might have comprehensive value and ethical systems, might provide an adequate basis for human flourishing, but might do so by prescribing actions that seem inconsistent or even incompatible with each other. It is also possible that these distinct value systems would prescribe similar courses of action, but for wildly different justifications. Under the above-described misinterpretation, such points of friction would have to be regarded as a conflict between two cultures of unequal merit, with one necessarily being more virtuous than the other. 

To challenge this misperception and reinforce the proposed concept of prescriptive relativism, this paper will draw on a comparison of two cultures, removed to each other in both time and geography. The two societies in question, Feudal Japan and Viking Age Scandinavia, both possess the necessary external conditions to facilitate Aristotle’s “complete living,” both prohibit the kinds of categorically impermissible actions that Aristotle deems inconsistent with human flourishing like murder or theft, and both possess comprehensive systems of norms and laws that encourage virtuous living and discourage vicious behavior.

Before this comparison is explored further, it is first necessary to revisit some of the basic understandings of Aristotle’s ethical views that will shape the remainder of this discussion, in an attempt to a likely objection in the bud and present a clear justification for the interpretation now being advocated for. After these primary explanations, this paper will examine each of the cultures individually, to ensure that the implications of this demonstration are clearly understood.

First is the right ordering of feelings. Aristotle asserts that virtuous individuals experience such feelings as fear, anger, pleasure and pain “at the right times, about the right things, toward the right people, for the right end and in the right way” (1106a 21-24). In the course of the comparisons to follow, it will become apparent that the two societies in question have very different ideas regarding the “right” way to order feelings in one’s motivations, and the importance, or lack thereof, of motivation when determining the merit of an action. While this may appear inconsistent with Aristotelian emphasis on both the motivation and method of an action when determining its value, this discrepancy does not disqualify or undermine the purpose of this comparison. After all, the purpose of these comparisons is not to argue that Vikings or Samurai were secretly Aristotelian virtue-ethicists, but to demonstrate the flexible and robust results of looking at Aristotle’s ethical views from a certain perspective.

One reason why the interpretation of Aristotelian virtue ethics as societally relativistic is acceptable is the inherently social nature of Aristotle’s system. To begin with, Aristotle’s terminology describing the acceptability of certain actions implies social interactions and social judgments. “Praise” and “blame” are concepts that assume the presence of an observer. Such language makes no sense if the system is arguing that an action carries value independent of the judgments of the people affected by it. This is reinforced by Aristotle’s constant allusion to the necessity and value of the lawmaker to the process of creating a society in which humans flourish or fail. It is the job of the lawmaker to create a society incentivizing and facilitating the habituation of virtue. That said, Aristotle hardly expected the laws of every city, state and nation to be identical. Geography, climate, economics, and proximity to hostile populations all uniquely shape governments’ policies. This means that even societies with identical goals will have different laws due to the unique challenges that they face in developing a practically functioning society. Given these facts, no great logical leap is required to arrive at the idea that different societies, having developed uniquely due to systemic factors beyond their control, would create unique social expectations of what constitutes “praiseworthy” or “blameworthy” behavior in any given context, despite sharing an overarching goal of demanding virtuous behavior and condemning vicious behavior.

Questions about pain

      In Book VII of Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle claims to have a discussion of continence and incontinence, and of pleasure and pain. That said, he does not spend equal time and effort addressing each of these 4 things. Most deficiently addressed is pain. Aristotle makes many general statements and logical arguments surrounding pain, but due to never directly addressing the nature of pain, I have questions left unanswered.

      To begin with, is pain good under any circumstances? Most of the references to pain occur in contrast to pleasure. If we are to infer that pain is the equal and opposite partner of pleasure, then we must assume that there is a level of pain that is rightly ordered in the human life. In chapter 14, Aristotle says that "the bad man... does not avoid the excess of [pain], he avoids it altogether," implying that the pursuit of a pain-free life is just as problematic as the pursuit of an excessively pleasurable life.
      This is opposed, however, by the claim at the beginning of chapter 13 that "pain is bad and to be avoided." In context, this assertion is used to justify that pleasure must be a good thing. This problematically leads to circular logic. Ex:

"Pain is bad and is the opposite of pleasure, so pleasure must be good." 
"How do we know pain is bad?" 
"Because pleasure is good and is the opposite of pain"

      It sure seems like all I can do is sit here and lament how little time is spent by Aristotle directly addressing pain. In contrast, he spends several entire chapters discussing how pleasure can be good, both with and without qualification. This is disappointing to me because I think there is much to be discovered from exploring pain, the aversion to it, the love of it, the implication of such preferences on the virtues, and the level to which pain detracts from or is necessary for human flourishing. For example, in the same way that attraction to pleasure is a salient issue to understand in order to dialogue about temperance or wisdom, aversion to pain is a salient issue to understand when addressing courage.

      I wonder why it is that pain is so sparsely covered in this Book. In any case, its not as if Aritstotle's insights regarding continence, incontinence and pleasure are are too deficiently educational or thought provoking to keep me busy.

When your world gets rocked...

      That awkward moment when Aristotle isn't the objectivist that you always thought he was...

      The idea that Aristotle may have been willing to accept different culturally normative explanations of virtues as acceptable, introduced two classes ago and further explored last class, raises some unexplored questions in my mind regarding virtue, vice and human flourishing. Currently, the most pressing of these questions is, "What happens when different cultures have irreconcilable conflicts of opinion on what constitutes virtuous living?"

      Some of the most apparent conflicts occur in conceptions of justice and courage across cultures. Take feudal Japan and Viking age Scandinavia for instance:

     Bushido, the Samurai code of conduct, demands absolute loyalty to superiors and strict adherence to an honor code regardless of the situation. Imagine a scenario in which a samurai's master was murdered by a large group of bandits. The samurai's duty to protect his master at all costs, and to immediately act to avenge his death in the event of failure, would dictate that the single, impossibly outnumbered warrior should attack the bandits responsible for his master's demise, regardless of the dismal likelihood of success or the unlikely chance for survival.

      Vikings, on the other hand, value individualism and glory. This means that, faced with a similar situation as above, where a friend, chieftain, or kinsman was killed unjustly, it would be perfectly permissible for the warrior to beat a retreat, and then swear a blood feud against those responsible that could last for years or even generations.

      The distinction between the two is significant... right? The first says that courage and justice are entirely dependent on motivation and the process preceding the choice to act, while the second is almost entirely concerned with results, regardless of method. If Aristotle is truly a cultural relativist when it comes to the definitions of the virtues, he would argue that this distinction has no bearing on an understanding of human flourishing. This argument holds logical water when you consider Aristotle's assertion that Eudaimonia is the goal at which virtue aims, and that virtue is not an end to itself. As a result, we can expect the action demanded by virtue to shift relative to the context of the situation. For example, the courageous thing for a person to do if they came across a mugging in progress would be different if that person were Bruce Lee than if that person were a paraplegic. If we expand "context" to include the cultural setting in which the scenario exists, then such conflicts as mentioned above are not necessarily counterexamples to Aristotle's understanding of virtue.

The question of evil.. no, the other one

        In class on Thursday, the topic of Plato's "theory of forms" was covered in discussion. As it was explained and as I understand it, this "theory" incorporates an understanding that all objects, qualities, and concepts have a perfect, unchanging, and immaterial essence. This essence is what is referred to is a form. All things, when properly ordered, then participate in and draw nearer to the form of the Good.

       Remarkably absent from this model (or at least from our conversation of it) was an understanding of evil. I find it very interesting that there are many potential ways to think about what I consider evil in light of this model. As I see it, there are two primary ways to consider evil.

        First, evil is not a unique concept, but is instead just a word given to describe things that are absolutely devoid of any participation in the Formal good. Earthly things that are not as simple to understand as a mono dimensional consideration of participation in the good are described as evil due to their lack of glaring characteristics that accompany the good. For example, a thing that is good will have courage, wisdom and temperance. Lacking these qualities, then, earns the title of "evil."

       The second way to look at evil is as a distinct idea, existing independently of the good. This model is compelling because it allows for things to exist outside of a simple two-poled spectrum. Consider duty, cruelty and mercy. There is a difference between a soldier taking the life of his enemy because it is required to protect his friends, family and way of life and acting violently because he is a sadist. It would not be good for a soldier to violate his duty, but his merciful actions can hardly be considered evil in the same way sadistic, brutal, and cruel acts of violence would be. By accepting that there is a "Form" of evil, you can explain the way that the soul reacts to corruption, betrayal, cruelty, and selfishness much more completely than by simply saying that the soul recognizes the absence of the good.

        I am neither buying nor selling either of these views, as I have yet to cobble together anything but the haziest thumbnail sketch of either position, but I find the process of inquiry engaging and stimulating. The allure of logically (dare I say it: Socratically??) picking apart the implications of both sides until a satisfactory explanation is generated appeals to me as immensely satisfying.

... And the greatest of these is love

Socrates... He does that

"In a word, then, loves is the desire to possess the good forever"

        Once again, Socrates is at the top of his game, and by "his game" I mean undermining fools' misconceptions through flawless cross examination. All, of course, while under the pseudo-sincere pretense of being completely ignorant of the topic of discussion. Socrates is kind of a jerk. But maybe that's not fair to say. It is possible that it would come across as even more inflammatory if he dropped the act altogether.

        In any case, his arguments regarding the nature of love make a large amount of sense. To begin with, he focuses on the aspect of love that he identifies as "desire." In Socrates' estimation, one never desires something that they have. If a person already possesses something and claims that they still want it, their desire could better be restated as a preference to retain possession of that thing in the future. This insight is simultaneously subtle and powerful. Consider a wedding.
        Because a wedding is one of the greatest human declarations of love, we can easily compare Socrates' definition to determine its usefulness. If two people are choosing to get married, they are claiming that they love each other more than they love any other person in existence. This claim is followed by a commitment by each party to never depart from their companion, effectively securing the possession of the object of their desire.
       
        A second component of Socrates understanding of love incorporates an element of selflessness. This selflessness is developed as a result of recognizing beauty and desiring to see that beauty grow and develop. This too mirrors a modern understanding of love. We think of loving relationships as those in which the participants pursue meeting the needs of their partner. Regarded as purer still are those individuals who are willing to prioritize their beloved's needs above their own, acting sacrificially to make the other person better off.

        Overall, it is hard to argue with Socrates' understanding of love. Even coming to the table with a Christian worldview, there is much that is compatible. He may not be the most pedagogically polite educator of all time, but you've got to appreciate the appeal of his ideas.

"I just want to take this opportunity to publicly apologize..."

Plato's Apology is basically the final comeback of the city of Athens in their decades long argument with Socrates. It went a little something like this:

Athens: "Hey! So we think these things are good"

Socrates: "Okay... but what about these problems with them"

A: "... Well what if we re-stated it this way?"

S: "Nope. Still doesn't sound right."

A: "Oh come on, don't just sit there being negative and never 

actually contributing any new ideas!!"

S: "But wisdom is knowing that what you think you know, 

you don't actually know... you know?" 

A: "..."

At some point, a vocal and influential segment of the Athenian populace got tired of Socrates' nonsense and went through the totally legitimate process of grossly misrepresenting his life's work to get him executed. Socrates, being Socrates, proceeds to take the opportunity to publicly humiliate his accusers, make a mockery of the farcical "justice" system, and try to set the record straight regarding the true value of his work as a public service to the city of Athens. 

Now lets just pause right here and take a moment to talk about what it's like holding a view that those in power find inconvenient or annoying. In fairness, we don't exactly live in Soviet Russia, where being a nuisance to the Regime results in getting shipped off to Siberia. That said, it is still political suicide for a congressman to grow a conscience and do what they think is right if it means deviating from party lines. The institutional design of the United States may protect people's rights to say, think and do what they please, but their ability to actually change those institutions is severely hampered. The incentive structure for the American politician demands that he or she do what she was elected to do, regardless of what the information on hand says is the best thing to do. Defying this incentive structure will surely result in consequences, though perhaps not of the sort that Socrates faced. In any case, those rare representatives that cross party lines because of an honest, objective evaluation of the facts deserve to be honored just as the Homeric hero to which Socrates compares himself. It takes great courage to risk one's life's work for an understanding that you've made the right choice. 

Pain, Rage and Blindness

"I didn't see the light until I was already a man...
By then it was nothing to me but blinding"

   
       I love the allegory of the cave. Every time I have read it, it strikes me anew as a powerful analogy. This time, the thing that spoke to me the most was Plato's emphasis on the violence with which the Prisoners will resist their own liberation.

       In the allegory, men who have known nothing but the dark prefer the comfort of the familiar because they are ignorant of the good that comes from enduring the painful ascent and transition to liberation. This phenomenon is not difficult to understand, as it is common in both my own life and in my interactions with others. When confronted with something that challenges my perspective, my first instinct is rejection. If the threat persists, this rejection can become forceful and even aggressive, with my reason quickly falling by the wayside to be replaced by trite and unexamined dogma.

     It is insightful also, that the Liberator must fight the Prisoners if he is to help them. He recognizes the good that comes from enlightenment and the duty that it imposes on him to share with others. For this reason, the Liberator braves the resistance of the Prisoners. He knows that had someone not liberated him in the first place, he too would be in their place. This picture is remarkably similar to the Christian narrative of the Gospel, and, really, the savior archetype in general. Any time there is a story in which a character is chosen, granted more knowledge than they ever wanted, and saddled with the responsibility of saving people, there is often an accompanying theme of ignorance, ingratitude, or occasionally anger of those being saved. These people are characterized as lacking perspective or knowledge of the truth, and it is the hero's compassion, empathy and dedication to his or her duty that leads them to continue with their mission.

      This is an important observation. Not because I think all of these fictional or theological themes are the result of imitating Plato's work, but because I believe all instances of the Savior archetype, whether manifested in Socrates' philosophic analogy or the Wachowski brothers' The Matrix, are tapping into something that is true about humans, that we recognize our weakness, our complacent preference for an undesirable status quo, and our need for someone to pull us out of this suboptimal state.

The Manhattan Project, 400 BC

       The early atomists were onto something. They correctly stated that the world is composed of imperceptibly small, indivisible particles. Because of the indivisible portion of the theory, these particles were dubbed "a-tomos" or "uncuttable." The atomists understood that all matter was composed of atoms, and that matter is not capable of moving through other matter. In other words, when matter contacts other matter, it must displace it. As a result, for anything to be able to move, there has to exist something called "void." This void is empty space containing "what-is-not." They also observed that some matter, when mixed with other matter, would become inseparable. The early atomists referred to this as "entangling."

       It is amazing how much this resembles the modern scientific view of reality. Obviously, there are some imperfections to their theory, but with no way of testing it, they achieved truly remarkable accuracy. Now, some could argue that this similarity is merely coincidence, that the atomist theory was a response to the problems and logical insufficiency of the competing ideas of their contemporaries, and that no kind of modern scientific theorizing occurred. I would respond to this argument by critiquing the narrow perception of science and scientific methods.

       Why is it that a theory must begin with a hypothesis, then proceed to a period of investigation and then conclude with a communication of findings? The fact is, modern science is heavily biased toward deductive reasoning. The more I study of classical philosophy, the less I believe this bias is justified. Deductive reasoning is a luxury in which technology allows the modern world to indulge. The ease of data collection, data analysis, collaboration and dissemination of theories afforded by technology has certainly made the pursuit of "scientific" truth (for lack of a better term) more of a specific science than it ever has been before. That said, I repudiate the idea that this ease makes modern truth seeking superior to the efforts of the classical thinkers. Yes, the atomists had to take more of an inductive approach, and yes, inductive reasoning is vulnerable to different types of fallacies than deductive reasoning is, but, as we can clearly see, the atomists were able to use inductive reasoning with great accuracy.

      Inductive reasoning and deductive reasoning are both imperfect and incomplete. Inductive reasoning may be more of an art, while deductive reasoning may be more of a science, but neither one is more useful than the other. In fact, I would argue that the pursuit of the truth is at its best when these two types of reasoning are employed in concert.

       Our technologically granted advantages in deductive reasoning do not replace the art form of inductive reasoning. Knowing this, it should change the way we go about trying to explain the world, and should definitely challenge the "scientific arrogance" that pervades our society.

Mind Over Matter

According to Phaedo, Anaxagoras thought that the arche was the Mind. In Anaxagoras' view, the Mind directs the world and everything in it. Socrates found this idea engaging because it elevated the value of reason and wisdom to the very highest possible stature. If the Mind directed the universe, then all things that exist would exist with a rationally determinable purpose and function. Beyond this individual functionality, all things would be arranged in relationships to each other that can logically be defended as the "best."  In this way, Anaxagoras reasoned that the Universe must be rationally ordered into a comprehensive, rational system, and that each component in that system must be imbued with a rational order.

According to Plato, Socrates likes this idea, concluding that for rational judgement to be made regarding the universe and the individual, there must be some recognition of what is good, both in a general sense and in a more finite, individual sense. Socrates goes on to critique Anaxagoras' arguments on the grounds that his examples do not address the true cause, the good from which the Mind can recognize a rational order. Instead, Socrates indicts Anaxagoras for merely describing the mechanisms by which the good is pursued, instead of the origin point, the recognition of the good.

One way to think of this is to describe the cause of a car's motion as the rotation of the axles on which the tires rest. One could argue that, in reality, the combustion of fuel in the engine is the cause of the car's motion, and the rotation of the axle is the mechanism employed to execute this cause. The interesting thing here is that this logic can be continued for quite some time. The cause of the combustion is the introduction of gasoline into the gas tank. The cause of the gas tank being filled was the delivery of gasoline from the refinery.

This chain goes on indefinitely. Socrates recognized these connections and desired an investigation of a cause that linked and bound all other causes and effects together, but unfortunately Anaxagoras neglected to address this link in a way that Socrates found satisfactory. It is entirely possible that Socrates and his successors were erroneously imposing a concept of reason onto a chaotic, irrational and inexplicable world. Even so, it is much more appealing to believe that our world is rationally ordered, that everything has a purpose, pattern, and place that it fits into. Anaxagoras may not have explained what exactly that purpose or pattern is, but his thoughts opened doors for his intellectual successors to continue the investigation.

Because if it makes sense, you haven't thought about it...

Zeno's paradoxes are interesting brain benders with even more interesting implications. Originally created to defend Parmenides' idea that the universe is unitary and unchanging, Zeno's paradoxes tap into much broader questions regarding reason, epistemology and the nature of our sense experience. For instance, the Millet Seed paradox demonstrates that what we can logically expect about the world is not always reflected in our experiences. Combine this with the lesson of the Arrow in Flight, a paradox demonstrating that time is made up of indivisible "moments" or "instants," and you are presented with sufficient premises to make the argument that what we experience as the passing of time, motion or change is an illusion that does not reflect what is actually happening in the world. This generalizes from a metaphysical argument to an argument about all of human life, casting doubt on those things that are viewed as true, and even on our capability to determine if something is true or not.

So often, complex philosophical arguments come in the form of lengthy treatises or allegorical works of prose or poetry. It is refreshing to have an argument presented like a puzzle, demanding the audience engage the model in order to reap the understanding that the author wishes to communicate. I find this style of presentation to be more engaging and more helpful for the audience than other forms that rely on lengthy digressions to present every facet of one's point more thoroughly than is ever practically necessary. Something about the mental images created by these paradoxes makes their investigation fun. They neither hold the audience's hand, coddling and patronizing them with diluted versions of a complex thought, nor pretentiously assume that the audience has dedicated their entire adult lives to reading every scrap of literature in existence regarding a certain idea. They expect the audience to be smart, but they present their argument in such a way that expertise level in a field is irrelevant to understanding the point being made.

Even though his metaphysical teachings leave something to be desired, the pedagogical methods by which he communicates them are impressive. I am a large fan of Zeno, and I look forward to witnessing how both his thoughts and his methods impacted those thinkers that came after him.

"Cite your sources like you mean it!" -Parmenides

   Artists and academics today seem burdened with the task of being original, or innovative. To be a breath of fresh air in a world with the approximate attention span of a goldfish is the dream. Yes, there is always a bibliography at the end of the article, or an MTV interview discussing "influences", but the attitude is always oriented toward improving, revising, correcting or disproving those that came before.

    Parmenides, on the other hand, saturates his work with allusions to everyone from Hesiod to Heraclitus. He doesn't seem to take issue with the forerunners of thought that he was influenced by, rather taking great pains to honor and include their work in his own.

    That said, his ideas are interesting in their own right. The relationship between "what is" and "what is not" is simultaneously abstract and familiar. For instance, the idea that what is cannot have originated from what is not is derived directly from the divergence of the two spheres. It makes sense that everything that exists or will exist has to have its origin in what already is, but it is difficult to wrap our head around the concept of what is not. This difficulty arises from a problem with human heuristics.

    We try to learn by forcing things into the cookie cutter mold of analogy. The problem with this is that "what is not" cannot be compared to anything that is, and any similarity must actually be illusory. The difficulty of conceptualizing what is not is exactly the point. What is not cannot be conceptualized clearly, it cannot be reasoned through, investigated, interrogated or made sense of. As Parmenides believes, our limited senses cannot give us the complete picture, even of things that are. How then can we rely on them to fuel our reasoning on a topic even more alien to us?

Earth, Wind and Fire Reunion Tour, featuring guest artist Empedocles

    In his attempt to explain and describe the way the world works, Empedocles constructs a concept with 4 "roots", earth, air, fire, and water, and 2 "forces," Love and Strife. According to Empedocles, the universe exists in a cycle of coalescing to one entity from many disparate pieces, through the force of Love, and breaking into pieces from a single substance, through the force of Strife. At no point in this cycle is either force consumed or generated, or any of the 4 roots destroyed or created. It is this last bit that I find the most interesting.

   Central to a scientific understanding of the world are the laws of conservation of energy and of matter. These laws state that no chemical reaction, no physical force, no event of any kind ever has, ever will, or ever could result in the destruction or creation of energy or matter. All that exists today will exist tomorrow, though it will not appear in the same form. Isn't it interesting that these foundational principles of chemistry and physics were first recognized by a preSocratic thinker?

   I am constantly amazed at the frequency with which our modern worldview is actually a validation of and not a revision of the thoughts of the ancients. Sure, the electron microscope affords us a certain advantage denied to someone who lived and died in the 5th century BCE, and yes, this advantage allows us to understand that Empedocles' 4 "roots" and 2 "forces" are oversimplifications of the mechanisms underlying the material world. That said, Empedocles was clearly on the right track. All matter does consist of the same basic building blocks, and breaking apart or fusing matter does require a great exertion of force. The implications of this observation have informed everything from medicine to mechanics.

    It's easy to forget that being smart is a capacity common not to an era of history, but to humanity. I find myself assuming that because they lacked the advantages of modern technology and the "facts" that it affords us, people throughout history must have lacked the sophistication of thought and intelligence that I and other modern thinkers so obviously possess. Empedocles tried to teach quite a few things in his day, but what he's teaching me today is a little lesson in humility.

The Pythagorean Theory of Everything

   As a western, Christian, Baylor student, reincarnation is one of the most foreign belief systems I could encounter. For this reason I find the Pythagorean variant to be both interesting and stimulating. The process of investigating and interrogating the ideas has led me into an arena of thought that is unfamiliar to me. To begin, a look at how it works

From one point of view, it has much in common with Anaximander's "boundless" arche. The soul is immortal, and upon the death of a material form, the soul takes another physical form. This process is repeated until the soul has taken the form of every life form, and then the cycle begins again. While these mechanics are certainly interesting to take apart, dissect, and then reassemble, what I find far more thought provoking are the implications of this view.

To begin with, the idea that all living things possess a common soul is massive. There is an inherent equality between all living things, and therefore a level of respect owed to all life. This duty of respect is intuitively generated when one takes even a rudimentary understanding of something like the Categorical Imperative or the Golden Rule and applies the idea that all life is, on some level, related. Even the Pythagorean emphasis on the preeminence of numbers and numerical patterns is tied to this implication. If all life really were related, we would expect generalizable patterns and similarities to be observed. Though the Pythagorean understanding and application of this idea is metaphysical, it resembles strongly the arguments of modern science. From the Normal distribution to Newtonian laws of physics, there are underlying assumptions that accept patterns as a part of the world we live in and expect observations to inform theories that are generalizable.

I am continually amazed that the ancients could produce ideas that tap into truths that are central to modern life. In this, I am confronted with some of the very biases and assumptions that I am seeking to root out by pursuing philosophy in the first place.

Xenophanes, The Open-Minded

   Before I begin discussing his ideas, interacting with Xenophanes has prompted some tangential thoughts that I would like to address. The way the Greeks conceived of and made use of poetry amazes me. Today, our artists and our academics recognize a clear separation between their fields, but in ancient Greece, it appears common for a serious thinker to also be a poet. This is not to say that modern poets never have profound thoughts, or that modern scholars have no appreciation for beauty. Modern poetry certainly discusses and addresses ideas and issues of substance, but it rarely does so with the treatise-like level of attention Xenaphones gives his work regarding theology.

    Regarding his theology, I find it interesting and significant that he condemns the personalization of the gods as arrogant and inaccurate. This type of analytical thinking is exactly the sort of skill philosophy is oriented toward teaching. Asking hard questions, daring to think differently about the answers, humbling oneself to accept an idea never before encountered, letting go of a long held conclusion that may be inaccurate, and making a stand on what one believes to be the truth are all practices that Xenophanes demonstrates through my readings of him. It seems to me that what I have most to learn from Xenophanes are not his ideas but his methods.

    If I can learn to adapt the example Xenophanes gives to my own life, I believe it will make me a better leader, thinker, citizen and person. It seems to me that stagnation or complacency of thought and emotional attachment to one's ideas are the source of many unnecessarily vicious arguments. If I can move past these hurdles, future dialogue and discussion stands a much better chance of being productive.

What The Heart Wants

Our fair lady Sappho looking a scary amount like Audrey Hepburn
in the posters for Breakfast at Tiffany's

Some an army of horsemen, some an army on foot
and some say a fleet of ships is the loveliest sight
on this dark earth; but I say it is what-
ever you desire: 

and it it possible to make this perfectly clear
to all; for the woman who far surpassed all others
in her beauty, Helen, left her husband --
the best of all men -- 

behind and sailed far away to Troy; she did not spare
a single thought for her child nor for her dear parents
but [the goddess of love] led her astray
[to desire...] 

[...which]
reminds me now of Anactoria
although far away, 

--Translated by Josephine Balmer

Of the samples of Sappho's writings I had the opportunity to read, this is the one that stood out most distinctly. I was so impacted by this poem because in it Sappho is presenting a very radical reinterpretation of what would have been a foundational myth for her contemporaries. Whereas the traditional interpretation of the Iliad glorified acts of war, Sappho chose instead to glorify a different kind of courageous act. Conventionally, courage was recognized in the bold actions of Achilles or Hector that demonstrated loyalty to their kings. Sappho points to the actions of Helen, pursuing loyally the desires of her heart no matter the cost, as the best example of behavior truly worthy of honor. 

The implications of this shift in valuation are interesting. For example, courage would no longer be the mean between acting with rashness or cowardice in the name of a worthy cause, but the boldness to act in obedience to one's desires, even when experiencing fear of negative consequences. Another substantial impact is the emphasis it places on self knowledge. To be loyal to one's heart, a person has to know what they want and why. This requires self examination, self awareness, and introspection. This sort of self knowledge is not emphasized when there is an ethical obligation to live one's life in service of their king, country, or gods. 

This admiration for honesty and unapologetic loyalty to one's own heart is definitely a refreshing viewpoint. I can't say that I sympathize with it, but it has definitely been interesting to entertain some of the logical conclusions that can be derived from such a perspective. 

Asking the Right Questions

Philosophers have a time honored tradition of sometimes viciously, and occasionally constructively criticizing the ideas of those who came before them. What better way to gain insight into a millennia-long dialogue than to go back to the beginning? This is my ambition in studying Classical Philosophy. I hope that by looking to the forefathers of modern philosophy I can gain insight into the reasons for the twists, turns, meanders, and digressions that this never ending discussion has taken. I hope to become a better investigator of the truth and a better examiner of my own life. I hope to learn how to ask better questions, and how to be more open to the answers that I might receive. 

Wish me luck,

LC