Thursday, May 31, 2018

Role of The Spectator in Kantian Philosophy

Immanuel Kant placed great value in the judgement of a spectator. In The Critique of Judgement he talks about the “sublime” side of war, the romantic feats of courage, which, he holds, cannot be visible to those who are directly participating in the war and can only be perceived by the spectators who are looking keenly and analyzing critically from a distance.

In his own life, Kant was mostly a spectator and critical thinker. His critical thinking was a solitary business, but it was not cut off from those from whom he expected inputs. His critical thinking and analysis was based on the presumption that that those who directly participate in events are willing and able to render an account of what they experience and think.

In her lectures on Kant's political philosophy (Hannah Arendt: Lectures on Kant’s Political PhilosophyEdited by: Ronald Beiner), Hannah Arendt offers a brief outlook on the role of the spectator in Kantian thought. In Lecture 7, she talks about Kant’s spectator lifestyle: “Kant introduced and taught a course in physical geogra­phy at the university. He was also an eager reader of all sorts of travel reports, and he—who never left Konigsberg—knew his way around in both London and Italy; he said he had no time to travel precisely because he wanted to know so much about so many countries.”

In Lecture 8, Arendt notes that for Kant the importance of an event lay “exclusively in the eye of the beholder, in the opinion of the onlookers who proclaim their attitude in public.”

In Lecture 9, Arendt talks about the Kantian position of the onlooker: “What he saw counted most; he could discover a meaning in the course taken by events, a meaning that the actors ignored; and the existential ground for his insight was his disinterestedness, his nonparticipation, his noninvolvement. The onlooker's dis­interested concern characterized the French Revolution as a great event.”

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

The Decline of Culture

The word “culture” has lost its authority because it is now burdened with meanings for which there are several other words. In his Prologue to From Dawn to Decadence: 1500 to The Present, historian Jacques Barzun suggests that one of the reasons behind the cultural decline is that most people do not comprehend the historical and anthropological significance of the concept of “culture.”

Barzun says that due to overuse, the word “culture” has become commonplace. The intellectuals tend to conjure fictitious mini-cultures which exists within the society or civilization. Here’s an excerpt from Barzun’s Prologue to From Dawn to Decadence:
Culture—what a word! Up to a few years ago it meant two or three related things easy to grasp and keep apart. Now it is a piece of all-purpose jargon that covers a hodge-podge of overlapping things. People speak and write about the culture of almost any segment of society: the counterculture, to begin with, and the many subcultures: ethnic cultures, corporate cultures, teenage culture, and popular culture. An editorial in The New York Times discusses the culture of the city's police department, and an article in the travel section distinguishes the culture of plane travel from the bus culture. On a par with these, recall the split between the "two cultures" of science and the humanities, which is to be deplored—like the man-and-wife "culture clash,” which causes divorce. Artists feel the lure—no, the duty—of joining an adversary culture; for the artist is by nature "the enemy of his culture," just as he is (on another page of the same journal) "a product of his culture." In education, the latest fad is multiculturalism, and in entertainment the highest praise goes to a "cross-cultural event." On the world scene, the experts warn of the culture wars that are brewing. 
Barzun notes that culture is something that tells us who we are. He quotes an old saying: ”Culture is what is left after you have forgotten all you have definitely set out to learn.” The importance of culture is such that even those who hate it and want to destroy it must use the ideas and tools that have been produced within the overall cultural environment:
If the new-minted citizen then turns critic of his adopted country, attacking policies and politicians with impunity, he enjoys this privileged pastime because of the likes of Voltaire, who also had to skip across frontiers to escape persecution and keep dissenting. Even the terrorist who drives a car filled with dynamite toward a building in some hated nation is part of what he would destroy: his weapon is the work of Alfred Nobel and the inventors of the internal combustion engine. His very cause has been argued for him by such proponents of national self-determination as President Wilson and such rationalizers of violence as Georges Sorel and Bakunin, the Russian anarchist.

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

Koestler on Mob Psychology

Arthur Koestler
Arthur Koestler, in The Act of Creation (Chapter 14, “On Islands and Waterways”), offers an interesting view of the psychology of individuals who become part of mass movements or mobs:
"The 'hypnotic effect’ of political demagogues has become a cliche, but one aspect of mass-psychology must be briefly mentioned. The type of crowd or mob to which Le Bon's classic descriptions still apply, is fanatical and 'single-minded' because the subtler individual differences between its members are temporarily suspended; the whole mass is thus intellectually adjusted to its lowest common denominator, but in terms of dynamic action it has a high efficacity, because the impulses of its members are aligned through narrow slits—or blinkers—all pointing in the same direction; hence their experience of being parts of an irresistible power. This experience of partness within a dynamic whole leads to a temporary suspension of individual responsibility which is replaced by unconditional subordination to the 'controlling centre’, the leader of the crowd. It further entails the temporary effacement of all self-assertive tendencies: the total surrender of the individual to the collectivity is manifested in altruistic, heroic, self-sacrificing acts—and at the same time in bestial cruelty towards the enemy or victim of the collective whole. This is a further example of the self-transcending emotions serving as catalysts or triggers for their opponents. But let us note that the brutality or heroism displayed by a fanaticized crowd is quasi-impersonal, and unselfish; it is exercised in the interest, or supposed interest, of the whole. The same S.S. detachments which mowed down the whole male population of Lidice were capable of dying at Oradur like the defenders of Thermopylae. The self-assertive behavior of a mass is based on the participatory behavior of the individual, which often entails sacrifice of his personal interest and even his life. Theories of ethics based on enlightened self-interest fail to provide an answer why a man should sacrifice his life in the defense of his family—not to mention country, liberty, beliefs. The fact that men have always been prepared to die for (good, bad, or futile) causes, proves that the self-transcending tendencies are as basic to his mental organization as the others. And since the individual cannot survive without some form of social integration, self-preservation itself always implies a component of self-transcendence." 
This means that every individual has collectivist feelings inside him. The self-transcending emotions are there in all human beings—and if they are sufficiently inspired they can choose to surrender their individuality to groups. The self-transcending emotions can be conscious or unconscious but they have the potential to assert themselves in the form of an altruistic social-behavior.

Monday, May 28, 2018

Can a Bad Man be a Good Citizen?

Aristotle has said that a “good man can be a good citizen only in a good state,” but in his writing Immanuel Kant goes far beyond Aristotle and separates morality from good citizenship. He seems to suggest that even a "race of devils" can live a good life in a good state. Here’s an excerpt from Kant’s Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch:

“The problem of organizing a state, however hard it may seem, can be solved even for a race of devils, if only they are intelligent. The problem is: "Given a multitude of rational beings requiring universal laws for their preservation, but each of whom is secretly inclined to exempt himself from them, to establish a constitution in such a way that, although their pri­vate intentions conflict, they check each other, with the result that their public conduct is the same as if they had no such intentions.""

In her lecture on Kant’s political theory (third session), Hannah Arendt’s offers her perspective of this passage from Perpetual Peace:
This passage is crucial. What Kant said is—to vary the Aristote­lian formula—that a bad man can be a good citizen in a good state. His definition of "bad" here is in accordance with his moral philosophy. The categorical imperative tells you: Always act in such a way that the maxim of your acts can become a general law, that is, "I am never to act otherwise than so that I could also will that my maxim should become a universal law.” The point of the matter is very simple. In Kant's own words: I can will a particular lie, but I "can by no means will that lying should be the universal law. For with such a law there would be no promises at all.” Or: I can want to steal, but I cannot will stealing to be a uni­versal law; because, with such a law, there would be no property. The bad man is, for Kant, the one who makes an exception for himself; he is not the man who wills evil, for this, according to Kant, is impossible. Hence the "race of devils" here are not devils in the usual sense but those who are "secretly inclined to exempt" themselves. The point is secretly: they could not do it publicly because then they would obviously stand against the common interest—be enemies of the people, even if these people were a race of devils. And in politics, as distinguished from morals, everything depends on "public conduct." (Source: Hannah Arendt: Lectures on Kant’s Political Philosophy, Edited by: Ronald Beiner)
Arendt notes that in Kant evil is generally self-destructive, but “the race of devils” that Kant talks about in Perpetual Peace will not destroy themselves because there is a great purpose of nature at work. Nature wants the preservation of the species, and it mandates that the human beings should be self-preserving and capable of using their mind. Kant did not believe that a moral transformation in man’s nature is necessary for bringing about political change. He stresses on a proper constitution and publicity. Arendt says: “‘Publicity’ is one of the key concepts of Kant's political thinking; in this context, it indicates his conviction that evil thoughts are secret by definition."

Sunday, May 27, 2018

Pascal On Philosophers and Human Affairs

In Pensees, Blaise Pascal makes a rather irreverent observation about the attitude of the ancient Greek philosophers towards human affairs:
We can only think of Plato and Aristotle in grand academic robes. They were honest men, like others, laughing with their friends, and when they wanted to divert themselves, they wrote the Laws or the Politics, to amuse themselves. That part of their life was the least philosophic and the least serious. The most philosophic [thing] was to live simply and quietly. If they wrote on politics, it was as if laying down rules for a lunatic asylum; if they presented the appearance of speaking of great matters, it was because they knew that the madmen, to whom they spoke, thought they were kings and emperors. They entered into their principles in order to make their madness as little harmful as possible. ~ Blaise Pascal in Pensees; (Number 331)
Pascal has a point—the ancient Greek philosophers have an unfavorable opinion of politics (human affairs), but for a good reason. In the Republic, Plato wants philosophers to become kings because he does not want them to be ruled by their intellectual and moral inferiors. In Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle preaches that an active life can lead to happiness, but the active life that he has in mind includes a life full of mental activity, which by its nature is independent of other human beings.

(Based on an account given in Hannah Arendt: Lectures on Kant’s Political Philosophy, Edited by: Ronald Beiner)

Saturday, May 26, 2018

Hannah Arendt On Immanuel Kant’s Political Philosophy

In her lecture on Immanuel Kant’s political philosophy (Hannah Arendt: Lectures on Kant’s Political Philosophy, Edited by: Ronald Beiner), Hannah Arendt notes that after 1789, the year of the French Revolution, when Kant was sixty-five years old, his attention turned towards constitutional law. He became concerned about how a body politic should be organized and constituted. He wanted to investigate the concept of “republican,” which is a constitutional government, the issue of international relations, etc.

Kant took great interest in the American Revolution and commented on it in his the Critique of Judgement (1790): "In a recent complete transformation of a great people into a state the word organization for the regulation of magistracies, etc., and even of the whole body politic, has often been fitly used. For in such a whole every member should surely be purpose as well as means, and, whilst all work together to­ wards the possibility of the whole, each should be determined as regards place and function by means of the Idea of the whole."

Arendt's lecture offers a really engrossing view of Kant's preoccupation with political theory during the final years of his life:
It is precisely this problem of how to organize a people into a state, how to constitute the state, how to found a commonwealth, and all the legal problems connected with these questions, that occupied him constantly during his last years. Not that the older concerns with the ruse of nature or with the mere sociability of men had disappeared altogether. But they undergo a certain change or, rather, appear in new and unexpected formulations. Thus we find the curious Article in Perpetual Peace that establishes a Besuchsrecht, the right to visit foreign lands, the right to hospitality, and "the right of temporary sojourn."And, in the same treatise, we again find nature, that great artist, as the eventual "guarantee of perpetual peace.” But without this new preoccupation, it seems rather unlikely that he would have started his Metaphysics of Morals with the "Doctrine of Law." Nor is it likely that he would finally have said (in the second section of The Strife of the Faculties, the last section of which already shows clear evidence of his mind's deterioration): "It is so sweet to plan state constitutions [Es ist so suss sick Staatsverfassungen auszudenken]"-a "sweet dream" whose consummation is "not only thinkable but… an obligation, not [however] of the citizens but of the sovereign." 
Kant turned his attention to political matters rather late in his life, when he was running out of strength to work on a new line of philosophical thought. Arendt points out that in his political thinking Kant faced the problem of reconciling his view of morality with the organization of the state. Here’s an excerpt:
Kant's problem at this late time in his life—when the American and, even more, the French Revolu­tion had awakened him, so to speak, from his political slumber (as Hume had awakened him in his youth from dogmatic slumber, and Rousseau had roused him in his manhood from moral slumber)—was how to reconcile the problem of the or­ganization of the state with his moral philosophy, that is, with the dictate of practical reason. And the surprising fact is that he knew that his moral philosophy could not help here. Thus he kept away from all moralizing and understood that the problem was how to force man "to be a good citizen even if [he is] not a morally good person" and that "a good constitution is not to be expected from morality, but, conversely, a good moral condition of a people is to be expected under a good constitution."

Friday, May 25, 2018

Louis Pasteur on Enthusiasm

In 1881 Louis Pasteur was elected to a seat at the Académie française. Here’s an excerpt from the speech that he made at the welcome ceremony:
The Greeks understood the mysterious power of the hidden side of things. They bequeathed to us one of the most beautiful words in our language—the word "enthusiasm"—en theos—a god within. The grandeur of human actions is measured by the inspiration from which they spring. Happy is he who bears a god within—an ideal of beauty and who obeys it, an ideal of art, of science. All are lighted by reflection from the infinite. 
 As quoted in Arthur Koestler’s The Act of Creation (Chapter 11: “Science and Emotion”)

Thursday, May 24, 2018

Epicurus and Poetry

A manuscript of De Rerum Natura, created in 1563
Epicurus did not write poetry. Indeed, like Plato, he was suspicious of poetry and the forms of education which inculcate the desire for poetry. He held that the poetic stories are responsible for spreading all kinds of false beliefs about the world. His primary concern was with the religious doctrines which use poetic and musical mediums to spread a fear of vindictive Gods and gain followers. Epicurus was trying to counter such religious doctrines with his own philosophy.

Diogenes Laertius, in Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers, says that Epicurus used to say that only a wise person (an Epicurean philosopher) can discuss poetry and music, though he will never actually devote himself to composing poetry or music. A formulation of Plutarch states: “Hoist the sails of a little Epicurean boat and navigate in flight away from education in music and poetry.”

The irony is that the tenets of Epicurean philosophy have reached the modern world after traversing more than two millennia through the philosophical poem De Rerum Natura, attributed to Lucretius, the Roman poet and philosopher, who was a devoted follower of Epicurus. But why did Lucretius decide to write in poetry?

Martha C. Nussbaum, in her book The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics, (Chapter 5, “Beyond Obsession and Disgust: Lucretius on the Therapy of Love”), offers an answer:

Lucretius, a devout follower of Epicurus, writes an epic poem. And the choice to write poetically is itself a subject of the poem. From the very opening lines, Lucretius encourages us to think about the choice and about the desires aroused by poetic writing-at the very same time that we are also asked to think about the character of desire in nature as a whole. For after calling on Venus as the principle of sexual desire in all of nature, the principle that explains animal fertility, he invokes her as the ally of his poetry, the one who can give a pleasing character to his words. And later in the first book he explains to us why this pleasing character is so important.
With strong mind [mente] I travel through the pathless haunts of the Pierides, places never trodden by any before. It is a joy to approach these fresh springs and drink, it is a joy to pluck new flowers and to seek a distinguished crown for my head from that place whence before this the muses have never wreathed any man's temples-first because I teach about great things and hasten to free the mind from the tight bonds of religion; then, because on this dark subject I put forth verses so full of light, touching everything with the muses' charm. For this too is seen to be not without a reasoned plan [ratione]. But as doctors, when they try to give bitter wormwood to children, first touch the rim all around the cup with honey's tawny sweet liquid, so that the children's unforeseeing youth might be tricked as far as the lips, and they meanwhile may drink the bitter drink of wormwood down, and, though taken in, should not be held fast, but should instead be restored in this way and become healthy-just so I now, since this reasoned argument [ratio] often seems forbidding to those who have not tried it, and the many shrink away from it, have decided to explain our reasoning [rationem] to you in a sweetly speaking poetic song, and, so to speak, to touch it with the sweet honey of the muses, to see if perchance by this reasoned plan [ratione] I could hold your mind on our verses, while you survey the whole nature of things, its structure and form.
Lucretius depicts himself as an innovator in that he is writing Epicurean poetry. This is innovation both from the point of view of Epicureanism and from the point of view of poetry, which has not treated these important subjects except in the way of traditional anthropomorphic religion. He tells us that his "reasoned plan" for using poetic language was inspired by practical and medical motives. In order to engage the reader in a process of therapy leading to health, he will provide the inner argument of the poem, its ratio, with a pleasing sweet surface. The "reasoned plan" (ratio) of his poem is this combination of argument with poetic surface. The truths of Epicureanism are difficult and, from the perspective of the pupil, unap­petizing, in that they will require him to detach himself from much that he deeply values. Therefore this healthful medicine needs a "coating"; and by describing poetry as providing a coating or surface, Lucretius implies that the argument itself will not be corrupted by its commerce with poetry. 

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Goethe and Schiller: Letters on Immanuel Kant

Goethe and Schiller Statue at Weimar
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller had a remarkable friendship and intellectual collaboration. In 1787, Schiller met Goethe in Weimar. With Goethe’s recommendation Schiller was appointed professor of history and philosophy in Jena in 1789. The letters that they have written to each other are of great literary and philosophical significance—these letters are not only a record of their friendship and their ideas, but also of their perspectives on important thinkers and intellectual trends in that period.

Several of their letters contain references to Immanuel Kant and his philosophy. Here are the excerpts from 5 letters in which they have made some interesting comments on Kant (All the excerpts are from Correspondence Between Schiller and Goethe; translated by George H. Calvert):

On 28 October 1794, in his letter to Goethe, Schiller reflects on the scope of Kantian philosophy:
That you agree with me in my ideas, and are satisfied with the manner of setting them forth, delights me not a little, and on the route I have entered will serve me as most needful encouragement. True, things that are expounded by pure reason, or at any rate profess to be so, stand firmly enough on internal and objective grounds, and carry within themselves the criterion of truth; but as yet there is no such philosophy, and mine is far distant from it. After all, the matter rests at last principally on the testimony of individual assertion, and needs therefore a subjective sanction, which only the concurrence of unprejudiced minds can bestow. Meyer's opinion is here significant and invaluable to me, and consoles me for the opposition of Herder, who it seems can never forgive me my Kantean belief. Nor do I expect from the opponents of the new Philosophy the toleration that is commonly extended to any system of which no better opinion is entertained; for the Kantean Philosophy itself exercises none in material points, and has by far too stern a character, for any compromise with it to be possible. But this does it honor in my eyes, for it shows that it will not permit arbitrary hypothesis. Nor, therefore, is such a philosophy to be dismissed with a shaking of the head. In the open, clear, accessible field of inquiry, it builds up its system, never seeks the shade, and makes no reservation of private feeling ; but, as it treats its neighbors, will it be treated by them, and is to be pardoned if it respects nothing but arguments. I am not at all alarmed by thinking, that the law of change, before which no human nor divine work finds favor, will overthrow the form of this Philosophy as well as every other : but this fate its foundations will not have to fear; for, since the human race was, it has been silently acknowledged and in the general conformed to, and this will continue so long as there is reason.
On 28 January 1795, Goethe writes to Schiller asking if he is acquainted with Kant’s 1771 work on Beautiful and Sublime:
Are you acquainted with the observations of Kant on the feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime of 1771? It would be a very clever work, if the words Beautiful and Sublime were not placed in the title, and occurred less frequently in the little book itself. It is full of delightful remarks on man, and one sees his principles already sprouting. You surely know it.
On 19 February 1795, in his reply to Geothe, Schiller confirms that he is acquainted with Kant's work on Beautiful and Sublime:
What you write concerning the little work of Kant, I recollect to have experienced on reading it. Of the fundamental principles of the Beautiful nothing is learnt in it; but, as a natural history of the Sublime and Beautiful, it contains valuable matter. For so serious a subject, the style seemed to me to be somewhat too playful and flowery ; a singular fault in a Kant, which, however, is easily accounted for.
On 4 September 1797, Goethe writes to Schiller inquiring about Kant’s work on the theory of eternal peace and also offers his own opinion:
I have been singularly taken by surprise here, by a small work of Kant, which you no doubt will know Proclamation of the Near Conclusion of a Treaty for Eternal Peace in Philosophy. A very valuable product of his well known way of thinking, which, like everything that comes from him, contains the most noble passages, but is also in composition and style more Kantish than Kant. It gives me great pleasure that the prominent philosophers, and the preachers of prejudice, could so vex him that he opposes them with all his power. 
On 22 September 1797, Schiller responds to Goethe with his view on Kant’s work on the theory of eternal peace:
I have also read Kant's small treatise, and, although it contains nothing strictly new, I have enjoyed his fine thoughts. There is in this old gentleman still something so youthful, what one might almost call aesthetic, if the monstrous form, which might be called a philosophical chancery style, did not embarrass one. It may be with Schlosser as you say, nevertheless his position in reference to the critical philosophers has something in it so doubtful, that it was not to be expected that he should be left out. Moreover, it seems to me, that in all disputes where supernaturalism is defended against reason by thinking heads, there is cause for imputing bad faith experience is altogether too old, and besides the thing is so intelligible.
It is noteworthy that Goethe was not as attracted to Kant's philosophy as Schiller was. Goethe believed that the only starting point of philosophy is experience with reality and he was ambivalent about Kant's foray into transcendental conditions.

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Schopenhauer—As a Mimeticist Thinker

As a concept mimesis is obsolete; the artists in the last two hundred years of modernism and postmodernism have been showing little interest in imitation of nature. But in his book The Aesthetics of Mimesis, Stephen Halliwell says that German romanticism, under some kind of influence of mimesis, has fostered a change in attitude towards language and art and this has had a seminal impact on several succeeding thinkers.

Halliwell offers the example of Arthur Schopenhauer who, he says, embraces a version of the doctrine of aesthetic “disinterestedness” that had emerged from Enlightenment, and especially from Kantian, aesthetics. Within the terms of his own system Schopenhauer translates such disinterestedness into freedom from “willing,” from the ceaseless, painful operation of the will that otherwise characterizes all life. According to Halliwell, Schopenhauer “manages to combine this notion with a larger model of art that does not disconnect it from the interest, meaning, and value of life as a whole.”

Here’s an excerpt from Halliwell’s The Aesthetics of Mimesis (Chapter 12, “An Inheritance Contested: Renaissance to Modernity”):
Works of art, for Schopenhauer, continue to depict and evoke possible features of experience, as well as to require in those who contemplate them—and here he diverges sharply from Kant—cognitive and emotional responses that draw on the general understanding of reality. At a very basic level, in fact, Schopenhauer remains a kind of mimeticist thinker, for he holds that all the arts, with the special exception of music (though even this, he believes, stands in a peculiar kind of “imitative” relationship to the ultimate ground of reality, the will itself), are species of “representation” (Darstellung) and produce objects that stand in the relation of “copy to original” (wie Nachbild zum Vorbilde). But he turns his mimeticism into a strikingly Platonic, or rather Neoplatonic, form by maintaining that the particulars depicted in all artworks (except those of music) become expressions, and promote knowledge, of quasi-Platonic ideas, the universal forms that underlie all the phenomena of the world. On Schopenhauer’s model, therefore, while aesthetic experience, as a will-less, disinterested act of contemplation, is one of very few routes of escape from the trammels of the individual’s suffering existence, it is an experience that does not avert its gaze from reality but engages with it at a deeper level of truth, the level of universal, eternal essences. This helps to explain how Schopenhauer can preserve and adapt an old motif of mimetic thinking in referring to the will-less knowledge mediated through and experienced in art as the “pure, clear mirror of the world” (blosser, klarer Spiegel der Welt), and can speak of the beautiful images of life that are possible not in life itself but only in the “transfiguring mirror of art or of poetry” (im verkla ̈renden Spiegel der Kunst oder der Poesie). 
Halliwell's book offers an interesting account of how mimesis, a theory of art which originated in ancient Greece, has traversed huge span of time and cultural distances to have an impact on modern thought. 

Monday, May 21, 2018

Immanuel Kant’s Letter to Frederich Schiller

Kant's statue in Belo Horizonte, Brazil
The letters that Immanuel Kant wrote to many of the leading thinkers of his day is rich in philosophical content. But his correspondence with Frederich Schiller is businesslike.

On June 13, 1794, Schiller wrote from Jena, requesting Kant to contribute an essay in his new literary magazine Die Horen. Johann Gottlieb Fichte too wrote to Kant supporting Schiller’s request. Schiller wrote again on June 17, 1794 and again on October 6, 1794. In his letters, Schiller assured Kant that he was devoted to the Kantian moral system and he thanked Kant for illuminating his spirit.

On March 1, 1795, Schiller once again requested Kant to contribute an essay to Die Horen, and he also sent two issue of the magazine. In his letter he informed Kant that he was the author of the book Letters on the Aesthetic Education of the Human Race and that he hoped that Kant would like his book which he believed was an application of Kantian philosophy.

On March 30, 1795, Kant responded to the multiple letters from Schiller. Here’s Kant’s entire letter:

Esteemed Sir,

I am always delighted to know and engage in literary discussions with such a talented and learned man as you, my dearest friend. I received the plan for a periodical that you sent me last summer and also the two first monthly issues. I found your Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Mankind splendid, and I shall study them so as to be able to give you my thoughts about them. The paper on sexual differences in organic nature, in the second issue, is impossible for me to decipher, even though the author seems to be an intelligent fellow. There was once a severely critical discussion in the Allgemeine Literaturzeitung about the ideas expressed in the letters of Herr Hube of Thorn concerning a similar relationship extending throughout nature. The ideas were attacked as romantic twaddle. To be sure, we sometimes find something like that running through our heads, without knowing what to make of it. The organization of nature has always struck me as amazing and as a sort of chasm of thought; I mean, the idea that fertilization, in both realms of nature, always needs two sexes in order for the species to be propagated. After all, we don't want to believe that providence has chosen this arrangement, almost playfully, for the sake of variety. On the contrary, we have reason to believe that propagation is not possible in any other way. This opens a prospect on what lies beyond the field of vision, out of which, however, we can unfortunately make nothing, as little as out of what Milton's angel told Adam about the creation: "Male light of distant suns mixes itself with female, for purposes unknown." I feel that it may harm your magazine not to have the authors sign their names, to make themselves thus responsible for their considered opinions; the reading public is very eager to know who they are.

For your gift, then, I offer my most respectful thanks; with regard to my small contribution to this journal, your present to the public, I must however beg a somewhat lengthy postponement. Since discussions of political and religious topics are currently subject to certain restrictions and there are hardly any other matters, at least at this time, that interest the general reading public, one must keep one's eye on this change of the weather, so as to conform prudently to the times.

Please greet Professor Fichte and give him my thanks for sending me his various works. I would have done this myself but for the discomfort of aging that oppresses me, with all the manifold tasks I still have before me, which, however, excuses nothing but my postponement. Please give my regards also to Messrs. Schütz and Hufeland.

And so, dearest sir, I wish your talents and your worthy objectives the strength, health, and long life they deserve, and also the friendship, with which you wish to honor one who is ever.

Your most devoted, loyal servant

I. Kant

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Reinhold’s Letters on The Kantian Philosophy

Karl Leonhard Reinhold
Karl Leonhard Reinhold’s letters on Kantian philosophy were published in the journal Teutscher Merkur from August 1786 to September 1787. A much larger version of the letters were compiled together and published in a book Letters on The Kantian Philosophy in 1790. An updated version of the Letters containing several new topics was published in 1792.

With his Letters, Reinhold became Kant's first major interpreter. An interpretation was critical because when the Critique of Pure Reason appeared in 1781, several scholars, including Mendelssohn and Goethe, found the work impenetrable. Kant was criticized by reviewers for the idealistic content of his work. In 1783, Kant offered a shorter version of his critical philosophy in the Prolegomena, but this work too failed to make his philosophy accessible to scholars.

Reinhold’s Letters achieved what Kant's Prolegomena could not achieve—it offered a much simpler presentation of the philosophy of the Critique, and this brought great amount of attention to Kant and Kantian philosophy. Kant was pleased with the way his ideas were presented in Reinhold’s Letters. Here’s an excerpt from Kant’s letter to Reinhold (December 28, 1787):
I have read the lovely Letters, excellent and kind sir, with which you have honored my philosophy. Their combination of thoroughness and charm are matchless and they have not failed to make a great impression in this region. I was therefore all the more eager somehow to express my thanks in writing, most likely in the Deutscher Merkur, and at least to indicate briefly that your ideas agree precisely with mine, and that I am grateful for your success in simplifying them. 
The remarkable thing is that in his Letters, Reinhold does not cite the full name of Kant’s work—he speaks of “the critique of reason.” In Kant and the Historical Turn: Philosophy as Critical Interpretation, Karl Ameriks offers the following explanation for Reinhold’s dropping of the word “pure” from the title of the Kant’s book:
Reinhold never makes explicit his rationale for omitting the word ‘pure’, but this tactic can be understood as presumably his way of indicating from the start that his concern—like Kant’s as well—is not merely with a book but rather with the very notion and whole movement of a critique of reason. By also not citing pages of the Critique directly, and often not naming Kant at all, Reinhold’s procedure reinforces the thought that the critique of reason is a general project, one that might be carried out in a number of places—perhaps in ancillary works by Kant, or perhaps in efforts by supporters, such as the Letters itself.  ~ (Chapter 7, “Reinhold’s First Letters on Kant”) 
A paragraph later Karl Ameriks notes:
Whatever its source, there is a very significant philosophical complication arising from Reinhold’s omission of the word ‘pure’ in his constant use of the short phrase ‘critique of reason’. The advantage of his phrase is that it calls attention, all the more easily, to critique as a general process, and hence as a process that can, and does, involve two kinds of double meanings. It concerns reason in the double meaning of something that is carried out by and applied to reason; and it concerns critique in the double meaning of something negative, in the sense of an attack, and something positive, in the sense of a knowledgeable assessment and vindication (as in the English term ‘literary criticism’). The disadvantage of Reinhold’s short phrase is that it is misleading about exactly what Kant means to attack and what he means to vindicate.  
It is important for Kant to use the term ‘pure’ in his title because his book’s intent is to criticize—in the sense of ‘attack’—not reason in general but only those theoretical uses of reason that try to proceed too ‘purely’, that is, without recognition of our need to refer to sensory, spatiotemporal contexts in order to make warranted determinate claims. Reinhold’s main point is that Kant means to vindicate reason in its practical use, and thereby to silence those who are totally negative about reason. Thus, an initial way one might try to express Kant’s project is to say that the Critique is written to limit theoretical reason, especially in the face of dogmatic rationalism or supernaturalism, and to liberate practical reason, especially in the face of dogmatic empiricism or skepticism. To be accurate, however, some important qualifications must be added, qualifications that Reinhold generally fails to provide. 
Reinhold was committed to the Enlightenment before he had even heard of Immanuel Kant. He wanted to discover a philosophy that would support social and political reform so that all members of society can lead a completely free life. He thought that the philosophy that he was looking for was available in Kant’s Critique. In his Letters, he has organized the discussion around the insight that the aim of the Critique is to attack the metaphysical doctrines of materialism and spiritualism. Reinhold does not directly talk about the metaphysical basis and the implications of the Kantian attack on these doctrines but he manages to bring out many of the special virtues of Critical philosophy.

Friday, May 18, 2018

Kant, Hamann, and the Rise of the Sturm und Drang

A 20th century drawing of Johann Georg Hamann
Johann Georg Hamann (1730-1788) had been deeply influenced by the Enlightenment ideals, but due to the personal problems that he experienced during his stay in London in 1757-58, he had a religious awakening and he slowly fought his way back to the belief that God and church were the only salvation not only for himself, but for everyone.

When he returned to Königsberg in March of 1759, he was a changed man—he had discarded his belief in the Enlightenment ideas which he had shared with several friends, and intellectuals like Immanuel Kant, in Germany. Now he had rejected science and reason, and embarked upon an inflexible kind of faith in the religious doctrines preached by the Church.

His employer Bernes noticed the change in Hamann and enlisted the help of Kant to make Hamann realize that he should discard his new philosophy and once again become an advocate of the Enlightenment. Bernes and Kant met Hamman in early July 1759 at a rural inn outside Königsberg  but the meeting didn’t go well. The philosophical differences between Kant and Hamann were too wide. On July 24, Kant and Bernes gave a visit to Hamann and they offered Hamann the task of translating some articles from Diderot’s Encyclopedie. Kant was hopeful that Hamann would return to his senses while translating the classic of the Enlightenment. But Hamann did not accept the offer. Instead, he sent a strong letter to Kant rejecting his role as a mediator.

Frederick C. Beiser’s The Fate of Reason: German Philosophy from Kant to Fichte, (Chapter 1, “Kant, Hamann, and the Rise of the Sturm und Drang”), offers an interesting account of how the interactions between Kant and Hamann became the catalyst for the rise of the Sturm und Drang. Here’s an excerpt:
Hamann's letter to Kant, dated July 27, 1759, is a significant historical document. It has good claim to be the first clash between the Aufklarung and Sturm und Drang, the first battle between Kant and his pietistic opponents. Apart from its personal content—the rejection of Kant's mediation—the letter consists mainly in a defense of faith and feeling against the tyranny of reason. Hamann casts himself in the role of a prophet who is persecuted by the 'priests' of the Aufklarung. The dramatis personae are now clear to him: if Kant is Socrates, and if Berens is Alcibiades, then Hamann is the genius who speaks through Socrates. This genius represents divine inspiration, the voice of prophecy, which is what "little Socrates" needs if he is to explain "the mystery of faith" to "big Alcibiades." But Hamann fears that Kant, as a mere philosopher, has no understanding of the heart. Hence he tells Kant that he writes to him in epic rather than lyric style since a philosopher cannot comprehend the language of feeling. Hamann then ridicules Berens' use of a philosopher to change his beliefs: "I nearly have to laugh at the choice of a philosopher to change my thinking. I see the best demonstration like a sensible girl sees a love letter, and I see a Baumgartian definition as a fleuret.” 
In his closing paragraph, however, Hamann cites one philosopher who does understand the need for faith: "the Attic philosopher," David Hume. If Hume is right that reason cannot prove or disprove the existence of ordinary things, then it a fortiori cannot prove or disprove the existence of 'higher things'. If we can only believe in the existence of tables and chairs, then a fortiori we can only believe in the existence of God. Hume is "a Saul among prophets" since he sees that reason cannot make us wise, and that we need faith "to eat an egg or to drink a glass of water.” 
Hamann's appeal to Hume here is strangely, and perhaps intentionally, ironic. Hume argues that there are no rational grounds for the belief in the existence of God in order to attack faith; but Hamann reverses his argument and uses it to defend faith. The argument is the same; but its uses conflict. To Hamann, the merit of Hume's skepticism is not that it challenges faith, but that it secures it from the criticism of reason. 
Whatever the merits of his interpretation, Hamann's citation of Hume in his July 27 letter proved fateful. It is the earliest evidence of Kant's acquaintance with Hume. Here was the spark that later awakened Kant from his "dogmatic slumber." Hume also played a decisive role in the development of Hamann's philosophy, particularly his defense of faith against the attacks of reason. In citing Hume against Kant, Hamann also set a precedent for those philosophers who eventually launched a Humean counterattack upon Kant. 
The influence of Hamann on the Sturm und Drang movement is beyond dispute, but Kant, despite his opposition to the movement, ended up playing a catalytic role in the movement. His conflict with Hamann helped create the Sturm und Drang movement, which was in essence a counter-Enlightenment movement. Hamann was inspired by Kant, but he developed his own philosophy in a reaction to Kant’s pro-Enlightenment philosophy.

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Philosophers as Fiction Writers: Friedrich Schiller and Ayn Rand

Portraits of Ayn Rand and Friedrich Schiller
In Schiller as Philosopher: A Re-examination, Frederick C. Beiser notes that Schiller’s philosophy should not be seen separately from his poetry and plays. This is because the leitmotif of Schiller’s literature is to transmit his political, moral, and aesthetic philosophy. Here’s an excerpt from Beiser’s Introduction to his book:
In vindicating Schiller’s stature as a philosopher, it is important not to separate his philosophy from his poetry and drama. If we make such a separation, we simply fall victim to the academic division of labour from another direction. It is a false abstraction to think that poets cannot be philosophers just as it is to think that philosophers cannot be poets. There is indeed an important sense in which Schiller’s deepest philosophy comes not from his essays but from his plays and poems. If philosophy should come from the experience of life itself, then the best philosophy derives from those media that are closest to that experience: poetry and drama. If this is the case, then the best treatment of Schiller’s philosophy should make no separation between his poetry and discursive essays; it should show how his fundamental themes and problems are found equally in his poetic and discursive works.
I think Beiser’s viewpoint on the Schiller’s poetry and plays being a prime resource for his philosophy is also applicable to Ayn Rand’s literature. She has used the medium of novels to give her readers an almost lifelike experience of her philosophical vision. I think that her novels (We The LivingThe Fountainhead, and Atlas Shrugged) provide a far better insight into her philosophy than the essays that she wrote during the 1960s and 1970s when she was no longer writing fiction and was a full-time philosopher.

The writing career of Schiller and Rand has followed a similar trajectory. They began as fiction writers and their works made them immensely popular. In the later part of their life they were drawn to writing philosophical essays because they wanted to do something to improve the political and cultural condition of their society.

Schiller was a famous poet and playwright in the late 1780s when he began to prepare himself for writing a series of essays on philosophy. He read the original works of several philosophers, especially Immanuel Kant. His essays on aesthetic philosophy (Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man), on Sublime, Grace and Dignity, etc., are a masterpiece. Rand, on the other hand, made the transition from a celebrated fiction writer to a professional philosopher almost directly, with little acquaintance with the original works of the past philosophers.

It is noteworthy that Rand believed that Schiller was the greatest playwright of the Romantic School, but she has nothing to say about his philosophy. Her favorite play by Schiller was Don Carlos. Her heir Leonard Peikoff has given a lecture of around 2-hours on Don Carlos and he is full of praise for Schiller’s literary capabilities. I wonder if Rand and Peikoff read Schiller’s philosophical essays? Did they know about the intellectual debt that Schiller owed to their philosophical bête noire, Immanuel Kant?

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

A Comparison Between Schiller and Kant

In Schiller as Philosopher: A Re-examination, Frederick C. Beiser is making the case that Friedrich Schiller’s achievements in philosophy are as important as his achievements in literature. From the book’s Preface and Introduction, which I read today, it seems that Beiser’s agenda is to build up Schiller’s reputation at the cost of Immanuel Kant.

In the Introduction, Bieser compares Schiller’s philosophy with Kant’s. He summarizes the chief merits of Schiller’s philosophy vis-à-vis Kant’s in the following six propositions:
Schiller’s philosophy retains the rational core of Kant’s ethics but dispenses with its mystical shell. In other words, he accepts Kant’s rigorism and rationalism; but he rejects his transcendent Christian conception of the highest good, replacing it with an entirely immanent and secular one.  
Schiller’s account of aesthetic judgement is superior to Kant’s because it recognizes that it is necessary to give reasons for such judgements, reasons that refer to objective qualities of a work of art.  
Schiller has a more complete account of moral action than Kant, because he recognizes that an action has moral worth only if it derives from moral character or virtue.  
Schiller’s aesthetic conception of freedom avoids the problems of the Kantian moral conception.  
Schiller avoids the inconsistencies and vacillations in Kant’s treatment of the relationship between aesthetics and morality, and he demonstrates the aesthetic dimension of morality without lapsing into the danger of aestheticism, i.e. making beauty replace or mingle with moral principle as a motive for human action.  
Schiller has a conception of aesthetic autonomy that does not deprive art of its moral significance of relevance. 
Beiser offers a brief explanation to the six propositions in the Introduction, leaving detailed defense and exposition for the later chapters. However, I am not impressed by the idea of pitting Schiller against one of the most influential philosophers in history, Kant. Schiller offers lot of value, but he is not equal to Kant.

Also, I think there is a problem in the scope of Beiser's book, because its Preface says: “This study is partly thematic and partly textual. It does not attempt to be a complete study of Schiller's philosophy. It limits itself mainly to Schiller's aesthetic writings.” But this is surprising because the title is “Schiller as Philosopher.” Why confine the book to aesthetics, when Schiller has done lot of work in several other areas of philosophy?

I will have more to say on the book when I read rest of the chapters.

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Friedrich Schiller and The French Revolution

German stamp depicting Schiller
Friedrich Schiller’s play The Robbers was an instant success when it was premiered in 1782. The play’s message of deliverance from a corrupt regime was so influential that in 1792 the new French Republic made Schiller an honorary citizen.

During the early days of the French Revolution, Schiller sympathized with the revolutionaries, but he was appalled when the violence began. The Jacobin Terror and the execution of Louis XVI forced him to give up play writing and turn his attention to political and aesthetic philosophy. Between 1791 and 1796, he wrote a number of theoretical works in which he examined the philosophical reasons behind the intricate political and cultural problems of his times.

Written in 1795, as a series of letters to Prince of Schleswig-Holstein-Augustenburg, Schiller’s Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man, was not only a response to the excesses of the French Revolution, but also a critique of the Enlightenment era political and aesthetic philosophy. In these letters he deals with questions such as how a traditional monarchical society (like France’s Ancien Régime) can be transformed so that there is civil liberty; what kind of role does the educated middle class play in the political transformation; should the process of transformation of the nation be initiated from top echelons of society or from the bottom?

Schiller’s verdict on the French people is quite stark—he blames them for the failure of the French Revolution. Here’s an excerpt from his July letter:
The attempt by the French people to realize themselves in their sacred rights of man and thereby achieve political freedom has merely revealed their own incapacity and unworthiness, casting not only this unhappy people, but also, with them, a considerable part of Europe, back a whole century in barbarism and servitude. 
He notes that political freedom cannot be achieved until the citizens are intellectually and morally fit for liberty.
Political and civic freedom remains eternally the most sacred of all things, the most deserving aim of all effort, the great center of all culture; but this wondrous structure can only be built on the solid foundation of an ennobled character. One has to begin with the creation of the citizens for a constitution, before these citizens can be granted a constitution.
Many of the Schiller’s letters are deeply inspired by Immanuel Kant’s transcendental aesthetic philosophy in The Critique of Judgement.

By 1794, the political situation in France had stabilized, and the new French government entered into a treaty with the German government. This led Kant to write his essay, Towards Perpetual Peace, whose aim is to explain the means by which peace can be secured between different nations. Schiller has dealt with this subject in his letters and he believed that the problem of peace between nations has to be addressed in the same way in which the conflicts within the mind of individual and among individuals is resolved.

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Plato’s Romantic Puritanism

Roman copy of Plato’s bust by Silanion
Friedrich Nietzsche, in The Genealogy of Morals, calls Plato the greatest enemy of art. But he also feels a sardonic respect for Plato, because he believes that Plato had rightly understood the dangerous power of art. In the Republic, Plato denounces poetry, which he says has the power to enter the mind, take hold of its beliefs and emotions, and mould the personality of all those who are exposed to it. He outlines an authoritarian scheme for censoring Greek poetry.

In his essay, “Romantic Puritanism: Plato and the Psychology of Mimesis,” (Chapter 2; The Aesthetics of Mimesis), Stephen Halliwell proposes that Plato’s attitude towards poetry and other mimetic arts show that he was a romantic puritan. This is because the romantic in Plato understood the seductive power of poetry; he himself wrote his philosophy in a literary style. But the puritan in him feared poetry’s corrupting power.

Here’s Halliwell’s analysis of the psychological core of Plato’s critique of poetry:
The psychological core of Plato’s critique of poetry and drama, with the moral and political authoritarianism it brings with it, is rooted ultimately in a fear of the imagination as such, a fear of what imagination can enact within each of us (“the city in the soul”) as well as, by extension, within whole communities. The many selves into which the soul can be diffracted exist potentially within each person; Plato’s philosophical psychology declares that the possibility of this disordered or constantly changing multiplicity is given by the very nature of the human mind. Plato’s fear is that the imagination, in the peculiarly potent forms activated by compelling fiction, can easily serve to foster these different selves and the desires on which they live. Except under specially limited conditions, he seems to believe, the imagination must be dangerously inimical to reason, precisely because its dynamics are those of self-transformation: for what can transform the self or the soul can subvert and destroy its chances of happiness. 
On the subject of the connection between Romanticism and Platonism, Halliwell has this to say:
Romanticism and Platonism are both devoted, in part, to a quest for the spiritual harmony and integrity of the individual. But for the romantics that integrity requires the imagination as one of its primary agencies, because imagination carries with it a potential for self-creation, self-exploration, and self-renewal, which is taken to be indispensable for spiritual growth and fulfillment. The many selves that Plato sees lurking in every mind, and which he thinks need to be integrated into a single, stable self under the rule of reason, become, for romanticism, nothing less than an essential source of freedom and discovery. 
According to Halliwell, imagination is potentially subversive of identity for Plato, but for romanticism, it is formative and even partly constitutive of the self.

Saturday, May 12, 2018

Thomas Carlyle on Schiller and Kant

Portrait of Schiller by Ludovike Simanowiz
In the Life of Friedrich Schiller, Thomas Carlyle goes into raptures about Friedrich Schiller's noble life and achievements in literature, but his account of the development of Schiller’s philosophical beliefs is tasteless. This, I think, is because Carlyle is not ready to acknowledge the debt that Schiller owes to Immanuel Kant.

Carlyle allows his own biases to creep into the biography, and devotes several pages to attacking Kant’s writing style and philosophy. He briefly mentions that Schiller was enthusiastic about Kant’s aesthetic philosophy, but he does not point out that Schiller’s On The Aesthetic Education of Man is inspired by Kant’s The Critique of Judgement.

In one of the passages, Carlyle is blaming the makeup of the German mind as an explanation for Schiller’s enthusiastic response to Kantian thought:
The air of mysticism connected with these doctrines [Kantian] was attractive to the German mind, with which the vague and the vast are always pleasing qualities; the dreadful array of first principles, the forest huge of terminology and definitions, where the panting intellect of weaker men wanders as in pathless thickets, and at length sinks powerless to the earth, oppressed with fatigue, and suffocated with scholastic miasma, seemed sublime rather than appalling to the Germans; men who shrink not at toil, and to whom a certain degree of darkness appears a native element, essential for giving play to that deep meditative enthusiasm which forms so important a feature in their character.
On the difficultly of reading and understanding Kant, here’s what Carlyle has to say:
To an exoteric reader the philosophy of Kant almost always appears to invert the common maxim; its end and aim seem not to be 'to make abstruse things simple, but to make simple things abstruse.' Often a proposition of inscrutable and dread aspect, when resolutely grappled with, and torn from its shady den, and its bristling entrenchments of uncouth terminology, and dragged forth into the open light of day, to be seen by the natural eye, and tried by merely human understanding, proves to be a very harmless truth, familiar to us from of old, sometimes so familiar as to be a truism. Too frequently, the anxious novice is reminded of Dryden in the Battle of the Books: there is a helmet of rusty iron, dark, grim, gigantic; and within it, at the farthest corner, is a head no bigger than a walnut. 
Carlyle calls Kant’s system a laborious dream, and its adherents crazy mystics. He claims that in England (the country to which he belonged) Kant has been rejected, perhaps with enough reason. He also talks about the night of Kantianism which perplexes rather than enlightens. On the whole, this is a strange biography which does not do any justice to Carlyle and is certainly unfair to Kant. 

Friday, May 11, 2018

The “Hero Cult” of Epicurus

Marble bust of Epicurus
Martha C. Nussbaum, in The Therapy of Desire: Theory and Practice in Hellenistic Ethics, is full of praise for Epicurus’s ethical teachings. Her explanation makes it seem that Epicureanism is more conducive for achieving the Greek ideal of eudaimonia than the ethical teachings of Aristotle. But in the book’s Chapter 4, “Epicurean Surgery: Argument and Empty Desire,” she gives a glimpse of the “hero cult” that Epicurus had established. In Ancient Greece and during the Roman era, Epicurus was venerated as the savior of mankind by his disciples.

Here’s an excerpt from the Chapter 4 of Nussbaum’s book:  
Accordingly, all ancient accounts of Epicurus and Epicureanism agree in depicting an extraordinary degree of devotion and deferential obedience toward the master. The pupils, from Lucretius to Cicero's Torquatus, con­cur in celebrating him as the savior of humanity. He is revered as a hero, even as a god. Plutarch reports that one day, while Epicurus was lecturing about nature, Colotes fell at his feet, seized him by the knees, and per­formed a prokunesis act of obeisance appropriate to a divinity or a self-deifying monarch; he quotes a letter from master to pupil in which Epicurus recalls the incident with approval, stressing that Colotes "seized hold of (him) to the full extent of the contact that is customary in revering and supplicating certain people". Epicurus makes the vague claim that he would like to "revere and consecrate" Colotes in return—presumably a wish that Colotes should eventually attain his godlike condition. But this just further underlines the asymmetry of the give-and-take of argument: either you are a god or you are not. If you are not, your proper response to the arguments of the one who is, is acceptance and worship. In a letter to Idomeneus, Epicurus makes a request: "Send us, then, an offering of first­ fruits for the care [therapeian] of our sacred body [hierou somatos], on behalf of yourself and your children". Philodemus tells us that the student's fundamental attitude is: "We will obey the authority of Epicurus, according to whom we have chosen to live”. We have already seen evidence (supported by Diskin Clay's new work on the papyri-Clay 1986) that Epicurus established a hero cult of himself as a focus of the pupils' communal attention. Try imagining Aristotle taking this role, and you will have some measure of the distance we have traveled. Seneca tells us that the Stoics, too, reject the Epicurean conception of philosophical authority: "We are not under a king. Each one claims his own freedom. With them, whatever Hermarchus said, whatever Metro­dorus said, is ascribed to a single source. In that band, anything that anyone says is spoken under the leadership and command of one alone" 
The Epicurean normative ethics has played a positive role in the history of last 2300 years, but it seems that the school was quite dogmatic and cultist during the early years of its existence.

Thursday, May 10, 2018

Schiller on Art and Freedom

Friedrich Schiller believed that political liberty cannot be achieved until there is an inner transformation of the population, and the traditional way of thinking is countered, through exposure to magnificent works of art. Here’s an excerpt from his “Second Letter,” (On The Aesthetic Education of Man):
But this voice does not seem to favor art; at least not the kind of art to which my study will be devoted. The course of events has lent the spirit of the age a direction that threatens to render the art of the ideal ever more  remote from this spirit. This art has to leave the realm of reality, and with proper audacity elevate itself above simple need; for art is a daughter of freedom, responding not to the demands of matter, but to the necessity in our minds. For the present, need prevails, and bends a sunken humanity to its tyrannical yoke. Utility is the great idol of the age, to which all powers are in thrall and all talent must pay homage. On this code scale the spiritual virtues of art have no weight and, bereft of all encouragement, it disappears from the tumultuous market of our century. The spirit of philosophical inquiry strips the power of imagination from one province after another; the borders of art shrink as science extends its bounds. 
However, Schiller was a witness to the terror and brutal slaughter that got unleashed during the French Revolution and therefore he insists in the final lines of the “Second Letter” that the political problem can only be solved by taking the aesthetic path—“for it is by the way of beauty that one approaches liberty.”
I hope to convince you that this matter is far less alien to the needs of the age than it is to its taste; and that if one is to resolve this political problem one must in practice take the aesthetic path, for it is by way of beauty that one approaches liberty. This proof cannot be made, however, without my reminding you of the principles by which the exercise of reason is guided in the work of political legislation. 
Schiller has attacked Immanuel Kant on a number of issues, but he was deeply influenced by the Kantian aesthetic philosophy. His view of art providing an intellectual and moral direction to political liberty is in line with what Kant has preached in The Critique of Judgement.

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

Koestler on The Evolution of Scientific Ideas

Arthur Koestler, in The Act of Creation, begins the chapter 10, “The Evolution of Ideas,” by mentioning a theory proposed by George Sarton, and held as self-evident by many scientists, which says that “the history of science is the only history which displays a cumulative progress of knowledge; that, accordingly, the progress of science is the only yardstick by which we can measure the progress of mankind; and moreover, that the word 'progress* itself has no clearly defined meaning in any field of activity—except the field of science.”

Koestler devotes rest of the chapter to proving that Sarton’s theory of scientific knowledge increasing in cumulative manner is not correct, and that instead of being gradual and continuous, the advances in science are often jerky, unpredictable and unscientific. He offers several examples from last 2500 years of critical scientific discoveries being forgotten, and rediscovered many centuries later. He notes that simple truths of science often get buried under manmade heaps of rubble, which are difficult to clear.

There are large number of scientists whose lives have been wasted in frustration and despair because their discoveries pass unnoticed. “The history of science has its Pantheon of celebrated revolutionaries—and its catacombs, where the unsuccessful rebels lie, anonymous and forgotten.”

Here’s an excerpt from the summary that Koestler offers at the end of the chapter:
The history of science shows recurrent cycles of differentiation and specialization followed by reintegrations on a higher level; from unity to variety to more generalized patterns of unity-in-variety. The process also has certain analogies with biological evolution—such as wastefulness, sudden mutations, the struggle for survival between competing theories.  
The various phases in the historic cycle correspond to the characteristic stages of individual discovery: the periods of creative anarchy to the period of incubation; the emergence of the new synthesis to the bisociative act. It may emerge suddenly, sparked off by a single individual discovery; or gradually, as in die history of electromagnetism, where a series of individual discoveries acted as 'links'. Each revolutionary historic advance has a constructive and a destructive aspect: the thaw of orthodox doctrines and the resulting fertile chaos correspond to the regressive phase of the individual reculer-pour-mienx-sauter phenomenon. Lastly, the process of verification and elaboration of individual discoveries is reflected on the map of history as the consolidation of the new frontier—followed by the development of a new orthodoxy, a hardening of the collective matrix—until it gets blocked and the cycle starts again. 
The developments in science, according to Koestler, follow the same historical pattern that we find in the areas of literature, music, painting, or architecture.

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

Aristotle on Pity

"Aristoteles," Painting  by Francesco Hayez 
Aristotle’s list of painful and destructive evils for which a man may feel pity include bodily injury, illness, deformity, weakness, old age, death, lack of food, lack of friends, the coming of evil from a source that ought to have brought good fortune, and a few other situations.

In Rhetoric, Aristotle identifies three cognitive conditions for a man to feel pity:

1. The person who is being pitied must be undeserving of the misfortune. A belief in the goodness of the person who is being pitied is essential for someone else to feel pity for him. Those who believe that evil is inherent in human beings will not feel pity for they will think that misfortune is deserved.

2. The person who pities must be filled by the notion that he or she is vulnerable to the misfortune that has struck the person who is the object of pity. Aristotle points out that those who think that they are immune to suffering of any kind will not feel pity. He sees a connection between pity and fear: we pity the misfortune of another when we fear that a similar misfortune may strike us.

3. A man will feel pity when he is convinced that the size of the misfortune that the other person has suffered is really significant.

Here’s an excerpt from Rhetoric (Book 2, Chapter 8):
Let us now consider Pity, asking ourselves what things excite pity, and for what persons, and in what states of our mind pity is felt. Pity may be defined as a feeling of pain caused by the sight of some evil, destructive or painful, which befalls one who does not deserve it, and which we might expect to befall ourselves or some friend of ours, and moreover to befall us soon. In order to feel pity, we must obviously be capable of supposing that some evil may happen to us or some friend of ours, and moreover some such evil as is stated in our definition or is more or less of that kind. It is therefore not felt by those completely ruined, who suppose that no further evil can befall them, since the worst has befallen them already; nor by those who imagine themselves immensely fortunate—their feeling is rather presumptuous insolence, for when they think they possess all the good things of life, it is clear that the impossibility of evil befalling them will be included, this being one of the good things in question. Those who think evil may befall them are such as have already had it befall them and have safely escaped from it; elderly men, owing to their good sense and their experience; weak men, especially men inclined to cowardice; and also educated people, since these can take long views. Also those who have parents living, or children, or wives; for these are our own, and the evils mentioned above may easily befall them. And those who neither moved by any courageous emotion such as anger or confidence (these emotions take no account of the future), nor by a disposition to presumptuous insolence (insolent men, too, take no account of the possibility that something evil will happen to them), nor yet by great fear (panic-stricken people do not feel pity, because they are taken up with what is happening to themselves); only those feel pity who are between these two extremes. In order to feel pity we must also believe in the goodness of at least some people; if you think nobody good, you will believe that everybody deserves evil fortune. And, generally, we feel pity whenever we are in the condition of remembering that similar misfortunes have happened to us or ours, or expecting them to happen in the future. 
So much for the mental conditions under which we feel pity. What we pity is stated clearly in the definition. All unpleasant and painful things excite pity if they tend to destroy pain and annihilate; and all such evils as are due to chance, if they are serious. The painful and destructive evils are: death in its various forms, bodily injuries and afflictions, old age, diseases, lack of food. The evils due to chance are: friendlessness, scarcity of friends (it is a pitiful thing to be torn away from friends and companions), deformity, weakness, mutilation; evil coming from a source from which good ought to have come; and the frequent repetition of such misfortunes. Also the coming of good when the worst has happened: e.g. the arrival of the Great King’s gifts for Diopeithes after his death. Also that either no good should have befallen a man at all, or that he should not be able to enjoy it when it has. 
The grounds, then, on which we feel pity are these or like these. The people we pity are: those whom we know, if only they are not very closely related to us-in that case we feel about them as if we were in danger ourselves. For this reason Amasis did not weep, they say, at the sight of his son being led to death, but did weep when he saw his friend begging: the latter sight was pitiful, the former terrible, and the terrible is different from the pitiful; it tends to cast out pity, and often helps to produce the opposite of pity. Again, we feel pity when the danger is near ourselves. Also we pity those who are like us in age, character, disposition, social standing, or birth; for in all these cases it appears more likely that the same misfortune may befall us also. Here too we have to remember the general principle that what we fear for ourselves excites our pity when it happens to others. Further, since it is when the sufferings of others are close to us that they excite our pity (we cannot remember what disasters happened a hundred centuries ago, nor look forward to what will happen a hundred centuries hereafter, and therefore feel little pity, if any, for such things): it follows that those who heighten the effect of their words with suitable gestures, tones, dress, and dramatic action generally, are especially successful in exciting pity: they thus put the disasters before our eyes, and make them seem close to us, just coming or just past. Anything that has just happened, or is going to happen soon, is particularly piteous: so too therefore are the tokens and the actions of sufferers-the garments and the like of those who have already suffered; the words and the like of those actually suffering-of those, for instance, who are on the point of death. Most piteous of all is it when, in such times of trial, the victims are persons of noble character: whenever they are so, our pity is especially excited, because their innocence, as well as the setting of their misfortunes before our eyes, makes their misfortunes seem close to ourselves.
In Poetics, Aristotle defines tragedy as a kind of imitative poetry that provokes pity and fear. He suggest that the audience identifies with the sufferings of the hero whose downfall results, not from unpleasantness or vice, but from an error in judgement.