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(Previous: Eudemian Ethics II.3.)
Having grasped these things, next we must say that since there are two aspects of personhood, the excellences too are distinguished according to these: those of the aspect having thought are excellences of thinking things through, whose task is truth about how things are and how they come about, whereas those of the unthinking aspect that yearns after things (for not every aspect of personhood has yearning, if indeed personhood is divisible) determine whether character is worthless or outstanding by pursuing or avoiding certain pleasures and pains. This is clear from the distinctions among feelings, capacities, and traits, for capacities and traits are about feelings - and feelings are distinguished by being painful or pleasant. Thus from these things and from what we set down earlier, excellence of character is all about pleasures and pains, for all personhood naturally becomes worse or better through such things, and its pleasure and pain are oriented toward them and are all about them. And it is due to pleasures and pains that we say people are worthless by pursuing and avoiding either how they shouldn't or what they shouldn't. Hence also everyone declares in an offhand way that excellence is being unaffected or keeping one's equilibrium about pleasures and pains, and that deficiency comes from the opposite.
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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Here is an intriguing quote from an early work by Jane Austen (Catharine, or The Bower):
They retired to their rooms in high Spirits on Wednesday night, but Kitty awoke the next morning with a violent Toothake. It was in vain that she endeavoured at first to deceive herself; her feelings were witnesses too acute of it's reality; with as little success did she try to sleep it off, for the pain she suffered prevented her closing her Eyes. She then summoned her Maid and with the Assistance of the Housekeeper, every remedy that the receipt book or the head of the latter contained, was tried, but ineffectually; for though a short time relieved by them, the pain still returned. She was now obliged to give up the endeavour, and to reconcile herself not only to the pain of a Toothake, but to the loss of a Ball; and though she had with so much eagerness looked forward to the day of its arrival, had received such pleasure in the necessary preparations, and promised herself so much delight in it, Yet she was not so totally void of philosophy as many Girls her age, might have been in her situation. She considered that there were Misfortunes of a much greater magnitude than the loss of a Ball, experienced every day by some part of Mortality, and that the time might come when She would herself look back with Wonder and perhaps with Envy on her having known no greater vexation. By such reflections as these, she soon reasoned herself into as much Resignation and Patience as the pain she suffered, would allow of, which after all was the greatest Misfortune of the two, and told the sad Story when she entered the Breakfast room, with tolerable Composure.
This is a fine example of philosophy as the sweet milk of adversity, a notion which Austen might have inherited from her immersion in the works of Shakespeare. There's nothing abstruse or academic here, just everyday reflection on one's situation in search of practical wisdom and emotional equilibrium.
By the way, having recently gone on a Jane Austen binge, I plan to write an essay on the theme of self-knowledge in her novels. In his book After Virtue, Alasdair MacIntyre claims that Austen advocated "Christian self-knowledge" as opposed to "Socratic self-knowledge", but I am skeptical that the distinction is valid and suspect that, as a committed Thomist, MacIntyre might have been engaged in a bit of motivated reasoning. We'll see what the text reveals...
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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In one of our recent psy-phi dialogues, my friend Adrian Lory mentioned a book by Japanese-American psychologist Shige Oishi entitled Life in Three Dimensions. In addition to the dimensions of happiness and of meaning, Oishi adduces a third dimension of life experience: psychological richness. It's perhaps no coincidence that someone from Japan had this insight, because if you ask me richness is something like the psychological counterpart of umami in cooking: the savory taste produced by the proteins essential to life.
Naturally, there are countless ways to slice up human experience, but I'm rather attracted to the notion that psychological richness is like our taste for savory flavors. Following this analogy, we could see happiness or pleasure as similar to our taste for sweetness (indeed, the ancient Greek word for pleasure is derived from one of their words for sweetness). I'm not sure what the analogies are for the other three basic tastes - salty, sour, and bitter - but I'll leave that as an exercise for the reader, while noting that somewhere in his voluminous writings Nietzsche says you can't experience the greatest joy without also opening yourself up to the greatest sorrow.
Coming back to Shige Oishi, I'll observe that he provides some actionable advice about how to make your life more psychologically rich: for instance, to be more playful and spontaneous. I've been experimenting along those lines in my own life, with some measure of success. For instance, about a month ago I had to drive from Rockland, Maine to Boston and instead of driving straight through I visited the Portland Museum of Art, walked along the ocean from Pine Point in Scarborough to Old Orchard Beach, and then explored Newburyport, Massachusetts for a while. That made for a much more rich, interesting day. I think I'll continue to salt such spontaneity into my days going forward.
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
"Don't anticipate. Just participate." ~ Keith Jarrett in the liner notes to his trio album Inside Out
Although I don't like to talk about myself, once in a while I venture to write in a more confessional mode, mostly because it helps me understand myself but also because friends have told me that they appreciate my personal insights. So here goes.
Six months ago I was in a dark place, turning inward while I grieved over the death of my wife Elisa. As Michael Cholbi explores in his book Grief: A Philosophical Guide, much of the grieving process consists in forging a new identity under radically changed circumstances. That's certainly been the case for me. As previously mentioned, one discovery I made over the summer is that freehearted giving is central to my personality - and that, for someone like me, the best way to grieve is to give. Going even further, lately I've noticed that I spend a great deal of time connecting with friends, family, neighbors, and other people who are important to me; every week I have hours and hours of phone calls, video calls, lunches, dinners, walks, and in-person visits. It's a truism that in the end all we really have is the people in our lives, and I've come to realize that in a very visceral way. Far from continuing the inward turn that oppressed me six months ago, more and more I've been turning outward, with overwhelmingly positive results.
Holding a celebration of life for Elisa also settled me in ways I didn't fully expect. I wouldn't exactly call it closure (a concept that I find somewhat suspect), but I have come to a kind of peace with the 35 years of my relationship with Elisa, which I see as something like the organizing principle underlying the second phase of my all-too-brief existence on this earth. Saying farewell at the celebration of life has freed me to focus now on the final third of my life in a spontaneous way - welcoming and nurturing the beautiful possibilities that have come into view over the last few months. At the same time, I'm trying not to anticipate too much about where things might be leading, but instead to participate wholeheartedly in the magical experiences that are unfolding for me. Admittedly, at this I am not always successful since I am tremendously inspired by an extraordinary person who, through what feels like destiny, has come back into my life after a gap of several decades. However, I won't say any more about her because I'm a very private person who keeps strict limits on what I share in public. Suffice it to say that, quite possibly, I have never been this happy.
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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(Previous: Eudemian Ethics II.2.)
Having made these distinctions, we must grasp that in every continuum along which we can draw distinctions there is going too far and falling short and a middle way, either in relation to each other or in relation to us. These exist in fitness training, medicine, architecture, navigation, and every kind of action, whether or not founded in some form of understanding and craft; for change is continuous and action is a form of change.
In all things the middle way in relation to us is best, for that is what our understanding and reason urge us to do, and in all cases that also produces the best trait. This is clear both from bringing in what's evident and from reasoning, for opposites destroy each other and extremes are opposite both to each other and to the middle way, which is related each to each, as for instance what's equal is larger than what's smaller but is smaller than what's larger. Thus it must be that excellence of character is all about the middle way and it itself a certain midpoint. Hence we must grasp what sort of midpoint excellence is, and what sort of middle ways it is all about. In the way of precedents let us take the following outline and give our attention to each of the items.
| belligerence | impassivity | mildness |
| daring | timidity | courage |
| shamelessness | shyness | shame |
| dissipation | insensibility | moderation |
| envy | [unnamed] | indignation |
| advantage | disadvantage | justice |
| wastefulness | servility | free-heartedness |
| false pretense | false modesty | truthfulness |
| flattery | surliness | friendliness |
| obsequiousness | churlishness | dignity |
| softness | toughness | patience |
| conceitedness | small-heartedness | great-heartedness |
| ostentation | stinginess | magnificence |
| cunning | foolishness | wisdom |
These feelings and the like arise within personhood, and all of them are spoken of in terms of going too far on the one hand and falling short on the other. The belligerent person gets angry more often than one should and more quickly and at more people than one should, whereas the impassive person falls short with respect to whom, when, and how. The daring person doesn't feel terror at things one should nor when nor how one should, whereas the timid person is terrified of things one shouldn't and when one shouldn't and how one shouldn't. Likewise the dissipated person indulges in cravings and goes too far in every possible way, whereas the insensible person falls short and has no need even for what is better or natural, but is as unfeeling as a stone. The person who seeks advantage from every source is avaricious, whereas the person who seeks it from no source or from few is a loser. The pretentious person lays claim to more than what's real, the modest person to less. The flatterer joins in praise beyond what's beautiful, the surly person less than what's beautiful. Being too eager to please is obsequiousness, whereas doing so on few occasions or hardly at all is churlishness. The person who can't put up with any pain, even if it is better to do so, is soft; strictly speaking there is no name for a person who can tolerate every pain, but in a sense is called hard, enduring, and tough. The conceited person overrates their self-worth, whereas the small-hearted person underrates it. The wasteful person goes too far with every expense, whereas the servile person falls short. Likewise with the stingy person and the snob, for one goes beyond what's fitting and the other falls short of what's fitting. The cunning person seeks every advantage from every source, whereas the foolish person doesn't even seek advantage from sources one should. The envious person is pained by more instances of success than one should be (for the envious person is pained even by the success of those who deserve to do well); there is no name for the opposite, although there is the person who goes too far in not being pained by undeserved success but instead is overly tolerant (like someone who will eat anything), whereas it is through envy that the other is intolerant.
It would be a waste of effort to specify in each case that these feelings are not merely by-the-way, for no form of understanding, whether directed at giving attention or making things, specifies this in what it says or what it does; it is said here only to address the quibbles of the craft of argumentation. So let things be defined simply in this way, but more accurately when we speak of the opposing traits.
These feelings have different ways of being that are named by differing in excess of time or intensity or the things in relation to which the feelings arise. I mean for instance the unstable person is named by feeling more quickly than one should, the hard and fierce person by feeling more intensely, the bitter person by nursing their anger, and the aggressive and abusive person by seeking retribution because of their anger, while gourmands and gluttons and drunkards are so named by having an emotional capacity to take pleasure in their respective foods beyond reason.
We must not ignore the fact that some of the descriptions are not a matter of "how", if "how" is taken in the sense of feeling more. For instance, an adulterer is not so called for seducing married women more than one should (for there is no such thing); instead, adultery itself already a form of corruption, as its name implies. Likewise with assault. Thus people contest an accusation by saying they had sex but it wasn't adultery because they did so unwittingly or were compelled to do so, or that they hit someone but it wasn't assault; and similarly in other cases.
(Next: Eudemian Ethics II.4.)
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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Before saying goodbye to José Ortega y Gasset's book What Is Philosophy?, I'd like to offer one more quote:
[L]ife always carries with it a fatal dimension and some hint of having fallen into a trap. Except that this trap does not strangle us, but leaves to life a margin of decision and always permits us, out of the imposed situation, to achieve an elegant solution and to forge for ourselves a beautiful life. Hence, because life is part fate, and part the freedom we need to make decisions for ourselves, there is at its very root the stuff of art.... [D]o not say that fate does not allow us to improve our lives, for the beauty of life does not lie in the fact that destiny is or is not favorable to us, but in the grace with which we accept the challenge and out of its fatal material fashion a noble figure.
Each of us is dropped into the pageant of the world, and we are fated to live as human beings in a certain time and place with all of the attendant difficulties and ambiguities. Yet, despite this destiny, each of us has enough freedom to forge a beautiful life. That's all that truly matters, isn't it? If I'm not creating something beautiful, why am I here?
(Cross-posted at Beautiful Wisdom.)
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