Philosophy Essays
Note: The following essays have been amended to remove silly grammar errors and the like that somehow worked their way through despite intensive proof-reading :o/ Just can't get rid of the things! (Thanks to elegy_of_flames for helping make my essays legible though!)
Philosophical Psychology: On Jealousy and its inappropriateness in modern society (71)
What is jealousy, and what if anything, is wrong with it? Has it any redeeming features?
Jealousy is a set of emotions and urges resulting from situations where one's self-worth is doubted via competition; its fault is found in its lack of utility. I will be drawing illustrations from numerous types of jealousy in my discussion and, due to its similarity and overlap, I will be comparing jealousy to envy.
Jealousy is not any one emotion; it contains numerous emotions, as Kathy Labriola notes: “Jealousy can manifest as anger, fear, hurt, betrayal, anxiety, agitation, sadness, paranoia, depression, loneliness, envy, coveting, feeling powerless, feeling inadequate, feeling excluded” (Labriola 2006). These emotions do not define jealousy; they are not experienced simultaneously nor are necessary features of every episode of jealousy.
In common usage jealousy is similar to 'game' in regards to lacking an essential definition (Wittgenstein 1972: §3); this may be illustrated in contrasting 'envy' with 'jealousy'. There is no clear distinction between the two; in some cases they are synonyms. This necessitates forging new and clearer definitions whilst taking care to retain the phenomena under investigation. Despite lack of any sharp boundary, there are differences in the usages of the terms; hence I seek clearer definition through example.
I can feel envious of a friend’s relationship success without ill-will; it is important that I might not desire his/her relationship itself; but only to attain the same success. This may cause jealousy only if it causes a feeling of inadequacy compared to my friend, that is, if I feel the need to compete.
Similarly, Peter Goldie suggests envy of cricketing skills as being an example of non-malicious form of envy, but also defines envy as “wanting more of that thing than someone else” (Goldie 2002: 221). I hold that envy can be quenched upon reaching the same as the person, rather than more. This is due to a lack of desire to 'beat' or 'out-compete' the person I envy; instead I merely wish to attain that which I find envious.
Jealousy in contrast necessitates 'competition'. Jealous situations only arise when conflict or perception of conflict is present. Yet not all conflicts and competitions are jealous; not everyone who loses a chess game becomes jealous of their competitor's superior chess skills. The defining difference is feeling demeaned by the loss; jealousy arrives when pride is at stake.
Hence the desire to triumph and beat one's opponent is also involved. This is essential in explaining why a jealous person might destroy the object being competed over; it may be preferable to 'draw' instead of outright losing the competition: 'If I can't have it, no one will.'
I thus hold envy as the desire for something a person has but without necessity of competition and ill-will. In contrast jealousy is intrinsically linked to competition and ill-will. I will address two apparent counter-examples: (a) when a jealous individual is in no position to 'compete', and (b) when a clearly jealous person opts out of competition.
(a) Imagine an adolescent obsessed with a celebrity they have never met but yet feels jealousy upon hearing of this celebrity's new lover. Here there seems no competition due to no contact with the rival, but there is a perception of conflict. The adolescent may have imagined meeting their crush, but in any future imagining (barring application of self-delusion) there will be a rival to be imagined. The rival represents opposition in the adolescent's pursuit of the crush. Feeling as if in competition with this rival, the adolescent will be drawn to compare him/herself to their rival and thus may feel bitter and resentful at feeling inferior or at the mere need to compete itself.
The adolescent loses nothing, unlike in the imaginary loss described by Tov-Ruach as quoted by Michael. J. Wreen: “the feared loss of something, although it never existed, did indeed form some aspect of their [sic] sense of themselves” (1989: 641) Wreen is correct that this is an overly irrational presentation of adolescents. Better to understand it as not a loss of something valuable, but an addition of a competing rival.
(b) Imagine a person who has romantic feelings towards another but when faced with an opponent retreats from the conflict, yet feels jealous. Like my previous adolescent this reaction will be the result of a competition as judged by the jealous individual, resulting in a predicted loss and thus retreat. Finding themselves lacking they are naturally bitter.
Thus both examples support jealousy being not only about competition, but also about ill-will; the reason for such ill-will is that that jealousy is 'personal'; it's about self-worth rather than whatever the token being competed over might be.
This is illustrated in the example of such a person who intends to leave their lover but, upon discovering a rival who desires said lover, finds themselves experiencing jealousy despite no desire for the lover who they intended to leave; instead the lover is merely a 'token' to be fought over and discarded if won. The goal is not keeping the token, but proving that one can. The value of the win is not the token; it's the proof of one's character relative to the opponent.
A jealous child seeing their siblings receive more dessert than him/her may complain 'they have more than me!', but be content if everyone receives an equally small portion to begin with. Greed aside, the perception of being treated less well than one's peers urges the question 'Why?'
Consider also responses to losing these jealous conflicts. A person may feel worthless due to a perceived demonstration of being a 'lesser' person, or they may try to portray the loss in a way that does not reflect on their character, hence the common saying amongst jilted male lovers: 'girls don't like nice guys', which conveniently places the explanation not in the male's lack of worth, but in some mental deficiency of the girl.
Finally, look at when a loss to a romantic rival does not inspire jealousy. A man competing for a woman but jilted for a female competitor due the woman being a lesbian may not find himself jealous as he might have had the lover been male. As the decision was based on his sexual biology and not anything he perceives as a character fault, he need not feel hurt pride. The man may experience non-malicious envy of the female lover, but not necessarily jealousy.
Hence I take jealousy to refer to emotional states generated by a competition wherein the person's self-perception of his/her self-worth is at stake. Jealousy is not intrinsically linked to desire for the thing competed over, which may be a mere 'token' that only possesses value so far as its possession proves something about oneself. With this definition, I will now evaluate the rationality and harmfulness of jealousy via (a) the actions jealousy inspires, (b) the causes of jealousy, and (c) the goals of jealousy.
(a) Jealousy can drive people to counter-productive actions. One could act over-controlling of one's partner in reaction to a romantic rival, causing discontent in one's lover and leading to her/his leaving, perhaps into the arms of the rival. However, a jealous person may act more sensibly, and all emotions can be acted upon irrationally. Love may cause acts that are over-eager and embarrassing and thus scare away the desired person. Fault then belongs to the person and not the emotion.
(b) A person may become jealous for irrational reasons. Suspicious people may see unfaithfulness everywhere, but the same is true of all emotions. An arachnophobe may be intellectually aware that a particular spider is harmless, but be shaken by irrational belief of the opposite, nevertheless not all fear is irrational.
(c) The real problem is in the goals and ends of jealousy; the defining feature of jealousy being the desire to win the competition to prove self-worth; hence its end is proving one's superiority and demonstrating power over others.
There are situations today where this may be useful, but jealousy is indiscriminate; it urges us to prove ourselves even when no gain or utility is to be found in doing so.
A person staying with their lover to prove that a rival can't take possession of her against his or her will, yet intends to never see either again afterwards gains nothing from the experience. Meanwhile, if the person does intend to see them again the inspiration of such foul feelings in both other parties will also be of no general benefit. Jealousy does not account for this, but urges us to compete regardless, and if we fail to do so, the failure burns, especially if we feel the rival might feel they have proven themselves superior.
Human emotions are often not well carved for the modern world. Similarly to jealousy, 'fight or flight' reflexes are often entirely inappropriate. In primitive times with smaller communities, proving one's place in the social ladder has more universal importance and utility, but today a lack of like or respect from any one person may be irrelevant to our well-being. Often it is better to 'live and let live'; to ignore such people and live our own separate life. Jealousy urges us to do otherwise.
Now I will address the claim that jealousy may be a vice, but a necessary vice, due to an erroneous association with desire and love that I have been arguing against. Peter Goldie states that “Even apparently insignificant traits ... can resonate through a person's psyche in such a way that their 'addition' or 'removal' could have dramatic and unforeseen consequences for the whole person” (Goldie 2002:235), which leads to the conclusion that “Jealousy is the price that has to be paid for there to be a certain sort of love from a certain kind of person” (Goldie 2002: 240). I agree that 'certain kinds of love' necessitate jealousy from certain kinds of persons, those persons being of irrationally jealous character, but also claim that love is possible without jealousy.
Consider polyamory: “The state or practice of maintaining multiple sexual and/or romantic relationships simultaneously, with the full knowledge and consent of all the people involved.” (Veaux 2006) or “the nonpossessive, honest, responsible and ethical philosophy and practice of loving multiple people simultanously” (polysoc, 2006)
Jealousy is possible in polyamorous relationships, but not necessary. The presence of it's opposite 'Compersion' is also possible: “A feeling of joy when a partner invests in and takes pleasure from another romantic or sexual relationship”(Veaux 2006).
One difference is that if one negates the belief that one can only love one person then there is no need to compete over a person's love. Writing about jealousy management, Kathy Labriola proposes the removal of beliefs such as “It is just not possible to love more than one person at the same time” which would necessitate such competition, and the introduction of beliefs like “Loving more than one person is a choice that can exponentially expand my potential for giving and receiving love.”, which removes a token to compete jealously over (Labriola 2006). This is reminiscent of how a parent might deal with sibling jealousy in explaining that they love all of their children and that such love can't be compared in quantitative terms.
There are other issues in romance that may evoke competition of course, just as there are many things in general life that can. However, there is no rational need to take these personally; it is often found that negotiation is more suited to the modern life than competition, but jealousy does not inspire the urge to negotiate, it inspires the urge to be victorious over an opponent. Overcoming such urges is essential to healthy living in any civilised world.
Hence neither love nor desire for something necessitates jealousy; jealousy is an urge for competition, even when needless. Love need not include competition; a person with sufficient security in their relationship should have no rational cause for jealousy. This is both true of a person in a polyamorous relationship who may have nothing to fear from their lover's other romantic partners, or in any relationship where a person genuinely feels their relationship is secure.
A person who finds themselves in a romantic conflict should consider the inappropriateness of jealousy to the situation at hand. A civilised person in such a position may find such sentiments as 'it's not personal' or 'no hard feelings' during a conflict appropriate, but jealousy urges the opposite; the triumph or defeat in jealous conflicts urges taking pride or feeling shame before one’s opponent purely because the conflict was actually about the opponent not the token.
Hence I find that jealousy is a particular state of affairs where a person desires victory over another to gain self-esteem, and not for whatever prize they might gain. This is not logically necessitated by either desire or love, nor is it experienced by everyone, yet many find themselves drawn by jealousy to battle with everyone to prove their self-worth. If we were rational creatures acting to our best interests, we would avoid such battles and carry on with more important things; however, it seems many of us suffer under the harmful influence of jealousy.
Total Words: 2180
Bibliography
Goldie, P (2002) The Emotions, Oxford: Oxford University Press
Wreen, J (1989) Jealousy, as in Nous Vol.23.
Wittgenstein, W (1972) Philosophical Investigations, trans. G.E.M Anscombe, Oxford: Blackwell & Mott, Ltd
Labriola, K (2005) Date Accessed: 09/11/2005. Unmasking the Green-Eyed Monster. Available from the World Wide Web at: http://www.cat-and-dragon.com/stef/Poly/Labriola/jealousy.html
Veaux, F (2006) Date Accessed: 09/11/2006. Poly Dictionary: Glossary of Polyamorous Terms, Available from the Wide World Web at: http://www.xeromag.com/fvpolyglossary.html
The Polyamory Society, (2006) Date Accessed: 09/11/2006. Introduction to Polyamory, Available from the World Wide Web at: http://www.polyamorysociety.org/page6.html
Philosophy of Mathematics: On the solution of Benacerraf's error via Kantian metaphysics (70)
Expand upon and discuss critically the views expressed in the following passage:
“It is my contention that two quite distinct kinds of concerns have separately motivated accounts of the nature of mathematical truth: (1) the concern for having a homogeneous semantical theory in which semantics for the propositions of mathematics parallel the semantics for the rest of language, and (2) the concern that the account of mathematical truth mesh with a reasonable epistemology. It will be my general thesis that almost all accounts of the concept of mathematical truth can be identified with serving one or another of these masters at the expense of the other” (Paul Benacerraf)
Benacerraf’s above statements are intended to illustrate a problem with all contemporary theories of mathematical truth in that all theories must fulfil both concerns. (Benacerraf 2004:403-4).
In proceeding I will first investigate what is meant by both concerns, and then evaluate them as applied to Platonism and Constructivism where the strain explored by Benacerraf occurs. I find that Benacerraf is correct in that neither theory can live up to both of his concerns, but whether both concerns are wholly valid will be under discussion
It is the necessity of concern (1) that I find disputable. I acknowledge that there is a metaphysical problem that needs to be addressed in any valid account of mathematical truth but not that it needs to be dealt with in terms of a homogeneous theory of language. Referring to Wittgenstein I suspect (1) to be philosophically naïve. Rather than attempting to force mathematical language into the same structure as elsewhere in language, we should instead draw from the transcendental philosophy of Immanuel Kant.
Benacerraf’s first concern is metaphysical: (1) outlines a desire that numerals behave in a semantically similar way to other nouns in language. Benacerraf’s sentence structure examples are insightful: According the first concern 'There are at least three large cities older than New York' and 'There are at least three perfect numbers greater than seventeen' (Benacerraf 2004:405) should both share the same semantic structure
Benacerraf account of the first sentence’s semantic structure is 'There are at least three Fgs that bear R to e'. (Benacerraf 2004: 405). That this interpretation is on the right track in general terms suffices for our purposes, and Benacerraf is right to dismiss further complications regarding the sentence's interpretation.
If the same semantic structure is accurate of the mathematical sentence then the term ‘seventeen’ should be understood similarly to the term ‘New York’, that being through reference. This implies there exists something akin to ‘object reference’ for numerals, which would necessitate some form of Platonism, which Benacerraf indicates agreement to by stating that when shying away from Platonism he shies away from supposing that the mathematical sentence shares the same semantic structure as the sentence regarding cities. (Benacerraf 2004: 406).
Benacerraf’s second concern is epistemological: (2) refers to the need that the theory must preserve “the possibility of having mathematical knowledge” (Benacerraf 2004:409). This necessity can be seen in our knowledge of the statement 2+3=5. We do not merely have stronger belief in this statement than others, but find it impossible to doubt. If we know anything mathematical statements like 2+3=5 are amongst what we know, and thus our possession of such knowledge must be accounted for in any valid theory of mathematical truth.
I will proceed by outlining the problem by assuming both of Benacerraf's concerns are valid and necessary.
As previously noted, the first concern leads into theory broadly describable as Platonist; treating numbers in a way not dissimilar to objects. In treating numbers akin to normal objects we establish a 'causal relation' between our belief that 5+5=10 being true and the world itself in similar way to that of Hermione's belief that she holds a truffle and the location of the truffle in her hand within the world itself independent of her (Benacerraf 2004:421); for a belief to be true it must be in cooperation with some fact about the world itself. Platonism fulfils this metaphysical demand.
The problem with Platonic accounts are epistemological; we need to know how we come to any knowledge regarding these objects given that a Platonic account “places them beyond the reach of the better understood means of human cognition (e.g.., sense perception and the like)” (Benacerraf 2004:409). In the world I might see one banana, or three monkeys, but I have never seen, heard, felt, smelt or tasted ‘one’, or ‘three’, nor does it make any sense to talk of having done so. If numbers are separate from instances of numbers it is ambiguous how I know about numbers at all.
Plato’s attempted solution highlights this issue: “The Soul ... having seen all things that exist, whether in this world or the world below, has knowledge of them all” (Benacerraf 2004:416). Plato recognised the epistemological problem and thus provided an account of knowledge of numbers via anamnesis. This sort of solution is obviously not suitable for modern appetites; Benacerraf only refers to it only in passing. Should such ideas be taken seriously we would require an account of how an immaterial ‘soul’ could perceive an immaterial object such as ‘a number’ despite modern explanations of perception and the retention and reminiscence of knowledge being rooted in biology.
Benacerraf describes our other contender as ‘Combinatorial’, wherein mathematical truth is discovered via its “derivability from specified sets of axioms” (Benacerraf 2004: 406) or from other syntactic truths about them. This provides a clear epistemology; in describing mathematical truth as derived from axioms or conventions of mathematics we provide an account of what we need to do in order to know a mathematical statement is true.
The problem is that we achieve the epistemological strength “at the cost of leaving it unintelligible how we can have any mathematical knowledge what so ever” (Benacerraf 2004: 403). Benacerraf's concern is that we cannot combine the syntactic approach with the Standard/Platonist understanding of mathematics.
Benacerraf requires that the truth of a mathematical statement amount to more than “their theoremhood in some formal system” but that we also show “the connection between truth and theoremhood” (Benacerraf 2004: 408). In short we must relate correctness within our theoremhood to the world.
However, if we hold mathematical statements to be true purely because of their derivability in a theorem then we cease to be Platonists as their truth is not defined by reference to any such platonic objects. If we lack reference then all mathematical truth is discovered analytically rather than synthetically, which would mean that mathematical propositions and the concepts they use are merely systems within our minds, which would make us Constructivists. Benacerraf refers to this as “the realisation that mathematics is a child of our own begetting” (Benacerraf 2004: 417)
If we define mathematical truth as above we lose mathematics’ causal relationship with the world; Hermione's belief that she holds a truffle is related to her actually holding a truffle, our belief in a mathematical statement however is related to its correctness within a theoremhood not to an independent fact about the world world itself. However, when I say that 5+5=10 is true, I do not mean that it is true within a system, I mean that it is true of the world; any valid theory of mathematical truth must account for this.
When explaining mathematical truths through reference the above demand for a causal link is provided for by the clear relationship between a mathematical proposition and the independently existing platonic numbers it refers to. If we lack this concept of reference we set mathematics adrift; mathematical discovery thus becomes “seldom a discovery about an independent reality” (Benacerraf 2004: 417). Hence if we follow through with this sort of Constructivism we are led away from mathematics as being based in the external world; instead it becomes based in our own minds, which would most likely implies an intuitionist basis for mathematical truth wherein mathematical processes become entirely internal and there seems no obviously knowable relation to the world at all. However if we fail to relate these ‘truths’ to the world, which they are supposedly true of, we lose the right to call them true.
I will now begin a critical evaluation of the two concerns' legitimacy and the objection they support. I hold it true that we need both an account of how mathematical truths are knowable, and an account of how these truths relate to the world, and are thus in some sense ‘true of the world’. As I will defend a Constructivist account of mathematical truth, I thus shall need to supply for a metaphysical underpinning for Constructivism.
The fault with Benacerraf’s depiction of the problem is the demand that this metaphysical underpinning be achieved via applying the same semantics found elsewhere in language in mathematical language. Hence I hold that Benacerraf’s requirement that “the propositions of mathematics parallel the semantics for the rest of language” (Benacerraf 2004: 403) is misguided. I thus oppose the injecting of the semantics we use elsewhere in language into mathematical language.
The above desire is opposed at length in the later philosophy of Wittgenstein; instead of a homogeneous theory of language he describes language via the following metaphor: “Our language can be seen as an ancient city: a maze of little streets and square, of old and new houses, and of houses with additions from various periods…” and so on. (Wittgenstein 1972: §18) Such a language could hypothetically be mapped but it could not fit under one general theory (no more than the different areas of London could fit under one general organisational theory)
Wittgenstein has valid reasons for believing that language systems of numbers and normal nouns work differently, which he illustrates through the concept of ‘language games’ such as his building language (Wittgenstein 1972: §8). In such thought experiments it is noted how different parts of language are built for different functions and usages, thus it should not be surprising that they work differently. As numerals are very different in function to nouns like 'hammer' or 'spade', it is not surprising they cannot be explained through one homogeneous theory.
If Wittgenstein is right then the notion of treating the role of a numeral in a sentence such as 'seven is larger than three' as being at all akin to 'London is larger than Southampton' is entirely misled. In comparing mathematical propositions to propositions about physical things in the world we would be fundamentally confused.
However, whilst Wittgenstein may be right in that different parts of language work in very different ways, and hence lack shared semantic structures, we do need that aforementioned metaphysical weight for Constructivism to be a valid theory. However, I hold that complete solace can be found in the transcendental philosophy of Immanuel Kant.
I will not indulge in the particulars of the Kantian approach to mathematics; it would take too long and is unnecessary for my purposes; I only require the distinction between the phenomenal world constructed by our minds and that of the noumenal world ‘in itself’ of which the phenomenal world is a representation (Kant 2002: 143-152), as well as the concept of 'Modes of Representation' (Kant 2002:31-32)
It is not a radical but instead a tautological thought that our perception of reality is phenomenal; phenomenal only denoting 'perceived reality'. That our minds are born with the concepts of space and time and that we do not reason or observe our way to knowledge of them should equally not be radical (Kant 2002:32-33)
Kantian metaphysics retains reference for normal items; 'New York' has a reference as an object within the phenomenological world. When stating truths regarding cities we reference actual objects.
Other statements do not reference objects in the phenomenological world but instead describe general truths about phenomenological reality. Such truths describe 'Modes of Representation' rather than 'items of representation'.
Space and time are modes of representation and not items of representation but they are real: “Time is certainly something real, that is to say, it is the real form of the internal Intuition” (Kant 2004: 39). For Kant geometrical and arithmetic truths are true about the modes of representation and thus do not refer to any item of representation but describe the structure items are represented within, enough for us is that we can plausibly discuss mathematics as being true of the structure of reality rather than objects within it, and therefore true of the world as well.
Such truths are about “subjective reality in regard of internal experience” (Kant 2004: 39) and thus are constructivist in some sense, but our subjective reality is still related to reality in itself (noumenal reality) due to our subjective realities being representations of noumenal reality; thus mathematics is not left metaphysically adrift. Whilst numbers are neither noumenal or phenomenal entities, they describe the system of representation by which independent reality is represented.
Similar truths are found in the ordering of colour shades by lightness; similarly the names of colours refer to no particular thing and play a distinct role in the sentence that is unlike other nouns.
Transcendental philosophy supplies us with ultimate assurance of the truth of mathematics regarding reality; although in exploring mathematical truths we do not discover facts about anything in the world, we do still discover facts about the world.
Benacerraf is correct regarding the epistemological problem with Platonism, and the inability of syntactic theories of mathematical truth to be combined with standard/platonic conceptions. He is incorrect that they are required to be compatible with Platonism be in order to be related to the world. As noted previously, a statement can be true of the world without having any particular reference to anything in the world. Hence with Kantian metaphysics we are offered an alternative to the Platonic understanding of how mathematics relates to the world and thus we can avoid the problems Benacerraf raises.
Word count: 2200
Bibliography
Benacerraf, P (2004) mathematical Truth, as in Philosophy of Mathematics, Selected Readings, edited by Benacerraf, P and Putnam, H, Oxford: Oxford University Press
Wittgenstein, W (1972) Philosophical Investigations, trans. G.E.M Anscombe, Oxford: Blackwell & Mott, Ltd
Kant, I. (2002) The Critique of Pure Reason, trans. F. Haywood, London: Living Time Press
Ancient Philosophy: On views about change and plurality by the ancients (70)
Both Empedocles and Anaxagoras wholeheartedly endorse Parmenides’ rejection of coming to be and perishing, without qualification or implied criticism. And neither one ever argues explicitly against him in the fragments on any other issue. … Modern interpreters have assumed that (1) Parmenides argued against all change, (2) Empedocles and Anaxagoras read him as arguing against all change, and hence (3) they must have opposed Parmenides. There is, however, no explicit evidence for (2), and if (2) is false, (3) will not follow. (Daniel W. Graham)
Parmenides’ argument shows that everything is one. But that can mean either that there is only one thing that is or that everything that is is one thing; the second alternative is consistent with there being many real things, each of which is itself one. Parmenides’ theory was vague: it was not committed to either sort of monism. … While the later Presocratics who tried to answer Parmenides retained every one of his conditions on Being, none of the pluralists among them [such as Empedocles and Anaxagoras] felt obliged to support the introduction of several elements … by argument. (Alexander Nehamas)
Does this lack of opposition from the later thinkers throw light on what Parmenides meant in his arguments against change and plurality? Answer with respect to either Empedocles or Anaxagoras or both.
The question needs to be addressed in stages. First I will establish the relevance of the pluralists' interpretation of Parmenides in regards to understanding Parmenides' philosophy. Second I will elaborate on the possible interpretations of Parmenides' monism that Nehamas supplies for us in order to see if they can plausibly be held to leave the pluralists without the need to argue for the introduction of a plurality of elements. In doing so I shall conclude that it seems implausible to consider either interpretation to be non-conflicting with the pluralist philosophers, and thus a lack of argumentation from the pluralists is not revealing.
Due to a lack of overt references between pre-Socratic philosophers it is very difficult to determine to what extent they reacted to one another's philosophy; Barnes writes that “the influences and interactions which scholars commonly assume are largely speculative” but yet also writes “such speculation is plausible” (Barnes 2001: xiv). This essay will thus have to deal with what is plausible rather than what is known.
If the pluralists were influenced by the Eleatic philosophers like Parmenides then they must be understood as either assimilating/developing those influences or reacting against them. If the pluralists were reacting against Parmenides' monism then it does seem strange that they lack arguments against it. Thus this would lend extra credence to any interpretation of Parmenides that removes this conflict with the pluralists.
It is quite plausible to imagine that the pluralists had a different interpretation of Parmenides' monism than we do. One danger is that we might read our own philosophical assumptions and understandings into Parmenides' text; very easy given how much richer our philosophical background is.
More problematic than the above is that in any text an author will expect the reader to possess certain assumptions and understandings; any text that contained every understanding and assumption that it relied upon would be a large and possibly tedious volume, certainly much larger than the surviving texts of the pre-Socratics.
For both aforementioned reasons we may find ourselves both reading assumptions into the text whilst lacking the assumptions the author understood the reader to have. This leaves a large risk of misinterpretation, hence it is sensible to fully explore all various interpretations and to investigate which the other pre-Socratic philosophers may have held.
With regards to determining what possible interpretations the pluralists may have held Nahamas gives us these two options: (a) “there is only one thing” and (b) there are “many real things, each of which is itself one” (Nehamas).
One way of interpreting (a) and (b) would be as follows:
(a1): That there is only one thing and that there is only one instance of that one thing, such as in Benedict Spinoza's monism: “Except God, no substance can be or be conceived” (Spinoza1996:9). Such an instance for our purposes need not be God but, importantly, there is only one such instance and not a multiplicity of instances, thus “everything that is is one thing” (Nehamas)
(b1): That there are multiple instances of things, but all of which are only of one type of substance. Such a monism would be seen in the philosophy of Materialism where there are allowed many instances of matter, but is a monism in the sense that all instances are matter. In such a philosophy here are “many real things”, but “each of which is itself one [substance]” (Nehamas)
The first interpretation, (a1), is an odd type of monism that Spinoza only rescues by his use of the concept 'modes' to preserve the notion of change (Spinoza 1996:1). Parmenides lacks the innovations of Spinoza, and thus when he implements this monism he can only be taken to be describing the world in a way alien to ordinary understanding. The second interpretation, (b1), does not require such bizarre outlook, but both outright deny the existence of multiple types of substances, and thus multiple elements.
Denying multiple elements is in indisputable conflict the pluralists, thus neither interpretation of Nehamas' two options is helpful. It must be presumed that Nehamas intended a different two interpretations. A second interpretation of (b) could be:
(b2): There exist multiple substances and multiple instances of such substances, but for any one instance of a substance that instance is composed of one and only one substance type. In this situation there are “many things” constructed from a plurality of substances types, but “each of which is itself one [substance]” (Nehamas)
The corresponding interpretation of (a) would be:
(a2): There may or may not exist a multitude of instances of substance, but there exists only one type of substance. In this case “everything that is is one thing” (Nehamas) can be taken to refer to the simple claim of everything being of one type of substance.
(b2) is not strictly a type of monism in the sense the term is commonly understood today; it simply establishes the notion of fundamental substances as being of only one substance. This is mere semantics however. Parmenides never used the term 'monism' to describe his philosophy, nor would have known the term. The term has merely been forced upon him by later scholars. Also, if this interpretation is true then Parmenides' philosophy does not conflict with common and intuitive understandings of plurality and change as opposed to standard interpretations of Parmenides.
Further, (b2) is generally compatible with pluralism and thus possibly compatible with the specific pre-Socratic pluralists in question, which could explain their lack of argumentation regarding this issue.
In order to explore whether the pluralists could really be said to be in accord with this new interpretation I will examine Empedocles and Anaxagoras in turn.
In the philosophy of Empedocles we have a story of how things are created; generation and destruction are described as “coming together” and “being carried apart” and the four elements this occurs to are “fire and water and earth and .. air” (Barnes 2001:121). This is obviously somewhat vague, but it would seem an easy interpretation that Empedocles thinks of particular instances as being composed of multiple substance types (elements).
If this is taken as it is then we clearly have a contradiction with (B2)
The interpretation and corresponding contradiction depends on what counts as an instance. For example, a tree could be considered an instance of one thing (a tree), or an instance of many things (roots, branches, leaves, et cetera), and, within Empedocle's philosophy, roots, branches and leaves may be reduced down to instances of the fundamental elements (fire, water, air and earth). These instances of fundamental substances are in line with (B2), hence if the above interpretation of Empedocles is correct, and Empedocles interpreted Parmenides to be claiming (B2) then it is not surprising Empedocles does not argue against it.
A concern here is to not interpret Empedocles in such a way that he becomes an Atomist. The idea of the indivisible atoms isn't explicitly described until the Atomists do so (Barnes 2001:xlvi). However, it seems true that reduction into fundamental instances of elements need not include those instances being discrete objects as the Atomists believed.
Thus Empedocles can be interpreted to be in line with (B2). Anaxagoras does not yield so easily.
Anaxagoras does not specify any fundamental elements. He explicitly tells us that “of the small there is no smallest, but always smaller” (Barnes 2001:192). Further he tells us that “In everything there is present a portion of everything, except thought” (Barnes 2001:192).
Reading with modern understandings, this may not dispute the idea of a pure element; if I have a salt-water mixture then what I have is something that what I have is a portion mostly of both salt and water, and a trace amount of other things, and further both water and salt can be broken down into elements, and these exist distinctly from one another and thus this is not problematic.
However, Anaxagoras states that a substance is only known by its type because of that “which it contains most” (Barnes 2001:193). He even makes the statement (as quoted by Aristotle) that “One thing neither dissociates nor separates off from another” (Barnes 2001:195) referring to the way that things do not separate into pure substances.
Hence no matter how much separation we think we can achieve, the salt itself shall always be composed of part water, and the water itself shall always be composed of part-salt. This is not to say, as we might now, that you can never get a sample of the substance salt that is devoid of the substance water, but rather that the same one substance shares in both salt and water, thus it would appear that Anaxagoras' instances of substance can not be reduced down into any fundamental instances where they are of only one substance, and thus cannot be brought in line with (b2).
Concerns with this interpretation can be illustrated through the same example; today we would not consider 'flesh' as being in any way elemental, but formed of constituents like salt-water is of salt and water. The ambiguity is whether Anaxagoras would acknowledge that salt-water should be thought of as predominantly salt and water and a little of everything else, or predominantly salt-water and everything else (presumably including salt and water separately). It would seem rather silly to claim the later, but if the former is true then Anaxagoras would rationally have to accept that some items are not homogeneously mixed and thus can be separated out into discreet constituents, thus bringing him closer to being in line with (b2).
Anaxagoras' position is unclear, and I do not believe the above confusion can be easily solved. For my purposes I shall be forced to take the statements about there not being a pure substance possible at face value and hold that Anaxagoras can not be reconciled with (b2), yet Anaxagoras shares the lack of introduction by argument of multiple elements.
Hence we find that there is a reasonable possible interpretation of Empedocles that brings him in line with (b2) but there isn't any strong interpretation of Anaxagoras that does the same. Thus there is not a lot of support for the position that the pluralists did not argue for the introduction of elements because they interpreted Parmenides 'monism' to be of type (b2), as that type of 'monism' is only possibly reconcilable with one of them, and not likely to be so for the other.
Whilst the lack of argumentation may seem to imply possible agreement, the interpretation of Parmenides we would be required to hold for such agreement does not seem well supported by the surviving texts of the pluralists.
This is also in accord with a more standard reading of Parmenides. Further, Parmenides gives us the warning not to use our senses (“unobservant eye and echoing ear”) and to “judge by reason” alone (Barnes: 2001:82). If what Parmenides intended to express was not intended to and would not have been interpreted as arguing for the non-existence of change and plurality in the sense that is counter to our normal conception of the world, then it seems unlikely he would have felt the need for such a warning.
Melissus, who can be said to have “rewrote the Parmidean system in plain prose” (Barnes 2001:xl), seems to share our standard interpretation of Parmenides when he makes such statements (as quoted by Simplicius) as “nor does it move. For it has to retreat into the empty part” (Barnes 2001:96), with such retreat being impossible because he believed (as described by Simplicius) “nothing is empty of what exists. For what is empty is nothing, and hence, being nothing, it will not exist” (Barnes 2001:93), necessitating that nothing moves because there is no space for anything to move to. We cannot find this thought in Parmenides, but it would seem an extension of the thought advanced by Parmenides, and if Melissus intended to rewrite Parmenides he must have thought it in the same vein as Parmenides' philosophy. If Melissus read Parmenides in this way it becomes less likely that Empedocles and Anaxagoras didn't.
It is possible that my judgement of this issue is in error. Where I have interpreted Anaxagoras to be in conflict with (b2) it is possible that this stems from incorrect interpretation on my part given that him and I are separated by so many centuries. Equally my referencing of Melissus as being an extension of Parmenidian philosophy founded upon quotes and descriptions in secondary literature not the unattainable primary sources.
Regarding this issue I shall have to content myself with my conclusions being weak and not certain, but that reducing Permenides' philosophy to a type of 'monism' compatible with pluralism is even weaker and less certain. It seems more likely that Parmenides vision of the world is as alien to the senses as his warning suggests and that he believes the world to be of single homogeneous substance.
Word Count: 2142
Bibliography
Barnes, J (2001) Early Greek Philosophy, London, UK: Penguin Books
Spinoza, B (1999) Ethics, Princeton, USA: Penguin Books
Nehamas, as quoted by the question
Nietzsche: On the role of the Ascetic Priest in Nietzsche's narrative (58)
Nietzsche reserves a specific role in his account for the ascetic priest. How does the following passage help to illuminate the character of that role?
[L]et us consider how regularly and ubiquitously the ascetic priest appears in almost all periods (…) It can only be a necessity of the first order which allows this species to grow and flourish in spite of its hostility to life - it must somehow be in the interest of life itself that such a self-contradictory type does not die out. For an ascetic life is a contradiction in terms: a peculiar kind of ressentiment rules there, that of an unsatisfied instinct and will to power which seeks not to master some isolated aspect of life but rather life itself, its deepest, strongest, most fundamental conditions; an attempt is made to use strength to dam up the very source of strength; a green and cunning gaze is directed against thriving physiological growth (…); while a pleasure is felt and sought in failure, atrophy, pain, accident, ugliness, arbitrary atonements (…) All this is paradoxical in the extreme: we find ourselves confronted here with a contradiction that wills itself as a contradiction, which derives enjoyment from this suffering and even becomes increasingly self-assured and triumphant in proportion as its own precondition, the physiological capacity for life, diminishes (GM III.11).
Due to the complexity of Nietzsche's thought the above passage can be confusing rather than illuminating. The Priest's role in Nietzsche's narrative is explicitly found in the provision of the ascetic ideal to the slave caste so that they can be pacified. In the passage the necessity of this ideal is related to the priest being of the peculiarly 'self-contradictory' type that the ascetic ideal causes. Thus the goal of this essay is in identifying the necessity of the priestly caste and in connecting that necessity with the priest's own asceticism.
It is first necessary to discuss the slaves with whom the priest's role has such an intimate connection: The slave caste are all sick from “the most serious illness which man was bound to contract” which Nietzsche tells us came about “when he found himself finally imprisoned within the pale of society and of peace” (Nietzsche 2003: II.16).
The reason why the slaves finding themselves trapped in society causes a sickness is due to the lack of relevance their bestial urges have for societal living. The strong nobles need not suffer due to having the slaves to release their violent instincts upon, but the slaves being weak have no such outlet. They not only lack the power to enforce their will upon others, they have to impotently suffer through will of the nobles being forced upon them. They are relegated to a part of society where their desires are left unfulfilled and their urges left unexpressed.
The slaves thus lack the power to express their violent tendencies in any normal sense, and must learn to conduct themselves via alternate means; they are instead “reduced to that poorest and most erratic organ of thier's, their “consciousness”' which, in Nietzsche's narrative, is developed purely for this very purpose (Nietzsche 2003: II.16)
This in itself is not the sickness of the slaves. The slaves cannot rest on their guiding urges, but those urges are still there, and it is this that causes the sickness. Lacking external expression but demanding to be fulfilled they must now turn inwards and express these instincts against themselves. Hence due to “lacking external enemies and opposition” (at least any he has the power to combat) he “lacerated, persecuted, gnawed, frightened and ill-treated himself”; a process Nietzsche describes as creating in oneself a “torture-chamber” (Nietzsche 2003: II.16). Here we see the miserable sickness of the slaves.
This in itself does not create the passage's “necessity of the first order”, nor any necessity for the Priest. If the slaves are sick and miserable this does not create any problem for the nobles and society. What is required is that the slaves' discontent creates some necessity for the priest, and this occurs via ressentiment.
Unable to express these violent and hateful urges, they accumulate within the slave and thus create 'ressentiment'. Under a hasty perspective this may seem ignorable; the whole reason ressentiment is generated is precisely because of the slaves impotence, and if they are impotent we can ignore their ressentiment. However, the same means of government that would normally render the slaves impotent cannot be applied with regards to ressentiment; whilst the nobles can use their superior health and strength to govern the slaves elsewhere, such methods cannot be used to control ressentiment because “in the long term it surely exacerbates the dangers of ressentiment rather than neutralising it ... you merely give them one more thing to bear a grudge against” (Ridley 1998: 52).
Hence the original knightly noble caste's method of maintaining order cannot work against ressentiment, and actually makes the problem worse. This creates for us a necessity of a different method of government.
Nietzsche describes the new method in medicinal terms; as violence only makes things worse, a natural alternative is treatment. Nietzsche's explanation of why the knightly nobles cannot themselves adopt this method of dealing with ressentiment is because “The higher must not degrade itself to be the tool of the lower” (Nietzsche 2003: III.14). Taken as written this is obviously false, the priests themselves are a higher caste than the slaves, so if this is true not only is it true of the knightly aristocratic nobles, it's true of the priests.
The solution to the apparent contradiction is found in the way Nietzsche often uses terms outside of what they might literally be understood to mean; when Nietzsche uses terms like 'Higher', or 'strong' he means them in a specific sense that is related to the knightly nobles. This is illustrated in how Nietzsche can call the priests weak despite them achieving more power than the knightly nobles he writes more fondly of. Only when reading Nietzsche with this in mind can we make sense of being told that the priests are “the worst enemies” and are thus “because they are the weakest”, which would otherwise be absurd (Nietzsche 2003: I.7)
When referring to 'The Higher' we should understand it to mean the sort of person who possess and follow those virtues that fall under “the cult of the physical” (Nietzsche 2003: I.7). Such a person by his nature enforces his superiority via physical means; any kind of medicinal method of government would not only not occur to him, but are also outside his field of expertise. Should he manage to take up such a method, then he would then cease to be a knightly noble at all.
Hence “the necessity of doctors and nurses who are themselves sick” becomes justified (Nietzsche 2003: III.14). Here the passage becomes illuminating; we catch sight of a connection between a societal necessity and the priest's own illness, but it is still too early to conclude we have grasped it completely.
The necessity thus far outlined is found in an inability, via lack of resources and motivation, for the knightly nobles to govern the slaves and thus there is need for someone who can, but we have yet to connect together the specific character of the priest with the necessity of this task. This can be revealed in an exploration of the priest's method.
In Nietzsche's narrative the priest successfully brings a “mitigation of suffering” achieved through what Nietzsche describes as an impressive “store of refreshing, soothing, deadening drugs” (Nietzsche 2003: III.17), but more importantly the priest not only “brings with him ... salve and basum” but also “at the same time poisons the wound” (Nietzsche 2003: III.15)
Ressentiment requires direction, which equates to saying that the slaves require someone to blame for their misery. At this point in the narrative the only available target would be the knightly nobles who are responsible for a majority of their suffering. When the slaves cry that “It must be somebody's fault that I feel this bad” their answer will be the knightly nobles. The Priest supplies an alternate direction for ressentiment by providing a new answer that “thou thyself art that same one” (Nietzsche 2003: III.15) When successful this diverts the ressentiment away from the nobles and turns it towards the slaves themselves. With the slave's ressentiment turned inwards it causes no problem for the nobles.
What requires thought here is the relationship between the apparent necessity of the priest's ascetic character and his implementing the above method. The issue can be seen by reflecting on a seemingly obvious motivation for the priest's behaviour: the power over the slave caste created by this implementation of the ascetic ideal. Nietzsche is obviously impressed by this degree of power to the extent of describing the ascetic ideal is as being “in priests … their best engine of power, and also the supreme authority for power”, (Nietzsche 2003: III:1).
The above motivation cannot be accurate. Not only does it not explain why the priest believes in the ascetic ideal, the fact that the priest believes in the ascetic ideal refutes it. If the priest's life is directed towards the accumulation of power then it is directed towards something worldly and the priest's asceticism is reduced to being instrumental rather than ideal.
An analogous truth can be seen with scientists: The scientific community has significant power today, but for a scientist to be truly a scientist, his/her motivation must be the scientific ideal, not the power that comes with the position.
There are two methods of preserving the priest's ascetic idealism as described in the passage: The first is to suggest that the priest's initial motivation is as described above and in implementing the ascetic ideal, he becomes infected by his own poison. The second is that the priest became infected by the ascetic ideal before ever intending to spread it to the slaves.
The first suggests that the priest 'buys his own lie'. This is not implausible given how capable of viciously transmitting itself Nietzsche finds the ascetic ideal to be. Nietzsche believes the ascetic ideal is now the predominant force in society and has done away with the older values; regarding his own time period, Nietzsche tells us “The ‘masters’ have been done away with; the morality of the vulgar man has triumphed” (Nietzsche 2003: I.8)
But the above cannot be the case. Nietzsche is clear on the necessity of already sick doctors, not doctors that become sick through their work. Hence I shall move to the second possibility which shall require looking into the origins and development of the priestly caste.
In examining Nietzsche's description of the character and position of the priest a much more intimate connection with the ascetic ideal is implied; in addition to the description found in the passage Nietzsche informs us that the Priest's “right to existence stands and falls with that ideal” (Nietzsche 2003: III.11). One interpretation of this might be 'the priest's power stands and falls with the ideal' but 'right to existence' can be plausibly taken to indicate more.
Nietzsche writes that we will “have already surmised with what ease the priestly mode of valuation can branch off from the knightly aristocratic model” (Nietzsche 2003:I.7). This informs us of a connection in type between priestly morality and the knightly noble morality which was formed when the noble's “felt they themselves were good, and that their actions were good” (Nietzsche 2003: I.2). It can thus be taken as true that, akin to the knightly mode, the Priestly mode of valuation is found when the Priests first looked upon themselves and found admirable their own traits.
Nietzsche’s sketch of the Priestly caste’s origins begins with the simple distinction between the ‘clean’ and the ‘unclean’; the clean man being merely he who “washes himself, who abstains from certain foods … who does not sleep with unclean women … has a horror of blood” (Nietzsche 2003: I.6). Given how unremarkable the traits that the priests have to admire about themselves are it is not surprising that they suffered ressentiment along with the slaves.
Importantly the ressentiment also transforms them into “the cleverest haters” (Nietzsche 2003: I.7); setting them apart from the knightly nobles. They are also different from the nobles simply by being priests and thus being more concerned with and educated in religious matters. With religious ideology they have a means to create for themselves a way of thinking that will transform their virtues from being merely personal to being ideal. In suggesting there is otherworldly benefit to their virtues they find a way to tell the world that, despite all appearances, their virtues are better than the virtues of the knightly nobles because the priestly virtues are “a bridge to another existence” (Nietzsche 2003: IIIL11)
This newly developed justification for their mode of valuation has more than just political uses; its personal uses are much more immediately valuable to the priests. That “the ascetic ideal springs from the prophylactic and self-preservative instincts which mark a decadent life, which seeks by every means in its power to maintain its position and fight for existence” seems to indicate that it is these latter uses that are more important to the person who holds them (Nietzsche 2003: III.13). More than simply a political tool, the ascetic ideal, which Nietzsche repeatedly describes as a 'denial of life', is also “the reverse of what the worshippers of the ideal imagine” (Nietzsche 2003: III.13), in that it is actually life affirmative, not only for the slaves, but also for the priest.
Hence the birth of this morality need not be as a weapon but as a development by the priests as a “great conservative and affirmative forces of life” (Nietzsche III.13). If the ascetic ideal is a lie, it is one invented by the priests principally for themselves
As seen in the passage the priest is a necessity in our society, and this is because the priest is necessary to deal with the slave revolt. The passage is illuminating principally by connecting the priest's necessity with his ascetic character and thus in forcing us away from viewing the priest as simply a person motivated by power and using the ascetic ideal as a tool, rather than truly living that ideal. The passage thus makes clear that the priest is not a malevolent ruler but a ruler that truly believes in what he preaches, and thus is very honest with the slaves in his method of governing them.
Words 1198
Bibliography
Nietzsche, F (2003) The Genealogy of Morals, Mineola, USA: Dover Publications, Inc
Ridley, A (1998) Nietzsche's Conscience, Cornell, USA, Cornell Paperbacks
Link: Examiner's comments on above essays
Philosophical Psychology: On Jealousy and its inappropriateness in modern society (71)
What is jealousy, and what if anything, is wrong with it? Has it any redeeming features?
Jealousy is a set of emotions and urges resulting from situations where one's self-worth is doubted via competition; its fault is found in its lack of utility. I will be drawing illustrations from numerous types of jealousy in my discussion and, due to its similarity and overlap, I will be comparing jealousy to envy.
Jealousy is not any one emotion; it contains numerous emotions, as Kathy Labriola notes: “Jealousy can manifest as anger, fear, hurt, betrayal, anxiety, agitation, sadness, paranoia, depression, loneliness, envy, coveting, feeling powerless, feeling inadequate, feeling excluded” (Labriola 2006). These emotions do not define jealousy; they are not experienced simultaneously nor are necessary features of every episode of jealousy.
In common usage jealousy is similar to 'game' in regards to lacking an essential definition (Wittgenstein 1972: §3); this may be illustrated in contrasting 'envy' with 'jealousy'. There is no clear distinction between the two; in some cases they are synonyms. This necessitates forging new and clearer definitions whilst taking care to retain the phenomena under investigation. Despite lack of any sharp boundary, there are differences in the usages of the terms; hence I seek clearer definition through example.
I can feel envious of a friend’s relationship success without ill-will; it is important that I might not desire his/her relationship itself; but only to attain the same success. This may cause jealousy only if it causes a feeling of inadequacy compared to my friend, that is, if I feel the need to compete.
Similarly, Peter Goldie suggests envy of cricketing skills as being an example of non-malicious form of envy, but also defines envy as “wanting more of that thing than someone else” (Goldie 2002: 221). I hold that envy can be quenched upon reaching the same as the person, rather than more. This is due to a lack of desire to 'beat' or 'out-compete' the person I envy; instead I merely wish to attain that which I find envious.
Jealousy in contrast necessitates 'competition'. Jealous situations only arise when conflict or perception of conflict is present. Yet not all conflicts and competitions are jealous; not everyone who loses a chess game becomes jealous of their competitor's superior chess skills. The defining difference is feeling demeaned by the loss; jealousy arrives when pride is at stake.
Hence the desire to triumph and beat one's opponent is also involved. This is essential in explaining why a jealous person might destroy the object being competed over; it may be preferable to 'draw' instead of outright losing the competition: 'If I can't have it, no one will.'
I thus hold envy as the desire for something a person has but without necessity of competition and ill-will. In contrast jealousy is intrinsically linked to competition and ill-will. I will address two apparent counter-examples: (a) when a jealous individual is in no position to 'compete', and (b) when a clearly jealous person opts out of competition.
(a) Imagine an adolescent obsessed with a celebrity they have never met but yet feels jealousy upon hearing of this celebrity's new lover. Here there seems no competition due to no contact with the rival, but there is a perception of conflict. The adolescent may have imagined meeting their crush, but in any future imagining (barring application of self-delusion) there will be a rival to be imagined. The rival represents opposition in the adolescent's pursuit of the crush. Feeling as if in competition with this rival, the adolescent will be drawn to compare him/herself to their rival and thus may feel bitter and resentful at feeling inferior or at the mere need to compete itself.
The adolescent loses nothing, unlike in the imaginary loss described by Tov-Ruach as quoted by Michael. J. Wreen: “the feared loss of something, although it never existed, did indeed form some aspect of their [sic] sense of themselves” (1989: 641) Wreen is correct that this is an overly irrational presentation of adolescents. Better to understand it as not a loss of something valuable, but an addition of a competing rival.
(b) Imagine a person who has romantic feelings towards another but when faced with an opponent retreats from the conflict, yet feels jealous. Like my previous adolescent this reaction will be the result of a competition as judged by the jealous individual, resulting in a predicted loss and thus retreat. Finding themselves lacking they are naturally bitter.
Thus both examples support jealousy being not only about competition, but also about ill-will; the reason for such ill-will is that that jealousy is 'personal'; it's about self-worth rather than whatever the token being competed over might be.
This is illustrated in the example of such a person who intends to leave their lover but, upon discovering a rival who desires said lover, finds themselves experiencing jealousy despite no desire for the lover who they intended to leave; instead the lover is merely a 'token' to be fought over and discarded if won. The goal is not keeping the token, but proving that one can. The value of the win is not the token; it's the proof of one's character relative to the opponent.
A jealous child seeing their siblings receive more dessert than him/her may complain 'they have more than me!', but be content if everyone receives an equally small portion to begin with. Greed aside, the perception of being treated less well than one's peers urges the question 'Why?'
Consider also responses to losing these jealous conflicts. A person may feel worthless due to a perceived demonstration of being a 'lesser' person, or they may try to portray the loss in a way that does not reflect on their character, hence the common saying amongst jilted male lovers: 'girls don't like nice guys', which conveniently places the explanation not in the male's lack of worth, but in some mental deficiency of the girl.
Finally, look at when a loss to a romantic rival does not inspire jealousy. A man competing for a woman but jilted for a female competitor due the woman being a lesbian may not find himself jealous as he might have had the lover been male. As the decision was based on his sexual biology and not anything he perceives as a character fault, he need not feel hurt pride. The man may experience non-malicious envy of the female lover, but not necessarily jealousy.
Hence I take jealousy to refer to emotional states generated by a competition wherein the person's self-perception of his/her self-worth is at stake. Jealousy is not intrinsically linked to desire for the thing competed over, which may be a mere 'token' that only possesses value so far as its possession proves something about oneself. With this definition, I will now evaluate the rationality and harmfulness of jealousy via (a) the actions jealousy inspires, (b) the causes of jealousy, and (c) the goals of jealousy.
(a) Jealousy can drive people to counter-productive actions. One could act over-controlling of one's partner in reaction to a romantic rival, causing discontent in one's lover and leading to her/his leaving, perhaps into the arms of the rival. However, a jealous person may act more sensibly, and all emotions can be acted upon irrationally. Love may cause acts that are over-eager and embarrassing and thus scare away the desired person. Fault then belongs to the person and not the emotion.
(b) A person may become jealous for irrational reasons. Suspicious people may see unfaithfulness everywhere, but the same is true of all emotions. An arachnophobe may be intellectually aware that a particular spider is harmless, but be shaken by irrational belief of the opposite, nevertheless not all fear is irrational.
(c) The real problem is in the goals and ends of jealousy; the defining feature of jealousy being the desire to win the competition to prove self-worth; hence its end is proving one's superiority and demonstrating power over others.
There are situations today where this may be useful, but jealousy is indiscriminate; it urges us to prove ourselves even when no gain or utility is to be found in doing so.
A person staying with their lover to prove that a rival can't take possession of her against his or her will, yet intends to never see either again afterwards gains nothing from the experience. Meanwhile, if the person does intend to see them again the inspiration of such foul feelings in both other parties will also be of no general benefit. Jealousy does not account for this, but urges us to compete regardless, and if we fail to do so, the failure burns, especially if we feel the rival might feel they have proven themselves superior.
Human emotions are often not well carved for the modern world. Similarly to jealousy, 'fight or flight' reflexes are often entirely inappropriate. In primitive times with smaller communities, proving one's place in the social ladder has more universal importance and utility, but today a lack of like or respect from any one person may be irrelevant to our well-being. Often it is better to 'live and let live'; to ignore such people and live our own separate life. Jealousy urges us to do otherwise.
Now I will address the claim that jealousy may be a vice, but a necessary vice, due to an erroneous association with desire and love that I have been arguing against. Peter Goldie states that “Even apparently insignificant traits ... can resonate through a person's psyche in such a way that their 'addition' or 'removal' could have dramatic and unforeseen consequences for the whole person” (Goldie 2002:235), which leads to the conclusion that “Jealousy is the price that has to be paid for there to be a certain sort of love from a certain kind of person” (Goldie 2002: 240). I agree that 'certain kinds of love' necessitate jealousy from certain kinds of persons, those persons being of irrationally jealous character, but also claim that love is possible without jealousy.
Consider polyamory: “The state or practice of maintaining multiple sexual and/or romantic relationships simultaneously, with the full knowledge and consent of all the people involved.” (Veaux 2006) or “the nonpossessive, honest, responsible and ethical philosophy and practice of loving multiple people simultanously” (polysoc, 2006)
Jealousy is possible in polyamorous relationships, but not necessary. The presence of it's opposite 'Compersion' is also possible: “A feeling of joy when a partner invests in and takes pleasure from another romantic or sexual relationship”(Veaux 2006).
One difference is that if one negates the belief that one can only love one person then there is no need to compete over a person's love. Writing about jealousy management, Kathy Labriola proposes the removal of beliefs such as “It is just not possible to love more than one person at the same time” which would necessitate such competition, and the introduction of beliefs like “Loving more than one person is a choice that can exponentially expand my potential for giving and receiving love.”, which removes a token to compete jealously over (Labriola 2006). This is reminiscent of how a parent might deal with sibling jealousy in explaining that they love all of their children and that such love can't be compared in quantitative terms.
There are other issues in romance that may evoke competition of course, just as there are many things in general life that can. However, there is no rational need to take these personally; it is often found that negotiation is more suited to the modern life than competition, but jealousy does not inspire the urge to negotiate, it inspires the urge to be victorious over an opponent. Overcoming such urges is essential to healthy living in any civilised world.
Hence neither love nor desire for something necessitates jealousy; jealousy is an urge for competition, even when needless. Love need not include competition; a person with sufficient security in their relationship should have no rational cause for jealousy. This is both true of a person in a polyamorous relationship who may have nothing to fear from their lover's other romantic partners, or in any relationship where a person genuinely feels their relationship is secure.
A person who finds themselves in a romantic conflict should consider the inappropriateness of jealousy to the situation at hand. A civilised person in such a position may find such sentiments as 'it's not personal' or 'no hard feelings' during a conflict appropriate, but jealousy urges the opposite; the triumph or defeat in jealous conflicts urges taking pride or feeling shame before one’s opponent purely because the conflict was actually about the opponent not the token.
Hence I find that jealousy is a particular state of affairs where a person desires victory over another to gain self-esteem, and not for whatever prize they might gain. This is not logically necessitated by either desire or love, nor is it experienced by everyone, yet many find themselves drawn by jealousy to battle with everyone to prove their self-worth. If we were rational creatures acting to our best interests, we would avoid such battles and carry on with more important things; however, it seems many of us suffer under the harmful influence of jealousy.
Total Words: 2180
Bibliography
Goldie, P (2002) The Emotions, Oxford: Oxford University Press
Wreen, J (1989) Jealousy, as in Nous Vol.23.
Wittgenstein, W (1972) Philosophical Investigations, trans. G.E.M Anscombe, Oxford: Blackwell & Mott, Ltd
Labriola, K (2005) Date Accessed: 09/11/2005. Unmasking the Green-Eyed Monster. Available from the World Wide Web at: http://www.cat-and-dragon.com/stef/Poly/Labriola/jealousy.html
Veaux, F (2006) Date Accessed: 09/11/2006. Poly Dictionary: Glossary of Polyamorous Terms, Available from the Wide World Web at: http://www.xeromag.com/fvpolyglossary.html
The Polyamory Society, (2006) Date Accessed: 09/11/2006. Introduction to Polyamory, Available from the World Wide Web at: http://www.polyamorysociety.org/page6.html
Philosophy of Mathematics: On the solution of Benacerraf's error via Kantian metaphysics (70)
Expand upon and discuss critically the views expressed in the following passage:
“It is my contention that two quite distinct kinds of concerns have separately motivated accounts of the nature of mathematical truth: (1) the concern for having a homogeneous semantical theory in which semantics for the propositions of mathematics parallel the semantics for the rest of language, and (2) the concern that the account of mathematical truth mesh with a reasonable epistemology. It will be my general thesis that almost all accounts of the concept of mathematical truth can be identified with serving one or another of these masters at the expense of the other” (Paul Benacerraf)
Benacerraf’s above statements are intended to illustrate a problem with all contemporary theories of mathematical truth in that all theories must fulfil both concerns. (Benacerraf 2004:403-4).
In proceeding I will first investigate what is meant by both concerns, and then evaluate them as applied to Platonism and Constructivism where the strain explored by Benacerraf occurs. I find that Benacerraf is correct in that neither theory can live up to both of his concerns, but whether both concerns are wholly valid will be under discussion
It is the necessity of concern (1) that I find disputable. I acknowledge that there is a metaphysical problem that needs to be addressed in any valid account of mathematical truth but not that it needs to be dealt with in terms of a homogeneous theory of language. Referring to Wittgenstein I suspect (1) to be philosophically naïve. Rather than attempting to force mathematical language into the same structure as elsewhere in language, we should instead draw from the transcendental philosophy of Immanuel Kant.
Benacerraf’s first concern is metaphysical: (1) outlines a desire that numerals behave in a semantically similar way to other nouns in language. Benacerraf’s sentence structure examples are insightful: According the first concern 'There are at least three large cities older than New York' and 'There are at least three perfect numbers greater than seventeen' (Benacerraf 2004:405) should both share the same semantic structure
Benacerraf account of the first sentence’s semantic structure is 'There are at least three Fgs that bear R to e'. (Benacerraf 2004: 405). That this interpretation is on the right track in general terms suffices for our purposes, and Benacerraf is right to dismiss further complications regarding the sentence's interpretation.
If the same semantic structure is accurate of the mathematical sentence then the term ‘seventeen’ should be understood similarly to the term ‘New York’, that being through reference. This implies there exists something akin to ‘object reference’ for numerals, which would necessitate some form of Platonism, which Benacerraf indicates agreement to by stating that when shying away from Platonism he shies away from supposing that the mathematical sentence shares the same semantic structure as the sentence regarding cities. (Benacerraf 2004: 406).
Benacerraf’s second concern is epistemological: (2) refers to the need that the theory must preserve “the possibility of having mathematical knowledge” (Benacerraf 2004:409). This necessity can be seen in our knowledge of the statement 2+3=5. We do not merely have stronger belief in this statement than others, but find it impossible to doubt. If we know anything mathematical statements like 2+3=5 are amongst what we know, and thus our possession of such knowledge must be accounted for in any valid theory of mathematical truth.
I will proceed by outlining the problem by assuming both of Benacerraf's concerns are valid and necessary.
As previously noted, the first concern leads into theory broadly describable as Platonist; treating numbers in a way not dissimilar to objects. In treating numbers akin to normal objects we establish a 'causal relation' between our belief that 5+5=10 being true and the world itself in similar way to that of Hermione's belief that she holds a truffle and the location of the truffle in her hand within the world itself independent of her (Benacerraf 2004:421); for a belief to be true it must be in cooperation with some fact about the world itself. Platonism fulfils this metaphysical demand.
The problem with Platonic accounts are epistemological; we need to know how we come to any knowledge regarding these objects given that a Platonic account “places them beyond the reach of the better understood means of human cognition (e.g.., sense perception and the like)” (Benacerraf 2004:409). In the world I might see one banana, or three monkeys, but I have never seen, heard, felt, smelt or tasted ‘one’, or ‘three’, nor does it make any sense to talk of having done so. If numbers are separate from instances of numbers it is ambiguous how I know about numbers at all.
Plato’s attempted solution highlights this issue: “The Soul ... having seen all things that exist, whether in this world or the world below, has knowledge of them all” (Benacerraf 2004:416). Plato recognised the epistemological problem and thus provided an account of knowledge of numbers via anamnesis. This sort of solution is obviously not suitable for modern appetites; Benacerraf only refers to it only in passing. Should such ideas be taken seriously we would require an account of how an immaterial ‘soul’ could perceive an immaterial object such as ‘a number’ despite modern explanations of perception and the retention and reminiscence of knowledge being rooted in biology.
Benacerraf describes our other contender as ‘Combinatorial’, wherein mathematical truth is discovered via its “derivability from specified sets of axioms” (Benacerraf 2004: 406) or from other syntactic truths about them. This provides a clear epistemology; in describing mathematical truth as derived from axioms or conventions of mathematics we provide an account of what we need to do in order to know a mathematical statement is true.
The problem is that we achieve the epistemological strength “at the cost of leaving it unintelligible how we can have any mathematical knowledge what so ever” (Benacerraf 2004: 403). Benacerraf's concern is that we cannot combine the syntactic approach with the Standard/Platonist understanding of mathematics.
Benacerraf requires that the truth of a mathematical statement amount to more than “their theoremhood in some formal system” but that we also show “the connection between truth and theoremhood” (Benacerraf 2004: 408). In short we must relate correctness within our theoremhood to the world.
However, if we hold mathematical statements to be true purely because of their derivability in a theorem then we cease to be Platonists as their truth is not defined by reference to any such platonic objects. If we lack reference then all mathematical truth is discovered analytically rather than synthetically, which would mean that mathematical propositions and the concepts they use are merely systems within our minds, which would make us Constructivists. Benacerraf refers to this as “the realisation that mathematics is a child of our own begetting” (Benacerraf 2004: 417)
If we define mathematical truth as above we lose mathematics’ causal relationship with the world; Hermione's belief that she holds a truffle is related to her actually holding a truffle, our belief in a mathematical statement however is related to its correctness within a theoremhood not to an independent fact about the world world itself. However, when I say that 5+5=10 is true, I do not mean that it is true within a system, I mean that it is true of the world; any valid theory of mathematical truth must account for this.
When explaining mathematical truths through reference the above demand for a causal link is provided for by the clear relationship between a mathematical proposition and the independently existing platonic numbers it refers to. If we lack this concept of reference we set mathematics adrift; mathematical discovery thus becomes “seldom a discovery about an independent reality” (Benacerraf 2004: 417). Hence if we follow through with this sort of Constructivism we are led away from mathematics as being based in the external world; instead it becomes based in our own minds, which would most likely implies an intuitionist basis for mathematical truth wherein mathematical processes become entirely internal and there seems no obviously knowable relation to the world at all. However if we fail to relate these ‘truths’ to the world, which they are supposedly true of, we lose the right to call them true.
I will now begin a critical evaluation of the two concerns' legitimacy and the objection they support. I hold it true that we need both an account of how mathematical truths are knowable, and an account of how these truths relate to the world, and are thus in some sense ‘true of the world’. As I will defend a Constructivist account of mathematical truth, I thus shall need to supply for a metaphysical underpinning for Constructivism.
The fault with Benacerraf’s depiction of the problem is the demand that this metaphysical underpinning be achieved via applying the same semantics found elsewhere in language in mathematical language. Hence I hold that Benacerraf’s requirement that “the propositions of mathematics parallel the semantics for the rest of language” (Benacerraf 2004: 403) is misguided. I thus oppose the injecting of the semantics we use elsewhere in language into mathematical language.
The above desire is opposed at length in the later philosophy of Wittgenstein; instead of a homogeneous theory of language he describes language via the following metaphor: “Our language can be seen as an ancient city: a maze of little streets and square, of old and new houses, and of houses with additions from various periods…” and so on. (Wittgenstein 1972: §18) Such a language could hypothetically be mapped but it could not fit under one general theory (no more than the different areas of London could fit under one general organisational theory)
Wittgenstein has valid reasons for believing that language systems of numbers and normal nouns work differently, which he illustrates through the concept of ‘language games’ such as his building language (Wittgenstein 1972: §8). In such thought experiments it is noted how different parts of language are built for different functions and usages, thus it should not be surprising that they work differently. As numerals are very different in function to nouns like 'hammer' or 'spade', it is not surprising they cannot be explained through one homogeneous theory.
If Wittgenstein is right then the notion of treating the role of a numeral in a sentence such as 'seven is larger than three' as being at all akin to 'London is larger than Southampton' is entirely misled. In comparing mathematical propositions to propositions about physical things in the world we would be fundamentally confused.
However, whilst Wittgenstein may be right in that different parts of language work in very different ways, and hence lack shared semantic structures, we do need that aforementioned metaphysical weight for Constructivism to be a valid theory. However, I hold that complete solace can be found in the transcendental philosophy of Immanuel Kant.
I will not indulge in the particulars of the Kantian approach to mathematics; it would take too long and is unnecessary for my purposes; I only require the distinction between the phenomenal world constructed by our minds and that of the noumenal world ‘in itself’ of which the phenomenal world is a representation (Kant 2002: 143-152), as well as the concept of 'Modes of Representation' (Kant 2002:31-32)
It is not a radical but instead a tautological thought that our perception of reality is phenomenal; phenomenal only denoting 'perceived reality'. That our minds are born with the concepts of space and time and that we do not reason or observe our way to knowledge of them should equally not be radical (Kant 2002:32-33)
Kantian metaphysics retains reference for normal items; 'New York' has a reference as an object within the phenomenological world. When stating truths regarding cities we reference actual objects.
Other statements do not reference objects in the phenomenological world but instead describe general truths about phenomenological reality. Such truths describe 'Modes of Representation' rather than 'items of representation'.
Space and time are modes of representation and not items of representation but they are real: “Time is certainly something real, that is to say, it is the real form of the internal Intuition” (Kant 2004: 39). For Kant geometrical and arithmetic truths are true about the modes of representation and thus do not refer to any item of representation but describe the structure items are represented within, enough for us is that we can plausibly discuss mathematics as being true of the structure of reality rather than objects within it, and therefore true of the world as well.
Such truths are about “subjective reality in regard of internal experience” (Kant 2004: 39) and thus are constructivist in some sense, but our subjective reality is still related to reality in itself (noumenal reality) due to our subjective realities being representations of noumenal reality; thus mathematics is not left metaphysically adrift. Whilst numbers are neither noumenal or phenomenal entities, they describe the system of representation by which independent reality is represented.
Similar truths are found in the ordering of colour shades by lightness; similarly the names of colours refer to no particular thing and play a distinct role in the sentence that is unlike other nouns.
Transcendental philosophy supplies us with ultimate assurance of the truth of mathematics regarding reality; although in exploring mathematical truths we do not discover facts about anything in the world, we do still discover facts about the world.
Benacerraf is correct regarding the epistemological problem with Platonism, and the inability of syntactic theories of mathematical truth to be combined with standard/platonic conceptions. He is incorrect that they are required to be compatible with Platonism be in order to be related to the world. As noted previously, a statement can be true of the world without having any particular reference to anything in the world. Hence with Kantian metaphysics we are offered an alternative to the Platonic understanding of how mathematics relates to the world and thus we can avoid the problems Benacerraf raises.
Word count: 2200
Bibliography
Benacerraf, P (2004) mathematical Truth, as in Philosophy of Mathematics, Selected Readings, edited by Benacerraf, P and Putnam, H, Oxford: Oxford University Press
Wittgenstein, W (1972) Philosophical Investigations, trans. G.E.M Anscombe, Oxford: Blackwell & Mott, Ltd
Kant, I. (2002) The Critique of Pure Reason, trans. F. Haywood, London: Living Time Press
Ancient Philosophy: On views about change and plurality by the ancients (70)
Both Empedocles and Anaxagoras wholeheartedly endorse Parmenides’ rejection of coming to be and perishing, without qualification or implied criticism. And neither one ever argues explicitly against him in the fragments on any other issue. … Modern interpreters have assumed that (1) Parmenides argued against all change, (2) Empedocles and Anaxagoras read him as arguing against all change, and hence (3) they must have opposed Parmenides. There is, however, no explicit evidence for (2), and if (2) is false, (3) will not follow. (Daniel W. Graham)
Parmenides’ argument shows that everything is one. But that can mean either that there is only one thing that is or that everything that is is one thing; the second alternative is consistent with there being many real things, each of which is itself one. Parmenides’ theory was vague: it was not committed to either sort of monism. … While the later Presocratics who tried to answer Parmenides retained every one of his conditions on Being, none of the pluralists among them [such as Empedocles and Anaxagoras] felt obliged to support the introduction of several elements … by argument. (Alexander Nehamas)
Does this lack of opposition from the later thinkers throw light on what Parmenides meant in his arguments against change and plurality? Answer with respect to either Empedocles or Anaxagoras or both.
The question needs to be addressed in stages. First I will establish the relevance of the pluralists' interpretation of Parmenides in regards to understanding Parmenides' philosophy. Second I will elaborate on the possible interpretations of Parmenides' monism that Nehamas supplies for us in order to see if they can plausibly be held to leave the pluralists without the need to argue for the introduction of a plurality of elements. In doing so I shall conclude that it seems implausible to consider either interpretation to be non-conflicting with the pluralist philosophers, and thus a lack of argumentation from the pluralists is not revealing.
Due to a lack of overt references between pre-Socratic philosophers it is very difficult to determine to what extent they reacted to one another's philosophy; Barnes writes that “the influences and interactions which scholars commonly assume are largely speculative” but yet also writes “such speculation is plausible” (Barnes 2001: xiv). This essay will thus have to deal with what is plausible rather than what is known.
If the pluralists were influenced by the Eleatic philosophers like Parmenides then they must be understood as either assimilating/developing those influences or reacting against them. If the pluralists were reacting against Parmenides' monism then it does seem strange that they lack arguments against it. Thus this would lend extra credence to any interpretation of Parmenides that removes this conflict with the pluralists.
It is quite plausible to imagine that the pluralists had a different interpretation of Parmenides' monism than we do. One danger is that we might read our own philosophical assumptions and understandings into Parmenides' text; very easy given how much richer our philosophical background is.
More problematic than the above is that in any text an author will expect the reader to possess certain assumptions and understandings; any text that contained every understanding and assumption that it relied upon would be a large and possibly tedious volume, certainly much larger than the surviving texts of the pre-Socratics.
For both aforementioned reasons we may find ourselves both reading assumptions into the text whilst lacking the assumptions the author understood the reader to have. This leaves a large risk of misinterpretation, hence it is sensible to fully explore all various interpretations and to investigate which the other pre-Socratic philosophers may have held.
With regards to determining what possible interpretations the pluralists may have held Nahamas gives us these two options: (a) “there is only one thing” and (b) there are “many real things, each of which is itself one” (Nehamas).
One way of interpreting (a) and (b) would be as follows:
(a1): That there is only one thing and that there is only one instance of that one thing, such as in Benedict Spinoza's monism: “Except God, no substance can be or be conceived” (Spinoza1996:9). Such an instance for our purposes need not be God but, importantly, there is only one such instance and not a multiplicity of instances, thus “everything that is is one thing” (Nehamas)
(b1): That there are multiple instances of things, but all of which are only of one type of substance. Such a monism would be seen in the philosophy of Materialism where there are allowed many instances of matter, but is a monism in the sense that all instances are matter. In such a philosophy here are “many real things”, but “each of which is itself one [substance]” (Nehamas)
The first interpretation, (a1), is an odd type of monism that Spinoza only rescues by his use of the concept 'modes' to preserve the notion of change (Spinoza 1996:1). Parmenides lacks the innovations of Spinoza, and thus when he implements this monism he can only be taken to be describing the world in a way alien to ordinary understanding. The second interpretation, (b1), does not require such bizarre outlook, but both outright deny the existence of multiple types of substances, and thus multiple elements.
Denying multiple elements is in indisputable conflict the pluralists, thus neither interpretation of Nehamas' two options is helpful. It must be presumed that Nehamas intended a different two interpretations. A second interpretation of (b) could be:
(b2): There exist multiple substances and multiple instances of such substances, but for any one instance of a substance that instance is composed of one and only one substance type. In this situation there are “many things” constructed from a plurality of substances types, but “each of which is itself one [substance]” (Nehamas)
The corresponding interpretation of (a) would be:
(a2): There may or may not exist a multitude of instances of substance, but there exists only one type of substance. In this case “everything that is is one thing” (Nehamas) can be taken to refer to the simple claim of everything being of one type of substance.
(b2) is not strictly a type of monism in the sense the term is commonly understood today; it simply establishes the notion of fundamental substances as being of only one substance. This is mere semantics however. Parmenides never used the term 'monism' to describe his philosophy, nor would have known the term. The term has merely been forced upon him by later scholars. Also, if this interpretation is true then Parmenides' philosophy does not conflict with common and intuitive understandings of plurality and change as opposed to standard interpretations of Parmenides.
Further, (b2) is generally compatible with pluralism and thus possibly compatible with the specific pre-Socratic pluralists in question, which could explain their lack of argumentation regarding this issue.
In order to explore whether the pluralists could really be said to be in accord with this new interpretation I will examine Empedocles and Anaxagoras in turn.
In the philosophy of Empedocles we have a story of how things are created; generation and destruction are described as “coming together” and “being carried apart” and the four elements this occurs to are “fire and water and earth and .. air” (Barnes 2001:121). This is obviously somewhat vague, but it would seem an easy interpretation that Empedocles thinks of particular instances as being composed of multiple substance types (elements).
If this is taken as it is then we clearly have a contradiction with (B2)
The interpretation and corresponding contradiction depends on what counts as an instance. For example, a tree could be considered an instance of one thing (a tree), or an instance of many things (roots, branches, leaves, et cetera), and, within Empedocle's philosophy, roots, branches and leaves may be reduced down to instances of the fundamental elements (fire, water, air and earth). These instances of fundamental substances are in line with (B2), hence if the above interpretation of Empedocles is correct, and Empedocles interpreted Parmenides to be claiming (B2) then it is not surprising Empedocles does not argue against it.
A concern here is to not interpret Empedocles in such a way that he becomes an Atomist. The idea of the indivisible atoms isn't explicitly described until the Atomists do so (Barnes 2001:xlvi). However, it seems true that reduction into fundamental instances of elements need not include those instances being discrete objects as the Atomists believed.
Thus Empedocles can be interpreted to be in line with (B2). Anaxagoras does not yield so easily.
Anaxagoras does not specify any fundamental elements. He explicitly tells us that “of the small there is no smallest, but always smaller” (Barnes 2001:192). Further he tells us that “In everything there is present a portion of everything, except thought” (Barnes 2001:192).
Reading with modern understandings, this may not dispute the idea of a pure element; if I have a salt-water mixture then what I have is something that what I have is a portion mostly of both salt and water, and a trace amount of other things, and further both water and salt can be broken down into elements, and these exist distinctly from one another and thus this is not problematic.
However, Anaxagoras states that a substance is only known by its type because of that “which it contains most” (Barnes 2001:193). He even makes the statement (as quoted by Aristotle) that “One thing neither dissociates nor separates off from another” (Barnes 2001:195) referring to the way that things do not separate into pure substances.
Hence no matter how much separation we think we can achieve, the salt itself shall always be composed of part water, and the water itself shall always be composed of part-salt. This is not to say, as we might now, that you can never get a sample of the substance salt that is devoid of the substance water, but rather that the same one substance shares in both salt and water, thus it would appear that Anaxagoras' instances of substance can not be reduced down into any fundamental instances where they are of only one substance, and thus cannot be brought in line with (b2).
Concerns with this interpretation can be illustrated through the same example; today we would not consider 'flesh' as being in any way elemental, but formed of constituents like salt-water is of salt and water. The ambiguity is whether Anaxagoras would acknowledge that salt-water should be thought of as predominantly salt and water and a little of everything else, or predominantly salt-water and everything else (presumably including salt and water separately). It would seem rather silly to claim the later, but if the former is true then Anaxagoras would rationally have to accept that some items are not homogeneously mixed and thus can be separated out into discreet constituents, thus bringing him closer to being in line with (b2).
Anaxagoras' position is unclear, and I do not believe the above confusion can be easily solved. For my purposes I shall be forced to take the statements about there not being a pure substance possible at face value and hold that Anaxagoras can not be reconciled with (b2), yet Anaxagoras shares the lack of introduction by argument of multiple elements.
Hence we find that there is a reasonable possible interpretation of Empedocles that brings him in line with (b2) but there isn't any strong interpretation of Anaxagoras that does the same. Thus there is not a lot of support for the position that the pluralists did not argue for the introduction of elements because they interpreted Parmenides 'monism' to be of type (b2), as that type of 'monism' is only possibly reconcilable with one of them, and not likely to be so for the other.
Whilst the lack of argumentation may seem to imply possible agreement, the interpretation of Parmenides we would be required to hold for such agreement does not seem well supported by the surviving texts of the pluralists.
This is also in accord with a more standard reading of Parmenides. Further, Parmenides gives us the warning not to use our senses (“unobservant eye and echoing ear”) and to “judge by reason” alone (Barnes: 2001:82). If what Parmenides intended to express was not intended to and would not have been interpreted as arguing for the non-existence of change and plurality in the sense that is counter to our normal conception of the world, then it seems unlikely he would have felt the need for such a warning.
Melissus, who can be said to have “rewrote the Parmidean system in plain prose” (Barnes 2001:xl), seems to share our standard interpretation of Parmenides when he makes such statements (as quoted by Simplicius) as “nor does it move. For it has to retreat into the empty part” (Barnes 2001:96), with such retreat being impossible because he believed (as described by Simplicius) “nothing is empty of what exists. For what is empty is nothing, and hence, being nothing, it will not exist” (Barnes 2001:93), necessitating that nothing moves because there is no space for anything to move to. We cannot find this thought in Parmenides, but it would seem an extension of the thought advanced by Parmenides, and if Melissus intended to rewrite Parmenides he must have thought it in the same vein as Parmenides' philosophy. If Melissus read Parmenides in this way it becomes less likely that Empedocles and Anaxagoras didn't.
It is possible that my judgement of this issue is in error. Where I have interpreted Anaxagoras to be in conflict with (b2) it is possible that this stems from incorrect interpretation on my part given that him and I are separated by so many centuries. Equally my referencing of Melissus as being an extension of Parmenidian philosophy founded upon quotes and descriptions in secondary literature not the unattainable primary sources.
Regarding this issue I shall have to content myself with my conclusions being weak and not certain, but that reducing Permenides' philosophy to a type of 'monism' compatible with pluralism is even weaker and less certain. It seems more likely that Parmenides vision of the world is as alien to the senses as his warning suggests and that he believes the world to be of single homogeneous substance.
Word Count: 2142
Bibliography
Barnes, J (2001) Early Greek Philosophy, London, UK: Penguin Books
Spinoza, B (1999) Ethics, Princeton, USA: Penguin Books
Nehamas, as quoted by the question
Nietzsche: On the role of the Ascetic Priest in Nietzsche's narrative (58)
Nietzsche reserves a specific role in his account for the ascetic priest. How does the following passage help to illuminate the character of that role?
[L]et us consider how regularly and ubiquitously the ascetic priest appears in almost all periods (…) It can only be a necessity of the first order which allows this species to grow and flourish in spite of its hostility to life - it must somehow be in the interest of life itself that such a self-contradictory type does not die out. For an ascetic life is a contradiction in terms: a peculiar kind of ressentiment rules there, that of an unsatisfied instinct and will to power which seeks not to master some isolated aspect of life but rather life itself, its deepest, strongest, most fundamental conditions; an attempt is made to use strength to dam up the very source of strength; a green and cunning gaze is directed against thriving physiological growth (…); while a pleasure is felt and sought in failure, atrophy, pain, accident, ugliness, arbitrary atonements (…) All this is paradoxical in the extreme: we find ourselves confronted here with a contradiction that wills itself as a contradiction, which derives enjoyment from this suffering and even becomes increasingly self-assured and triumphant in proportion as its own precondition, the physiological capacity for life, diminishes (GM III.11).
Due to the complexity of Nietzsche's thought the above passage can be confusing rather than illuminating. The Priest's role in Nietzsche's narrative is explicitly found in the provision of the ascetic ideal to the slave caste so that they can be pacified. In the passage the necessity of this ideal is related to the priest being of the peculiarly 'self-contradictory' type that the ascetic ideal causes. Thus the goal of this essay is in identifying the necessity of the priestly caste and in connecting that necessity with the priest's own asceticism.
It is first necessary to discuss the slaves with whom the priest's role has such an intimate connection: The slave caste are all sick from “the most serious illness which man was bound to contract” which Nietzsche tells us came about “when he found himself finally imprisoned within the pale of society and of peace” (Nietzsche 2003: II.16).
The reason why the slaves finding themselves trapped in society causes a sickness is due to the lack of relevance their bestial urges have for societal living. The strong nobles need not suffer due to having the slaves to release their violent instincts upon, but the slaves being weak have no such outlet. They not only lack the power to enforce their will upon others, they have to impotently suffer through will of the nobles being forced upon them. They are relegated to a part of society where their desires are left unfulfilled and their urges left unexpressed.
The slaves thus lack the power to express their violent tendencies in any normal sense, and must learn to conduct themselves via alternate means; they are instead “reduced to that poorest and most erratic organ of thier's, their “consciousness”' which, in Nietzsche's narrative, is developed purely for this very purpose (Nietzsche 2003: II.16)
This in itself is not the sickness of the slaves. The slaves cannot rest on their guiding urges, but those urges are still there, and it is this that causes the sickness. Lacking external expression but demanding to be fulfilled they must now turn inwards and express these instincts against themselves. Hence due to “lacking external enemies and opposition” (at least any he has the power to combat) he “lacerated, persecuted, gnawed, frightened and ill-treated himself”; a process Nietzsche describes as creating in oneself a “torture-chamber” (Nietzsche 2003: II.16). Here we see the miserable sickness of the slaves.
This in itself does not create the passage's “necessity of the first order”, nor any necessity for the Priest. If the slaves are sick and miserable this does not create any problem for the nobles and society. What is required is that the slaves' discontent creates some necessity for the priest, and this occurs via ressentiment.
Unable to express these violent and hateful urges, they accumulate within the slave and thus create 'ressentiment'. Under a hasty perspective this may seem ignorable; the whole reason ressentiment is generated is precisely because of the slaves impotence, and if they are impotent we can ignore their ressentiment. However, the same means of government that would normally render the slaves impotent cannot be applied with regards to ressentiment; whilst the nobles can use their superior health and strength to govern the slaves elsewhere, such methods cannot be used to control ressentiment because “in the long term it surely exacerbates the dangers of ressentiment rather than neutralising it ... you merely give them one more thing to bear a grudge against” (Ridley 1998: 52).
Hence the original knightly noble caste's method of maintaining order cannot work against ressentiment, and actually makes the problem worse. This creates for us a necessity of a different method of government.
Nietzsche describes the new method in medicinal terms; as violence only makes things worse, a natural alternative is treatment. Nietzsche's explanation of why the knightly nobles cannot themselves adopt this method of dealing with ressentiment is because “The higher must not degrade itself to be the tool of the lower” (Nietzsche 2003: III.14). Taken as written this is obviously false, the priests themselves are a higher caste than the slaves, so if this is true not only is it true of the knightly aristocratic nobles, it's true of the priests.
The solution to the apparent contradiction is found in the way Nietzsche often uses terms outside of what they might literally be understood to mean; when Nietzsche uses terms like 'Higher', or 'strong' he means them in a specific sense that is related to the knightly nobles. This is illustrated in how Nietzsche can call the priests weak despite them achieving more power than the knightly nobles he writes more fondly of. Only when reading Nietzsche with this in mind can we make sense of being told that the priests are “the worst enemies” and are thus “because they are the weakest”, which would otherwise be absurd (Nietzsche 2003: I.7)
When referring to 'The Higher' we should understand it to mean the sort of person who possess and follow those virtues that fall under “the cult of the physical” (Nietzsche 2003: I.7). Such a person by his nature enforces his superiority via physical means; any kind of medicinal method of government would not only not occur to him, but are also outside his field of expertise. Should he manage to take up such a method, then he would then cease to be a knightly noble at all.
Hence “the necessity of doctors and nurses who are themselves sick” becomes justified (Nietzsche 2003: III.14). Here the passage becomes illuminating; we catch sight of a connection between a societal necessity and the priest's own illness, but it is still too early to conclude we have grasped it completely.
The necessity thus far outlined is found in an inability, via lack of resources and motivation, for the knightly nobles to govern the slaves and thus there is need for someone who can, but we have yet to connect together the specific character of the priest with the necessity of this task. This can be revealed in an exploration of the priest's method.
In Nietzsche's narrative the priest successfully brings a “mitigation of suffering” achieved through what Nietzsche describes as an impressive “store of refreshing, soothing, deadening drugs” (Nietzsche 2003: III.17), but more importantly the priest not only “brings with him ... salve and basum” but also “at the same time poisons the wound” (Nietzsche 2003: III.15)
Ressentiment requires direction, which equates to saying that the slaves require someone to blame for their misery. At this point in the narrative the only available target would be the knightly nobles who are responsible for a majority of their suffering. When the slaves cry that “It must be somebody's fault that I feel this bad” their answer will be the knightly nobles. The Priest supplies an alternate direction for ressentiment by providing a new answer that “thou thyself art that same one” (Nietzsche 2003: III.15) When successful this diverts the ressentiment away from the nobles and turns it towards the slaves themselves. With the slave's ressentiment turned inwards it causes no problem for the nobles.
What requires thought here is the relationship between the apparent necessity of the priest's ascetic character and his implementing the above method. The issue can be seen by reflecting on a seemingly obvious motivation for the priest's behaviour: the power over the slave caste created by this implementation of the ascetic ideal. Nietzsche is obviously impressed by this degree of power to the extent of describing the ascetic ideal is as being “in priests … their best engine of power, and also the supreme authority for power”, (Nietzsche 2003: III:1).
The above motivation cannot be accurate. Not only does it not explain why the priest believes in the ascetic ideal, the fact that the priest believes in the ascetic ideal refutes it. If the priest's life is directed towards the accumulation of power then it is directed towards something worldly and the priest's asceticism is reduced to being instrumental rather than ideal.
An analogous truth can be seen with scientists: The scientific community has significant power today, but for a scientist to be truly a scientist, his/her motivation must be the scientific ideal, not the power that comes with the position.
There are two methods of preserving the priest's ascetic idealism as described in the passage: The first is to suggest that the priest's initial motivation is as described above and in implementing the ascetic ideal, he becomes infected by his own poison. The second is that the priest became infected by the ascetic ideal before ever intending to spread it to the slaves.
The first suggests that the priest 'buys his own lie'. This is not implausible given how capable of viciously transmitting itself Nietzsche finds the ascetic ideal to be. Nietzsche believes the ascetic ideal is now the predominant force in society and has done away with the older values; regarding his own time period, Nietzsche tells us “The ‘masters’ have been done away with; the morality of the vulgar man has triumphed” (Nietzsche 2003: I.8)
But the above cannot be the case. Nietzsche is clear on the necessity of already sick doctors, not doctors that become sick through their work. Hence I shall move to the second possibility which shall require looking into the origins and development of the priestly caste.
In examining Nietzsche's description of the character and position of the priest a much more intimate connection with the ascetic ideal is implied; in addition to the description found in the passage Nietzsche informs us that the Priest's “right to existence stands and falls with that ideal” (Nietzsche 2003: III.11). One interpretation of this might be 'the priest's power stands and falls with the ideal' but 'right to existence' can be plausibly taken to indicate more.
Nietzsche writes that we will “have already surmised with what ease the priestly mode of valuation can branch off from the knightly aristocratic model” (Nietzsche 2003:I.7). This informs us of a connection in type between priestly morality and the knightly noble morality which was formed when the noble's “felt they themselves were good, and that their actions were good” (Nietzsche 2003: I.2). It can thus be taken as true that, akin to the knightly mode, the Priestly mode of valuation is found when the Priests first looked upon themselves and found admirable their own traits.
Nietzsche’s sketch of the Priestly caste’s origins begins with the simple distinction between the ‘clean’ and the ‘unclean’; the clean man being merely he who “washes himself, who abstains from certain foods … who does not sleep with unclean women … has a horror of blood” (Nietzsche 2003: I.6). Given how unremarkable the traits that the priests have to admire about themselves are it is not surprising that they suffered ressentiment along with the slaves.
Importantly the ressentiment also transforms them into “the cleverest haters” (Nietzsche 2003: I.7); setting them apart from the knightly nobles. They are also different from the nobles simply by being priests and thus being more concerned with and educated in religious matters. With religious ideology they have a means to create for themselves a way of thinking that will transform their virtues from being merely personal to being ideal. In suggesting there is otherworldly benefit to their virtues they find a way to tell the world that, despite all appearances, their virtues are better than the virtues of the knightly nobles because the priestly virtues are “a bridge to another existence” (Nietzsche 2003: IIIL11)
This newly developed justification for their mode of valuation has more than just political uses; its personal uses are much more immediately valuable to the priests. That “the ascetic ideal springs from the prophylactic and self-preservative instincts which mark a decadent life, which seeks by every means in its power to maintain its position and fight for existence” seems to indicate that it is these latter uses that are more important to the person who holds them (Nietzsche 2003: III.13). More than simply a political tool, the ascetic ideal, which Nietzsche repeatedly describes as a 'denial of life', is also “the reverse of what the worshippers of the ideal imagine” (Nietzsche 2003: III.13), in that it is actually life affirmative, not only for the slaves, but also for the priest.
Hence the birth of this morality need not be as a weapon but as a development by the priests as a “great conservative and affirmative forces of life” (Nietzsche III.13). If the ascetic ideal is a lie, it is one invented by the priests principally for themselves
As seen in the passage the priest is a necessity in our society, and this is because the priest is necessary to deal with the slave revolt. The passage is illuminating principally by connecting the priest's necessity with his ascetic character and thus in forcing us away from viewing the priest as simply a person motivated by power and using the ascetic ideal as a tool, rather than truly living that ideal. The passage thus makes clear that the priest is not a malevolent ruler but a ruler that truly believes in what he preaches, and thus is very honest with the slaves in his method of governing them.
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Bibliography
Nietzsche, F (2003) The Genealogy of Morals, Mineola, USA: Dover Publications, Inc
Ridley, A (1998) Nietzsche's Conscience, Cornell, USA, Cornell Paperbacks
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