Socrates vs Hedonism

In Plato’s Gorgias, Socrates argues against the doctrine of hedonism insofar as the principle is advanced by his interlocutor, Callicles. The premise, as it is advanced by Callicles, claims that in order for a man to live correctly, he should “allow his own appetites to get as large as possible and not restrain them” (491e). Thus, Callicles appears to be arguing that a good life is a life spent fulfilling desires (i.e. a life of pleasure).

          Socrates begins his refutation of Callicles’ formulation of hedonism by comparing two men; one man has casks that are full of wine and honey while the second man has casks that cannot remain full due to their leaky condition. Socrates points out that the man with the leaky casks cannot be happy because he is in a state of constant need. “And now would you say that the life of the intemperate is happier than that of the temperate?” Socrates asks this, hoping to illustrate that the constant need to fulfill one’s desires is more of a state of pain than it is one of pleasure (or is at least more trouble than it’s worth). Callicles bemoans Socrates, noting that the man whose casks are full is a man living the life of a stone, since he can no longer seek pleasure; he has all he can get.

          What may make Socrates’ beginning argument stronger than Callicles’ is the fact that Socrates sees no value in indulging one’s self beyond mere satisfaction. That is to say, the man with full casks may no longer be in pursuit of pleasure, but such a state is neither here nor there. Thus, such a state is better than the state the man with leaky casks finds himself in, who must work to fulfill his desires. What’s worse is that these desires are constant. So even if the man with full casks leads the life of a stone, to Socrates, such a man is far better off than the leaky cask bearer who is constantly seeking relief from pain.

          Next, Socrates brings up the analogy of the perpetual itch-scratcher. Socrates gets Callicles to agree that the perpetual itch-scratcher must be happy because the itch-scratcher is constantly fulfilling a desire (and in the process, Callicles equates that that which is pleasurable is also good). Socrates point appears to be—akin to his previous analogy—that in actuality the catamite is not happy because they are in a constant state of need. Either the itch-scratcher is happy or is not happy; it cannot be the case that they are both. So, either Socrates or Callicles is wrong. Perhaps they are both wrong.

          Is it possible that Socrates has introduced a false dilemma? Is it possible that there is a realm of sensation between pain (meaning the need to fulfill a desire) and pleasure that makes the act of fulfilling a desire different from being in pain or having pleasure? But even if there is no false dilemma, we might ask whether or not pleasure is derived from the act of itching or from the relief of the itch being gone. It would seem that Callicles and Socrates have different perspectives. To Callicles, it appears that pleasure is in the act of itching itself, whereas for Socrates pleasure is in the absence of the desire to itch. Socrates analogy is not convincing because 1) there may be a false dilemma and 2) his argument hinges upon Callicles taking the same perspective of pleasure. [Which is the problem with many of Socrates’ arguments in Plato’s plays.] However, Socrates does get Callicles to agree that that which is pleasurable is good, an important point in his next argument.

          Sensing that his last argument did not convince Callicles, Socrates takes the possibility of pleasure and pain existing simultaneously within a person and contrasts this against  Callicles’  admission  that  good  and  evil  cannot  be  had  by  a man in the same instance (495e). In order to be exact, Socrates asks Callicles a series of questions in relation to a man’s hunger and thirst: A man’s hunger and thirst are painful, the two men agree, but by Callicles’ admission there is pleasure to be had when a man eats and drinks in order to sate his deficiencies. Socrates is pointing out that a hungry and thirsty man who eats and drinks in order to fill his deficiency is experiencing pleasure and pain at the same time (496e). Socrates then immediately reminds Callicles that he has agreed that a man cannot have good and evil fortunes at the same time, therefore, pleasure and pain cannot be the same as good and evil. The implication here is that having agreed to this particular argument by Socrates, Callicles is incorrect in his insistence that a good life is one in the pursuit of fulfilling unrestrained desires since what is pleasurable and what is good are not the same as each other. If in fact what Callicles has assented to is true, then Socrates logic is airtight and there is nothing Callicles can do to refute it.

          From there, Socrates begins a counter argument against his last assertion that a man can experience pleasure and pain (i.e. a deficiency) at the same time, since a man ceases from his thirst and his pleasure in drinking at the same time. Callicles agrees to this. Callicles also agrees, moments later, that a man does not cease from good fortunes and evil fortunes at the same time. If this is true, Socrates has confounded Callicles again: What is good is not the same as pleasure and what is evil is not the same as a pain (497a-d).

          Socrates’ argument here once again hinges upon Callicles’ agreement to certain states of being and in his own interpretation of what pleasure is—an absence of desire—not in any facts of the matter. It is quite easy, one might think, of when it is pleasurable to drink something—say, a well-aged wine—without an explicit need to drink the wine. If we are wrong to call such an experience ‘good’ because this pleasure exceeds the absolution of desire, then we certainly abuse the word ‘good’ quite often. If often seems that Socrates is using semantics to confuse his opponents. But he may yet be right to do so.

          By this point in the dialogue, Callicles has still not re-evaluated his position that a good life is a life spent fulfilling desires, so Socrates continues his philosophical assault. Socrates first asks if the good are good because they have good present within them. Callicles says yes. Socrates then begins a comparison between foolish, cowardly men and intelligent, brave men. He gets Callicles to agree that foolish, cowardly men feel pleasure and pain to roughly the same extent that intelligent, brave men do (and perhaps more). Likewise, foolish, cowardly men possess good and bad qualities to roughly the same extent intelligent, brave men do (and perhaps more). But, Socrates asks, aren’t foolish, cowardly men bad and intelligent, brave men good? (497e-498e). Of course, Callicles agrees and now unwittingly concedes this argument too; Socrates’ point being that the mere presence of goodness in something is not sufficient for the thing in question to actually be good. So, perhaps the presence of goodness in the fulfillment of desire isn’t so good after all!

          Aside from the conjecture about foolish, cowardly men perhaps feeling or possessing more than intelligent, brave men in certain respects, Socrates has made another strong argument. If Socrates and Callicles are right that foolish, cowardly men are indeed bad people, they cannot be made good by the mere presence of good qualities or else they would be good men.  We  could  say the same for pleasure;  because an act is pleasurable and had a good quality to it, that is not sufficient enough to call pleasure something good. This appears to be a case that approaches formal logic and is undeniable.

          Since for Socrates pleasure is the absence of unfulfilled desires, Socrates shares the view of one of his contemporaries Epicurus about pleasure. For both men, pleasure could be regarded as the absence of pain and/or the avoidance of pain, not in the satisfaction of desires (as was the viewpoint taken up by Callicles). For both Epicurus and Socrates, the good life began in “the freedom of the soul from disturbances” (Epicurus) and it is the pleasures that last a lifetime that should be sought instead of momentary pleasures. For Epicurus and Socrates, there is a clear distinction between higher and lower pleasures.

          Epicurus made such a distinction because he recognized that bodily pleasures do not last as long as intellectual pleasures. Food, drink, and sex must—like Socrates leaky casks—be constantly sought, as they are bodily sensations. Such pleasures pale in comparison to such pleasures as the pursuit of philosophy, as philosophy can lead a man not to be fearful of death and thus, have his soul be at peace. Socrates, or at least the Socrates presented in Gorgias, would certainly agree with Epicurus, and vice versa.

          We might raise objections to Epicurus and Socrates on the grounds that perhaps a life of pain avoidance or of not being in pain is not actually pleasure, it is just an absence of pain. [Arguing over the definition of words and semantics is a time-honored tradition of philosophers.] If this is the case, it would seem that Epicurus and Socrates are preaching a life of avoiding experiences we might otherwise enjoy. Do we really want to live lives that escape other people’s notice, as Epicurus would have us do? Or does the full range of experiences, both good and bad, both mundane and extreme, help make us what we are—human? A quiet life can certainly be had under the Epicurean formulation of a good life, but following Epicurus’ doctrine would seem to rob life of all fun. That seems to be a doctrine few would actually care to live by.

The Mid-Life Crisis of an Immortal

Although I like to think of myself as immortal – hey, I’ve been right so far – I’ve had this feeling lately that the time for my mid-life crisis is ripe. That said, let me make it perfectly clear that a mid-life crisis for me had nothing to do with trying to recapture the excitement of my youth by buying a flashy car with which to entice nubile young women into bed. For me, a mid-life crisis (or a life-crisis I should say) comes via the realization that I haven’t done anything interesting or noteworthy with my life. While I do not seek fame and fortune (but wouldn’t shun either as a consequence of “accomplishing something”), whatever I accomplish I want to be something people remember long into the future. I desire a legacy.

While I desire a legacy, it is by no means necessary to my existence, much less anyone else’s. No one needs to “do something” with their life. I’ve often considered simply being a good person enough to deal with in one’s lifetime, insomuch as one can be. However, this view is no longer sufficient for me as I feel I have more to offer the world. So there’s that and the possibility that maybe I’m not such a good person. Wouldn’t a good person be satisfied being good and not rather be known for solving some difficult esoteric problem or contributing an important idea or two such as I do? I wish I could be like Albert Einstein, only better looking if only with half the brain (probably an over-estimation). Maybe I could resolve what it means to be a good person…

Why should I desire a legacy? Why should I believe I have more to offer the world? I believe my desire is an expression of my genes, where my genes (and yours) are ultimately geared towards survival of the species. While my rational self restrains any desire to procreate, a deep genetic longing for the species to survive may be causing me to play what hand I may to that end. However, such feelings clash with another side of my personality and thus the question is raised: Does the world deserve my help?

Despite my generally congenial disposition and that I lend a helping hand (literally and metaphorically speaking) as often as I do, I would be inclined to characterize myself as generally misanthropic. Why should I be pessimistic about people? Several recent news items come to mind such as the number of women professing their love for Boston Marathon bombing suspect Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, the rich using handicapped people to cut in line at Disney World, and scientists closing in on human cloning, damn the consequences. While the news media is geared towards selling the lowest common denominator, each of these instances nevertheless illustrates that no matter how much “good” good people do, their actions are negated by how exponentially worse bad people affect the world. Worse, good people just take it precisely because they think they’re good and fancifully imagine justice always wins in the end. I do not view this as rational. It is a flawed way of behaving. Why should I aid and abet the irrational and the flawed? I have as much contempt for the Average Joe as I do the people who take advantage of them. And so I am conflicted.

There is a solution. Like Sherlock Holmes or Dr. House, I must be in it for myself. I must be in it for the love of the game, to solve the puzzles. Oh, there are so many puzzles. Perhaps then the world will benefit indirectly from my efforts. Then again, Albert Einstein does have the atomic bomb on his hands. There are always those damned unintended consequences. Maybe I should sit on the dock of the bay instead, watch the waves roll in, and just waste time.

Adam and Evil

“I’d rather laugh with the sinners than die with the saints; the sinners are much more fun…” Billy Joel

For two thousand years, a great deal of fanfare has surrounded the idea that people need to be ‘saved’ by accepting Jesus Christ as their savior because we are all sinners. The idea of sin goes back to the very first chapter of the Bible in the Book of Genesis, in which the first man and woman, Adam and Eve, perpetrate what is known as The Fall. Certainly, such a notion is a primary reason why some theists go to great lengths to justify a belief in their singular God and His son. Only, a critical analysis of this particular creation myth reveals a god that, if actually existent, is a god of questionable morality and perhaps even malicious.

In the book of Genesis, after God has made the Earth and heavens, He decides to make man in the likeness of Himself (and other unnamed gods) for no reason that is made even remotely obvious to the casual reader. Then, because this man, Adam, is lonely, God makes animals for the man to have dominion over. Next, He makes a woman for Adam, presumably because having sex with sheep is inappropriate. God places the both of them in the beautiful garden of Eden where they may live happily ever after, but not without a dire warning: Do not eat from the Tree of Knowledge. If they do, God warns, they will die.

Most of us are familiar with what happens next. A serpent comes to Eve, telling her one lie and one truth. If Eve eats fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, not only will she not die—a lie—but she will come to have knowledge of good and evil as the gods do—the truth. After eating the fruit (presumably a bad apple), she then gives her husband fruit from the tree and he eats it too. They now know the difference between good and evil, which seems to come as a surprise to the typically described omniscient God the next time He comes around.

Incredulous, God punishes Adam and Eve. For starters, they’re going to die—and the serpent who instigated the entire affair, who gets off relatively easy by comparison. In addition, not only are Adam and Eve going to die, but God tells Eve she is going to bear tremendous pain during childbirth and subjugates her to her husband, while Adam is sentenced to the backbreaking task of having to grow their own food. Finally, they are cast out from the Garden of Eden least they try next to eat from the Tree of Life and live forever.

It appears Adam and Eve sinned; they disobeyed God, and from this a reader is to extrapolate a lesson: If you disobey God, the consequences will be undesirable, to say the least. However, a philosophical question arises as to whether or not Adam and Eve acted with ill intentions towards God and whether or not they should be punished for what they did.

I think it is fair to point out that it is perfectly clear that Adam and Eve had no knowledge of what was good and what was bad prior to eating the forbidden fruit. God may have told them that eating the fruit from this particular tree would result in their death, but they had absolutely no cause to believe that either death, disobeying God, or prancing around the Garden unclothed were bad things until after they ate the fruit.

With that in mind I think it equally fair to say that it is God then that explicitly bears the responsibility for creating the circumstances that would cause Adam and Eve to “fall.” What reason did God have for putting the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden? Why did He create a serpent that would be so beguiling as to fool Eve? If He was testing Adam and Eve, He must have known they would fail this test given that God is (or described as being later on in the Bible) all-knowing. Of course, if God had chosen not to know the future regarding this matter, God is either irresponsible or worse, a sadist. For the theist who wishes to take this creation account seriously, the absence of any analysis is required to think that God might not be evil. But we mustn’t judge too quickly.

We learn by reading further into the Book of Genesis that thanks to Adam and Eve’s disobedience, every subsequent human being suffers consequences. Because of the first man and woman, everyone is now born with a stain upon their soul as punishment for Adam and Eve’s insubordination. Certain monotheists call this “Original Sin,” something from which they think everyone is in need of being “saved” from. But what God does to Adam and Eve is akin to my requiring you to rob a bank with me, not tell you the details of the plan, then have you die during the heist so that I can get away unscathed. Best of all, your ancestors take the rap! Again, we must ask the compelling question as to why God would set the events of mankind into motion in such a manner. If we take into account that the Judeo-Christian god is described as being as omni-benevolent as He is omniscient (though we cannot figure out why from the Genesis account, other than to have faith that what the Creator creates is good), why did The Fall turn out to be anything but good? Couldn’t an all-powerful God have prevented this mess?

We, as human beings, must require that we know God’s plan in order to determine whether or not His punishment from the onset of our supposed history is just. Yet, if God is silent, if His ultimate plan is a matter of speculation, we might speculate many things—and that includes discovering who the Wizard of Oz really is. Given the account of man’s creation in Genesis, somewhere, somehow, one or more of God’s three, traditionally ascribed, major attributes—omnipotence, omniscience, and omni-benevolence—has failed to make either who God is or the story of Genesis (or both) credible.

God’s supposed goodness suffers the greatest damage in Genesis. After all, a child doesn’t know the meaning of a punishment until they are actually punished, so it seems odd to me that God would choose to punish his creation (and his creation’s creations) so severely. If God’s reasoning was to think that it would surely teach humans to never disobey Him again, He positively failed on that account.

It is this failure to be kind to his creations that casts doubt upon his other attributes, most notably His capacity to see the future. If God knew, or even could have logical deduced what the outcome of The Garden of Eden scenario might have been, He should have refrained from creating Adam and Eve. [That is, if humans hold God to any recognizable moral standard. Heck, even God’s own standards.] If God did not know what the outcome of events would be, then He is not omniscient.

Unfortunately, the best theistic defense is to characterize God as a perfect entity and this, they argue, by definition must include omniscience. Thus, if what the theist says about God’s omniscience in relation to His perfection is true, then God had to have known what was going to happen. If that’s true, we must return once again question God’s supposed benevolence. “Ah,” the theist will continue, “Keep in mind that God is perfect. God cannot not be benevolent.” But this would make God amoral since a being can only be moral if able to make choices. Even if God could choose evil but never did, we still couldn’t be certain that he could commit evil if He’s never made that choice. God must have free will then, hence, no one can be positively certain that God was without some evil intent in the creation of mankind. The theistic defenses of God’s qualities that allude to perfection drown in a circular sea of reasoning as quickly as any other characteristic ascribed to God.

            Given the contrivances in the story of Genesis, one should find it difficult to entertain tradition monotheistic descriptions of God seriously. God cannot be perfect because omniscience/amorality prevents this from being the case (a theistically “moral” person would argue, anyway). Nor can God be omniscient without casting suspicion on His “benevolent” motives. We might, for a second, consider that God is indeed supremely powerful given that the logic necessary to make the attributes of God mesh with the story of Genesis is as impossible as a square circle. But if God can only do what is logically possible then God’s attributes are reduced to contradictions, though perhaps we should have seen that coming. On the other hand, we humans are not omniscient and we’re not perfect. Maybe that’s a good thing.

References

God. The Holy Bible . 1000th. Hippo: Synod Press, 393.

Krueger, Douglas E. What Is Atheism?. 3rd. Amherst, NY: Prometheus, 1998.

Plato. The Trial and Death of Socrates. 1st. New York, NY: Dover Press, 1992.

Smith, George H. Atheism: The Case Against God. 1st. Amherst, NY: Prometheus, 1979.