AN ESSAY
What are nations? What are states? Are they the same thing? If you listen to mass media in the United States, you might think they are. Politicians talk about the "American Nation." Colloquially, we hear terms like "all over the Nation" and "nationwide." Somehow, we have equated the word "Nation" with "country" or "state." But the word "Nation" exists for a reason: It has its own meaning. And upon closer inspection, we see that the United States really may not be a "Nation" at all.
Nations are not political entities. Nations are human populations that share common ethnic, religious and linguistic traditions and values. States are political entities. It makes sense to create a State from a Nation, but it is not necessary. In that sense, States are artificial while Nations are genetic. People in a Nation intuitively understand one another because they all speak the same language, look basically the same and represent the same cultural traditions. By contrast, there is no need for people in a State to understand one another. Several Nations can agree to live under the same State. States simply administer the law and keep order. But Nations exist regardless of the State that rules them.
States are artificial because they depend on artificial members: Citizens. The word "citizen" is a technical term. It has a specific definition by law. True, the definition varies depending on the State that creates it. But it is still a legal conclusion, not a genetic fact.
Aristotle defined "citizen" in The Politics. He said that "citizens" are people who are qualified to participate in government and to hold office. The Politics, Book III ch. i § 1275a22. "Participating in government," in turn, means "deliberating or judging" on all matters relevant under the Constitution. Id. at § 1275b13. And only States create Constitutions. Aristotle continued this reasoning by concluding that "a number of [citizens] large enough to secure a self-sufficient life we may, by and large, call a state." Id. He then posited that states only exist to the extent that citizens associate with each other under a particular Constitution. The Politics, Book III ch. iii § 1276a34. By this reasoning, states are technical: They exist only to the extent that citizens continue to recognize a particular Constitution. When they no longer agree to abide by the Constitution, the state ceases to exist. Id.
What is so significant about these definitions? They are significant because they say nothing about nations. According to Aristotle, a State exists only as a matter of law; it does not require national identity. States are technical fictions created by people who want to secure a better life. To achieve that goal, they create a Constitution that delineates government power and the rights of citizens. Citizens take their identity in the State from the Constitution, not from their national origins. As a legal matter, nations are irrelevant to the State. Strictly viewed, states are not nations, and nations are not states.
But that is just the legal view. Reality exists quite apart from law, and reality shows that national identity greatly influences state power. States function more effectively when their citizens all come from the same national background. States are more cohesive when all their citizens speak the same language, represent the same cultural traditions and live by the same basic values. When States create Constitutions to reflect shared national values, they simplify the business of government. No matter what anyone says, it is much easier to govern a relatively homogeneous population in which everyone views life in a similar way.
Perhaps it sounds archaic--or even racist--to suggest that States function best when they comprise a single Nation. After all, popular American rhetoric holds that America's strength flows from its diversity. According to that rhetoric, anyone can be an American "citizen" no matter what "nation" they represent. As long as they "participate in government and hold office" under the Constitution, they are "citizens," even if one comes from Iraq and the other from Holland. In other words, the United States--at least on paper--takes pride in the fact that its "State" represents every "Nation" on earth.
That may be so. But it is inaccurate to call the United States a "nation." Our Constitution certainly makes the United States a "state." Everyone within the territorial jurisdiction of the United States abides by technical laws passed in compliance with a Constitution that every citizen theoretically supports. Every "citizen" under that Constitution may "participate in government or hold office." That suffices to call the United States a "state." But it does not suffice to call it a "nation."
Our American republic is unique among world States because it has virtually no national identity. Our citizens represent every possible cultural, religious, linguistic and racial group. Culture, religion, language and race all influence the values that people hold dear in their lives. As such, the United States is at war with itself; its citizens hold every conceivable value and they frequently clash. There is no simple cultural unity. While every "nation" in the United States might contribute to the state's overall strength, they certainly do not contribute to a united American culture. American culture exists only as far as a particular "nation" within the United States observes it. As such, it is confusing discuss "American identity." To really understand "American identity," it is insufficient to examine whether a person is a citizen. Rather, one must look further into the person's national identity to figure out who he is. And in a state that comprises a thousand nations, that is a hard task.
Despite America's uncertain national character, there are other ways by which to measure cohesion between American "citizens." There are other ways to assess whether people come from the same "nation." Indeed, Americans from every cultural tradition have created "pseudo-nations" that link them in ways that language, race or ethnicity cannot. For example, millions of Americans love football. That makes them part of a "football nation" with a common culture and language. Millions more love television shows. That makes them part of a "television" nation with shared values and traditions. These might be weak replacements for true national identity. But Americans make do in whatever ways they can.
People yearn for national identity. States that encompass a single Nation generally radiate that identity without trying too hard. But the United States is a problematic case. Americans yearn to be "American" without really understanding that there is no "American nation." To fulfill that longing, they rally around things they all like, especially commerce.
Americans are notoriously commercial. They turn to commerce for meaning in life more than many other people in the world. I argue that this is due in part to the fact that they long for something to define them as a national group. If Americans can't all belong to a single value system or cultural heritage, they at least can all represent a worldview based exclusively on commercial success.
For better or worse, this "replacement identity" has stuck: Most people in the world associate Americans with business success, enterprise and "do-it-yourself" entrepreneurship. That is America's "national identity." If the United States cannot be a "nation" in traditional sense, it can simply rewrite the rules to suit its situation.
Commerce is America's national identity. We are a "money nation." We don't all speak the same language or have the same hair color. We don't all worship the same God or observe the same holidays. But money unites us: The maniacal, ruthless, insistent, all-consuming urge to amass cash. German-Americans do it. Irish-Americans do it. Chinese-Americans do it. Russian-Americans do it. Sengalese-Americans do it. Mexican-Americans do it.
That is our Nation. That is our culture. That is our language. That is our common ground.
One Nation, under cash, with liberty and justice for all.
Showing posts with label Aristotle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Aristotle. Show all posts
Friday, January 29, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
IS AMBITION A BAD WORD?
AN ESSAY
I am ambivalent about ambition. In America, people generally think that ambition is a good thing. It reflects the urge to "do better" and to "get ahead" in society, or in any competitive endeavor. It only makes sense that "ambition" finds a cozy home in America. After all, this country perpetuates a myth that "anyone" can succeed here as long as they work hard and persevere through difficulty. Ambition is all they need to force their way to the top.
Or, at least, that's what the myth says. In my experience, I have learned that success in America is not so simple. Many things can go wrong. Ambition alone will not deliver success. Some people are born into the wrong families. Some suffer accidents and mishaps. Others just lose interest. Often, it's not their fault that they fail. Chance and timing have a tremendous influence on success. Ambition alone does not cut it.
Despite this, American mythology extols ambition. In most cases, Americans favorably use the word: "He is so focused and ambitious; he will be successful." Even those who already have achieved success say to others: "I was ambitious. I made it. You can, too." At funerals, eulogists sing hymns to ambition: "As a young man, he was so ambitious. He succeeded and he provided for his family." And some even equate ambition with progress. Abraham Lincoln alluded to ambition when he suggested awarding royalties to patent-seekers: "Patents add the fuel of interest to the fire of genius." Second Lecture on Discoveries and Inventions (1859).
If ambition is so great, why am I ambivalent about it? I'm ambivalent about it because there is a very dark side to ambition that reflects fundamental problems in our society's values. Lincoln's quote provides a good introduction. He uses a "fire" analogy to describe ambition-fueled "genius." Ambition is like a flame that consumes the individual, driving him toward a coveted goal. The goal might not be praiseworthy at all, but the ambitious man will burn until he fulfills it. Ambition is consumptive. It overwhelms the individual. It makes him ruthless, unscrupulous and uncompromising. In short, it possesses him.
But consumptiveness is not the only thing that makes ambition problematic. It is also problematic because it has an exclusively external focus. Grammatically, ambition requires an object. In almost every case, that object is external "success." People are ambitious for fame, wealth, advancement, recognition, praise, influence and power. They want to be seen by others in a particular way, or they want to possess things that give them authority over others. To achieve these things, they must focus their energy outwardly. They need not look within themselves for strength or meaning. They do not even need to be true to themselves. No, their fulfillment comes from external success--and the tangible rewards it brings.
Ambition is about recognition. It is about the audience. After all, only the audience can decide whether to recognize the performer. And only the audience can give the coveted ovation.
Ambition bothers me because I believe that external success frustrates individual virtue. To win recognition, you need to play by others' rules. You even need to be unscrupulous. A truly ambitious person "stops at nothing" to achieve his goal. That makes it difficult for him to adhere to principles that would constrain his actions. Honor requires a person to think as much about how he achieves a goal as the goal itself. But ambition drives a person to disregard everything as long as he achieves the goal. In this sense, ambition and honor exclude each other. Virtue is honor. That is why ambition frustrates individual virtue.
Aristotle supports my position on this point. While analyzing the Spartan Constitution in The Politics, Aristotle strongly criticizes Sparta's legislative body--the Board of Elders--because election to the Board required ambition. See The Politics, Book II, ch. ix ¶1271a9. He writes: "[I]t is all wrong that a person who is going to be deemed worthy of the office should himself solicit it. Whether he wants it or not, the man to hold office is the man who is fit for it." Id. In other words, Aristotle found a flaw in Sparta's decision to entrust politicians with a choice whether to run for office, because only ambitious people would ever make that choice. For Aristotle, personal virtue was much more important than personal ambition. Only personal virtue makes a man "fit" for office--or any other honor in life.
This may seem unreasonable to a modern American reader. After all, we learn that ambitious people are the ones who make all the money and win all the success. To the American mind, it is only natural that the most ambitious man would nominate himself to hold political office. In America, personal virtue is irrelevant next to ambition. Personal virtue does not amass fortunes or start businesses; ambition does. In a strange transmutation, ambition became virtue in America. Ambition makes a man "fit," not adherence to metaphysical principles. The fact that only "really successful" people win high office reveals how strongly commerce has infiltrated American culture. Commerce has drowned all personal virtue. And it has supplanted honor with ambition as the most essential social characteristic.
In commercial America, people want power. It takes money to get power. And it takes ruthless ambition to make money in our brutally competitive free market system. In this environment, honor does not stand a chance. Ambition is the only thing that can steel men enough to survive it.
This is not a good development. When ambition overtakes honor in society, we can expect bad things. Aristotle warned about ambition in strong terms: "Yet the truth is that men's ambition and their desire to make money are among the most frequent causes of deliberate acts of injustice." The Politics, Book II ch. ix ¶1271a9.
Aristotle knew what he was talking about. He correctly equated ambition with "deliberate acts of injustice" because ambition necessarily overshadows honor. Honor imposes limits on the means by which people achieve goals. Ambition lifts those limits. When men no longer observe honor in dealing with others, they gladly commit injustice. Their burning desire to make money overwhelms all other considerations; results are everything. They are not afraid to bend rules, dissemble, exploit and cut corners to achieve the results they seek.
By contrast, an honorable man would refuse to do these things. He would insist on "justice." But in commerce, this places an honorable man at a material disadvantage; an honorable man will always lose to an ambitious one. An ambitious man does not tie his hands with "ethics;" he is not even afraid to fight dirty when he must. In the end, the ambitious man achieves the goal, wins the power and ultimately takes high office. When ambition leads to such tangible rewards, who wouldn't want to be ambitious?
Probably not many. Nonetheless, I venture that honor offers its own rewards. Success can be measured in ways beyond salaries and fame. Some success is purely internal. Some success flows from personal excellence and adherence to personal standards. Put differently, it can be rewarding to be ethical. Although ethics may impede ambition and external success, it leads to virtue. It may be an antiquated sentiment to say that success means being honorable. But I really think it does.
External success is overrated. I leave it to the ambitious to chase external recognition and rewards. For my part, I am content to live according to my own heart and my own principles. I strive to do wrong to no one, not to make a certain salary. I strive to help those who need it, not to win praises from a supervisor. I burn to express my own personality, not to tailor my speech for a money prize. Call me old-fashioned--or even antiquated--but honor is very important to me.
But I can't be ambitious for honor. True honor exists without a need for external recognition or reward. Honor does not bestow career advancement, at least not consciously. No, ambition only works for those who crave external rewards. By contrast, honor is an internal reward. It is inwardly fulfilling. As such, ambition will not help you find honor--or "achieve" it. In fact, while it may be an achievement to live with honor, there's no trophy or plaque to commemorate the day you became honorable.
That's what an ambitious person will never understand.
I am ambivalent about ambition. In America, people generally think that ambition is a good thing. It reflects the urge to "do better" and to "get ahead" in society, or in any competitive endeavor. It only makes sense that "ambition" finds a cozy home in America. After all, this country perpetuates a myth that "anyone" can succeed here as long as they work hard and persevere through difficulty. Ambition is all they need to force their way to the top.
Or, at least, that's what the myth says. In my experience, I have learned that success in America is not so simple. Many things can go wrong. Ambition alone will not deliver success. Some people are born into the wrong families. Some suffer accidents and mishaps. Others just lose interest. Often, it's not their fault that they fail. Chance and timing have a tremendous influence on success. Ambition alone does not cut it.
Despite this, American mythology extols ambition. In most cases, Americans favorably use the word: "He is so focused and ambitious; he will be successful." Even those who already have achieved success say to others: "I was ambitious. I made it. You can, too." At funerals, eulogists sing hymns to ambition: "As a young man, he was so ambitious. He succeeded and he provided for his family." And some even equate ambition with progress. Abraham Lincoln alluded to ambition when he suggested awarding royalties to patent-seekers: "Patents add the fuel of interest to the fire of genius." Second Lecture on Discoveries and Inventions (1859).
If ambition is so great, why am I ambivalent about it? I'm ambivalent about it because there is a very dark side to ambition that reflects fundamental problems in our society's values. Lincoln's quote provides a good introduction. He uses a "fire" analogy to describe ambition-fueled "genius." Ambition is like a flame that consumes the individual, driving him toward a coveted goal. The goal might not be praiseworthy at all, but the ambitious man will burn until he fulfills it. Ambition is consumptive. It overwhelms the individual. It makes him ruthless, unscrupulous and uncompromising. In short, it possesses him.
But consumptiveness is not the only thing that makes ambition problematic. It is also problematic because it has an exclusively external focus. Grammatically, ambition requires an object. In almost every case, that object is external "success." People are ambitious for fame, wealth, advancement, recognition, praise, influence and power. They want to be seen by others in a particular way, or they want to possess things that give them authority over others. To achieve these things, they must focus their energy outwardly. They need not look within themselves for strength or meaning. They do not even need to be true to themselves. No, their fulfillment comes from external success--and the tangible rewards it brings.
Ambition is about recognition. It is about the audience. After all, only the audience can decide whether to recognize the performer. And only the audience can give the coveted ovation.
Ambition bothers me because I believe that external success frustrates individual virtue. To win recognition, you need to play by others' rules. You even need to be unscrupulous. A truly ambitious person "stops at nothing" to achieve his goal. That makes it difficult for him to adhere to principles that would constrain his actions. Honor requires a person to think as much about how he achieves a goal as the goal itself. But ambition drives a person to disregard everything as long as he achieves the goal. In this sense, ambition and honor exclude each other. Virtue is honor. That is why ambition frustrates individual virtue.
Aristotle supports my position on this point. While analyzing the Spartan Constitution in The Politics, Aristotle strongly criticizes Sparta's legislative body--the Board of Elders--because election to the Board required ambition. See The Politics, Book II, ch. ix ¶1271a9. He writes: "[I]t is all wrong that a person who is going to be deemed worthy of the office should himself solicit it. Whether he wants it or not, the man to hold office is the man who is fit for it." Id. In other words, Aristotle found a flaw in Sparta's decision to entrust politicians with a choice whether to run for office, because only ambitious people would ever make that choice. For Aristotle, personal virtue was much more important than personal ambition. Only personal virtue makes a man "fit" for office--or any other honor in life.
This may seem unreasonable to a modern American reader. After all, we learn that ambitious people are the ones who make all the money and win all the success. To the American mind, it is only natural that the most ambitious man would nominate himself to hold political office. In America, personal virtue is irrelevant next to ambition. Personal virtue does not amass fortunes or start businesses; ambition does. In a strange transmutation, ambition became virtue in America. Ambition makes a man "fit," not adherence to metaphysical principles. The fact that only "really successful" people win high office reveals how strongly commerce has infiltrated American culture. Commerce has drowned all personal virtue. And it has supplanted honor with ambition as the most essential social characteristic.
In commercial America, people want power. It takes money to get power. And it takes ruthless ambition to make money in our brutally competitive free market system. In this environment, honor does not stand a chance. Ambition is the only thing that can steel men enough to survive it.
This is not a good development. When ambition overtakes honor in society, we can expect bad things. Aristotle warned about ambition in strong terms: "Yet the truth is that men's ambition and their desire to make money are among the most frequent causes of deliberate acts of injustice." The Politics, Book II ch. ix ¶1271a9.
Aristotle knew what he was talking about. He correctly equated ambition with "deliberate acts of injustice" because ambition necessarily overshadows honor. Honor imposes limits on the means by which people achieve goals. Ambition lifts those limits. When men no longer observe honor in dealing with others, they gladly commit injustice. Their burning desire to make money overwhelms all other considerations; results are everything. They are not afraid to bend rules, dissemble, exploit and cut corners to achieve the results they seek.
By contrast, an honorable man would refuse to do these things. He would insist on "justice." But in commerce, this places an honorable man at a material disadvantage; an honorable man will always lose to an ambitious one. An ambitious man does not tie his hands with "ethics;" he is not even afraid to fight dirty when he must. In the end, the ambitious man achieves the goal, wins the power and ultimately takes high office. When ambition leads to such tangible rewards, who wouldn't want to be ambitious?
Probably not many. Nonetheless, I venture that honor offers its own rewards. Success can be measured in ways beyond salaries and fame. Some success is purely internal. Some success flows from personal excellence and adherence to personal standards. Put differently, it can be rewarding to be ethical. Although ethics may impede ambition and external success, it leads to virtue. It may be an antiquated sentiment to say that success means being honorable. But I really think it does.
External success is overrated. I leave it to the ambitious to chase external recognition and rewards. For my part, I am content to live according to my own heart and my own principles. I strive to do wrong to no one, not to make a certain salary. I strive to help those who need it, not to win praises from a supervisor. I burn to express my own personality, not to tailor my speech for a money prize. Call me old-fashioned--or even antiquated--but honor is very important to me.
But I can't be ambitious for honor. True honor exists without a need for external recognition or reward. Honor does not bestow career advancement, at least not consciously. No, ambition only works for those who crave external rewards. By contrast, honor is an internal reward. It is inwardly fulfilling. As such, ambition will not help you find honor--or "achieve" it. In fact, while it may be an achievement to live with honor, there's no trophy or plaque to commemorate the day you became honorable.
That's what an ambitious person will never understand.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
IF YOU RUN FOR SENATE, I DEMAND IMPECCABLE GRAMMAR FROM YOU : THE SENATE IS NO ARISTOCRACY
AN ESSAY
New York prepares for an extremely nasty Senate race. For the second time in a decade, an out-of-Stater has taken residence in New York in order to run for Federal office. Eleven years ago, Illinois-born Arkansasan Hillary Clinton bought a house in Westchester County so she could run for Senate. Now, Tennessee native Harold Ford, Jr. has moved to Manhattan in order to battle Democrat Kirsten Gillibrand for her Senate seat.
Technically, there is nothing wrong with out-of-State people moving to New York to run for Senate. It's not like everyone can run for Senate. After all, the American constitutional system is no democracy; as a practical matter, you need to be "part of the club" to run for Senate--the most hallowed clique in the United States. You can't be a plumber from Queens to run for Senate. You can't be a drug dealer or even a university professor with modest savings. No, you need to be in the political elite. You don't need to be an "elite person" from an ethical or moral perspective. You just need to be bred for the job. Generally, that means coming from an extremely wealthy, well-connected family. That's what "elite" means in American political discourse.
Harold Ford meets the criteria. He comes from money. He has served five terms in the United States House of Representatives as a Tennessee delegate. He has sufficient political and economic connections to qualify for Senate membership. In essence, he is "elite." He has the backing and pedigree to join the club.
But unlike Hillary Clinton, Harold Ford's political philosophy does not find an easy home in New York. New York is a famously liberal State. That is why few people had a problem with Hillary Clinton when she waltzed into Westchester to run for Senate. Her political views matched most New Yorkers' views. They elected her by a wide majority, even though some Republicans squawked about "carpetbagging." They thought New York offices should be for New Yorkers, not transplanted former First Ladies from Arkansas.
Harold Ford votes like a southern Republican. New Yorkers like to think that they are nothing like southern Republicans. Yet the same Republicans who complained about Hillary Clinton "carpetbagging" to New York in 2000 now say nothing about Mr. Tennessee.
Who is Harold Ford? New Yorkers should ask that question. They did not have to ask the same question about Hillary Clinton. She was a household name long before her election to the Senate. Everyone knew where she stood on major political issues. Most New Yorkers liked her long before she moved to New York. But what about Ford? Most New Yorkers know nothing about him. He's not even 40. He served ten years in the House. What's so special about that? Unlike Hillary Clinton, he is nothing close to an internationally-recognized celebrity politician.
Ford wrote a brief article yesterday in the New York Post to inform New Yorkers about his candidacy for the Senate. He struggled to deflect early Democratic criticism that he is a "right-wing nut" who opposes abortion and gun control. After all, according to the critics, New Yorkers strongly support both abortion rights and gun control; it would be anomalous if their Senator opposed these things.
I do not know what to think about Ford. I can only speculate based on experience and intuition. Applying my experience, I can say that most representatives from Tennessee would not have their jobs if they supported abortion rights or gun control. Folks from Tennessee don't care much for abortion, and they certainly don't tolerate no Yankees taking away their guns for no thang, no how. Despite Ford's contention that he supports both abortion rights and gun control, I have trouble believing that he could have won five terms in Tennessee with that position. I mean no disrespect to Tennessee when I say that the State is not known for its grand liberalism. That reputation informs my intuition about any politician who serves there.
I know the Civil War has been over for a long time. But former Confederate States are still former Confederate States. Some things survive the generations. Just talk to a drunk Southerner to find out what I mean.
Ford wrote in his article: "I am pro-choice--have always been since I entered politics almost 15 years ago." N.Y. Post, Ford: I'm gearing up for Senate race, Jan. 12, 2010 at 5. But immediately below his article, another blurb disclosed that in 2006 he said to MSNBC's Tucker Carlson: "I'm pro-life, Tucker…I don't run from that." N.Y. Post, Obama elects to stick with Gillibrand, Jan. 12, 2010 at 5.
In lawyer-talk, this is called "impeachment." You're the jury. You decide which statement you want to believe.
No matter what Harold Ford actually thinks about political issues, I insist that he write clear, grammatical English. If someone wants to join America's most elite legislative club, he or she had better know how to write well. Unfortunately, Ford's article reveals that he does not.
First, Ford does not grasp the magical rhetorical art of the semicolon. On terrorism, he says: "Defeating terror isn't a talking point in New York, (sic) it's a way of life." N.Y. Post, Ford: I'm gearing up for Senate Race, Jan. 12, 2010 at 5. Whenever two sentences can stand on their own and they depend on each other for rhetorical effect, commas do not suffice to connect them. Only a semicolon can achieve the desired impact. First-year law students learn this very quickly under pain of academic chastisement. Ford apparently never learned his grammar lesson. He proves it in the next paragraph when he writes: "Rebuilding an economy isn't an item on an issue checklist, (sic) it is what New York does--and must do." Id.
Oops. Same boo boo. Aren't Senators supposed to be rhetorical wizards? This guy doesn't even get his grammar right.
But Ford's grammatical woes do not end with semicolons. He also has a problem with run-on sentences. Try this one on for size: "And New Yorkers want an honest and serious debate about how to grow our economy, create new jobs downstate and upstate and keep New York state (sic) and our country safe." Id.
Whew! Talk about trying to cram too many ideas into a single breath. Let's try to unpack this linguistic crate: Ford thinks that New Yorkers want honest debate about the economy, jobs and safety. He also thinks they want serious debate on the same subjects. He further thinks New Yorkers want both "honest and serious" debate about those issues from an upstate/downstate perspective, not to mention a State/Federal perspective. That 's a lot of debate from a lot of perspectives. It took me a good four sentences to mention all the ideas he squeezed into one. Needless to say, you can't effectively communicate so many things in one line. Multiple adjectives and conjunctions do not make the reader's job any easier.
Some will inevitably label me petty for criticizing Ford's grammar. After all, we all make grammatical blunders from time to time. But I respond that anyone who wants to be a United States Senator must adhere to a higher linguistic standard. I could forgive a college freshman's incessant run-ons and semicolon misuse. But I can't forgive the same foibles in a man who wants to join America's most elite legislative club.
On the other hand, perhaps I demand too much. Ford fits the bill for membership in the Senate. He's wealthy, he comes from a political family, he has connections and he has powerful friends. He comes from the right social class to get in the door. Sadly, that's all you really need to hold high office in the United States. If you happen to be intelligent and eloquent, that's great; but it's not required. In this sense, we see once again that America is neither a democracy nor an aristocracy.
In the original constitutional understanding, the Senate was supposed to be America's "aristocrats' club." It was supposed to comprise the "excellent" people from across the land. Yet as Ford's case shows, Senators need not be intellectually "excellent." They need only fit the property and pedigree requirements for membership. Quality is irrelevant.
I wish quality were more relevant in American government. The word "aristocracy" has a dirty meaning in American discourse because Americans allegedly believe that everyone is equal. They also associate "aristocracy" with the arrogant British nobility that led the colonies to revolt from England.
But in the Aristotelean sense, it is no insult to call someone an "aristocrat." To the contrary, it is the best thing a politician can be. A true "aristocrat" is a person with naturally excellent moral, intellectual and ethical characteristics. Aristocracy implies inequality; not everyone can be "excellent." Yet this is not a bad thing, because it is only prudent that "naturally excellent, unselfish" people rule the State.
Ford's case shows that American Senators are not aristocrats. They are oligarchs. Oligarchy means rule by a few, irrespective of personal excellence. To be a Senator, you don't need to be excellent. You just need to be part of the "few" who are eligible for the job. In that sense, it is incorrect to call Senators "aristocrats." If they were truly aristocrats, there would never be any scandal, corruption or acrimony in the Senate. But a quick glance at congressional history reveals that scandal is the rule, not the exception.
Instead, we have an oligarchy. Oligarchs don't need to be excellent. Far from it: They don't even need to know how to use semicolons.
New York prepares for an extremely nasty Senate race. For the second time in a decade, an out-of-Stater has taken residence in New York in order to run for Federal office. Eleven years ago, Illinois-born Arkansasan Hillary Clinton bought a house in Westchester County so she could run for Senate. Now, Tennessee native Harold Ford, Jr. has moved to Manhattan in order to battle Democrat Kirsten Gillibrand for her Senate seat.
Technically, there is nothing wrong with out-of-State people moving to New York to run for Senate. It's not like everyone can run for Senate. After all, the American constitutional system is no democracy; as a practical matter, you need to be "part of the club" to run for Senate--the most hallowed clique in the United States. You can't be a plumber from Queens to run for Senate. You can't be a drug dealer or even a university professor with modest savings. No, you need to be in the political elite. You don't need to be an "elite person" from an ethical or moral perspective. You just need to be bred for the job. Generally, that means coming from an extremely wealthy, well-connected family. That's what "elite" means in American political discourse.
Harold Ford meets the criteria. He comes from money. He has served five terms in the United States House of Representatives as a Tennessee delegate. He has sufficient political and economic connections to qualify for Senate membership. In essence, he is "elite." He has the backing and pedigree to join the club.
But unlike Hillary Clinton, Harold Ford's political philosophy does not find an easy home in New York. New York is a famously liberal State. That is why few people had a problem with Hillary Clinton when she waltzed into Westchester to run for Senate. Her political views matched most New Yorkers' views. They elected her by a wide majority, even though some Republicans squawked about "carpetbagging." They thought New York offices should be for New Yorkers, not transplanted former First Ladies from Arkansas.
Harold Ford votes like a southern Republican. New Yorkers like to think that they are nothing like southern Republicans. Yet the same Republicans who complained about Hillary Clinton "carpetbagging" to New York in 2000 now say nothing about Mr. Tennessee.
Who is Harold Ford? New Yorkers should ask that question. They did not have to ask the same question about Hillary Clinton. She was a household name long before her election to the Senate. Everyone knew where she stood on major political issues. Most New Yorkers liked her long before she moved to New York. But what about Ford? Most New Yorkers know nothing about him. He's not even 40. He served ten years in the House. What's so special about that? Unlike Hillary Clinton, he is nothing close to an internationally-recognized celebrity politician.
Ford wrote a brief article yesterday in the New York Post to inform New Yorkers about his candidacy for the Senate. He struggled to deflect early Democratic criticism that he is a "right-wing nut" who opposes abortion and gun control. After all, according to the critics, New Yorkers strongly support both abortion rights and gun control; it would be anomalous if their Senator opposed these things.
I do not know what to think about Ford. I can only speculate based on experience and intuition. Applying my experience, I can say that most representatives from Tennessee would not have their jobs if they supported abortion rights or gun control. Folks from Tennessee don't care much for abortion, and they certainly don't tolerate no Yankees taking away their guns for no thang, no how. Despite Ford's contention that he supports both abortion rights and gun control, I have trouble believing that he could have won five terms in Tennessee with that position. I mean no disrespect to Tennessee when I say that the State is not known for its grand liberalism. That reputation informs my intuition about any politician who serves there.
I know the Civil War has been over for a long time. But former Confederate States are still former Confederate States. Some things survive the generations. Just talk to a drunk Southerner to find out what I mean.
Ford wrote in his article: "I am pro-choice--have always been since I entered politics almost 15 years ago." N.Y. Post, Ford: I'm gearing up for Senate race, Jan. 12, 2010 at 5. But immediately below his article, another blurb disclosed that in 2006 he said to MSNBC's Tucker Carlson: "I'm pro-life, Tucker…I don't run from that." N.Y. Post, Obama elects to stick with Gillibrand, Jan. 12, 2010 at 5.
In lawyer-talk, this is called "impeachment." You're the jury. You decide which statement you want to believe.
No matter what Harold Ford actually thinks about political issues, I insist that he write clear, grammatical English. If someone wants to join America's most elite legislative club, he or she had better know how to write well. Unfortunately, Ford's article reveals that he does not.
First, Ford does not grasp the magical rhetorical art of the semicolon. On terrorism, he says: "Defeating terror isn't a talking point in New York, (sic) it's a way of life." N.Y. Post, Ford: I'm gearing up for Senate Race, Jan. 12, 2010 at 5. Whenever two sentences can stand on their own and they depend on each other for rhetorical effect, commas do not suffice to connect them. Only a semicolon can achieve the desired impact. First-year law students learn this very quickly under pain of academic chastisement. Ford apparently never learned his grammar lesson. He proves it in the next paragraph when he writes: "Rebuilding an economy isn't an item on an issue checklist, (sic) it is what New York does--and must do." Id.
Oops. Same boo boo. Aren't Senators supposed to be rhetorical wizards? This guy doesn't even get his grammar right.
But Ford's grammatical woes do not end with semicolons. He also has a problem with run-on sentences. Try this one on for size: "And New Yorkers want an honest and serious debate about how to grow our economy, create new jobs downstate and upstate and keep New York state (sic) and our country safe." Id.
Whew! Talk about trying to cram too many ideas into a single breath. Let's try to unpack this linguistic crate: Ford thinks that New Yorkers want honest debate about the economy, jobs and safety. He also thinks they want serious debate on the same subjects. He further thinks New Yorkers want both "honest and serious" debate about those issues from an upstate/downstate perspective, not to mention a State/Federal perspective. That 's a lot of debate from a lot of perspectives. It took me a good four sentences to mention all the ideas he squeezed into one. Needless to say, you can't effectively communicate so many things in one line. Multiple adjectives and conjunctions do not make the reader's job any easier.
Some will inevitably label me petty for criticizing Ford's grammar. After all, we all make grammatical blunders from time to time. But I respond that anyone who wants to be a United States Senator must adhere to a higher linguistic standard. I could forgive a college freshman's incessant run-ons and semicolon misuse. But I can't forgive the same foibles in a man who wants to join America's most elite legislative club.
On the other hand, perhaps I demand too much. Ford fits the bill for membership in the Senate. He's wealthy, he comes from a political family, he has connections and he has powerful friends. He comes from the right social class to get in the door. Sadly, that's all you really need to hold high office in the United States. If you happen to be intelligent and eloquent, that's great; but it's not required. In this sense, we see once again that America is neither a democracy nor an aristocracy.
In the original constitutional understanding, the Senate was supposed to be America's "aristocrats' club." It was supposed to comprise the "excellent" people from across the land. Yet as Ford's case shows, Senators need not be intellectually "excellent." They need only fit the property and pedigree requirements for membership. Quality is irrelevant.
I wish quality were more relevant in American government. The word "aristocracy" has a dirty meaning in American discourse because Americans allegedly believe that everyone is equal. They also associate "aristocracy" with the arrogant British nobility that led the colonies to revolt from England.
But in the Aristotelean sense, it is no insult to call someone an "aristocrat." To the contrary, it is the best thing a politician can be. A true "aristocrat" is a person with naturally excellent moral, intellectual and ethical characteristics. Aristocracy implies inequality; not everyone can be "excellent." Yet this is not a bad thing, because it is only prudent that "naturally excellent, unselfish" people rule the State.
Ford's case shows that American Senators are not aristocrats. They are oligarchs. Oligarchy means rule by a few, irrespective of personal excellence. To be a Senator, you don't need to be excellent. You just need to be part of the "few" who are eligible for the job. In that sense, it is incorrect to call Senators "aristocrats." If they were truly aristocrats, there would never be any scandal, corruption or acrimony in the Senate. But a quick glance at congressional history reveals that scandal is the rule, not the exception.
Instead, we have an oligarchy. Oligarchs don't need to be excellent. Far from it: They don't even need to know how to use semicolons.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
DEBT, EDUCATION AND INDENTURED SERVITUDE--AMERICAN STYLE
A REFLECTION
This morning, I read an article in Above the Law, a magazine that targets issues relevant to freelance lawyers. In it, editor Elie Mystal lamented the $150,000 debt he assumed to finance his legal education. He called law school debt "The Silent Killer." His experience with debt even caused him to characterize his legal education as an "expensive vacation that debt financed."
In many ways, I am in Elie Mystal's boat. I graduated from law school in 2006 with about $95,000 in debt. Like Elie, I detested private practice and gave it up on principle. You see, I have this little problem: I insist on ethics and honor. That makes private law practice, well, a bit incongruous.
Since 2007, I have done consulting jobs that pay the crushing loan installments. Even more recently, I haven't been able to work at all due my partner's health crisis. The creditors don't care, of course. They just want their monthly checks; they don't give a damn about your problems.
I agree that debt is a "silent killer." Thanks to bank-friendly Bush-era deregulation in place at the time I signed my promissory notes, my loan principal has actually increased since I began repaying in late 2006. In essence, the banks have a permanent lien on my financial lifeblood, which is meager at best. This permanent financial burden robs voluntariness from all my employment decisions: I can't work a public interest job that won't even cover my monthly debt bill. I call this predicament "modern indentured servitude" because debt essentially compels work particular jobs in order to pay off the boulder that has been tied around their necks. Their choices are illusory; they must take a job that pays a certain amount or go bankrupt.
Elie also should have mentioned another issue that contributes to the debt crisis plaguing American graduate students: Deception. To be blunt, I entered law school under almost laughably false economic assumptions. I believed that my legal education would entitle me to an automatic $125,000-a-year job. I had worked at a law firm before law school and everyone there said that a law degree is basically a meal ticket. Law schools perpetuated that belief with "employment statistics" that corroborated my assumptions. Thus, I happily took out $100,000 in loans to finance my meal ticket. After all, I thought, what's $100,000 in debt if I'm certain to have a $125,000-a-year job waiting for me when I'm done?
"Ha! I can pay that off with a single bonus check," I declared in 2003.
What foolishness. But it is widespread foolishness. And every new law student subscribes to it. I know I did. Plus I was a wet-faced 25-year-old who knew nothing about the brutal vagaries of the private employment market. No, I learned the hard way--and only after sinking myself into an intractable debt pit.
Despite all this, I disagree with Elie's assertion that law school was a "very expensive vacation that debt financed." I do not regret my education in the least. I took it seriously; I never felt that I was on vacation while studying. True, it is unfortunate that I had to become an indentured servant in order to obtain my education. But I relish what I learned in law school. As a writer, it helps me every day. It enriched the way I think about every intellectual issue I encounter. I am thankful for my legal education. It pays psychic rewards in the classical sense, even if it does not fill my bank account.
But most people do not get educations--at least in America--to enrich their perspectives. They get educations to get jobs and make tons of money until they die or retire. In my view, this is the fundamental problem with the American system: People do not care about learning for its own sake. They use it merely to become commercial instruments for the rest of their lives. In that light, it is no surprise that debt plays a role in the system. Just as entrepreneurs take out loans in order to make more money in the future, so too do students take out loans in order to transform themselves into "profitable ventures." American students, in other words, are no different than entrepreneurs; they both gamble with debt in order to cash in later. And the goal of education in America is exactly the same as the goal of everyday business: Simple commercial success.
This leads me to my core objection: Shouldn't academic pursuits and crass commercial concerns be distinct? Sadly, the educational debt quandary in America shows that they are not.
That's a shame. And it's ruining many people's lives every day.
If only we could follow Aristotle's prescription for education: "[F]or it is more necessary to equalize appetites than possessions, and that can only be done by adequate education under the laws." The Politics, Book II, ch. vii at 1266b24.
In other words, education should not be a means to obtain "possessions," but rather to refine "appetites." It is not about "having" tangible things. It is about character; and you can't buy that.
This morning, I read an article in Above the Law, a magazine that targets issues relevant to freelance lawyers. In it, editor Elie Mystal lamented the $150,000 debt he assumed to finance his legal education. He called law school debt "The Silent Killer." His experience with debt even caused him to characterize his legal education as an "expensive vacation that debt financed."
In many ways, I am in Elie Mystal's boat. I graduated from law school in 2006 with about $95,000 in debt. Like Elie, I detested private practice and gave it up on principle. You see, I have this little problem: I insist on ethics and honor. That makes private law practice, well, a bit incongruous.
Since 2007, I have done consulting jobs that pay the crushing loan installments. Even more recently, I haven't been able to work at all due my partner's health crisis. The creditors don't care, of course. They just want their monthly checks; they don't give a damn about your problems.
I agree that debt is a "silent killer." Thanks to bank-friendly Bush-era deregulation in place at the time I signed my promissory notes, my loan principal has actually increased since I began repaying in late 2006. In essence, the banks have a permanent lien on my financial lifeblood, which is meager at best. This permanent financial burden robs voluntariness from all my employment decisions: I can't work a public interest job that won't even cover my monthly debt bill. I call this predicament "modern indentured servitude" because debt essentially compels work particular jobs in order to pay off the boulder that has been tied around their necks. Their choices are illusory; they must take a job that pays a certain amount or go bankrupt.
Elie also should have mentioned another issue that contributes to the debt crisis plaguing American graduate students: Deception. To be blunt, I entered law school under almost laughably false economic assumptions. I believed that my legal education would entitle me to an automatic $125,000-a-year job. I had worked at a law firm before law school and everyone there said that a law degree is basically a meal ticket. Law schools perpetuated that belief with "employment statistics" that corroborated my assumptions. Thus, I happily took out $100,000 in loans to finance my meal ticket. After all, I thought, what's $100,000 in debt if I'm certain to have a $125,000-a-year job waiting for me when I'm done?
"Ha! I can pay that off with a single bonus check," I declared in 2003.
What foolishness. But it is widespread foolishness. And every new law student subscribes to it. I know I did. Plus I was a wet-faced 25-year-old who knew nothing about the brutal vagaries of the private employment market. No, I learned the hard way--and only after sinking myself into an intractable debt pit.
Despite all this, I disagree with Elie's assertion that law school was a "very expensive vacation that debt financed." I do not regret my education in the least. I took it seriously; I never felt that I was on vacation while studying. True, it is unfortunate that I had to become an indentured servant in order to obtain my education. But I relish what I learned in law school. As a writer, it helps me every day. It enriched the way I think about every intellectual issue I encounter. I am thankful for my legal education. It pays psychic rewards in the classical sense, even if it does not fill my bank account.
But most people do not get educations--at least in America--to enrich their perspectives. They get educations to get jobs and make tons of money until they die or retire. In my view, this is the fundamental problem with the American system: People do not care about learning for its own sake. They use it merely to become commercial instruments for the rest of their lives. In that light, it is no surprise that debt plays a role in the system. Just as entrepreneurs take out loans in order to make more money in the future, so too do students take out loans in order to transform themselves into "profitable ventures." American students, in other words, are no different than entrepreneurs; they both gamble with debt in order to cash in later. And the goal of education in America is exactly the same as the goal of everyday business: Simple commercial success.
This leads me to my core objection: Shouldn't academic pursuits and crass commercial concerns be distinct? Sadly, the educational debt quandary in America shows that they are not.
That's a shame. And it's ruining many people's lives every day.
If only we could follow Aristotle's prescription for education: "[F]or it is more necessary to equalize appetites than possessions, and that can only be done by adequate education under the laws." The Politics, Book II, ch. vii at 1266b24.
In other words, education should not be a means to obtain "possessions," but rather to refine "appetites." It is not about "having" tangible things. It is about character; and you can't buy that.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
BIRTHRATES AND HOMOSEXUALITY : A CLASSICAL PERSPECTIVE AND A WORD ON TRADITION-BASED ARGUMENTS
AN ESSAY
Over the last few weeks, I have been delving deeper into Aristotle's Politics. In a previous essay, I wrote that I had begun to read Aristotle with more forgiveness. Now, I can confidently say that some of his ideas actually "work" for me. I no longer cast a suspicious eye on everything he writes. Rather, I closely evaluate his arguments to parse points that make sense to me.
In the past, I criticized Aristotle because he was too metaphysical. He presumed that everything on earth has an identifiable "purpose," and that absolute "truth" was obtainable by analyzing various interactions between "purposes." I first read Aristotle when I was college. At the time, I was making discoveries about my own sexuality. Aristotle's metaphysics appeared to argue against "non-procreative" sexuality because "male sexual organs" and "female sexual organs" have absolute, reproductive "purposes." Accordingly, using sexual organs for purposes beyond procreation amounted to "misuse." It is not surprising that the medieval Church and the modern Catholic Church closely read Aristotle. They used this very argument to demonize all sexuality-- with special vehemence reserved for homosexuality.
But a much different picture emerged when I sat down to read Aristotle again. Rather than condemning homosexuality as an abomination--as I always assumed he did, without ever reading as much--he espoused a much less judgmental attitude. To the contrary, he seemed to echo my own belief that homosexuality exists in nature, and that it makes little sense to condemn it. See, e.g., http://reasoncommercejustice.blogspot.com/2009/01/oesterhoudt-strikes.html.
In analyzing the Spartan Constitution, for example, Aristotle reasons as a biologist, observing: "[C]ertainly all people seem compulsively attracted by sexual relations, either with males or females." The Politics, Book II, Ch. ix ¶ 1269b23. Earlier in the same paragraph, he actually praises "societies in which male homosexuality is openly esteemed," because male-centered societies--unlike Sparta--tend to keep avaricious women in check. Id. Aristotle believed that males "naturally" ruled females; thus, it was more an abomination to tolerate females "ruling" men than to allow males to have sex with each other. But in the final analysis, Aristotle suggests that sexuality is natural, no matter whether it involves males or females. Human beings are simply "compulsively attracted" by sexual relations. And that "compulsion" does not draw a bright gender line.
Aristotle does not simply conclude that homosexuality is natural. He even observes that homosexuality performs an essential State function by restraining birthrates. In analyzing the Cretan Constitution, he notes that the lawgiver actually prescribed "sexual relations between males" in order to "keep[] down the birthrate." The Politics, Book II, Ch. x ¶ 1272a12. He also notes that the lawgiver strictly separated males and females in order to prevent unnecessary pregnancies. Id. Put another way, the Cretan lawgiver understood that all human beings are "compulsively attracted by sexual relations" with each other, so he allowed both men and women to find sexual outlets in a manner that would not bankrupt the Kingdom by overpopulation.
I found this fascinating for several reasons. First, I never thought that a classical philosopher--let alone Aristotle--would argue that homosexuality could actually be exploited to fulfill a beneficial State objective. I always thought that Western governments took a moral stance against homosexuality. Apparently that is not true. In the Politics, Aristotle frankly discusses homosexuality as both a natural phenomenon and worthwhile social policy. Morality does not even enter the analysis.
Second, I found it interesting that Aristotle repeatedly speaks out against birthrates. Although he only mentions homosexuality in connection with birthrates in the Cretan example, he mentions low birthrates many times throughout the Politics. He equates high birthrates with poverty, discord and ruin. At the same time, he praises States that carefully control their populations. This makes sense given Aristotle's belief that States should strive to cultivate "good" people, not just "many" people.
Aristotle's views on homosexuality and birthrates fundamentally differ from modern views on the same subjects. For centuries, Western society has learned to revile homosexuality in all its manifestations. Church dogma called homosexuality a "sin;" it warned homosexuals that they would go to hell if they "practiced" it. The law labeled it a "crime;" it warned homosexuals that they would be executed or imprisoned for it. Even the scientific community diagnosed it as a "disease;" psychiatrists did not remove it from the book of "mental illnesses" until about 1970.
Although extreme institutional intolerance toward homosexuality has slowly weakened over time, there remains a virulent moral strain against homosexuality in Western societies. It is still "not normal." It is still somehow illegitimate and "disgusting." Put another way, it may not be "illegal" anymore; but it is still "immoral." Despite some modest legal advances in recent years (i.e., it is no longer constitutionally permissible to jail gay men for having sex), these attitudes force homosexuals to live on the fringes of society. They risk everything by living truthfully. They face a difficult decision whether to tell others about their own sexuality, a decision that no other people need to worry about in society. Or they can simply to choose to live in secret.
These are hardly appetizing decisions to make in life.
Against this background, it is almost inconceivable that a respected scholar would suggest that homosexuality is "natural," let alone that it could serve a "beneficial social purpose." If anything, attitudes toward homosexuality in Western civilization reveal little more than contempt. Until the late 19th Century, "sodomites" hanged in Great Britain. That is a far, far cry from Aristotle's argument that homosexuality actually could provide a benefit to society through lower birthrates.
But Western societies traditionally do not like low birthrates, either. That is why Aristotle's views on low birthrates seem so fascinating today. Historically, Western societies have done their best to encourage high birthrates. They have generally wanted to increase their populations. This coincided with Church dogma that men and women should "honor God" by "blessing Him" with as many offspring as possible. Just as the Church preached against homosexuality, so too did it praise prolific childbearing.
Modern America is no exception to these attitudes. For the most part, the United States encourages procreation among its citizens. Families with many children earn social praise, even congratulations. By the same token, modern America does not fully tolerate homosexuality. Homosexuals, after all, do not procreate. Is there a conceptual link between historical hatred for homosexuals and their inability to contribute to the birthrate?
Is there a moral link? After all, Western history shows that high birthrates bespeak "moral" living, while homosexuality bespeaks "immorality" because it does not contribute to the birthrate. In this sense, there is an inverse relationship between homosexuality and birthrates in modern society: The capacity for high birthrates is moral and good, while homosexuality is immoral and bad because it does not lead to high birthrates.
These views have reigned in the West for centuries. But a quick read through Aristotle reveals that it has not always been so. If a philosopher as renowned as Aristotle suggested that homosexuality is natural and that low birthrates are good, what does that say about "traditional" Western views on these subjects? After all, those who demonize homosexuality as an immoral abomination prize arguments based in "tradition." They say that "tradition" provides a reason to hate homosexuality because "our society has always reviled homosexuality."
But what if "tradition" is wrong? Or at least conveniently tailored to meet ideological ends? When it comes to homosexuality, Aristotle provides a historical example that not everyone in the "Western tradition" thought homosexuality was an abomination. Put simply, Aristotle's divergence from the so-called "tradition against homosexuality" shows that "tradition" arguments can be very misleading. After all, it is easy to just ignore inconvenient voices in a historical tradition, then call the tailored version "tradition."
I do not think that "tradition" categorically supports an argument that homosexuality is necessarily "immoral," or that high birthrates are necessarily "good." We simply must reference Aristotle to wreck any argument that "tradition" on these subjects has been unanimous. It hasn't.
And to those who think arguments based in tradition somehow carry special weight, I offer another quote from Aristotle to temper reliance on tailored history: "Generally, of course, it is the good, and not simply the traditional, that is aimed at." The Politics, Book II, Ch. viii ¶1269a3.
Put another way, it is no answer to a problem to say: "That's the way we've always done it." Solving problems takes independent thought, not blind imitation or historical charades.
Over the last few weeks, I have been delving deeper into Aristotle's Politics. In a previous essay, I wrote that I had begun to read Aristotle with more forgiveness. Now, I can confidently say that some of his ideas actually "work" for me. I no longer cast a suspicious eye on everything he writes. Rather, I closely evaluate his arguments to parse points that make sense to me.
In the past, I criticized Aristotle because he was too metaphysical. He presumed that everything on earth has an identifiable "purpose," and that absolute "truth" was obtainable by analyzing various interactions between "purposes." I first read Aristotle when I was college. At the time, I was making discoveries about my own sexuality. Aristotle's metaphysics appeared to argue against "non-procreative" sexuality because "male sexual organs" and "female sexual organs" have absolute, reproductive "purposes." Accordingly, using sexual organs for purposes beyond procreation amounted to "misuse." It is not surprising that the medieval Church and the modern Catholic Church closely read Aristotle. They used this very argument to demonize all sexuality-- with special vehemence reserved for homosexuality.
But a much different picture emerged when I sat down to read Aristotle again. Rather than condemning homosexuality as an abomination--as I always assumed he did, without ever reading as much--he espoused a much less judgmental attitude. To the contrary, he seemed to echo my own belief that homosexuality exists in nature, and that it makes little sense to condemn it. See, e.g., http://reasoncommercejustice.blogspot.com/2009/01/oesterhoudt-strikes.html.
In analyzing the Spartan Constitution, for example, Aristotle reasons as a biologist, observing: "[C]ertainly all people seem compulsively attracted by sexual relations, either with males or females." The Politics, Book II, Ch. ix ¶ 1269b23. Earlier in the same paragraph, he actually praises "societies in which male homosexuality is openly esteemed," because male-centered societies--unlike Sparta--tend to keep avaricious women in check. Id. Aristotle believed that males "naturally" ruled females; thus, it was more an abomination to tolerate females "ruling" men than to allow males to have sex with each other. But in the final analysis, Aristotle suggests that sexuality is natural, no matter whether it involves males or females. Human beings are simply "compulsively attracted" by sexual relations. And that "compulsion" does not draw a bright gender line.
Aristotle does not simply conclude that homosexuality is natural. He even observes that homosexuality performs an essential State function by restraining birthrates. In analyzing the Cretan Constitution, he notes that the lawgiver actually prescribed "sexual relations between males" in order to "keep[] down the birthrate." The Politics, Book II, Ch. x ¶ 1272a12. He also notes that the lawgiver strictly separated males and females in order to prevent unnecessary pregnancies. Id. Put another way, the Cretan lawgiver understood that all human beings are "compulsively attracted by sexual relations" with each other, so he allowed both men and women to find sexual outlets in a manner that would not bankrupt the Kingdom by overpopulation.
I found this fascinating for several reasons. First, I never thought that a classical philosopher--let alone Aristotle--would argue that homosexuality could actually be exploited to fulfill a beneficial State objective. I always thought that Western governments took a moral stance against homosexuality. Apparently that is not true. In the Politics, Aristotle frankly discusses homosexuality as both a natural phenomenon and worthwhile social policy. Morality does not even enter the analysis.
Second, I found it interesting that Aristotle repeatedly speaks out against birthrates. Although he only mentions homosexuality in connection with birthrates in the Cretan example, he mentions low birthrates many times throughout the Politics. He equates high birthrates with poverty, discord and ruin. At the same time, he praises States that carefully control their populations. This makes sense given Aristotle's belief that States should strive to cultivate "good" people, not just "many" people.
Aristotle's views on homosexuality and birthrates fundamentally differ from modern views on the same subjects. For centuries, Western society has learned to revile homosexuality in all its manifestations. Church dogma called homosexuality a "sin;" it warned homosexuals that they would go to hell if they "practiced" it. The law labeled it a "crime;" it warned homosexuals that they would be executed or imprisoned for it. Even the scientific community diagnosed it as a "disease;" psychiatrists did not remove it from the book of "mental illnesses" until about 1970.
Although extreme institutional intolerance toward homosexuality has slowly weakened over time, there remains a virulent moral strain against homosexuality in Western societies. It is still "not normal." It is still somehow illegitimate and "disgusting." Put another way, it may not be "illegal" anymore; but it is still "immoral." Despite some modest legal advances in recent years (i.e., it is no longer constitutionally permissible to jail gay men for having sex), these attitudes force homosexuals to live on the fringes of society. They risk everything by living truthfully. They face a difficult decision whether to tell others about their own sexuality, a decision that no other people need to worry about in society. Or they can simply to choose to live in secret.
These are hardly appetizing decisions to make in life.
Against this background, it is almost inconceivable that a respected scholar would suggest that homosexuality is "natural," let alone that it could serve a "beneficial social purpose." If anything, attitudes toward homosexuality in Western civilization reveal little more than contempt. Until the late 19th Century, "sodomites" hanged in Great Britain. That is a far, far cry from Aristotle's argument that homosexuality actually could provide a benefit to society through lower birthrates.
But Western societies traditionally do not like low birthrates, either. That is why Aristotle's views on low birthrates seem so fascinating today. Historically, Western societies have done their best to encourage high birthrates. They have generally wanted to increase their populations. This coincided with Church dogma that men and women should "honor God" by "blessing Him" with as many offspring as possible. Just as the Church preached against homosexuality, so too did it praise prolific childbearing.
Modern America is no exception to these attitudes. For the most part, the United States encourages procreation among its citizens. Families with many children earn social praise, even congratulations. By the same token, modern America does not fully tolerate homosexuality. Homosexuals, after all, do not procreate. Is there a conceptual link between historical hatred for homosexuals and their inability to contribute to the birthrate?
Is there a moral link? After all, Western history shows that high birthrates bespeak "moral" living, while homosexuality bespeaks "immorality" because it does not contribute to the birthrate. In this sense, there is an inverse relationship between homosexuality and birthrates in modern society: The capacity for high birthrates is moral and good, while homosexuality is immoral and bad because it does not lead to high birthrates.
These views have reigned in the West for centuries. But a quick read through Aristotle reveals that it has not always been so. If a philosopher as renowned as Aristotle suggested that homosexuality is natural and that low birthrates are good, what does that say about "traditional" Western views on these subjects? After all, those who demonize homosexuality as an immoral abomination prize arguments based in "tradition." They say that "tradition" provides a reason to hate homosexuality because "our society has always reviled homosexuality."
But what if "tradition" is wrong? Or at least conveniently tailored to meet ideological ends? When it comes to homosexuality, Aristotle provides a historical example that not everyone in the "Western tradition" thought homosexuality was an abomination. Put simply, Aristotle's divergence from the so-called "tradition against homosexuality" shows that "tradition" arguments can be very misleading. After all, it is easy to just ignore inconvenient voices in a historical tradition, then call the tailored version "tradition."
I do not think that "tradition" categorically supports an argument that homosexuality is necessarily "immoral," or that high birthrates are necessarily "good." We simply must reference Aristotle to wreck any argument that "tradition" on these subjects has been unanimous. It hasn't.
And to those who think arguments based in tradition somehow carry special weight, I offer another quote from Aristotle to temper reliance on tailored history: "Generally, of course, it is the good, and not simply the traditional, that is aimed at." The Politics, Book II, Ch. viii ¶1269a3.
Put another way, it is no answer to a problem to say: "That's the way we've always done it." Solving problems takes independent thought, not blind imitation or historical charades.
Monday, December 14, 2009
DEMOCRACY : AN AMERICAN MYTH
AN ESSAY
Americans learn to revere the word "democracy." In public school, they learn that the American government is "democratic." They take pride in "democracy" because "democracy" is a "free" form of government that is "better" than other governments. After all, when students learn about the American Revolution, they inevitably hear that our Framers established a "democracy." And "democracy" is "better" than the unjust "monarchy" that led them to revolt. Applying these indoctrinated ideals, Americans claim that they never believe in "family distinctions," "aristocracy" or other "elitism" based on inherited titles.
I venture that this is all nonsense. The United States is not--and certainly never was--a democracy. And Americans believe in aristocracy far more than they like to publicly admit: The truth is that both democracy and equality are American myths.
I first doubted the rhetoric about American democracy when I read history books about ancient Greece. In those books, I learned that pure "democracy" imposed no limitation on a person's participation in government. Every voice was equal. Everyone could vote and every decision required majority approval by all. There was no "representative body" that made decisions "in the people's name." No, in pure democracy, the people rule--literally. Everyone has an equal say in policy, from the richest landowner to the lowliest beggar.
Democracy sounds like a wonderful idea. After all, don't we all want to be equal to one another? Should we not all have an equal right to decide on important public questions? Isn't it somehow reassuring to know that the government works for you, and that you have a real chance to influence it? Of course it sounds great. Democracy is idealistic. It lends itself to myths. And like all myths, it does not really exist.
Lately, I've been re-reading Aristotle's Politics. As the world's first real political scientist, he presaged almost every significant political debate that came after him. By categorizing governmental forms, he created the vocabulary of modern political discussion. And Aristotle's text gives me immense support for my contention that the United States is no democracy--not even close. Rather, the United States is an oligarchy.
In criticizing Plato's Laws, Aristotle makes some cogent observations about voting. Americans learn that "democracy" is all about voting. They learn that "going to the polls" proves that "everybody means something" in our political system. There is a theme in American voting rhetoric about equality and dignity. Because we all can supposedly vote, that makes us all equally powerful and worthy. But Aristotle says: "The practice of selection by lot from a number chosen by election is common to both oligarchy and democracy; but to impose upon the richer citizens, and upon them only, the obligation to be members of the Assembly, to vote for office-bearers and do any other duty that falls upon a citizen--that is oligarchical." The Politics, Book II, ch. vi, § 1266a5.
In early America, only white men with sufficient landholdings could vote for representatives. In other words, the "obligation to be members of the Assembly" and "vote for office-bearers" fell solely upon the "richer citizens." Women, slaves and the vast majority of white men had no say whatsoever in government. They could not even go to the polls. Although voting restrictions have certainly diminished over time, it is still no easy thing to vote in the United States. State laws impose numerous handicaps on citizens' right to vote. And in a good year, we're lucky if 50% of the eligible voters actually show up to cast their ballots. Other State laws completely disable people from voting. For example, if you commit a felony--even a relatively minor one, like writing a bad check--you might lose the right to vote for the rest of your life.
In this light, America has historically been far more "oligarchical" than "democratic." If this were a true democracy, everyone would have been able to actively participate in government from the outset. We know this is not the case. Americans have never actively participated in their government. Rather, they elect "particularly distinguished people" from "particular social strata" to rule for them. This, too, is oligarchical. Think about where the Representatives and Senators come from. They are all generally wealthy, white and well-educated. They do not represent a fair cross-section of American society. If anything, they resemble the "richer citizens" Aristotle mentions in The Politics. Just look at Congress. These are not typical Americans: They are 535 people who are far more powerful and wealthy than the people who elected them. And for over a century in this country, they were exclusively landed white males.
Aristotle provides further support for the conclusion that the United States has been--and in many ways, still is--an oligarchy. Concerning oligarchy, he writes: "So also is the attempt to secure that a majority of the office-holders should come from among the wealthy, and that highest offices should be filled by those from the highest property-classes." The Politics, Book II, ch. vi § 1266a5.
What a striking insight. It is as if Aristotle predicted what the United States government would look like 2000 years later. Think about the "majority of the office-holders" in American government. What social class do they represent? You guessed it: They largely come from the "highest property-classes," or at least act like they do. Even President Obama made quite a bit of money as a lawyer and law professor before diving into politics. The fact that there are only two political parties reinforces the oligarchical nature of American government. Unlike European parliamentary systems, Americans have only two choices: Liberal rich guy #1 (the Democrat) or Conservative rich guy #2 (the Republican). There are no "Greens," "Socialists," "Labor Men," "Women for Animals' Rights" or "Christian Theologues." In the American system, every "high office holder" is basically the same: A wealthy believer in free market capitalism who owns significant amounts of property. That is oligarchy.
In the final analysis, it is clear that people from the "highest property-classes" run the American government. They always have, and they always will. Let's just be honest about our terminology: This is an oligarchy, not a democracy. It is simply false to call our system a "democracy," no matter how many people can technically vote. Despite this, it works in the government's favor to identify itself as a "democracy." After all, "democracy" has a magical ring to it. It conjures all kinds of hopeful ideals. It also fools the people into believing that they actually have a say in policy. History shows that people revolt when they feel they are powerless. But when they think their government actually speaks for them, they refrain from revolution. In that sense, calling America a "democracy" maintains social control, even if it is untrue. Calling America a "democracy" keeps things quiet. And that's just how oligarchs like it: It lets them continue to hold all the power.
Oligarchy proceeds on the premise that only a few hold political power. It implies inequality. Democracy, on the other hand, proceeds on the premise that everyone holds political power. It implies equality. Yet a quick look at inequalities in the American political system beginning in 1787 reveals just how absurd it is to call the United States a "democracy." And a quick look at the "kind of people" who have held high office in the United States over the years--Presidents, Senators, Supreme Court justices--merely confirms Aristotle's analysis: These guys (well, almost all guys) all came from the "highest property-classes."
In this light, it is simply disingenuous to delude our children into thinking that they live in a democracy. If they do not come from "high property-classes," they stand a much lower chance to ever influence government. That does not mean that they cannot rise into a "high property-class." It simply means that they must first obtain wealth before even thinking about politics. After all, it wouldn't be an oligarchy if poor folks suddenly held all the high government jobs.
In truth, no country can ever be fully democratic. Could a country in good faith entrust its most pressing concerns to half-fed beggars, idiots and wage laborers? Certainly not. It is reasonable to put political power into "competent" hands. And generally the wealthy are those most competent to administer the State. I simply believe we must be honest in the way we think about our government. That means dropping all aspirations to "equality" and "dignity." The sad fact is that perfect equality is a very bad idea when it comes to government. It would be better if we simply acknowledged that and stopped perpetuating myths that "everyone is equal" in American society. That is not the goal, nor can it ever be. Yet even the oligarchs in power circulate meaningless rhetoric about democratic opportunity and equality for all in America.
We are oligarchs; why not just admit it? Let's at least stop lying to our children about democracy.
Americans learn to revere the word "democracy." In public school, they learn that the American government is "democratic." They take pride in "democracy" because "democracy" is a "free" form of government that is "better" than other governments. After all, when students learn about the American Revolution, they inevitably hear that our Framers established a "democracy." And "democracy" is "better" than the unjust "monarchy" that led them to revolt. Applying these indoctrinated ideals, Americans claim that they never believe in "family distinctions," "aristocracy" or other "elitism" based on inherited titles.
I venture that this is all nonsense. The United States is not--and certainly never was--a democracy. And Americans believe in aristocracy far more than they like to publicly admit: The truth is that both democracy and equality are American myths.
I first doubted the rhetoric about American democracy when I read history books about ancient Greece. In those books, I learned that pure "democracy" imposed no limitation on a person's participation in government. Every voice was equal. Everyone could vote and every decision required majority approval by all. There was no "representative body" that made decisions "in the people's name." No, in pure democracy, the people rule--literally. Everyone has an equal say in policy, from the richest landowner to the lowliest beggar.
Democracy sounds like a wonderful idea. After all, don't we all want to be equal to one another? Should we not all have an equal right to decide on important public questions? Isn't it somehow reassuring to know that the government works for you, and that you have a real chance to influence it? Of course it sounds great. Democracy is idealistic. It lends itself to myths. And like all myths, it does not really exist.
Lately, I've been re-reading Aristotle's Politics. As the world's first real political scientist, he presaged almost every significant political debate that came after him. By categorizing governmental forms, he created the vocabulary of modern political discussion. And Aristotle's text gives me immense support for my contention that the United States is no democracy--not even close. Rather, the United States is an oligarchy.
In criticizing Plato's Laws, Aristotle makes some cogent observations about voting. Americans learn that "democracy" is all about voting. They learn that "going to the polls" proves that "everybody means something" in our political system. There is a theme in American voting rhetoric about equality and dignity. Because we all can supposedly vote, that makes us all equally powerful and worthy. But Aristotle says: "The practice of selection by lot from a number chosen by election is common to both oligarchy and democracy; but to impose upon the richer citizens, and upon them only, the obligation to be members of the Assembly, to vote for office-bearers and do any other duty that falls upon a citizen--that is oligarchical." The Politics, Book II, ch. vi, § 1266a5.
In early America, only white men with sufficient landholdings could vote for representatives. In other words, the "obligation to be members of the Assembly" and "vote for office-bearers" fell solely upon the "richer citizens." Women, slaves and the vast majority of white men had no say whatsoever in government. They could not even go to the polls. Although voting restrictions have certainly diminished over time, it is still no easy thing to vote in the United States. State laws impose numerous handicaps on citizens' right to vote. And in a good year, we're lucky if 50% of the eligible voters actually show up to cast their ballots. Other State laws completely disable people from voting. For example, if you commit a felony--even a relatively minor one, like writing a bad check--you might lose the right to vote for the rest of your life.
In this light, America has historically been far more "oligarchical" than "democratic." If this were a true democracy, everyone would have been able to actively participate in government from the outset. We know this is not the case. Americans have never actively participated in their government. Rather, they elect "particularly distinguished people" from "particular social strata" to rule for them. This, too, is oligarchical. Think about where the Representatives and Senators come from. They are all generally wealthy, white and well-educated. They do not represent a fair cross-section of American society. If anything, they resemble the "richer citizens" Aristotle mentions in The Politics. Just look at Congress. These are not typical Americans: They are 535 people who are far more powerful and wealthy than the people who elected them. And for over a century in this country, they were exclusively landed white males.
Aristotle provides further support for the conclusion that the United States has been--and in many ways, still is--an oligarchy. Concerning oligarchy, he writes: "So also is the attempt to secure that a majority of the office-holders should come from among the wealthy, and that highest offices should be filled by those from the highest property-classes." The Politics, Book II, ch. vi § 1266a5.
What a striking insight. It is as if Aristotle predicted what the United States government would look like 2000 years later. Think about the "majority of the office-holders" in American government. What social class do they represent? You guessed it: They largely come from the "highest property-classes," or at least act like they do. Even President Obama made quite a bit of money as a lawyer and law professor before diving into politics. The fact that there are only two political parties reinforces the oligarchical nature of American government. Unlike European parliamentary systems, Americans have only two choices: Liberal rich guy #1 (the Democrat) or Conservative rich guy #2 (the Republican). There are no "Greens," "Socialists," "Labor Men," "Women for Animals' Rights" or "Christian Theologues." In the American system, every "high office holder" is basically the same: A wealthy believer in free market capitalism who owns significant amounts of property. That is oligarchy.
In the final analysis, it is clear that people from the "highest property-classes" run the American government. They always have, and they always will. Let's just be honest about our terminology: This is an oligarchy, not a democracy. It is simply false to call our system a "democracy," no matter how many people can technically vote. Despite this, it works in the government's favor to identify itself as a "democracy." After all, "democracy" has a magical ring to it. It conjures all kinds of hopeful ideals. It also fools the people into believing that they actually have a say in policy. History shows that people revolt when they feel they are powerless. But when they think their government actually speaks for them, they refrain from revolution. In that sense, calling America a "democracy" maintains social control, even if it is untrue. Calling America a "democracy" keeps things quiet. And that's just how oligarchs like it: It lets them continue to hold all the power.
Oligarchy proceeds on the premise that only a few hold political power. It implies inequality. Democracy, on the other hand, proceeds on the premise that everyone holds political power. It implies equality. Yet a quick look at inequalities in the American political system beginning in 1787 reveals just how absurd it is to call the United States a "democracy." And a quick look at the "kind of people" who have held high office in the United States over the years--Presidents, Senators, Supreme Court justices--merely confirms Aristotle's analysis: These guys (well, almost all guys) all came from the "highest property-classes."
In this light, it is simply disingenuous to delude our children into thinking that they live in a democracy. If they do not come from "high property-classes," they stand a much lower chance to ever influence government. That does not mean that they cannot rise into a "high property-class." It simply means that they must first obtain wealth before even thinking about politics. After all, it wouldn't be an oligarchy if poor folks suddenly held all the high government jobs.
In truth, no country can ever be fully democratic. Could a country in good faith entrust its most pressing concerns to half-fed beggars, idiots and wage laborers? Certainly not. It is reasonable to put political power into "competent" hands. And generally the wealthy are those most competent to administer the State. I simply believe we must be honest in the way we think about our government. That means dropping all aspirations to "equality" and "dignity." The sad fact is that perfect equality is a very bad idea when it comes to government. It would be better if we simply acknowledged that and stopped perpetuating myths that "everyone is equal" in American society. That is not the goal, nor can it ever be. Yet even the oligarchs in power circulate meaningless rhetoric about democratic opportunity and equality for all in America.
We are oligarchs; why not just admit it? Let's at least stop lying to our children about democracy.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
DO WE SPEAK TO UNITE OR TO DECEIVE?
AN ESSAY
As I mentioned last week, I'm re-reading Aristotle's Politics. Surprisingly, I found myself agreeing with many of his points about human beings and their motivations. That surprised me because I always took a prejudiced view against Aristotle. In college, I dismissed him because he was an "absolutist" about truth. But now that many years have passed--and now that I have read so much more--I approach Aristotle with more forgiveness. I do not read him with a smirk anymore. Rather, I read him for what he is: A classical metaphysician. I like some points; I don't like others. It's like reading anyone else.
Yet Aristotle is no average writer. He is a giant among Western philosophers. His views on virtually every subject became dogma for centuries. Men died challenging Aristotlean doctrines in the Catholic church during the Middle Ages. Others risked everything to dispute Aristotle's teachings about ethics and astronomy. As time went on, scientific advances dethroned Aristotle's pre-eminence in some areas. But in others, his influence remains strong--and still relevant. After all, Aristotle wrote about politics, ethics, human beings and beauty. These things cannot be reduced to mathematical fact. Rather, they constantly invite debate, interpretation and reassessment.
Aristotle's political work certainly has continued relevance. Like all the political philosophers who followed him, Aristotle begins by discussing human nature. Aristotle approaches the question with his usual confidence: He makes conclusions as if they were obvious, even if they are just assumptions. He also plays the biologist, constantly comparing humans to their analogues in nature.
I love any discussion about human nature. And I have always disagreed with Aristotle's view here.
Aristotle claims that men are "political animals...by nature." The Politics, Book I, ch. ii, para. 1253a1. He makes this conclusion by examining the key difference between men and beasts: Men have speech. He acknowledges that both animals and men have voice--cows can moo and dogs can bark to voice their feelings--but speech is unique to man.
This might not seem like a profound observation, but Aristotle's understanding of speech is remarkable. The consummate metaphysician, he argues that "speech has a single purpose" and no other. Namely, it enables men to "indicate what is useful and what is harmful," and "what is just or unjust." Id. at para. 1253a7. Finally, he draws the ultimate distinction between men and animals: "[H]umans alone have perception of good and evil, just and unjust." Id.
For Aristotle, then, speech has a justice function. It not only allows men to communicate their feelings, but it exists to help them find what is useful and just for all. This is the natural purpose of speech. It is imbued with a sensitivity for morality (good and evil), practicality (useful and not useful) as well as justice. These are profound concepts. And Aristotle speaks in absolute terms. There is one "good," one "evil," one "justice" and one "useful." In his view, speech enables man to find them all--and to organize States on that basis. Man is not only a speaking animal; his speech allows him to unite with other men to find universal justice in a useful society. What a remarkable assertion.
It is a remarkable assertion because it invites so much scorn. I naturally shy away from absolutes. Aristotle always offered me a tempting target because he reduces complex issues into absolute "sayings." His argument about speech--and human nature--strikes me as impossibly naive. Aristotle's philosophy of "specific purposes" (teleology) always leads to moments like this. After all, how can we say "speech is for justice and unity" when even brief life experience reveals that men often do not use speech for those purposes? Aristotle assumes that speech leads to cooperation and good. But life experience refutes this: Men lie. They don't cooperate. They don't tell the truth. They divide from one another and twist language to advance their narrow interests. And they certainly do not always use language to find justice. In most cases, language leads to injustice.
For his part, Aristotle would say that deceivers do "not use speech according to its purpose." This is a laughable objection, unfortunately: If language's "natural purpose" is to "find justice," then I would argue that people rarely use it "naturally."
Broadly speaking, Aristotle's theory of language reflects a good view of human nature. Aristotle believed that men naturally worked with one another to achieve a "good life." See Politics, Book I, ch. ii at para. 1252b27. He thought that speech gave them a natural tool to discover useful methods for securing a "good life," as well as to distinguish "good from evil," "right from wrong" and "just from unjust." Finally, he thought that men naturally cooperated with each other to achieve a "good life" filled with justice.
These are admirable sentiments. The problem is that Aristotle assumed everything he concluded. Every philosopher must assume certain basic principles in order to develop his theories about life. Aristotle's assumptions sound appealing, but they remain assumptions. For my part, I cannot assume that men are good by nature. And because of that, I cannot assume that men generally use speech for good purposes. Men unite with speech, but they also deceive with it. Men do good with speech; they also do bad. It is no answer to say--as Aristotle does--that they are merely "ignoring speech's natural purpose." There are no overreaching purposes. We simply attach them according to our individual sensitivities.
Aristotle thought that he could find truth by assigning specific purposes to everything open to human experience or imagination. And he assumed that one "truth" exists to be found: That was his worst assumption of all.
As I mentioned last week, I'm re-reading Aristotle's Politics. Surprisingly, I found myself agreeing with many of his points about human beings and their motivations. That surprised me because I always took a prejudiced view against Aristotle. In college, I dismissed him because he was an "absolutist" about truth. But now that many years have passed--and now that I have read so much more--I approach Aristotle with more forgiveness. I do not read him with a smirk anymore. Rather, I read him for what he is: A classical metaphysician. I like some points; I don't like others. It's like reading anyone else.
Yet Aristotle is no average writer. He is a giant among Western philosophers. His views on virtually every subject became dogma for centuries. Men died challenging Aristotlean doctrines in the Catholic church during the Middle Ages. Others risked everything to dispute Aristotle's teachings about ethics and astronomy. As time went on, scientific advances dethroned Aristotle's pre-eminence in some areas. But in others, his influence remains strong--and still relevant. After all, Aristotle wrote about politics, ethics, human beings and beauty. These things cannot be reduced to mathematical fact. Rather, they constantly invite debate, interpretation and reassessment.
Aristotle's political work certainly has continued relevance. Like all the political philosophers who followed him, Aristotle begins by discussing human nature. Aristotle approaches the question with his usual confidence: He makes conclusions as if they were obvious, even if they are just assumptions. He also plays the biologist, constantly comparing humans to their analogues in nature.
I love any discussion about human nature. And I have always disagreed with Aristotle's view here.
Aristotle claims that men are "political animals...by nature." The Politics, Book I, ch. ii, para. 1253a1. He makes this conclusion by examining the key difference between men and beasts: Men have speech. He acknowledges that both animals and men have voice--cows can moo and dogs can bark to voice their feelings--but speech is unique to man.
This might not seem like a profound observation, but Aristotle's understanding of speech is remarkable. The consummate metaphysician, he argues that "speech has a single purpose" and no other. Namely, it enables men to "indicate what is useful and what is harmful," and "what is just or unjust." Id. at para. 1253a7. Finally, he draws the ultimate distinction between men and animals: "[H]umans alone have perception of good and evil, just and unjust." Id.
For Aristotle, then, speech has a justice function. It not only allows men to communicate their feelings, but it exists to help them find what is useful and just for all. This is the natural purpose of speech. It is imbued with a sensitivity for morality (good and evil), practicality (useful and not useful) as well as justice. These are profound concepts. And Aristotle speaks in absolute terms. There is one "good," one "evil," one "justice" and one "useful." In his view, speech enables man to find them all--and to organize States on that basis. Man is not only a speaking animal; his speech allows him to unite with other men to find universal justice in a useful society. What a remarkable assertion.
It is a remarkable assertion because it invites so much scorn. I naturally shy away from absolutes. Aristotle always offered me a tempting target because he reduces complex issues into absolute "sayings." His argument about speech--and human nature--strikes me as impossibly naive. Aristotle's philosophy of "specific purposes" (teleology) always leads to moments like this. After all, how can we say "speech is for justice and unity" when even brief life experience reveals that men often do not use speech for those purposes? Aristotle assumes that speech leads to cooperation and good. But life experience refutes this: Men lie. They don't cooperate. They don't tell the truth. They divide from one another and twist language to advance their narrow interests. And they certainly do not always use language to find justice. In most cases, language leads to injustice.
For his part, Aristotle would say that deceivers do "not use speech according to its purpose." This is a laughable objection, unfortunately: If language's "natural purpose" is to "find justice," then I would argue that people rarely use it "naturally."
Broadly speaking, Aristotle's theory of language reflects a good view of human nature. Aristotle believed that men naturally worked with one another to achieve a "good life." See Politics, Book I, ch. ii at para. 1252b27. He thought that speech gave them a natural tool to discover useful methods for securing a "good life," as well as to distinguish "good from evil," "right from wrong" and "just from unjust." Finally, he thought that men naturally cooperated with each other to achieve a "good life" filled with justice.
These are admirable sentiments. The problem is that Aristotle assumed everything he concluded. Every philosopher must assume certain basic principles in order to develop his theories about life. Aristotle's assumptions sound appealing, but they remain assumptions. For my part, I cannot assume that men are good by nature. And because of that, I cannot assume that men generally use speech for good purposes. Men unite with speech, but they also deceive with it. Men do good with speech; they also do bad. It is no answer to say--as Aristotle does--that they are merely "ignoring speech's natural purpose." There are no overreaching purposes. We simply attach them according to our individual sensitivities.
Aristotle thought that he could find truth by assigning specific purposes to everything open to human experience or imagination. And he assumed that one "truth" exists to be found: That was his worst assumption of all.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
THANKSGIVING BREAK AND READING A LITTLE
Most people don't mind their "daily routines" during Thanksgiving, so I'm going to conserve my energy until Monday. I don't mind playing to an empty theatre, but for my own good I won't this time.
I've been reading an old nemesis for the last couple days: Aristotle. When I was in college, I used to define my personal philosophy against Aristotle. After all, Aristotle--as the father of modern "analysis" and a consummate biologist--believed that everything on earth had a "purpose." But the "purposes" that Aristotle ascribed to everything really were simply assumptions that carried no intrinsic weight, even if they sounded "right." Aristotle also originated the modern notion of "categorization," which is also artificial despite its organizational usefulness. It sounds great to say: "There are four kinds of goodness." Yet even momentary reflection reveals that it is preposterous to narrow something as amorphous as "good" into four absolutely rigid subdivisions.
Aristotle's methods seem suspect to a natural renegade like me. But I don't deny their influence on Western thought. I venture that Aristotle is probably the most influential secular philosopher of all time. His conclusions and observations--while replete with unjustified assumptions--nonetheless set the standard for everyone who came after him. His analytical and categorical processes remain intact in science, law, mathematics and even the arts. While we might disagree with Aristotle's judgments on some subjects, we nonetheless continue to apply his methods when "dissecting" any question into its "component parts" (analysis... literally "taking apart the whole and examining its parts").
It's worthwhile to re-read such an influential philosopher. Aristotle wrote about everything, from marine biology, to singing, to procreation, to politics, to geometry, to ethics, to law and even to drama. I like comprehensive intellects. Aristotle was definitely a comprehensive intellect who learned because he enjoyed it. He might have been wrong about many things, but I respect his contributions to knowledge. I just don't like metaphysical assumptions and assertions that "absolute truth" exists in life.
I will take up some of Aristotle's points in later essays. For now, I'm going to rest.
See you all next week!
Oesterhoudt
I've been reading an old nemesis for the last couple days: Aristotle. When I was in college, I used to define my personal philosophy against Aristotle. After all, Aristotle--as the father of modern "analysis" and a consummate biologist--believed that everything on earth had a "purpose." But the "purposes" that Aristotle ascribed to everything really were simply assumptions that carried no intrinsic weight, even if they sounded "right." Aristotle also originated the modern notion of "categorization," which is also artificial despite its organizational usefulness. It sounds great to say: "There are four kinds of goodness." Yet even momentary reflection reveals that it is preposterous to narrow something as amorphous as "good" into four absolutely rigid subdivisions.
Aristotle's methods seem suspect to a natural renegade like me. But I don't deny their influence on Western thought. I venture that Aristotle is probably the most influential secular philosopher of all time. His conclusions and observations--while replete with unjustified assumptions--nonetheless set the standard for everyone who came after him. His analytical and categorical processes remain intact in science, law, mathematics and even the arts. While we might disagree with Aristotle's judgments on some subjects, we nonetheless continue to apply his methods when "dissecting" any question into its "component parts" (analysis... literally "taking apart the whole and examining its parts").
It's worthwhile to re-read such an influential philosopher. Aristotle wrote about everything, from marine biology, to singing, to procreation, to politics, to geometry, to ethics, to law and even to drama. I like comprehensive intellects. Aristotle was definitely a comprehensive intellect who learned because he enjoyed it. He might have been wrong about many things, but I respect his contributions to knowledge. I just don't like metaphysical assumptions and assertions that "absolute truth" exists in life.
I will take up some of Aristotle's points in later essays. For now, I'm going to rest.
See you all next week!
Oesterhoudt
Monday, May 18, 2009
LUCKY OR HAPPY? WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?
AN ESSAY
I often write about happiness and unhappiness. In my view, human beings long to experience good, positive feelings as much as they can in life. Freud thought the same: “What do [men] demand of life and wish to achieve in it? They strive after happiness; they want to become happy and remain so.” Civilization and its Discontents, p. 25. Yet people say they want to be “happy” without really knowing what it means. All they know is that they want to feel good more than they feel bad—or at least more than they feel physical pain. Still, “feeling happy” is complex, especially in American life. Many people cannot feel happy unless they first achieve some “subsidiary aims,” such as making money, owning property or obtaining the “right life mate.” They exhaust themselves seeking these “subsidiary aims” to such an extent that they lose sight of the end goal: Happiness. Instead, they endless obsess over the “subsidiary aims.” In short, “a means” to happiness replaces the “end.”
Money is the best example. Money is a medium; it is a means to obtain other things, things that will ostensibly bring happiness. Yet many people forget this when they set out upon “the money-making life.” Even Aristotle recognized this 2500 years ago. Interestingly, both Freud and Aristotle agree that men seek happiness in life: “…[What] is it that we say…is the highest of all goods achievable by action? Verbally there is very general agreement; for both the general run of men and people of superior refinement say that it is happiness, and identify living well and doing well with being happy.” Ethics, Book I, Ch. 4. But Aristotle expressly ruled out “money-making” as a pathway to true happiness: “The life of money-making is one undertaken under compulsion, and wealth is evidently not the good we are seeking; for it is merely useful and for the sake of something else.” Ethics, Book I, Ch. 5. In other words, Aristotle understood that money is a “subsidiary aim” that is “merely useful…for the sake of something else,” namely, “happiness.” Despite Aristotle’s warning, however, many Americans live their lives for money. They think it will categorically bring them happiness. In so doing, they are “barking up the wrong tree.” Perhaps that explains why so few Americans think they are happy. If “living for money” categorically cannot win happiness, then there is no way a true “money-maker” will ever find happiness.
If money does not bring happiness, what does? In truth, we can forgive many Americans for their error. After all, we are merely sensory creatures. We believe what we see and hear. Our senses tell us that money appears to make wealthy people happy. They appear to want for nothing. They do not worry about their rent or their bills. They drive beautiful cars, go on exotic vacations and do what they want every day. This stands in stark contrast to our own lives, in which money is a constant worry. When money is a worry, it dominates our outlook. It provides too many opportunities for suffering. In these circumstances, we cannot feel the “strongly positive emotions” that mark happiness. Freud said that the “presence of unpleasure” makes happiness impossible. Cf. Freud, Civilization and its Discontents, p. 34. To paraphrase Bobby McFerrin: When we worry, we cannot be happy. Nonetheless, we believe that if we only cast off the “money yoke,” our worries would disappear, leaving our minds free to finally experience “strongly positive emotions.” From our perspective, the rich have that freedom. That is why we think they must be happy. And that is why we think that money will automatically make us happy, too.
But this is a delusion. One must merely pick up a tabloid newspaper to see that even mega-rich superstars are not happy, either. They might not worry about bills and health care, but they find other sources for “unpleasure” in their lives: Cheating boyfriends, bitter divorces, cancer, lost contracts, sagging boobs, wrinkles, potbellies, baldness, betrayals, Oscar snubs, humiliations, criminal prosecutions for disorderly conduct, drunk driving or domestic abuse… the list goes on. Money did not cause pain here. These unhappy stars have plenty of money. Yet they clearly are not happy, either. They simply experience unpleasure from a different source than the rest.
Where are the happy people, then? If wealth does not bring happiness, what does? In America, commerce is King. This is not just left-wing rhetoric: We really think we can buy anything. Why can’t we buy happiness, too? It seems like a cruel joke. If we seek happiness but we can’t buy it, what is all this chatter about “becoming successful” and “working hard?” If neither success, nor hard work, nor money can categorically create happiness, what is the point? We work hard and attempt to become successful because we want the power to buy things. But if we can’t buy happiness, what do we have? Aristotle and Freud say that we all want happiness. At the same time, American life tells us we need to be successful. Yet the two are not consistent. Success and money do not automatically create happiness. They may provide a means to it, but they are not replacements for happiness. Happiness comes from somewhere else, somewhere within ourselves.
Or does it? Can we fool ourselves into happiness no matter our external circumstances? Can we manipulate our attitudes so that we always feel “strongly positive emotions?” To answer that question, we must examine language. While we colloquially understand that “happiness” means a prevalence of “strongly positive emotions” over “negative feelings, stress and pain,” does that mean that external circumstances play no role in the analysis? Or can we become happy by sheer force of will, despite all the ills that fate throws upon us? In other words, are happy people simply “lucky?” If they are, what does that say about all our frantic efforts to “become happy” in life? If happiness is basically just a crapshoot, why bother even trying to “find happiness” in the first place?
This is not a small concern. In English, there is a very close relationship between the concepts “happiness” and “luck.” “Happy” is an ancient English word. It derives from the root “hap,” which in turn stems from the Old English “haep” and Old Norse “happ,” meaning “convenient” or “suitable.” Webster’s New World College Dictionary, 4th Ed. “Hap” means “chance, luck or lot,” or at least an “occurrence or happening.” “Hap” gives rise not only to “happy,” but also to “happen” and “happenstance.” All these words imply purely random, chance occurrences over which human will appears to have little influence. Looking more closely at “happy,” the dictionary tells us that the word means: “1. favored by circumstances; lucky; fortunate; 2. having, showing or causing a feeling of great pleasure, contentment, joy, etc., joyous, glad, pleased; 3. exactly appropriate to the occasion.” Id. A “happy person,” then, appears to have made little effort in life. Rather, he is merely “favored by circumstances” and “fortunate” to feel the way he does. He feels “great pleasure, contentment and joy” because circumstances favor him. But why do circumstances favor him? Because he is simply “lucky?” If he is “just lucky,” does that mean he played a role in his own happiness? Or did “fate” just randomly bless him? Here, we can already see the trouble brewing. To be “happy,” our “circumstances” must “favor us.” We must be “lucky” and “fortunate.” We must benefit from “chance occurrences” and “happenstance” to be “happy.” Our own efforts seem irrelevant to the task. Put simply, “happiness” requires “luckiness.”
So what does “lucky” mean? According to Webster, “lucky” means “having good luck; fortunate.” Webster’s New World Dictionary, 4th Ed. Again, we see “fortune” at work in these concepts. Fortune involves random chance, not purposeful action. And what about “good luck?” “Luck,” like “hap,” is an ancient English word. It derives from the Indo-European root “leuk,” meaning “what bends together” or “what occurs.” That root evolved into the Middle Dutch “luk” and the German “Glück.” In German, “Glück” translates not only to “luck,” but also to “happiness.” Bertelsmann’s Deutsches Wörterbuch tells us that “Glück” means: “1. favorable, fortunate circumstances or a turn of events; a coincidence; 2. the success that comes from that turn of events; 3. a feeling of inner satisfaction and joy, especially after accomplishing sought-after wishes; 4. favorable chance (my translations).” In English, Webster says that “luck” means: “1. the seemingly chance happening of events that affect someone; fortune; fate; 2. good fortune; success; prosperity; advantage.” Webster’s New World College Dictionary, 4th Ed.
In all these words, we see an undeniable link between “chance,” “luck” and “happiness.” In German, the link is intrinsic; “Glück” means both “luck” and “happiness.” It describes not only “chance events” and “favorable occurrences,” but also the “feeling of inner satisfaction and joy” that springs from them. It is no coincidence that the English “luck” relates to “Glück.” Although the English definition for “luck” does not list “the feeling of inner satisfaction and joy” that springs from chance events, the word “happy” directly implies “luckiness.” See “happy” definition, supra. And both words relate back to the Indo-European notion that “luck” merely means that things “bend together” for a person’s benefit. Put another way, luck is random. Human will does not affect it. It blesses its beneficiaries without regard to their efforts, intentions, wishes or merits.
In this etymological light, does it make any sense to “pursue happiness?” It appears not. After all, it seems that happiness depends on luck. Luck blesses at random; it does not favor those who “really want to be happy” or who “work really hard” at it. Without “chance occurrences,” “fortune,” “coincidence,” “turns of events,” “fate” and “favorable circumstances,” we will never truly fit the “happy” definition. The word “pursue” implies purposeful action directed toward a particular object. Yet when we “pursue happiness,” we attempt to secure something that eludes human intention altogether. We cannot really “pursue” something that will happen by chance. Our best and most intensive efforts will not cause something to occur at random. At the most, we can “hope” for such events; we do not “pursue” them. We can boldly struggle to mold our circumstances by effort and toil. But if chance stands against us, it seems that we will never find happiness. Ironically, however, a person may be happy even if he makes no effort at all. As long as “fortune” and “luck” meet on his side, he will experience the “joy and contentment” that arise from his “lucky circumstances.” On some level, we all know this. We have seen examples. This is why we contemptuously dismiss some “happy people” as “lucky bastards.” It just doesn’t seem fair that circumstances “bent together for them,” but not for us. After all, we think we did more, earned more and worked more than they did. Yet they became happy because they got lucky, while we slave away without fortune’s blessings. And we certainly do not experience “great contentment or joy,” because our circumstances are not “favorable.”
But fairness and happiness do not go hand in hand. To use a cliché, life is not fair, just as random events, chance occurrences and “fortune” do not reward us all equally. This perplexes us. We learn that hard work, determination and rational behavior will bring us success, then happiness. We think we have rational control over our feelings and our destinies. We think we should be rewarded for “making all the right moves” and “paying our dues.” Yet “circumstances favor” certain people over others without regard to their merit, effort, ability or zeal. It is no answer to say that some “really hard working people” generate their own circumstances. To some extent, life unfolds without regard to human choice or will. Certain people benefit from totally random occurrences. They meet the right people at the right times. They have the right idea in the right decade. Or they simply happen to please the right person, who happened to live at the right moment in history. Others are simply born with great advantages. No calculation can presage these “chance” occurrences. Yet “luck” bestows them on some, and not others. Blessed with luck, they relish the “feeling of inner satisfaction and joy” that flows from their circumstances: They are “happy.” But they were “lucky” first.
Where does this leave us? In a word, it leaves us with the disheartening impression that we do not have total control over our lives. Benjamin Franklin and other enterprising Americans throughout our history disparaged luck, claiming that hard work and “good decisions” “manufactured” luck for them. They said: “Anyone can make it as long as they work hard.” But this, I fear, is propaganda. In my view, men like Benjamin Franklin benefited from luck and chance, no matter how hard they worked. Lord knows how many hard working people have lived on this planet who never benefited from “lucky chances.” They never became successful, famous or even happy. The lucky ones will always say: “This is how I did it… and you can do it, too!” That statement defies the very nature of luck. Luck only chooses some, not all. And it has nothing to do with talent or merit. Talent does not even increase the chances that “luck will strike.” Random means random. There is no way to influence it.
At this point, I cannot avoid discussing destiny as opposed to pure reason. I must confess that I believe in destiny, at least to the degree than I cannot rationally account for certain chance events in life. I cannot verify with my senses why I met certain people in life, why certain people lived, and others died. Quite simply, luck plays a huge role in life. And grammatically speaking, it is a prerequisite for happiness. Thus, it is a matter of chance and coincidence whether we become happy, since nothing can control the “random events” that will generate the circumstances necessary to experience the “strongly positive emotions” that flow from those lucky circumstances. Or perhaps it is destiny that determines who benefits from “chance events,” if they are even “chance events” at all. What do I know? If destiny chooses the people who benefit from chance events—and thus become happy—does that not sound like quasi-religion? There are chosen ones and there are the damned.
We all want happiness. We all want to feel good more than we feel bad. We listen to philosophers and heroes who offer us ways to find it. Yet we cannot escape grammar. Happiness turns largely on luck. Lucky people are happy. Unlucky people are not. Think about it. If some truly unlucky event befalls you, are you happy? Definitely not. Chance did not favor you. But if a lucky event befalls you, are you happy? Absolutely. You benefited from chance. It changed your circumstances and you feel great about it. Did you influence the chance events? Probably not. They would not be “chance events” if you did.
I suppose the only way to cope with luck is to cultivate a healthy respect for uncertainty in life. Maybe we will be happy. Perhaps we won’t. Yet we can spare ourselves heartbreak if we refrain from pursuing it. After all, we cannot pursue luck. And without luck, there is no true happiness. In America, this is a hard way to live. We learn that we can control our lives and we can buy anything. Yet no store sells luck or happiness. Luck can give us money, but money can’t give us luck. By the same token, money can’t give us happiness. You need luck for that.
I often write about happiness and unhappiness. In my view, human beings long to experience good, positive feelings as much as they can in life. Freud thought the same: “What do [men] demand of life and wish to achieve in it? They strive after happiness; they want to become happy and remain so.” Civilization and its Discontents, p. 25. Yet people say they want to be “happy” without really knowing what it means. All they know is that they want to feel good more than they feel bad—or at least more than they feel physical pain. Still, “feeling happy” is complex, especially in American life. Many people cannot feel happy unless they first achieve some “subsidiary aims,” such as making money, owning property or obtaining the “right life mate.” They exhaust themselves seeking these “subsidiary aims” to such an extent that they lose sight of the end goal: Happiness. Instead, they endless obsess over the “subsidiary aims.” In short, “a means” to happiness replaces the “end.”
Money is the best example. Money is a medium; it is a means to obtain other things, things that will ostensibly bring happiness. Yet many people forget this when they set out upon “the money-making life.” Even Aristotle recognized this 2500 years ago. Interestingly, both Freud and Aristotle agree that men seek happiness in life: “…[What] is it that we say…is the highest of all goods achievable by action? Verbally there is very general agreement; for both the general run of men and people of superior refinement say that it is happiness, and identify living well and doing well with being happy.” Ethics, Book I, Ch. 4. But Aristotle expressly ruled out “money-making” as a pathway to true happiness: “The life of money-making is one undertaken under compulsion, and wealth is evidently not the good we are seeking; for it is merely useful and for the sake of something else.” Ethics, Book I, Ch. 5. In other words, Aristotle understood that money is a “subsidiary aim” that is “merely useful…for the sake of something else,” namely, “happiness.” Despite Aristotle’s warning, however, many Americans live their lives for money. They think it will categorically bring them happiness. In so doing, they are “barking up the wrong tree.” Perhaps that explains why so few Americans think they are happy. If “living for money” categorically cannot win happiness, then there is no way a true “money-maker” will ever find happiness.
If money does not bring happiness, what does? In truth, we can forgive many Americans for their error. After all, we are merely sensory creatures. We believe what we see and hear. Our senses tell us that money appears to make wealthy people happy. They appear to want for nothing. They do not worry about their rent or their bills. They drive beautiful cars, go on exotic vacations and do what they want every day. This stands in stark contrast to our own lives, in which money is a constant worry. When money is a worry, it dominates our outlook. It provides too many opportunities for suffering. In these circumstances, we cannot feel the “strongly positive emotions” that mark happiness. Freud said that the “presence of unpleasure” makes happiness impossible. Cf. Freud, Civilization and its Discontents, p. 34. To paraphrase Bobby McFerrin: When we worry, we cannot be happy. Nonetheless, we believe that if we only cast off the “money yoke,” our worries would disappear, leaving our minds free to finally experience “strongly positive emotions.” From our perspective, the rich have that freedom. That is why we think they must be happy. And that is why we think that money will automatically make us happy, too.
But this is a delusion. One must merely pick up a tabloid newspaper to see that even mega-rich superstars are not happy, either. They might not worry about bills and health care, but they find other sources for “unpleasure” in their lives: Cheating boyfriends, bitter divorces, cancer, lost contracts, sagging boobs, wrinkles, potbellies, baldness, betrayals, Oscar snubs, humiliations, criminal prosecutions for disorderly conduct, drunk driving or domestic abuse… the list goes on. Money did not cause pain here. These unhappy stars have plenty of money. Yet they clearly are not happy, either. They simply experience unpleasure from a different source than the rest.
Where are the happy people, then? If wealth does not bring happiness, what does? In America, commerce is King. This is not just left-wing rhetoric: We really think we can buy anything. Why can’t we buy happiness, too? It seems like a cruel joke. If we seek happiness but we can’t buy it, what is all this chatter about “becoming successful” and “working hard?” If neither success, nor hard work, nor money can categorically create happiness, what is the point? We work hard and attempt to become successful because we want the power to buy things. But if we can’t buy happiness, what do we have? Aristotle and Freud say that we all want happiness. At the same time, American life tells us we need to be successful. Yet the two are not consistent. Success and money do not automatically create happiness. They may provide a means to it, but they are not replacements for happiness. Happiness comes from somewhere else, somewhere within ourselves.
Or does it? Can we fool ourselves into happiness no matter our external circumstances? Can we manipulate our attitudes so that we always feel “strongly positive emotions?” To answer that question, we must examine language. While we colloquially understand that “happiness” means a prevalence of “strongly positive emotions” over “negative feelings, stress and pain,” does that mean that external circumstances play no role in the analysis? Or can we become happy by sheer force of will, despite all the ills that fate throws upon us? In other words, are happy people simply “lucky?” If they are, what does that say about all our frantic efforts to “become happy” in life? If happiness is basically just a crapshoot, why bother even trying to “find happiness” in the first place?
This is not a small concern. In English, there is a very close relationship between the concepts “happiness” and “luck.” “Happy” is an ancient English word. It derives from the root “hap,” which in turn stems from the Old English “haep” and Old Norse “happ,” meaning “convenient” or “suitable.” Webster’s New World College Dictionary, 4th Ed. “Hap” means “chance, luck or lot,” or at least an “occurrence or happening.” “Hap” gives rise not only to “happy,” but also to “happen” and “happenstance.” All these words imply purely random, chance occurrences over which human will appears to have little influence. Looking more closely at “happy,” the dictionary tells us that the word means: “1. favored by circumstances; lucky; fortunate; 2. having, showing or causing a feeling of great pleasure, contentment, joy, etc., joyous, glad, pleased; 3. exactly appropriate to the occasion.” Id. A “happy person,” then, appears to have made little effort in life. Rather, he is merely “favored by circumstances” and “fortunate” to feel the way he does. He feels “great pleasure, contentment and joy” because circumstances favor him. But why do circumstances favor him? Because he is simply “lucky?” If he is “just lucky,” does that mean he played a role in his own happiness? Or did “fate” just randomly bless him? Here, we can already see the trouble brewing. To be “happy,” our “circumstances” must “favor us.” We must be “lucky” and “fortunate.” We must benefit from “chance occurrences” and “happenstance” to be “happy.” Our own efforts seem irrelevant to the task. Put simply, “happiness” requires “luckiness.”
So what does “lucky” mean? According to Webster, “lucky” means “having good luck; fortunate.” Webster’s New World Dictionary, 4th Ed. Again, we see “fortune” at work in these concepts. Fortune involves random chance, not purposeful action. And what about “good luck?” “Luck,” like “hap,” is an ancient English word. It derives from the Indo-European root “leuk,” meaning “what bends together” or “what occurs.” That root evolved into the Middle Dutch “luk” and the German “Glück.” In German, “Glück” translates not only to “luck,” but also to “happiness.” Bertelsmann’s Deutsches Wörterbuch tells us that “Glück” means: “1. favorable, fortunate circumstances or a turn of events; a coincidence; 2. the success that comes from that turn of events; 3. a feeling of inner satisfaction and joy, especially after accomplishing sought-after wishes; 4. favorable chance (my translations).” In English, Webster says that “luck” means: “1. the seemingly chance happening of events that affect someone; fortune; fate; 2. good fortune; success; prosperity; advantage.” Webster’s New World College Dictionary, 4th Ed.
In all these words, we see an undeniable link between “chance,” “luck” and “happiness.” In German, the link is intrinsic; “Glück” means both “luck” and “happiness.” It describes not only “chance events” and “favorable occurrences,” but also the “feeling of inner satisfaction and joy” that springs from them. It is no coincidence that the English “luck” relates to “Glück.” Although the English definition for “luck” does not list “the feeling of inner satisfaction and joy” that springs from chance events, the word “happy” directly implies “luckiness.” See “happy” definition, supra. And both words relate back to the Indo-European notion that “luck” merely means that things “bend together” for a person’s benefit. Put another way, luck is random. Human will does not affect it. It blesses its beneficiaries without regard to their efforts, intentions, wishes or merits.
In this etymological light, does it make any sense to “pursue happiness?” It appears not. After all, it seems that happiness depends on luck. Luck blesses at random; it does not favor those who “really want to be happy” or who “work really hard” at it. Without “chance occurrences,” “fortune,” “coincidence,” “turns of events,” “fate” and “favorable circumstances,” we will never truly fit the “happy” definition. The word “pursue” implies purposeful action directed toward a particular object. Yet when we “pursue happiness,” we attempt to secure something that eludes human intention altogether. We cannot really “pursue” something that will happen by chance. Our best and most intensive efforts will not cause something to occur at random. At the most, we can “hope” for such events; we do not “pursue” them. We can boldly struggle to mold our circumstances by effort and toil. But if chance stands against us, it seems that we will never find happiness. Ironically, however, a person may be happy even if he makes no effort at all. As long as “fortune” and “luck” meet on his side, he will experience the “joy and contentment” that arise from his “lucky circumstances.” On some level, we all know this. We have seen examples. This is why we contemptuously dismiss some “happy people” as “lucky bastards.” It just doesn’t seem fair that circumstances “bent together for them,” but not for us. After all, we think we did more, earned more and worked more than they did. Yet they became happy because they got lucky, while we slave away without fortune’s blessings. And we certainly do not experience “great contentment or joy,” because our circumstances are not “favorable.”
But fairness and happiness do not go hand in hand. To use a cliché, life is not fair, just as random events, chance occurrences and “fortune” do not reward us all equally. This perplexes us. We learn that hard work, determination and rational behavior will bring us success, then happiness. We think we have rational control over our feelings and our destinies. We think we should be rewarded for “making all the right moves” and “paying our dues.” Yet “circumstances favor” certain people over others without regard to their merit, effort, ability or zeal. It is no answer to say that some “really hard working people” generate their own circumstances. To some extent, life unfolds without regard to human choice or will. Certain people benefit from totally random occurrences. They meet the right people at the right times. They have the right idea in the right decade. Or they simply happen to please the right person, who happened to live at the right moment in history. Others are simply born with great advantages. No calculation can presage these “chance” occurrences. Yet “luck” bestows them on some, and not others. Blessed with luck, they relish the “feeling of inner satisfaction and joy” that flows from their circumstances: They are “happy.” But they were “lucky” first.
Where does this leave us? In a word, it leaves us with the disheartening impression that we do not have total control over our lives. Benjamin Franklin and other enterprising Americans throughout our history disparaged luck, claiming that hard work and “good decisions” “manufactured” luck for them. They said: “Anyone can make it as long as they work hard.” But this, I fear, is propaganda. In my view, men like Benjamin Franklin benefited from luck and chance, no matter how hard they worked. Lord knows how many hard working people have lived on this planet who never benefited from “lucky chances.” They never became successful, famous or even happy. The lucky ones will always say: “This is how I did it… and you can do it, too!” That statement defies the very nature of luck. Luck only chooses some, not all. And it has nothing to do with talent or merit. Talent does not even increase the chances that “luck will strike.” Random means random. There is no way to influence it.
At this point, I cannot avoid discussing destiny as opposed to pure reason. I must confess that I believe in destiny, at least to the degree than I cannot rationally account for certain chance events in life. I cannot verify with my senses why I met certain people in life, why certain people lived, and others died. Quite simply, luck plays a huge role in life. And grammatically speaking, it is a prerequisite for happiness. Thus, it is a matter of chance and coincidence whether we become happy, since nothing can control the “random events” that will generate the circumstances necessary to experience the “strongly positive emotions” that flow from those lucky circumstances. Or perhaps it is destiny that determines who benefits from “chance events,” if they are even “chance events” at all. What do I know? If destiny chooses the people who benefit from chance events—and thus become happy—does that not sound like quasi-religion? There are chosen ones and there are the damned.
We all want happiness. We all want to feel good more than we feel bad. We listen to philosophers and heroes who offer us ways to find it. Yet we cannot escape grammar. Happiness turns largely on luck. Lucky people are happy. Unlucky people are not. Think about it. If some truly unlucky event befalls you, are you happy? Definitely not. Chance did not favor you. But if a lucky event befalls you, are you happy? Absolutely. You benefited from chance. It changed your circumstances and you feel great about it. Did you influence the chance events? Probably not. They would not be “chance events” if you did.
I suppose the only way to cope with luck is to cultivate a healthy respect for uncertainty in life. Maybe we will be happy. Perhaps we won’t. Yet we can spare ourselves heartbreak if we refrain from pursuing it. After all, we cannot pursue luck. And without luck, there is no true happiness. In America, this is a hard way to live. We learn that we can control our lives and we can buy anything. Yet no store sells luck or happiness. Luck can give us money, but money can’t give us luck. By the same token, money can’t give us happiness. You need luck for that.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
MORALITY DOES NOT PROVE THAT HUMAN BEINGS ARE NATURALLY GOOD OR COOPERATIVE : A RESPONSE TO DAVID BROOKS
AN ESSAY
Three days ago, David Brooks published a popular editorial in the New York Times entitled “The End of Philosophy.” See N.Y. Times April 6, 2009. In it, he argues that new studies concerning morality have “[challenged] the bookish way philosophy is conceived by most people.” He bases his conclusion on “new” research that links moral theories with “human emotion” rather than “abstract reasoning,” and the fact that moral rules arise because people “just know things” when they see them. He also concludes that moral rules descend to us because human beings are “successful cooperators” who naturally praise values such as loyalty, cohesion and “tradition.” Viewing these developments, he concludes that moral rules show that human beings seek “goodness as an end in itself” rather than “a means.” In sum, he labels these developments an “epochal change.”
At the outset, I was impressed that Mr. Brooks stepped into the age-old philosophical debate about morality. Yet there is nothing new about his assertion that human morality derives from “emotion” rather than reason. In truth, morality has little to do with rational postulation. Instead, as I have written many times before, morality represents nothing more than a particular society’s long-held social beliefs, customs, values, traditions, judgments and intuitive “feeling” about whether something is “good” or “bad.” It is about judgment, not cooperation. If our ancestors felt that something was noxious, disgusting or rancid, they labeled it bad, then “immoral.” They did not like encountering smelly things. They thought dead carcasses were “disgusting.” They thought that human waste was “disgusting” and “smelly.” If their fellow man smelled bad, then he, too, was “disgusting” and “bad.” If a man had anal sex, that was “disgusting” and “bad” because they associated the anus with human waste—and that “smelled bad.” If a man betrayed his brother, the aggrieved party felt disgusted, then labeled the traitor “bad.” These original, visceral—and ultimately sensory—judgments come down to us as “modern morality.” Mr. Brooks is correct that they do not derive from pure reason; instead, they are intuitive, emotional responses to “disgusting” stimuli.
Morality is quintessentially organic. It develops over time and descends. There is nothing metaphysical about the inquiry. And that is significant: After all, Mr. Brooks argues that moral rules lead people to “the good” as “an end,” as if there were an absolute “good” to achieve in the first place. If anything, moral rules enshrine original, emotional judgments of powerful men in distant history. These men cared nothing for “absolute good.” They simply knew what they smelled and they did not like it. In this light, Mr. Brooks is profoundly confused. Morality is organic, not metaphysical. It is judgmental, not neutral. He is right that it derived from human emotion, but he is wrong that it proves that human beings are “good, “cooperative,” “empathetic” and “altruistic.” Quite the contrary, men historically have used morality much more often to dominate and tyrannize their fellow man, not to cooperate with him.
Mr. Brooks finds it reassuring that there are philosophers out there who think about morality in a way that “entails a warmer view of human nature.” In other words, he finds it comforting that morality serves “the good” and perpetuates “human cooperation,” as well as respect for “tradition, religion and loyalty” as positive moral values. He thinks these “discoveries” represent an “epochal change.” But what is so new about relating morality to human emotion and intuitive preference? In 1887, Friedrich Nietzsche wrote that the notion “good” derives not from some metaphysical conception of “useful behavior,” but rather from the individual judgments of “the noble, the privileged, the higher and the sophisticated, who considered their activity and themselves as ‘first-rate,’ in contrast to all low, mean, common and rabble-like people.” On the Genealogy of Morals, First Essay, § 2 (my translation). Over 120 years ago, Nietzsche knew that morality was about judgment, inequality, condescension and power, not cooperation. This “power” to create moral rules involved the power to designate whether conduct was “good” or “bad:” “The right of the master to give names extends so far that we can even understand that the origin of language itself represents an expression of power by the ruling classes: they tell us ‘this is this, and this is that (emphasis added).’” Id. In short, we have known for a long time that our “powerful ancient masters” had the authority to enshrine their emotional judgments as “moral rules.” And they weren’t trying to “warmly” cooperate with the “masses,” either.
In truth, I could not help laughing when I read Mr. Brooks’ argument that morality shows human beings “at their best.” In my experience, morality shows human beings at their worst. When I read a discussion about morality that does not involve disgust, judgment, hatred and resentment, I know something is wrong. After all, morality is about power. When powerful people judge, they necessarily must focus that judgment on someone who has “deviated from the moral standard.” Morality requires judgment to maintain its authority. After all, how could we praise “good” behavior if we did not also condemn “bad” behavior? Mr. Brooks believes that it is “moral” to be “loyal” because human beings are “successful cooperators” who found loyalty helpful in reaching their common goals. Yet this does not prove that human beings are good. Rather, it proves that our ancient forbears praised people who helped them hunt or build a house, while they condemned and hated people who said they would help, but did not. They felt disgust and hatred toward the people who broke their promises. They transformed that disgust into a judgment: “Disloyal people are bad; loyal people are good. Loyal people make me feel good. Disloyal people make me feel bad. Therefore, I like loyal people and I hate disloyal people.” It is pathetically simple. It is not nuanced. Yet this supposedly reveals human beings as “naturally good” creatures? No—it reveals human beings as self-interested, judgmental and simple-minded creatures: They like things they find “good” and they “hate” things they find “disgusting” and “bad.” This shows inherent goodness? I think not. It shows only that human beings have intuitive preferences and make judgments according to those preferences.
“Thing smell good. Me like. Thing smell bad. Me hate.” Tell me again: What is so earth-shattering about this?
In moral questions, there is no “inherent good.” There is only power and judgment. True, there are many behaviors that most of us would consider both “good” and “moral.” For example, we all hate lying, stealing, murdering, thieving, robbing and violence. Morality labels these behaviors “immoral” and “bad.” We agree with morality in these cases. Yet we often fail to understand that when we apply moral rules, we are applying an ancient code. Moral judgments come down to us over many generations and we absorb them fully into our subconscious. But this is not because morality arose through the efforts of well-intentioned men. Rather, morality arose because powerful men pronounced their emotional judgments about behavior long ago, and those judgments prevailed. Now we live with their pronouncements. They labeled stealing, murdering and robbing “disgusting.” Their view triumphed. Now their judgments rule us.
But what about behavior that harms no one? Mr. Brooks completely fails to visit this “darker side” of moral history. After all, morality is about power and judgment. We face no problem when the powerful label obviously harmful activity “bad” and “immoral.” Similarly, we have no problem when we judge people who deviate from these “good” standards. But what happens when powerful men—or even majorities—find certain behavior “disgusting” that is not clearly harmful? Throughout history, powerful men have found certain innocuous behavior “disgusting” and severely judged it. It is one thing to deem murder “disgusting,” but quite another to deem interracial marriage “disgusting.” What about consensual sodomy? Is that “disgusting?” Is it “immoral?” If we say yes, does that mean we “show ourselves to be successful cooperators” and “altruists?” When human beings formulate moral rules, they focus their social energy on an enemy. They judge that enemy with ruthless spite. They say the enemy is “disgusting,” “wicked,” “evil,” “deviant,” “abhorrent,” “abominable,” “sinful,” “wretched” and “wrong.” As recently as the 18th Century, English common law courts hanged men for engaging in consensual sex with one another for the “heinous and detestable sin of sodomy.” See, e.g., http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17260420-64-off299&div=t17260420-64#highlight. This is what morality can lead to. Contrary to Mr. Brooks’ assertion, this does not show humans “at their best,” nor does it reveal a “warmer, cooperative side” to human nature. Quite the contrary, morality can show human beings at their most unjust, most intolerant and most peremptory. And why? Because some people consider a particular behavior “disgusting,” even if it harms no one. They just think it “smells bad.” In my view, there is nothing “cooperative,” “warm” or “altruistic” about executing “immoral” people.
Morality vexes me because it is firmly engrained in culture. It is exceedingly difficult to trace its origins. Every society has its own moral code, just as every person has his own tastes. It makes sense to analogize morality with taste because moral rules reflect subjective judgments, just as taste does. Yet this also makes it hard to understand. Morality, after all, looks like law. It lays down external rules. It projects authority. It judges and punishes. The problem is divining its origins. Law begins with an acknowledged sovereign, but morality begins in primeval, emotional history. Mr. Brooks correctly points out that morality finds its roots in individual emotional intuition, not theoretical abstraction. Thereafter, his analysis veers into strange territory, concluding in essence that human beings are naturally good, and that their moral rules reflect good, cooperative principles.
But Mr. Brooks is wrong on these points. For one, it makes no sense to assume that there is “absolute good” while arguing that men’s moral rules do not conform to “absolute good.” Second, Mr. Brooks does not recognize that moral rules only arise through power, and they only preserve their authority through judgment, hatred and resentment. Last, Mr. Brooks is startlingly incorrect to use morality as proof of human goodness, altruism and cooperation. If anything, our moral history reveals humans as intolerant, judgmental, cruel and divisive creatures. Mr. Brooks may debunk Socrates to begin his essay, but he praises Aristotle at the end.
Aristotle believed that human beings were cooperative creatures, like bees and fish. He believed that every human activity had a natural purpose, just as every animal activity appears to have a natural purpose. He assumed that men pursued a metaphysical “good.” Yet these are all theoretical abstractions. Mr. Brooks says that morality does not conform to theoretical abstraction, but in the end he assumes that men follow morality to reach metaphysical “good.” He would be better to recognize that morality has no “natural purpose,” and there is no “metaphysical good.” Rather, morality is nothing but power and judgment. Powerful men say what they like, what they hate, pass it down, and punish those who disagree. In this sense, moral rules reflect inequality and division, not cooperation and altruism. And they certainly do not reveal a “warmer side” to human nature. Instead, they show that human beings will always divide themselves from one another and judge one another according to “the right moral code.”
This is not an “epochal change.” This is the way it has always been.
Three days ago, David Brooks published a popular editorial in the New York Times entitled “The End of Philosophy.” See N.Y. Times April 6, 2009. In it, he argues that new studies concerning morality have “[challenged] the bookish way philosophy is conceived by most people.” He bases his conclusion on “new” research that links moral theories with “human emotion” rather than “abstract reasoning,” and the fact that moral rules arise because people “just know things” when they see them. He also concludes that moral rules descend to us because human beings are “successful cooperators” who naturally praise values such as loyalty, cohesion and “tradition.” Viewing these developments, he concludes that moral rules show that human beings seek “goodness as an end in itself” rather than “a means.” In sum, he labels these developments an “epochal change.”
At the outset, I was impressed that Mr. Brooks stepped into the age-old philosophical debate about morality. Yet there is nothing new about his assertion that human morality derives from “emotion” rather than reason. In truth, morality has little to do with rational postulation. Instead, as I have written many times before, morality represents nothing more than a particular society’s long-held social beliefs, customs, values, traditions, judgments and intuitive “feeling” about whether something is “good” or “bad.” It is about judgment, not cooperation. If our ancestors felt that something was noxious, disgusting or rancid, they labeled it bad, then “immoral.” They did not like encountering smelly things. They thought dead carcasses were “disgusting.” They thought that human waste was “disgusting” and “smelly.” If their fellow man smelled bad, then he, too, was “disgusting” and “bad.” If a man had anal sex, that was “disgusting” and “bad” because they associated the anus with human waste—and that “smelled bad.” If a man betrayed his brother, the aggrieved party felt disgusted, then labeled the traitor “bad.” These original, visceral—and ultimately sensory—judgments come down to us as “modern morality.” Mr. Brooks is correct that they do not derive from pure reason; instead, they are intuitive, emotional responses to “disgusting” stimuli.
Morality is quintessentially organic. It develops over time and descends. There is nothing metaphysical about the inquiry. And that is significant: After all, Mr. Brooks argues that moral rules lead people to “the good” as “an end,” as if there were an absolute “good” to achieve in the first place. If anything, moral rules enshrine original, emotional judgments of powerful men in distant history. These men cared nothing for “absolute good.” They simply knew what they smelled and they did not like it. In this light, Mr. Brooks is profoundly confused. Morality is organic, not metaphysical. It is judgmental, not neutral. He is right that it derived from human emotion, but he is wrong that it proves that human beings are “good, “cooperative,” “empathetic” and “altruistic.” Quite the contrary, men historically have used morality much more often to dominate and tyrannize their fellow man, not to cooperate with him.
Mr. Brooks finds it reassuring that there are philosophers out there who think about morality in a way that “entails a warmer view of human nature.” In other words, he finds it comforting that morality serves “the good” and perpetuates “human cooperation,” as well as respect for “tradition, religion and loyalty” as positive moral values. He thinks these “discoveries” represent an “epochal change.” But what is so new about relating morality to human emotion and intuitive preference? In 1887, Friedrich Nietzsche wrote that the notion “good” derives not from some metaphysical conception of “useful behavior,” but rather from the individual judgments of “the noble, the privileged, the higher and the sophisticated, who considered their activity and themselves as ‘first-rate,’ in contrast to all low, mean, common and rabble-like people.” On the Genealogy of Morals, First Essay, § 2 (my translation). Over 120 years ago, Nietzsche knew that morality was about judgment, inequality, condescension and power, not cooperation. This “power” to create moral rules involved the power to designate whether conduct was “good” or “bad:” “The right of the master to give names extends so far that we can even understand that the origin of language itself represents an expression of power by the ruling classes: they tell us ‘this is this, and this is that (emphasis added).’” Id. In short, we have known for a long time that our “powerful ancient masters” had the authority to enshrine their emotional judgments as “moral rules.” And they weren’t trying to “warmly” cooperate with the “masses,” either.
In truth, I could not help laughing when I read Mr. Brooks’ argument that morality shows human beings “at their best.” In my experience, morality shows human beings at their worst. When I read a discussion about morality that does not involve disgust, judgment, hatred and resentment, I know something is wrong. After all, morality is about power. When powerful people judge, they necessarily must focus that judgment on someone who has “deviated from the moral standard.” Morality requires judgment to maintain its authority. After all, how could we praise “good” behavior if we did not also condemn “bad” behavior? Mr. Brooks believes that it is “moral” to be “loyal” because human beings are “successful cooperators” who found loyalty helpful in reaching their common goals. Yet this does not prove that human beings are good. Rather, it proves that our ancient forbears praised people who helped them hunt or build a house, while they condemned and hated people who said they would help, but did not. They felt disgust and hatred toward the people who broke their promises. They transformed that disgust into a judgment: “Disloyal people are bad; loyal people are good. Loyal people make me feel good. Disloyal people make me feel bad. Therefore, I like loyal people and I hate disloyal people.” It is pathetically simple. It is not nuanced. Yet this supposedly reveals human beings as “naturally good” creatures? No—it reveals human beings as self-interested, judgmental and simple-minded creatures: They like things they find “good” and they “hate” things they find “disgusting” and “bad.” This shows inherent goodness? I think not. It shows only that human beings have intuitive preferences and make judgments according to those preferences.
“Thing smell good. Me like. Thing smell bad. Me hate.” Tell me again: What is so earth-shattering about this?
In moral questions, there is no “inherent good.” There is only power and judgment. True, there are many behaviors that most of us would consider both “good” and “moral.” For example, we all hate lying, stealing, murdering, thieving, robbing and violence. Morality labels these behaviors “immoral” and “bad.” We agree with morality in these cases. Yet we often fail to understand that when we apply moral rules, we are applying an ancient code. Moral judgments come down to us over many generations and we absorb them fully into our subconscious. But this is not because morality arose through the efforts of well-intentioned men. Rather, morality arose because powerful men pronounced their emotional judgments about behavior long ago, and those judgments prevailed. Now we live with their pronouncements. They labeled stealing, murdering and robbing “disgusting.” Their view triumphed. Now their judgments rule us.
But what about behavior that harms no one? Mr. Brooks completely fails to visit this “darker side” of moral history. After all, morality is about power and judgment. We face no problem when the powerful label obviously harmful activity “bad” and “immoral.” Similarly, we have no problem when we judge people who deviate from these “good” standards. But what happens when powerful men—or even majorities—find certain behavior “disgusting” that is not clearly harmful? Throughout history, powerful men have found certain innocuous behavior “disgusting” and severely judged it. It is one thing to deem murder “disgusting,” but quite another to deem interracial marriage “disgusting.” What about consensual sodomy? Is that “disgusting?” Is it “immoral?” If we say yes, does that mean we “show ourselves to be successful cooperators” and “altruists?” When human beings formulate moral rules, they focus their social energy on an enemy. They judge that enemy with ruthless spite. They say the enemy is “disgusting,” “wicked,” “evil,” “deviant,” “abhorrent,” “abominable,” “sinful,” “wretched” and “wrong.” As recently as the 18th Century, English common law courts hanged men for engaging in consensual sex with one another for the “heinous and detestable sin of sodomy.” See, e.g., http://www.oldbaileyonline.org/browse.jsp?id=t17260420-64-off299&div=t17260420-64#highlight. This is what morality can lead to. Contrary to Mr. Brooks’ assertion, this does not show humans “at their best,” nor does it reveal a “warmer, cooperative side” to human nature. Quite the contrary, morality can show human beings at their most unjust, most intolerant and most peremptory. And why? Because some people consider a particular behavior “disgusting,” even if it harms no one. They just think it “smells bad.” In my view, there is nothing “cooperative,” “warm” or “altruistic” about executing “immoral” people.
Morality vexes me because it is firmly engrained in culture. It is exceedingly difficult to trace its origins. Every society has its own moral code, just as every person has his own tastes. It makes sense to analogize morality with taste because moral rules reflect subjective judgments, just as taste does. Yet this also makes it hard to understand. Morality, after all, looks like law. It lays down external rules. It projects authority. It judges and punishes. The problem is divining its origins. Law begins with an acknowledged sovereign, but morality begins in primeval, emotional history. Mr. Brooks correctly points out that morality finds its roots in individual emotional intuition, not theoretical abstraction. Thereafter, his analysis veers into strange territory, concluding in essence that human beings are naturally good, and that their moral rules reflect good, cooperative principles.
But Mr. Brooks is wrong on these points. For one, it makes no sense to assume that there is “absolute good” while arguing that men’s moral rules do not conform to “absolute good.” Second, Mr. Brooks does not recognize that moral rules only arise through power, and they only preserve their authority through judgment, hatred and resentment. Last, Mr. Brooks is startlingly incorrect to use morality as proof of human goodness, altruism and cooperation. If anything, our moral history reveals humans as intolerant, judgmental, cruel and divisive creatures. Mr. Brooks may debunk Socrates to begin his essay, but he praises Aristotle at the end.
Aristotle believed that human beings were cooperative creatures, like bees and fish. He believed that every human activity had a natural purpose, just as every animal activity appears to have a natural purpose. He assumed that men pursued a metaphysical “good.” Yet these are all theoretical abstractions. Mr. Brooks says that morality does not conform to theoretical abstraction, but in the end he assumes that men follow morality to reach metaphysical “good.” He would be better to recognize that morality has no “natural purpose,” and there is no “metaphysical good.” Rather, morality is nothing but power and judgment. Powerful men say what they like, what they hate, pass it down, and punish those who disagree. In this sense, moral rules reflect inequality and division, not cooperation and altruism. And they certainly do not reveal a “warmer side” to human nature. Instead, they show that human beings will always divide themselves from one another and judge one another according to “the right moral code.”
This is not an “epochal change.” This is the way it has always been.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)