Division of ethical opinions

Note: This blog post has been retracted, since I no longer think of it as a good representation of how I think about its topic.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.

As an aid to my own study of ethical opinions, I have decided to divide them into six types.

0. Contents

1. Fundamental distinctions
1.1. Ethics vs. non-ethics
1.2. Utility vs. abstract duty
1.3. Comprehensive vs. particular
2. Division
2.1. Particular utility
2.2. Comprehensive utility
2.3. Particular duty
2.4. Comprehensive duty
2.5. Non-ethics, self-serving
2.6. Non-ethics, cause-serving
3. Remarks on scope

1. Fundamental distinctions

The division is based on three fundamental distinctions, which does not yield eight types because the second two distinctions do not apply within one of the prongs of the first, and that prong is in turn divided into two types based on a criterion which is not very important.

1.1. Ethics vs. non-ethics

Some ethical opinions believe in ethics. Some do not; they believe in non-ethics. And yet they are ethical opinions, because they are opinions about a rule for action.

In this division, I call ethics any opinion which will lead to a rule of action which is consistent, that is, leading to similar actions in similar circumstances, abstracted from whether the actions are judged helpful or harmful to a man (that is, the actor holding the opinion) or his cause.

Non-ethics are other opinions, that is, those which may lead to very different actions in very similar circumstances, because judgment is to be based on such practical concerns, and not on a consistent rule.

1.2. Utility vs. abstract duty

Utility here is fully intended to evoke utilitarianism, but is taken much more broadly. An ethical opinion is a rule of utility when the fundamental goal of action is to increase happiness in some sense. Nothing needs to be done if it will make no one happier, whether in the short or the long run.

These opinions constitute ethics because it is held that similar actions will tend to lead to happiness in similar circumstances. There may need to be many particular considerations about the circumstances, but the action is still abstracted from helpfulness to a man or his cause, which is what excludes an opinion from ethics. Utilitarians seek the greatest happiness of the greatest number; if they sought their own greatest happiness, simply, they would be non-ethicists.

Rules of utility may even go so far as to prescribe some general rules of conduct, abstracted from certain particular circumstantial considerations, but this is always done because it is thought to lead to greater happiness; often, the rules are regarded as heuristics, to be abandoned in extreme situations where following them would clearly lead to great suffering.

Abstract duty, by contrast with utility, abstracts from considerations of happiness, as the name is meant to imply. That said, I may often write simply “duty” where I find that it will be unambiguous, such as in the next sentence. An ethical opinion is a rule of duty when the fundamental goal of action is the act’s conformity with certain rules, whencesoever they come; they must be obeyed even at the loss of all.

It will often be held by proponents of rules of duty that following one’s duty is always conducive to one’s own greater happiness. It is never held, however, that following duty will always lead to greater happiness for any man other than the individual actor; if so, what we have is a kind of rule of utility.

1.3. Comprehensive vs. particular

An ethical opinion is comprehensive when it takes into account man’s entire existence, composed of mortal body and immortal soul; a particular opinion disregards the latter.

In the case of rules of utility, being comprehensive means taking into account, for every action, men’s welfare or happiness in the afterlife as well as on this world; and it means accounting for ways to harm men’s souls that do not translate into perceptible harm to their physical or mental health.

In the case of rules of duty, being comprehensive means that the rules or duties prescribed may command or forbid actions relating to men’s souls, even if they do not perceptibly affect them physically or mentally.

Being particular, in either case, means disregarding such things, perhaps for their being held not to exist.

2. Division

The above distinctions being drawn, it is easy to sort opinions into these divisions. The order is not very important.

2.1. Particular utility

Into particular utility may be classed many opinions held by atheists, though certainly not all. Within this class I would place Epicurean hedonism, all sorts of utilitarianism, and some kinds of ethical intuitionism – that is, at least Bertrand Russell’s kind.

2.2. Comprehensive utility

The one opinion I believe can be classed into comprehensive utility at this moment is the ethics of Plato’s Gorgias. In that dialogue, pleasure is distinguished from good, but the good is to be sought primarily for its leading to abiding human happiness; which is much more emphasized at the end, when the doctrine of an afterlife is introduced. This is yet more plausible if the doctrine of the good in the Protagoras is held to be in harmony with it; in this interpretation I believe I accord with Franco Trabattoni, Platone, §2.

2.3. Particular duty

Many liberal and especially libertarian ethics may be classed into particular duty. I believe all major theories of “libertarian ethics”, of the vein of Rothbard and Hoppe, would be classed here.

2.4. Comprehensive duty

I believe most ethical opinions within the major monotheistic religions would be classed here.

2.5. Non-ethics, self-serving

This is the opinion of the proverbial selfish and cruel man who seeks nothing but to advance his own interests. Since his interests may, in different, similar situations, be best served in some ways and sometimes in others, depending for instance on whether the people involved in a situation are his friends or enemies, this is a rule of non-ethics. This opinion is almost never defended theoretically, although it seems plausible that it is somewhat often seen in practice.

2.6. Non-ethics, cause-serving

This is where all other rules of non-ethics go; if a man does all his actions to advance a particular woman’s interests, for instance, that woman may simply be regarded as being his cause for the purposes of this division.

I named this section cause-serving because I believe it is most often seen in ideologues, who seek nothing but to advance the interests of their party or class. Since these interests may, in different, similar situations, be best served in some ways and sometimes in others, depending for instance on whether the people involved in a situation are the party’s friends or enemies, to seek those interests in every action is to follow a rule of non-ethics.

3. Remarks on scope

Many things are left out of this division, which merely captures the elements which I find most interesting in ethical opinions.

It leaves out, for instance, whether an opinion is consequentialist or not. If someone creates a rule of action which favors some actions rather than others because of their consequences, and this is in no way for the reason that these consequences are associated with greater happiness in any sense, but for some other reason which is nevertheless held to be binding, this rule would be a rule of duty, not of utility. So, while I cannot think of anyone that did this, technically this division does not divide every conceivable consequentialist opinion into one particular category.

It also leaves out meta-ethical concerns. An opinion’s category says nothing about whether its holders believe moral laws to be natural, rational, positive, divine, human, &c.

What is born creates its own use?

Before the theory of evolution by natural selection was well-known, it seems that the usefulness of our organs was explained in two major ways. Either (a) they were designed for the purpose or fulfilling the ends that we achieve with them, or (b) they arose through mindless means and, after this, we discovered that they were useful for certain purposes and began to use them for those purposes.

The latter was argued by Lucretius in the following passage:

Herein you must eagerly desire to shun this fault, and with foresighted fear to avoid this error; do not think that the bright light of the eyes was created in order that we may be able to look before us, or that, in order that we may have power to plant long paces, therefore the tops of shanks and thighs, based upon the feet, are able to bend; or again, that the forearms are jointed to the strong upper arms and hands given us to serve us on either side, in order that we might be able to do what was needful for life. All other ideas of this sort, which men proclaim, by distorted reasoning set effect for cause, since nothing at all was born in the body that we might be able to use it, but what is born creates its own use. Nor did sight exist before the light of the eyes was born, nor pleading in words before the tongue was created, but rather the birth of the tongue came long before discourse, and the ears were created much before sound was heard, and in short all the limbs, I trow, existed before their use came about: they cannot then have grown for the purpose of using them. But, on the other side, to join hands in the strife of battle, to mangle limbs and befoul the body with gore; these things were known long before gleaming darts flew abroad, and nature constrained men to avoid a wounding blow, before the left arm, trained by art, held up the defence of a shield. And of a surety to trust the tired body to rest was a habit far older than the soft-spread bed, and the slaking of the thirst was born before cups. These things, then, which are invented to suit the needs of life, might well be thought to have been discovered for the purpose of using them. But all those other things lie apart, which were first born themselves, and thereafter revealed the concept of their usefulness. In this class first of all we see the senses and the limbs; wherefore, again and again, it cannot be that you should believe that they could have been created for the purpose of useful service.

This, likewise, is no cause for wonder, that the nature of the body of every living thing of itself seeks food. For verily I have shownn that many bodies ebb and pass away from things in many ways, but most are bound to pass from living creatures. For because they are sorely tried by motion and many bodies by sweating are squeezed and pass out from deep beneath, many are breathed out through their mouths, when they pant in weariness; by these means then the body grows rare, and all the nature is undermined; and on this follows pain. Therefore food is taken to support the limbs and renew strength when it passes within, and to muzzle the gaping desire for eating through all the limbs and veins. Likewise, moisture spreads into all the spots which demand moisture; and the many gathered bodies of heat, which furnish the fires to our stomach, are scattered by the incoming moisture, and quenched like a flame, that the dry heat may no longer be able to burn our body. Thus then the panting thirst is washed away from our body, thus the hungry yearning is satisfied.

— On the Nature of Things, book IV, 823–76

William Paley took the time to argue against this opinion in the following section:

To the marks of contrivance discoverable in animal bodies, and to the argument deduced from them, in proof of design, and of a designing Creator, this turn is sometimes attempted to be given, viz. that the parts were not intended for the use, but that the use arose out of the parts. This distinction is intelligible. A cabinet-maker rubs his mahogany with fish-skin;* yet it would be too much to assert that the skin of the dog fish was made rough and granulated on purpose for the polishing of wood, and the use of cabinet-makers. Therefore the distinction is intelligible. But I think that there is very little place for it in the works of nature. When roundly and generally affirmed of them, as it hath sometimes been, it amounts to such another stretch of assertion, as it would be to say, that all the implements of the cabinet-maker’s workshop, as well as his fish-skin, were substances accidentally configurated, which he had picked up, and converted to his use; that his adzes, saws, planes, and gimlets, were not made, as we suppose, to hew, cut, smooth, shape out, or bore wood with; but that, these things being made, no matter with what design, or whether with any, the cabinet-maker perceived that they were applicable to his purpose, and turned them to account.

But, again; so far as this solution is attempted to be applied to those parts of animals the action of which does not depend upon the will of the animal, it is fraught with still more evident absurdity. Is it possible to believe that the eye was formed without any regard to vision; that it was the animal itself which found out, that, though formed with no such intention, it would serve to see with; and that the use of the eye, as an organ of sight, resulted from this discovery, and the animal’s application of it? The same question may be asked of the ear; the same of all the senses. None of the senses fundamentally depend upon the election of the animal: consequently neither upon his sagacity, nor his experience. It is the impression which objects make upon them that constitutes their use. Under that impression he is passive. He may bring objects to the sense, or within its reach; he may select these objects; but over the impression itself he has no power, or very little; and that properly is the sense.

Secondly, there are many parts of animal bodies which seem to depend upon the will of the animal in a greater degree than the senses do, and yet with respect to which this solution is equally unsatisfactory. If we apply the solution to the human body, for instance, it forms itself into questions upon which no reasonable mind can doubt; such as, whether the teeth were made expressly for the mastication of food, the feet for walking, the hands for holding; or whether, these things being as they are, being in fact in the animal’s possession, his own ingenuity taught him that they were convertible to these purposes, though no such purposes were contemplated in their formation.

All that there is of the appearance of reason in this way of considering the subject is, that, in some cases, the organization seems to determine the habits of the animal, and its choice, to a particular mode of life; which, in a certain sense, may be called ‘the use arising out of the part.’ Now to all the instances, in which there is any place for this suggestion, it may be replied, that the organization determines the animal to habits beneficial and salutary to itself; and that this effect would not be seen so regularly to follow, if the several organizations did not bear a concerted and contrived relation to the substances by which the animal was surrounded. They would, otherwise, be capacities without objects; powers without employment. The web foot determines, you say, the duck to swim: but what would that avail, if there were no water to swim in? The strong, hooked bill, and sharp talons, of one species of bird, determine it to prey upon animals; the soft straight bill, and weak claws, of another species, determine it to pick up seeds: but neither determination could take effect in providing for the sustenance of the birds, if animal bodies and vegetable seeds did not lie within their reach. The peculiar conformation of the bill, and tongue, and claws of the woodpecker, determines that bird to search for his food amongst the insects lodged behind the bark, or in the wood, of decayed trees; but what would this profit him if there were no trees, no decayed trees, no insects lodged under their bark, or in their trunk? The proboscis with which the bee is furnished, determines him to seek for honey; but what would that signify, if flowers supplied none? Faculties thrown down upon animals at random, and without reference to the objects amidst which they are placed, would not produce to them the services and benefits which we see: and if there be that reference, then there is intention.

Lastly, the solution fails entirely when applied to plants. The parts of plants answer their uses, without any concurrence from the will or choice of the plant.

— Natural Theology, 5§5

It is interesting to me to see how entirely the state of this question was changed by the introduction of natural selection. I don’t know if there had been more sophisticated arguments on either side back then, but it seems to me that the Lucretian side was clearly disadvantaged in that state of human knowledge. Our organs are just too convenient; it seems clearly motivated to simply dismiss their obvious “appearance of having been designed for a purpose” in this way; and coming from an Epicurean, we might easily think that the motivation was to excuse for his impiety and hedonism.

Update 2021-07-05: To add another reference that I just saw, the same two alternatives are presented in the introduction to William Ogle’s 1882 edition of Aristotle’s Parts of Animals.

Euthyphro was right (updated 2020-11-22)

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.

Another consequence, good or bad, of holding my opinion about justice is this: that I must say that Euthyphro was right. Not that he knew perfectly the true nature of piety, but that he gave a perfectly good definition of it, and that Socrates objected very poorly to it.

I do not mean the subterfuge regarding the pious being loved by the gods, but the definition he gave after some pressure: that piety is “that part of justice which attends to the gods, as there is the other part of justice which attends to men.” (12e) Given my opinion about justice, this would seem to be an adequate definition; at least, it picks out a virtue. It makes sense to divide justice according to the different counterparts of our rights and duties. Stated this way, it seems to me to be identical to what Thomas Aquinas called the virtue of religion.

But Socrates, taking the “attention” too literally, and in line with his own, wrong opinion about justice, decides that if this part of justice “attends” to the gods, it must make them better in some way, as when the huntsman attends to dogs, or the horseman attends to horses, or the physician attends to men.

As we know from the Gorgias, Socrates does think that justice, as a whole, is supposed to make men better, namely by healing the injustice in their souls; as a result, he can make no sense of piety, not as a part of justice at any rate. Not without admitting that our prayers and sacrifices improve the gods in some way, or our gifts supply their wants in some way; which would itself be impious.

Addendum (2020-11-22)

The above is probably not the best interpretation of Socrates. It has been pointed out to me that Socrates may more plausibly be read as having no problem with the definition, and actually accepting it.

In the text, he does accept it, but I took this to be provisional – the definition is then implied to be worthless after Euthyphro is unable to give something that the pious man assists the gods in producing. I saw this as something immediately absurd – the gods being helped seemed ridiculous.

But it is not really ridiculous that the gods be aided in the production of something. It is absurd that they be improved, or benefited, but not assisted, which Euthyphro clarifies is what he means by the “attention”. An alternative reading is that the reader was meant to see piety as something that assists the gods in producing virtue – that is, what Socrates had been doing, though Athens would never admit it. Or, at least, that piety does assist the gods in producing something, at any rate, and Euthyphro is shown to lack knowledge by not knowing what that is.

I saw the dialogue as being against the definition of piety as a part of justice, so that piety would have to be defined in some other way under the “physician theory” of justice. But it doesn’t have to.

And there is reason to think it wasn’t meant that way, in that the Definitions of Speusippus define piety as, well, “justice relating to the gods”. It would be strange that this definition became current in the Academy, and made its way into that work, if Plato had written a dialogue against it.

The principled curmudgeon

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.

I am like unto an old crank. I hate today’s times; I hate today’s youth; I hate today’s culture and music. But, to me, this is not a matter of practice, but of principle.

I hate the times. I don’t hate them for being worse than other, earlier times; that would be ridiculous. There have been much worse times, with more wars and poverty and disease, even very recently before now. Any time from before which was better in some respect was also much worse in others, and it seems a folly to choose among them; we cannot get a clear enough view.

Nor do I hate them for being bad in an absolute sense; I do not believe in an absolute standard for judging of the times. Some times are better or worse than others, but there is no rule besides the times that have actually obtained for judging of the times; imagined times, which we may take for a standard, may well be unobtainable, illusory.

I hate the times for being times – for that they will pass. They call for my worries, for a place in my memory, and yet, much later, they will not, for the most part, be relevant again. They are naught but a pressing waste; they are the bane of souls.

I hate the youth. I don’t hate them for being worse than other, earlier generations; that would be ridiculous. Today’s old persons did much greater evils when younger; there have been much worse generations throughout time. Any earlier generation which was better in some respect was also much worse in others.

Nor do I hate them for being bad in an absolute sense; I can certainly judge absolutely of a man, but not of a humanity. I can recognize that some earlier generations had a much better understanding of particular truths; I cannot make that judgment about truth in general, nor about their wills rather than intellects. Some generations are better and worse, absolutely; it is presumptuous for a man to judge of which.

I hate the youth for being young – for that they are inexperienced. They try to have an effect upon the world, and yet their knowledge is meager and their habits are ill-formed. They have great energy, which is always ill-employed; they are the bane of times.

I hate today’s music, mores, and culture. Not for being worse than that of other times, or absolutely bad; that would be a ridiculous, stupid, extremely rash judgment. I hate them for being today’s; I hate them precisely insofar as they are today’s. For to that extent they will not survive this age, and are the bane of body and of soul – which both spring from an age-old, near-eternal kind. Innovation is always to be hated.

Finitude is unbearable

Suppose for the while that there is no immortality of the soul.

Now try to imagine dying.

If you think you succeeded, you probably committed a few mistakes. First, you may have explicitly, or subconsciously, relied on memories of when you had been sleeping. Second, you may have imagined a blank, a complete darkness and silence. If there is no immortality, these conceptions are wrong.

There is no good reason to imagine death is like sleep, but there are a couple bad ones that happen to be persuasive. First, the dead are like the sleeping in appearance. Which is no reason to infer that they are alike in experience as well – we have the best reasons to suppose that they are very different in their experience. We instinctively draw some relation from the fact that they both sit motionless. We even, in funerals, array the dead as though they were sleeping.

Second, the first thing we do when trying to imagine death is try to imagine being unconscious, which we figure is the primary feature of a corpse, along with the lack of the potential to return to consciousness. Since we think we have memories of sleep, which is always called unconscious, we rely on those.

The problem is that, of course, insofar as we were capable of forming memories, we were not actually unconscious. We were dreaming, or almost waking up, or awake with our eyes closed and trying to sleep. Maybe we had a quite uneventful and ‘blank’ dream, and so we thought we were not dreaming but only sleeping. Either way, logically we can have no memories of being unconscious to rely on. The only way those half-conscious states resemble death is in their paucity of sense experience.

Realizing this, we may eschew the idea of sleep entirely and try to construct an experience of being unconscious. This is oxymoronic, but we do it anyway. We try to imagine darkness, silence – we imagine being in some way deprived of all sense experience. We try to imagine thinking nothing at all in this state, as we sometimes seem to do, especially when tired. Being satisfied, we think we have done it – that’s all that death is like, without immortality. We may then go on to use this to reason about whether immortality is desirable or not.

The problem is, of course, that this is still an experience. As you imagined this, there was still an “I” in your imagination. It was still you that was experiencing nothing, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. Death should cut away at that very self. Now try to imagine not being at all.

You can’t. And there’s the rub. It is impossible to imagine not existing. We think we can, but we can’t.

Since this ‘blank imagination’ is not really a proper imagination of non-existence, it is just as illogical to think death, without immortality, is like it, as to imagine that what follows is heaven, or hell, or Jello World. It is no more than a pleasant imagination that we use to stand in for a proper concept – pleasant, yes, because sleep is pleasant.

This is where reasoning about death, without immortality, should begin. From the utter unimaginability of death, not from the illusory conception. You have to be very aware that any imagination you have is wrong, that you are dealing with an absolute unknown.

Trying to do this, I find death to be absolutely terrifying. It is rational to fear the unknown. This world is ‘known’ and ‘given’ by comparison, and any chaos should be feared. If losing any important part of our world is a scary thought, it should be scariest to think of losing all of them, precisely because the unimaginability is greater. To cease to exist is an unbearable prospect, and it fills me with dread when it crosses my mind.

So, if I did not believe in immortality, and since I do not believe that I could “upload myself” into a computer and live on in it, as some people think they could – I would cling onto this life as tightly as I could. I would worry greatly about my health. I would look widely for the best ways to expand longevity, for death must be kept away. Either this, or I would try my hardest not to think about death – I could not, in good conscience, revert to the illusory conception.

But since I do believe in immortality, and I think I have good reasons to do so, that is not really my current problem as it stands. Non-existence is not only unimaginable, but actually impossible as a future prospect.

This is just my answer to the common atheist idea that, on their version of death, there is nothing to fear. Their version of death is the scariest possible. I would prefer hell – hell is suffering, and I can imagine suffering. I can even cherish the prospect, conditionally on my deserving it, as a reflection of the beauty of divine justice. But while I can fear it, it is finite fear, of something very conceivable – in comparison with nothingness, anyway.

This is also the reason why I despise annihilationists, who think non-existence is somehow a more bearable thought than hell.

Solon & Philo: Ten ages of man

Philo of Alexandria, in his treatise On the Creation of the World (§104; I quote §§103–105), as part of a broader point on the perfection of the number seven (of the days of creation), preserves a poetic fragment of Solon:

And besides what has been already said, the growth of men from infancy to old age, when measured by the number seven, displays in a most evident manner its perfecting power; for in the first period of seven years, the putting forth of the teeth takes place. And at the end of the second period of the same length, he arrives at the age of puberty: at the end of the third period, the growth of the beard takes place. The fourth period sees him arrive at the fullness of his manly strength. The fifth seven years is the season for marriage. In the sixth period he arrives at the maturity of his understanding. The seventh period is that of the most rapid improvement and growth of both his intellectual and reasoning powers. The eighth is the sum of the perfection of both. In the ninth, his passions assume a mildness and gentleness, from being to a great degree tamed. In the tenth, the desirable end of life comes upon him, while his limbs and organic senses are still unimpaired: for excessive old age is apt to weaken and enfeeble them all. And Solon, the Athenian lawgiver, described these different ages in the following elegiac verses:

In seven years from th’ earliest breath,
The child puts forth his hedge of teeth;
When strengthened by a similar span,
He first displays some signs of man.
As in a third, his limbs increase,
A beard buds o’er his changing face.
When he has passed a fourth such time,
His strength and vigour’s in its prime.
When five times seven years o’er his head
Have passed, the man should think to wed;
At forty two, the wisdom’s clear
To shun vile deed of folly or fear:
While seven times seven years to sense
Add ready wit and eloquence.
And seven years further skill admit
To raise them to their perfect height.
When nine such periods have passed,
His powers, though milder grown, still last;
When God has granted ten times seven,
The aged man prepares for heaven.

Solon therefore thus computes the life of man by the aforesaid ten periods of seven years. But Hippocrates the physician says that there are Seven ages of man, infancy, childhood, boyhood, youth, manhood, middle age, old age; and that these too, are measured by periods of seven, though not in the same order. And he speaks thus; “In the nature of man there are seven seasons, which men call ages; infancy, childhood, boyhood, and the rest. He is an infant till he reaches his seventh year, the age of the shedding of his teeth. He is a child till he arrives at the age of puberty, which takes place in fourteen years. He is a boy till his beard begins to grow, and that time is the end of a third period of seven years. He is a youth till the completion of the growth of his whole body, which coincides with the fourth seven years. Then he is a man till he reaches his forty-ninth year, or seven times seven periods. He is a middle aged man till he is fifty-six, or eight times seven years old; and after that he is an old man.”

Ivan Linforth gives a different translation of the poem in his book Solon the Athenian:

A boy, before he cometh to man’s estate, and while he is still a child, getteth and loseth his rampart of teeth within the first seven years. When God bringeth the second seven to a close, the signs of budding manhood begin to show. In the third period, a downy beard appeareth, though the limbs have not reached their full growth, and the boyish bloom of the complexion fadeth. In the fourth period of seven years, every man is at the prime of his physical strength.... The fifth period is the season for a man to bethink him of marriage and seek offspring against the future. In the sixth, experience of every sort carrieth his mind on to perfection, and he feeleth no longer the same inclination to the wild pranks of youth. In the seventh seven, he is at his prime in mind and tongue, and also in the eighth, the two together making fourteen years. In the ninth period, though he still retaineth some force, he is feebler both in wisdom and in speech and faileth of great achievement. If a man attaineth to the full measure of the tenth period, the fate of death, if it come upon him, cometh not untimely.

So, just to be clear:

Period #	Age	What he is	What happens
1	0–7	infant	he gets and loses his first set of teeth
2	7–14	child	this period itself is unremarkable, but at the end of it he reaches puberty
3	14–21	boy	he grows a beard
4	21–28	youth	he reaches the prime of his physical strength
5	28–35	man	in this season, he should think of marriage
6	35–42	man	he reaches the maturity of his understanding; he no longer feels the same inclination to the wild pranks of youth
7	42–49	man	he reaches the prime of his wit and eloquence, that is, his prime in mind and tongue
8	49–56	middle-aged	same as the previous period, or maybe the previous two periods; he is at his best in understanding, reasoning, speaking
9	56–63	old man	his intellectual passions/powers grow milder and gentler; he is feebler both in wisdom and in speech, and does not reach great achievement
10	63–70	old man	Philo thinks that this is a good time for him to die, since his limbs and senses are still unimpaired
11+	70+	old man / dead	Solon thinks that death is not untimely from this point on

That’s all.

...or so I thought. Seeing how terribly the table above seemed to render on my computer and phone, and having no hope of making it better in a durable way through styling on this blog, I have rendered it in Microsoft Excel and made an image of it:

On the topic of dividing life into seven-year periods, see also this SMBC comic; on the topic of there being seven ages, see also Shakespeare’s As You Like It, Act 2, scene 7.