John Lachs has written an interesting book, Stoic Pragmatism, which I recently read with some satisfaction. I feel somewhat smug, in fact, as I've been describing myself in this blog and elsewhere as a stoic and pragmatist, or a neo-stoic and pragmatist, for some time now. It's gratifying to learn a professional philosopher thinks this union is conceivable and even desirable. Much as I'd like to, though, I suppose I can't legitimately claim to have inspired this book, and it's highly doubtful even that I'm the first to have thought these two schools of philosophy might function well together.
For my part, I've felt that stoicism provides a guide to how to live, and pragmatism a reasonable basis on which to approach traditional philosophical concerns involving metaphysics, epistemology and even ethics to the extent to which ethics is distinct from practical wisdom (which it seems to be and has been for quite some time).
If I understand Lachs, he (to simplify greatly) maintains that stoic acquiescence and pragmatic social activism should be merged, as it were, to create stoic pragmatism, which would not suffer from the excessive detachment of the one and the too exuberant tendency to struggle to rectify social problems which typifies the other. It's a kind of middle path between the two, which would allow for tranquility but would also provide for active engagement in the world.
I rather think stoicism manages to do both, but must admit that there are certain statements of the stoics which strike one as advocating not just intelligent indifference to what takes place, but disregard of them. The stoic sage can be portrayed as so apart from what takes place as to ignore even injustice which is immediately apparent. And stoicism has been referred to by some as a justification of the status quo. Again, I think this is a misreading, but can understand how a cursory review of stoic works can foster such an impression.
The latter part of the book seems to address matters which, to me, don't seem particularly relevant to stoic pragmatism, though they might be to pragmatism or the history of pragmatism. A great deal of it is devoted to a comparison of the philosophy of Royce and Santayana, which is interesting in and of itself, and may be an effort to define a theory of knowledge/theory of reality basis to stoic pragmatism. I'm probably just too dull to understand what Lachs is doing in this respect, but I even got the impression that the two halves of the book may have been separately written for different purposes, and then combined.
Regardless, it is a worthy book, and another indication that philosophy may be gradually returning to its original purpose, to define and refine the art of living. This can only be to our benefit, provided as always that it maintains a connection with the sometimes annoying "real world" and acknowledges our place in it.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Auguring and the Inauguration
Perhaps in growing old I have lost whatever enthusiasm I possessed. Or perhaps it decreases as time passes, much like my testosterone if we are to believe those commercials which have, it seems, at least temporarily overshadowed those dealing with other aspects or other causes of that engrossing (giggle) topic, erectile dysfunction. But I must confess I thought the second inauguration of our President to be excessive, garish and even in some respects silly.
In the past, I've managed to avoid inaugurations, for the most part. They strike me generally as dull and unfortunate rituals. Get sworn in and get to work, I think, is the most appropriate way to proceed. We wasted enough money during the election process; why spend more now that it is over? I don't care, particularly, whether or not a Bible is used. An oath is an oath, regardless of where one's hand is placed. A person of honor will struggle to keep an oath, and will do so whether or not he/she fears God. In fact, doing so only because of the fear of God is an indication the maker of the oath is less than honorable.
This inauguration seemed unavoidable, though. I don't watch TV all that much, but it seemed ubiquitous if the TV I watched is any indication. Cable news channels appeared obsessive in their coverage, not merely of the events involved but in the preparation of those events, in speculation regarding the events, in explanation regarding the events, in commentary regarding the events. Pundits are the curse of our time, but they seemed especially exclamatory, hyperbolic even, as they rhapsodized and reacted. Now we involve ourselves in debates over whether Beyonce lip-synced our nation's anthem--which is, it must be admitted, difficult to sing. Alas, the circus is not yet over. Will it ever be?
Was it always like this? Am I more perceptive (or less oblivious, blissfully oblivious) now than I was during the rituals of the past? Did Hollywood and the divas of popular music figure so significantly in the commencement of the reigns of previous presidents?
The inaugural address has been cited as a kind of paean to liberal, secular government, but I find nothing particularly insightful or inciting in it. No doubt it is interesting that gays were mentioned in such an address for the first time. But to those like myself, it is desirable that government not involve itself in the sexual relations of consenting adults, and what is called "marriage" from the standpoint of the law is not and should not be anything sacred or mandated in heaven; it is merely another legal relationship which requires regulation. What it may be to certain of the religious is another issue, but that is not the realm of government. It is one of the inconsistencies of what passes for conservatism these days that conservatives demand that government affirmatively and aggressively regulate and legislate regarding social and religious conduct, and not allow people to do what they want to do, i.e., be free.
Everything truly is showbiz, it seems. It's not that in our time this is, or has become, the case more than it has in the past. I tend to deplore our tendency to compare ourselves to the Romans, but one of the many things they did was perfect the use of panem et circenses in the promotion of political popularity and population control. I think, though, that we, or those who are interested in manipulating us, are better able to make entertainment a dominant factor in our lives. Our technology is now such that all we do is given the appearance of entertainment (e.g., "reality shows") and functions as entertainment.
I know this may simply make me sound old, older indeed than I am (I've always seemed old, to many I know), but there is dignity in simplicity, and dignity is something we lack, particularly in our politics. This may be one of the reasons we have no respect for our politics or our politicians. I fear the more we cater to excess and treat politics as entertainment and the business of entertainers, the less significance we will attribute to our politics, and the worse off we will be.
In the past, I've managed to avoid inaugurations, for the most part. They strike me generally as dull and unfortunate rituals. Get sworn in and get to work, I think, is the most appropriate way to proceed. We wasted enough money during the election process; why spend more now that it is over? I don't care, particularly, whether or not a Bible is used. An oath is an oath, regardless of where one's hand is placed. A person of honor will struggle to keep an oath, and will do so whether or not he/she fears God. In fact, doing so only because of the fear of God is an indication the maker of the oath is less than honorable.
This inauguration seemed unavoidable, though. I don't watch TV all that much, but it seemed ubiquitous if the TV I watched is any indication. Cable news channels appeared obsessive in their coverage, not merely of the events involved but in the preparation of those events, in speculation regarding the events, in explanation regarding the events, in commentary regarding the events. Pundits are the curse of our time, but they seemed especially exclamatory, hyperbolic even, as they rhapsodized and reacted. Now we involve ourselves in debates over whether Beyonce lip-synced our nation's anthem--which is, it must be admitted, difficult to sing. Alas, the circus is not yet over. Will it ever be?
Was it always like this? Am I more perceptive (or less oblivious, blissfully oblivious) now than I was during the rituals of the past? Did Hollywood and the divas of popular music figure so significantly in the commencement of the reigns of previous presidents?
The inaugural address has been cited as a kind of paean to liberal, secular government, but I find nothing particularly insightful or inciting in it. No doubt it is interesting that gays were mentioned in such an address for the first time. But to those like myself, it is desirable that government not involve itself in the sexual relations of consenting adults, and what is called "marriage" from the standpoint of the law is not and should not be anything sacred or mandated in heaven; it is merely another legal relationship which requires regulation. What it may be to certain of the religious is another issue, but that is not the realm of government. It is one of the inconsistencies of what passes for conservatism these days that conservatives demand that government affirmatively and aggressively regulate and legislate regarding social and religious conduct, and not allow people to do what they want to do, i.e., be free.
Everything truly is showbiz, it seems. It's not that in our time this is, or has become, the case more than it has in the past. I tend to deplore our tendency to compare ourselves to the Romans, but one of the many things they did was perfect the use of panem et circenses in the promotion of political popularity and population control. I think, though, that we, or those who are interested in manipulating us, are better able to make entertainment a dominant factor in our lives. Our technology is now such that all we do is given the appearance of entertainment (e.g., "reality shows") and functions as entertainment.
I know this may simply make me sound old, older indeed than I am (I've always seemed old, to many I know), but there is dignity in simplicity, and dignity is something we lack, particularly in our politics. This may be one of the reasons we have no respect for our politics or our politicians. I fear the more we cater to excess and treat politics as entertainment and the business of entertainers, the less significance we will attribute to our politics, and the worse off we will be.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Homage to Martial
Sorry, but I don't mean "martial" as warlike, or of or relating to war (disappointing, I know; nothing is more interesting than war, particularly to those who haven't been in one). Rather I refer to the man we know as Martial, who was more properly Marcus Valerius Martialis. In this year 2766 A.U.C. (Ab Urbe Condita, meaning from the legendary founding of Rome) we remember and read him still.
And not just for the naughty bits as our British cousins might say, though they're certainly present in his epigrams. Nor even for the insight they impart regarding the social life of the Roman Empire in the first century of what is now called, rather insultingly I think, the "Common Era" though there's no question they do. I submit we read the epigrams and remember the man who wrote them because he was clever, artful and amusing and wrote clever, artful, amusing, and even sometimes wise and touching, epigrams.
Epigrams have their fascination, for me at least. To be able to condense thought and criticism and express them with elegance (mixed with vulgarity in Marital's case, but a vulgarity which seems somehow appropriate) requires a certain genius and is a succinct and telling expression of fundamental human characteristics, though they may be less than admirable...just as we often are.
Envy, vanity, lust, greed, egoism, selfishness are especially on display, mostly. They always have been, I think, but have not been so shamelessly and honestly set forth for a long time.
It's curious that Martial was born in much the same location in Spain as was Baltasar Gracian, S.J., author of The Art of Worldly Wisdom and other things. In that work, the worthy Jesuit was rather pithy as well, not in epigrams but in maxims. Those maxims relate to how to distinguish oneself in society, or at least the society of 17th century Spain, and while those maxims are largely secular there is no doubt that they are the creation of a Christian and the product of a profoundly Christian culture. Martial was not a Christian, and the Roman world was not yet Christian; the view of life and people in the epigrams is very different from that in Gracian's maxims. As a result, Martial was often the subject of disapproval by Christian moralists of all kinds, particularly those titans of prudery, the Victorians.
There is a problem with considering Martial and his epigrams from our, largely Christian, perspective, that I think leads us to misinterpret him and the Roman world of his time. We tend to look upon the people of the Roman Empire as immoral and degenerate. We point to Martial and others, especially the wackier emperors, as examples of the monsters we become without religion, which is to say the true religion, of course. Supposedly, the Empire fell due to its decadence. But the "decadence" and the "decadent" we point to in making this judgment existed centuries before the Western Empire dissolved (for various reasons). The Eastern Empire lasted centuries longer, until Constantinople was sacked by Christian Crusaders. We Americans love to compare ourselves to the Romans, particularly those of us who love to moralize and look back to simpler and more virtuous times (as the Romans did, including Martial). We will be fortunate if we last as long as Rome.
Martial was not alone in his condemnation of his contemporaries, of course. Juvenal is another example of a Roman who at least purported to despise most of those around him. But Juvenal's contempt is lengthy and relentless. There is no room for elegance in his satires, and the humor is bitter. Martial is an easier read.
Martial was a professional. He wrote his epigrams to earn his living, in most cases, which makes their vituperativeness somewhat surprising. We don't know who poor Sextus and the others who are lashed in the epigrams were, so it's hard to feel any sympathy for them. We have a tendency to look down on professional artists. Ezra Pound, not the most well-balanced fellow, look down on Pindar for being a professional, and so not a true artist. But artists were and still are professionals, and this was particularly necessary and even deemed appropriate in the world of ancient Rome, where all great men, as patrons, had their followers, called clients. These clients were of all kinds and were dependent on the patron sometimes even for their food (food or at least being seen dining with the great was particularly important in the Roman world, it seems). The clients accompanied the patron, defended him, voted for him, applauded him in the Senate and the courts. He in turn had his obligations to them.
It's still difficult to find good translations of Martial. Older translations of his work tend to disregard the racier epigrams, or even it seems to rewrite them at times. Those translations acknowledge his genius but deplore his lasciviousness. We're not quite as constrained as we once were, though we still tend to look on sex of any kind as shameful, and sex of an unusual kind as sinful. Perhaps literal translations will become more available. Or, perhaps, if we're very fortunate, a new Martial will arise, to lambaste us as elegantly and honestly as he did those of his time.
And not just for the naughty bits as our British cousins might say, though they're certainly present in his epigrams. Nor even for the insight they impart regarding the social life of the Roman Empire in the first century of what is now called, rather insultingly I think, the "Common Era" though there's no question they do. I submit we read the epigrams and remember the man who wrote them because he was clever, artful and amusing and wrote clever, artful, amusing, and even sometimes wise and touching, epigrams.
Epigrams have their fascination, for me at least. To be able to condense thought and criticism and express them with elegance (mixed with vulgarity in Marital's case, but a vulgarity which seems somehow appropriate) requires a certain genius and is a succinct and telling expression of fundamental human characteristics, though they may be less than admirable...just as we often are.
Envy, vanity, lust, greed, egoism, selfishness are especially on display, mostly. They always have been, I think, but have not been so shamelessly and honestly set forth for a long time.
It's curious that Martial was born in much the same location in Spain as was Baltasar Gracian, S.J., author of The Art of Worldly Wisdom and other things. In that work, the worthy Jesuit was rather pithy as well, not in epigrams but in maxims. Those maxims relate to how to distinguish oneself in society, or at least the society of 17th century Spain, and while those maxims are largely secular there is no doubt that they are the creation of a Christian and the product of a profoundly Christian culture. Martial was not a Christian, and the Roman world was not yet Christian; the view of life and people in the epigrams is very different from that in Gracian's maxims. As a result, Martial was often the subject of disapproval by Christian moralists of all kinds, particularly those titans of prudery, the Victorians.
There is a problem with considering Martial and his epigrams from our, largely Christian, perspective, that I think leads us to misinterpret him and the Roman world of his time. We tend to look upon the people of the Roman Empire as immoral and degenerate. We point to Martial and others, especially the wackier emperors, as examples of the monsters we become without religion, which is to say the true religion, of course. Supposedly, the Empire fell due to its decadence. But the "decadence" and the "decadent" we point to in making this judgment existed centuries before the Western Empire dissolved (for various reasons). The Eastern Empire lasted centuries longer, until Constantinople was sacked by Christian Crusaders. We Americans love to compare ourselves to the Romans, particularly those of us who love to moralize and look back to simpler and more virtuous times (as the Romans did, including Martial). We will be fortunate if we last as long as Rome.
Martial was not alone in his condemnation of his contemporaries, of course. Juvenal is another example of a Roman who at least purported to despise most of those around him. But Juvenal's contempt is lengthy and relentless. There is no room for elegance in his satires, and the humor is bitter. Martial is an easier read.
Martial was a professional. He wrote his epigrams to earn his living, in most cases, which makes their vituperativeness somewhat surprising. We don't know who poor Sextus and the others who are lashed in the epigrams were, so it's hard to feel any sympathy for them. We have a tendency to look down on professional artists. Ezra Pound, not the most well-balanced fellow, look down on Pindar for being a professional, and so not a true artist. But artists were and still are professionals, and this was particularly necessary and even deemed appropriate in the world of ancient Rome, where all great men, as patrons, had their followers, called clients. These clients were of all kinds and were dependent on the patron sometimes even for their food (food or at least being seen dining with the great was particularly important in the Roman world, it seems). The clients accompanied the patron, defended him, voted for him, applauded him in the Senate and the courts. He in turn had his obligations to them.
It's still difficult to find good translations of Martial. Older translations of his work tend to disregard the racier epigrams, or even it seems to rewrite them at times. Those translations acknowledge his genius but deplore his lasciviousness. We're not quite as constrained as we once were, though we still tend to look on sex of any kind as shameful, and sex of an unusual kind as sinful. Perhaps literal translations will become more available. Or, perhaps, if we're very fortunate, a new Martial will arise, to lambaste us as elegantly and honestly as he did those of his time.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Stoicism and Cognitive Behavioral Therapy
I'm reading a book by Donald Robertson regarding Stoicism and CBT, which I find quite interesting.
I should first note that I have, somehow, been ignorant of CBT, though it seems to have been around in one form or another for more than 100 years. This is somewhat daunting. What I don't know is sometimes astonishing. I remind myself that Socrates felt this way as well, and feel better. But I can't help but think I should have been aware of its existence. It seems quite a few good things were going on in philosophy and psychology at the end of the 19th and during the the early 20th century, in addition to pragmatism. I wonder if, and to what extent, James and Dewey were aware of this therapeutic form of psychology.
Perhaps CBT's association with hypnosis and autosuggestion gave me pause; I've always been leery of such approaches. But it has apparently distanced itself from them to some extent, and I may have been misinformed about them or misunderstood them as well.
Even more surprising, in a way, is that the founders of CBT were aware of its debt to Stoicism and expressly called attention to its similarities to Stoicism as a guide to how to live in their written works. Generally, we tend to downplay the extent to which we have been inspired by others, particularly the ancients, particularly when it comes to the sciences. But it appears that Stoicism's emphasis on distinguishing things outside our control from those in our control, and its claim that we are disturbed not by things which happen, but by what we think of them, are among the central tenants of CBT. Also significant to the therapy is Stoicism's insistence that we may discipline ourselves to control what we think and how we feel.
Perhaps Stoicism has not generally been viewed as a form of therapy in the past. The understanding that Stoicism and other ancient Greek schools of thought recommended spiritual or psychological exercises as a practice in attaining happiness and tranquility seems to be a relatively recent development, the result of the efforts of Pierre Hadot and others.
Even more impressive (to me at least) is that it appears CBT may be, and has been, subjected to empirical methods of assessment and evaluation. In other words, the results of CBT can be measured with a certain degree of objectivity, and in fact have been found to be successful in the treatment of certain disorders. This distinguishes it from psychoanalysis it seems, which is something I find delightful as I've always thought Freud and Jung and their followers to be fundamentally misguided and even warped in their view of humanity.
CBT also appeals to me because it (like Stoicism) indicates and maintains that we may at least to a certain extent control and cure ourselves, and attain happiness through our own efforts through discipline and the use of our reason. This is an optimistic view in contrast with those views we encounter far too often these days, which reduce us to helpless victims or slavish denizens of our environment or our genes or society and culture.
Finally, I'm surprised once more that the ancients were so insightful regarding humanity and its nature, and disappointed that we have after thousands of years achieved no more when it comes to determining how best to live, and have in fact even disregarded ancient wisdom which has always been available to us.
I should first note that I have, somehow, been ignorant of CBT, though it seems to have been around in one form or another for more than 100 years. This is somewhat daunting. What I don't know is sometimes astonishing. I remind myself that Socrates felt this way as well, and feel better. But I can't help but think I should have been aware of its existence. It seems quite a few good things were going on in philosophy and psychology at the end of the 19th and during the the early 20th century, in addition to pragmatism. I wonder if, and to what extent, James and Dewey were aware of this therapeutic form of psychology.
Perhaps CBT's association with hypnosis and autosuggestion gave me pause; I've always been leery of such approaches. But it has apparently distanced itself from them to some extent, and I may have been misinformed about them or misunderstood them as well.
Even more surprising, in a way, is that the founders of CBT were aware of its debt to Stoicism and expressly called attention to its similarities to Stoicism as a guide to how to live in their written works. Generally, we tend to downplay the extent to which we have been inspired by others, particularly the ancients, particularly when it comes to the sciences. But it appears that Stoicism's emphasis on distinguishing things outside our control from those in our control, and its claim that we are disturbed not by things which happen, but by what we think of them, are among the central tenants of CBT. Also significant to the therapy is Stoicism's insistence that we may discipline ourselves to control what we think and how we feel.
Perhaps Stoicism has not generally been viewed as a form of therapy in the past. The understanding that Stoicism and other ancient Greek schools of thought recommended spiritual or psychological exercises as a practice in attaining happiness and tranquility seems to be a relatively recent development, the result of the efforts of Pierre Hadot and others.
Even more impressive (to me at least) is that it appears CBT may be, and has been, subjected to empirical methods of assessment and evaluation. In other words, the results of CBT can be measured with a certain degree of objectivity, and in fact have been found to be successful in the treatment of certain disorders. This distinguishes it from psychoanalysis it seems, which is something I find delightful as I've always thought Freud and Jung and their followers to be fundamentally misguided and even warped in their view of humanity.
CBT also appeals to me because it (like Stoicism) indicates and maintains that we may at least to a certain extent control and cure ourselves, and attain happiness through our own efforts through discipline and the use of our reason. This is an optimistic view in contrast with those views we encounter far too often these days, which reduce us to helpless victims or slavish denizens of our environment or our genes or society and culture.
Finally, I'm surprised once more that the ancients were so insightful regarding humanity and its nature, and disappointed that we have after thousands of years achieved no more when it comes to determining how best to live, and have in fact even disregarded ancient wisdom which has always been available to us.
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