Author: David Livingstone

By Chiara Sedola

What makes a life well lived is one of the key questions explored in Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich and a topic relevant to everyone. However, most characters do not give the matter any thought while alive, preferring to live according to social convention, which requires no contemplation whatsoever. This way of life is straightforward, although it is never enough for them. The highest good is what Tolstoy calls the “pleasant,” which revolves around self-gratification. It aims for status, ease, and, most importantly, independence from the “unpleasant” constraints on the self in the form of moral obligations to others. These characters abandon those closest to them when they hinder their egocentric goals, so, similar to their entire life, relationships between characters are shallow and inauthentic. But the text is opposed to a life that exchanges the pursuit of true happiness in connection with others with pursuing the egoistically framed pleasant. Unfortunately, the characters cannot reflect on their false way of living because death – the ultimate limit on the self – is incompatible with egocentric convention. Yet acknowledgement of death is necessary to evaluate one’s way of life because death means that one must choose how to spend their time as their life is finite. They avoid thinking of death like they avoid other types of unpleasantness – denial. As a result, most characters have no understanding of a meaningful life with connections to others. Only when a character faces mortality, an aspect of life in common with others, can they see an essential part of a meaningful life – compassion.

The socially conventional way to live is devoid of any consideration of morals and characterized by professional and social advancement and vain materialism. From the beginning, Ivan Ilyich exemplifies this perfectly proper life, which is also “the simplest, the most ordinary, and the most terrible” (Tolstoy 27). His indoctrination into a life of social convention begins while he is at school. The narrator tells the reader that:

[Ivan Ilyich] had done things at school which at the time seemed extremely nasty to him, and made him feel disgusted with himself when he did them, but later, seeing that such things were done by men of high standing as well and that they did not consider them wrong, he did not exactly accept them as right, but he completely forgot about them and was not upset in the least when he did remember them. (28)

Ivan Ilyich’s education dulls his conscience and provides a standard of conduct based not on virtue but on imitation. To be more precise, imitation of those with higher social standing – an arbitrary ideal that Ivan Ilyich chases incessantly through prestigious promotions and their accompanying salary increases (35, 39). Of course, no matter what his salary, Ivan Ilyich spends it all, and more, by hosting dinner parties with eminent socialites and keeping up appearances. Ivan Ilyich’s preoccupation with adorning his house with “decorations [that] were essentially the same as those of all people who are not really rich, but who want to resemble rich people, and therefore only resemble one another” exemplifies his obsession with pretense (39). Ironically, all the effort Ivan Ilyich puts into impressing society and flaunting his propriety is in vain, for although “all of it seemed special to him,” his house is interchangeable with any other and thus “didn’t even merit attention” (39). Further, the approval of society is ultimately what Ivan Ilyich dies for – he fatally injures himself while hanging some drapery (38-9). The socially proper way to live encourages a kind of moral death by replacing ethical principles with conformity to the majority’s opinion, which is ethically arbitrary.

At the root of social convention is a devotion to egoism, which expresses itself in pursuing the pleasant and avoiding the unpleasant. The pleasant is defined as whatever is pleasurable, specifically “sensuality and vanity” as long as it falls “within certain limits” approved by society (28). On the other hand, unpleasantness is anything, or anyone, that presents an obstacle to pleasure or propriety. Any constraints on the freedom of the self to do what it pleases is seen as intolerable. As we will see, this includes obligations to others, even close friends and family members.

Living strictly according to self-interest eliminates the possibility of any genuine relationship with others. Most of the characters believe that other people should make their life more pleasant by helping them climb the social ladder or making their lives more comfortable. They are so focused on themselves that they do not see other people as fellow individuals with their own wants and needs, but as tools whose usefulness comes and goes. This falsity is evident from the opening page when Ivan Ilyich’s “closest friends” learn of his death. Although “they had all liked him,” instead of expressing grief or sorrow at the loss of their friend, “the first thoughts of the gentlemen gathered there concerned the consequences of that death for the transfer or promotion of the gentlemen themselves and their acquaintances” (19). Because there was never any genuine connection, they feel no loss themselves. On the contrary, they focus on themselves and what they can gain from Ivan Ilyich’s loss.

The reader can also see this lack of authentic love and care in the case of Ivan Ilyich’s marriage to Praskovya Fyodorovna. He believes that his marriage will “enhance” the quality of his life, which is already “easygoing, pleasant, cheerful, always proper and approved of by society” (32). Unfortunately, he is so focused on what he can gain that he does not think of the mutual commitments of marriage. So, when Praskovya Fyodorovna begins to “disturb” this state at the beginning of her first pregnancy by demanding that Ivan Ilyich act on those commitments, he sees it as “new, unexpected, unpleasant, oppressive, and improper” (32). That she would experience changes in mood and need more support at this time does not seem unreasonable. But Ivan Ilyich does not see others, even his wife, as individuals with needs equal to his own. He believes that his requirements should always come first. Because of this, he cannot understand her needs or sympathize with her pain. In general, the characters believe the happiness of others should not come at their own expense. When others break this rule, they become a hostile source of confinement that one must escape.

Oddly enough, Ivan Ilyich has a strong sense of obligation, but he directs it to society, not other individuals. Though he is “strict in carrying out everything he considered his duty . . . he considered his duty to be everything the highest-ranking men considered his duty” (28). He misplaces his desire for societal approval for his wider responsibility to others, as seen in his family life. Instead of bearing hardships with his family, “his goal was to free himself more and more from all this unpleasantness and make it seem harmless and proper; he achieved this by spending less and less time with his family” (34). He avoids his family during a time of illness because his duty to convention supplants his responsibility to them (33). Furthermore, unpleasantness and loss of independence go hand in hand for Ivan Ilyich. When there are demands made of him, even if they are reasonable, he is quick to deny that these constraints exist by “adopt[ing] a definite attitude” to avoid the unpleasantness (33). One might term this attitude denial. For example, to “protect himself from [the] infringements” of family life, where he was “expected to sympathize, but of which he understood nothing,” he would throw himself into his work and “find pleasure there” (29-30). He refuses to address the needs of others, even those he has a familial obligation to because he sees them as oppressive. Yet distracting himself from the fact that he is not the only one who suffers further estranges him from a vital truth: some aspects of life are unavoidable.

One of these aspects is death, the thought of which must always be avoided lest the characters’ entire worldview come crashing down around them. In those moments where thoughts of their own death do creep into their minds, they quickly deny it. After hearing about his friend’s suffering and death, Pyotr Ivanovich experiences a sudden attack of terror. But it does not last since “the usual thought came to his aid: that it had happened to Ivan Ilyich, and not to him, and that it shouldn’t and couldn’t happen to him” (25). The characters do not want to think of death as something that will happen to them, so they redirect it to others. After calming himself, Pyotr Ivanovich continues the conversation about Ivan Ilyich’s death, “as though death was an experience relevant only to Ivan Ilyich, not at all relevant to him” (25). He sees himself as fundamentally different from Ivan Ilyich, and this orientation to others allows him to avoid the contemplation of his death. They delude themselves by recoiling from the inescapable truth that everyone must die one day. This lie is the foundation for all society’s egoistic conventions and false way of life.

The contemplation of life, of which other people are a vital part, and death are connected in a way that gives each other meaning. Whether denial of another person’s suffering or the fact that death is inevitable, the lie is “all a terrible, tremendous deception concealing both life and death” (72). Accepting that one’s life will end means there is an urgency in finding how to live right and the possibility of wasting one’s life by living in the wrong way. By denying this fundamental truth, these characters succeed in living properly but fail to live well. Ivan Ilyich only begins to consider that he might not have lived a good life while dying of an incurable illness. He thinks to himself: “In society’s opinion I was walking uphill, but the farther I climbed, the more life was slipping out from under me” (68). Evidently, the proper way of life is not a good way of life. Unfortunately, Ivan Ilyich, confined by convention, denies this truth until his death.

The way Ivan Ilyich dies suggests that the questions “What should I die for?” and “What should I live for?” are entwined and inseverable. As mentioned earlier, Ivan Ilyich receives his mortal wound when he slips from a curtain rod and hits his side on a window latch because the upholsterer could not understand how he wanted the curtains hung (38-9). In other words, Ivan Ilyich dies trying to impress those around him with material trifles that signify his devotion to society’s approval because of a lack of understanding between fellow individuals. It seems he dies for the pleasant, which is what he lives for. But perhaps this is too harsh of a judgement, after all, it is the acknowledgement of others that frees him from the living death of egoism. When his son Vanya feels compassion for him or “pity” as Tolstoy calls it, Ivan Ilyich finally accepts that though “his life was not what it should have been . . . [but] it could still be made right” (74). Ivan Ilyich makes it right by dying for others, which is what he should have been living for all along: “He felt sorry for them, [his family], and felt he had to do something to end their pain – to relieve them and himself from this suffering” (75). Only by dying for others is Ivan Ilyich relieved from physical pain and mental anguish. By feeling pity for the suffering of others and relinquishing the justification of his egocentric life, he frees himself from a living death devoid of compassion.

Though most characters’ orientations to death and others stem from socially encouraged egoism, Gerasim is the exception to the rule and hints at what comprises a good life. While Gerasim takes out Ivan Ilyich’s chamber pot because he is too ill to do it himself, Ivan Ilyich says to him: “’ This must be unpleasant for you. Forgive me. I can’t help it.’ ‘There’s no need, sir . . . why shouldn’t I be of service?’” (57). Instead of being egoistic, Gerasim is altruistic. As a result, he can show compassion to others. He sees that there are higher values than pursuing the pleasant and avoiding the unpleasant, so he does not see helping another person in a time of need as a constraint. Further, while Ivan Ilyich’s family denied he was dying, “Gerasim understood what was happening and did not consider it necessary to hide it, but simply felt sorry for the emancipated, frail gentleman” (59). There is no need for denial or falsity, so Gerasim accepts that Ivan Ilyich’s death is unavoidable and does not blame him. Gerasim accepts his own death as well. He simply says, “It’s God’s will. We’ll all be there someday” (27). By acknowledging death as inevitable and universal, Gerasim does not fear death. Instead, he can feel pity and care for others because he identifies with them through their shared mortality, and this fills him with a “beaming joy of life” unseen in the characters chained by egoism (54). Since Gerasim is altruistic instead of egoistic, neither others nor death are seen as constraints that must be avoided. They are both understood and are aspects of a life well-lived.

The characters’ orientations to death relate to how they approach life since they both stem from their orientations to what is unpleasant. If a character sees the needs of others as unpleasant and avoidable, they will do everything they can to deny their suffering. They also try to deny the inevitability of their death and, as a result, fail to consider if they are living their lives in the right way. They believe that living for themselves frees them from constraints, but in doing so, they fall into other traps, such as a lack of any real connection to others and a fear of death. Despite their care for the propriety of everyday life dictated by others in society, most characters go through their day without caring to understand others as living and dying individuals like themselves. But by learning what truly matters in life, such as compassion and authenticity, their orientations to others and death shift. Altruism replaces egoism, and attentiveness to death is no longer a terrifying oppression but a liberation from fear of death.

Work Cited

Tolstoy, Leo. The Death of Ivan Ilyich and Other Stories. Translated by Kirsten Lodge, Broadview, 2017.

By Dhara Kuciel

The factors that determine human motivation are complex and unable to be reduced to a single and universal explanation. Psychological egoism, which says that humans are unconsciously motivated by self-interest, and ethical egoism, which suggests that humans ought to act out of self-interest, may initially seem intuitive. There is no doubt that humans do, at times, act selfishly. However, self-interest cannot be the sole rationale for defining human behaviour. Ultimately, these theories fail to offer a comprehensive explanation of the complexities inherent to human motive, thus, psychological and ethical egoism should not be a reference point for defining morality. This essay aims to illustrate the logical inconsistencies of both psychological and ethical egoism as theoretical frameworks for morality.

            Psychological egoism asserts that individuals are always subconsciously motivated by self-interest, an intrinsic component within the human psyche and one that is indivisible from the self. Ayn Rand’s article, “In Defence of Ethical Egoism,” maintains that because self-interest is so central to human nature, the only moral obligation individuals have is to themselves; any further obligation would be akin to a bird intentionally breaking its wings (Rand 534). Rand asserts that within a morality that encourages sacrifice, the first value sacrificed is, in fact, morality. When selflessness becomes the standard, man is both a victim who is exploited for the benefit of the less fortunate, and simultaneously, a parasite that feeds off the labour of others (538).

However, acting solely out of self-interest as egoism dictates, would be counterintuitive to a psychologically healthy person. Such a person is distinguished by a positive sense of self, the capacity to form genuine connections with others, and additional social abilities that align with the norms of human psychology while a true egoist must be prepared to exploit others when it is advantageous for them, provided the risk of such action is lower than the reward. How, then, can an egoist sustain any type of relationship with another? Friendships are largely characterized by trust, a bond formed through reciprocal vulnerability and the assurance that our friends have no intention to harm us. A genuine friend, neighbour, or partner is not inclined to intentionally cause harm or exploit anyone with whom they have a relationship (Laurence 74). An egoist, on the other hand, must be prepared to exploit others, including friends, when advantageous for them, which would contradict the very definition of a genuine friend. An egoist cannot maintain their ethical disposition and hold authentic relationships with others simultaneously.

For those who believe that human consciousness is limited to an individual’s internal dialogue may doubt our ability to empathize or even to have genuine relationships altogether since this inner voice often excludes the thoughts and feelings of others. The objector may claim that our limited sentience is further evidence of our predisposition to self-interest. If we are unable to comprehend the experience and emotions of others, are authentic relationships even possible? Perhaps what we perceive as genuine relationships are simply a means of acquiring validation, obtaining social status, or fulfilment of some other form of self-interest, these relationships are ultimately superficial and only serve us if our self-interest is met. Perhaps it may even be in the egoist’s self-interest to occasionally act for the benefit of others to facilitate their own long-term goals, and thus, the egoist is able to maintain friendships while being an egoist.

Arguably, a relationship in which one party is partaking for the sole reason of some long-term net benefit is not a genuine relationship, but rather, a premeditated transaction; however, instances of altruistic acts provide a strong counterargument to the notion that all human relationships are disingenuous. Situations whereby a soldier jumps on a grenade to save his comrades, a revolutionary dies to keep the secrets of their cause, or simply, parenting a child demonstrates the antithesis of self-interest. Surely, if relationships with others are merely an act to facilitate our own needs, altruistic acts would not exist. A puzzle arises: how can acts that present a clear contradiction to self-interest be reconciled with the concept of psychological egoism?

One may contend that even acts of altruism are fundamentally motivated by self-interest. Perhaps the soldier could not live with the guilt of the death of his comrades, maybe the revolutionary believes in a religion that demands self-sacrifice and aims to reserve a place in heaven, or perhaps the parent’s underlying motive for having children in hopes of saving their relationship. The objector’s argument contends that any individual who performs an act of their own volition must gain some sort of benefit from performing that activity, therefore, individuals are always unconsciously motivated by self-interest. The objector assumes, without any empirical evidence, that the entirety of human motive, even the motive for acts that appear selfless, are ultimately for one’s benefit, but one would need to prove this assumption to validate the claim of egoism. However, this assumption cannot be validated empirically, (if egoism is correct, our true motives are unconscious, and therefore, unknown to us) how would the egoist verify this assumption? Without any support for the central claim, psychological egoism begs the question as the premises assume the truth of the conclusion without any justification for this assumption. To further illustrate, the objector’s argument is as follows:

P1: Individuals always and unconsciously act in their self-interest.

P2: Seemingly altruistic acts are nevertheless motivated by an individual’s self-interest.

Therefore: All human action is motivated by self-interest without exception.

Premise one has already supposed the conclusion is true without effectively demonstrating or supporting the argument. 

The lack of authentic relationships produces a problem for self-conception. As Thomas Laurence identifies in his article, “Ethical Egoism and Psychological Dispositions,” no individual may foster a positive sense of character in a social vacuum since “our conception of ourselves is fundamentally influenced by the conception which others have of us as indicated by their attitudes and actions towards us” (Laurence 74). An individual with no relation to others and therefore, no account of self, could not possibly have a healthy psyche. Moreover, humans are social creatures and thus have needs that require socialization. We could not possibly meet those needs if all our unconscious motives lay in self-interest. The theory of psychological egoism is thus contradicted by our fundamental need for socialization.

            Let us examine ethical egoism, which prescribes that individuals ought to act in their self-interest. It should be noted that ethical egoism allows for the possibility of engaging in behaviours that are socially acceptable such as honestly, helping others, and otherwise positively contributing to society; however, such behaviours are only permissible under ethical egoism if they serve the individual in some way. Rand’s argument for ethical egoism is a metaphysical one; she believes the only objective truth is the dichotomy of “existence or non-existence”. Under this doctrine, self-preservation and fecundity, are the ultimate goals of all living organisms (Rand 533). Altruism, which champions selflessness, is regarded by Rand to devalue the intrinsic nature of an individual’s life, thereby detracting the individual from their pursuit of happiness, consequently limiting their existence. According to Rand, “a morality that dares to tell you to find happiness in the renunciation of your happiness—to value the failure of your happiness is an insolent negation of morality” (535). Under the egoist framework, it is only through egoism that individuals may be genuinely free, otherwise they are bound by societal constructs that demand sacrifice. However, Rand’s account of selflessness is not a fair depiction as it implies that one must completely forego their self-interest when engaging in acts of altruism. It is possible for one to be benevolent without the complete sacrifice of self as exemplified through small acts of kindness, such as holding the door open for someone which poses little imposition at all. While Rand presents an interesting theory, it ultimately fails to portray an accurate representation of selfless acts.

At first glance, both psychological and ethical egoism can seem compelling. Humans can be selfish and oftentimes act in their self-interest at the expense of others to the extent that it may seem that humans are disposed to act this way. Nevertheless, these observations fall flat when egoism is further examined because the frequency with which individuals act out of self-interest is insufficient evidence to conclude that humans are disposed to act this way unconsciously. Psychological egoism is inconsistent with fundamental principles of psychology, such as the human need for socialization and the need to foster a positive sense of self. Additionally, egoism relies on the unproven assumption that individuals are subconsciously motivated by self-interest – without validity, this claim is inconclusive. Furthermore, the Randian framework of ethical egoism does not effectively address the problem of validity since she presents a skewed depiction of alternatives to ethical egoism which ultimately lead to an insufficient argument. Individuals’ actions cannot be reduced to a blanket motive of self-interest without logical inconsistencies, therefore, humans are not unconsciously motivated by self-interest.                 

            Works Cited

Medlin, Brian. “Ultimate principles and ethical egoism.” Australasian Journal of Philosophy, vol. 35, no 2, pp. 111-118, tandfonline,   https://www.tandfonline.com/10.1080/00048405785200121

Rand, Ayn. “In Defense of Ethical Egoism.” The Moral Life. An Introductory Reader in Ethics and Literature (4th ed.) edited by Louis Pojman and Lewis Vaughn, Oxford University Press, 2011 pp. 531-541.

Laurence, Thomas. “Ethical Egoism and Psychological Dispositions.” American Philosophical Quarterly, vol. 17, no. 1, 1980, pp. 73–78. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20009787.

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By Tobias Baiarrio

Society is on the road toward nihilism. Humanity is currently in the grip of the mechanistic perspective of modern science, often ignoring the implications for teleology of these technological advancements. To address this issue, this paper will look at how Aristotle previously considered nature. Following Aristotle’s idea of telos, we must examine how this idea changed with the introduction of Newton’s axioms. Newton’s axioms changed how we understand motion and nature as a whole. After the abolishment of teleology due to Newton’s axioms, the philosopher Martin Heidegger replaces the teleological notion with historical Dasein With the idea of historical Dasein, Heidegger introduces relativism, claiming that human thought is grounded in and thus confined by the historical epoch in which it arises. The historical Dasein presents problems in how modern science is continued; science raises ethical problems, but every ethical decision is now seen as subjective. Not only does relativism put the morality of science into question, it also leads to a complete disregard for moral truths, resulting in nihilism. In order to leave the bleak world of nihilism, we can re-establish teleology in society through the teleological principles found within Darwin’s theory of evolution Ultimately, Darwin’s teleology within the theory of evolutionis the most plausible teleological understanding to be adopted by our scientific and mechanistic society.

To understand what is and is not teleological, it is appropriate to address Aristotle’s telos or “that for the sake of which.” Telos refers to a clear end or purpose that is the cause of something. As stated by Aristotle, it is a cause “in the sense of end or ‘that for the sake of which’ a thing is done” (Aristotle 241). In other words, we pursue things for an end or purpose; for example, “the reduction of flesh, purging, drugs, or surgical instruments are means towards health” (241). The telos of these examples is health as the reason they are created and pursued is to either maintain or better the health of an individual. If we consider the universe’s telos in its classical sense, we see that within the universe, “All natural beings have a natural end, a natural destiny, which determines what kind of operation is good for them” (Strauss 7).

However, modern science refutes classical teleology in favour of a mechanical perspective (i.e. understanding the universe in terms of how rather than why). Strauss points to how Aristotle would understand the difference between the two perspectives: “From the point of view of Aristotle … the issue between the mechanical and the teleological conception of the universe is decided by the manner in which the problem of the heavens, the heavenly bodies, and their motion is solved” (Strauss 8). Celestial bodies and motion are thus the determining factors in our considerations of nature. Heidegger’s perspective on Newton’s axioms changed the concept of celestial bodies and motion and opposes Strauss’s proposed teleology of the universe.

As established by Heidegger, Newton’s axioms changed Aristotle’s concept of celestial bodies and motion. Heidegger claims that after Newton’s axioms, “One does not ask for the cause of the continuity of motion and therefore for its perpetual occurrence, but the reverse: being in motion is presupposed, and one asks for the causes of a change in the kind of motion presupposed as uniform and in a straight line” (Heidegger 286). Put simply, we no longer ask where this motion will end, but how it began. The mechanical perspective put forward by Newton and reported by Heidegger ultimately changes Strauss’s proposed telos of the universe from “All natural beings have a natural end, a natural destiny, which determines what kind of operation is good for them” (Strauss 7) to “all beings travel uniformly in a straight line with no predetermined end or purpose” (Heidegger 286).

Through Newton’s new concept of motion, the teleological idea of nature also changes from an internal direction (nature having a clear end or purpose) into a way to describe the position of matter. Although the concept of teleology itself does not change, the way we view nature and aspects of nature change. As Heidegger describes, “Nature is no longer the inner principle out of which the motion of the body follows; rather, nature is a mode of the variety of the changing relative positions of bodies, the manner in which they are present in space and time, which themselves are domains of possible positional orders and determination of order and have no special traits anywhere” (Heidegger 288). When motion and celestial bodies are perceived mechanically, Aristotle’s teleological universe seemingly no longer applies. The same universal laws of nature that apply to rocks and comets also apply to human beings and human nature. Aside from where humans are within the principles of space and time, there is no significance to humanity or inherent nature; rather, humans are bodies that present themselves in different ways within time and space and have no special traits. Through this new definition of motion, Heidegger takes humanity out of Aristotle’s definition of internal motion, moving away from the telos of humanity with it.

Rather than Aristotle’s teleological view of ‘that for the sake of which’ Heidegger proposes the historical Dasein, introducing historical relativism. Heidegger argues that individuals are trapped within an inescapable historical frame of thought: “Every sort of thought, however, is always only the execution and consequence of a mode of historical Dasein, of the fundamental position taken toward Being and toward the way in which beings are manifest as such, i.e., towards truth” (Heidegger 294-295). What we define as the truth is actually “only the execution and consequence of a mode of historical Dasein” (294-295). For example, Heidegger argues that before the distinct emergence of the mathematical, all truth was centred around Church and faith: all “proper knowledge” was merely an interpretation of the source of revelation that came from the traditions of the Church, and “Whatever more experience and knowledge had been won adjusted itself (as if by itself) to this frame” (295). Although there is contention about Heidegger’s historical Dasein as there is evidence of individuals reaching out of their “historical instance” (e.g. Aristotle’s unfavourable views on slavery in Politics), Heidegger may attribute these ideas to the influential source of the time (in Aristotle’s case, perhaps Heidegger would argue that the influential source at the time was Socratic skepticism, also explaining the extreme progression of metaphysics within a short period).

After abandoning the teleological principles proposed by Aristotle, humanity is left with relativism and, eventually, nihilism. After the abolishment of teleology, everything becomes subjective or relative to the individual. Because there is no ‘natural right’ or ‘true justice’ or even an understanding of ‘the good,’ everything is just an idea of natural right and an idea of true justice; this implies that all moral assertions are simply ideas of what we consider the truth. Relativism is an extremely dangerous ideology: “At the very end of the road of relativism, one encounters those who argue that there is no truth whatsoever” (Malcolmson et al. 39). Individuals who believe that because everything is relative, nothing is true are called nihilists. Malcolmson et al. explain, “The nihilist believes that there is no meaning in life, that there is no such thing as God or morality, and that there are no just principles to guide social, economic, or political life” (39). Although the nihilists believe that God or morality never existed, Nietzsche claims that God once existed, “but God died” (Nietzsche 1). Thomas Pangle explains Nietzsche’s claim, stating, “The cause of God’s death is a historically acquired disposition of the soul which renders untenable all beliefs in any objective and trans-historical spiritual values; and the world that remains before man in the wake of this destruction of permanence is not a value-neutral flux of data and subjective ideals” (Pangle 65). Put simply, the death of humanity’s ability to believe in God is caused by the soul’s historical state which renders all universal truths valueless. After the abolition of truth in light of its valueless nature, the individuals of our time, who experience God’s death, view what remains of the world as “repellent in its ugliness and baseness” (65).

The challenges hindering the reintroduction of teleology, as proposed by Kass, stem from the suspicion surrounding the human desire for the mastery of nature and the need to evaluate the implications of technological advancements carefully. To re-establish a positive view of what remains in the world, we must consider the two problems Kass identifies that prolong the seemingly impossible reintroduction of teleology. Kass argues that practically, humans have become suspicious of the project for the mastery of nature. Technology remained largely unambiguous in its uses when the advancements were not as substantial; thus, “Its utility–and hence goodness for human life–was sufficient to attest to its truth” (Kass 251). However, the utility of technological advancements has been under criticism and scrutiny as the advancements have been proven to achieve more. The more utility an advancement has, the harder it is to confine it to “goodness for human life.” Once an advancement has several implications, we must evaluate the cost of each technological step individually and consider it in the long journey. For example, artificially created embryos would be a significant leap in technological advancement; humanity would be capable of granting babies to previously infertile parents. However, this technology may also be used for eugenics programs, as seen in Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. Without consideration for all the implications of advancements, we will lose sight of the moral questions in the long journey, ignoring the other, perhaps more nefarious, uses of technological advancement.

Kass also points to a philosophical problem within the reintroduction of teleology. Kass argues that philosophically, we will have to contest the theory of evolution as “Man’s evolutionary origin has made untenable the sharp divorce of man from the rest of nature” (Kass 251). However, the problem residing within the theory of evolution is seemingly a false interpretation of Darwin’s work. Kass argues, “Darwin’s non-teleological explanation–the variation, inheritance, struggle for existence–not only assumes but even depends upon the immanent teleological character of organisms” (261). Kass insists that natural selection is inherently teleological; organisms live because they internally strive to live and reproduce, whereas non teleological organisms die out. After all, they do not desire to live and reproduce. Put simply, “[organisms] are not teleological because they have survived; on the contrary, [organisms] have survived (in part) because they were teleological” (262). Darwin’s theory of evolution demonstrates the internal motion present within teleology, showing that for natural selection to be sound, organisms must seek life and reproduction. Thus, teleology in the classical sense is compatible with the theory of evolution.

Aristotle’s telos provides an excellent ground on which contemporary teleology can be built; however, for contemporary society to re-establish teleological principles, we must take a teleological approach rooted in modern science. By analyzing Aristotle’s telos, we have better understood classical teleology. Heidegger then presents how Newton’s axioms change our conception of nature from Aristotle’s internal motion to motion as the measure of matter’s relative position in space and time. To replace Aristotle’s teleology, Heidegger proposes the historical Dasein. The historical Dasein places human thought within the historical instance, making it relative to history. Furthermore, Heidegger’s historicism may progress towards a complete lack of truth, resulting in nihilism. In nihilism, there is nothing but a bleak and ugly world, leaving nothing for humanity. God is dead, and moral ideals are valueless. To re-establish teleology and save humanity from the dangerous prospects of nihilism, Kass identifies two problems we must overcome: technological advancements can no longer be justified simply by the goodness they contribute towards humanity and the lack of difference between humans and other organisms. Technological advancements in modern science have significant implications and can have severe unforeseen consequences. In order to rectify this issue, Kass argues that we need to consider every implication of an advancement. Kass points to the teleological aspects of Darwin’s theory of evolution, bringing the prospect of teleology back into the contemporary frame of mind. Ultimately, re-establishing teleology is crucial to avoid nihilism and ensure a positive view of the world, but it requires careful consideration and analysis in the context of modern science.

Works Cited

Aristotle, and Reeve C D C. Physics. Hackett Publishing Company, Inc., 2018.

Kass, Leon R. Toward a More Natural Science: Biology and Human Affairs. The Free Press,                    1988.

Malcolmson, Patrick, Richard Myers, and Colin O’Connel. “Liberal Education and Value

Relativism: A Guide to Today’s B.A.” University Press of America, Inc., University Press of America, Inc., 1996.

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By Makayla Taylor

Exploring various perspectives on love, the Symposium is one of Plato’s most acclaimed works. Composed of a series of encomia concerning love, the text is structured as a dialogue, allowing characters to ask each other questions. One of the most influential speeches in this text is that of Aristophanes, who illustrates love through a myth regarding the history of humankind and the origin of soulmates. According to his account, humans were originally twice the size of present-day humans and spherical in shape. As punishment for their misbehaviour, Zeus halved each human, dividing one soul between two bodies. As a result, each person yearned for their other half—their soulmate. Aristophanes therefore proposes that love is a “pursuit for wholeness” (Plato 25) and that we seek fulfillment in reuniting with our other half. However, the other outlooks on love considered in the text at large suggest this is an insufficient theory of love. Eryximachus recognizes a difference between good and bad kinds of love. Diotima illustrates why love is not an end in itself, but a means to divine beauty and wisdom. Through these other perspectives on love, the reader is shown that Aristophanes’ speech simplifies love as a mere quest for wholeness. By telling a comic story about human nature, Aristophanes limits love to an exclusive pairing, fails to distinguish good and bad types of love, and disregards what love can lead to.

Portraying love as a quest for wholeness implies humans are lacking and can only become complete upon reuniting with their other half. While the notion of seeking soulmates can be considered beautiful or pleasing, depicting individuals as incomplete is a flawed element in Aristophanes’ theory of love. In fact, a paper discussing how eros relates to this idea of unfulfillment in Symposium, Chien-Ya Sun explains that this sense of lack is attributed to human nature, and states that, in Aristophanes’ myth, “the solution is pointed in one direction—a person” (494). Satiating our need for love exclusively through one person is problematic for two apparent reasons. Firstly, it narrowly defines love as the romantic kind, not accounting for other forms of love, such as familial and platonic, which are also greatly valued and should not be overlooked. Secondly, this approach to love is absolute, in the sense that lovers have no other pursuits once they find each other. In his speech, Aristophanes refers to the power of this loving devotion superseding the fundamental survival needs of two lovers: “they would not do anything apart from each other” (Plato 27). Although this may initially appear affectionate, love is depicted as a terminal phenomenon; once acquired, the lovers cannot ameliorate themselves through each other, nor can they cultivate their shared love. Instead, they forfeit everything else, leading to their death. Accordingly, if the solution to the incompleteness lovers experience as individuals is the love found through their other half, and once realized, results in death, humans spend their lives striving for a feeling of fulfillment that is fatal, as it stops them from seeking anything but each other. While Aristophanes employs a myth to illustrate his theory of love, another character in Symposium, Eryximachus, utilizes a metaphor.

Asserting that a bad type of love also exists, Eryximachus provides a more authentic account of love. Categorized into two contrasting forms, he compares the good and bad types of love to the “healthy and diseased” (20) conditions of the human body. As a doctor, the medical metaphor offers a clear illustration of his understanding of love. According to Philip Krinks in an essay examining technocracy in Symposium, the text includes the two types of love described by Eryximachus, which both work to attain a “telos,” an Ancient Greek term meaning goal, completion, or fulfillment (Brennan). To evince this claim, Krinks compares Eryximachus’ technocratic encomium with Diotima’s account of achieving telos by defining eros in relation to the good. Due to Eryximachus’ belief that doctors can manage eros in the body by encouraging “everything sound and healthy” (Plato 20) and foiling all that is “unhealthy and unsound” (21), Krinks claims that “Eryximachus envisages a good deal of success for the individual’s doctor in controlling eros” (9). Emphasizing the faith Eryximachus has in medicine, this passage highlights the complexities and fragility involved in love—a characteristic absent in Aristophanes’ speech. Furthermore, it also implies that by regulating eros, there is a goal to be accomplished, returning to the idea of completion. Comparing these two encomia reveals that Aristophanes’ outlook on love is idealistic and not comprehensive, as it approaches love from an optimistic point of view and fails to recognize the negative aspects of love as Eryximachus did. Additionally, Eryximachus’ interpretation of love does not romanticize it, but recognizes that it includes suffering, and therefore appears to be more relatable than Aristophanes’ account, who saw love through an unrealistic and positive lens, depicting an illusory representation premised on the quest for wholeness. Rather distinct from this contrasting portrayal of love as either good or bad, the following section analyzes the account of love presented by the only female character in Symposium, Diotima, who deems love as a vehicle to divine beauty.

Diotima, whose ideas are presented by Socrates, advances the purpose of love by describing it as a means to reach the divine, and emphasizes the importance of immortalizing love through reproduction. She suggests that love itself is not the final destination by illustrating the steps necessary to ascend the ladder to the divine, which is composed of different forms of love. In a journal article concerning the relationship between eros and the pursuit for absolute beauty in Symposium, Andrew Domanski postulates that Diotima shifts the attention from love to beauty. In reviewing the objects of love addressed by Diotima, he asserts that love is “the force or power which drives man onwards in his quest to realize absolute beauty, and so attain divine wisdom” (41). This passage captures the essence of Diotima’s discourse, as it delineates what love can produce, establishes love as a vehicle rather than a destination, and indicates that divine beauty and wisdom are of higher value than love by itself. As Diotima maintains that the object of love is to “possess the good forever” (Plato 52), seeking supreme wisdom over the wholeness resulting from the union of two people enables knowledge to become immortal. Humans should climb Diotima’s ladder of love not only to reproduce knowledge in beauty, but also to form a divine connection with the Gods. For these reasons, her account of love is more elevated than those of her peers. Moreover, she links love to the divine realm by sublimating love from an attainable goal to a fruitful process. Diotima’s depiction of love as something capable of reproduction and growth surpasses Aristophanes’ unadorned quest for wholeness, thus illuminating another aspect lacking in his speech. Although a sense of fulfillment can be realized from ascending Diotima’s ladder of love, the principal feature placing her theory of love above Aristophanes’ is the ultimate goal of immortal wisdom—a quality capable of growth superior to love itself, as opposed to the absolute completion felt upon acquiring love.

Reducing love to a pursuit for wholeness, Aristophanes’ speech circumscribes love to a romantic union between two particular people, fails to recognize two types of love, and neglects what love can beget. Analyzing the encomia in Symposium reveals the aspects in various theories of love overlooked by Aristophanes. Firstly, his notion of love as a quest for wholeness indicates humans are incomplete until they reunite with their soulmate. This suggestion not only confines love to a specific romantic relationship, but also errs by regarding individual human beings as inadequate. Next, Eryximachus divided love into two types: good and bad, both of which aim to attain a sense of fulfillment. However, Aristophanes did not distinguish between the positive and negative effects of eros, thus forming an insufficient theory of love. Finally, Diotima presents the most elevated theory on love, explaining love as a channel to the divine. Expressing how love can be immortal, she highlights what exists beyond love itself and, ultimately, what love can produce. Her multifaceted explication of love accentuates the simplicity of Aristophanes’ speech. While love can serve as a missing puzzle piece to one’s identity, it is full of complexities that a sense of completion alone cannot account for. The knowledge offered in Symposium provides meaningful insights into past perceptions of love, and allows readers to interpret and apply these perspectives to their understandings of love.

Works Cited

Brennan, Tad. “Telos.” Telos – Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy, Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 2002, https://www.rep.routledge.com/articles/thematic/telos/v-1#:~:text=Telos%20is%20the%20ancient%20Greek,the%20modern%20word%20’teleology’.

Domanski, Andrew. “The Quest for Absolute Beauty in Plato’s Symposium.” Phronimon, vol. 13, no. 1, 2012, pp. 39-53.

Krinks, Philip. “The End of Love? Questioning Technocracy in Plato’s Symposium.” Archai (Brasília, Distrito Federal, Brazil), no. 29, 2020.

Plato. Symposium. Translated by Alexander Nehamas and Paul Woodruff, Hackett Publishing Company, 1989.

Sun, Chien-Ya. “The Virtus of Unfulfilment: Rethinking Eros and Education in Plato’s Symposium.” Journal of Philosophy of Education, vol. 52, no. 3, 2019, pp. 491-502.

This essay is about Plato’s symposium.