Knowledge is lists

The best part of any field of knowledge is a collection of little lists that divide something important and are sometimes phrased or grouped differently but which tend to have a fixed number of items and to have a few major recognizable presentations.

In formal logic, we have the five predicables, the ten categories, the four figures of syllogism, the 24 valid types, etc.

In philosophical psychology, we have the division between intellect and will, the three parts of the soul, the three acts of the intellect, etc.

In metaphysics, we have the divisions between matter and form, act and potency, essence and existence, contingent and necessary, and so on.

In ethics, we have the four cardinal virtues, their parts and opposing vices on either side, the types and components of action, etc.

Christianity has many little lists of its own: the ten commandments, the four last things, the three theological virtues, the twelve apostles and tribes of Israel, the six days of creation, the three persons of the Trinity, the three hierarchies of angels, the seven capital vices, etc.

I love every single little list. They are great. I will do whatever I can in their favor.

Justice

Note: This blog post has been retracted, since I no longer think of it as a good representation of how I think about its topic. I may, or may not, have written a better post about the same topic since; check the full list of posts.

What is justice?

0. Contents

1. A blogger’s answer to the age-old question
2. No arguments
3. Scope
4. Presentation of the physician theory
5. Application of the physician theory to punishments
6. Application of the physician theory to the distribution of goods
7. Rejection of the physician theory in favor of the debt theory
8. Presentation of the debt theory
9. Application of the debt theory to punishments
10. Application of the debt theory to the distribution of goods
11. Concluding remarks
12. Notes

1. A blogger’s answer to the age-old question

I cannot help having a concept of justice. It is one of those things that everyone has a concept of, I think. But whenever I explain it, it seems counter-intuitive to some people, or they seem to think I have a peculiar idea, while I would think my idea is quite run-of-the-mill – really, it is mostly what I “intuitively” have, without any large theory or argument behind it. So I thought I would lay down an explanation at once, to which I can refer later when needed.

I am just a blogger here. I am not an ethicist. I have no idea what other theories have been proposed than the ones I have considered. I have no idea why anyone would listen to me instead of someone more qualified. But I do know that I will, and I must, listen to myself; and that at the moment I cannot accept anyone else’s theory rather than mine.

2. No arguments

There will be no arguments in this blog post. I plan to present two concepts of justice as fairly as I can. Then, I will reject the one because I dislike it, and accept the other because I like it. I will try to show some cases that make my dislike for the one in favor of the other more prominent. But I will absolutely not argue for, or against, either of them; my acceptance of one concept over the other will not come as a result of any more fundamental premises. This is not because I think justice is a “basic” concept, or anything like that; I am not sophisticated enough to have any idea about whether a kind of “basicness” is applicable here. It is because I have little awareness of any arguments that can be given on either side, but yet I cannot help having a concept of justice.

3. Scope

This blog post is based on the idea that one and the same idea of justice applies to the distribution of punishments and to the distribution of goods. You may say that, since these are different domains, they may be called different “parts” of justice, and give them different names such as “penal” and “distributive”, or whichever you want. I do not care about that. The problem would be if you think the fundamental idea that applies to each domain is not the same, that there is a “social justice” that is wholly different in character from regular justice despite the name, or at worst that one of the two theories I laid out applies in one domain and the other in the other. I will not even consider that possibility; in fact, as an example of this post having no arguments, I will note here that I certainly dislike you personally if you hold that possibility to be the case.

4. Presentation of the physician theory

The first theory of justice which I am setting out to present, and later reject, is something I term the “physician theory” of justice. I call it that because Plato, in the Gorgias, constantly made analogies between the work of the judge and the work of a physician, and such analogies seem to me to be somewhat common in later presentations of the concept, though they do not appear to be as fundamental in those.

The physician theory is that justice is fundamentally about correcting a kind of evil that befalls men, and therefore he who pursues justice (and especially the judge) is best thought of in analogy to a physician, for a physician seeks primarily to correct the evil of disease.

5. Application of the physician theory to punishments

If the distribution of punishments is to be sought primarily for correcting a kind of evil that befalls men, then that evil ought to be conceived of as something relating to crime, or crime itself, since all men understand that punishments are applied most primarily to criminals.

Some would say simply that justice seeks primarily the reduction of crime itself. So, the purpose of punishment, according to justice, is to deter the criminal from doing any further wrong in the future, or to deter society from doing the same wrong that the criminal did, by virtue of their fear of suffering the same punishment.

Protagoras: [...] If you will think, Socrates, of the nature of punishment, you will see at once that in the opinion of mankind virtue may be acquired; no one punishes the evil-doer under the notion, or for the reason, that he has done wrong,—only the unreasonable fury of a beast acts in that manner. But he who desires to inflict rational punishment does not retaliate for a past wrong which cannot be undone; he has regard to the future, and is desirous that the man who is punished, and he who sees him punished, may be deterred from doing wrong again. He punishes for the sake of prevention, thereby clearly implying that virtue is capable of being taught. This is the notion of all who retaliate upon others either privately or publicly. [1]

Others would have a more complex version of the same opinion. They would emphasize that crime itself is caused by further causes, that is, the psychological conditions in the mind of the criminal. So, the purpose of punishment, according to justice, is to correct those causes specifically; to rehabilitate, or reform, the criminal. Thus we see Plato affirming that justice is the art which cures injustice in the soul; more modern versions would tend to use less morally charged terms.

Socrates: And what art frees us from disease? Does not the art of medicine?

Polus: Very true.

Socrates: And what from vice and injustice? If you are not able to answer at once, ask yourself whither we go with the sick, and to whom we take them.

Polus: To the physicians, Socrates.

Socrates: And to whom do we go with the unjust and intemperate?

Polus: To the judges, you mean.

Socrates: —Who are to punish them?

Polus: Yes.

Socrates: And do not those who rightly punish others, punish them in accordance with a certain rule of justice?

Polus: Clearly.

Socrates: Then the art of money-making frees a man from poverty; medicine from disease; and justice from intemperance and injustice?

Polus: That is evident. [2]

6. Application of the physician theory to the distribution of goods

If the distribution of goods ought to be primarily for correcting a kind of evil that befalls men, then that evil ought to be conceived of as something relating to poverty, or poverty itself, since that is the only kind of evil which goods can seem apt to correct.

Some would say simply that justice seeks primarily the reduction of poverty itself. So the distribution of goods, according to justice, would be primarily for preventing people from having too little, or too much less than their fellows – since distribution is not thought to affect the absolute quantity of goods, and poverty may be thought of in a relative sense. Thence we get some ideas about justice being concerned with income or wealth inequality.

Others would have a more complex version of the same opinion. They would emphasize that poverty itself causes pain primarily by causing further evils, such as hunger, or the want of other basic needs such as clothing and shelter. So the distribution of goods, according to justice, would be primarily for correcting those evils specifically: to prevent any in society from suffering hunger, or want of clothing and shelter, whether that is through their having more property themselves or through their having access to a public store of food, for instance.

7. Rejection of the physician theory in favor of the debt theory

I do not like the physician theory. To be honest, I do not really see any merit to it other than this one, of making clearer the true idea by way of contrast; which is why I have presented it. I think that justice is not about correcting an evil that can befall a man, that is, an evil of the soul, body, or estate.[3] Justice is its own thing. It seeks to correct an evil of the world, which is injustice – but not the injustice in the soul, that by which a man is said to be unjust. Justice, conceived as an art or a habit, seeks to achieve justice and correct injustice, conceived as a feature or a property of certain states of affairs in the world – that by which a certain situation is said to be unjust, but never a man; though a man may be called unjust in another sense, insofar as he decided to cause the situation.

8. Presentation of the debt theory

As Cicero put it, the virtue of justice is concerned “with the conservation of organized society, with rendering to every man his due, and with the faithful discharge of obligations assumed”.[4] The fundamental idea is that of rendering to every man his due; the discharge of obligations is merely to render the dues through actions rather than payments, and the preservation of organized society is really only sought by justice insofar as it is sought through the rendering of punishments, which is the province of justice, for all agree that no punishment may be exacted except it be just.

Justice is then concerned with achieving a certain state of affairs where all men get what is due to them, under a certain conception of what is due to men, of course. Justice may be thought of as having a close relation to truth, for both involve an idea of correspondence – just as truth involves a correspondence between things and the intellect, justice involves a correspondence between what is due to men and what they actually receive.

Under this theory, I think most cases of justice are best thought of in analogy to debts, which I believe to be the basic case of an abstract duty of the kind involved here; and hence the name. I have sometimes called it the “accountant” theory, to better contrast with the “physician” one, but I will not do so here.

9. Application of the debt theory to punishments

If the distribution of punishments is to be sought primarily for giving men their due, then a conception of what is due to men must include the fact that punishment is due primarily to criminals, since all men understand that it is to criminals that punishments are most primarily applied. I will outline one such conception.

Proportionality

The punishment should fit the crime. When men commit a crime, they incur a kind of debt, so that punishment becomes due to them; to discharge that debt, they must be made to suffer in a measure proportionate to the suffering they caused. If there were no punishing authority, I figure any man could discharge this debt, that is, punish him; but as things are, it is the state who must punish a man for his crimes.

Mercy

Just as, with a monetary debt, the creditor may decide to waive his right, the punishing authority may decide to waive the criminal’s debt, in what may be called mercy, or forgiveness.

Note that I believe that there are some conditions for forgiving with prudence, which I plan to give in a future blog post.

Exchange

Similarly, just as a monetary debt may be partly or wholly negotiated, so as to be paid in different terms than was originally intended, the punishing authority may exchange part of the criminal’s debt for something that he has and may be of interest, as when a criminal is offered a reduction in punishment in exchange for information that he has, such as the location of the hidden bodies. [5]

Deterrence, reformation, etc.

Punishment may be sought in a way that deters others or reforms the criminal, if the punishing authority is so inclined. But the primary consideration is always to discharge the debt; punishment may never be applied in a measure greater than would be proportionate to the crime, on pain of injustice.

For example, if a crime has been determined to be deserving of 2 years of jail, it is likely to be unjust that the criminal be made instead to spend 10 years in a reformation facility, no matter whether that would be required to truly reform him.

Punishment may be applied in a measure smaller than is proportionate to the crime, which would then constitute forgiveness – and would be subject to the conditions for the prudence of forgiveness.

Note that applying a punishment that deters others, or reforms the criminal, may never be called more just, so long as the debt was discharged properly. It may be more charitable, or more prudent, but not more just, since the only consideration that pertains to justice (in measuring punishment) is whether the punishment fits the crime.

It does pertain to justice, however, to ensure that the victim receive due compensation in certain cases; all would understand that such compensation is due in justice to the victim.

10. Application of the debt theory to the distribution of goods

If the distribution of goods ought to be primarily for giving men their due, then a conception of what is due to men must include the fact that every man’s property is due to himself, for this is how all men understand property. Similarly, a debt is due to the creditor, as that is what a debt means – and this is the very case after which I named the theory, for its being so basic and useful.

I believe that that is sufficient. No good that is not a property or an obligation is due in justice to anyone.

Supposing that there are some goods which are not yet the property of any man, and are to be distributed by some authority among a group of men, it is not possible to do so unjustly, for the goods are not due in justice to any of them. There is certainly no reason why the distribution ought, in justice, to be equal. It may be more prudent to seek an equal distribution, so as to reduce strife which could be caused by envy, but it may also be more prudent to give more to one man than to another, such as if that man can make a better use of the good – for instance, a tool should be given to the more skilled laborer. These are prudential considerations, and not considerations of justice; any choice that the authority made in this case would be just, for there is no duty involved.

11. Concluding remarks

I hope that this explanation has been sufficient. The debt theory represents my own personal concept of justice, and I have presented the other theory by way of contrast, as I said. I am much more congenial to the debt theory; I vibe with it. I believe the examples in its application section should give perceptive readers an idea why.

If, after reading this, you prefer the physician theory, I would suspect you of being a certain kind of person.

12. Notes

[1] Plato, Protagoras, 324a–b

[2] Plato, Gorgias, 477e–478a

[3] cf. Plato, Gorgias, 477c

[4] Cicero, On Duties, §15

[5] Certain facts about the physician theory were meant to be conveyed by way of contrast with these sections. The physician theory has, in my view, no room for proportionality, for mercy (as here conceived of) or for exchange, and this is of course. Imagine that a physician would, when deciding on the treatment, mainly consider how bad the symptoms of a disease are and attempt to give a proportionally painful treatment, rather than seeking to cure it; or that he would accept not to treat the patient under certain conditions; or that he would exchange some of the treatment for his receiving information that the patient has. This is unthinkable, and these features of modern justice systems ought to be wholly ousted if the earlier, physician theory of justice is correct. I think it isn’t, and therefore they shouldn’t, but again – I give no arguments here. This note was added mainly because a friend pointed out that the second theory seemed to be more developed than the earlier one due to its having more sections in the post, but this was because I had intended the contrast I just mentioned.

Active and contemplative, theoretical and practical

This is a collection of quotes I have gathered regarding the division between active and contemplative, or theoretical and practical, whether regarded as a division of modes of life or of species of philosophy. They are in chronological order, I think.

(This blog post has been updated, silently, a few times. I have added some modern quotes about ancient and medieval authors, and I have found it fitting to add them into the order nearby the authors of whom they speak; so that now the chronological order is rather of sources than of quoted authors.)

Quite apart from the division into trilogies or tetralogies, there was current also among the Ancients a subtle logical division of the works of Plato, which possesses a real philosophical value. 

It is assumed, to begin with, that the works of Plato fall into two main classes, one in which there is a more or less definite conclusion present in the author’s mind, to which he wishes to guide the reader, the other in which the object is vague inquiry. This gives us the two principal ‘characters’ of the λόγος Πλατωνικός—ύφηγητικός and ζητητικός. The foregone conclusion may be of a merely speculative nature or one bearing upon life and practice. Thus we are led to a subdivision of the first of the two main classes into theoretical and practical; and these again are subdivided respectively into physical and logical, ethical and political. It is on the other side of the division that we must look for the Meno. [...]

— St. George William Joseph Stock,[1] Introduction to the Meno of Plato

It is right also that philosophy should be called knowledge of the truth. For the end of theoretical knowledge is truth, while that of practical knowledge is action (for even if they consider how things are, practical men do not study what is eternal but what stands in some relation at some time).

— Aristotle, Metaphysics, 2.993b20

To judge from the lives that men lead, most men, and men of the most vulgar type, seem (not without some reason) to identify the good, or happiness, with pleasure; which is the reason why they love the life of enjoyment. For there are, we may say, three prominent types of life—that just mentioned, the political, and thirdly the contemplative life.

— Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1.5

Virtue being, as we have seen, of two kinds, intellectual and moral, intellectual virtue is for the most part both produced and increased by instruction, and therefore requires experience and time; whereas moral or ethical virtue is the product of habit, and has indeed derived its name, with a slight variation of form, from that word.

— Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 2.1 (1103a14–20)

You see here, Marcus, my son, the very form and as it were the face of Moral Goodness; “and if,” as Plato says, “it could be seen with the physical eye, it would awaken a marvellous love of wisdom.” But all that is morally right rises from some one of four sources: it is concerned either (1) with the full perception and intelligent development of the true; or (2) with the conservation of organized society, with rendering to every man his due, and with the faithful discharge of obligations assumed; or (3) with the greatness and strength of a noble and invincible spirit; or (4) with the orderliness and moderation of everything that is said and done, wherein consist temperance and self-control.

Although these four are connected and interwoven, still it is in each one considered singly that certain definite kinds of moral duties have their origin: in that category, for instance, which was designated first in our division and in which we place wisdom and prudence, belong the search after truth and its discovery; and this is the peculiar province of that virtue. For the more clearly anyone observes the most essential truth in any given case and the more quickly and accurately he can see and explain the reasons for it, the more understanding and wise he is generally esteemed, and justly so. So, then, it is truth that is, as it were, the stuff with which this virtue has to deal and on which it employs itself.

Before the three remaining virtues, on the other hand, is set the task of providing and maintaining those things on which the practical business of life depends, so that the relations of man to man in human society may be conserved, and that largeness and nobility of soul may be revealed not only in increasing one’s resources and acquiring advantages for one’s self and one’s family but far more in rising superior to these very things. But orderly behaviour and consistency of demeanour and self-control and the like have their sphere in that department of things in which a certain amount of physical exertion, and not mental activity merely, is required. For if we bring a certain amount of propriety and order into the transactions of daily life, we shall be conserving moral rectitude and moral dignity.

— Cicero, On Duties, §§15–17 (see also §19, §§69–73)

The true philosophers, Syrus, were, I think, quite right to distinguish the theoretical part of philosophy from the practical. For even if practical philosophy, before it is practical, turns out to be theoretical, nevertheless one can see that there is a great difference between the two: in the first place, it is possible for many people to possess some of the moral virtues even without being taught, whereas it is impossible to achieve theoretical understanding of the universe without instruction; furthermore, one derives most benefit in the first case [practical philosophy] from continuous practice in actual affairs, but in the other [theoretical philosophy] from making progress in the theory. Hence we thought it fitting to guide our actions (under the impulse of our actual ideas [of what is to be done]) in such a way as never to forget, even in ordinary affairs, to strive for a noble and disciplined disposition, but to devote most of our time to intellectual matters, in order to teach theories, which are so many and beautiful, and especially those to which the epithet ‘mathematical’ is particularly applied. For Aristotle divides theoretical philosophy too, very fittingly, into three primary categories, physics, mathematics and theology. For everything that exists is composed of matter, form and motion; none of these [three] can be observed in its substratum by itself, without the others: they can only be imagined. [...]

— Ptolemy, Almagest, preface (there is some good commentary on it in Chapter 2 of Ptolemy’s Universe)

[Aristotle] also shows that it is fitting that theoretical philosophy should receive its name from truth by his reference to the practical sciences, for the end of practical science is action (praxis), and not knowledge of the truth [involved] in things to be done. For even in cases in which practical men do examine the truth in the subject [with which they are dealing], they are not looking to the truth of anything eternal. Aristotle adds this remark in the belief that truth in the proper and fullest sense is that which deals with eternal things, not the truth involved in things to be done. Surely practical men are not concerned with truth of the former sort, but with truth that applies to a particular action at a particular time, and they refer their consideration to action. For the nature of things to be done is such that they are not always [done in the same way] nor universally, but that they vary both according to the age of those who perform them and according to the circumstances in which they happen [to be done] and according to the relationship [of the agent] to those toward whom they are directed. Indeed, even those inquiries concerned with the virtues (aretê) and with the activities in accordance with these, which are not pursued solely for the sake of theoretical knowledge, are in the practical [sphere] and deal with particulars; for it is to particulars that these inquiries are referred.

In saying, ‘[they do not look to] what is eternal’ [993b22], Aristotle points out that in practical matters the end is not truth or scientific knowledge (epistêmê), for the theoretical sciences deal with eternal objects.[...]

— Alexander of Aphrodisias, On Aristotle Metaphysics 2, 145,5–21 (pp. 19–20)

Action, thus, is set towards contemplation and an object of contemplation, so that even those whose life is in doing have seeing as their object; what they have not been able to achieve by the direct path, they hope to come at by the circuit.

Further: suppose they succeed; they desired a certain thing to come about, not in order to be unaware of it but to know it, to see it present before the mind: their success is the laying up of a vision. We act for the sake of some good; this means not for something to remain outside ourselves, not in order that we may possess nothing but that we may hold the good of the action. And hold it, where? Where but in the mind?

— Plotinus, Enneads, 3.8.6

As the human sciences came from the pagan antique, the accepted classifications of them naturally were taken from Greek philosophy. They followed either the so-called Platonic division, into Physics, Ethics, and Logic, or the Aristotelian division of philosophy into theoretical and practical. The former scheme, of which it is not certain that Plato was the author, passed on through the Stoic and Epicurean systems of philosophy, was recognized by the Church Fathers, and received Augustine’s approval. It was made known to the Middle Ages through Cassiodorus, Isidore, Alcuin, Rabanus, Eriugena and others.

Nevertheless the Aristotelian division of philosophy into theoretical and practical was destined to prevail. It was introduced to the western Middle Ages through Boëthius’s Commentary on Porphyry’s Isagoge, and adopted by Gerbert; later it passed over through translations of Arabic writings. It was accepted by Hugo of St. Victor, by Albertus Magnus and by Thomas, to mention only the greatest names; and was set forth in detail with explanation and comment in a number of treatises, such as Gundissalinus’s De divisione philosophiae, and Hugo of St. Victor’s Eruditio didascalica, which were formal and schematic introductions to the study of philosophy and its various branches.

— Henry Osborn Taylor, The Mediaeval Mind, vol. 2, ch. 35 (p. 312)

As the study of wisdom consists in action and contemplation, so that one part of it may be called active, and the other contemplative – the active part having reference to the conduct of life, that is, to the regulation of morals, and the contemplative part to the investigation into the causes of nature and into pure truth – Socrates is said to have excelled in the active part of that study, while Pythagoras gave more attention to its contemplative part, on which he brought to bear all the force of his great intellect. To Plato is given the praise of having perfected philosophy by combining both parts into one. He then divides it into three parts — the first moral, which is chiefly occupied with action; the second natural, of which the object is contemplation; and the third rational, which discriminates between the true and the false. And though this last is necessary both to action and contemplation, it is contemplation, nevertheless, which lays peculiar claim to the office of investigating the nature of truth. Thus this tripartite division is not contrary to that which made the study of wisdom to consist in action and contemplation.

— Augustine, City of God, 8.4

[...] in regard to the three modes of life, the contemplative, the active, and the composite, they declare in favor of the third. That these were the opinions and doctrines of the Old Academy, Varro asserts on the authority of Antiochus, Cicero's master and his own, though Cicero makes him out to have been more frequently in accordance with the Stoics than with the Old Academy. But of what importance is this to us, who ought to judge the matter on its own merits, rather than to understand accurately what different men have thought about it? [...] It is a matter of no moment in the city of God whether he who adopts the faith that brings men to God adopts it in one dress and manner of life or another, so long only as he lives in conformity with the commandments of God. And hence, when philosophers themselves become Christians, they are compelled, indeed, to abandon their erroneous doctrines, but not their dress and mode of living, which are no obstacle to religion. So that we make no account of that distinction of sects which Varro adduced in connection with the Cynic school, provided always nothing indecent or self-indulgent is retained. As to these three modes of life, the contemplative, the active, and the composite, although, so long as a man's faith is preserved, he may choose any of them without detriment to his eternal interests, yet he must never overlook the claims of truth and duty.

— Augustine, City of God, 19.2, 19.19

It would be desirable, first of all, to consider what philosophy itself is. Philosophy is the love and pursuit of wisdom, and in some sort the fellowship with it. By this wisdom, we must not understand that which has to do with special arts or with some mechanical science, but that which needs nothing besides itself, that which is the quickening mind and the primeval principle of things. This love of wisdom is the illumination of the intelligent mind from the pure wisdom, the drawing back and calling, as it were, that mind to herself. So that it may seem as much the pursuit of divinity as the pursuit of wisdom, the friendship of the pure mind with its object. This wisdom, therefore, imposes the worthiness of its own divinity upon every kind of souls which occupy themselves with it, and brings them to the force and purity of their true nature. Hence arises the truth of speculations and thoughts and the holy chastity of acts. Which consideration enables us to ascertain the proper division of philosophy. Philosophy being the genus, there are two species of it, one theoretic or speculative, the other practical or active. There will be as many species of speculative philosophy as there are subjects for reasonable speculation.

— Boethius, first commentary on the Isagoge, 1.3

Her garments were of an imperishable fabric, wrought with the finest threads and of the most delicate workmanship; and these, as her own lips afterwards assured me, she had herself woven with her own hands. The beauty of this vesture had been somewhat tarnished by age and neglect, and wore that dingy look which marble contracts from exposure. On the lower-most edge was inwoven the Greek letter Π, on the topmost the letter Θ, and between the two were to be seen steps, like a staircase, from the lower to the upper letter. This robe, moreover, had been torn by the hands of violent persons, who had each snatched away what he could clutch.

— Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy, 1

There are two lives in which Almighty God by His holy word instructs us—the active and the contemplative.

The active life is: to give bread to the hungry, to teach the ignorant the word of wisdom, to correct the erring, to recall to the path of humility our neighbour when he waxes proud, to tend the sick, to dispense to all what they need, and to provide those entrusted to us with the means of subsistence.

But the contemplative life is: to retain indeed with all one’s mind the love of God and neighbour, but to rest from exterior action, and cleave only to the desire of the Maker, that the mind may now take no pleasure in doing anything, but having spurned all cares, may be aglow to see the face of its Creator; so that it already knows how to bear with sorrow the burden of the corruptible flesh, and with all its desires to seek to join the hymn-singing choirs of angels, to mingle with the heavenly citizens, and to rejoice at its everlasting incorruption in the sight of God.

— Gregory the Great, Homilies on Ezekiel, 2.2.7–8 (see also 1.3.9–12, 2.2.7–15)

Let all then that strive to lay hold of the summit of perfection, when they desire to occupy the citadel of contemplation, first try themselves, by exercising, in the field of practice, that they may needfully acquaint themselves, if they now no longer bring mischiefs upon their neighbours, if when brought upon them by their neighbours, they bear them with composure of mind, if when temporal advantages are put in their way, the mind is never dissipated by joy, if, when they are withdrawn, it is not stung by overmuch regret, and then let them reflect, if, when they return inwardly to themselves, in this work of theirs of exploring spiritual things, they never draw along with them the shadows of corporeal objects, or when drawn along, as they may be, if they drive them off with the hand of discretion; if, when they long to behold the unencompassed light, they put down all images of their own compass, or in that which they seek to reach unto above themselves, conquer that which they are. Hence it is rightly said here, Thou shalt come to thy grave in abundance. (Job 5:26) For the perfect man does ‘come to the grave in abundance,’ in that he first gathers together the works of an active life, and then by contemplation wholly hides from this world his fleshly sense, which is now dead.

— Gregory the Great, Morals on the Book of Job, VI, §61 (see also the rest of ch. 37 – §§56–62)

The conduct of a prelate ought so far to transcend the conduct of the people as the life of a shepherd is wont to exalt him above the flock. For one whose estimation is such that the people are called his flock is bound anxiously to consider what great necessity is laid upon him to maintain rectitude. It is necessary, then, that in thought he should be pure, in action chief; discreet in keeping silence, profitable in speech; a near neighbour to every one in sympathy, exalted above all in contemplation; a familiar friend of good livers through humility, unbending against the vices of evil-doers through zeal for righteousness; not relaxing in his care for what is inward from being occupied in outward things, nor neglecting to provide for outward things in his solicitude for what is inward. But the things which we have thus briefly touched on let us now unfold and discuss more at length.

— Gregory the Great, The Book of Pastoral Rule, 2.1

These are all that is left to the Soul, when, for a time, she loses the light of contemplation, which loss is continually happening to her, in order that she may desire her Lord more and more. At such times she can only console herself with good works proceeding from an unfeigned faith. Whenever she falls from contemplation, she retires into activity, as being the best means of recovering her repose. For action and contemplation are near relatives, and love to remain together. Martha is the sister of Mary, and when the Bride goes forth from the light of contemplation, it is not to fall into the darkness of sin or the negligence of sloth, but to sustain herself in the lesser light of good actions.

— Bernard of Clairvaux, Fragments from a Fragment

[Aristotle] argues from [that wisdom is not a practical but a speculative science] to [that knowledge of the truth belongs pre-eminently to first philosophy] in this way. Theoretical, i.e., speculative, knowledge differs from practical knowledge by its end; for the end of speculative knowledge is truth, because it has knowledge of the truth as its objective. But the end of practical knowledge is action, because, even though “practical men,” i.e., men of action, attempt to understand the truth as it belongs to certain things, they do not seek this as an ultimate end; for they do not consider the cause of truth in and for itself as an end but in relation to action, either by applying it to some definite individual, or to some definite time. Therefore, if we add to the above the fact that wisdom or first philosophy is not practical but speculative, it follows that first philosophy is most fittingly called the science of truth.

— Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Metaphysics, 2.2§290

Properly speaking, those things are said to live whose movement or operation is from within themselves. Now that which is proper to a thing and to which it is most inclined is that which is most becoming to it from itself; wherefore every living thing gives proof of its life by that operation which is most proper to it, and to which it is most inclined. Thus the life of plants is said to consist in nourishment and generation; the life of animals in sensation and movement; and the life of men in their understanding and acting according to reason. Wherefore also in men the life of every man would seem to be that wherein he delights most, and on which he is most intent; thus especially does he wish “to associate with his friends” (Ethic. ix, 12).

Accordingly since certain men are especially intent on the contemplation of truth, while others are especially intent on external actions, it follows that man’s life is fittingly divided into active and contemplative.

— Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiæ, II-II, Q. 179, A. 1, co. (see also QQ. 179–182)

Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from science his proper food and nourishment: But so narrow are the bounds of human understanding, that little satisfaction can be hoped for in this particular, either from the extent or security of his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no less than a reasonable being: But neither can he always enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or preserve the proper relish for them. Man is also an active being; and from that disposition, as well as from the various necessities of human life, must submit to business and occupation: But the mind requires some relaxation, and cannot always support its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that nature has pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable to human race, and secretly admonished them to allow none of these biasses to draw too much, so as to incapacitate them for other occupations and entertainments. Indulge your passion for science, says she, but let your science be human, and such as may have a direct reference to action and society. Abstruse thought and profound researches I prohibit, and will severely punish, by the pensive melancholy which they introduce, by the endless uncertainty in which they involve you, and by the cold reception which your pretended discoveries shall meet with, when communicated. Be a philosopher; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still a man.

— David Hume, An Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, §1, ¶6

We proceed quite correctly if, as usual, we divide Philosophy, as containing the principles of the rational cognition of things by means of concepts (not merely, as logic does, principles of the form of thought in general without distinction of Objects), into theoretical and practical. But then the concepts, which furnish their Object to the principles of this rational cognition, must be specifically distinct; otherwise they would not justify a division, which always presupposes a contrast between the principles of the rational cognition belonging to the different parts of a science.

Now there are only two kinds of concepts, and these admit as many distinct principles of the possibility of their objects, viz. natural concepts and the concept of freedom. The former render possible theoretical cognition according to principles a priori; the latter in respect of this theoretical cognition only supplies in itself a negative principle (that of mere contrast), but on the other hand it furnishes fundamental propositions which extend the sphere of the determination of the will and are therefore called practical. Thus Philosophy is correctly divided into two parts, quite distinct in8 their principles; the theoretical part or Natural Philosophy, and the practical part or Moral Philosophy (for that is the name given to the practical legislation of Reason in accordance with the concept of freedom). But up to the present a gross misuse of these expressions has prevailed, both in the division of the different principles and consequently also of Philosophy itself. For what is practical according to natural concepts has been identified with the practical according to the concept of freedom; and so with the like titles, ‘theoretical’ and ‘practical’ Philosophy, a division has been made, by which in fact nothing has been divided (for both parts might in such case have principles of the same kind).

The will, regarded as the faculty of desire, is (in this view) one of the many natural causes in the world, viz. that cause which acts in accordance with concepts. All that is represented as possible (or necessary) by means of a will is called practically possible (or necessary); as distinguished from the physical possibility or necessity of an effect, whose cause is not determined to causality by concepts (but in lifeless matter by mechanism and in animals by instinct). Here, in respect of the practical, it is left undetermined whether the concept which gives the rule to the causality of the will, is a natural concept or a concept of freedom.

But the last distinction is essential. For if the concept which determines the causality is a natural concept, then the principles are technically practical; whereas, if it is a concept of freedom they are morally practical. And as the division of a rational science depends on the distinction between objects whose cognition needs distinct principles, the former will9 belong to theoretical Philosophy (doctrine of Nature), but the latter alone will constitute the second part, viz. practical Philosophy (doctrine of Morals).

All technically practical rules (i.e. the rules of art and skill generally, or of prudence regarded as skill in exercising an influence over men and their wills), so far as their principles rest on concepts, must be reckoned only as corollaries to theoretical Philosophy. For they concern only the possibility of things according to natural concepts, to which belong not only the means which are to be met with in nature, but also the will itself (as a faculty of desire and consequently a natural faculty), so far as it can be determined conformably to these rules by natural motives. However, practical rules of this kind are not called laws (like physical laws), but only precepts; because the will does not stand merely under the natural concept, but also under the concept of freedom, in relation to which its principles are called laws. These with their consequences alone constitute the second or practical part of Philosophy.

The solution of the problems of pure geometry does not belong to a particular part of the science; mensuration does not deserve the name of practical, in contrast to pure, geometry, as a second part of geometry in general; and just as little ought the mechanical or chemical art of experiment or observation to be reckoned as a practical part of the doctrine of Nature. Just as little, in fine, ought housekeeping, farming, statesmanship, the art of conversation, the prescribing of diet, the universal doctrine of happiness itself, or the curbing of the inclinations and checking of the affections for the sake of happiness, to be reckoned as practical Philosophy, or taken to constitute the second part of10 Philosophy in general. For all these contain only rules of skill (and are consequently only technically practical) for bringing about an effect that is possible according to the natural concepts of causes and effects, which, since they belong to theoretical Philosophy, are subject to those precepts as mere corollaries from it (viz. natural science), and can therefore claim no place in a special Philosophy called practical. On the other hand, the morally practical precepts, which are altogether based on the concept of freedom to the complete exclusion of the natural determining grounds of the will, constitute a quite special class. These, like the rules which nature obeys, are called simply laws, but they do not, like them, rest on sensuous conditions but on a supersensible principle; and accordingly they require for themselves a quite different part of Philosophy, called practical, corresponding to its theoretical part.

We hence see that a complex of practical precepts given by Philosophy does not constitute a distinct part of Philosophy, as opposed to the theoretical part, because these precepts are practical; for they might be that, even if their principles were derived altogether from the theoretical cognition of nature (as technically practical rules). [A distinct branch of Philosophy is constituted only] if their principle, as it is not borrowed from the natural concept, which is always sensuously conditioned, rests on the supersensible, which alone makes the concept of freedom cognisable by formal laws. These precepts are then morally practical, i.e. not merely precepts or rules in this or that aspect, but, without any preceding reference to purposes and designs, are laws.

— Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment, Introduction, §I

Any complete human operation, from the simplest to the most complicated, whether executed by just one individual or by many, is inevitably composed of two parts, or, in other words, gives rise to two sorts of consideration: the one theoretical, the other practical; one a matter of conception, the other of execution. The first, as a matter of strict necessity, precedes the second, which it is meant to direct. In other words, there is never action without preliminary speculation. This analytical process can be observed even in operations which seem to be matters of pure routine; the difference is only in whether the theory is well- or ill-conceived. The man who, whatever the subject may be, claims not to allow his mind to be directed by theories, restricts himself, as we have seen, to refusing to allow the theoretical progress made by his contemporaries and to sticking with superannuated theories long after they have been replaced. Thus, for example, those who proudly affect not to believe in medicine ordinarily hand themselves over with an eager stupidity to the crudest charlatanism.

— Auguste Comte, Plan of the Scientific Work Necessary for the Reorganization of Society, in: Early Political Writings, p. 69 (see also: p. 1)

Exactly five voices

A predicable is something that can be predicated, that is, stated of a subject. Porphyry, in his Isagoge, defined and distinguished five kinds of predicables: genus, species, difference, property, and accident. This division of predicables was later accepted by logicians for a long time. [1] It is based upon a similar classification set forth by Aristotle in the Topics (a, iv–viii), which has “definition,” however, in place of “species.” [2]

Porphyry spent most of his book proving that his division of predicables was irreducible, that is, distinguishing each of his five ‘voices’ from the rest. Nevertheless, a good division must also be complete and rationally progressive, etc.; many requirements for a good division were recognized. [3] So, many derivations of the division of five predicables were written so as to make evident its good foundation. What follows is my listing of all such derivations that I have yet found.

Aristotle treated only statements of the form “A is B,” in which subject and predicate are both universal. He noted that in every true statement of this type the predicate either is convertible with the subject (i.e., “B is A” follows from “A is B”) or else it is not. If the predicate is convertible and states its essence, then it is the definition of the subject; whereas if it is convertible but does not state the essence, it is a property of the subject. On the other hand, if the predicate is not convertible with the subject but is part of the definition, it is the genus or differentia of the subject, for a definition always consists of genus and differentia. Finally, if the predicate is not convertible and is not part of the definition, it is an accident of the subject.

 — Encyclopaedia Brittanica, “Predicable” [2]

A universal term expresses either the essence of a thing or something added to the essence, In the former case, it expresses either the whole essence or only a part of it. If it denotes the whole essence, it is a species, and the beings to which it is applied are called individuals, as “man.”

If the universal denotes only a part of the essence, it denotes either the part common to other species, or the part by which the essence differs from them: in the first ease it is called genus, and in the second specific difference; thus, “animal” expresses what is common to both man and brute, and “rational” expresses the specific difference which distinguishes man from brute. If the universal denotes what is added to the essence, either this attribute cannot be separated from the essence, but is a necessary attendant of it, so that it is always found in the whole species and in that species only, in which case it is a property; or it can be separated without changing the essence, and then it is an accident; thus, “free will” is a property, “learning” is an accident of man. Genus, species, and difference are divided into highest, intermediates and lowest or proximate, as may be seen in the following diagram. [What follows is a diagram of the “Porphyrean tree”, omitted here.]

— Louis de Poissy, Elementary Course of Christian Philosophy [4]

§329. Again, when we say

(1) Some animals are men,

(2) Some men are black,

what is there to tell us that the predicate is to be regarded in the one case as a species and in the other as an accident of the subject? Nothing plainly but the assumption of a definition already known.

§330. But if this assumption be granted, the classification seems to admit of a more or less complete defense by logic.

For, given any subject, we can predicate of it either a class or an attribute.

When the predicate is a class, the term predicated is called a Genus, if the subject itself be a class, or a Species, if it be an individual.

When, on the other hand, the predicate is an attribute, the attribute predicated may be either the very attribute which distinguishes the subject from other members of the same class, in which case it is called the Difference, or it may be some attribute connected with the definition, i.e. Property, or not connected with it, i.e. Accident.

— St. George William Joseph Stock, Deductive Logic [5] [6]

[The number of universals] follows from the proportion of a substantial compound of which they are properly predicated, for what is truly predicated of another must name it totum, since it is impossible to predicate the part of the whole. However, a whole can be named for the whole, and also for a part, and thus the predicate can name the whole, either for a part, or for any other part, or for a part simultaneously with the whole.

One thing, therefore, can receive five predicates, if it is material. When the compound is named for its material, genus is predicated; when it is named for its formal principle, difference is predicated; when considering the genus with the difference, uniting matter and form, species is predicated; if it refers to accidents, caused by the principles of the species or genus, property is predicated, and if to accidents caused by the principles of an individual, accident is predicated.

We may demonstrate this in another way:

It may be said that, when some thing is predicated of another thing, it is totally or partially predicated.

What is totally predicated, is so predicated necessarily when it is of the quiddity of the thing, or contingently, when it is predicated in relation to the whole, not referring to its essence. In the first case, species is predicated – which is essentially, necessarily and totally predicated –, and difference is predicated, which is a constituent of the species. In the second case, property is predicated, which is a necessary accident of the species of thing to which it refers, but actually necessary of the subject that represents it.

When it is partially predicated, it may be predicated essentially or non-essentially. In the first case, genus is predicated, whether remote or proximate, which refers to the essence of a thing taken incompletely – since when you say that man is an animal, you say something of the essence, but incompletely.

In the second case, accident is predicated; only accident may, as such, be predicated both of the species and of the subject that represents it.

As these five possibilities are the only general ones that can be established regarding the predication of anything, the Porphyrean division of the five predicates is sufficiently explained and justified.

—  Mário Ferreira dos Santos, Isagoge de Porfírio [7]

[1] I am pretty sure of this, but I do not know what I could possibly cite in its favor. Can anyone recommend me a good historian of logic?

[2] https://www.britannica.com/topic/predicable

[3] See, for instance, Art. VII here: https://www3.nd.edu/~maritain/jmc/etext/cp01.htm

The listing of the requirements for a good division varies slightly between textbooks, and I should like to make another post, similar to this one, with a comparison of such listings.

[4] https://maritain.nd.edu/jmc/etext/cp01.htm

[5] https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/189/deductive-logic/3898/part-2-chapter-6/

[6] A note on Stock’s name. He was not canonized; his first name was “St. George”, with the title included, cf. https://www.zinzin.com/observations/2012/who-was-st-george-william-joseph-stock/

[7] I have translated this myself, hopefully adequately. I have not attempted to do so very literally, but I have attempted to render the reasoning adequately and the technical terms properly. May Mário’s fans rebuke me if I have not done this.

Infinitely large objects

Note: This blog post has been retracted, since I no longer think of it as a good representation of how I think about its topic. I may, or may not, have written a better post about the same topic since; check the full list of posts.

Thomas Aquinas considers (S.T. Iª,7,3) whether an infinitely large body may exist:

On the contrary, Every body has a surface. But every body which has a surface is finite; because surface is the term of a finite body. Therefore all bodies are finite. The same applies both to surface and to a line. Therefore nothing is infinite in magnitude.

This argument, from the nature of surfaces, is repeated in the corpus of the article and in the reply to the second objection:

The same applies to a mathematical body. For if we imagine a mathematical body actually existing, we must imagine it under some form, because nothing is actual except by its form; hence, since the form of quantity as such is figure, such a body must have some figure, and so would be finite; for figure is confined by a term or boundary.

[...] 

Reply to Objection 2. Although the infinite is not against the nature of magnitude in general, still it is against the nature of any species of it; thus, for instance, it is against the nature of a bicubical or tricubical magnitude, whether circular or triangular, and so on. Now what is not possible in any species cannot exist in the genus; hence there cannot be any infinite magnitude, since no species of magnitude is infinite.

This argument seems to me pretty stupid. There are many figures which have infinite magnitude; they are simply open in one of their directions. One of them would be the parabola, or, in three dimensions, a paraboloid.

Another argument is made in the article from the nature of motion; he argues that such a body could not move. This assumes that an immovable body cannot exist, which I agree with:

The same appears from movement; because every natural body has some natural movement; whereas an infinite body could not have any natural movement; neither direct, because nothing moves naturally by a direct movement unless it is out of its place; and this could not happen to an infinite body, for it would occupy every place, and thus every place would be indifferently its own place. Neither could it move circularly; forasmuch as circular motion requires that one part of the body is necessarily transferred to a place occupied by another part, and this could not happen as regards an infinite circular body: for if two lines be drawn from the centre, the farther they extend from the centre, the farther they are from each other; therefore, if a body were infinite, the lines would be infinitely distant from each other; and thus one could never occupy the place belonging to any other.

Suppose there were a paraboloid extending infinitely into space, and we were to rotate it about its center only a little bit, similarly to how a conical drill rotates. It would seem that, while the points near to the center would move only by a little bit, as we wanted, the points farther from the center would rotate by proportionally larger amounts, to the point where, although an infinite speed is not reached at any point, in any event light-speed would seem to have to be reached at some point, which is absurd.

I chose to consider a case that does not seem to have this problem: an infinite rope. At first, I thought of an infinite chain, but then the distinctness of its links would seem to make it more nearly akin to an infinite multitude than to a single large object.

Imagine there were an infinite rope. We can see one end of it, and there is no other end because it goes infinitely in one direction. 

What happens if you pull the rope? You can’t get more of the rope, because then you would have pulled all of its infinite weight. But you also can’t pull it tighter, because then it would have to have a definite other end point, just like how, with any other rope, you could travel while holding it tight so as to circle its other endpoint.

The rope cannot be moved in the direction opposite to the infinite direction, and it can also not be pulled tight, or so it seems to me. So it seems such a rope cannot exist.

Anton objected that the rope could be pulled by an infinite force, or it could have zero mass.

Now, I reject the notion of infinite force for a reason similar to the reason I reject the notion of an immovable object: admitting both leads to a paradox, and discussions of this paradox have led me to think neither notion is plausible. But let us admit the notion of an infinite force for the sake of argument.

Supposing that the rope, existing as I described it, were pulled by an infinite force, it would be unclear with what speed it would move. It seems that the rope could, in theory, move with any of different speeds; but there is only one infinity. So moving the rope in this way does not seem plausible.

And a similar problem arises supposing that the rope has no mass: any kind of tug on the rope would seem sufficient to pull “the whole” rope, which is absurd.

To the former problem, Anton answered that there are multiple quantitative infinities. I have heard of such notions in mathematics, but I do not think any current notion of multiple infinities would apply to a force; and, in any event, I was already straining to admit an infinitely strong force of any kind.

Calvin gave this suggestion:

The rope could have infinite length and finite mass if the density exponentially decreases.

Everyone liked Calvin’s suggestion, myself included. It seems very apt and plausible.

Upon closer examination, someone could think of how density of matter is a measure of how close together, or far apart, its particles are. After decreasing in density by some amount, the rope would be a liquid and then a gas, and then it is unclear how it would remain a cohesive rope. But we could suppose that it is possible, nevertheless, that it could somehow remain a cohesive rope throughout all of these decreases; it is not as implausible to me as the earlier rejected notions.

Another alternative is that it is not the density that decreases exponentially, but the thickness of the rope. We could then seem to be supposing a different strange concept, for the rope would at some point become thinner than the diameter of the smallest particles we know. But this is not so bad either, I think. Besides, I think our smallest particles currently known are now often supposed to be “point-like”, which I take to mean that they are like the volumeless points of Euclidean geometry. If so, there is no lower limit on the rope’s decreasing thickness. So, such an infinite rope seems to me to be plausible.

Difficulty in defining friendship

Clearly friendship is a mutual relation between people. Our use of language does not allow us to speak about unrequited friendships. And clearly – this is what everyone mentions when defining friendship – it involves mutual love, or affection. (I use these interchangeably.)

But mutual love, though necessary, is not a sufficient condition for a friendship. For suppose that I learn of some on-line celebrity and fall in love with her, and read all about her as much as I can. Unbeknownst to me, this celebrity has also learned about me, and read about me as much as she can, and fallen in love with me. There is mutual love, but one could hardly say there is a friendship – we have never talked to each other. Some sort of contact seems to also be required.

But what kind of contact? I do not mean here to put a question of media – on-line friends are clearly friends, for instance, as are pen pals – but of frequency. How long after your last contact can you say that a friendship has lapsed?

If two friends spent decades apart, and at least one of them has changed so much that they now have little in common, it would seem that it has lapsed. They do not even know each other, beyond their names and early history; if they do have some knowledge about how they have changed, they have not talked about it. So, if they met and were quickly friendly again, it would seem more fitting to describe the situation as a new friendship starting between the same people than as the old friendship continuing.

But, at least sometimes, it would seem that it can still be the same friendship after many years. It is unclear what the conditions are for this to happen. I would suppose that it involves their knowledge of each other remaining sufficiently up-to-date in some respect. I don’t know, though.

The Epicurean personality

Note: This blog post has been retracted, since I no longer think of it as a good representation of how I think about its topic. I may, or may not, have written a better post about the same topic since; check the full list of posts.

This is a work in folk psychology, but it may be held to be more serious by some. The thesis is that one personality type unites Epicurus to many liberals and atheists throughout history, up to the present day. I have called it the Epicurean personality, after his famous example, although an earlier one may have been Democritus, and Lucretius left more writings. People of this personality are called Epicureans here, although this is not the original sense of the word.

0. Contents

1. Atoms
2. Hedons
3. Friendship
4. Examples

1. Atoms

The Epicurean seeks to explain all things through the relations of things inferior to them. This tendency had its first expression in ancient Greek atomism, and was later formulated in early modern mechanicism. Today, quantum physics is so confusing that Epicureans can no longer refer to anything as simple as atoms and void, or masses in motion, but they will make some vague reference to ‘the entities known by science’ or to ‘physical principles’ and leave the precise formulation to their fellow Epicureans in the field of physics.

The Epicurean would be an atomist. If he cannot, he would be a materialist. If he finds that insufficient, for matter must be supplemented with energy or other principles, he will be a physicalist. If all of this seems to him insufficient to explain mind, he will be a Russellian monist – only with much effort will he be a dualist. And then, he would rather ascribe as few faculties to the soul as possible, leaving most of them to the brain. If he can believe that the soul is mortal, he will.

There is no God for him, of course. If he must admit one, he would rather be a deist, or whatever kind of theist lets him most easily ignore the shameful admission of a creator – maybe a kind of pantheist. These days it is popular that he be an agnostic.

2. Hedons

For the Epicurean, what is good is what feels good – not necessarily as basely as bodily pleasure, but at least emotionally. This finds expression in many different doctrines; the classical Epicurean hedonism was most clear in expressing this tendency, but not clear enough in giving a thoroughgoing ethical account. Therefore, many others have been devised.

The most direct descendant would probably be utilitarianism. The relation between ‘utility’ and pleasure is quite clear. The Epicurean will usually try to avoid any version of utilitarianism that has the permissibility of most kinds of human sacrifice as a consequence, however, for reasons discussed in the next part. Other kinds of consequentialism have been devised which are, though less clearly, also expressions of the Epicurean tendency – though not all kinds of consequentialism are necessarily such expressions.

Emotivism, as usually held,[1] would also be a clear expression. Not only is what is good identical to what feels good, indeed a thing’s goodness is reduced entirely to its being emotionally pleasing. Sometimes, while denying emotivism – perhaps because it does not feel good to reduce goodness in that way – the Epicurean will maintain that, while we do know what is good through our ‘moral emotions’, those in turn are caused by ‘moral intuitions’, and he will be an intuitionist.

There may be less clear expressions in moral opinions that are based on some ‘rational’ rule or collection of rules, such as perhaps some kinds of libertarianism (not all). Certainly, if he believes in something as abstract as the “non-aggression principle” or the “categorical imperative”, he does so because it seems to him to be a fitting expression of his feelings – only rarely would he try to change his feelings to fit his rule.

The Epicurean does not believe, or at least not very strongly, in the ethics of the major religions, nor in Aristotelian natural law. Homosexual acts feel good, and do not usually have painful consequences – what could be so wrong with them?

Let no one think that they disregard consequences, either. The Epicurean does not care only for his immediate gratification. The ideal of a pleasurable life is certainly not that of a Puritan, but equally certainly not that of a gluttonous libertine, for such a life tends to collapse, and painfully so. A careful balance must be observed, and mostly is.

3. Friendship

The Epicurean feels immense compassion for his fellow men. Given the second principle just outlined, he is likely to also feel that such compassion is an imperative. He is more offended at being called self-centered than at being called dishonest.

This leads him to strongly altruistic injunctions in ethics, and to strongly collectivist positions in politics. Not necessarily statist, for he may find State violence to be oppressive – it is not compassionate, and it does not feel good. Indeed, most anarchists – here excepted most anarcho-capitalists – have been Epicureans. The Epicurean generally belongs to the libertarian left. Some have been more right wing, but not Rothbardians or Objectivists. Some have been more authoritarian, but not Stalinists or fascists. They generally hate fascists, as being the opposite of what they are.

It is easier for anyone to be compassionate toward a visible person than toward a small, practically invisible fetus. The Epicurean is usually pro-choice.

Often, the Epicurean’s compassion is shown through an emphasis on tolerance, though not for what seems uncompassionate. He will support free speech, but often exclude hate speech from it.

4. Examples

I believe, of course, that Epicurus was an example. His antecedents and descendants very likely were, too – Democritus, Lucretius.

Many, though not all, liberals have been examples. Certainly Bentham was one, and probably Mill. Not Mises, not Hayek. Rawls was one, Nozick was not. Isaiah Berlin certainly was one, his pluralism being a strong foundation for the Epicurean tolerance.

Bertrand Russell was an example.

[1] Qualification added because a friend explained to me that emotivism is primarily a thesis about language, so that, at least conceivably, an emotivist could also be a moral realist. In any event, that is not how the view is commonly explained; the main purpose in saying that moral judgments express emotion-like states seems to usually be to deny that they refer to extramental reality. So I think the text did not do terribly at representing the usual emotivist; I do not know of another word to use to distinguish him.