Seven Puzzles of the Pursuit of Happiness

by Scott Samuelson

Walt Whitman: “I include & allow & probably teach some things stoicism would frown upon & discard—One’s pulses & marrow are not democratic & natural for nothing.”

During our disturbingly subdued celebration of the Declaration of Independence’s two-hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary, one of the many things I’ve been thinking about is our natural right to “the pursuit of happiness.” As I’ve reconsidered the philosophical tradition that the Committee of Five was drawing on when they lit on that memorable phrase, seven great puzzles of happiness have stood out to me, which also emerge time and again in any halfway-thoughtful person’s life.

PUZZLE #1: WHAT’S IN OUR CONTROL?

In many languages, the word for happiness can also mean luck. Even in English, “happiness” derives from “hap,” which gives us words like “happenstance.” So, maybe happiness isn’t in our control at all. That’s one answer to the puzzle. Happiness is happenstance, sheer luck. Let’s just hope and pray for the best.

In many ways, the tradition of ancient Greek philosophy emerged to give an alternative answer. We can make an art of being human. We can shape our lives to be open to happiness. Fundamentally, the good life isn’t a matter of luck. It involves habits and virtues that we cultivate in ourselves. It’s more about what we do than what’s done to us.

Some philosophers—arguably Socrates himself, but certainly the Stoic philosophers he influenced—went so far as to say that happiness is totally in our control. If we cultivate the right mindset and practice the right virtues, we can be happy under all circumstances. Even when we’re wrongly imprisoned and face an unjust execution (to take the tragic example of Socrates—excuse me, I should say comic example, since all endings are happy endings for a virtuous person), we can be completely happy if we’re just at peace with our conscience. So, there’s another answer to our first puzzle. With the right moral character, we can be happy no matter what our fate holds.

Yet other philosophers, most famously Aristotle, argued that while our choices and virtues are the lion’s share of happiness, there’s still a little luck that we need. At minimum, a happy life involves dodging the worst of fates, a fate like that of Priam, who had to endure the rape and murder of his family, the destruction of his homeland, and the genocide of his people—a fate still being suffered in our current world. So, there’s another answer. Happiness is mostly in our control, but we need a little luck—or at least we need to be spared horrible luck.

Maybe we also need the basic equipment for being happy—for instance, a home and food. If so, that raises interesting political questions for anybody committed to a natural right to the pursuit of happiness. Read more »

Akrasia and the divided will: The crisis of moral choice and the goal of human existence

by John Hartley

Augustine ponders the stolen pear

“To err is human,” observed the poet, Alexander Pope. Yet, why do we consciously choose to err from right action against our better judgement? Anyone who has tried to follow a diet or maintain a strict exercise regime will understand what can sometimes feel like an inner battle. Yet why do we stray from virtue, choosing paths we know will lead to inevitable suffering? Force of habit? Addiction? Weakness of will?

This crisis of moral choice lies at the heart of Western philosophy, as the Ancients crafted their doctrines to explain why individuals often fail to realize their good intentions. “For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.” Observed St Paul, “For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do–this I keep on doing.”

Akrasia in ancient thought

Homer’s Iliad paints a poignant portrait of humanity, ensnared in a cycle of necessity. This relentless loop can only be broken by wisdom and self-knowledge, encapsulated in the Delphic maxim “know thyself.” Socrates, however, argued that true knowledge of the good naturally precludes evil actions (If you really know what is right you will not do wrong!) He contends that misdeeds arise not from a willful defiance of the good but from flawed moral judgment—a tragic aberration, mistaking evil for good in the heat of the moment.

Plato, 427 – 348 BC

Plato linked wisdom and necessity to the duality of good and evil. He envisions self-realization and ordered integration as pathways to the good (inefficiency and unrealized potential signify malevolence). For Plato, good and evil are not external forces but internal currents: one flowing with love and altruism, the other emanating greed, envy, and malice.

The ascent to goodness, according to Plato, hinges on self-mastery and moral transformation, guiding one’s life towards the ideal form of goodness. Stoicism, of course, has experienced something of a resurgence of late, owing to Gen Z influences advocating extreme self discipline and heightened personal responsibility. Read more »

Monday, January 22, 2024

Kingdom of the Solitary Reader

by Ed Simon 

As an émigré from the dusty, sun-scorched Carthaginian provinces, there are innumerable sites and experiences in Milan that could have impressed themselves upon the young Augustine – the regal marble columned facade of the Colone di San Lorenzo or the handsome red-brick of the Basilica of San Simpliciano – yet in Confessions, the fourth-century theologian makes much of an unlikely moment in which he witnesses his mentor Ambrose reading silently, without moving his lips. Author of Confessions and City of God, father of the doctrines of predestination and original sin, and arguably the second most important figure in Latin Christianity after Christ himself, Augustine nonetheless was flummoxed by what was apparently an impressive act. “When Ambrose read, his eyes ran over the columns of writing and his heart searched out for meaning, but his voice and his tongue were at rest,” remembered Augustine. “I have seen him reading silently, never in fact otherwise.”

Such surprise, such wonderment would suggest that something as prosaic as being able to read silently, free of whispering lips and finger following the line, was a remarkable feat in fourth-century Rome, so much so that Augustine sees fit to devote an entire paragraph to his astonishment. Both men were exemplary theologians, Church Fathers, and eventually saints, but only Ambrose was able to accomplish this simple task which you’re most likely doing right now. For Ambrose – as for you and me and billions of other literate people the world over – literacy allows for a cordoned off portion of the self, a still mind as if an enclosed garden from which words may be privately considered, debated, ,or enjoyed, while for Augustine, by contrast, all of those millions of arguments he constructed could only be uttered aloud by their author, and by the vast majority of his readers. Read more »