Eudaemonia Endeavors

The ancient Greek philosophers wrote a lot and argued a lot about how one should live a good life. The topic was and is quite controversial, because there is much disagreement on what is meant by the good life, let alone how to go about achieving it. One person's definition of the good life can be very different from another's. It can mean, for example, possessing an abundance of things, having power, being famous, being loved, eating fantastic food, traveling to exotic places, going to Broadway shows, or countless other experiences. But it can also mean living a simple life wherein one does’t require lots of possessions to thrive. 

One thing that the arguing Greek philosophers pretty much did agree on was that fulfilling one's desires can lead to happiness, and being happy can help one to feel like they've achieved the good life. But the English word “happiness” falls well short of the Greek word they used: eudaemonia. Being happy refers to a feeling of pleasure or contentment. Those are transitory feelings. Eudaemonia describes an enduring state of being, which is better translated as living a fulfilled life, as realizing one's full potential, as flourishing, or as thriving. Eudaemonia goes well beyond just happiness.

So, OK, if realizing one's full potential or flourishing is what the Greeks could agree upon, there's still the disagreement over how to get there. They may have seen eye to eye on the end point, but what about the means? We each have our own path; our own means—based on our predilections and experiences. Some people have insatiable desires and others opt to keep them simple.

Socrates had a lot to say about how to achieve the good life, and he was on the side of keeping our desires simple. Why choose the simple path? He posited three reasons: (1) since simple desires are easier to attain, it's easier to reach eudaemonia; you don't have to work as hard at it, (2) those who have many and exorbitant desires must expend much effort and energy to get them and then they are constantly fretting about how to hold onto their possessions… that’s neither a peaceful nor a contented life, and (3) those who pursue many lavish desires leave little for the poor and disadvantaged, denying them any chance of flourishing. Thus the simple life is better for the self and for everyone. There is enough to go around—even to offer the good life—for everyone.

So simplicity not only offers me a better chance at acquiring eudaemonia, it also give the less fortunate a better chance. Logical and straightforward advice from ancient Greece, that remains relevant today.

Three Ancient Teachers—Part 1

I have written before on this blog about how several ancient philosophers (mostly from Greece) came to influence my outlook on life. In each case I was already leaning in the direction of their messages, so when I came upon them I was quite ready to absorb their lessons. I think this is a common experience for many of us. I'm not referring to what happens when we are cruising through life and suddenly become a convert to a completely new (to us) idea; one that immediately transforms our views and even turns us into a devoted disciple.

Instead, I'm describing how we might already be thinking along certain lines, but with a limited understanding of the subject we are pondering... we're just muddling along, but with some sense of direction. Then one day we encounter a teacher who clearly describes this same issue, and suddenly the fog lifts and we see the bigger picture. Our former simple and limited understanding thus becomes far more complete and convincing. We're not taking a radically new direction at all, but getting confirmation that the direction we were going in is OK, and now we get a boost that urges us farther along that path. I love those kinds of discoveries.

The three ancient teachers I'm writing about here are Democritus, Epicurus, and Lucretius. The first two lived in the 5^th century BCE in Greece. Lucretius came along about 400 years later, and was a resident of Rome. The two earlier Greeks were familiar with each other and taught similar things, but their message later got shunted aside by competing Greek philosophers. A few centuries later Lucretius revived their teachings in a beautiful epic poem, On the Nature of Things. His message was also sidelined and his poem was repressed—this time mostly by the Catholic Church.

I will delve into their stories only briefly here—just to sketch the overview. My main objective is to offer a three-part, connective summary of the aspect of their teachings that has had a strong influence on me. As I wrote above, I was already inclined to be thinking along these lines, and when I discovered their philosophies, they gave me the courage to have more confidence in my thoughts and to rededicate myself to the philosophical and moral paths that they laid out.

The three messages are: (1) the composition of all matter is explainable by the existence of atoms, (2) death is not what we think it is, and (3) live simply, rather than pursue money and power. While these three lessons may seem to be a bit dissociated, they are in fact tightly interwoven, I think, and form a broad and coherent philosophy of life and how to live it. I'll try to explain.

The first message: Everything is made of atoms; in other words, it's atoms all the way down. The Greeks of Democritus' time (the first true scientists) were pondering the fundamental reality of the world. A central question they pondered: What are things made of? There were several competing arguments at the time, and most of them perceived matter as a continuum. Epicurus took another tack and put forth the proposition that matter was not continuous, but really was granular—being constituted of tiny building blocks that he called "atoms" (from the Greek word atomos, meaning indivisible).

What is extraordinary, is that Democritus arrived at his theory of atoms, without any chance of proving their existence; it was just a mental construct. The necessary proof of his insight had to wait for some 2500 years, until powerful microscopes could be invented. His insight essentially founded the science of physics. It was an elegant and prescient concept. He wrote that every kind of matter is made up of similar kinds of elementary building blocks... thus everything in the world is related. (More on that later.) This fundamental insight led to a completely new way of looking at the world: that the composition and nature of everything is both natural and explainable—thus, things and events are neither supernatural nor magical.

More on ancient teachers next time...

Privileged Presumption—Part 2

What began this blog posting on privileged presumption was an occasion in which I recently caught myself exhibiting a dose of hubris, when I caught myself looking upon the ancient Greeks a bit disdainfully. I have recently taken a couple of online courses on ancient Greece and am currently reading a book on ancient Greek philosophy. I often find it a struggle to grasp the dense thinking and teachings of Greek philosophers from 2500 years ago, such as Socrates, Aristotle, Plato, and others. Their era was very different, in so many ways. It is a big challenge for scholars to translate early Greek prose into an understandable style of English that faithfully captures the intentions of those ancient philosophers. In addition, I sometimes struggle comprehending the mores and beliefs of those ancient societies.

Many of the Greeks whose writings we have from that period were well-to-do and lived a life of leisure, which gave them lots of time to sit around and ponder the mysteries of the human mind, as well as the nature of the universe. It was a time when the first Greek (and thus western) scientists appeared, although they didn't call themselves that, since the word “science” didn't really come into use until the 17^th century. If anything, they called themselves natural philosophers, because they were seeking a better understanding of the natural world, and scientific experimentation was virtually unknown, so they philosophized. Their crucial offering to human knowledge was to usher in an era which replaced the antics of the gods in people's minds with the actions of Mother Nature.

That initiation of scientific thought was a foundational development in the progress of Homo sapiens. Prior to the time of these first natural philosophers coming onto the scene, the accepted explanation for many events that occurred was that the gods did it. An earthquake or flood or tornado? It must be that the gods are pissed off at people and were punishing them. Have a good food crop or experience victory in battle? It must be that the gods liked us and graced us with favor. The Jewish Bible (Old Testament) is full of these kind of happenings which are attributed to God. Similarly, all sorts of personal tragedy or good fortune—disease, death, good health, wealth—were attributed to the gods. The deities either were upset with me and punished me, or thought I deserved a favor and rewarded me.

Then came those first Greek scientists: Thales, Anaximander, Anaximenes, Pythagoras, Heraclitus, Parmenides, etc., beginning around 600 BCE. They all contended that no, the gods did not act to harm or help us; the gods had better things to do. Moreover, events were neither supernatural nor inexplicable—they were natural. It is how the world unfolds, and furthermore, it is possible even to learn how these events happen. For example, if you're sick, maybe you ate something nasty. If your child died, maybe a disease caused it. If your army won the war, maybe it was because of superior battle plans. No rain for the last month? Weather patterns must have caused it.

The main point of these ancient scientists was that there is a perfectly natural cause for these things. So the natural philosopher's job is to do some deep thinking—and maybe even run a few primitive experiments—and see if those causes can't be discovered. We should put effort into ferreting out the causes, rather than trying to appease the gods, they taught.

And that's just what they did; they investigated. They were breaking new ground; exploring new territory—without the benefit of much prior knowledge of the natural world. They invented new ideas and derived new hypotheses. It is to be expected that they stumbled a few times. They certainly disagreed with each other and engaged in endless debates. But they began the process of scientific thought.

So let's get back to my own case of recently falling prey to elitist hubristic thinking. Many years ago, while in middle school, I learned that those ancient Greeks, in their attempt to understand the natural world, decided that everything in the universe was constituted of four elements: earth, air, water, and fire. Even as an adolescent I knew that this was wrong. Hey, there are actually over 100 elements, and the periodic table exquisitely and logically lays it all out. In fact, those four Greek elements aren't elements at all, since they really are chemical compounds or molecules made up of several kinds of basic elements.

Without realizing it, I had slowly developed a slightly aloof attitude towards those Greeks of yore. It's such an easy trap to fall into. In fact, we need to put effort into avoiding feeling superior to ancient peoples or to those in the contemporary world who are “less developed” than we are. As I've pondered our propensity to look down upon those less knowledgeable than we are, I think about how folks in the future will look back at our follies and wonder how we could have been so foolish. How harsh will they someday be judging us?

I think there are numerous areas in which our future offspring will be inclined to disdain who we were, what we believed, and what we did. Causing climate change will undoubtedly top the list. But they'll also be scratching their heads over other foolish actions and beliefs of ours, such as racism, great wealth inequality, nuclear weapons, rampant capitalism, pollution, over population, habitat destruction, nationalism, and others. They will wonder why it was that the 20^th and 21^st century humans could have been so muddle headed and blind.

One of the most astute ideas introduced by those ancient Greek scientists was that we humans are, like all animals, part of nature. We are not separate from and perched atop all the world's critters, like the gods may be. We are not removed from all those animals, or fundamentally superior to them, despite the power of our minds. We may be capable of godlike behavior, and our potential is amazing, but even the ancient Greeks understood that we emerged from the natural world and were an integral part of it. Some 2500 years later, it'd be cause for celebration if we elitist, hubristic moderns understood that simple truth. Let's climb down from our privileged presumptive pedestal and exhibit a little well-deserved humility.