Gary Hayden's Popular Philosophy Blog

Rom-Coms and Fairy Tales

2012-01-12T04:01:00.000Z

Feeling romantic? Here's a piece I wrote a couple of years ago, for the Straits Times.

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ROM-COMS AND FAIRY TALES

When my wife was a little girl, some elderly neighbours gave her a book of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. It became one of her most treasured possessions. In fact, it is the only book from her childhood that she still owns. Some years ago, I read the stories myself – and loved them.

A typical tale runs like this: A beautiful young woman suffers severe trials and tribulations (often at the hands of a cruel stepmother or a wicked witch). Despite her troubles, the young woman retains her sweet nature and good-looks, and eventually attracts the attention of a handsome prince. He delivers her from her oppressors and whisks her away to his castle where they marry and live happily ever after.

What is ‘happily ever after’?

Why do these stories always end so abruptly? Why do they limit themselves to just three words – ‘happily ever after’ – to describe the post-nuptial life of the fairy-tale couple?

Personally, I would put it down to artistic reasons. Good stories, especially romances, need tidy, satisfying endings. But the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860) had a different - and much more interesting - theory as to why fairy tales invariably stop at happily-ever-after.

By his account, the hero and heroine’s blissful future life is glossed over because nobody - not even a child - would take it seriously if it were laid out in detail. Life is not about pure romance and unalloyed joy. Far from it. It is about striving, desiring, struggling and longing.

Schopenhauer (who was, it must be said, notoriously pessimistic) maintained that the purpose of sexual love is not to find a partner who will make us happy and contented. Love is, rather, an overwhelming biological urge dedicated to one purpose and one purpose only: procreation.

The “longing that closely associates the notion of an endless bliss with the possession of a definite woman, and an unutterable pain with the thought that this possession is not attainable,” is, according to Schopenhauer, a delusion. It is nature’s way of tricking us into having babies. “Contrary to expectation, [the lover] finds himself no happier than before; he notices that he has been the dupe of the will of the species.”

Few of us adopt such a gloomy outlook on life and love as Schopenhauer did. But even so, we all recognise realise that there is more to love than fairy-tale romance and happily-ever-after.

Or do we?

Real life versus rom-coms

A recent study by relationships experts at Heriot Watt University in Edinburgh, Scotland, suggests that we are more susceptible to fairy-tale notions of romance than we might think.

Researchers, Dr Bjarne Holmes and Kimberly Johnson, have found that romantic comedies such as Notting Hill, The Wedding Planner and Runaway Bride are promoting unrealistic expectations about love.

Dr Holmes says that marriage counsellors often talk to couples who believe that that if someone is meant to be with you they will know what you want without you having to tell them, and that sex should always be perfect. Evidence is emerging that unrealistic notions such as these tend to be embraced enthusiastically by devotees of rom-coms.

For example, in one test, student-volunteers were found to be more likely to believe in romantic fate and destiny after watching the 2001 film, Serendipity.

Dr Holmes says, “The problem is that while most of us know that the idea of a perfect relationship is unrealistic, some of us are more influenced by the media than we realise.”

Real love

I find this research fascinating. We modern-day, highly-educated people like to think that our beliefs are rational and sensible. Yet it seems that when it comes to love and romance, we are still influenced by fairy tales.

Don’t get me wrong. I like a good romantic comedy as much as the next man (though perhaps not quite so much as the next woman). I am not ashamed to admit to having shed a manly tear or two at the climax of films like Notting Hill and Bridget Jones’s Diary.

But, on behalf of men everywhere, I would like to point out that no-one can live up to the romantic ideal portrayed so brilliantly by actors like Hugh Grant and Colin Firth. Not even Hugh Grant and Colin Firth.

Amazon promotion - You Kant Make It Up 99p

2012-01-03T05:27:00.000Z

Just a quick note to say that Amazon.co.uk currently have a promotion on the Kindle version of my latest book, You Kant Make It Up: Strange Ideas from History's Greatest Philosophers. It's currently available for just 99p.

Note that you don't need a Kindle to read Kindle e-books. You can download a free Kindle reader for your computer.

The promotion seems to be going well. I just found myself at number 60 in the Kindle chart!

Good Book Guide review for You Kant Make It Up

2011-12-29T17:44:00.000Z

I thought I'd share this nice review for my latest book. It appeared in the November issue of The Good Book Guide.

You Kant Make It Up!: Strange Ideas from History’s Greatest Philosophers

Gary Hayden

By a renowned writer of popular philosophy, this is a well put-together collection of the most intriguing philosophical thoughts and arguments from Socrates to the present day. Easy to follow, it is divided into 43 sections, each introducing the readers to a particular philosophical claim, explaining briefly an argument for and against it.

Why did Pythagoras think that everything is number? How did Descartes justify the thought that our minds are not located in space? Why was Hobbes sceptical about altruism? Was Kant right in arguing that the only thing that is good without qualification is a good will?

Provocative and inviting, it will make you rethink preconceptions you have about yourself and the world.

Bah! Humbug!

2011-12-15T05:30:00.001Z

With Christmas just around the corner, I thought I'd post this festive piece. I wrote it for the Straits Times back in 2008.

BAH! HUMBUG!

“Every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.”

These are harsh words. But no more than one would expect from ‘a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner’ like Ebenezer Scrooge, the hero of Charles Dickens’ well-loved tale, A Christmas Carol.

Fortunately, Scrooge learned the error of his ways, and by the end of story he ‘knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.’

This week, I run the risk of coming across as something of a Scrooge myself, since I wish to launch an attack on two time-honoured Christmas traditions: the giving and receiving of cards; and the giving and receiving of presents.

What’s wrong with Christmas cards?

Of course, there is nothing wrong with Christmas cards per se. No reasonable person could object to the practice of sending out a few heartfelt festive messages to one’s nearest and dearest. But the modern custom of sending out dozens of the damn things to all-and-sundry is enough to try the patience of a saint.

To prove my point, here is C. S. Lewis, mild-mannered academic, Christian apologist and beloved author of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, venting his spleen on the subject:

‘[E]very citizen is obliged to send to each of his friends and relations a square piece of hard paper stamped with a picture … [And] when they find cards from any to whom they have not sent, then they beat their breasts and wail and utter curses against the sender; and … put on their boots again and go out into the fog and rain and buy a card for him also.’ (From Xmas and Christmas: A Lost Chapter from Herodotus).

I once worked at a primary school where the staff came up with a simple solution to this annual exercise in futility. Rather than everyone sending cards to everyone else, each person wrote jut one card to the entire staff, and then used the money saved to make a small donation to a designated charity. Brilliant.

What’s wrong with Christmas presents?

The giving and receiving of Christmas presents is an even bigger hassle. Once again, C. S. Lewis hits the nail squarely on the head:

‘Long before 25^th December everyone is worn out – physically worn out by weeks of daily struggle in overcrowded shops, mentally worn out by the effort to remember all the right recipients and to think out suitable gifts for them.’ (From What Christmas Means to Me)

Once again, no one could reasonably object to anyone buying a few meaningful gifts for family members, and perhaps one or two friends. At the climax of A Christmas Carol, the reformed Ebenezer Scrooge buys an enormous turkey for the family of his impecunious clerk, Bob Cratchit. God bless him for it.

But the exchanging of utterly superfluous gifts with mere acquaintances - simply because one ‘has to’ - seems to me rather silly and perhaps even a little obscene. Once again, C. S. Lewis expresses it better than I ever could:

‘Things are bought as presents which no mortal ever bought for himself – gaudy and useless gadgets, ‘novelties’ because no one was ever fool enough to make their like before. Have we really no better use for materials and for human skill and time than to spend them on all this rubbish?’ (From What Christmas Means to Me)

A family-member once bought me ‘soap on a rope’ as a Christmas gift. I smiled dutifully, and said, “How nice!” and all that sort of thing. But to this day I cannot understand why anyone would want to spoil a perfectly good piece of soap, and a perfectly serviceable piece of rope, by welding them together.

This Christmas, my wife and I have requested that our families, rather than buying us presents, make modest donations to a worthwhile cause of our choosing. The idea is to save them time and money chasing after expensive gifts that we don’t need, and to bring some festive cheer to a group of people who need it far more than we do.

Not that we don’t intend to celebrate. In fact, we will be having brunch at the Raffles on 25^th December. It doesn’t pay to be too fundamentalist about these things. After all, it is Christmas.

Shameful Joy

2011-09-29T09:50:00.000+01:00

Some time ago, I wrote a piece about schadenfreude - the joy we feel when we hear of others' misfortunes - for The Straits Times's Mind Your Body supplement.

A MYB reader e-mailed me today, and asked if I'd re-publish that piece on my blog. So here it is.

If you like it, please consider signing-up as a follower of this blog.

SCHADENFREUDE

“A neighbour’s ruin is relished by friends and enemies alike.” (La Rochefoucauld)

Shameful joy

There is an episode of The Simpsons entitled, When Flanders Failed, in which the Simpsons’ inoffensive neighbour Ned Flanders opens a shop selling specialist goods to left-handers. When the business fails, Homer is delighted. This prompts his daughter Lisa to ask if he has ever heard of schadenfreude. He hasn’t, of course, so Lisa defines it for him: “It’s a German term for ‘shameful joy’, taking pleasure in the suffering of others.”

The French moralist, the Duc de La Rochefoucauld, once wrote: "In the misfortunes of even our greatest friends we take a certain pleasure." He was absolutely right. It’s a curious quirk of human nature that we are apt to experience a tinge of satisfaction whenever we hear about the failures, misfortunes and humiliations of others - even those to whom we bear no ill will.

Schadenfreude and Freudenschade

Some years ago, I earned a master’s degree in philosophy from the University of Liverpool. At the time, I was disappointed to receive a passing grade rather than a much-hoped-for Distinction. When an acquaintance of mine heard about this he could barely conceal his delight, and insisted on sharing the ‘good news’ with everyone we met. “Have you heard? Gary got his master’s... He got a pass.”

Not content with privately gloating over my failure to achieve a top grade, he felt the need to rub my nose in it publically. Schadenfreude in its highest degree!

Schadenfreude, then, is pleasure derived from others’ misfortunes. There is also a related emotion which consists in deriving sorrow from others’ good fortune. The made-up word freudenschade is sometimes used to label this feeling.

Years ago, I learned that an acquaintance of mine had inherited a valuable house from his grandmother. To my shame, I found myself irritated by the news. He was a perfectly nice guy who had never done me an ounce of harm, and yet I resented his good fortune. Even worse, I still experience feelings of resentment whenever I think about it today.

Why is this? Why do perfectly nice people, like myself, feel a shameful joy when we learn of others’ misfortunes, or experience a shameful sorrow when we learn of others’ successes? The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche gave what I think is a very insightful and satisfactory answer to this question in his 1882 work, The Gay Science:

"Schadenfreude originates in the fact that, in certain respects of which he is well aware, everyone feels unwell - is oppressed by care or envy or sorrow: the harm that befalls another man makes him our equal; it appeases our envy. If, on the other hand, he happens to feel perfectly well, he nonetheless gathers up his neighbour's misfortune in his consciousness as a capital upon which to draw when he himself faces misfortune: thus he too experiences schadenfreude."

We are all inclined to feel ill at ease when we judge ourselves inferior to someone else. When that other person suffers setbacks or losses we lose this sense of inferiority, and therefore feel better about ourselves. This is the origin of schadenfreude.

Since Nietzsche’s time there have been a number of scientific studies of schadenfreude, and these have tended to confirm his insights. People with poor self-esteem are more likely to experience schadenfreude than those with a good self-image; and they feel it most intensely when it is directed towards those they envy most.

Not to be savoured

Although we all experience schadenfreude from time to time, we generally feel ashamed of ourselves for doing so. It may be a natural - and therefore understandable - response to others’ misfortunes; but it is also, at bottom, an ignoble and rather shabby emotion. It is a guilty pleasure, and not one to be indulged in.

The last word goes to one of my favourite thinkers, the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860) who possessed the happy knack of being able to express a great deal in a very few words: “To feel envy is human, to savour schadenfreude is devilish.”

You Kant Make It Up - sample chapters

2011-09-22T11:44:00.000+01:00

Here's the first part of my new book, You Kant Make It Up!: Strange Ideas from History's Greatest Philosophers.

If you like what you read, you can get the full book from any good bookstore. It's available in paperback and e-book format.

Any and all comments welcome.

INTRODUCTION

Philosophers are clever folk. Some of them outrageously so. Yet they say the strangest things!

Take the German philosopher Gottfried Leibniz. He designed calculating machines; invented calculus independently of Isaac Newton; and made important contributions in physics, logic, history, librarianship and theology. He could hardly have been any cleverer. Yet he claimed that objects don’t really have shapes and sizes; and that the world couldn’t possibly be any better than it is.

Or consider the French philosopher, Blaise Pascal. He did groundbreaking work in vacuum physics; invented the syringe; gave the world ‘Pascal’s Triangle’; and was one of the founders of probability theory. Yet he said that you ought to believe in God even if you doubt His existence.

Why so strange?

Philosophy abounds with strange ideas. As you read this book, you’ll discover that history’s deepest thinkers have claimed that matter doesn’t exist; that unicorns do exist; that babies deserve Hell; and that your mind doesn’t influence your behaviour.

But why? What is it about philosophy that gives rise to so much weirdness? And how is it that such brilliant people can say such outrageous things? Is it because genius and craziness are so closely linked? Or is there some other reason?

Well, perhaps the main reason for all the weirdness lies in the nature of philosophy itself. Philosophy concerns itself with ultimate questions. This means that philosophers sometimes find themselves operating at the very limits of thought; at the very edge of what is thinkable. And this can be a very strange place.

Think of those cutting-edge physicists who try to figure out what goes on at the quantum level or at the centre of a black hole. They paint a picture of a world very much at odds with the world of common sense. A world where space and time get warped; where fundamental particles pop into and out of existence; and where multiple universes spring into being.

Philosophers are a bit like that. They too ask deep and difficult questions. The kinds of questions that stretch the understanding to its limits – and beyond. How are minds related to bodies? Can we ever be absolutely certain of anything? What, if anything, is the point of life? What makes some actions ‘right’ and others wrong? If there’s a God, what kind of being must God be?

In investigating these questions, philosophers take themselves outside the ordinary trammel of thought. So it is hardly surprising that they come up with some very strange-sounding ideas.

Ways of being weird

The ideas in this book are all strange. But they’re strange in a variety of ways. Some of them, like John Locke’s claim that oranges aren’t orange, seem plainly wrong. Others, like St Thomas Aquinas’s insistence that masturbation is worse than rape, are deeply shocking. Still others, like Pythagoras’ claim that ‘everything is number’, don’t even seem to make sense.

Some of the ideas seem strange when you first encounter them but not so strange once you stop and think about them. A number were considered outrageous when they were first proposed, but have since become quite mainstream (amongst philosophers, at any rate).

All of which brings us to an important point . . .

Strange but true?

Strange ideas aren’t necessarily wrong ideas.

As you read this book you’ll come across ideas that will surprise you, amuse you, offend you and confuse you. But you’ll also come across ideas that will convince you. Sometimes you’ll find yourself nodding in agreement, and accepting ideas you never thought you could accept.

So be warned. A couple of hundred pages from now you may have acquired a firm belief that oranges aren’t orange; that matter doesn’t exist; that Harry Potter does exist; and that this isn’t the real world.

Using this book

I’ve arranged this book into forty-three self-contained chapters, each one dealing with a single idea. The topics covered include ethics, logic, politics, metaphysics, psychology, sex and religion.

On balance, it’s probably best to read the chapters in order, and allow yourself time for reflection between each one. But that’s not essential. There’s nothing to stop you from hopping around, or reading the whole book in one splurge, if you prefer.

I’ve begun each chapter by introducing a strange idea and then giving some of the arguments that a famous philosopher has advanced in its favour. Wherever possible, I’ve done that in a way that’s fairly sympathetic to the philosopher’s views. After that, I’ve generally offered some criticisms; some arguments that cast doubt on the philosopher’s idea.

Overall, I’ve tried to stay impartial so that you can decide for yourself what you make of it all.

At the end of each chapter I’ve provided pointers to related chapters. These are for the benefit of those of you who like to hop around where your interests lead you. At the end of the book I’ve offered some suggestions for further reading. So if you find a particular philosopher or a particular idea especially interesting, you’ll be able to find out more.

1 NOT BAD. JUST MISGUIDED

The Greek philosopher Socrates (c.469–399 BC) placed great faith in the power of human reason. He believed that reason, properly cultivated, will make us virtuous and happy; that once we truly know what is good we will do it; and that anyone who acts wrongly does so only through ignorance.

The sceptics among us might well wonder what planet Socrates was living on. We know from bitter experience just how impotent reason can be, and what an immense gulf there is between knowing what’s right and actually doing it.

The voice of reason

Of course, we wouldn’t expect a philosopher of Socrates’ stature to make such an outrageous-sounding claim without having his reasons. And, indeed, he did have his reasons. His

supporting argument runs as follows.

We are all hedonists. That is, everything we do is prompted by the desire to experience pleasure or to avoid pain. This means that all talk of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ ultimately boils down to considerations of pleasure and pain. Whatever leads to pleasure we call ‘good’; and whatever leads to pain we call ‘bad’.

Clearly, no one knowingly chooses pain over pleasure. But this is equivalent to saying that no one knowingly chooses the bad over the good (since the terms are interchangeable).

Therefore, anyone who does choose the bad in preference to the good must do so in error: because he mistakes it for the good.

Sound reasoners, then, will always do what is good for themselves. But will their wisdom also make them virtuous? Will it lead them to treat others well too? Socrates thought so. Here’s why. Acting unjustly, he said, is harmful not only to those we wrong but also to ourselves. When we act unjustly we damage our own souls. So doing what is right toward others is doing the right thing for ourselves too.

The voice of experience

Socrates claimed, then, that when we truly know what is good we will do it; that knowledge is virtue. The obvious rejoinder is that his argument cannot be sound since its conclusion is palpably false. People do very often choose the bad – even when they know it to be bad.

For example, a morbidly obese person may be in no doubt that his high-fat, high-sugar diet is ruining his health, making him unattractive and damaging his self-esteem. But his knowledge is impotent. Time after time, he finds himself knowingly choosing the bad in preference to the good.

Socrates’ response

Socrates anticipated this objection. He said: ‘[Most people] suppose that though present in a man, often not knowledge but something else is in control – now high spirits, now pleasure, now pain, sometimes sexual desire, and often fear.’ But, he insisted, the problem in such cases is not that knowledge is impotent, but rather that what appears to be knowledge isn’t really knowledge at all. Anyone who chooses a wrong course of action does so only because he is not truly convinced that it is the wrong course of action.

How could Socrates know this? Well, because we are all hedonists and will therefore always choose the greatest quantity of pleasure and the least quantity of pain – provided we do our

calculations correctly. It is simply absurd to suppose that anyone will knowingly choose the lesser pleasure or the greater pain. Therefore wrong choices simply must be the result of miscalculation.

If the morbidly obese man truly understood the nature of his choice, and was skilful enough in calculating its consequences, he would choose the seafood salad in preference to the burger and chips every time.

No true Scotsman

Socrates here seems guilty of using the No-True-Scotsman Move: an intellectual dodge designed to protect one’s claims from being falsified by counter-example. The No-True-Scotsman Move was identified and labelled by the British philosopher Antony Flew (1923–2010) in his 1977 book, Thinking Straight. A simple example goes like this:

John: No Scotsman puts sugar on his porridge.

Jane: But Angus McSporran’s a Scotsman, and he puts sugar on his porridge.

John: Maybe so. But no true Scotsman puts sugar on his porridge!

Isn’t this pretty much what Socrates does?

Socrates: Anyone who knows the good will choose it.

Phaedo: But Jonathan McGreedy knows the good, and he doesn’t choose it.

Socrates: Ah, but if he truly knew the good he would certainly choose it.

2 COULDN’T BE BETTER

Any reasonable person must concede that in many respects the world is a bit rubbish. Joy and beauty there may be; but there is also ugliness, anguish and pain. This poses a problem for theists (those who believe in an all-powerful, all-knowing, wholly benevolent God) since if God is all He’s cracked up to be, why has He created such a second-rate world?

The German philosopher and mathematician Gottfried Leibniz (1646–1716), a theist through and through, was acutely aware of this problem and addressed it in his 1710 work, the Theodicy. He presented the anti-theist’s challenge along the following lines:

1. If God were all-powerful, all-knowing and wholly benevolent then He would create the best of all possible worlds.

2. But this is no way the best of all possible worlds.

3. Therefore God isn’t all-powerful, all-knowing and wholly benevolent.

Possible worlds

What is meant by all this talk of ‘possible worlds’? Well, there are an infinite number of ways the world might conceivably have been. Each of these worlds is possible, and therefore God might have created it, provided that it is logically consistent. (Not even an all-powerful God can create a logically inconsistent world: for example, one in which two plus two equals five; or one identical to ours in every respect, including pig-physiology and the laws of physics, in which pigs fly.)

One way to think about this is to visualise some of the ways our world might have been. For example, this book might have had an extra chapter; the 2010 Haiti earthquake might never have happened; pigs might fly; and so on. These worlds of the imagination are all (provided they pass the test of logical consistency) possible worlds. In addition, there are any number of possible worlds so different from ours that the imagination balks at them.

Best possible world

Having cleared that up, we can now examine Leibniz’s response to the anti-theistic argument stated above. God’s reputation survives unscathed, Leibniz said, because this world, the one we inhabit, is the most perfect there can be. This is the best of all possible worlds!

This seems outrageous. Can Leibniz seriously have claimed that no world could possibly be any better than this one? How about a world with less pain, disease and suffering? How about,

to take a specific example, a world in which a 2010 earthquake doesn’t lead to hundreds of thousands of deaths and untold misery in Haiti?

In the Theodicy, Leibniz responded to this objection in two ways. First, he pointed out that although we can conceive, easily enough, of individual aspects of the world that might be improved, we are incapable of judging what the knock-on effects might be. Changes that appear to be for the better may, in fact, make things worse overall. God, on the other hand, sees everything, and, taking everything into account, creates the world with the highest possible ratio of good to bad.

Take mankind’s capacity to do evil, for example. There’s no doubt that this is the cause of much misery and suffering. God could, it seems, have created a world without moral evil but only by depriving us of free will. And since free will is, in Leibniz’s view, a superlative good, such a world would be inferior to the world we inhabit.

Second, Leibniz said that the standards we use to judge the merits of possible worlds are too parochial. We tend to judge purely in terms of human happiness whereas God applies other, richer, criteria. One of Leibniz’s suggestions is that from God’s perspective the best possible world would be the one in which the maximum variety of phenomena are produced by the simplest set of natural laws.

Fair enough. Let’s allow that for argument’s sake. But even so, how could Leibniz be sure that this world, with its precise ratio of phenomena and laws, and its precise admixture of good and evil, is the best there can possibly be?

This must be the best

This is his reply: ‘I do not believe that a world without evil, preferable in order to ours, is possible; otherwise it would have been preferred. It is necessary to believe that the mixture of evil has produced the greatest possible good: otherwise the evil would not have been permitted.’

In other words:

1. If God were all-powerful, all-knowing and wholly benevolent then he would create the best of all possible worlds.

2. But God is all-powerful, all-knowing and wholly benevolent.

3. Therefore this is the best of all possible worlds.

Leibniz turned the anti-theistic argument on its head: a piece of metaphysical manoeuvring so audacious that it brings to mind the story of the girl who murdered her parents and then asked the judge to have pity on a poor orphan.

History of Philosophy podcast

2011-09-19T09:17:00.001+01:00

If you're looking at this blog, chances are you're interested in philosophy. So you will most likely enjoy the History of Philosophy podcast, presented by Peter Adamson, professor of Ancient and Medieval Philosophy at King's College, London.

Adamson describes his entertaining and informative podcast as a history of philosophy 'without any gaps', and so far it certainly lives up to the hype. He's already done 44 episodes and hasn't yet got any further than Aristotle. So it's pretty thorough. At this rate, I reckon he'll need at least a few hundred episodes to reach the present day.

Anyway, it's a great free resource. Prof. Adamson really knows his stuff, and is a very engaging presenter. So check it out: here

Also, you can now download some free sample chapters from my new book, You Kant Make It Up: Strange Ideas from History's Greatest Philosophers. It's just been released in Ebook format. So it can be downloaded onto Kindle, PC, Ipad, Iphone and Android.

You'll find a description of the book,plus some sample chapters at Amazon's UK and Amazon's US site. They're here and here.

The book is also available in paperback, of course - and is currently on sale at a big discount from Amazon's UK store.

Happy philosophising!

The Body Beautiful - part 3

2011-09-01T03:35:00.003+01:00

Here's the third and final part of my series, The Body Beautiful, which appeared in The Straits Times's Mind Your Body supplement in 2008. If you like it, check out the rest of this blog, and consider adding yourself as a follower.

Also, please check out my new book, You Kant Make It Up: Strange Ideas from History's Greatest Philosophers. It's released today, and should be available soon from all good bookstores. It's currently on offer, at a whopping discount, from Amazon's UK store.

THE BODY BEAUTIFUL: PART 3 of 3

In my previous two columns I discussed the beauty of the human form. I pointed out that the physical features we find attractive in men and women tend to be those that denote health and vigour. And I said that while it is natural to admire beautiful faces and figures, and to want to look attractive ourselves, it is important to keep a sense of proportion.

There is no harm in wanting to look nice. And if this means getting plenty of sleep, eating nutritious food, exercising regularly and taking care over personal grooming, then so much the better. Physical beauty signifies good health. So it seems entirely appropriate to pursue personal beauty by adopting a healthy lifestyle.

Outer and inner beauty

But a healthy lifestyle can only achieve so much. Few of us are blessed with regular features, flawless complexions and statuesque figures. Most of us fall far short of the ideal of physical beauty, even if we take good care of ourselves. Fortunately, there are many ways to be beautiful. Physical appearance is only part of the story.

In his book, Learning from Wonderful Lives, Cambridge University psychologist, Dr Nick Baylis, writes: “I always thought how pleasing it would feel to be really beautiful … head-turningly handsome … so the women whose admiration I sought would recoil slightly in open-mouthed awe, which is what I seemed to do when confronted by someone stunning.”

I suspect that many of us have indulged in similar thoughts. But Dr Baylis goes on to say that he eventually came to realise that his initial response to someone’s physical beauty wore off predictably after a few occasions: “[After that] I seemed to crave only companionship and a refreshing stream of energy and bright ideas that never ran dry.”

There is more to beauty than meets the eye. Much more. Outer beauty - the beauty of appearance - makes a hell of a first impression. But a deeper, inner beauty is required to sustain our interest.

What do I mean by inner beauty? Well, just as there are external features (unblemished skin, lustrous hair, toned muscles, etc.) that we find attractive in others, so there are internal qualities that arouse our admiration: confidence, courage, kindness, intelligence and a sense of humour, to name just a few.

When, as a young man, I first read Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, I fell violently in love with the heroine, Elizabeth Bennett. This had nothing to with the way she looked (I cannot recall the novel saying very much about it). What attracted me was her personality – an intoxicating blend of charm, wit, good-humour and feistiness that still captivates me to this day.

Elizabeth Bennett is, of course a fictional example. But I would have no difficulty providing real-life examples of people with inner beauty, if only Mind Your Body’s readers knew the same people as me.

“We’d me making a great mistake to judge ourselves by the way we look,” says Dr Nick Baylis, “because that’s only a fraction of what true beauty is all about. We know from the studies of many lifetimes that humans find a balance of loving and confidence, and kindness and humour, to be highly attractive.”

Unlike outer beauty, which is immediately apparent to the most casual observer, inner beauty can be fully appreciated only by those who get to know us. It takes time for inner beauty to make an impact. But when it does, its effects are wide-reaching. Often, once we have come to appreciate someone’s inner beauty, it alters the way we look at them. We begin to see them through new eyes.

Many of us will have had the experience of finding someone physically attractive, even though we know they are actually not that good-looking. Somehow their personality, charm, goodness, wit or energy seems to shine through.

And the wonderful thing about inner beauty is that it endures. Physical beauty cannot last. No amount of anti-wrinkle cream or cosmetic surgery can shield us forever from the ravages of time. But there is no age-limit on courage, kindness or sense of humour. Inner beauty can last a lifetime.

2011-08-20T06:41:00.001+01:00

Here's part 2 of my Straits Times mini-series on the body beautiful...

If you like it, please add yourself as a 'follower'!

THE BODY BEAUTIFUL: PART 2 of 3

In my last column I wrote about the beauty of the human form. I pointed out that despite cultural and individual preferences, by and large, people share similar ideas about what makes someone beautiful. Furthermore, the physical features we find attractive in men and women (lustrous hair, unblemished skin, toned muscles, etc.) tend to be those that denote health and vigour.

Beauty, in all its forms, has the power to arouse our admiration. So it is perfectly natural for us to admire those with beautiful faces and figures, and to want to look attractive ourselves.

We must, however, keep a sense of proportion. Looks aren’t everything. Far from it. Research shows that stunningly attractive people are scarcely happier than the rest of us. So it is unwise to invest too much time and energy in the pursuit of beauty. As with so much in life, it is a matter of balance.

Aristotle’s Golden Mean

The Greek philosopher Aristotle (384-322 BCE) believed that balance is an essential element of the life well-lived.

If we examine any aspect of our lives, says Aristotle, we will find that there is a virtuous middle-state lying between two non-virtuous extremes. This middle-state is often referred to as the ‘Golden Mean’, though Aristotle himself never uses the phrase.

For example, we all have to face frightening situations from time to time. If we allow fear to overwhelm us and prevent us from acting decisively, then we are cowardly. But if we are oblivious to fear and behave recklessly, we are foolhardy. Between these two vices lies courage: a middle-state in which we give fear its due, but do not allow it to dictate our actions.

Similar considerations apply to anger. Those who take anger to excess are wrathful; whereas those deficient in anger are timid. Once again, the virtuous man or woman steers a middle course. It is difficult to find an appropriate label, but assertive comes close.

It is important to note that the golden mean does not necessarily lie halfway between two extremes. Its precise location depends upon the individual and upon circumstances. What would be considered courageous in a soldier might well be foolhardy in a civilian.

Aristotle gives a limited number of examples to illustrate the golden mean. But we can fruitfully apply his reasoning to any aspect of our lives.

Take work, for example. Too little commitment to work leaves us unable to provide adequately for ourselves and our families. But an excessive commitment to work leads to the unbalanced lifestyle of the ‘workaholic’. The Golden Mean lies somewhere between.

Personal beauty and the Golden Mean

What would be the Golden Mean with regard to personal beauty? Aristotle does not address this question. Perhaps he considered it unimportant. But that need not deter us from puzzling it out for ourselves.

A good starting point might be to consider what an excessive preoccupation with beauty would involve. For me, this conjures up an image of someone who wastes money on overpriced cosmetics, follows fad-diets, is terrified of ageing, and judges themselves and others largely in terms of physical appearance. This kind of person might be labelled vain.

Next we might consider what would be deficient in this regard. Here, the image I have is of someone who pays little attention to personal hygiene, is ill-groomed, and has ‘let themselves go’ through lack of exercise. The best label I can come up with is slovenly.

I apologise if the words vain and slovenly sound harsh and unpleasant. But I am attempting to define vices.

Somewhere between these extremes lies the Golden Mean. Precisely what this involves depends upon individuals and their circumstances. We might reasonably expect a young man on a first date to take great pains over his appearance. Plus, some people are naturally inclined to take an interest in clothes, hair and suchlike. Good luck to them. It would be a very dull world otherwise.

But, in general, I have an image of someone who practices good hygiene, takes reasonable care over personal grooming and gets enough exercise to stay fit and healthy.

Interestingly, this brings us full-circle. The features of the human body that we find beautiful are those that denote health and vitality; and the most balanced way to pursue personal beauty is to adopt a healthy and vital lifestyle.

Other ways to be beautiful

Of course, there are many ways to be beautiful. Physical appearance is only part of the story. This will be the subject of my next column.

The Body Beautiful - Part 1

2011-08-04T20:42:00.002+01:00

Here is part one of a three-part series, The Body Beautiful, which I wrote a few years ago for the Straits Times. I'll post parts 2 and 2 soon.

If you enjoy this, please consider adding yourself as a 'Follower' to this Blog.

THE BODY BEAUTIFUL: PART 1 of 3

Beauty takes many forms. A landscape can be beautiful. So can a symphony or a poem. Some people find beauty in ballet or football. Others discover it in scientific equations or games of chess.

My personal list of heart-achingly beautiful things includes: the night sky; the Australian outback; Kate Bush’s song This Woman’s Work; the mathematical proof that there are an infinite number of prime numbers; and Kate Winslet.

But what is beauty? What is the mysterious, magical quality that beautiful objects possess? What common characteristics do beautiful objects share? This is a fiendishly difficult question. Philosophers have debated it for thousands of years without finding a definitive answer.

But, nothing daunted, in this and the following two columns I would like to explore one very specific aspect of beauty: namely that of the human form.

The body beautiful

People often say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. By this, they mean that individuals’ perceptions of physical beauty are largely subjective. But I do not agree.

When very young babies are shown photographs of faces, they prefer to gaze upon those that are conventionally beautiful. This suggests that there are innate criteria for gauging physical attractiveness. Furthermore, people from diverse ethnic cultures tend to agree strongly about just how attractive individuals from other populations are. Again, this suggests that universal criteria are being applied.

Of course, there are some individual and cultural differences. Take skin-tone, for example. When I was living in Singapore I was amazed to see face-whitening products on sale in drug-stores. Here in the UK, people buy fake tan.

Despite these differences, by and large, people share similar ideas about what makes someone beautiful. The ideal male has a strong, athletic body. He is tall (but not too tall) with an upright posture. His features are regular and his skin unblemished. He has white teeth, bright eyes and lustrous hair.

Evolutionary psychology provides one theory about why we find such features attractive. Good teeth, bright eyes, lustrous hair and upright stature all denote good health. A strong, athletic physique implies the ability to hunt and fight well. So the conventionally beautiful man is the ideal mate. He is likely to produce healthy offspring and be a good provider.

Any woman who is predisposed to find such men attractive is correspondingly likely to mate with one, and therefore stands a better-than-average chance of passing on her own genetic material to future generations. Insofar as such predispositions are genetically encoded and inheritable, they will gradually come to predominate among women.

Similar considerations explain men’s preferences for certain physical characteristics in women.

In praise of the body beautiful

To me, this theory of physical attractiveness seems very plausible. In any case, there is no doubt that we humans take pleasure in faces and bodies of certain types. In itself, this is no bad thing. Why should we not take as much delight in shapely figures and handsome faces as we do in other beautiful objects?

And, since beautiful bodies are so attractive, who would not wish to possess one? Not in the sense of wanting a physically desirable mate (although, clearly, most of us do). But in the sense of wanting to be handsome or pretty oneself.

All else being equal, I would certainly prefer to be a few inches taller than I am, have whiter teeth and not be plagued by a receding hairline.

But here, a cautionary note is appropriate. Despite what we may think, good-looks actually do very little to improve our happiness. It is tempting to think, If only I were better-looking, I would be much happier. But in fact beautiful people turn out to be scarcely happier than the rest of us. So perhaps it is wise not to place too much emphasis on how we look.

It is natural for us to want to make progress in key areas of our lives. So we need not be ashamed of wanting to look healthy, well-groomed and attractive. But as with so much else in life it is all a matter of balance. This will be the topic of my next column.

You Kant Make It Up

2011-06-21T02:27:00.004+01:00

My new book, YOU KANT MAKE IT UP: STRANGE IDEAS FROM HISTORY'S GREATEST PHILOSOPHERS, will be released in the UK on 1st September, and in the US on 1st February.

It's currently available for pre-order on various UK online bookstores, including Amazon.

See my website for details: http://www.garyhayden.co.uk/

The Principle of Explosion

2011-05-24T07:46:00.001+01:00

Consider the following argument:

A tomato is a fruit.

A tomato is not a fruit.

Therefore David Beckham has a pimple on his bottom.

Contrary to appearances, it’s perfectly valid. Given that a tomato both is and is not a fruit, we can validly infer that David Beckham has a pimple on his bottom. In fact, given contradictory premises we can validly infer just about anything. For example, the following argument is also perfectly valid:

There are nine planets in the solar system.

There are not nine planets in the solar system.

Therefore I am a great philosopher

As is this one:

The sky is blue.

The sky is not blue.

Therefore Ringo was the most creative Beatle.

Ex falso quodlibet

Logicians have long appreciated that contradictory premises entail any conclusion. In medieval times this startling but valid rule of inference was known as ex falso quodlibet. Nowadays it is often labelled ‘the principle of explosion’.

Doubtlessly, many readers will protest that whatever Aristotle or medieval logicians might say, ex falso quodlibet is a load of bunk. Tomatoes are one thing. David Beckham’s bottom is another thing entirely. So how can we possibly argue from one to the other? Let’s find out.

Some background

Before demonstrating the validity of the principle of explosion we need to do a bit of spadework. First, consider the statement ‘John is sad or Alan is hungry’. This is comprised of two clauses linked by an ‘or’. In classical logic statements like this are true provided that one or both of the constituent clauses is true. This means that if ‘John is sad’ is true then ‘John is sad or Alan is hungry’ is also true.

Next, consider the statement ‘Mary is sleepy or Sarah is noisy’. If this statement is true but ‘Mary is sleepy’ is false then clearly ‘Sarah is noisy’ must be true.

The principle of explosion

Armed with this information, let’s re-examine the David Beckham argument. We’ll begin with the premises:

A tomato is a fruit

A tomato is not a fruit

Now, if ‘a tomato is a fruit’ is true then ‘a tomato is a fruit or David Beckham has a pimple on his bottom’ is also true. So, now we can say:

A tomato is a fruit

A tomato is not a fruit

A tomato is a fruit or David Beckham has a pimple on his bottom (from 1)

But if it’s true that ‘a tomato is a fruit or David Beckham has a pimple on his bottom’ and also true that ‘a tomato is not a fruit’ then it must be true that ‘David Beckham has a pimple on his bottom’. So:

A tomato is a fruit

A tomato is not a fruit

A tomato is a fruit or David Beckham has a pimple on his bottom (from 1)

David Beckham has a pimple on his bottom (from 2 and 3)

To make the logical structure of the argument clearer, let’s employ some shorthand. Let ‘P’ stand for the proposition ‘a tomato is a fruit’ and let ‘Q’ stand for the proposition ‘David Beckham has a pimple on his bottom’. Thus we have:

P is true

P is false

P is true or Q is true (from 1)

Q is true (from 2 and 3)

Clearly, ‘P’ and ‘Q’ could stand for any propositions we care to devise. Thus we have a general proof that anything can be inferred from contradictory premises.

I am the Pope

According to one old story, the English mathematician and philosopher A N Whitehead was once challenged to demonstrate that one can prove anything using contradictory premises. ‘Starting from the premise that four equals three, prove that you are the Pope,’ he was asked.

‘Easy!’ Whitehead replied. ‘Four equals three; subtract two from each side; then two equals one. It is commonly known that the Pope and I are two people. Therefore the Pope and I are one.’ (Some versions of the story substitute J. M. E. McTaggart, G. H. Hardy or Bertrand Russell for Whitehead. But never mind. It’s a great story anyway.)

Valid, but not sound

The principle of explosion is a perfectly good rule of inference according to classical logic. You really can derive anything from contradictory premises. However, we have to remember that ex falso quodlibet arguments, though valid, are not sound. Classical logicians hold that contradictions are never true, which means that one of the premises must always be false. This means we can never use the principle of explosion to actually prove anything.

Embracing Change

2011-02-09T04:54:00.004Z

In 2008, I wrote a series of articles for The Straits Times on the subject of Change. I've reprinted the third part below since it may be of interest to those who have read my 17th Feb 2011 Straits Times column on a related subject.

Embracing Change

In my previous two columns, I argued that change is a fundamental feature of our nature as human beings. There does not seem to be any part of us, either physically or mentally, that remains constant throughout our lifetimes.

Personally, I find this notion very liberating. It suggests that my character is not set in stone, but that I can exercise control over the kind of person I am, and the kind of person I become.

Embracing change

The Greek philosopher Heraclitus (see part 1 of this series) said, “Nothing is; everything is becoming.” It pleases me to think that this is as true of human persons as it is of every other object in the universe. We are constantly changing and developing; continually becoming.

Perhaps I can illustrate this using an example from my own life. In recent years, I have come to realise that I am a very self-absorbed person. By this, I mean that I spend far too much time thinking about myself and promoting my own welfare, and far too little time thinking about others and promoting their welfare.

Fortunately, self-absorption is not - or, at least, need not - be a permanent feature of my character. It is not as though I emerged self-absorbed from my mother’s womb and must remain self-centred throughout my entire life.

Let me put it another way. The label self-absorbed does not attach itself to me because of some fatal flaw in my makeup; it attaches itself simply because I have always tended behave in a certain way. This means that I can transcend the label anytime I want simply by changing my behaviour.

In fact, I have already made a start. I began by taking out by taking out my credit card and setting up a regular donation to a worthwhile charity; and then I committed myself to spending an afternoon each week doing voluntary work at an orphanage here in Vietnam.

I am not blowing my own trumpet here. My commitment of time and money is very modest and gives me little cause for self-congratulation. I am simply making the point that when saddened and disappointed by what I am, I can draw inspiration and courage from the thought of what I may yet become.

What would be the use of me sitting and bemoaning my egocentricity? Or saying to myself, ‘Poor me, I have such a selfish disposition!’ Disposition be damned. It is my actions that define me.

Once a coward, always a coward?

In his 1946 lecture, Existentialism is a Humanism, the French Philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980), addresses the question of what it is that makes a coward a coward, and a hero a hero.

“What people would prefer,” he says, “would be to be born either a coward or a hero… If you are born cowards, you can be quite content, you can do nothing about it… and if you are born heroes you can again be quite content; you will be heroes all your lives, eating and drinking heroically.”

Sartre rejects this notion outright. “[T]he coward makes himself cowardly, the hero makes himself heroic;” he says, “… there is always a possibility for a coward to give up cowardice and for the hero to stop being a hero.”

Redefining ourselves

I find this inspiring. There are many negative labels that we can attach to ourselves: self-absorbed, greedy, lazy, cowardly, unassertive, etc. But if Sartre is right (and I think he is) these labels do not attach to what we are, they attach to what we do. This is very good news, since it means that while there is life there is hope. As long as we live, we have the potential to change and develop; to become.

In his very readable book, Sartre: a Guide for the Perplexed, author Gary Cox puts it succinctly: “The ever-present possibility of transcending a label in the future necessarily prevents a person from ever permanently attaching a label to himself… Until death, a person can never arrive at a position where redefinition is impossible.”

Change is a fundamental feature of our nature as human beings. I, for one, intend to embrace it.

LOVE SERIES PART 8: FRIENDS AND LOVERS

2010-12-17T02:13:00.003Z

Here's the eighth and final part of the Love series I wrote for the Straits Times. If you enjoyed reading the series, don't forget that you can sign-up as a follower to this blog.

We need not, therefore, be afraid of joining the marriage-knot, which chiefly subsists by friendship, the closest possible.

(David Hume)

This is the last in a series of eight articles about love. Last week I considered what it means to be ‘in love’, and asked whether it is possible for a long-standing couple to stay in love.

I agreed with the philosopher André Comte-Sponville that the essence of romantic love (eros) is want. In other words, to be ‘in love’ is to be consumed by a passionate longing for someone.

Hence it is impossible for two people to stay ‘in love’ when they have lived together for a long time. Why? Because when want is satisfied it ceases to be want. We cannot continue to crave that which we already possess.

Love and liberty

The Scottish philosopher David Hume (1711-1776) once wrote an essay about marriage, polygamy and divorce. In it, he remarked that romantic love requires freedom in order to survive.

“Love is a restless and impatient passion, full of caprices and variations: arising in a moment… and suddenly extinguishing after the same manner. Such a love requires liberty above all things.” (From Hume’s essay, Of Polygamy and Divorces)

Typically, when two people fall in love, they are free and unattached. They live in different houses, lead separate lives and are free to give their hearts to whomever they choose.

Romantic love flourishes under these circumstances. The time lovers spend apart makes the time they spend together all the more precious; and love is all the sweeter when it is given freely and spontaneously.

But once two people commit to being ‘a couple’ (typically by marrying) they are no longer free to live and love as they please. Their actions and affections become bound by constraints - constraints that are entered into voluntarily, but constraints nonetheless.

Eros cannot flourish under these circumstances. Duty, responsibility and routine are inimical to passion. In time, the heart-palpitations and giddy intoxication of new-love must give way to something more serene.

Marital friendship

But although eros cannot survive without liberty, friendship can. David Hume writes:

“But friendship is a calm and sedate affection, conducted by reason and cemented by habit; springing from long acquaintance and mutual obligations; without jealousies or fears, and without those feverish fits of heat and cold, which cause such an agreeable torment in the amorous passion.”

Unlike eros, friendship thrives under constraint. The very stuff that chokes the life out of passion (duty, responsibility and routine) causes friendship to flourish and bloom.

“Friendship… never rises to such a height as when any strong interest or necessity binds two persons together, and gives them some common object of pursuit.”

This is why successful marriages are not characterised by swoons, sighs and palpitations of the heart – though they will have had their share of these things at the beginning. They are characterised by care, consideration and tenderness.

The happy couple, says Comte-Sponville, “have managed to transform the passion and ardour they had in the beginning into joy, gentleness, gratitude and trust, into happiness in being together.” In other words, into friendship.

Friends and Lovers

Does this mean that desire has no place in a long-standing relationship? Not at all. It merely changes.

The essence of eros is want. When we are ‘in love’ the desire we feel is urgent and hungry – even selfish. “At first we love only ourselves:” says Comte-Sponville, “the lover throws himself on the loved one like the newborn upon his mother’s breast - or the wolf upon the lamb.”

But as eros subsides and friendship increases, a couple learn to love less selfishly. Love-making becomes less urgent, but more generous; and although passion subsides, pleasure remains.

Successful couples manage to unite friendship with desire. In fact, the theologian and philosopher, St Thomas Aquinas, believed that the friendship between husband and wife is the greatest friendship there can be: “[F]or they are united not only in the act of fleshly union… but also in the whole range of domestic activity.”

The final word goes not to Comte-Sponville, David Hume or St Thomas Aquinas, but to leather-clad Seventies-rocker Suzi Quatro, from her song You Are My Lover:

You are my lover and my best friend

I think I’ve found the perfect blend

Love series. Part 7: Staying in Love.

2010-11-26T04:32:00.003Z

Here's part 7 of the 'Love' series I wrote for the Straits Times.

LOVE 07: Staying ‘In Love’

How can we passionately love the person with whom we have been sharing our daily life for years, or continue to idolise someone we know so well…?

(André Comte-Sponville)

This is the seventh in a series of articles about love. Back in part 1, I discussed romantic love and considered the notion that two people can be ‘made for each other’. I concluded that anyone who believes they’ll live happily-ever-after if only they can find the perfect partner is sure to be disappointed.

This week I will return to the subject of romantic love, and consider whether it is possible for a long-standing couple to stay ‘in love’?

Love as longing

In Ancient Greek, the word for romantic love is eros. In mythology, Eros is the god of love and sexual desire. There are different accounts of his birth. One of the best-known is found in Plato’s Symposium (see part 1 of this series), in the Speech of Diotima.

According to Diotima, Eros is the offspring of Penia (Goddess of Poverty) and Poros (God of Resource or Supply). With such grossly mismatched parents it comes as no surprise that Eros suffered from a dual nature, destined to fluctuate forever between poverty and plenty. Constantly craving; constantly consuming; but never satisfied.

Anyone who’s ever fallen in love will identify with this. To be ‘in love’ is to be in want. It is a passionate craving; an urgent longing to possess and be united with the beloved.

Passionate love is an obsession; a kind of madness. The song When You’re in Love by The Proclaimers sums it up beautifully:

Six thousand million people in the world

And you say there’s just one.

The only one and you must be together.

And if they love you the pain is so sweet, it just gets better and better. And if they don’t, you want them more than ever.

Eros is an intoxicating mixture of anguish and joy. You fall in love, and you suffer torment until she returns your love. When at last your have her in your arms, you’re transported into the seventh heaven.

But even the joy of this newfound union is tempered with pain. What if she ceases to love you? What if she leaves you? What if she learns to love someone else?

If you are lucky, the time comes when you are secure in her love. You love her and she loves you. You belong to one another. This sharing of passionate love is one of life’s most sublime experiences. Every precious moment ought to be savoured.

Because it cannot last.

The trouble with Eros

In chapter 18 of A Short Treatise on the Great Virtues the philosopher André Comte-Sponville explains why passionate love cannot last - why we cannot stay ‘in love’.

The nature of eros is want. But when want is satisfied, it ceases to be. We cannot continue to crave that which we possess.

So it is with lovers once they become ‘a couple’. Comte-Sponville writes, “If love is want, how can it survive after it has been fulfilled; how can it continue once it has been satisfied; how can we make love without unmaking it…?”

New love is wild and intoxicating. Who can forget the electric jolt that accompanies the first touch of a lover’s hand, or the heart-palpitations that accompany her first kiss?

But eventually satisfaction kills desire. We cannot stay ‘in love’ because we cannot stay in want. We cannot remain urgently in need of someone who is with us every night and every day.

Letting go of love’s young dream

“We should live our passion while we encounter it,” says Comte-Sponville. But we should understand that it cannot last.

How will we react when the first violent passions of eros subside? It seems to me that we have three choices.

We can become disappointed and frustrated - and perhaps angry with the lover whose kisses are no longer quite so urgent.

Or we can move from one grand passion to another, constantly rekindling the flames of love in the embraces of someone new.

Or we can accept that eros must sooner or later give way to something else - that love must change and not every change is for the worse. This will be the subject of part 8.

Loving Your Job

2010-10-15T02:35:00.004+01:00

Here's part 6 of the Love series I wrote for the Straits times. Don't forget, if you enjoy it, please register as a 'follower' of this blog.

LOVE 06: Loving Your Job

They sat down to do a job and they performed it like chimpanzees. Nothing personal in it. (Robert Persig, from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance)

This is the sixth in a series of articles about love. So far I’ve discussed romantic love (part 1), friendship (parts 3-5) and love for ‘the sub-human’ (part 2). This week’s topic is, loving your job.

It’s a fine thing to love your job. No-one doubts that. We all dream of a career that provides not just an income, but also enjoyment and a sense of accomplishment. But is it realistic? For most of us, isn’t work just an unpleasant fact of life?

I will try to answer these questions by considering two episodes from Robert Persig’s 1974 book, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (ZMM).

ZMM is an autobiographical novel. It describes a 17-day motorcycle journey across the United States, undertaken by an unnamed Narrator, his eleven year old son Chris, and a married couple named John and Sylvia. The book has sold millions of copies worldwide, and has been described as ‘the most widely read philosophy book, ever.’

Monday-morning blues

Early on in the novel, the four riders pull into a roadside picnic area to stretch their legs. Sylvia appears gloomy. The Narrator comments on it, and she tells him: “It was all those people in the cars coming the other way… The first one looked so sad. And then the next one looked exactly the same way, and then the next one and the next one…”

The Narrator points out that they were just commuting to work. “Well, you know, he says, “… work. Monday morning. Half asleep. Who goes to work Monday morning with a grin?”

And there’s little else to say. Work is work. Monday morning is Monday morning. It’s a fact of life.

Chimpanzee mechanics

Later in the book, the Narrator thinks back to a time when his motorcycle engine seized up on him and he took it to a repair-shop: “The mechanics… looked like children. A radio was going full blast and they were clowning around and talking and seemed not to notice me. When one of them finally came over he barely listened to the piston slap before saying, ‘Oh yeah. Tappets.’”

Months later, after a series of expensive, botched and unnecessary repair jobs, the Narrator took his motorcycle away and repaired it himself – by replacing a 25-cent pin.

He asks himself why those mechanics butchered his motorcycle the way they did, and thinks back to the repair-shop:

[The] biggest clue seemed to be their expressions. They were hard to explain. Good-natured, friendly, easygoing – and uninvolved. They were like spectators… There was no identification with the job. No saying, “I am a mechanic.”

Investing love

These incidents are very revealing. They tell us a lot about work, and about how we approach our jobs. Like those sad-faced commuters we all have to work, and it’s not always fun. Everyone gets the Monday-morning blues.

But the problem becomes compounded if, like those mechanics, you let yourself become detached from your job. If you cease to be involved with it. If there’s nothing personal about it.

The French philosopher André Comte-Sponville says, “Our lives – private and public, domestic and professional – have value only in proportion to the love we invest in them and find in them.”

The way to find value in your job is to invest love in it.

Cleaning toilets

Here in the UK, the job of toilet-attendant is not very highly thought of. Some people would rather live on benefits than clean toilets. It’s certainly not the kind of job you imagine anyone putting their heart and soul into.

Some time ago, my wife Wendy and I toured Scotland. On our way to the Isle of Skye we stopped at the Kyle of Lochalsh and used the public toilets. It was a memorable experience.

The toilet-attendant, Willie Jack, obviously took great pride in his job. He kept the facilities immaculately clean, and had decorated them with Scottish-themed souvenirs and trinkets. He’d named each cubicle after a Scots clan, and put self-penned Scottish poems around the walls.

He’d even gone to the trouble of collecting and freezing wild heather so he could decorate his loos with fresh-looking sprigs all year round.

Willie (now sadly retired) won the Scottish Loo of the Year Award many times. He appeared in numerous newspapers and magazines, and was regularly asked to pose for photos with foreign tourists. He turned a ‘dead-end’ job into an art - and a source of pride.

Conclusion

I’m not suggesting that every job is - or can be made - loveable. Some people work long hours at arduous jobs, and earn poor wages from unappreciative employers. I wouldn’t presume to lecture them about job-satisfaction.

But for many of us, the simplest way to get more out of our jobs is to put more of ourselves into them.

C S Lewis on True Friendship

2010-09-28T03:37:00.004+01:00

Here's the fifth part of the Love series I wrote for the Straits Times. You may wish to read the first four parts first, in which case simply scroll down the page.

By the way, if you enjoy reading this blog, please add yourself as a 'follower' or recommend it to a friend. Thanks!

LOVE 05: C. S. Lewis on True Friendship

(800 words)

“What we ordinarily call friends and friendships are nothing but acquaintanceships and familiarities formed by some chance or convenience … [But] in the friendship I speak of, our souls mingle and blend with each other so completely that they efface the seams that joined them.” (Montaigne)

This is the fifth in a series of articles about love. In the previous two weeks I discussed Aristotle’s analysis of the love that exists between friends.

Aristotle identifies three kinds of friendship: friendships of utility, friendships of pleasure and perfect friendship. The highest and noblest of these is perfect friendship, where we love people not merely because they are useful or pleasant, but because of who they are. This is what most of us would call true or real friendship. Friendship with a capital ‘F’.

Friendships like this give value and meaning to our lives. Without them, life would be empty. Aristotle says, “Without friends no-one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.” But how are such friendships forged?

C. S Lewis on Friendship

According to the writer C. S. Lewis (whose views on likings and loves I examined in part 2) Friendship arises out of Companionship.

Companionship is the feeling of closeness that comes about whenever people work together, play together or pursue common goals. You see it all the time: office-workers chatting during the lunch-break; football-players enjoying a drink after a game; church-goers picnicking on a Sunday afternoon…

Companionship and Friendship are not the same. “[Companionship] is often called Friendship,” says Lewis, “and many people when they speak of their ‘friends’ mean only their companions. But it is not Friendship in the sense I wish to give the word.”

There is no doubt that companionship is a good thing; and companions are friends, of a sort. But they are friends with a small ‘f’ - no substitute for the intimate friends we all want and need.

Although Companionship is not Friendship, it is Friendship’s source. C. S. Lewis calls it ‘the matrix of Friendship’. Our closest and dearest friends start out as mere companions – but then something sets them apart.

“Friendship arises out of mere Companionship when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest… which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure (or burden). The typical expression of opening friendship would be something like, “What? You too? I thought I was the only one.” (C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves)

An example

Perhaps I can illustrate this with a personal example. In my early thirties I became obsessed with the question of whether or not I ought to believe the doctrines of the Christian church. I had been brought up as a Christian, but had begun to have doubts.

This was a very lonely place to be. My non-religious friends couldn’t understand my passionate interest in religion; and my church-going friends disapproved of my doubts.

Luckily, my work brought me into contact with a Church of England minister, named Rick. He was the first person I had ever met who was passionately committed to the Christian faith, but willing to accept that others might have valid reasons to doubt it.

Rick was older than me, but that didn’t matter. I had found somebody who shared (or at least sympathised) with my obsessions, and we became firm friends. In the end I rejected the Christian faith and became an agnostic. But our friendship survived.

With characteristic insight, C. S. Lewis observes, “The man who agrees with us that some question, little regarded by others, is of great importance, can be our friend. He need not agree with us about the answer.”

Making friends

Dale Carnegie’s 1936 book, How to Win Friends and Influence People, has sold millions of copies worldwide. Its success shows just how important friends are. It’s a good book, which offers sound, practical advice. But its techniques have more to do with Companionship than Friendship.

In The Four Loves, after describing how Friendships arise through shared insights, C. S. Lewis adds, “That is why those pathetic people who simply ‘want friends’ can never make any. The very condition of having Friends is that we should want something else besides Friends.”

His point is valid. True friendship requires that people ‘see the same truth’. There has to be something for the friendship to be about.

Aristotle says, “The wish for friendship arises quickly; friendship does not.” It cannot be forced. But it will develop naturally, given time and the right conditions.

There is no magic formula for ‘winning friends’ – not real friends, anyway. Friendship would be impoverished if there were. Perhaps the best advice is simply to lead a full life, cultivate interests, and treat people with consideration and respect. Friendship will follow.

2010-09-16T04:47:00.001+01:00

Here's the fourth part of the Love series I wrote for the Straits Times:

LOVE 04: Friendships of Pleasure and Perfect Friendship

(800 words)

“Those who wish well to their friends for their sake are most truly friends.” (Aristotle)

This is the fourth in a series of articles about love. Last week I started to examine the love that exists between friends, beginning with Aristotle’s account of friendships of utility. In this type of friendship we love people not for who they are, but because they are useful to us. Such friendships tend to be shallow and are quickly dissolved.

Many workplace friendships are based on utility. This is not to say that they are necessarily bad. On the contrary, they help us to work more productively and make our workdays more enjoyable. But it is perhaps foolish to expect too much from them.

In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle goes on to examine two other kinds of friendship: friendships of pleasure and perfect friendship.

Friendships of pleasure

In friendships of pleasure we love people because we find their company pleasant. Aristotle gives the example of people who are always cracking jokes and making us laugh. “It is not for their character that men love ready-witted people, but because they find them pleasant,” he says.

Pleasure also lies at the heart of friendships between people who share hobbies and interests. I play squash, and have lots of squash-partners who are, in a sense, friends. But I know very little about them, and they know very little about me. Our friendship is based solely on the pleasure we derive from playing sport together.

Friendships of pleasure have a lot in common with friendships of utility. Both are ultimately rather selfish, and both are quickly dissolved.

But the key feature of utility-based and pleasure-based friendships is that they are incidental. They are formed by chance rather than by choice. I have no special affinity with my workmates; I just happen to work with them. And it’s no big deal if I lose one of my squash partners; I simply find myself another one. “For it is not as being the man he is that the loved person is loved, but as providing some good or pleasure,” says Aristotle.

Perfect friendship

In perfect friendship we love people not merely because they are useful or pleasant, but because of their character. We love them for who they are.

“Perfect friendship is the friendship of men who are good, and alike in virtue… [and who] wish well to each other. Now those who wish well to their friends for their sake are most truly friends; for they do this by reason of their own nature and not incidentally.” (Aristotle)

Perfect friendship isn’t tinged with selfishness in the way that utility-based and pleasure-based friendships are. It has as much to do with giving as receiving. Unsurprisingly, such friendships are rare and take time to develop. “A wish for friendship may arise quickly, but friendship does not,” says Aristotle.

Harry Potter

The theme of friendship runs strongly through J K Rowling’s Harry Potter books. The relationship between Harry, Ron and Hermione provides a good example of Aristotle’s perfect friendship in action.

A number of incidental circumstances initially bring the three Hogwarts pupils together. For example, they are all put into the same house, Gryffindor. But it is character rather than circumstances that binds them together. They are all brave, fiercely loyal, and share a highly developed sense of justice and fairness.

It is the mutual recognition of one another’s goodness that makes their friendship so special and enduring, and makes them willing to risk even their lives for one another.

I am fond of quoting André Comte-Sponville: “Our lives – private and public, domestic and professional – have value only in proportion to the love we invest in them and find in them.” This is certainly borne out in Harry Potter’s experience.

I recently watched Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Harry goes through some very difficult times in this film. Only the support of his friends prevents him from sinking into despair. At the climax of the film, nothing less than love and friendship can provide him with strength of will to continue the fight against Voldemort.

A hierarchy of friendship

Clearly there is a hierarchy of friendship, with utility-based friendships at the bottom, perfect friendship at the top, and pleasure-based friendships in-between. Each type of friendship is necessary, and each adds a certain amount value to our lives.

But perfect friendship is what we really desire. Or perhaps the word ‘perfect’ is misleading. After all, nothing’s perfect. But in any case, we want friendships that go beyond utility and pleasure. We want true friends, good friends, real friends, friends who will stick by us and love us for ourselves…

But how are such friendships formed? This will be our topic next week.

2010-08-24T10:25:00.000+01:00

Here’s the third part of the ‘Love’ series I wrote for the Straits Times. See previous posts for parts 1 and 2.

LOVE 03: Friendships of Utility

“Without friends no-one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.” (Aristotle)

This is the third in a series of articles about love. Last week I mentioned that we use the word love in many different ways: to describe our feelings towards marriage-partners, children, friends, and even foods and pastimes.

Over the next three weeks I will be focussing on the love that exists between friends. The Greek philosopher Aristotle (384-322 BCE) discusses this in his Nicomachean Ethics.

Three kinds of friendship

Aristotle begins by considering the question: how many kinds of friendship are there? As always, he proceeds in a very logical manner. Friendship is a form of love, he reasons. But not everything can be an object of love. We love only things that are useful, pleasant or good.

There are, then, three corresponding kinds of friendship. In friendships of utility we love people because they are useful to us. In friendships of pleasure we love people because we find them pleasant. And in perfect friendship we love people for themselves, because we perceive them to be good.

This week, I will consider friendships of utility. Next week I will consider friendships of pleasure and perfect friendship.

Utility-based friendship

Aristotle says, “Those who love each other for their utility [usefulness] do not love each other for themselves, but in virtue of some good which they get from each other.” This is the least perfect form of friendship, because the love involved is ultimately self-directed. If I love you for what I can get from you, it is really myself that I love.

Friendships of this type are quickly dissolved. Once they outlive their usefulness, the friendship ends. Because, says Aristotle, “They were lovers not of each other but of profit.”

Friendships of utility are (by definition) useful; they are an essential part of life. But they can easily lead to bitterness. One problem is that when people use each other for their own interests they are likely to feel let down when they don’t get everything they expect.

A deeper, and potentially more damaging, problem arises when one of the people involved misunderstands the nature of the friendship. If I think you love me for my character, and then find that you love me only because I am useful to you, I will become angry and upset.

“Most differences arise between friends when they are not friends in the spirit in which they think they are,” says Aristotle.

Case-study: Lisa Simpson

There’s an episode of The Simpsons in which, during a sweltering-hot summer, the Simpson-family build themselves a swimming-pool. The local children descend upon them en-masse, and for the first time Lisa enjoys a taste of popularity.

The situation is beautifully summed up in a conversation between Lisa and the purple-haired twin sisters, Sherri and Terri.

Sherri: Isn’t it amazing? The same day you got a pool is the same day we realized

we like you!

Terri: The timing worked out great, don’t you think?

This is a perfect example of friendship based solely on utility. The children don’t like Lisa for herself, but only for her pool. Deep-down, Lisa knows this, but chooses to ignore it.

Lisa: (thinking) They’re only using you for your pool, you know.

(aloud) Shut up, brain! I got friends now. I don’t need you anymore.

Predictably, Lisa’s popularity is short-lived. The pool gets so full it bursts apart, and her friends desert her.

Are work-friends real friends?

Not all friendships of utility are exploitative. In his book The Philosophy of Friendship Mark Vernon points out that most workplace friendships are utility-based.

The thing that unites us with our workmates is a set of common goals, which we must pull together to achieve. It’s only natural that some camaraderie will ensue, and this is a good thing. Our workplace friendships make us more productive, and make our work more enjoyable.

But these friendships tend to be rather shallow. We all know how embarrassing it is to bump into a colleague at the supermarket. Even if we’re on good terms with them in the workplace, we find we have little to say to them outside of it.

We also know how quickly workmates are forgotten once they move to a new job. We may have enjoyed their company day-in day-out for years. But once they’ve gone, it’s as though they never existed.

This is because most workplace friendships are ultimately determined by their utility. What unites us is our work, not our characters. And, in the words of Aristotle, “When the motive of the friendship is done away, the friendship is dissolved, inasmuch as it existed only for the ends in question.”

Avoiding the pitfalls

It is wise simply to accept friendships of utility for what they are. There’s little point bemoaning their shallowness if it’s in their nature to be shallow. For more meaningful friendships, we must look elsewhere…

The Philosophy of Love. Part 2 - Likings and Loves

2010-08-18T05:41:00.005+01:00

Here, at long last, is the second part of the series on the Philosophy of Love which I wrote for the Straits Times about three years ago. I've now found out how to copy and paste stuff from Word into Blogger (not as straightforward as it sounds). So the rest of the articles should follow thick and fast from now on.

LIKINGS AND LOVES

“Our lives – private and public, domestic and professional – have value only in proportion to the love we invest in them and find in them.” (André Comte-Sponville)

This is the second in a series of articles about love. Last week I looked at the Speech of Aristophanes from Plato’s symposium, and concluded that anyone seeking salvation through a romantic relationship will be disappointed.

With so many varieties of love, and so many legitimate objects of love, it is a mistake to focus on one individual.

Love - a four-letter word

Love was recently voted Singapore’s favourite English word. For such a small word, it has a big following! It also has many uses. We use it to describe how we feel towards our husbands and wives, our children, our friends - and even our favourite foods and pastimes.

When philosophers talk about love, they’re usually quick to dismiss statements like: I love chocolate; and I love walking in the park. In such cases, we are told, the word love is misapplied. What we really mean is that we like these things very much. The discussion then moves swiftly on to ‘genuine’ kinds of love, such as friendship, sexual-attraction, familial affection, and so on.

I find this abrupt dismissal of a whole class of statements about love quite disconcerting. It isn’t that I care very much whether the word love or like is used to describe my feelings towards chocolate. But I can’t help feeling that the word like doesn’t adequately describe what I feel for the novels of Charles Dickens, the music of the Beatles or the beauty of the night sky.

C. S. Lewis: Likings and Loves

The philosopher, theologian and writer, C. S. Lewis (1898-1963), author of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, felt the same way. In his 1960 book, The Four Loves, he devotes an entire chapter to: Likings and Loves for the Sub-human.

According to him, when we say we like / love chocolate or country-walks, we mean that we take pleasure in them. Now, pleasures can be divided into two groups: those that are preceded by desire, and those that are not.

A glass of water is an example of the first type. When you are thirsty, a glass of water is a very great pleasure. But, as Lewis points out, no-one ever pours themselves a glass of water ‘just for the fun of the thing’.

An example of a pleasure not preceded by desire would be the fragrance of flowers meeting you unexpectedly on your morning walk. “You were in want of nothing, completely contented before it,” writes Lewis. “The pleasure, which may be very great, is an unsolicited, super-added gift.”

Lewis labels these contrasting types of pleasures: Need-pleasures and Pleasures of Appreciation.

It is characteristic of Need-pleasures that they very quickly die on us. A glass of water is very appealing when we are thirsty, but becomes a matter of indifference once we have drunk. The pleasure lasts no longer than the need.

Pleasures of Appreciation are very different. The pleasure we take in the smell of flowers, the beauty of the stars or a Mozart symphony seems somehow to take us outside ourselves. We feel that: “Something has not merely gratified our senses… but claimed our appreciation by right.”

There is even a glimmer of unselfishness about pleasures of appreciation. We can imagine a wine-connoisseur, on his deathbed, taking care that his vintages are preserved properly to be enjoyed by others. After all, such fine wines deserve to be enjoyed!

“In the appreciative pleasures… we get something we can hardly help calling love and hardly help calling disinterested [i.e. unselfish].” (C. S. Lewis)

Who cares?

At the beginning of this essay, I quoted André Comte-Sponville: “Our lives… have value only in proportion to the love we invest in them and find in them.” I will repeat this many times during the course of this series, because it encapsulates something very important: love gives value to our lives.

This is why I have spent all this time justifying the use of the word love to describe my feelings towards Charles Dickens, the Beatles and the night sky. I don’t wish to dismiss these things as mere likings, because they bring tremendous value to my life.

It’s taken me years to really appreciate them. Dickens’s novels are not exactly light reading; it takes effort to learn to identify the constellations; and without the many hours I’ve spent unsuccessfully attempting to master the guitar, I don’t think I could properly appreciate the artistry of the Beatles.

But the effort has been worthwhile. After all, love takes work.

Not all readers will share my love of Dickens, The Beatles and astronomy. Some will gain appreciative pleasure from Mozart’s symphonies, fine Indian-cooking, or the footballing artistry of Wayne Rooney. In my view, they can all be objects of love, because they all bring real value to our lives.

The Philosophy of Love - Part 1

2010-04-30T06:38:00.034+01:00

A Straits Times reader e-mailed me recently, suggesting that I make my website more informative, perhaps by posting some of my past articles.

It sounded like a good idea. So I've decided to post, here on my blog, a series on The Philosophy of Love that I wrote for The Straits Times about three years ago.

I'll post one article a week for the next eight weeks, which means I'll be able to update my blog regularly even though I'm up to my neck researching and writing my latest book.

Anyway, here goes. Hope you like the series...

LOVE 01: MADE FOR EACH OTHER

"When a... person... meets that very person who is his other half, he is overwhelmed... with affection, concern and love. The two don't want to spend any time apart." (Aristophanes, from Plato's Symposium)

Earlier this year, I wrote a series of articles about happiness. In this second series, I will consider a subject that is just as important: love. Once again, I will be drawing upon the wisdom of some of history's greatest thinkers.

I will begin by considering the Symposium - one of the best-loved works by one of the undisputed giants of philosophy, Plato (427-347BC).

The Myth of Aristophanes

The Symposium takes the form of a dialogue - a play, of sorts. The setting is a drinking-party in Athens where guests take turns making speeches in praise of Eros, the god of love. There are six speeches in all, each giving a different perspective on love. The most celebrated is the Speech of Aristophanes.

Long ago, says Aristophanes, the human race was very different than it is today. Each person was shaped like a ball: with two rounded backs, four arms, four legs, two sets of genitals and two heads.

Back then, humans were powerful and proud. So much so that they attempted to overthrow the gods. As a punishment, Zeus sliced each of them in half, making the kind of individuals we see today.

What we now experience as erotic love is really the desire to be reunited with our other halves and made whole again: "[The] human race can only achieve happiness if love reaches its conclusion, and each of us finds his loved one and restores his original nature."

Plato didn't intend us to take Aristophanes' speech too seriously. The historical Aristophanes was a comic poet whom Plato despised. In the Symposium, Plato's own views about love are represented by the character Socrates.

But despite this, it is Aristophanes' speech that receives the greatest acclaim, and which has most influenced our contemporary notions of romantic love.

The Myth of Aristophanes finds its contemporary expression in the concept of the soul-mate. A soul-mate is someone who is made for us, accepts us just as we are, and somehow makes us complete.

Modern myths

It's a beautiful and romantic idea, and one that strikes a chord deep within. Many of our best-loved stories are built upon this notion.

Take Ross and Rachel from the US television series, Friends. How relieved we are when, in the final episode, they finally accept what we have known all along - that they belong together. We know that they'll live happily ever after because... well, because their love is 'meant to be'.

Or consider the movie, Bridget Jones's Diary. The heroine, Bridget is a mass of anxieties and neuroses. But salvation is at hand in the form of human-rights lawyer, Mark Darcy.

"I like you very much," says Darcy.

"Ah - apart from the smoking and the drinkingthe vulgar mother and the verbal diarrhoea....?" Bridget replies.

"No," insists Darcy. "I like you very much. Just as your are."

After this, we know that Bridget has found true love - the kind of love we dream of and long for. Her life will surely be transformed.

The cold, hard truth.

Sentiment aside, we know that love isn't quite so simple.

If Ross's and Rachel's past is anything to go by, their future together will have its share of conflict and heartache. And anyone who's seen the sequel to Bridget Jones's Diary will know that Bridget's anxieties and neuroses don't simply melt away in the warmth of Darcy's embrace. These stories are wonderful entertainment, but they have little to do with love - real love, that is.

There are some things that we may reasonably expect from a romantic partner: passion, excitement, companionship, and perhaps even marriage and children. But it is foolish to expect salvation.

Psychologist R. J. Sternberg sums it up neatly: "Some people seek salvation in love, much as other people do in religion, hoping to find in another the perfection they cannot find in themselves... But eventually disillusionment is almost certain to set in. They discover two facts. First, the other person has flaws... Second, no other human can save them - not even the love of their life." (From his book, Cupid's Arrow: the Course of Love Through Time)

The power of love

This is not to say that I am sceptical about love. On the contrary, I agree with the French philosopher, Andre Comte-Sponville: "Our lives - private and public, domestic and professional - have value only in proportion to the love we intest in them and find in them."

Focussing our love on any one individual is a recipe for disaster, but fortunately there are many kinds of love, and many legitimate objects of love. We can love friends, family, neighbours, sexual partners, ourselves - and perhaps even our enemies.

Over the coming weeks I will consider the many varieties of love from the perspective of some first-rate thinkers. Hopefully their insights will lead to a clearer understanding of both the perils and the promise of love.

All the nice girls like... philosophy

2010-04-02T05:23:00.008+01:00

I have a confession to make. I'm a compulsive ego-Googler.

Pretty much every day, I check to see if I've appeared on anyone's blog or web-page. Not infrequently, I find someone commenting on my latest Straits Times column - which is very gratifying.

Some time ago, I came across a Flickr page featuring a photograph of an attractive young woman reading This Book Does Not Exist. Her name is Samantha T. She's a talented amateur photographer and a dab-hand at Photoshop.

You can see the photo here: www.flickr.com/photos/samanntran/4040709209

And while you're there, check out her other pics.

Moral Luck

2009-10-08T06:21:00.027+01:00

Please read my previous post, 'Niceness, Nastiness and Moral Luck', before reading this one.

Done? Great! Then off we go...

Here's a well-known illustration of the concept of moral luck.

Two men, Bill and Fred, drive home from work one evening. Partway through his journey, Bill loses concentration and runs a red light. Sadly there's an old woman crossing the road at just that moment. Bill smashes into her and she dies.

As Fred drives home, he too loses concentration and runs a red light. Luckily for him no-one is crossing at the time. So there's no harm done.

Bill is later prosecuted for driving without due care and attention. The old lady's relatives hate him, and he is shunned by some of his former friends. Fred, on the other hand, is able to joke about his lapse of concentration. No-one judges him harshly since no-one was hurt.

Why is Bill castigated but not Fred? Simply because Bill was unlucky. It just so happened that he ran the red-light when someone was crossing. Fred, on the other hand, was lucky enough to run the red light when the road was clear.

There, you have the essence of moral luck.

If were to stop and think about it, most of us would agree that praise and blame ought to be applied to the content and/or intent of someone's actions, and not to any accidental outcomes. Yet, in practice, the outcomes of someone's actions strongly influence the way we judge them - even when those outcomes are largely a matter of luck.

Here's something to puzzle over:

There appear to be two things that go together to determine my character and conduct. First there's my natural temperament; and second there's my upbringing. In other words, I am a product of both nature and nurture.

But here's the kicker. I didn't choose my natural temperament. I was born with it. Similarly, I didn't choose the manner of my upbringing. It was decided for me by my parents.

Now, since I chose neither my nature nor my nuture, isn't my character and behaviour all ultimately down to luck? And isn't the same thing true for everyone else on the planet?

But, for all that, nice people are still so much nicer than nasty ones!

Niceness, Nastyness and Moral Luck

2009-09-04T03:52:00.022+01:00

I've just finished re-reading Kingsley Amis's hilarious 1954 novel, Lucky Jim, which I first read perhaps fifteen or twenty years ago. I loved it back then, and I still love it as much as ever today.

The novel follows the fortunes and mis-fortunes of a reluctant Medieval History lecturer, Jim Dixon. Much of the action revolves around his relationship with two women: Margaret Peel and Christine Callaghen.

Fellow-lecturer, Margaret, is an emotional blackmailer who plays on Dixon's sense of duty and pity in order to keep him tied-up in a deeply unsatisfying relationship with her. Christine is an attractive young women, who is dating the son of Dixon's boss, Professor Welch.

At one point, Dixon muses upon what it is that has made these two very different women the people they are. He reaches the conclusion that it is largely down to luck.

Many of Margaret's problems and her most unappealing character traits have arisen as a consequence of her sexual unattractiveness. Similarly, much of what is appealing and nice about Christine has come about because of her sexual attractiveness. Neither women are ultimately responsible for their level of attractiveness. Therefore, Margaret's nastyness and Christine's niceness are really just a matter of luck.

But here's the kicker. We might be tempted to think that these considerations somehow diminish the importance of Christine's niceness and Margaret's nastyness. But not so.

Here's how Jim Dixon puts it: "To write things down as luck wasn't the same as writing them off as non-existent or in some way beneath consideration. Christine was nicer and prettier than Margaret, and all the deductions that could be drawn from that fact should be drawn: there was no end to the ways in which nice things are nicer than nasty ones."

I think this is a wonderful and perceptive quote. I've been turning it over in my mind a lot since re-reading Lucky Jim, and it seems to me to be very much tied up with the philosophical concept of moral luck.

I'll explore the topic of moral luck in my next blog update.

Two amazing philosohy podcasts

2009-06-24T01:31:00.010+01:00

It's a reasonable assumption that if you're visiting this site you're interested in popular philosophy. If so, here are two recommendations for brilliant podcasts where you can learn more about the subject.

Philosophy Bites

This weekly podcast is presented by Nigel Warburton and David Edmonds. Nigel is Senior Lecturer in Philosophy at the UK's Open University, and has written some of the best introductory philosophy books you can buy, including Philosophy: the Basics. David makes radio programmes for the BBC, and has written a number of books including Bobby Fischer Goes to War, a fascinating account of the 1972 World Chess Championship between Bobby Fischer and Boris Spassky (Yes, I have read it. I loved it.)

To date, there are more than 100 fifteen-minute podcasts available at PB, on subjects ranging from Socratic Method to Kant's Metaphysics. Each episode involves an interview with an expert guest. It has to be said that some of the guests are more interesting than others. But on the whole, this is a fabulous resource, with dozens of dozens of interesting topics explored and expounded. And it's free.

Philosophy Talk

This one-hour weekly radio show is presented by Ken Taylor and John Perry, philosophy professors from Stanford University. John and Ken are as engaging as they are erudite, and do a great job of bringing ´the richness of philosophical thought to everyday subjects´.

During the past four years, Philosophy Talk has covered subjects ranging from Terrorism to Intelligent Design; Baseball to Beauty; and Making Decisions to Overcoming the Terror of Death.

Past programmes are available on streaming audio for free, or as downloadable podcasts for just US$2.95. I always pay for the download and then put the file onto ITunes.

The best-spent hour of your life...

2009-05-22T04:29:00.029+01:00

Over the years, I've read many books that have influenced and inspired me. Certain passages have had such a profound effect that it would be fair to describe them as life-changing.
Here are some examples:

The opening paragraphs of Descartes' Meditations
Sartre's short lecture/essay, Existentialism and Humanism
The opening chapter of Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
The chapter where Digory rings the bell in C. S. Lewis's The Magician's Nephew
Hume's Essay, Treatise and Enquiries (can't single out any particular bits: they're all good)
Etc.

Today, I have another life-changing work to add to my list: Seneca's essay On the Shortness of Life. A Straits Times reader brought it to my attention recently after reading my Mind Your Body series about growing old. I can't thank him enough.

I've read and re-read Seneca's essay, and will doubtlessly re-read it many more times in the coming years. It's a wonderful, inspiring and challenging work, in which the Stoic philosopher demonstrates just how much of our time we spend existing rather than living.

I'll be exploring his views in an upcoming Mind Your Body series. But anyone who's interested in going straight to the source can check out the full text here: http://www.forumromanum.org/literature/seneca_younger/brev_e.html

It takes less than an hour to read, and might just turn out to be the most wisely-invested hour of your life...

A brand new paradox

2009-05-02T07:15:00.000+01:00

Last weekend, some friends and I were guests at a wedding reception. Afterwards, on the taxi-drive home, the conversation turned to goal-setting.

"I'm sick of goal-setting," I said. "This year, I'm going to set myself just one goal: not to achieve any goals."

My beer-soaked brain turned this over for a few moments, and then I exclaimed, "Hey - that's a paradox! If I don't achieve any goals then I've achieved my goal... which means I've failed to achieve it. But that means I've achieved it after all. Which means I've failed to achieve it. Which means..."

"Who brought him?" grumbled someone from the back of the taxi.

"Not me. I've never seen him before in my life," my wife replied.

Which just goes to show how unappreciated we philosophers are. I invent a brand-new paradox, and am repaid with scorn. Now I know how Socrates felt.