Monday, February 11, 2013

Cicero, On Moral Ends



"On Moral Ends" is Cicero's evaluation of three different systems of philosophy that developed in the wake of Plato and Aristotle: Epicureanism, Stoicism, and Platonism, as expounded by Torquatus (who I think is fictional?), Cato, and Antiochus, respectively. The work is divided into five books, the first two concentrating on Epicureanism, the next two on Stoicism, and the final one on Platonism. I've decided to follow this format: I'll give a brief summary of the work (it may be a little lacking, but I'll try to find a happy median between reading the entire thing and a tl;dr summary), follow with brief thoughts, and conclude with stray observations (a la the Onion's AV Club). If the feedback is positive, I'll continue in this way; otherwise, I'll try something else. Let's go.

Epicureanism places pleasure as the highest good, but it is more than just hedonism disguised as philosophy. Pleasure can be divided into two categories. "Kinetic pleasure" consists of sex, decadent meals, and other things we normally consider pleasurable, whereas "static pleasure" -- contentment, tranquility, freedom from care and pain -- is the Epicureans's greatest good. This keeps their philosophy from being frivolous, unbridled pleasure-seeking: immediate, kinetic pleasure can be delayed for the promise of future, static pleasure. 


Torquatus presents a few arguments for pleasure being the highest good. He maintains that what other philosophers (e.g. the Stoics) call "virtue" is nothing more than a means to freedom from pain: we are only brave or noble because it will bring us praise while being cowardly or immoral will bring us condemnation. 


Moreover, wisdom is attained in the recognition that "desire is insatiable": once we have a small amount of pleasure, we will want more and more; as no man can be happy when he is in want, kinetic pleasure cannot be the greatest good. Desire for so-called virtues, for example, is foolhardy. Pursuing courage or bravery will lead to recklessness, which will invariably bring unhappiness. It is only through knowing that true happiness comes through satiety that one can find peace. 


Cicero, however, is unconvinced. The first and most serious criticism he levies against Torquatus is that Epicureans are needlessly unclear about what "pleasure" means. It's all well and good to divide the common notion of pleasure into kinetic and static, but if we are, as Torquatus claims, to pursue only static pleasure, then why does Epicurus famously claim that an Epicurean on the rack would be untroubled because he knew true pleasure? Torture is as far from freedom from pain as physically possible. When Torquatus rebuts with Epicurus's claim that great pain is short in duration and only mild pain lasts long, Cicero scoffs. It is a pithy saying, he says, but it is utterly untrue. 

Freedom from pain is also inhuman. Aristotle said that man is made to think and act, but even a sheep grazing in a field can be free from pain. Surely we are meant for more than a farm animal is. Furthermore, Epicureanism is too calculating. True philosophy, Cicero claims, is spontaneous. Finally, freedom from pain is capricious; once attained, it is easily lost. How can true happiness, true philosophy, be so ephemeral? Happiness is therefore dependent on the whims of chance, and yet Epicurus claims that chance does not affect the wise. 

Having dispatched Epicureanism, the book moves to Cato the Younger and Stoicism, which claims that virtue is the only good, doing away with pleasure entirely (including Aristotle's notion of "external goods," goods which are not the highest good, but still worthwhile). Stoicism can be summed up in a syllogism: What is good is praiseworthy; what is praiseworthy is virtuous; therefore, what is good is virtuous. 

Cato appeals, as Torquatus did, to the cradle. While Torquatus claimed that babies inherently seek what is pleasurable to them and what will maintain static pleasure, Cato argues that from infancy onward we make choices and selections that enlighten us as to the nature of virtue. Virtuous choices, as the syllogism implies, lead to praise, and immoral choices lead to condemnation, so that the process of becoming wise is identical with the process of learning what is virtuous. Virtue, therefore, means living in accordance with nature, a point which the Stoics put great emphasis on. 

With this framework in mind, Cato attempts to explain social phenomena. Love, for example, has a Stoic explanation. Nature would not allow us to create another human being without caring for it and loving it. Bravery is in accordance with nature, too, because we must love the country that we live in (after all, it contains people whom we love), and so we should be willing to defend it. Love is one of the ways that Stoicism is set apart from Cynicism, which also advocates living in accordance with nature, but through living an ascetic, solitary life. Suicide is also acceptable in Stoic philosophy, if circumstances prevent one from living virtuously. An abundance of evil does not merit suicide, but rather the inability to be good. 

I will include just one criticism that Cicero has of Stoicism, since my edition tells me that he is unfair in a lot of his criticisms and misunderstands some of Stoicism's chief principles. Cicero believes that Stoicism is just Aristotelianism in disguise; there is only a verbal difference between the two, not a doctrinal one. For example, though the Stoics maintain that they reject Aristotle's external goods, they have "indifferents," things that are neither good nor evil, but that they would rather have than not. Furthermore, he argues that the Stoics don't give enough attention to bodily pleasures. They care so much about the mind being in accordance with nature that they forget that the body can also be in accordance with nature by feeling pleasure; a horse, for example, can possess the supreme quality of horse-ness without giving up the bodily pleasures of being a horse.

Finally, we hear from Antiochus, who, at first, seems to provide the perfect median between Torquatus and Cato. He divides virtues into virtues of ability -- bodily virtues, that which you are equipped and able to do -- and virtues of volition -- mental virtues, such as those advocated by the Stoics. His argument is something of a form-implies-function argument; because we are designed with certain faculties and abilities, those faculties and abilities must be important. Unfortunately, Cicero shoots his theory down by saying that once we add bodily virtues into the mix, the theory becomes inconsistent; as Torquatus pointed out, if pleasure is a virtue, then we can never be satisfied. "On Moral Ends," therefore, ends without a resolution. Epicureanism, Stoicism, and Platonism have all been shot down. 

I have just one point of discussion for this book. Cicero says that one of the harshest criticisms he can levy against Epicureanism is that no one would ever make the claim in public that they are doing something for pleasure alone. If one were to do something for virtue’s sake, they would be praised, but they would be a pariah for seeking pleasure. “What makes such an act deserve disapproval except for the fact that it is base?” he asks. He concludes, therefore, that seeking pleasure (here, in the form of selfishness) cannot be the greatest good, because the greatest good cannot be something disgraceful. This leap in logic is strange to me. If something is disgraceful, then is it necessarily incorrect? Should the greatest good really be dependent on the prevailing attitudes at the time? Is “good” timeless and universal, or social and cultural? To press the point further, though Cicero talks about a virtue that is relatively foreign to us – valorous defense of one's city and its citizens (how often have the Huns invaded us in the last century?) – it is still a something we would consider virtuous, courageous, etc. Does society then inexorably drift toward a certain moral code that is unwritten and inalterable? Is there really such universal virtue?

Finally, here are some stray observations:

The Epicurean notion of the fixed nature of pain: if it is long, it is mild; if it is painful, it is short. It's very mathematical in its essence, even if it is bad logic. 

Torquatus: "Only fools are troubled by recollected evils." Cicero: “Themistocles, at any rate, when Simonides or some such person offered to teach him the art of memory, replied, 'I would rather learn the art of forgetting.'" Memory is out of our control. 


Cicero, to Torquatus: “The deterrents to wickedness that you mentioned are really weak and feeble: the torments of a guilty conscience, the fear of the punishment that wrongdoers either incur or dread incurring in the future. We should not take as our model of wickedness trembling ninnies who torture themselves and fear every shadow whenever they do anything wrong.” He goes on to provide a picture of true wickedness as one who is wicked for the sake of being wicked, one who revels in chaos. 

When Cicero criticized Epicureanism for being too calculating and claimed that real philosophy is spontaneous, I couldn't help thinking of Dennis Duffy as the subway hero.


Cato, on acting virtuously: “An appropriate action is any action such that a reasonable explanation could be given of its performance.” 

Cato, on the Stoic idea of love: “It is wicked and inhuman to profess indifference about whether the world will go up in flames once one is dead.” 

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