Why short and simple? In my experience, introductions ought to be short, taken that they are supposed to suggest the Main Ideas. There is quite an extensive literature which quite admirably sees to the details. As for simple, beyond the supplementary benefit of the reader, I found it intellectually challenging to try to sum up, as plainly as possible, my views on a complex field of investigation. Additionally, this introduction is voluntarily non-academic. This means that I have refrained from the use of quotations, of more or less precise references, as well as from the tentative at completeness and objectivity. Why is that? Of course, some of it has to do with simplicity and shortness, but I also wanted this introduction to be self-contained, trying to make it clear and understandable for the readers whose beforehand knowledge of this field is limited.
It goes without saying - but it might be rather inelegant not even to mention it - that most of the ideas which figure here are not my own. I owe them, of course, to more than two millennia of history of Philosophy. As for the lacks, they are mine. In other words, if you find you like this introduction, you ought to go read Plato, Aristotle, Confucius, Epicurus, Spinoza, Kant and Mill, as well as other great thinkers. If you don't like this introduction, you ought to do so, as well.
There may be some use in giving a general definition of 'Ethics' before pursuing. Ethics is, broadly speaking, the discipline that concerns itself with different aspects of the question about how we ought to live and act, in order to get the most out of life. In other words, ethics can be considered a reflection upon the subject of 'The Good Life'.
The answer to this question may depend on how you
interpret it. We all feel that some things are better for us than
others (most of us would, for instance, prefer a tan to a
sunburn), and that some things are outright bad (a third degree
burn). So, certain things may be said to be good or bad from a
subjective point of view, depending on the eyes of the beholder
(a good dog, from one person's point of view, may be chewing on
the leg of another…). This does not mean, of course, that
there is nothing more to be said about this question.
Can there be any other manner to qualify such or such as 'good'?
Let us, for an instant, concentrate upon the concept of
'subjective'. As human beings, we have our individualities, but
we also have a lot in common with each other. In a certain way,
we play different melodies with the same notes - we write
different stories in the same language. That is to say that we
obey the same grammar, and this grammar has its coherence of its
own. A study of the most common vices - for instance cowardice
and gluttony - teaches us that what is bad from a human point of
view is also bad for the individual. He or she still considers,
from a subjective point of view, something to be good or bad, but
they do so because it is in their nature. Thus, the experience of
some can be useful to others, and we can learn a lot about
ourselves by aiming to know humanity.
But what about what is objectively good and bad ('right' and
'wrong')? It isn't that what is good or bad from a subjective
point of view doesn't constitute an interesting question: some of
the most insightful works of Philosophy (Western and Eastern)
have drawn their inspiration from it, but there is not much
ground to doubt that some things are good for us, while other
things are bad. If reality has ever made itself felt by making
you jam your little toe into something hard, you'll catch my
drift.
The same thing can hardly be said about 'right' and 'wrong'.
These are the names we'd give good and bad, seen from an
objective point of view (independently of our inclinations, and
subject to judgements about objective truth), and concerning the
way we act. In other words, with right and wrong, we confer a
value of its own upon the action, as well as upon the agent. It
may be worthwhile to explain this point a bit further: the
notions of 'right' and 'wrong' are, in reality, applied to how we
choose to affect the world, which is to say that they apply to
our will. Indeed, when we say that something is 'bad', we merely
state a fact, but when we say that someone is 'wrong' (morally,
that is), we blame the agent for acting in a given manner. That
is why it'd be difficult to reasonably we blame something that
has no real will (earthquakes, e.g.).
There has been quite a large number of controversies about the
capacity of statements concerning the notions of 'right' and
'wrong' to be true or false in an absolute manner. In other
words, thinkers have asked themselves whether they have the right
to say that someone is absolutely right or wrong when acting in a
given manner, and they have come to rather diverging conclusions.
Even to start giving an outline of this rich and extremely
interesting debate would be far too long to be worthwhile in this
context. Both sides have produced excellent arguments - there's
no doubt about it - but personally I think we are, to a certain
extent, entitled to claim that we can have knowledge about what
is right and wrong. Indeed, let us consider the notion of
absurdity. As far as truth is concerned, absurdity is a negative
determination - what is absurd cannot be true (otherwise, it is
not 'absurd', but merely 'not well understood'). The same thing
can be said about right (as well as of good, by the way): what is
absurd cannot be willed. In other words, we ought to avoid trying
to make happen what cannot be recognized as being worthy of
choice by a sane mind - be it psychologically, physically or
morally (for instance, respectively, trying to be unhappy, to
literally spread our wings or aiming at what we recognize as
evil, and which as such we do not recognize as desirable). To
want what cannot be wanted is contradictory, and such a
contradiction can only be lifted if we accept to operate a
complete revision of our conception of what can reasonably be
wanted. This (stating that anything can be wanted) would mean
reducing the quality of our will to the sub-rational level -
transforming ourselves into not much more than drooling idiots
and babbling fools (non-agents who, by being irresponsible of
their choices, do not really possess them).
Thus, ethics can be considered a shield against absurdity when it
comes to the way we act and the way we live. It can be objected
that this is merely a negative criterion, but then again, the
biggest problem of humanity can also be said to be its own
stupidity. Moreover, although being quite a negative and
minimalist criterion, a satisfyingly large collection of rules of
conduct and ideas about how to live can be derived from it.
Considering what has been said above, we ought to conclude
that reason has an important part to play in our lives:
sometimes, there has to be some sort of rational intervention in
order to help us prevent ourselves from falling into the traps of
life - a little voice that tells us to 'mind the gap'. In short,
reason is an important tool when it comes to accessing right and
good conduct (also known as 'dignity' and 'happiness'). However,
the human mind has many dimensions. Reason is but one of these,
and neglecting the other dimensions of the mind would result in a
far less rich and complete existence than what might otherwise be
expected. For instance, anger can be destructive for us, but
sometimes it is an adequate reaction (in the face of injustice,
for example) without which we'd be a lot poorer. Therefore, an
exclusive cult of reason might prove quite unwise - everything is
a question of just measure.
What can be said of these dimensions of the mind? Although there
is a multitude of them, some dimensions might seem to have a
greater importance than others, at least from an ethical point of
view. For instance, we have already encountered reason, and there
are emotions and desire as well.
It is quite perilous to say anything at all about the human mind:
everyone has an opinion on the matter (ha ha) - be it based on
mere introspection - and any point of view that is stated is
consequently bound to encounter some degree of controversy.
Hence, it may be worthwhile to clarify a certain number of
points. First, I do not claim any novelty, specialised knowledge
or particular insight when it comes to the life of the mind. I
just want to point out some commonplace, observable facts (the
more banal, the better) in order to pursue a minimal
understanding of how our mind might be capable of working for us,
instead of playing against us. Secondly, a basic understanding
about what makes us tick can be expressed in many ways. If this
one doesn't suit you, you shouldn't hesitate to search for your
own. And, at last, when I talk about 'dimensions of the mind', I
adopt a minimalist point of view: I simply consider them as
something the mind does. I leave the question about their
ontological status and their 'geographical' implantation to the
specialists.
So, what does the mind do? Through reason, it tends
towards knowledge and understanding (being aware of something,
and grasping its nature and significance). When it comes to
exercising this effort upon reality, reason is said to be
'theoretical'. It is 'practical' when it concerns itself with the
way we ought to act. When practical, it can either invent means,
enabling us to realise goals ('instrumental (practical) reason':
'in order to obtain or achieve this, I ought to do that…'),
or it can preoccupy itself with choosing the way to act which
holds the higher intrinsic value ('ethical reason': 'in order to
establish dignity or happiness, I'd better do that…').
Through emotion, we feel a reaction within ourselves when
confronted with reality. It seems possible to distinguish between
the 'immediate emotions' (such as fear, hate, jealousy, shame,
culpability, anger, hope, love, pride, friendship, lust etc.),
which can be considered spontaneous, and the 'mediate emotions'
(such as pleasure, pain, joy, sadness, happiness and
unhappiness), which permits us to conclude whether something is
considered positive or negative. In other words, we just feel the
immediate emotions, while the mediate emotions permit us to
evaluate. Finally, through desire, the mind gives us the vital
energy we need in order to pursue our goals, considered as
sources of pleasure, joy or happiness (or, at least, the absence
of pain, sadness or unhappiness). As such, it can be considered a
blind source of energy, whose goals are collected from our reason
and the emotions.
Most of us, I'm sure, have made, one day or the other, the
unpleasant experience of feeling that they couldn't help having
this or that emotion - maybe even being subsequently led to such
or such course of action, which also couldn't be helped. Why are
we inclined to dislike such experiences? When we are not in tune
with our better judgement, it is generally to be expected that we
find that we are not well served, neither by our emotions nor by
our actions.
Some philosophers have pointed out another reason why we
shouldn't feel too comfortable when this kind of events occur:
when we can't help feeling or acting in some way or another, we
give up this very precious sort of freedom which defines us as
responsible human beings, as opposed to animals. It has been said
that what distinguishes us from animals is our drinking without
being thirsty, as well as our engaging in sexual intercourse just
for fun. What truly makes human beings unique, however, is our
ability to use our own reason to take a certain distance from, to
evaluate and to influence, the way we react (emotionally or
through action) to reality, in order to turn this reaction to our
true advantage. What has this got to do with freedom? This
particular freedom - without which our other liberties might
prove quite useless - consists in acting in conformity with what
is truly good for us, or, in other words, in conformity with our
true nature, instead of obeying the circumstances we are
confronted with.
What is uncomfortable, when we cannot help feeling or acting in a
certain manner, isn't only due to the eventual unfavourable
consequences, but also to the knowledge that we ought to know
better. The love of money is a classic example: in itself, there
is nothing wrong with money, but the love of it had better not
fill all of our existence, lest we would become very unhappy.
What is at stake is organising our living to the optimum, by
according to everything the importance it truly deserves - no
more, no less - in conformity with our superior goals. Indeed,
instead of living our lives in a no more dignified manner than
wind vanes - being subject to the chaos of events - we ought to
organize our lives according to our own goals, consciously giving
a value to our existence instead of just hoping for it. This
would be Freedom.
What kind of value (of existence) are we talking about? This, of course, is one of philosophy's oldest and most important questions, and I'll try to address it with as much humility as possible. From a general point of view, we can distinguish between two kinds of value: 'subjective value' (largely dependent upon the eye of the beholder) and 'objective value' (about which it ought to be possible to establish truths). Concretely, when it comes to human existence, the subjective value will consist in being able to consider that one's life is generally satisfying, while the objective value - a dignity gained through moral action - consists in being a respectable human beeing. All this ought to remind us of what has been said previously, in the first section, about the notions of 'good' and 'right'. Obviously, both will be useful here, because good is a subjective value, while right is an objective one. At this point, it is worth noting that there is no immediate reason why objective and subjective values should be antagonists: they are two aspects of the same thing - Value. In other words, the values in question - happiness (ultimate good) and dignity (ultimate right) - might both, depending on their concrete contents, contribute to what is often called 'The Good Life'. They will be treated further in the two following sections.
One last question ought to be asked before we move on to
the specific contents of The Good Life (or Freedom, as it may be
called as well): if there is anything such as Freedom, why are
free people so hard to find? Is this merely another fairy-tale?
Yes and no… If you expect to access Freedom after reading a
certain number of works of philosophy, you'll be disappointed.
Philosophy, as well as philosophic method, is a highly valuable
guide, but however good the guide is, you actually have to follow
it to get anywhere. Besides, The Good Life, as well as dignity
and happiness, are ideals, never to be completely reached.
Indeed, it's difficult to combine perfection and humanity.
Nevertheless, they belong to a specific class of ideals, where
aiming for the goal is rewarding in itself: even the slightest
progress is better than no progress at all.
This sort of progress can be called a process of
self-realisation, since it consists in changing oneself for the
better, in order to be capable of living a better life. By the
way, philosophical tradition provides us with two role-models
that I'd like to mention for clarity. There is the Saint: he
distinguishes himself by his exceptional dignity, being able to
discipline himself into always doing what is morally right. There
is also the Sage, who leads a happy life through wisdom (acting
in harmony with a profound understanding of oneself, of life and
of the ways of the world) - being able to pursue what is truly
good for him. As we have seen above, there is no conceptual
reason why we shouldn't try being saint and wise at the same
time, aiming for a life as noble and happy as possible. We might
also find some comfort in the certainty that a bit of
imperfection is a part of the fun in life - Saint Augustine once
prayed: 'Give me chastity and continence, but not yet.'
Most of the time, when acting, we intuitively aim towards what we consider to be 'the best' - that is, we try to produce the best consequences. What is to be considered a good consequence has, of course, been subject to some controversy. Some have claimed that only egoism can be considered psychologically credible: agents pursue whichever goal they consider is good for them or for the ones they care particularly for. Of course, our own wellbeing will always be important to us, and that's how it should be. But can it be considered the only source of motivation that is available to us? Even the quickest study of human behaviour ought to be proof enough to the contrary. It is not uncommon that personal wellbeing is sacrificed - not only out of generosity (another source of personal satisfaction), but also out of duty (doing something just because we feel that it is demanded of us) - in order to generate states of affairs considered as valuable in themselves, without reference to one's own inclinations. These states of affairs - we're still talking about good consequences of our actions - have, for instance, been thought to be the greatest possible pleasure for the greatest possible number of people, or the promotion of intrinsically good things, such as beauty, pleasure, friendship, and knowledge.
This is not a convenient frame for trying to understand
why such a phenomenon as a feeling of duty exists within the
human mind - my guess is that we somehow understand that we owe
it to ourselves, in order to lead complete lives. However, it is
important to try to understand what it consists in, and which
importance it ought to have in our lives.
Our duty is something - more specifically a way of acting - that
we consider right from an objective point of view. This does not
mean at all that everything we judge intelligent, meaningful or
desirable is a duty. Duty is what we feel that we have to do for
itself: it consists in actions that are worthy in themselves, and
whose worth is communicated to the ones who carry it out, and
denied to those who fail. For instance, in most senses, brushing
one's teeth is not a duty, but a mere question of basic hygiene
and social intelligence. Where does the line go? It may be hard
to tell, sometimes, but - as a very wise woman once thought - the
fact that some things are not obvious does not mean that nothing
is obvious.
The same thing can be maintained on the subject of conflicting
duties: the fact that reality (or a vivid imagination, often
expressed in textbooks) sometimes confronts us with cases where
conflicting duties applies to the same situation does not mean
that there is no duty. It means that we have to do our best in
facing life's difficulties - choosing between evils, and trying
to bring about the less awful one. On this point, as well, there
is intense philosophical debate: it is not easy to come up with a
simple criterion to apply to all of life's choices. Nevertheless,
I think that it is important to bear in mind that when it comes
to duties, the whole idea is to do one's best not to betray
oneself.
Sometimes it can be difficult to do one's duty. We may feel that we pay an awful price in order not to betray ourselves. Situations may demand that we don't act in coherence with what we consider being in our best interest. It may even happen that we curse duty, itself. Yet, this seems misguided. Isn't duty only a way for us to avoid having far worse regrets than we could have, otherwise? Life can be harsh, but isn't loosing ourselves - being less noble and dignified than we could be - one of the worst things that could possibly happen to us? Isn't, consequently, living in harmony with duty really in our best interest? Maybe it is up to each and everyone of us to answer these questions for themselves.
When it comes to the question about what our duty
specifically consists in, I think it is important to remember,
when 'push comes to show', that duty isn't only a question of
what we aim at, but also about the way we act when we try to
reach a goal. Let us take the example of what is commonly
referred to as 'good sportsmanship'. Playing a game, according to
this set of values, isn't only about winning a game, but about
winning any given game according to the rules, and with some sort
of elegance when it is called for. In short, there is something
ugly (and maybe utterly stupid) about reaching a goal without
considering the means employed in order to reach it. In other
words, I find it unlikely that duty should be exclusively
determined by the consequences we might want to bring about,
although it is important not to forget this aspect. Our actions
have consequences, and to some extent we are responsible for
them. But it would be naïve to pretend that we are not equally
responsible for the consequences which are the results of our
aiming for a goal. Some restrictions have to be respected, and
most fortunately philosophy provides quite a number of them.
There is, for instance, Kant's famous categorical imperative
('Act according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time
will that it should be a universal law'). It reminds us that
although we are not responsible for everything that might happen
in this wretched world, we are accountable for the intentions
with which we act, and their conformity to something that can be
willed. Accordingly, Kant thought, we never ought to treat our
fellow human beings as if they were only means - our attitude and
conduct towards them should depend, as well, upon them having the
same potential dignity (of beings capable of morality) as we do.
I tend to agree with him. There is also the less known, but not
less ancient, principle of double effect, according to which we
should never choose to maltreat anyone, neither as an end nor as
a means. If, however, it is foreseeable that someone will be
harmed as a involuntary result of a planned course of action,
this harm must be measured against the possible problems that
will be caused by this action not being carried out. In short,
these restraints to our actions seem to consist in caring not
only about what is done, but also about how it is done, to whom
it is done and why we have the right to do it.
Moreover, it would be wise to remember that some courses of
action prove more satisfactory in themselves, regardless of the
end pursued. Indeed, quite often - maybe because we get carried
away by the turmoil of life - we deny ourselves the joy of acting
with kindness, skill, temperance, justice, courage etc. Although,
strictly speaking, this concern may be a bit peripheral to the
subject of duty, it seems fitting to conclude this section by
insisting on the fact that acting morally - i.e. dutifully - is
not necessarily the stern path of hardship that we might suspect.
It often depends on the perspective we adopt.
When addressing the subject of happiness, a large number of questions usually arises - for instance, What is happiness? Is there a difference between happiness, pleasure and joy? What does it mean to be happy?
Happiness is quite often thought of as a particular
feeling of general and lasting plenitude. In other words, it is
the name given to the satisfaction whose object is our living in
general, which depends more upon our mental organisation than
upon the specific events we are confronted with.
In this sense, it is quite different from the feelings of
pleasure and joy. They have their attractiveness in common - we
are generally drawn towards happiness instead of unhappiness, joy
instead of sadness and pleasure instead of pain - but they
consist in three different kinds of satisfaction. Whereas
happiness is enduring, joy and pleasure are responses to events
that happen to us, which means that they are punctual, and only
partially under our control. Joy is a spiritual satisfaction of
all our being - for instance the overwhelming fulfilment of
seeing long-gone loved ones again, being taken away by sublime
music, or the triumph of reaching an important goal - which often
consists in an aspect of our mind temporarily taking over the
whole. Pleasure can be both corporal and spiritual, but it is
always situated in a part of our body or concerning a specific,
and limited, dimension of our mind. Hence, there is a qualitative
difference between the examples of joy described above and the
pleasures of spending a pleasant evening at the pub,
understanding a not-too-important point of theory, eating a good
meal, or receiving a skilled massage.
Of course, happiness, joy and pleasure do not automatically
exclude each other. In a perfect reality they would be forever
combined. Unfortunately, we sometimes have to choose between
them. Is there, first of all, a hierarchy between them? It can,
of course, be argued that this is a question of taste, and that
it is impossible to produce absolute claims concerning choices
that each individual has to make for him- or herself, but then
again such a reaction may seem inappropriate in this context. No
serious reflection on the subject of happiness tries to force a
way of life upon people - this would be completely missing the
point. What it does, however, is trying to answer the question
about how we, as individuals, can be best assured of creating a
life for ourselves that we'd judge worth living and meaningful.
Only from this perspective can there be said to be a hierarchy
between pleasure, joy and happiness: pleasure and joy are far
less under our control than happiness and they don't seem to last
as long. Therefore, it might seem wise not to sacrifice one's
happiness to pleasures and joys, on the more or less rare
occasions where the question of priorities arises. Doing
otherwise is taking risks, and it is up to each individual to
decide to which extent it's worth it. It may, by the way, be
worth remembering that it is perfectly possible to be, for
instance, sad and happy at the same time. This is due to the
difference of 'level' between happiness and unhappiness on one
side, and joy and sadness on the other. Many of us would feel,
for instance, that not being able to mourn the death of a loved
one is far worse than the actual mourning. The sadness of
mourning is a natural response to an unfortunate event, while
unhappiness is just a waste of time, which it seems
psychologically impossible to prefer to happiness.
The definition of happiness, which figures above, is a
rather formal one, in the sense that it puts more emphasis on the
concept's relation to other concepts than on its actual contents.
Considering that happiness is not only an object of thought, but
also a practical issue - in other words something that is
susceptible of being lived - it seems important to investigate
what it really means to be happy, that is, which state of mind,
exactly, it would be wise to aim for in our lives.
The idea according to which the world that surrounds us will
always evade our control, at least to some extent, is quite
self-evident. Hence, letting one's general appreciation of life
depend upon what happens to us might seem quite risky. It would
be far more reasonable to look for the source of this general and
enduring satisfaction with one's life within oneself - that is,
by cultivating a particular mental organisation, which would
create and ascertain such a state of mind. Which mental
organisation would most adequately contribute to the production
of a truly happy state of mind? In which direction would it be
wise to make ourselves evolve, in order to approach happiness? It
seems obvious that in order to appear plausible, answers to this
question should include some sort of idea about how we can make
the best out of the dimensions of our mind. Specifically, this
might indicate (at least it's the only answer I'm able to come up
with that might be psychologically credible and which doesn't
suggest a direct and unfortunate inner conflict with our quest
for duty) that we ought to cultivate a virtuous character - a
virtuous way of being. These days, virtue is often considered
quite an old-fashioned concept, because it makes us think of
values which belong in another century, and which, quite
frequently, put immoderate and ridiculous emphasis on sexual
moderation, as well as on systematically obeying our elders.
Originally, though - and this is the sense of the word that is
commonly retained in philosophical speech - virtue means
excellence. Indeed, being virtuous signifies being able to aim
for what is truly good for us in all circumstances (be it doing,
feeling, thinking etc): all these aspects of our existence become
inherently satisfying. This has given birth to the virtues
(kindness, generosity, courage, temperance, patience, justice,
wisdom, prudence, trustworthiness etc.). Many virtues have been
defined as being the intelligent middle way between two
inappropriate extremes. Courage, for example, is neither
foolhardiness nor cowardice, but somewhere in between. Other
virtues seem to consist in the complete exercise of our
faculties. Alternatively, virtues have to do with the way we act,
the way we cope with our emotions, the way we think, etc. Still,
they always have in common the ability to make our lives happier:
we avoid hurting ourselves unnecessarily, we gain particular joys
and pleasures from the full exercise of our faculties and we gain
the enduring satisfaction of accomplishment - becoming who we can
be at our best, thus living life at its fullest. Additionally,
there is reason to believe that such a mental organisation might
also help us make more out of our pleasures and joys. We'd be
more able to savour them, and our choices might be a little more
intelligent and informed.
How do we become virtuous? The way our mind is organised - which
is the same as saying 'the way our mind do things' (reason,
emotion, desire... and the ways they relate to each other) -
appears to be determined by a multitude of factors, of which we
can mention genetic heredity, upbringing and experience.
Nonetheless, we all have the freedom to challenge these inputs
and to create our own. Indeed, our mind continually observes and
judges itself. However, we need to decide that this is important,
in order to make it so. Moreover, it seems obvious that such a
process - which is bound to be long and complex - demands a
determined pursuit of self-understanding and of mental hygiene.
Only then can we hope being able to think, feel and desire in our
best interest, aiming for the ideal of happiness.
The Good Life, then, is about choice. Indeed, choosing to pursue such an ideal - happiness and the dignity of duty combined - consists in choosing what the pursuit immplies. Some may find this easy. For many of us, however, this means fighting our own stupidity and weaknesses while knowing very well that perfection probably is not of this world. We may find, though, that self-realisation (this struggle towards mental discipline, self-discovery and constant awareness of our priorities - be it through contemplation, meditation, psychotherapy, experimental drugs or cold showers) is a path where every step includes its award that we would not want to be without. In short, the fact that we are not able to make life perfect does not mean that improving it is impossible or worthless.