“That which is good makes men good. For example, that which is good in the art of music makes the musician. But chance events do not make a good man; therefore, chance events are not goods.”
The Peripatetics reply to this by saying that the premise is false; that men do not in every case become good by means of that which is good; that in music there is something good, like a flute, a harp, or an organ suited to accompany singing; but that none of these instruments makes the musician.
We shall then reply: “You do not understand in what sense we have used the phrase ’that which is good in music.’ For we do not mean that which equips the musician, but that which makes the musician; you, however, are referring to the instruments of the art, and not to the art itself. If, however, anything in the art of music is good, that will in every case make the musician.”
And I should like to put this idea still more clearly. We define the good in the art of music in two ways: first, that by which the performance of the musician is assisted, and second, that by which his art is assisted.
Now the musical instruments have to do with his performance—such as flutes and organs and harps; but they do not have to do with the musician’s art itself. For he is an artist even without them; he may perhaps be lacking in the ability to practice his art. But the good in man is not in the same way twofold; for the good of man and the good of life are the same.
The Peripatetics reply to this by saying that the premise is false; that men do not in every case become good by means of that which is good; that in music there is something good, like a flute, a harp, or an organ suited to accompany singing; but that none of these instruments makes the musician.
We shall then reply: “You do not understand in what sense we have used the phrase ’that which is good in music.’ For we do not mean that which equips the musician, but that which makes the musician; you, however, are referring to the instruments of the art, and not to the art itself. If, however, anything in the art of music is good, that will in every case make the musician.”
And I should like to put this idea still more clearly. We define the good in the art of music in two ways: first, that by which the performance of the musician is assisted, and second, that by which his art is assisted.
Now the musical instruments have to do with his performance—such as flutes and organs and harps; but they do not have to do with the musician’s art itself. For he is an artist even without them; he may perhaps be lacking in the ability to practice his art. But the good in man is not in the same way twofold; for the good of man and the good of life are the same.
—from Seneca, Moral Letters 87
As much as it now offends people, I still catch myself repeating that old saying, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
It helps me to remember why the sophists are mistaken in reducing everything to a Catch-22, where tunnel vision makes it impossible to resolve any dilemma. I do not see the Trolley Problem and the Liar’s Paradox as anything more than amusing parlor tricks, because they have little bearing on the reality of daily living.
At the other end of the spectrum, we are so terribly lazy when throwing around a word like “good”—one would expect that expert thinkers could do a much better job of defining their terms before engaging in mental gymnastics. Indeed, one of the reasons I was so drawn to Stoicism was the school’s total clarity on the true origin of any benefit.
I understand how an expression can be used either narrowly or broadly, depending upon the context, but the Stoics did not mess around when it came to the nature of the human good. While the old Thomist in me still distinguishes between the univocal and the equivocal senses of a word, I insist that the latter must always be dependent upon the former.
Should I describe pleasure, money, and fame as goods? Yes, relatively, if I am speaking of the way they might be employed for the sake of a worthy end. No, if I am trying to isolate the absolute source, which alone rests in the virtue of the act itself. Whatever the circumstances, no man is capable of any good deed, if he does not first possess the proper disposition of character.
Just as merely picking up a fine instrument cannot bestow musical skill, so buying some fancy book will never produce an informed conscience. Perhaps it could help, or perhaps it could hurt, but that will all come down to an internal judgment, an estimation of meaning and value. Sometimes the tool serves as an inspiration, and sometimes the tool is an excuse to behave like a spoiled brat.
In high school, I was not magically transformed into a Chris Squire or a Geddy Lee at the moment I picked up a Rickenbacker bass. In college, I did not acquire a noble soul once a copy of the Summa suddenly appeared on my bookshelf. Indeed, there were times when a hindrance ended up being far more useful to me than a convenience—and it was only my commitment that made the difference.
The Peripatetics were inclined to confuse an occasion for the good with the essence of the good, which, in turn, tempted them to identify our merits with indifferent conditions, which are ultimately beyond our power. I would have respectfully reminded them of the contrast between a material cause and an efficient cause.
If that sounds too bookish for you, think of the homeless fellow in the subway, who plays brilliant percussion on a pair of plastic buckets, as opposed to the rich kid at the prep school, who nagged his parents for a full DW Collector’s Series kit, and yet he will never master a basic backbeat.
As much as it now offends people, I still catch myself repeating that old saying, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
It helps me to remember why the sophists are mistaken in reducing everything to a Catch-22, where tunnel vision makes it impossible to resolve any dilemma. I do not see the Trolley Problem and the Liar’s Paradox as anything more than amusing parlor tricks, because they have little bearing on the reality of daily living.
At the other end of the spectrum, we are so terribly lazy when throwing around a word like “good”—one would expect that expert thinkers could do a much better job of defining their terms before engaging in mental gymnastics. Indeed, one of the reasons I was so drawn to Stoicism was the school’s total clarity on the true origin of any benefit.
I understand how an expression can be used either narrowly or broadly, depending upon the context, but the Stoics did not mess around when it came to the nature of the human good. While the old Thomist in me still distinguishes between the univocal and the equivocal senses of a word, I insist that the latter must always be dependent upon the former.
Should I describe pleasure, money, and fame as goods? Yes, relatively, if I am speaking of the way they might be employed for the sake of a worthy end. No, if I am trying to isolate the absolute source, which alone rests in the virtue of the act itself. Whatever the circumstances, no man is capable of any good deed, if he does not first possess the proper disposition of character.
Just as merely picking up a fine instrument cannot bestow musical skill, so buying some fancy book will never produce an informed conscience. Perhaps it could help, or perhaps it could hurt, but that will all come down to an internal judgment, an estimation of meaning and value. Sometimes the tool serves as an inspiration, and sometimes the tool is an excuse to behave like a spoiled brat.
In high school, I was not magically transformed into a Chris Squire or a Geddy Lee at the moment I picked up a Rickenbacker bass. In college, I did not acquire a noble soul once a copy of the Summa suddenly appeared on my bookshelf. Indeed, there were times when a hindrance ended up being far more useful to me than a convenience—and it was only my commitment that made the difference.
The Peripatetics were inclined to confuse an occasion for the good with the essence of the good, which, in turn, tempted them to identify our merits with indifferent conditions, which are ultimately beyond our power. I would have respectfully reminded them of the contrast between a material cause and an efficient cause.
If that sounds too bookish for you, think of the homeless fellow in the subway, who plays brilliant percussion on a pair of plastic buckets, as opposed to the rich kid at the prep school, who nagged his parents for a full DW Collector’s Series kit, and yet he will never master a basic backbeat.
—Reflection written in 2/2014
No comments:
Post a Comment