Of course art can comprise of anything that one finds soothing to the soul: poetry, music, photography, painting, fiction, autobiographies, dance, graphics, theater… It is impossible to exhaust the list in which something can be described as art. But for the purposes of this paper, since I am inquiring into Plato’s interpretation of beauty and art, I shall narrow this infinite list of art down to poetry and paintings—subjects that Plato deems as mere imitations.

Much of Plato’s writings are devoted to both beauty and art, though he treats the two very distinctively. According to Plato, art, as represented through poetry, is closest to the greatest evil than any other event or entity, while beauty is closest to the greatest good. With beauty and art occupying the extremities of either side of the spectrum, it is hard to imagine how Plato’s writings on aesthetics can contain both simultaneously.

In reading several of Plato’s works, I believe that his work is more of an exploratory script than an unquestionable position on the subject. I say this because I have yet to find an exact aesthetic theory in his dialogs. As well, Iris Murdoch in The Fire and the Sun concurs stating that Plato never gave a definitive argument for the position he took (Anton, p. 239).

In discussing Plato’s interpretation of art, I find it important to also discuss his feelings towards beauty. In Plato’s literary works, it is not uncommon to read, in detail, his explanations concerning both beauty (as it relates to The Forms) and art. Plato speaks perennially about beauty and, more specifically, The Forms. It is important to note that beauty, as we understand it in modern day, is somewhat different than the definition in Plato’s time. We use the term “beautiful” usually to describe something that has actual beauty—a face, body, sunsets, and the likes. But when Plato uses the same term, beauty or beautiful is likened to “noble.” To be described as beautiful, one is referring to an ideal man; one who is admirable and a good warrior (Adorno, p. 354). An interesting difference that I have found between the modern definition and Plato’s definition is that the latter implies a more ethical connotation rather than a corporeal one.

In the Symposium, Plato describes quite a chief analysis of beauty. Socrates interprets his teacher’s, Diotima, elucidation on love. She says that beauty is the object of every love’s yearning. And, most interestingly, she contrasts between the beauty of the body and the beauty of the soul, assigning beauty of the soul chief entitlement. “Next, he must grasp that the beauties of the body are as nothing to the beauties of the soul, so that wherever he meets with spiritual loveliness, even in the husk of an unlovely body, he will find it beautiful enough to fall in love with and to cherish—and beautiful enough to quicken in his heart a longing for such discourse as tends toward the building of a noble nature” (210c). She goes on to emphasize a soul’s progression towards pure and actual beauty recognized in bodies, souls, laws, institutions, knowledge and ultimately beauty itself.

In another excerpt from the Symposium, Diotima suggests that poetry indeed counts as art. She says that the task of every poet and of anyone who we may call creative must beget wisdom and other similar virtues in their work (209a). As I will soon illustrate, this is a stark contrast of poetry as compared to the Republic. In fact, in the Republic, Plato aims to censor poetry as it corrupts the minds of the youth. Throughout the Republic, Plato is insistent in the evils that poetry and other kinds of art wreak upon a city and its people.

As Murdoch points out, there is a genuine perplexity over the fact that Plato, who lived in a time and society with an abounding richness of artistic culture, shows such enmity and detestation towards art. As well, the most obvious paradox is that Plato himself is a great artist (Murdoch, p.87). It is needless to say that Plato’s grudgingly acceptance of poetry and art is controversial. The question is not whether poems and art are beautiful—that is already acknowledged for the most part, but the question is whether poems can guide the mind towards knowledge, truth and The Forms as entities of beauty can. When poetry and paintings lead the mind on unphilosophical and mendacious paths, as Plato accept it does, the inevitable outcomes are wanton. But what does Plato think prevent poems and paintings from behaving as noble or beautiful entities do? Asked in a different way, what cultivates enlightenment and what thwarts it?

The term mimêsis becomes a reoccurring depiction in Plato’s writings. The term can be translated as imitation. He uses this term most prominently as he describes the baseness and corruptness consequence that poetry and other art forms possess. However, the term had an ambiguous and less sordid meaning to it in other texts. The comedies of Aristophanes referred to mimêsis, too. This usage of the word more accurately illustrates a technical designation referring to what actors do on stage in the theater. The actors are merely imitating fictitious characters and events.

Plato’s interpretation is much more unsympathetic, of course. In Plato’s Republic, Socrates banishes Homer as well as all the other poets from his ideal polis. As Hans-Georg Gadamer writes, “Probably nowhere else has a philosopher denied the value of art so completely and so sharply contested its claim…to reveal the deepest and most inaccessible truths” (Cohn, p.34).

In Books II and III, the role of poetry as is stands in the curriculum for the Guardians is assessed. Poetry, as specifically written by Homer, is criticized and is not fit for impressionable young minds to hear. In Book II, this is explained more thoroughly:

–Do you not know, then, that the beginning in every task is the chief thing, especially for any creature that us young and tender? For it is then that it is best molded and takes the impression that one wishes to stamp upon it.
–Quite so.
–Shall we, then, thus lightly suffer our children to listen to any chance stories fashioned by any chance teachers and so to take into their minds opinions for the most part contrary to those that we shall think it desirable for them to hold when they are grown up?
–By no manner of means will we allow it.
–We must begin, then, it seems, by a censorship over out story-makers, and what they do well we must pass and what not, reject. And the stories on the accepted list we will induce nurses and mothers to tell to the children and so shape their souls by these stories far rather than their bodies by their hands. But most of the stories they now well we must reject (377B-C).

Plato, as we can see, believes that people, particularly children, internalize poetry. The effects of poetry will inescapably imprint its message onto the psyche of the individuals and thus the city as a whole. If we allow children to hear any story indiscriminately—stories that are contrary to living a most noble and honorable life as adults—the city and its people would reasonably be destined for corruption.

Jonathan Lear emphasizes Plato’s opinion that for one to be an honor-loving person, one should be brought up on stories of brave men committing brave acts so as to fear slavery more than death itself. Following, a child ought to be allowed to imitate only the deeds appropriate of a Guardian. Pertaining to education, children should be brought up in a rigorous program of music and gymnastics that reinforce the honor-loving part of the psyche. So, Plato seems to insinuate that through proper imitation from youth, one actually constitutes oneself as a certain type of person (Lear, p.187). The difference between growing up to become a noble and brave person and growing up to become a cowardly and base one is the fables and poetry a child hears from adolescence.

Needless to say, the type of imitation one hears is chief in creating an ideal city for Plato. Of course as story-makers, there can be a deliberate and cautious nature in writing and telling tales—assuring that the tales cater to the honor-loving psyche. However, being the recipient of the tales is much more precarious, for internalization of these tales is strictly an unconscious process. Lear points out that evil and lawlessness can seep into one’s psyche unconsciously; and it does so through music and poetry.

It is worthy of note that after this discourse relating to the content [logos] of poetry, Socrates turns to the style [lexis] of poetry (Republic, 392B-C). He wants to distinguish with certainty both the matter and manner of speech (Cohn, p.34). It is concluded, then, that poetic narration can take place through narration, through mimêsis, or through a mixture of both narration and mimêsis.

This distinction between the content and style is an important one. Socrates does not suggest to banish every single poet from his ideal republic, for certain fables of courage and honor are welcomed to be told to children by their mothers and nurses in order to turn the children’s souls into worthy ones. The different manners in which the same story can be told is the rationale for excluding certain kinds of poetry from the ideal city will depend.

Socrates illustrates this by referring to the infamous opening of Homer’s Iliad—the scene where Chryses pleads to Agamemnon to release his daughter—by proceeding to retell this scene in a different way. In the original text as written by Homer, the poet speaks as if he himself was Chryses, whereas when Socrates retells the same story, the poet speaks as Homer throughout. The result is a telling of a story without imitation, but with narration (Cohn, p. 35). This differentiation seems to imply that mimêsis is a deviant manifestation. After additional discourse on the matter, Socrates decrees that poetry of the imitational kind will not be tolerated in the just and ideal city he seeks to conceive.

To illustrate this point further, Homer’s poems alternate between third-person accounts of certain events and directly quoted dialogues of the person or people involved in those events. Using the same scene as above, Homer uses the callous and vulgar language fit for a warrior as Agamemnon refuses to show any sympathy for Chryses. This exemplifies the difference in writing the words of an Agamemnon-character and reciting the words.

In Book X of the Republic, Plato, through Socrates, defines mimêsis in more detail. Mimêsis in the poetic form, as well as with paintings, are imitations of appearances and is third removed from truth. The first (The Form) is the nature of the bed (made by the natural creator—God), the second (the individual thing) comes from the work of the carpenter who makes the bed, and the third (the actual painting) comes from the work of the painter. So, poetic mimêsis is far removed from truth, therefore corrupting the soul and psyche, and thus, according to Socrates, should be banished from the city.

Also defined in Book X, Socrates is justifying the philosophy-based education over that of the poetry-education that others erroneously encourage. Socrates asserts that poets do not know nor appreciate the truth of the originals. Many misguidedly believe that poets must know what they write about if they are to produce work that is admired by their audience. But Socrates negates this stating that poets are really ignorant of what they write about. This imitation that poets publish is nothing more than a sort of counterfeit sincerity of ideas. Socrates believes that for a poet to write well and not merely create imitation, he should possess knowledge of what he writes his poems about.

Of course, one could argue that someone could be exceptionally ignorant of the veracity of politics, war, lust, and life in general and still produce great works of art. Plato would say that this is exactly the problem. Nothing short of ludicrous disorder will come about if an activity, such as poetry, can succeed even from sheer ignorance.

To focus on the most significant affairs pertaining to cities—war, victory, politics and education—Homer, for example, does not stand solidly when scrutinized. Socrates asks Homer,

Homer, if you’re not third from the truth of virtue, the sort of craftsman of images that we defined an imitator to be, but if you’re even second and capable of knowing what ways of life make people better in private or in public, then tell us which cities are better governed because of you, as Sparta is because of Lycurgus, and as many others—big and small—are because of many other men? What city gives you credit for being a good lawgiver who benefited it, as Italy and Sicily do to Charondas, and as we do to Solon? Who gives such credit to you? (599D-E)

Socrates makes his argument stating that Homer, an inapt leader of education, as well as other poetic imitators, simply imitates qualities of virtue by pandering to their audience. Since education is of great importance as it concerns the city as a whole, it is no wonder why Socrates is concerned with who the teachers are. Given that, as mentioned before, what one learns is unconsciously imprinted onto her psyche. And it is the people of the polis that actually define the polis itself.

Plato speaks specifically to this in Book VIII when he states, “Are you aware, then, said I, that there must be as many types of character among men as there are forms of government? Or do you suppose that constitutions springs from the proverbial oak or rock and not from the characters of the citizens, which, as it were, by their momentum and weight in the scales draw other things after them?” (544D-E). Lear also points out that the character that is inherent in the psyche will be found in the polis (Lear, p.190).

Socrates’ just polis, as he is so adamantly attempting to create, will be directed by a philosopher-king, and those living in the just polis will be influenced by appropriate imitation that establishes the honor-loving soul. Lear coins the concept “externalization.” It is defined as a process by which Plato thought a person fashions something in the external world according to a likeness in his psyche (Lear, p.192).

Imitation has a much worse effect than creating from ignorance; imitation doesn’t only teach nothing, but it fosters an acceptance of ignorance over truth and knowledge. It is a common saying that ignorant is bliss and some would prefer to remain in such a state (as Plato also acknowledges in Symposium 204a), but why would anyone contently choose to know less?

Though Plato makes unassailable arguments that in order to have a just and ideal polis, its people must practice deeds of courage, bravery and cater to an honor-loving soul, I believe his banishment of even some poets (though not all, as he admits that only art that nurtures a vicious soul will be banished), will deter from an idealistic city. Murdoch agrees as she says that a free art is an essential aspect of a free society” (Murdoch, p.85).

Furthermore, Plato seems to ignore the ways in which art does what morality and religion do at their best: to free a person from an egotistical fantasy world created for self-protection and self-consolation. These artists are free enough of their own egocentricity so as to break through mere appearances and to reveal something that is of authenticity and reality (Allen, p.226). In addition, Immanuel Kant advocates that the challenge of poetry is to avoid nonsense and make new sense; the poet must speak to and through the sensus communis (Penny, p.374). Sensus communis, as Kant uses the term, means the idea of a sense shared by humanity as a whole. It is a power to judge that in reflecting takes account, in our thought, of everyone else’s way of presenting something, in order as it were to compare our own judgment with human reason in general (Kant, p.160).

Aesthetic reflection, Kant argues, does two things: one, creates its own representation of human reason, and two, compares our particular aesthetic experiences to that standard. To Kant, contrary to Plato, art—specifically poetry—very much enhances and reflects humanity’s reason. We use poetry to analyze the individual as well as society.

It is interesting that in much of Plato’s writings, Socrates advocated (so much so that it beget his demise) the search for truth. But yet, in the Republic, he was without apprehension to banish artists that wrote about people or events that were contrary to Socrates’ judgment of idealism. In search for truth, Socrates opted for censorship—quite a dubious and ineffective way of getting at truth.

Certainly, Plato’s intention in banning certain artists was principled in theory. He believed that in order to have a perfect polis, it was required by the elders to narrate to their children stories of brave men to cultivate an honor-loving soul, and so poets like Homer needed to be banished from the just city. But I believe that Plato fails to notice that art, in all its forms, cultivate other sentiments as well. Poetry, paintings and other forms of art are a reflection of a stranger’s soul. To read into someone’s soul requires a deep contemplation on behalf of the viewer. Through this deep contemplation can the realizations of honor, courage, sympathy, revelation, adornment, etc. be experienced.

These necessary sentiments are what make humanity, humanity. To have a perfect and just polis is not merely to have its people acquire their perfected, virtuous character by being brought up on sheer propaganda, turning a blind eye to a world’s true vicious nature, it is to have its people acquire their perfected, virtuous character despite the world’s vicious nature.

Sources Cited:
1. Adorno, Theodor Wiesengrund, Gretel Adorno, and Robert Kentor. Aesthetic theory. Newly transl., ed. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2006. Print.

2. Allen, Diogenes. “The Fire and the Sun: Why Plato Banished the Artists.” Theology Today 25 (1978): 226-227 (review). Print.

3. Anton, John Peter. “The fire and the sun: Why Plato banished the artists.” Journal of the History of Philosophy 19.2 (1981): 239-242 (Review). Print.

4. Cohn, Dorrit. “The poetics of Plato’s Republic: A modern perspective.” Philosophy and Literature 24.1 (2000): 34-48. Print.

5. Kant, Immanuel, Nicholas Walker, and James Creed Meredith. Critique of judgment . Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Print.

6. Lear, Jonathan. “Inside and outside the “Republic”.” Phronesis 37.2 (1992): 184-215. Print.

7. Murdoch, Iris. The fire and the sun: why Plato banished the artists. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978. Print.

8. Penny, Laura. “The highest of all the arts: Kant and poetry.” Philosophy and Literature 32.2 (2008): 373-384. Print.

9. “William Faulkner – Banquet Speech.” Nobelprize.org. N.p., n.d. Web. 10 May 2011. .

David Hume authors a much recognized take on the problem of evil. In this conjecture Hume posits, “Is he willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then is he impotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then is he malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Whence then is evil?” (Hume, Dialogs). It is a seemingly deplorable accusation to insist that the monotheistic God of the 17th century is both powerless and wicked.

Another argument involves the existence of evil and how it was compatible with holiness, if at all. Since God is the creator of everything, he is then the creator of evil as well. So, if God is the creator of evil, it follows that God is not holy or morally pure. Finally, if such a being existed, then the apparently flawed world as it is would represent a world that is an immense failing on God’s part. With little doubt, Leibniz spends a great deal of his writing to attempt to solve these apparent contradictions between God and evil (Murray, Last Seminary).

There are many interpretations into the problem of evil and even more in either explaining how evil fits into a world where there indeed exists a God or in explaining away God’s existence due to the fact that there exists evils—caused by both humans and nature.

There are two main arguments relevant to the problem of evil. The first is referred to as ‘the underachiever problem.’ According to this problem, if there existed an omnipotent, omnibenevolent and omniscient God, then the mere existence of this evidently imperfect world represents quite well God’s failure to create a more perfect world (Murray, Last Seminary). Thus, two conclusions may follow: One, there exists no God, or two, God is not as good or as powerful as once thought.

Leibniz responds to the problem that the world is a faulty one on God’s part by explaining that God has chosen the best of all possible worlds; God is constrained by his goodness to create the best of all possible worlds. Furthermore, Leibniz would argue that because God is all-knowing, all-powerful and all-good, there is certainly nothing in his way to create the best world possible. However, one could argue against Leibniz’s reasoning in a quite compelling way. One could contend that God might not have created the best possible world if there were no best world to begin with. For instance, perhaps there was a series of possible worlds, one better than the last, to ad infinitum. If this were true, then God could have not chosen the best possible world in just the same way as I could not name the highest possible number. As well, if God is omnibenevolent and omniscient, and in choosing the best possible world, knowing that there would be injustices, suffering, pain, sin, evil, etc., God would have not been so obliged to create a world to begin with. Leibniz, however, would argue that because there in fact exists a world and since God is in fact omnibenevolent, then our world is in fact the best of all possible worlds.

Though as aware as Leibniz was of the objections I’ve presented, he would be quick to reject them. One of Leibniz’s most central principles was his Principle of Sufficient Reason. According to this principle, every thing—every event, every effect, something’s existence—is the way it is because there is a sufficient (and necessary) reason for it to be the way it is as it is now and not some other way. So then, concerning our world—why it is the way it is; why there is evil, why is it the best possible of all worlds—it is the way it is because there must be some reason that explains it. We, as infallible beings with limited intellect, may not know the necessary reason, but just because we cannot think of this reason does not mean that such a reason does not exist.

So, even if there were a continuum of worlds to choose from, Leibniz would argue that there is a sufficient reason as to why God chose this particular world and that reason is that this world is the best possible world. But concluding that Leibniz’s principle of sufficient reason is enough to explain away the underachiever problem may actually propose another question.
I will state the question in the form of a syllogism:

1. If God were omnipotent, omniscient and omnibenevolent, then this world is the best possible.
2. This is not the best possible world (from quite evident observations).
3. Thus, God is not all-powerful, all-knowing and all-good.

Leibniz would conclude that one of the two premises is incorrect. Since he is committed to the first as true, he will reject the second, and for good reason. For, what reason do I have to assume that this is not the best possible world? One would argue against Leibniz stating that this current world we live in is riddled with evil; from earthquakes, tsunamis, and bombings to murder, famine, and injustice, a world without all this would surely be the better world.

Leibniz would respond in a few ways. First, though there may be certain aspects in the world that we assume could be better, there is no way of knowing that it is possible to create a better world without those particular aspects since we cannot know what relevant and vital connections other events and aspects have to those in question. If, somehow, we were able to change certain aspects we believed to manifest in evil without changing anything any thing else, then perhaps we could have a better world. But because we have no way of knowing what sort of changes may take place—we may make the world worse, it may stay the same or it may become better…

Second, stating that our world is filled with evil is quite a subjective and deceptive criticism. We presume that God’s standards of goodness are the same as our own. In addition, we presume that a world is good only if these particular aspects in it are also good or a world is good only if humans are to be happy. Time and time again does Leibniz argue that it is much too narrow minded to think that God uses the same evaluative process as humans do to determine what in the world is good or evil. In fact, Leibniz argues that the best world is one which yields the greatest variety of phenomena governed by the simplest set of laws.

With this interpretation, Leibniz emphasizes the fact that the perfection in a world that maximizes phenomena is enhanced by simplest of laws since it manifests the intelligence of the creator who actualized and created the world. With this being an argument for the best possible world, it becomes increasingly difficult to disregard Leibniz’s stance on his best of all possible worlds theory. For instance, if we were able to undo the 9/11 event, what would be required of us to do just that? We could perhaps, through some divine and marvelous intervention, interfere somewhere along the chain of events that led up to that incident. God could perhaps make it so that the planes never left the ground or cause the individuals involved in the hijack to simply vanish. But in order to do this, the laws governing phenomena would become much more complex (rather than having the laws as simple as can be, as Leibniz would have it).

Thus, Leibniz maintains that we cannot know how altering certain events (events that humans think are an unspeakable evil) would change the world’s capacity to meet his standard of greatest number of phenomena with the simplest set of laws. Consequentially, we can never, with certain confidence, assume that this world is not the best possible world.

The second main difficulty concerning the problem of evil is often referred to the Holiness Problem (Murray, Last Seminary). As previously mentioned, this problem states that God’s holy characteristics have been tainted since he knowingly contributes to the existence of evil as he is the creator of every thing, including evil. Some would contest that evil is not a thing. Rather, it is a lack of something. So, God could not be the creator of evil. To make this concept clearer, we can equate the reality of evil to the reality of a hole in a donut. To make a donut, we needn’t make a donut cake and the hole to complete the donut. Though as compelling at this argument may seem, Leibniz would argue against this analogy because his world is totally and absolutely complete—a plenum—and without gaps. The hole in the donut as it relates to evil being a hole in the world is irreverent as it presents a gap in the world.

Leibniz not only argues to the Holiness Problem, as we shall get to shortly, but he also argues the response to the Holiness Problem. Leibniz believes the “evil is a lacking” response fails as a justifiable answer to the Holiness problem. Leibniz asserts that God is the creator of everything—all the real and positive things in the world. So, through extension, God is also the creator of anything that is a lacking or privation.

In The Author of Sin (Leibniz, Philosophical Confessions), Leibniz gives an example. Imagine a painter that created two paintings: one on a smaller scale and the other on a much larger scale. Everything else in the painting is exactly the same; it is only the scale that is different. It would be absurd to say that painter is the creator of all that is real in the two paintings, but not being the creator of the privations or whatever is lacking that are visible in the smaller painting.

So, even if the criticism that evil is a privation is true, it still does not follow, according to Leibniz, that God is not the creator such privations. Leibniz argues away the Holiness Problem in a different way. He says that evil is a necessary byproduct of God performing his duty—his duty to create the best possible world. He is careful to emphasize that God’s actions of allowing evil to create the best possible world is morally permissible since it is a necessary consequence rather than evil is just a result in trying to create a greater good that is not otherwise attainable.

The matters that appear in Leibniz’s theory of the problem of evil were enthusiastically discussed among philosophers of his own time and, are still to this day, discussed in much detail. It is an effortless task in realizing the different evils in the world: those are the manmade like murder, wars, terrorism and those that are brought through nature; earthquakes, droughts, floods, etc. It is a natural question to ask how does God allow for such evils. Though Leibniz presents a compelling and logical solution to this problem, a perfect resolution is not likely to come about. Leibniz’s solution to the problem of evil is just one of many theories. And considering it is such a metaphysical question, it is not easy to resolve it through tangible evidence which may prove to be more substantiated.

Leibniz’s theory to resolve such a problem follows logically from his principles of sufficient reason and the best possible of all worlds. There is no more a reason to think that a better world exists than to think that this is the better world except for the fact that this very world we live in exists—thus this is the best possible world even with its evils and imperfections.

Secondary Sources:
1. Hume, David, and Dorothy Coleman. Dialogues concerning natural religion and other writings. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Print.

2. Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, R. C. Sleigh, Brandon Look, and James H. Stam. Confessio philosophi: papers concerning the problem of evil, 1671-1678. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005. Print.

3. Murray, Michael J., 1995, “Leibniz on Divine Knowledge of Conditional Future Contingents and Human Freedom,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 55: 75-108.

4. Murray, Michael J.. “Leibniz on the Problem of Evil.” Last Seminary – Problem of Evil. N.p., n.d. Web. 11 May 2011. .

In the beginning to Part III of Ethics, Spinoza exemplifies his account of the laws of nature: “The laws and rules of nature, according to which all things happen, and change from one form to another, are always and everywhere the same. So the way of understanding the nature of anything, of whatever kind, must also be the same, viz. through the universal laws of nature.” Spinoza insists that, unlike many other philosophers during his time, humans are not outside nature. That is, when a human being does good, is free, is moral, it is so through the nature of laws and nothing more.

An action, according to Spinoza, cannot be free. However, that does not mean that Spinoza rejects the idea of human freedom. In his understanding of human freedom, it is simply freedom from external interference. For instance, I am free in doing something—producing some effect—if the effect is only from my striving to persevere. Good and evil are descriptions of properties in nature that we can ascribe to both human action and to the actions of other finite modes.

In Book III, Proposition 9, Spinoza further explains that humans desire to secure their own interests. Because he defines desire as human striving together with the consciousness of striving, I do question his narrow definition of desire. I might desire not only my perseverance of being, but I could also desire other kinds of things as well that doesn’t necessarily prescribe to my being’s perseverance. Furthermore, one can desire things that do just the opposite—one could desire to drink himself to oblivion five nights of the week. However, he does account for those who make decisions on confused ideas.

In Book IV, Proposition 44s, Spinoza addresses those who are confused.
…And although men are subject to numerous emotions, and so few are found who are always assailed by one and the same emotion, yet there are some in whom one and the same emotion stays firmly fixed. For sometimes we see men so affected by one object that they think they have it before them even though it is not present. When this happens to a man who is not asleep, we say he is delirious or mad, and no less mad are those though to be who are fired with love, dreaming night and day only of their sweetheart or mistress, for they usually provoke ridicule. But when the miser thinks of nothing but gain or money, and the ambitious man of honour, they are not reckoned as mad, for they are usually unpopular and arouse disgust. But in reality avarice, ambition, lust, etc. are kinds of madness, although they are not accounted as diseases. (p. 179).

Spinoza is describing here many different possible ends of human action in which do not preserve the being. If the greedy man is seeking profit because he mistakenly believes it will lead to perseverance of the being, Spinoza points out that it is one and the same object that obsesses these men.

Even in Book IV, Proposition 20, he states that the more a person endeavors to preserve his own being, the more endowed with virtue he is. Spinoza likens virtue with power, showing that virtue has both a metaphysical and moral connotation to it. In Proposition 44 in the same book, Spinoza explains that consciously trying to preserve one’s being is right whereas neglecting to preserve one’s being is wrong.
It seems then, that Spinoza believes most people, most of the time, strive to satisfy their own interests—persevere their own being. He states in Book 3, Proposition 56, “We endeavor to bring about whatever we imagine to be conducive to pleasure; but we endeavor to remove or destroy whatever we imagine to be opposed to pleasure and conducive to pain.” However, for those who occasionally act from greed or lust or ambition or esteem, those actions are performed due to their confused ideas. It is clear then, that Spinoza believes that humans, for the most part, are egoistic in nature because when we act from clear and distinct ideas, we are acting in order to preserve our being.

I oppose Spinoza’s belief that as one thrives to preserve his own being, he is embarking on becoming a more virtuous one. I understand virtue to be quite different. In order to be virtuous, one must practice virtuous acts. For instance, to possess the virtue of being honest, one must act honest in various instances; to possess the virtue of courage, one must act courageous in various instances; to possess the virtue of wisdom, one must act in wise ways in various instances, and so on and so forth. Characteristics of virtue indeed affects one’s being for the better, but it does so in becoming a better person in ways (at least in most ways, perhaps not in all) that will aid in society as well. Furthermore, if every person thrived to become virtuous in ways I have describe, it will thus result in a more virtuous society as a whole.
As mentioned before, Spinoza disregards the fact that only human behavior can be described in terms of good and evil—it is in fact that all actions belonging to finite modes can be described as such. Spinoza ascribes definitions to good and evil:
As for the terms ‘good’ and ‘bad,’ they likewise indicate nothing positive in things considered in themselves, and are nothing but modes of thinking, or notions which we form from comparing things with one another. For one and the same thing can at the same time be good and bad, and also indifferent. For example, music is good for one who is melancholy, bad for one in the mourning, and neither good nor bad for the deaf (p.153).

In Book III, Proposition 56, he shows that there are a variety of pleasure, pain and desire. In the same book, Proposition 51, he explains that these different kinds of emotions might affect different people (or the same person) at different times and in different ways. Throughout the book, Spinoza demonstrates different passions that are all a kind of pleasure, pain and desire.

Pity, for instance, is a sort of pain that is derived from another’s injury or anguish. Thus, to feel pity, one must experience a decrease in the power to preserve his or her own being. According to Spinoza, humans strive to have perseverance in their own being and thus strive to be virtuous. It follows then; showing pity for another human being is not virtuous. He even states in Book IV, Proposition 50 in the Corollary, “Hence it follows that the man who lives by the dictates of reason endeavors, as far as he can, not to be touched by pity.”

Spinoza defines “pity” in the scholium of Book III, Proposition 22 as “pain arising from another’s hurt.” Through this definition, I deviate from his view of pity being a vice. In Spinoza’s entire account of ethics, to me, it seems to be completely self-seeking since a person’s one and only objective is to preserve his own being, disregarding the being of his fellow neighbors, citizens and human (and animal) kind (which is hardly ethical). I do disagree with his definition of pity. Spinoza’s definition of pity seems to be more similar to the definition of sympathy. I find that pity is an emotion that separates the relationship between one person and another person, group or species. Pity could be more accurately described as a condescending feeling towards another, whereas sympathy is not just one’s own pain arising from another’s pain, but is really sharing in the pain of another.

Another passion that Spinoza describes is self-esteem. Simply, self-esteem is joy joined by the idea of internal cause. Self-esteem (and self-knowledge) is very much relevant to Spinoza’s account of ethics. He suggests that if humans are able to bring about effects that are adequate causes, then we are virtuous or preserving our own being.

Spinoza then explains active joy and active desire. Any thing that follows from a person where that person is an inadequate cause of that thing is a passion, whereas any thing that follows from a person where that person is an adequate cause of that thing is an action. So, active effects, according to Spinoza, have a strong emphasis on the roles of people’s behaviors. It is ethically relevant that a person is active rather than passive.

Thus, as describe earlier in Book III, pleasures and pains are passions. All desires that are derived from pleasure and pain are passive. They result only from a person’s partial cause and ultimately from external forces. Spinoza gives examples of what he deems to be active desires. In Book III, Proposition 59 in the first Scholium, courage and nobility are active because they are emotions that people have that are adequate causes.

Nobility, as it seems, may be the most important action concerning Spinoza’s account of ethics. In the appendix of Book I, he suggests that people are not often altruistic. Furthermore, his ethics, emphasizing self-knowledge appears to be a most individualistic one. He says that the he attains a good, that good is perfection for himself, not for society or the world. Immediately did I see a problem with this account of ethics.

He does offer an argument in Book IV, Proposition 37, contending that the good that one seeks for herself, she will have reason for others to also want the same good. Nobility, then, is an active affect that is related closely to morality and society. This, according to Spinoza, is an active way in joining others in friendship and to aid them in their projects and livelihood as well.

Considering that Spinoza’s interpretation of virtue is seeking to preserve one’s own soul and that to attain this good is to benefit one’s self and not society, I find Spinoza’s account of ethics a weak one. Many different interpretations of ethics reveal that it concerns both the individual and the society. Certain interpretations have the individual as the most important aspect, but unlike Spinoza’s ethics, the individual certainly isn’t the sole aspect of ethics.

Ethics, to me, deals with both the individual and society. Suffice it to say, the individual ought to come first—if I cannot care for myself, I surely cannot help to care for my fellow neighbors, citizens, animals and society as a whole. In addition, Spinoza accounts virtue to be in possession of power. I, however, explain virtue as having possession over certain dispositions of character, not merely power.
Spinoza disregards a very important aspect of ethics—one that which if it is ignored, there is no true account of ethics. Though Spinoza mentions (Book IV, Proposition 37) that his form of ethics will inevitably lead to a virtuous society, the essence of his ethics suggests a more egoistic form. To thrive to be self-seeking (to preserve one’s own soul) is not a true ethics at all.

Furthermore, Spinoza claims that human beings are constrained by nature—they are determined. So, if, according to Spinoza, humans do not have a free will per se, then humans’ actions, insofar as they are related to ethics, are moot. It is not a virtuous act if the act is already determined. To be virtuous, one must have freedom of the will to either choose to commit a virtuous act or a vicious act.

Spinoza, as I see it, does not have a true depiction of ethics. He is missing too many important aspects of what I deem to be a true elucidation of virtue and ethics. I believe the truer definition of ethics lies in virtue ethics, which seems to be quite the opposite of how Spinoza views it. Overall, I see that Spinoza has a rather egoistic view of ethics and to me, egoism speaks very little if anything at all when speaking about ethics and virtue.

An intrinsic approach to free speech is perhaps the most commonly accepted by political theorists. Many rights can be explained as having strong ground in an intrinsic view such as the right to vote, the right to contraception and abortion, freedom of religion and, of course, the right to freedom of speech and expression. Relevant to an extrinsic approach, rights consisting of freedom of press, the right to vote, the right to protest (in general and against the government), and again, freedom of speech and expression.

When free speech in protected with an emphasis to an individual’s or a group’s autonomy, mixed feelings are sure to emerge. Take for example the case of Synder v. Phelps. In this instance, members of the Westboro Baptist Church protest at the funerals of fallen soldiers with signs stating “Thank God for dead soldiers,” “You’re Going to Hell,” “God Hates the USA/Thank God for 9/11.” Among the fallen was Snyder’s son whom he tried to bury with dignity. The church members, cunningly following the fine print of protesting at funerals, picketed the soldier’s funeral with ghastly signs. However distasteful the church members’ actions, it was an 8-1 decision granting Westboro the right to protest.

Chief Justice John Roberts seemed to side with an extrinsic view of free speech when he said, “even hurtful speech on public issues to ensure that we do not stifle public debate.” Indeed, this speech is hurtful to the family of the soldiers and to many others who may have loved ones and friends in serving the military, but it would surely create a slippery slope if the Supreme Court decided to silence this speech, for where would they draw the line?

In this particular case, it was important to show that the group’s speech deserved to be heard and as result, their autonomy and individuality were also respected. Indeed, this speech can easily be categorized as hate speech, but nevertheless, it is speech that is protected by the constitution.

It is of no surprise that more and more people are reporting that they were victims of hate speech, but the courts have been ruling against the individuals and striking down legislation intended to provide the groups accused of hate speech with protection with the aid of the First Amendment. Interestingly, many liberal theorists have argued for a more egalitarian society to end such speech that has its main subject matter wrapped in race and sex discrimination, while also supporting the courts’ decisions in protecting hate speech.
Whether the issue is if hard-core pornography should be regulated or if Nazi marches should be allowed in Skokie or if universities should tolerate hate speech, many will agree, sometimes rather reluctantly, that in matters such as these, we do have a right to be free from governmental interference and thus censorship. It is a common question amongst many why speech should be protected even when we feel most obliged to morally condemn it.

In another case, Cohen v. California, Cohen was arrested for wearing a jacket bearing the words “Fuck the Draft.” He was convicted as violating the California penal code that had prohibited maliciously and willfully disturbing the peace. In another decision that was split down the middle, the Supreme Court decided that, despite the questionable tastefulness, displaying the four-letter word is not a criminal offense. Justice Harlan famously wrote in his opinion for the court, “one man’s vulgarity is another’s lyric.”

In his opinion, Justice Harlan said that a state cannot censor their people to attempt to make a more “civil” society. In addition, it is a product of freedom of expression and exchange that “vulgarity” is created. With passion expressed in politics, policy and the like, come unexpected and sometimes unsolicited consequences.

A case that demonstrates freedom of speech in context of extrinsic value is that of Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission. In this particular case, the Supreme Court decided that it was against the First Amendment of the United States Constitution to set limits on funding for candidate elections. There was a dispute regarding if Citizens United could air a film called Hilary during the elections. In addition, the case also decided if the group could advertise the film on television. Unlike Snyder, this case was not overwhelmingly decided; the Justices were split down the middle, but favored Citizen’s United.

Simply, the people have the right to view this information. Especially when it comes to public elections, to censor information is to do a disfavor to society. (Though in this particular case, it is argued that the film Hilary would merely undermine the integrity of elections). It is a slippery slope, however, since if our government decided to begin to censor information pertaining to elections, politics and the government itself, we are not far off from emitting pure propaganda and repressing pure truth. Many countries lack a rule of law and are in complete ruins because their government favors censorship over the open debate in the market place of ideas. Certainly, certain speech can be extremely hurtful and can even be considered nonsensical, but if the line was drawn to stifle some form of, say, hate speech, it would be difficult to decide what speech falls on which side of that line.

A most prevalent interpretation of free speech grounded in an explicit view is J.S. Mill’s On Liberty. Mill’s position is that freedom of speech is not necessarily merely about one’s self-fulfillment, but rather about the utility and function of society. Indeed, to respect an individual’s right to freely express her opinion is valuable, all things considered; it is the consequences of society that are ultimately impacted the most.
Mill contends that in silencing just one opinion is robbing the entire human race. If the silenced opinion is right, then society is deprived of opportunity to exchange error for truth. If, on the other hand, the opinion is wrong, society will lose the benefit of a clearer perception. Underlying all this, too, is that silencing opinion assumes that we are infallible—a precarious and severely erroneous conclusion to come to.
To discover truth is the first and foremost responsibility of freedom of expression. Mill asserts that there is a worthy difference in discovering truth from contesting the opinion time and time again and discovering “truth” from censoring all other opinions and assuming it is true. And to discover this truth is no easy task. There is a pleasant falsehood, Mill says, in believing that truth will always and forever triumph over persecution. Though however contenting a thought this may be, we can see throughout history that truth does not always triumph and at best, the truth is thrown back for centuries before the truth is acknowledge and appreciated for what it really is.

The abilities of disproving or confirming the opinion through discussion are vital in discovering the truth. Whatever one’s opinion may be, he ought to be able to defend it against objections. Mill says that the truth depends on a balance to be struck between two sets of conflicting reasons. This discussion of refuting objections is vital in order to show to society why other opinions are wrong and why another opinion is correct and is the truth. In addition, until this discussion takes place, the opinion-holder cannot even be sure that his opinion is true until it is shown.

In all the cases discussed, it is easy to see both the intrinsic and extrinsic values of free speech. Though different, they are not separate. In order for society to benefit and to have access to truth, the individual must have her autonomy respected and able to express ideas freely. Because these two values are so intimately bonded, it is difficult to discern if one is more important than the other. However, I think it is simple to see that consequences are what impacts society and thus the individual. At the end of the day, truth most effects society, and so free speech in respect to an extrinsic interpretation trumps free speech in respect to an intrinsic one.

For instance, a painter’s work is an imitation of, say, a bed that was created by a maker that was firstly created by the natural creator. Socrates explains that there are three types of beds: The first is the nature of the bed (made by the natural creator—God), the second comes from the work of the carpenter who makes the bed, and the third comes from the work of the painter.

Socrates, in Book X, is justifying the philosophy-based education over that of the poetry-education that everyone seems to encourage. Socrates, in much detail, posits that poets do not know and understand the truth of the originals. Many people mistakenly believe that poets must know what they write about if they are to produce work that is well liked by their listeners. But Socrates negates this stating that poets are really ignorant of what they write about. This imitation that poets publish is nothing more than a sort of counterfeit sincerity of ideas. So Socrates believes that for a poet to be a good poet and not a mere creator of imitation, he should possess knowledge of what he writes his poems.

To focus on the most important things pertaining to cities—war, victory, politics and education, Homer, for example, does not stand unshaken when scrutinized. Socrates speculate questions to Homer asking,

Homer, if you’re not third from the truth of virtue, the sort of craftsman of images that we defined an imitator to be, but if you’re even second and capable of knowing what ways of life make people better in private or in public, then tell us which cities are better governed because of you, as Sparta is because of Lycurgus, and as many others—big and small—are because of many other men? What city gives you credit for being a good lawgiver who benefited it, as Italy and Sicily do to Charondas, and as we do to Solon? Who gives such credit to you? (Plato’s Republic p. 279, 599d-e)

Socrates makes his argument stating that this wrongfully proclaimed leader of education in Greece as well as all other poetic imitators simply imitate images of virtue and all things by pandering to their audience (making a similar remark in The Gorgias by stating the same about rhetoricians).

Because Socrates believes that poetry is an unholy imitation of the truth, he reiterates his notion of banning poets and their work from his perfect and just polis. Because poets and painters present ideas that are so far removed from truth (three times removed), they corrupt the minds of the polis people by leading them to believe the falsehood of all things. What is more, poetry arouses the worst part of souls by making characters featured in their poem colorful, irrational and easily susceptible to akrasia.

Socrates then brings up an interesting point as his last critique of poetry. An incident of profound human suffering is when a parent loses his child. A decent man, in dealing with this incident, would fight back his tears and pain. He wouldn’t let himself be seen in such sorrow knowing it could cause a scene amongst his neighbors and fellow Athenians. To preserve the harmony with the soul, he must remain as unaffected as possible when faced with such a tragedy. When we suffer our own loss, we take pride in ourselves that we are able to keep quiet and display a sort of apathy, for this is the manly and accepted thing to do. So then, Socrates asks is it right to praise the behavior we exhibit while listening to poetry when in reality, we consider it to be indulging in base emotions?

One of my favorite passages that describes the danger lurking in poetry is as follows:

Listen, then, and consider whether it [can corrupt even decent people]. When even the best of us hear Homer or some other tragedian imitating one of the heroes sorrowing and making a long lamenting speech or singing and beating his breast, you know that we enjoy it, give ourselves up to following it, sympathize with the hero, take his sufferings seriously, and praise as a good poet the one who affects us most in this way (Plato’s Republic, p. 276, 605d).

Thus, because even the most philosophical souls can be in danger, the poet’s work is of grave danger.
This is far from exercising a rational soul. “[A] rational and quiet character, which always remains pretty well the same, is neither easy to imitate nor easy to understand when imitated, especially not by a crowd consisting of all sorts of people gather together at a theater festival, for the experience being imitated is alien to them” (Plato’s Republic, p. 276, 604e). To be moved in such vicarious ways, like relishing a hero’s speech in a poem, is to contradict the virtue of living by a rational soul.

In a different light, a tragic poet/imitator is best at portraying the spiritual struggle that is inflicted upon those that suffer from human misfortunes while the sufferers do not even attempt to respond in a most virtuous way. Since the audience listens and enjoys the imitator’s work, both the poet and the audience are locked together in an environment that feeds on irrationality.

“[The poet] produces work that is inferior with respect to truth and that appeals to a part of the soul that is similarly inferior rather than to the best part” (Plato’s Republic, p. 276, 605b).

He illustrates quite well his abhorrence of poetry. Despite this feeling however, Socrates does regret having to banish poets from his polis. He allows that if lovers of poetry (though not the actual poets themselves) can argue otherwise, argue that poetry does in fact have a place in a well-governed city, he would certainly take this into consideration.

There are several ancient texts that can confirm Socrates’ admonition concerning poetry and its effects on the lower parts of the soul. Particularly when it comes to the projection of the gods’ behavior. Take, for instance, Hippolytus. In the prologue, Aphrodite expresses her envy and rage towards another goddess, Artemis and the goddess’ most faithful worshiper, Hippolytus. She says,

Hippolytus, son of Theseus by the Amazon,
pupil of holy Pittheus,
alone among the fold of this land of Troezen has blasphemed me
counting me vilest of the Gods in Heaven.
He will none of the bed of love nor marriage,
but honors Artemis, Zeus’s daughter,
counting her greatest of the Gods in Heaven
he is with her continually, this Maiden Goddess, in the greenwood…
But for his sins against me
I shall punish Hippolytus this day (Greek Tragedies, p. 237).

Here, we can easily see the tumultuous characteristics of a goddess at play, and so in turn gives feeding the lower parts of the soul of the listener. The same can be seen in Homer’s Iliad in just the first few lines of Book 1. In describing Zeus’ will,

Rage.
Sing Goddess, Achilles’ rage,
Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks
Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls
Of heroes into Hades’ dark,
And left their bodies to rot as feasts
For dogs and birds, as Zeus’ will was done (The Essential Homer, p. 1).

And a final example that illustrates how poems can feed the lowest part of the soul comes from Prometheus Bound.

Bright light, swift-winged winds, springs of the rivers, numberless
laughter of the sea’s waves, earth, mother of all, and the all-seeing
circle of the sun: I call upon you to see what I, a God, suffer
at the hands of Gods—
see with what kind of torture
worn down I shall wrestle ten thousand
years of time— (Greek Tragedies, p. 69).

Both of these examples illustrate the disorderly soul of gods and how it can have this necessary effect on the souls of the listeners, as Socrates believes.

Socrates speaks a lot about the dangers poetry has on the soul as seen above. When we identify with the drama portrayed in poetry we are succumbing to emotions that can be better regulated by reason. But the danger doesn’t lie in not being able to distinguish between real-life drama and poetry-drama. It is because our enjoyment of a character’s suffering or our enjoyment in a character’s shame has an effect on our own suffering and shame—once we begin to take enjoyment out of this from poetry, we diminish our capacity to feel ashamed. In other words, when we laugh at another’s shameful acts on stage, we will necessarily laugh out or own shame rather than being ashamed.

Take for instance in Aristophanes’ Assemblywomen when Blepyros is speaking to himself in what should have a shameful tone, though instead of being ashamed for him, listeners are quite entertained by his “comedic” monologue.

What’s going on? Where has my wife got to? It’s getting near dawn and she’s nowhere to be seen. I’ve been sitting in bed, getting more and more desperate to take a shit, trying to find my boots and my coat in the dark. I’ve groped everywhere but I can’t find them, and all the while Mr. Poop is pounding at my back door, so finally I grabbed my wife’s pajama-top here and put on her Persian shoes. [Looking around and advancing into the orchestra] Now where, where could a man find an out-of-the-way place to take a shit? Well, anywhere is fine at night. No one’s going to see me at this hour. God, what a fool I was—wanting to get married at my age! I deserve infinite flogging! You can be sure she didn’t go out on any decent errand. Anyway, I’ve got to do my business. [He squats down and begins to grunt loudly; another old man, holding a lamp emerges from the Second Woman’s doorway, listens for a moment, and then heads toward Blephyros] (Three Plays by Aristophanes, p. 11).

The scene even goes onto Blephyros speaking to a neighbor midway though his business. A further scene illustrates the same point,

Epigenes:
How I wish I could sleep with the girl
and not have to bang a pug-nosed crone first!
That doesn’t sit well with a free man!

Of course sex and bodily functions are indeed quite natural and a part of normal life, to speak about these topics in such an uncensored and frank way is what, I believe, Socrates is referring to.

As mentioned before, Socrates is reluctant to banish all poetry from his polis. He will take into consideration the arguments of poetry-lovers. Although Socrates’ account of poetry and art is true on the surface, his conclusion of such is far from dignified. Art and poetry is imitation, I don’t argue that, but I don’t agree that is feeds our most irrational and weakest part of the soul. Furthermore, one could certainly argue that The Republic itself of close relation to the poem. Certainly Plato isn’t discounting his work on Socrates’ criticisms.

To me, there is no such quarrel between poetry and philosophy (Plato’s Republic, p. 278, 607b). Quite differently, there is fluidity between the two concerning self-reflection and education. For instance, in Book VIII, Socrates says,

And so he lives on, yielding day by day to the desire at hand. Sometimes he drinks heavily while listening to the flute; at other times, he drinks only water and is on a diet; sometimes he goes in for physical training; at other times, he’s idle and neglects everything; and sometimes he even occupies himself with what he takes to be philosophy. He often engages in politics, leaping up from his seat and saying and doing whatever comes into his mind. If he happens to admire soldiers, he’s carried in that direction, if money-makers, in that one. There’s neither order nor necessity in his life, but he calls it pleasant, free, and blessedly happy, and he follows it for as long as he lives (Plato’s Republic, p. 232, 561d).

This feeds the rational part of the soul, helping one to realize the disorder in her soul in order to make it more virtuous. This quote entices one to self-reflect critically and honestly, things that Socrates does not take into his accounts on poetry.
Even in Antigone, readers are shown the mighty character in which certain people possess. When speaking with Ismene, Antigone declares,

I would not urge you now; nor if you wanted
to act would I be glad to have you with me.
Be as you choose to be; but for myself
I myself will bury him. It will be good
to die, so doing. I shall lie by his side,
loving him as he loved me; I shall be
a criminal—but a religious one.
The time in which I must please those that are dead
is longer than I must please those of this world.
For there I shall lie forever. You, if you like,
can cast dishonor on what the gods have honored (Greek Tragedies, p. 183-184).

This is yet another instance in a Greek Tragedy where a character does not cater to a weakened and disordered soul. What Antigone is illustrating quite the opposite—might, strength, constitution. Again, yet another display of virtuous traits that Socrates ignores.

The literary works that Socrates refers to may not reveal truth; it might very well be imitation of truth. Homer’s Iliad is not at all true, but within its story are beautiful illustrations of some of the most arduous circumstances (To use the same quote as earlier, the first few lines of Book 1 of the Iliad, “Rage. Sing, Goddess, Achilles’ rage.” The lines are certainly dour, but nonetheless striking and sentiment provoking). But I think it is wrong for Socrates to conclude that all poetry and art should only illustrate truth. A story could be lacking in truth but still reveal veracity.

An example of this is when Phaedra, worried that she will lose all honor from her friends and family, decides to kill herself, and in the process, bring shame on the one who she believes shamed her (speaking about Hippolytus after his misogynistic rant). Of course this is not true at all—A goddess, through her vengeance, makes a mortal suffer. But it shows that humility can be quite deadly and dangerous. This is not truth, but it still exemplifies reality. Phaedra pronounces,

No, I’ll not speak of it. But on this day
when I shake off the burden of this life
I shall delight the Goddess who destroys me,
the Goddess Cypris.
Bitter will have been the love that conquers me,
but in my death I shall at least bring sorrow,
upon another, too, that his high heart
may know no arrogant joy at my life’s shipwreck;
he will have his share in this mortal sickness
and learn of chastity in moderation.

Socrates is right when he says that poetry is imitation, but is wrong to say that imitation is dangerous and distorts the mind. Poetry, paintings and all other forms of art should be appreciated in such a way where it is used for self-reflection, contemplation and just the mere enjoyment as a piece of work that comes from the soul. Furthermore, I do not feel the same way as Socrates that finding enjoyment from perhaps inappropriate comedy or sympathizing with a fictional characters’ suffering will lead us to be shameless and apathetic in our own lives. I feel as though this is a far and unsubstantiated conclusion (though of course, in today’s media-heavy society, one could argue otherwise, but that needn’t be discussed for this position).

His life is now consumed with feasts, luxuries, revelries, and licentiousness. Plato presents a dire image of how a tyrannical man lives his wretched life: friendless, murderous, unjust. This man “…under the tyranny of erotic love, [has] permanently become while awake what he used to become occasionally while asleep…” (p. 245). He is constrained to living a nightmare as his entire soul, filled with disorder, is enslaved to the most vicious and sadistic parts.

Certainly a ghastly illustration, Socrates states that not even this man is the most wretched—the political tyrant, in contrast to the above-described private tyrant, becomes the actual tyrant and is, above all else, the most wretched. The actual tyrant is surrounded by his slaves and by people who believe it is wrong to even own such slaves; he is surrounded by ones that wish him ill. His life is constantly in danger and he lives in fear for not only his life, but for the lives of his loved ones, and so he is trapped as a prisoner in his own home.

It is apparent that Plato believes tyrants are motivated by vices such as lust, greed, and voracity, but what about reason? His psychological diagnosis of the tyrant explained in the start of Book IX is quite clear in indicating the vicious life of a tyrant, but I am forced to consider Hitler’s reign. One could argue that Hitler was not motivated by mere greed, but conceivably by perverse reason. Reward of supreme power and money were certainly apart of Hitler’s raid, but these rewards may have not been the motivating factor. Perhaps it was his perverse reason of systematically eradicating society of the defected to cultivate perfection by creating an ideal society.

I think reason is both benign and dangerous. Everyone possesses, to some extent, a level of reason. Reason can be benign because it is the means to some utilitarian end. It can be benign because it is also the means in search for truth and it is used to inquire indiscriminately about all things. However, reason can be dangerous in the fact that anyone can reason that his way is the just and exact way, just as Hitler or Stalin did.

Plato goes on, speaking through Socrates, explaining why a just life is a more pleasant life. There are three types of pleasures in the world, which prescribe to three types of people, or souls in the world: truth-loving, honor-loving, and profit-loving. Each of these types of people vows that his pleasure is the greatest pleasure. Naturally, only one pleasure can be the most pleasant. Truth-loving can only be the most pleasant since the philosopher has experienced all three kinds of pleasures, he is the only one fit to determine which is the most pleasant.

Following, Socrates explains a portrait of a just and unjust man. He asks Glaucon to imagine that a human has three animals living within him: a beast, such as a Chimera, a lion, and a human being. All three animals are conjoined in the most natural way. If a man were to act in an excessive manner—living an unjust life—then he is feeding the beast and lion, making them strong and dominant while making the reasoned human-animal weak and inconsequential. The unjust man, failing to nourish the human-animal is also lacking the task of making all three animals affable with one another to alleviate any potential disorder they could conjure in the human’s soul. Contrastingly, the just man would make certain the human-animal has the most domination over the lion and beast. All three animals are tended to, friendly with one another, and the lion his ally.

Thus, Socrates asserts, it is best for every person to be ruled by reason that resides in us all. At the very least, people ought to be ruled by reason that is imposed on us by societal laws, in such cases that a person may, for whatever reason, lack this internal, divine reason. This I found to be most intriguing.

Though there was not much discussion in Book IX about laws specifically, I found that a reliance on laws for a just life to be concerning. We can see from Crito that Socrates thought highly of the laws of Athens—so much so that Socrates denied his good friend’s attempt to help him escape certain death. To him, a citizen had an implicit duty to obey the laws. But if not blinded by his loyalty to his state (his belief that simply being a citizen of Athens for half a dozen decades necessarily imposes on him a duty to obey all of Athens’ laws), Socrates should have discerned and concurred that some of the laws of his state are unjust, and thus are not laws at all (St. Augustine).

In Book IX, Socrates says that the very aim for laws is so that everyone can be ruled by reason—to help people. But I believe this is a dangerously narrow scope on laws. Laws can be entirely as unjust as a tyrant. As mentioned before, laws can be unjust, there defeating Socrates account that the purpose of laws is to help people and to aid them in following reason. Not to mention the fact that laws are legislated by someone or some group of individuals. If these people allowed satiable appetites to rule their soul, one can safely assume much of the laws that are declared will reflect such disorder.

Within Book IX, Plato has made his argument why a just life is worthwhile. Each and every person has the capacity within him to live a just life. In each of us resides both a lawless desire and reason. Reason does not replace the lawless desires in a just person, it is that reason controls the lawless desires. Socrates says we can see proof of this when at night our lawless desires take control of our dreams shifting them into nightmares.

We can also see an account of this with the characters in Euripides’ tragedy, Hippolytus. Phaedra, stepmother to Hippolytus, experienced a sort of lawless nature (contradistinguished from Socrates’ description since her feelings were the doing of Aphrodite casting a spell on Phaedra out of vengeance) when she falls in love with her stepson. In addition, Theseus is blinded by rage through unreasoned notions and implores the ocean god for retaliation. The goddess Aphrodite also falls victim to a disordered soul by seeking revenge on the one that fails to worship her.

A person is capable of many different acts when the soul is in disorder. We saw in Book IX as well as in Euripides’ tragedy that a disordered soul is capable of all sorts of atrocities. A jealous Aphrodite seeks mischievous vengeance on Hippolytus for practicing chastity, reframing from erotic desires, and denying worship to the goddess of love; unable to relinquish her erotic desire, Phaedra kills herself. Also afraid of losing honor, her suicide note is littered with lies that accuses Hippolytus of rape. Lastly, Theseus is unwilling to pay heed to the goddess Artemis explicating the truth behind Hippolytus and Phaedra and so falls victim to his own rage, wishing the death or, at the very least, exile of his beloved son.

Jealousy, vengeance and rage are all symptoms of a disordered soul. They exist in all of us, but so, too, does reason and virtue, or the form of the good. Indeed, Plato emphasizes that only the philosopher is unerringly knowledgeable of the forms. Does this mean that the rest of us are unable to live a worthwhile, just and good life? Certainly not. I believe that we all can assure that our souls are ordered and harmonious by being as just as we can; as knowledgeable as we can. We ought to assure that our reason rule over our beastly appetites. Only then are we able to live a worthwhile, just and pleasant life.

Many illegal immigrants work in the most arduous industries, doing the most demanding and disagreeable work while attaining only a minimum of pay. Men usually work within agriculture, construction or manufacturing industries. Their work is time and again described as dirty, difficult and dangerous (p. 274). In response to a recent trend in feminization of work, women immigrants have been working as nannies, maids and health care aids. In addition, female illegal immigrants often work as sex-workers. As women in certain societies are able to become more educated, possess more power, and acquire the ability to make more choices, the demand for illegal immigrants to work as prostitutes increase significantly. Before prostitution was legalized in the Netherlands, for instance, nearly 75% of sex-workers were immigrants from other countries (p. 274). Furthermore, many of these sex-workers are such because they were coerced into this work by false promises of a better life or threatened by death, starvation and the likes. These are occupations that people of more affluent countries disregard as being an acceptable way to make a living, so the contemptible jobs are left to those who have no choice in the matter.

The question of whether illegal immigrants have the right to health care has often times been a question of strict political affairs. In an era of a painfully slow rise from the depression-like recession, health care costs and budget reductions take prime role in deciding illegal immigrants’ access to health care and other public services. Politically, the problems lying with illegal immigration are a mere numbers game.

A chief argument against illegal immigrants’ access to health care is one that puts forward the obvious: illegal aliens are in the country illegally and therefore should be denied public benefits. To put the argument in a different tongue: illegal aliens broke a law, and so, should not have access to the country’s public benefits. To refute this claim, one can parallel the argument and ask if a legal citizen should break the law, for instance, not pay her taxes, should she also be denied access to health care and other public services? James Dwyer, the author, rightly states that nothing about access to health care follows from the mere fact that illegal aliens have violated a law (p. 275). It is not unheard of that a legal citizen gets paid “under the table,” escaping the responsibility to pay the appropriate amount of taxes on the said income. But rarely is it discussed should this person, because he did not pay his taxes on income, be denied the country’s benefits.

Another argument, and understandably so, is that of allocation of resources. Supporters of Proposition 187 in California stated, “while our own citizens and legal residents go wanting, those who chose to enter our country ILLEGALLY get royal treatment at the expense of the California taxpayer” (p. 276). The supporters also highlighted the fact that some programs provide free prenatal care to illegal immigrants while the cost of prescription medication for seniors have increased is quite a backwards methodology. Dwyer restates the argument, “Given the limited public budget for health care, U.S. citizens and legal residents are more deserving of benefits than are illegal aliens. This argument frames the issue as a choice between competing goods in a situation of limited resources” (p. 276). It is reasonable to be concerned about competing recourses, as Dwyer agrees, however, it is a false conclusion to come to that we must choose between access to health care for citizens and access to health care for illegal immigrants.

With the above arguments being mainly concerned with political concerns and numbers, the question now resides in the realm of ethics. How are illegal immigrants to be treated by doctors and health care facilities? Physicians take an oath promising to help their fellow man, regardless if the ill person is a citizen or not.

Proposition 187 proposed to deny publicly funded health care and other services to illegal immigrants. In addition, the proposition would require health care facilities to deny care (except in emergency situations) to suspected illegal aliens. Though the proposition did not pass due to other legal complications, it still does broach the circumstances surrounding health care and illegal immigrants. Doctors Tal Ann Ziv and Bernard Lo note that participating with this proposition is contradictory with “ethical responsibilities to protect the public health, care for persons in medical need, and respect patient confidentiality” (p. 277). Furthermore, such restrictive measures will surely have a severe and undesirable effect on the entire society. For instance, this measure may very well worry immigrants leading them to evade public health facilities leading to a spread of contagious diseases like tuberculosis. Though the proposition only directly affects illegal aliens, it indirectly affects the total populace. But this begs the questions, are illegal immigrants apart of the community?

Illegal immigrants are very much apart of the community—they are diligent workers, concerned parents, considerate neighbors and active members of the community. To assume that illegal aliens are not apart of the greater society by a mere means of citizenship is a feeble postulation.

What is more, following such restrictive measures recommended by the proposal violates confidentiality in ways that are unjustifiable. The fact that a person is an illegal immigrant makes no difference to their medical condition. It is futile for the physician to ask one’s immigration status when treating her for a medical condition.

Access to medical aid can also be subscribed to matters of human rights. Pertaining to health care, national borders can ascribe a fairly arbitrary nature. As seen before, health care benefits common humanity, discounting immigration statuses—immigration statues that, in essence, are only constructed by the very means of national boarders. Still, it is not reality that our borders are arbitrary. Borders define a territory and enables a society to form a government that takes responsibility for its people and regulate its people.

To say transparently: access to basic health care is a fundamental human right. Indeed, governments and institutions have the right to regulate certain matters, it is not apt to regulate matters that are deeply unjust, such as denying certain people basic health care. Undeniably, states have the right to regulate immigration, but all states must still respect the fundamental human rights of all immigrants—either legal or illegal.

A persuasive argument against giving illegal immigrants access to health care and other public services is severely lacking. To argue that a life is insignificant merely because of one’s immigration status and thus deny basic health care is an acquisitive and ignominious conclusion based exclusively on numbers and paperwork. Societies must begin to develop into a more altruistic one and be concerned with the rights of all human beings.

Coming to an effective resolution concerning matters of illegal immigrants and health care is far from an undemanding task. Each side of the argument has a warranted line of reasoning, though, as I have stated, I am incredulous to the argument of not making available basic health care to illegal aliens. I believe, undoubtedly, that the objective of every single one of us (despite our political position) should be to aid our fellow human; to provide basic conditions for a contented way of life; to treat boarders as arbitrary when it comes to basic human rights. This is what a society should thrive for—not finding ways in manipulating laws to systematically exclude or make miserable the lives of immigrants. Every human has a qualified and justified right to fundamental human rights.

A primary example of international law (though criticized for other reasons) is the case of the Nuremberg Trials. Robert Jackson addressed in a 1945 hearing to the International Military Tribunal concerning the crimes of humanity committed against the Jewish people (and other minorities including anti-Nazi Germans, Poles, Czechs, Frenchmen, and Belgians) by the Nazis during Hitler’s reign.

The atrocious acts of systematic extermination initiated by the Nazis hardly went unnoticed. These acts started as nonviolent with mere discrimination against the Jews, but then rapidly turned into physical isolation in ghettos, forced labor, starvation, and inevitably annihilation.

This horrendous strategy to eradicate the Jewish people was so precisely and comprehensively pursued that despite the German defeat, the Nazis’ intentions succeeded. Quoting Jackson, “Of the 9,600,000 Jews who lived in Nazi-dominated Europe, 60 percent are authoritatively estimated to have perished. Five million seven hundred thousand Jews are missing from the countries in which they formerly lived, and over 4,500,000 cannot be accounted for…History does not record a crime ever perpetrated against so many victims or one ever carried out with such calculated cruelty.”

With the end of this war and the detainment of the perpetrators, the question was then what should come as punishment to the prisoners. Who shall punish them? Under which jurisdiction of law should be applied? Should these prisoners even be punished? The war in question implicated several different countries as well as occurred in several different countries. In addition, these acts were committed a significant amount of time before the actual trial. Furthermore, the defendants were acting under direct orders from a superior. With a lack of precedent or analogy, are these trials just?

Jackson argues that it is irrational for these capturers to be surprised that they will be charged. To murder thousands upon thousands of people is, naturally, illicit. And to refute any opinions that may defend their questionable oblivion, he cites many documents that establish their oblivion to be amiss. These documents illustrate that any law, whether international, natural or German, was a law of “a propaganda device to be invoked when it helped and to be ignored when it would condemn what they wanted to do.”

To define simply, international law is law between nations. During these misdeeds committed by the captured parties, Germany was very much apart of international conventions. The first and second indictments that the defendants were charged with were crimes of plotting and waging wars of aggression– a violation of nine treaties to which Germany was apart of. A third count was based on the definition of war crimes– the defendants had clear knowledge and endeavored to conceal their violations. Finally, a fourth count concerned their crimes against humanity. It is unquestionable that acts of mass killings are criminal. For, it is the same crime for one man to kill another. The only difference here is that it was multiple men killing much more than a single man.

War crimes and crimes against humanity are all crimes that violated international law between Germany and other nations. The consequences of the defendants infringing upon these laws were served by a court of law of either death or imprisonment. International law, in this case, had binding force that was compulsory by signed agreements and treaties. In this case, there was no such lack of neither primary nor secondary rules.

H.L.A. Hart describes international law to be problematic because it does not have all of the elements of a fully developed legal-system. He continues to say that “…international law not only lacks the secondary rules of change and adjudication which provide for legislature and courts, but also a unifying rule of recognition specifying ‘sources’ of law and providing general criteria for the identification of its rules.” This holds true, however only in a narrow sense of the law. To say that international law lacks secondary rules is correct only in part, but not centrally. True, international law does not unfold with statues and legislature, but what holds essential is the fact that laws are indeed created, but by way of treaties and agreements written by presidents, commanders, and nations while complied with by nations.

Hart argues that within the realm of municipal law, the conception of law is fundamentally an order backed by threats. To him, international laws are merely rules in comparison. In addition, he maintains that nation-states cannot be subject to law the same way as men are subject to law. For how can one be sure that in particular circumstances a legal system of the state or one that is international applies to her? I think Hart is dispensing a common understanding. International law is almost always between nations and the nation’s actions. An individual person needs not to concern herself if her action is complying with one legal system and is defying the other. Take, for example, the Nuremberg trials. These crimes, though committed by several individuals within a nation, took place between several different nations.

Hart also contends that international law is not binding. There are many definitions as to what is inferred by the term binding: law is binding merely because there is a duty to comply; law is binding because subsequent a command, there is a promise of harm or evil; or law is binding because there are consequences, either decent or dire (according to John Austin’s article Legal Positivism). But no matter the preferred definition, binding can generally be understood that there is a reason why the people would be influenced to obey the law.

Following the Nuremberg trials once again, international law is binding. The defendants were indicted on four counts; all from violating international law. The consequences—the binding forces—were imprisonment or death. If death or imprisonment is not considered as a binding force, not much else will. Suppose, the Nuremberg trials were completely and legally just, that is, it did not rely on ex post facto for judgment, and the consequences of the individual defendants were of no relevance, a nation’s consequence for violating its treaty, and thus, international law, would be a termination of an exchange of goods with a particular nation or an end of aid from another country. No matter the angle, international law had binding force.

Though the Nuremberg trials lacked its own precedent on which to draw a decision from, it certainly set up some important characteristics of precedence, especially so in the international community.

To supporters of the trials, Nuremberg illustrated a promise of perhaps the most compelling recognition of international law and punishment of perpetrators initiating wars of aggression (or any other crime promulgated as international law) in such bestial fashion. To the critics, the trial represented a most disgraceful manifestation to the reverential aspects of law.

In opposition, the trials “were of the vanquished by the victors instead of by an impartial tribunal” (Edgar N. Eisenhower, American Attorney, brother of President Dwight D. Eisenhower). Many argue that yes, these crimes were horrific, but it was unjustifiable for the prosecutors and judges to proceed with judgment on the basis of mere principle. The men prosecuted and sentenced to prison, some a life-long imprisonment, or death, were acting under the orders of a superior and therefore should escape such harsh prosecution.

In addition, one can argue that Nuremberg set up a potentially perilous precedent in the fact that the trials used ex post facto crimes in determining the verdict of the defendants. To convict an act on the reliance of retrospective action, that is, to establish that though the “crime” was not indeed a crime at the time of the actual act, but years later deemed it should be considered a crime, leaves no room for faith in our legal system. If this should be adopted in future proceedings, it is sure to create a province of sheer chaos.

In support of the trial, it is of much discomfort to imagine such a world that would have not prosecuted the heartless sycophants that reaped terror upon millions. International law is more than the mere legalities and paperwork between nations; it attempts to assure that justice will be had in cases of genocide, apartheid, torture, rape and other atrocities against humanity. Law has at least some relationship with morality. Indeed, it can be argued to what extent does law and morality come together, but to argue from a strict legal positivist perspective is degrading the very nature of law itself. Law is meant to protect, at the very least, the well-being of its people.

Regardless of where one stands with the Nuremberg trials, there is reason to agree that these trials fostered our understanding, our intentions, our expectations of what international law ought to be. With much legitimate criticisms of conceiving ex post facto crimes, Nuremberg has forced law and policy makers to emphasize and delegate more specifically world laws and crimes and what shall be the consequences if a nation fails to honor its treaty with other nations.

The central assertion of his ontological argument appears in the Fifth Meditation, however important supporting ideas and explanations appear before and after this particular meditation. His argument primarily relies on two tenets: innate ideas and “clear and distinct” perceptions. It is important to note that Descartes purports not to rely on an arbitrary or slanted view of God. Rather, the idea of God is an innate idea in us all. In addition, God’s existence is a necessary one, bounded by the clear and distinct idea of a supreme being. Descartes likens this argument to that of a geometric shape. The idea of the existence of God can no more be excluded than the idea of two right angles forming a triangle. Thus simply, God’s existence is self-evident.

Descartes brings to point three main topics in the Fifth Meditation. The first is concerning the essence of matter. Here, he differentiates between existence and essence. The essence of something is its nature—its property—that is discovered only through “clear and distinct” ideas. He writes, “Yet, before inquiring whether any such things exist outside me, I surely ought to consider the ideas of these things, insofar as they exist in my thought, and see which ones are distinct and which ones are confused” (p. 58, Modern Philosophy). He goes on to say that our clear and distinct idea of bodies are extended. He can enumerate the properties of size, shape, and movement. It should be understood that ideas that are clear and distinct provides us with certain knowledge of a body’s essence. And since God is not a deceiver, we can be sure of the truth of these ideas. As Descartes writes, “…I find within me countless ideas of certain things, that, even if perhaps they do not exist anywhere outside me, still cannot be said to be nothing. And although, in a sense, I think them at will, nevertheless they are not something I have fabricated; rather they have their true their and immutable natures. For example, when I imagine a triangle, even if perhaps no such figure exists outside my thought anywhere in the world and never has, the triangle still has a certain determinate nature, essence, or form which is unchangeable and eternal, which I did not fabricate, and which does not depend on my mind” (p. 58, Descartes. Italics added to quotation).

A second topic within the fifth meditation is that of perfect knowledge. In concluding his meditation, Descartes once more emphasizes, “And thus I see plainly that the certainty and truth of every science depends exclusively upon the knowledge of a true God…” (p. 61, Modern Philosophy). Only what Descartes deems clear and distinct, he says, convinces him of certainty. If he did not have this idea of a perfect God, then arguably, doubts could easily slip into his mind, casting doubts on everything he once thought was clear and distinct. He writes, “Thus, other arguments can be brought forward that would easily make me change my opinion, were I ignorant of God. And thus I would never have true and certain knowledge about anything, but merely fickle and changeable opinions” (p. 60, Modern Philosophy). He continues, “But once I perceived that there is a God, and also understood at the same time that everything else depends on him, and that he is not a deceiver, I then concluded that everything that I clearly and distinctly perceive is necessarily true” (p. 61, Modern Philosophy).

Finally, Descartes’ last topic in his fifth meditation is his ontological argument of the existence of God. Because he has an idea of God, it follows that God must exist eternally. If this supremely perfect being did not exist, then that would mean this being was not God. Descartes then concludes that such a being must in fact exist. He argues that existence is inseparable from God, just as a mountain is inseparable from a valley (p. 59, Modern Philosophy). Descartes argues, “…existence can no more be separated from God’s essence that its having three angles equal to two right angles can be separated from the essence of a triangle, or than the idea of a valley can by separated from the idea of a mountain. Thus it is not less contradictory to think of God (that is, supremely perfect being) lacking existence (that is lacking some perfection) than it is to think of a mountain without a valley” (p. 59 Modern Philosophy).

The argument can be broken down into three parts: (1) whatever is clearly and distinctively perceived as being the essence of something, it is true that this essence truly does belong to it. (2) It is clearly and distinctively perceived that existence is an essence of a supremely perfect being (since nonexistence is an imperfection). (3) Therefore, God exists.

It is easy to see that Descartes relies heavily on the idea of the existence of God. One must necessarily know the idea of God in order to build securely other knowledge—God is the foundation for which a great building is to be erected. So, stated briefly, Descartes’ ontological argument is that he has an idea of God; such a being must exist eternally; for, if such a being did not exist, it would mean that this being was not a God; thus, such a being must exist.

Throughout his fifth meditation, concerning God, Descartes anticipates some arguments that his readers may contemplate and he is eager to respond to these anticipations. The first objection that Descartes predicts is that simply because one has an idea of God, it does not follow that a God exists. He replies stating that inexistence is an imperfection—and since God is a supremely perfect being, imperfection cannot be an attribute of God, therefore it follows that there exists a God (p. 59, Modern Philosophy).

A second objection that Descartes foresees is that, indeed we can imagine a horse with wings, however, that does not mean that such an imagined thing exists. Thus it follows, merely because we imagine that God exists, it does not mean that he actually does. To this objection, Descartes replies that existence is an essential attribute of the idea of God. Contrastingly, wings are not an essential property of a horse (p. 59, Modern Philosophy). This, however, begs the question: is existence an essential property of the idea of God? Certainly, we can argue that any idea that comes to mind we can state that such and such is the necessary property of its existence. I assert that it is impractical to state that the mere existence of something is an essential property of that thing; existence is a judgment- not a property.

Finally, Descartes predicts that his reader may argue that yes, such a being may exist, but why should it be assumed that this idea is even coherent to begin with? To this, Descartes maintains that whenever the idea of a supremely perfect and all-powerful being is thought, naturally, he is led to the idea of God.

Of course with any ontological argument, there are bound to be several questions and objections. Descartes’ position is no exception. Most particularly is Hobbes’ objections to Descartes’ ontological argument. Hobbes takes on Descartes’ notion of the existence of God (or the image of God). Surely, we cannot have an image of God. How could we? (Unless we anthropomorphize God. And such an argument is a whole other objection). Hobbes describes the idea of angel. An image of angel is different for all of us. It could be a child with wings, a flame, or anything in between. The idea of an angel is composed of ideas of visible things- it is not an accurate portrayal of an angel. In the same way, we have no idea/image of God. Hobbes argues, “But just as a person born blind who has often been brought close to a fire, and, feeling himself growing warm, recognizes that there is something that is warming him, and, on hearing that this is called ‘fire,’ concludes that fire exists, even though he does not know what shape or color it has, and has absolutely no idea or image of fire appearing before his mind; just so, a man who knows that there ought to be some cause of his images or ideas, and some other cause prior to this cause, and so on, is lead finally to an end of this series, namely to the supposition of some eternal cause, which since it never began to be, cannot have a cause prior to itself, and necessarily concludes that something eternal exists. Nevertheless, he has no idea that he could call the idea of this eternal something; rather he gives a name to this thing he believes in and acknowledges, calling it ‘God’” (p. 172, Philosophical Essays).

Descartes responds to Hobbes’ criticism by arguing that Hobbes’ notion of idea/image is much too involved in the corporeal imagination. Because of this involvement, it is simple for Hobbes to discount Descartes’ explanation of ideas and/or images. Descartes states that the way Hobbes uses the term “idea” is not correct and throughout the meditations he illustrates just what he means by the term. His reply states, “…I point out that I take the word ‘idea’ to refer to whatever is immediately perceived by the mind…” (p. 172, Philosophical Essays). However, Descartes mentions in Meditations III that ideas, when properly applied, are images (p. 114, Philosophical Essays). In addition, Descartes summarizes ideas are whatever is clearly and distinctly perceived (p. 63, Philosophical Essays). Moreover, he uses the term numerous times throughout his work, making it easy for the term’s definition to be used in disputable contexts.

He also argues that he had no other more appropriate term to use. Though I found Descartes’ refutation a bit disappointing (to argue to Hobbes’ objection by saying he had no other term to use is not a strong argument by any means), I can understand the immense complexity in trying to find a most appropriate term to use while writing metaphysics. However, I do trust that Descartes had well enough opportunities to enumerate exactly what he meant by idea/image and any other terms.

A most favorable objection (for (1) I, myself, pondered this objection when first reading the meditation and (2) Descartes’ response, though disappointing, is quite comedic) is when Hobbes pointed to how one received the idea of God. In his meditation, Descartes says, “…Thus, the only option remaining is that this idea is innate in me, just as the idea of myself is innate in me (p. 121, Philosophical Essays). Hobbes objects merely by stating a simple fact: if there is no God, Descartes’ elucidation that the idea of God is innate completely falls apart.

Descartes’ reply to this is nothing short of a child blowing a raspberry. “If there is an idea of God (and it is obvious that there is), this entire objection falls apart” (p. 173, Philosophical Essays). Indeed, Descartes followed Parmenides’ claim that something cannot come from nothing (p. 116, Philosophical Essays), but I could not help but to emphasize that the idea of God is a certain knowledge, and that we come to acquire knowledge through experience; it does not come to us innately. Furthermore, I understand that the concept of something not being able to come from nothing concerns substances, not ideas. Ideas (the idea of a supreme being) can certainly come to us adventitiously or factitiously.

Lastly, a personal objection is when Descartes references to a triangle, likening its idea to the idea of material things and God. He writes, “…Even if perhaps no such figure exists outside my thought anywhere in the world and never has, the triangle still has a certain determinate nature, essence, or form which is unchangeable and eternal, which I did not fabricate, and which does not depend on my mind” (p. 128, Philosophical Essays). The triangle has a determinate nature because we have seen it; a triangle exists in the mind because we have seen it. And, if it does not necessarily exist anywhere in the world then it does not have essence or a nature.

In considering these objections and replies from Hobbes and Descartes, I think it is inevitable to conclude that much of Descartes’ interpretations do not escape Hobbes’ criticism well at all. However, I do not base it merely on the fact that Descartes’ arguments may be weak. I do consider the time in which he lived and where he lived. I believe the meditations that concerned the existence of God were justifying the existence of God rather than inquiring to the existence of God. Descartes only had one conclusion to come to—that God exists—and so he was forced to work from a single conclusion and attempt to have all his arguments aligned with that single conclusion. Had Descartes’ philosophy been written in a time where dissents were not so adamantly threaten with death, perhaps his ontological argument would be sounder.

References:
Ariew, Roger, and Eric Watkins. Modern philosophy: an anthology of primary sources. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Pub. Co., 1998. Print.
Descartes, René. Edited by Roger Ariew. Philosophical essays and correspondence . Indianapolis: Hackett Pub., 2000. Print.

On the reverse side of this argument, Carl Cohen and Martin Benjamin dispute that there is no absolute contract on what constitutes a moral vice. What is more, is that it is iniquitous to deny certain medical treatment based on one’s lifestyle. In addition, Alvin Moss and Mark Siegler argue that alcoholism is, in fact, a disease, and due to this fact, it is especially appropriate for medical intervention including liver transplantation. However, Sigeler and Moss do maintain that although retrospective considerations should not play a definitive role in deciding priority of liver transplantations, prospective considerations should play such a role. In other words, the previous actions of heavy drinking done in one’s past should not be taken into consideration, however, the actions one takes to remedy the possible negative effects that heavy drinking may cause, for instance, the commitment to Alcoholic Anonymous, should be taken into consideration.

Glannon argues in his article, nevertheless, that even if disease may transpire a person, it does not follow that it is completely beyond his control. As well, both retrospective and prospective actions should be taken into consideration in determining who may get a new liver. Glannon emphasizes that the mere grounds of vices or virtues do not matter, rather it is the capacity to implement control over the events that lead up to end-stage liver disease that is definitive. If one does have this control but does not exercise it within reason, then they may be responsible for their condition and reduce their claim to a new a liver.

It has been discovered that those who may suffer from alcoholism have a genetic susceptibility to the sickness. As stated before, Glannon believes that even if this genetic defect makes one more susceptible to alcoholism that does not make a sufficient cause that they completely succumb to the condition without any fault of their own. It is unlikely to claim that this faulty gene caused a person to pick up a drink in the first place. If a person knowingly performs an action or actions at an earlier time that he should have not performed, and these actions may entail harmful effects on his health, then he is certainly both casually and morally responsible for the consequences. In the case of alcoholism, knowingly drinking so heavily makes one responsible for the later consequences including that of disease and the disease of the liver. Thus, a person’s alcoholism and cirrhosis of the liver are not conditions beyond his control. These are a person’s autonomous choices, decent or deficient, that result in associated consequences. However, this is under the assumption that most operate with such logical thought, I believe. As well, when an alcoholic takes a single drink followed by another drink and another, it is not on the forefront of the mind that with each drink his claim diminishes to scarce medical resources. Lack of logic and future preparation is, of course, no excuse from responsibility however, it is an important distinction, I believe, in actions leading to consequences.

There are situations that could arise that may excuse one’s responsibility of drinking. One condition is that the ignorance of consequences that could develop from drinking is due to a person being under the age of reason. In addition, it is understood that social and environmental factors play a part in coercion to drinking. These instances would take much deliberation, if a person were faced with the need of a liver, to decide if they may have priority or not. These situations bring emphasis upon the autonomous decision and exercise of casual control. Regardless, however, of the debatable situations, ultimately, it all depends on desires, choices and actions that actually cause the disease.

Noting that desires may cause disease, Glannon brings up the point about addiction. It is of no surprise that many claim that alcoholism in a form of addiction. Because of this, they are compelled to act on this addictive desire to drink. If they are compelled, then, they cannot be responsible for the consequences of drinking because they do not have sufficient casual control over the events that lead up to disease of the liver. (Glannon differentiates between being coerced to drink by explaining coercion is more due to environmental factors, whereas being compelled to drink is succumbing to one’s own desires.) Glannon negates this argument stating that there is a strong difference between those who are willing addicts and those who are unwilling addicts. The unwilling addict is exempt from responsibility from behavior caused by the addiction. For instance, the addiction makes the addict act upon his desire that he actually does not want to act upon, undermining his own autonomy. Contrary, if the addiction is acted upon unimpeded, then the addict is acting freely, thus landing all responsibility on his behavior. This would beg for clarification, that in determining between an unwilling addict and willing addict. Intent, in most cases, would play a major deciding factor in many different situations. But when it comes to such life and death conditions and bestowing scarce organs, I think consequences ought to be the defining factor in this case. There is not an apparent way to decide whether addiction was willing or unwilling. All we have to go by is the fact that the addict is an addict.

Regardless of intent and consequences, it is key to understand that Glannon is attempting to convey that all addictions are not necessarily undermining one’s autonomy or responsibility to alcoholism. In an additional part relating to addiction is that of biochemistry. Addiction may develop because of the drug’s affect on the brain’s biology and chemistry. Simply put, these changes can cause a person to crave even more the drug of choice. The brain’s biochemistry is now signaling to other chemicals in the brain that causes depression, loss of motivation and other distressing symptoms that it is certain that the addict will be driven to use more of his drug to reach a more stable existence.

It now seems that there is a strong correlation between one’s strength to exercise control and his claim to scarce medical resources such as a new liver. If one has such control but does not exercise it, then he is responsible for the outcome of perhaps having a lower priority over someone who lacks this control and gets disease of the liver through no fault of his own. For the mere fact that livers are a very much rare resource, this seems to be a reasonable way in deciding priority.

Cohen and Benjamin’s argument of determining a patient’s medical eligibility based on grounds of moral and vice, when there is no way of constituting it, is flawed, according to Glannon. He states that this argument runs under the assumption that one’s candidacy for liver transplantation is strictly based on moral vice or virtue. Not every type of action with a person knowingly performs over time is a reflection of their authentic character. For instance, truly vicious persons may perform virtuous tasks, but this on no way makes their character virtuous. At the same time, a truly virtuous person may perform actions that may be vicious, but this does not define the person as vicious. So, even though actions may involve moral considerations concerning vices and virtues, the judgment of either high or low priority concerning liver transplantation is not determined by these vices or virtues, rather the priorities are based on grounds of casual control of their behavior. It is this control that determines the strength of the claims to such scarce resources.

Currently, the United Network for Organ Sharing gives priority to people who have acute liver failure and face imminent death over those who may be just as ill, facing distant death, but of chronic liver failure. Patients in the acute category may have just days or hours to live if they do not receive a liver transplant. They also have a better survival rate, after transplantation, than that of chronic patients. This is the “fairest” way in deciding priority. If a person eats a certain type of mushroom that is known to cause liver disease or distress, he is responsible for the consequences that may arise. If a person contracted Hepatitis B through no fault of his own, he is not responsible for the consequences. Thus, if fairness is a factor, as it is currently within the United Network for Organ Sharing, given the close relationship between fairness and responsibility, responsibility, too, ought to be a factor in deciding priority.

Needless to say, it is no easy task in making a decision that may decide one’s fate. Whatever decision is made, the outcome may never seem “fair” to some- and it is futile to even try to argue the contrary to those individuals faced with death due to someone else having a higher priority. The purpose of debating about priority is not to seem cruel or uncompromising, but to perhaps, to some extent, promote the greatest utility in a matter that seems just and logical. It was not precisely the purpose of the article to argue a utilitarian standpoint on the matter, but mentioning that even the medical argument contests that liver transplants to non-alcoholics have the highest survival rate, surely brings a valid point to the argument. Would it be fair or just to disregard the considerations of this paper – of choice and control – and to simply grant new livers to perhaps the minority of persons that have an increased likelihood of relapsing and continuing with the actions that put them in this predicament in the first place? Regardless of one’s persuasion, view or position on this topic, again, the decision will not seem fair to a few, however, it will seem fair for the majority while this consideration promotes greatest utility.