“Why!” says he; “do I not know what is noble and what is shameful? Have I no conception of them?”
You have.
“Do I not fit my conception to particulars?”
You do.
“Do I not fit them well then?”
There lies the whole question and there fancy comes in. For, starting with these admitted principles, men advance to the matter in dispute, applying these principles inappropriately.
For if they really possessed this faculty as well, what would prevent them from being perfect? You think that you apply your preconceptions properly to particular cases; but tell me, how do you arrive at this?
“I have such a conviction.”
But another has a different conviction, has he not, and yet believes. as you do, that he is applying his conception rightly?
“He does.”
Is it possible then for you both to apply your conceptions properly in matters on which you hold contrary opinion?
“It is impossible."
You have.
“Do I not fit my conception to particulars?”
You do.
“Do I not fit them well then?”
There lies the whole question and there fancy comes in. For, starting with these admitted principles, men advance to the matter in dispute, applying these principles inappropriately.
For if they really possessed this faculty as well, what would prevent them from being perfect? You think that you apply your preconceptions properly to particular cases; but tell me, how do you arrive at this?
“I have such a conviction.”
But another has a different conviction, has he not, and yet believes. as you do, that he is applying his conception rightly?
“He does.”
Is it possible then for you both to apply your conceptions properly in matters on which you hold contrary opinion?
“It is impossible."
—from Epictetus, Discourses 2.11
People will, of course, be offended if you suggest that they can’t distinguish between right from wrong, though they are not ashamed to admit that they can’t solve a quadratic equation or play sweet jazz on the saxophone.
I, for one, never properly learned the game of poker, and I spent a number of years thinking I could just pretend, which ended rather poorly. I am now happy to proclaim my incompetence at cards, and yet I still feel a bit of a twinge whenever the content of my character is questioned.
Why might that be? Of all the abilities a man can possess, only virtue is essential, as the fulfillment of his very nature, while all of the others are quite accidental.
Regardless of my preferences, I could live perfectly well without the skill to rebuild an engine or coach a professional football team, but I would fail miserably at being human if I could not practice prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice. However smart, or charming, or funny I may become, it means nothing without the talent of simply being a good person.
Even when we haven’t thought it through, we sense this instinctively, and so we cling to the idea that we must remain righteous, sometimes at the risk of becoming self-righteous.
Is it possible for me to lack a conscience? No, I am always working from certain principles, which only leaves the question whether they are truly sound principles, and if that conscience is indeed properly informed.
And when we disagree with others about those principles, we often start to bicker, a response that hardly seems fitting for someone who has his moral house in order.
If I really know how to attain the good, why am I doing such a bad job at it? I may be assured in my beliefs, but it remains to be seen if they are reasonable: to “feel strongly” about something does not necessarily mean that I am judging it correctly.
We end up with an unintelligible relativism, where a confidence in our opinions takes the place of a certainty in our understanding. I demand the freedom to speak my mind, and you condemn my words as abhorrent; hence the fellow who shouts the loudest, or eventually breaks the most bones, proclaims himself the winner. No one can be right when everyone is right.
Lately, I have been hearing much chatter about “my” truth and “your” truth, which, regardless of how sensitive we should be to different points of view, falls into the contradiction of making the objective assertion that all truth is subjective. Without a standard we can both share, or at least a few common definitions to begin a discussion, we cannot avoid falling into a death spiral.
Fighting over a game of cards, or some tribal tenet, is a surefire sign that I ought to reconsider how my precious conceptions fit with the plain facts of nature.
People will, of course, be offended if you suggest that they can’t distinguish between right from wrong, though they are not ashamed to admit that they can’t solve a quadratic equation or play sweet jazz on the saxophone.
I, for one, never properly learned the game of poker, and I spent a number of years thinking I could just pretend, which ended rather poorly. I am now happy to proclaim my incompetence at cards, and yet I still feel a bit of a twinge whenever the content of my character is questioned.
Why might that be? Of all the abilities a man can possess, only virtue is essential, as the fulfillment of his very nature, while all of the others are quite accidental.
Regardless of my preferences, I could live perfectly well without the skill to rebuild an engine or coach a professional football team, but I would fail miserably at being human if I could not practice prudence, fortitude, temperance, and justice. However smart, or charming, or funny I may become, it means nothing without the talent of simply being a good person.
Even when we haven’t thought it through, we sense this instinctively, and so we cling to the idea that we must remain righteous, sometimes at the risk of becoming self-righteous.
Is it possible for me to lack a conscience? No, I am always working from certain principles, which only leaves the question whether they are truly sound principles, and if that conscience is indeed properly informed.
And when we disagree with others about those principles, we often start to bicker, a response that hardly seems fitting for someone who has his moral house in order.
If I really know how to attain the good, why am I doing such a bad job at it? I may be assured in my beliefs, but it remains to be seen if they are reasonable: to “feel strongly” about something does not necessarily mean that I am judging it correctly.
We end up with an unintelligible relativism, where a confidence in our opinions takes the place of a certainty in our understanding. I demand the freedom to speak my mind, and you condemn my words as abhorrent; hence the fellow who shouts the loudest, or eventually breaks the most bones, proclaims himself the winner. No one can be right when everyone is right.
Lately, I have been hearing much chatter about “my” truth and “your” truth, which, regardless of how sensitive we should be to different points of view, falls into the contradiction of making the objective assertion that all truth is subjective. Without a standard we can both share, or at least a few common definitions to begin a discussion, we cannot avoid falling into a death spiral.
Fighting over a game of cards, or some tribal tenet, is a surefire sign that I ought to reconsider how my precious conceptions fit with the plain facts of nature.
—Reflection written in 8/2001
IMAGE: Jan Steen, Argument over a Card Game (1665)
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