MARX: Alienated Labor (Wages) 2012

Immanuel Kant was a strong believer in the power of conscience to affect the way we live. How does that belief work out in real life? Here’s a typical scenario. Suppose I don’t have any money and I’m starving. Is it ok to steal food in order to survive? Kant says conscience is an instinct and my conscience tells me that stealing is wrong. But my instinct to survive is strong too. What would Kant advise? Let’s leave Kant for a moment and turn instead to Karl Marx for clarification. Marx would ask this question: why are you poor and starving in the first place? You don’t have any money. Why not? Either (a) you don’t have a job, or (b) you do have a job but it doesn’t pay enough to put food on the table. How can this happen? Marx’s basic theme is that wages are determined by the bitter struggle between capitalist and worker. The reason people are poor and starving is that they’re losing the struggle with capitalists (the investors and business owners who control the financial means of production). Marx begins with the notion that it’s a STRUGGLE between employers and workers rather than cooperation between them. Marx believes that the normal wage is the lowest which is compatible with common humanity, that is, with a bestial existence. Marx sees the “normal wage” as the lowest wage that an individual employer will pay rather than the highest wage the worker can get from working somewhere else. He does not see employers in a struggle between themselves to hire the best workers. A third point Marx makes is that in work, all the natural, spiritual, and social differences of individual activity appear and are differently remunerated, while dead capital maintains an unvarying performance and is indifferent to real individual activity. This seems to mean that work is a human activity and is therefore subject to human conditions. Marx sees money, on the other hand, as “dead capital” that is “indifferent” to real people. Other economic writers (such as Adam Smith) view money as a morally-neutral tool that can be used for either good or for bad. It merely keeps score on supply and demand for products and services. Our recent readings may help shed further light on the relationship between people and money. In Rothschild’s Fiddle Jacob was not a hired worker. He owned his own business. No one was exploiting him. But he was still greedy. Until near the end of his life all he thought about was how to make more money. His motto was: it’s all such a waste of money… without the hate and malice folks could get a lot of profit out of each other. For Aristotle money is obviously necessary for us to lead a happy life. But we shouldn’t let money overwhelm our primary human function, which is to pursue the good. Aristotle says as for the money-maker, his life is led under some kind of constraint: clearly wealth is not the good which we are trying to find, it is only useful as a means to something else. And in The Apology Socrates is very careful to distance himself from the notion that philosophy can be used to make money. At his trial Socrates said: If you have heard from anyone that I undertake to educate men and make money doing it, that is false… And religion as well as philosophy is often used to keep money in its proper place. In the Gospel of Luke we find this warning: Take heed, and beware of covetousness: for a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth. The story Heart of Darkness is a long meditation on the evils that money can do to people and the hardships we’re willing to endure in order to make money. Sometimes we may even go against our conscience in order to get rich. This brings us back to the original question of stealing food in order to survive. Kant seems to be counseling us to follow our conscience. Stealing is wrong, period. We must find some other way to survive. Marx seems to be saying that it’s the capitalists who are actually doing the stealing: they’re stealing money from the working-class in the form of low wages for the worker and high profits for the owner. Conscience is a just ploy to maintain the economic status quo. The subject of money is definitely a subject to which the Great Books speak.

KANT: Conscience 2012

Toward the end of Heart of Darkness Marlow overhears Kurtz saying to himself: I am lying here in the dark waiting for death. Then just before Kurtz dies Marlow hears him say the horror! The horror! What’s the meaning of those final words? Joseph Conrad deliberately left the meaning open to different interpretations. Conrad wrote fiction and part of the power of fiction is to leave stories purposefully vague. If we’re looking for beauty then this kind of writing can open the way to deeper levels of meaning. Philosophy is different. If we’re pursuing truth we want precision. A philosopher needs to be precise in showing us the truth he wants to reveal. Kant is a very precise writer. For instance, in this selection Kant defines conscience in very specific terms: Conscience is an instinct to pass judgment upon ourselves in accordance with moral laws. That’s a clear definition but not very helpful in understanding how it works and how we can apply it to our own lives. So he goes on to point out in more detail that conscience is not a mere faculty, but an instinct; and its judgment is not logical but judicial. This is a short sentence but it’s hard to really grasp its meaning. For starters, what is a “faculty” anyway? Webster’s dictionary says in general, the faculties may be called the powers or capacities of the mind… Is Kant saying that our conscience isn’t just something we make up in our heads? Right and wrong isn’t just in our minds. Kant calls our conscience an “instinct” to determine what’s right and what’s wrong. Animals have instincts to help them survive. For example, birds fly south in the winter to get away from the cold. Many animals hibernate during the cold months. They don’t seem to think things through and then suddenly say: “oh it’s time for me to get ready for winter.” No. They just do it by instinct. Kant says our judgment is not logical but judicial. What does that mean? If we were entirely logical creatures we wouldn’t need a conscience. Our logical brains would tell us when something was wrong. It would be kind of like checking our car to see if the oil was low. Is it above this line? Yes, no problem. Not above the line? Then it’s low. When it comes to ethical behavior a logical mind would ask: did you do something wrong? Answer: Yes/Verdict: Guilty. Answer: No/Verdict: Not guilty. That would be the simple logical judgment. But conscience goes farther than that. The logical mind can tell us if we did something wrong but it cannot enforce its decision. Once logic forms a judgment it has completed its work. However, a judicial judgment has the power to determine guilt PLUS the power to enforce the judgment it makes. Kant puts it this way: Thus his judgment has force of law and is a sentence. The judge must either condemn or acquit; not merely form a judgment. This is apparently what happened to Kurtz at the end of his life. Kant believes that we find a judge within us who either condemns or acquits. It is impossible to blind his judgment. Kurtz appeared before the judge of his conscience and it condemned him. Marlow put it like this: (Kurtz) had summed up; he had judged, “The horror!” But in Rothschild’s Fiddle we have a case where Jacob appeared before his conscience and was acquitted: Jacob lay down all day, sick at heart. When the priest heard his confession that evening and asked whether he remembered committing any particular sin he exerted his failing memory and once more recalled Martha’s unhappy face and the desperate yell of the Jew bitten by a dog. “Give my fiddle to Rothschild,” he said… “Very well,” the priest answered. Later on Freud will contradict Kant that we all have a binding moral law of personal conscience. Freud says: “conscience” is ready to put into action against the ego the same harsh aggressiveness that the ego would have liked to satisfy upon other extraneous individuals. Freud thinks conscience comes from social pressure on our egos from the outside. Kant disagrees and says we have an instinct to distinguish right from wrong because it is the moral law, established as the holy and inviolable law of humanity. For Kant this moral law is planted in our hearts and is true for everyone, everywhere, at all times.

CONRAD: Heart of Darkness, 3 (2012)

There’s somewhat of a letdown when Marlow and the reader finally encounter Kurtz in part three of the story. All that’s left of Kurtz by now is a shell of a man. He’s sick and is, in fact, dying. He’s been out in the wilderness for too long; both his body and his mind have suffered from the strain. Still, Kurtz is a remarkable man. So is Marlow in his own kind of way. Marlow’s commentary on life and death are much more instructive to readers than Kurtz’s strange pronouncements. Contemplating Kurtz’s fate here’s how Marlow sums up his own destiny: My destiny! Droll thing life is; that mysterious arrangement of merciless logic for a futile purpose. The most you can hope from it is some knowledge of yourself; that comes too late; a crop of unextinguishable regrets. This is not encouraging. Socrates encourages us to know ourselves, to examine our lives and see what we find. The way Socrates tells it we find encouragement through philosophical inquiry. Marlow seems to be responding: that’s bunk. Go ahead, examine yourself. You will not like what you find. That’s why this little story is called “heart of darkness” because what we will come to know is a very unpleasant truth; not only about ourselves but about all human beings. And that’s if we’re lucky. That’s the MOST we can hope for. Kurtz was one of the lucky ones and came to see himself as he really was and the world as it really is: dark and forbidding. The reality is that the end-game is the same for all of us. We all face death, no matter if it’s the desolation of Kurtz’s station or in a fancy home back in the “civilized” world. Death calls on all alike. This world is a hard place to find your footing and death is no different. Marlow explains: I have wrestled with death. It is the most unexciting contest you can imagine. It takes place in an impalpable greyness, with nothing underfoot, with nothing around, without spectators, without clamour, without glory, without the great desire of victory, without the great fear of defeat, in a sickly atmosphere of tepid scepticism, without much belief in your own right, and still less in that of your adversary. Death is our adversary and we will lose that fight. Like Kurtz, we will have our shot at life. Kurtz had big plans and he was a remarkably gifted and talented man. But he failed. How much more will ordinary people fail? What Marlow admires about Kurtz is that Kurtz took a stand. He had something to say and he said it. That’s something. Marlow wonders what he might have to say when he faces death himself and here’s what he found: I found with humiliation that probably I would have nothing to say. Great books aren’t always uplifting and death is a theme that can’t be ignored. But Conrad’s conclusion is an unusually pessimistic outlook in the western tradition. Our previous reading may provide a clue why. The Gospel of Luke proclaims that Jesus came to give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death... When Marlow is taking Kurtz back downstream to the station he overhears Kurtz saying to himself: I am lying here in the dark waiting for death. The Gospel message provides a way out of this dead-end worldview and has given hope to millions of followers of Jesus who also waited for death. In the reading before Luke, Socrates voluntarily chooses death over exile as his punishment. The reading from Aristotle On Happiness warns us not to call any man happy until after he’s already died. We don’t know what kind of ending anyone will ultimately come to. Kurtz was a man of many talents and had a bright future ahead of him. But his end came on a steamboat in a muddy river in the middle of nowhere and his dying words were The horror! The horror! Perhaps at the very end he could see his whole life in perspective. It doesn’t have to be that way. In Rothschild’s Fiddle the anti-Semitic Jacob also knows he’s dying and sees how mean-spirited he was during his lifetime. But he tries to make amends as best he can by giving his beloved violin to the Jew they called Rothschild. Another excellent story on this theme is Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilych. Conrad will not appeal to every reader. But like Kurtz, Conrad was a remarkable writer.

CONRAD: Heart of Darkness, 2 (2012)

In the second part of Heart of Darkness we begin the journey down river. The mysterious Kurtz waits deep in the interior. As Marlowe and the reader leave the station behind we also leave civilization behind. Giant trees and lush vegetation and the unending river rule this part of the world. On the river you’re more likely to meet a hippopotamus than a human being. Books are out of place here. Philosophy may also be out of place here. It can be enlightening when Socrates stands in the marketplace of bustling Athens and proclaims that the unexamined life is not worth living. But out here among the giant trees and sluggish river there’s not a philosopher to be found. Who would Socrates debate with? A hippopotamus? On the other hand, philosophy may be the only thing that can preserve sanity in the backwaters of this primeval environment. Civilized behavior is an acquired habit, not a natural inclination. What seems perfectly natural out in the bush isn’t normal in civilized society; what’s normal in the city would seem ridiculous out in the bush. Aristotle says human beings are social creatures. We naturally gravitate toward towns and cities because that’s where other people are. But Kurtz is different from most people. Marlowe has already shown that Kurtz is a highly civilized man. No doubt Kurtz was familiar with Socrates and Aristotle. He had been hand-picked by the elite of Europe for this important company station. Kurtz’s future with the company was bright. But something has gone wrong and thrown all these fine plans off course. A large shipment of ivory arrived for the company in good order, but no Kurtz. What happened? Kurtz had apparently intended to return himself, the station being by that time bare of goods and stores, but after coming three hundred miles, had suddenly decided to go back, which he started to do alone in a small dugout with four paddlers, leaving the half-caste to continue down the river with the ivory. This is a critical part of Marlowe’s story because: I seemed to see Kurtz for the first time. It was a distinct glimpse: the dugout, four paddling savages, and the lone white man turning his back suddenly on the headquarters, on relief, on thoughts of home perhaps; setting his face towards the depths of the wilderness, towards his empty and desolate station. Why did Kurtz turn back? Marlowe wants us to mentally see the image of a dugout canoe, four paddling “savages” and Kurtz. It’s almost as if Kurtz made a momentous decision on the long journey up the river with the ivory. He wasn’t just heading back to his station down the river. It wasn’t like he had forgotten something and was going back to pick it up. No. He was literally turning his back on civilization. Why? Why would anyone in his right mind give up all the social advantages to voluntarily live in a place so desolate and empty? Marlowe explains: You can't understand. How could you? With solid pavement under your feet, surrounded by kind neighbors ready to cheer you… stepping delicately between the butcher and the policeman… How could we possibly understand the motivations of a man like Kurtz? We live safe and sound in a society with grocery stores when we need food and police when we need help. We learn to adapt. In society we learn civil behavior from family, friends and neighbors. What would happen if there were no family, no friends no neighbors to help us? What if we were suddenly thrown out on our own, far away from help? Kurtz had to learn to adapt on his own by the way of silence; utter silence, where no warning voice of a kind neighbor can be heard whispering of public opinion? These little things make all the great difference. When they are gone you must fall back upon your own innate strength, upon your own capacity for faithfulness. Of course you may be too much of a fool to go wrong; too dull even to know you are being assaulted by the powers of darkness. Marlowe seems to be asking: can you hear the power of darkness? Utter silence; no warning voice of a kind neighbor. Can you see it? How could you with solid pavement under your feet? Kurtz heard and saw the darkness.

CONRAD: Heart of Darkness, 1 (2012)

Aristotle wrote a very convincing and persuasive philosophical treatise on happiness. It’s very common-sense and down to earth. But it’s still philosophy. Here’s a sample: What is the aim of politics? Both the common man and the cultivated man call it happiness. They understand happiness to be the same thing as “living well” and “doing well.” But when it comes to defining what happiness is, they disagree, and the answer given by ordinary people is different from the answer given by philosophers. As long as we’re just reading about happiness this theory sounds good; but how well does philosophy hold up in real life? This is a question Joseph Conrad pondered in his masterpiece Heart of Darkness. A sailor named Marlowe goes out looking not so much for happiness but for… what? Adventure? Money? The meaning of life? Marlowe’s not even sure himself. Aristotle says we’re all looking for happiness, we just don’t agree what it is. But in the real world the search for happiness becomes translated (or diluted) into the much humbler task of just trying to earn a living. Most people are just trying to find a job that will pay the bills. The characters in this story are not philosophers; they’re sailors, businessmen, clerks, managers. Are they “living well” or “doing well” as Aristotle put it? Early in the story Marlowe meets a minor character who embodies this search for happiness Aristotle is speaking of. Here are Marlowe’s words: I shook hands with this miracle, and I learned he was the Company's chief accountant, and that all the book-keeping was done at this station… I respected the fellow. Yes; I respected his collars, his vast cuffs, his brushed hair. His appearance was certainly that of a hairdresser's dummy; but in the great demoralization of the land he kept up his appearance. That's backbone. His starched collars and got-up shirt-fronts were achievements of character. He had been out nearly three years… Thus this man had verily accomplished something. And he was devoted to his books, which were in apple-pie order. This man wasn’t a philosopher. He was an accountant. And he was very good at what he did. Everything around him was in chaos and falling to pieces. But his books “were in apple-pie order.” Aristotle would certainly have appreciated a man who was good at his job. But Conrad is asking a more probing question: so what? What good are starched shirts and good bookkeeping when the whole operation is in reality a futile flailing about in the darkness? Philosophers tell us that thinking is good and Socrates explicitly says that the unexamined life is not worth living. But sailors like Conrad may have a different philosophy: I watched the coast. Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma. There it is before you -- smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, 'Come and find out.' This is not the noble voice of philosophy calling us. This is an ominous voice luring us into a possible trap or into a dark world from whence we’ll never return. Socrates may have seen the sunny highlands of philosophy but Conrad saw a heart of darkness. It might be best not to go too deeply into that jungle. But Conrad is like Socrates in this way: he wants us to think about what we’re doing before we get in over our heads. Conrad can be as blunt as a steamboat stuck on a river bottom. … I had a notion it somehow would be of help to that Kurtz whom at the time I did not see, you understand. He was just a word for me. I did not see the man in the name any more than you do. Do you see him? Do you see the story? Do you see anything? This is not philosophy but the story of a remarkable man named Kurtz. Kurtz has gone far up the dark river to… do what? There are rumors back at the station that something has gone terribly wrong. Kurtz is not “doing well.” He may have gone too far into the darkness. Kurtz may have become darkness. This story sheds light on Luke’s gospel message of Jesus: To give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide (their) feet into the way of peace. Luke is asking the same question: do you see the man? Do you see the story? Do you see anything?

BIBLE: The Gospel of Luke

In the Great Books tradition there are many different roads to happiness. They just don’t all agree on the path to achieve it. Homer stands at the beginning of the tradition and in The Iliad the ideal of happiness is to attain glory in battle and win the spoils of victory. We read in the book of Exodus that the way to happiness isn’t through war; instead it is to follow the law of God as given to Moses. Socrates believed that discussing philosophy was the way to happiness. Aristotle laid out a whole common-sense program of happiness in his work on Ethics. In Jonathan Swift’s story Gulliver finds happiness by living a rational life. The Wife of Bath thinks happiness can be found by being in complete control of her marriage. In a short story by Gogol it only takes a new coat for Akaky to find happiness. The Preacher in Ecclesiastes believes the pursuit of happiness is futile; the best we can hope for is to enjoy the work that we’re given to do in this world. Flaubert tells a story about a woman finding her happiness in a bird. And Nietzsche thinks we can find happiness by forging new values the way Zarathustra did. But The Gospel of Luke lays out an entirely different road to happiness. Let’s look at a couple of our most recent readings to see how this Gospel gives a different definition of happiness. Our latest reading was Plato’s Apology and at his trial Socrates said this: Men of Athens, I honor and love you; but I shall obey God rather than you, and while I have life and strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy... Understand that I shall never alter my ways, not even if I have to die many times. This wasn’t much different from the trial of Jesus. Both Jesus and Socrates refused to compromise their principles, even under penalty of death. In another book written by Luke (Acts of the Apostles) we see a similar response given by the followers of Jesus: Then Peter and the other apostles answered and said, We ought to obey God rather than men. It would be interesting to listen in on a conversation between Socrates and Jesus. Socrates would start off with a question meant to enhance the search for philosophical truth; Jesus would answer with a parable aiming at spiritual enlightenment. But a more interesting project would be to take the life of Jesus and filter it through Aristotle’s great work on happiness. This would give us a pretty good notion not only about the life of Jesus but also about the limits of philosophy. For instance, Aristotle asks What is the aim of politics? Both the common man and the cultivated man call it happiness. They understand happiness to be the same thing as “living well” and “doing well.” But when it comes to defining what happiness is, they disagree, and the answer given by ordinary people is different from the answer given by philosophers. Was Jesus one of the common men or a cultivated one? Even in a casual reading of the Gospel the answer would have to be: both. In Luke’s little biography did Jesus “live well” and “do well?” Jesus certainly did a lot of good things. He healed people. He taught them. But did he live well by Aristotle’s standards? Jesus wasn’t rich; he never married or had children; he died an excruciating death at a relatively young age. How can anyone honestly say that this man was happy? And yet, that’s exactly what Luke is telling us. The goal of happiness according to Aristotle is to achieve excellence in human terms: to be healthy, enjoy a certain amount of wealth, to have a good family and plenty of friends, to win respect and admiration from your peers. These are the things people should strive for according to Aristotle. Jesus had a different set of goals in mind. They can be summarized in what we know today as “The Lord’s Prayer” Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in heaven, so in earth. Give us day by day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins; for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. These goals might intrigue Socrates; they certainly are not what Aristotle calls happiness. Luke saw things differently. For Luke the life of Jesus was the key to happiness both in this life and the next.

PLATO: The Apology 2011

Almost every student of Western philosophy begins his studies by reading Plato’s Apology. There are good reasons for this. It’s easy to read and gives the impression that it’s easy to understand. A wise man has been unjustly accused by a jealous mob. He’s put on trial and unjustly condemned by an ignorant mob. Then he’s offered exile instead of capital punishment by a fickle mob. But to the mob’s surprise this wise man refuses exile and forces them to follow through with their decision. This is high drama. But The Apology is also inspiring. Socrates chose a noble death instead of a safe exile. He defends himself in a way that reflects well on the study of philosophy. In fact, it makes the reader want to learn more about this subject we call “the love of wisdom.” This is all exactly as Plato intended. We have to remember that this is a STORY about Socrates. It’s not a transcript of the trial. We get a view of heroic philosophy at its best and philosophy’s critics at their worst. Here’s a test: read The Apology and then put it aside. Read it again a year later. This time you’re likely to get a different reading than you did the first time. That’s the kind of story this is; many-sided, complex, and worth re-reading for a whole lifetime. That’s why it’s a Great Book. One interpretation is that Socrates is indeed a hero just as Plato portrayed him. And Socrates certainly does appear heroic at first reading. But other interpretations are possible. After years of experience a reader who first encounters Socrates in college may later read it with a different perspective. A mature reader may pause to ask: what’s really going on here? There’s more at stake in this trial than the innocence or guilt of one man. A whole society is on trial. In fact, WE are on trial. The real question put to the jury is this: what are your values? This man is undermining your way of life. He teaches a philosophy that can (and does) corrupt some people, especially young people. What are you going to do about it? Socrates starts his defense by saying: These men, I claim, have said little or nothing true. But from me Gentlemen you will hear the whole truth… Here’s a delicate subject: truth. In another famous trial the judge asked the accused man: what is truth? Now we’re on to something. What is truth? What’s at stake in this trial is not merely establishing the guilt or innocence of Socrates. The important question is: what is truth? Or to put the same question in modern terms: is there such a thing as “truth?” The way we answer that question is literally a matter of life and death. At his trial Socrates asks this question: Callias, if your two sons were colts or calves we could get an overseer for them and hire him and his business would be to make them excellent in their appropriate virtue. He would be either a horse-trainer (for the colts) or a farmer (for the calves). But as it is, since the two of your sons are men, whom do you intend to get as an overseer? Who has knowledge of that virtue which belongs to a man and a citizen? In our previous reading On Happiness Aristotle’s whole philosophy is built on the assumption that we want what is good. For Aristotle that means all lifestyle choices are not the same; some are better than others. Put another way, some are “true” and others “false” in this sense: they’re true if they are an activity of the soul in conformity with virtue. Socrates taught Plato. Plato taught Aristotle. Aristotle teaches us. There’s a long tradition in Western literature of searching for the truth. That search begins with The Apology and Socrates is the model Western philosopher. In the Great Books series this reading is wedged in between Aristotle’s On Happiness and Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Aristotle says happiness is striving to achieve excellence. Socrates says we should pursue truth. In Heart of Darkness a man named Kurtz tries to do both: achieve excellence and also find the truth. He’s spectacularly successful in business and he does find out the truth, but it doesn’t enlighten him; it destroys his mind. Socrates and his critics were both right: the stakes in philosophy are high. It’s not a game.