Dispersing the Clouds of Temptation: Turning Away from Weakness of Will and Turning towards the Sun

By Brian Lightbody

In Romans 7:14-25, Paul declares, "For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want, is what I do" (KJV). St. Paul's statement is a universal truth for all human beings; humans--whether Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, or atheists--are prone to committing free actions that are not "good." Furthermore, and irrespective of how we might construe the notion of "good" (whether as acting in accordance with some religious or spiritual precept or simply doing what is in one's best interest), we often knowingly and freely choose actions that may, or in fact do, harm us. There is a name given to such actions. We call them "weak-willed."
"Weakness of will," or akrasia, has perplexed philosophers, theologians, and laypersons alike for centuries. This book reveals why the idea has caused so much bafflement and consternation for so many. The main thrust of the work, however, is to illuminate and inspire: Lightbody seeks to demonstrate, concretely, how and why we are weak-willed. By extracting an "alchemical touchstone" from Plato's middle period philosophy, Lightbody, in addition, reveals how we may transmute harmful appetites into life-edifying passions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pickwick Publications
• Release date: Apr 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781498270151

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Dispersing the Clouds of Temptation

Turning Away from Weakness of Will and Turning towards the Sun

Brian Lightbody

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Dispersing the Clouds of Temptation

Turning Away from Weakness of Will and Turning towards the Sun

Copyright © 2015 Brian Lightbody. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

Pickwick Publications

An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

Eugene, OR 97401

www.wipfandstock.com

ISBN 13: 978-1-61097-074-7

EISBN 13: 978-1-4982-7015-1

Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

Lightbody, Brian

Dispersing the clouds of temptation : turning away from weakness of will and turning towards the sun / Brian Lightbody

xiv + 142 p. ; 23 cm. Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 13: 978-1-61097-074-7

1. Plato. 2. Akrasia. 3. Will. 4. Compulsive behavior. 5. Volition. 6. Philosophy, Ancient. I. Title.

B395 L54 2015

Manufactured in the U.S.A. 05/18/2015

Preface

The cartoon, Donald Duck’s Better Self (1938) depicts a conflict with which we as humans are all too familiar. The cartoon begins with Donald being awakened by his wind-up alarm clock. An angel, representing Donald’s better self, gently extols Donald to get up. But another Donald, this time dressed up as a devil and clearly representing Donald’s weaker self, coaxes Donald to fall back to sleep. Eventually Donald gets up to go to school, thanks to the strong exhortations by Angel Donald and proceeds to take the road to the schoolhouse. Nevertheless, it is clear that Donald goes to school unwillingly: his heart is not in it. Devil Donald senses Donald’s unwillingness, and proceeds to tempt Donald away from the path that is clearly in Donald’s best interest. The Devil Donald takes advantage of Donald’s weak will and convinces Donald to fish instead of going to school. Later, Devil Donald capitalizes on Donald’s weakened state of will and cajoles Donald to try smoking by giving him a pipe. Eventually, the angel and devil battle presumably for the soul and therefore future direction of Donald. The angel wins and Donald goes off to school.

The ideas raised by the cartoon are immediately understood and obvious, even to young children. Our sense of self, at least at times, is a deeply furrowed entity: we feel conflicted between what we ought to do and what we desire to do. What’s more, existing in such a state, where we feel torn, conflicted, divided, is often accompanied with a sense of negative affectation—in such states, especially if prolonged, we feel depressed, inauthentic, alienated, and weak-willed.

How can we be made whole? How do we conquer this weaker self that gives in too readily to temptation? The present book attempts to answer these and other questions. Interestingly, the overall solution presented in the work is one that is already depicted toward the end of Donald’s Better Self. When Donald finally decides to go off to school, the Angel Donald is no longer distinguishable from Donald himself. Angel and Donald become one: the cartoon shows how they become a singular fused entity. Philosophers from Plato to Aristotle to Harry Frankfurt have attempted to show how full and complete identification with the one’s true self is possible. Inspired by these philosophers, the present work is yet another effort in this tradition. Like them, I hope to inspire readers to discover and become their true destinies.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the editorial team at Wipf and Stock and, of course, my students and colleagues at Brock University.

Introduction

Have you ever made a resolution? Have you ever failed to follow through on it? If you have then some might consider you weak-willed—and you might be inclined to agree. But should you? What is weakness of will? Is weakness of will a disposition, a propensity, a mar on the powers of will? Or is it a descriptive term that denotes a person who acts against his better judgment? Or is it perhaps a misnomer? Is it a simply a misunderstanding; one who fails to follow through on a resolution is not weak-willed, but ignorant. The following book addresses these and other related questions.

This work seeks to examine the very essence of weakness of will. The goal, in this case, as is true for most areas of philosophy, is to reach bottom. To reach bottom in philosophical investigations often entails discovering the fundamental and irreducible components that comprise the idea being investigated. My understanding of reaching bottom, though, is not entirely congruent with this traditional practice; it involves much more than a conceptual analysis of a given notion. In sum, I argue that one must understand weakness of will as best one can from two angles: conceptually and affectively. Only when this dual analysis is complete can one begin to understand and cure weakness of will.

I begin my analysis by examining the ancient Greek term for weakness of will: akrasia. I prefer to investigate the idea of akrasia to that of weakness of will, because such a notion, conceptually speaking, seems less metaphysically ornate than the term weakness of will and, therefore, makes the goal of reaching bottom somewhat easier. I then examine akrasia from four interpolated questions, which, if successfully answered, will come to provide a sufficient understanding of the term. After examining these four questions in considerable detail, I turn to investigate the affective attitudes that are often attached to weak-willed actions. I conclude chapter one by outlining what I believe a successful inquiry regarding akrasia, as both a notion and feeling, would look like.

Chapter two, in some ways, could be construed as a digression, but this would be a serious mistake. In this chapter I examine what is perhaps one of the strongest pieces of writing to deny the very existence of weakness of will: Plato’s Protagoras. It is important to examine Socrates’ arguments against the very possibility of akrasia because if his arguments are sound then the task of investigating weakness of will would be for nought. I examine Socrates’ argument against the very existence of akrasia in considerable detail.

Socrates’ overall argument is not without flaws. I expose these flaws and demonstrate that at some point Plato must have become aware of these problems too as his position begins to shift during the course of his writing. I end the chapter by marking this shift of position on akrasia in Meno. Meno is the key to understanding Plato’s later position on akrasia as presented in his middle works.¹

In chapter three, I turn to analyzing Plato’s more mature understanding of such notions as movement (why we act as we do), akrasia, and the soul. I begin my analysis with Phaedo before moving to examine Symposium. I then provide an analysis of Plato’s well-known tripartite model of the soul as first evinced in book IV of Republic. In Republic, Plato no longer denies the existence of akrasia as he did in Protagoras. Indeed he recognizes that reason, broadly construed, can indeed be overpowered by desire—an idea that is considered incoherent in Protagoras. I then examine Plato’s contrary model to weakness of will: the soul as one’s best friend. To be one’s own best friend is to be a soul without strife: the soul’s parts, including (both the rational and irrational divisions) live together in perfect harmony.

In chapter four, I explore the tools Plato counsels us to use in order to maintain a state of concordance with all aspects of our soul. Moreover, I demonstrate that the cave analogy, as depicted in Book VII of Republic, substantiates the initial affective conception of akrasia I outlined in chapter one. I argue that overcoming weakness of will is accomplished through a double turn: one turns towards virtue and simultaneously turns away from vice. In turning towards virtue, a subject is inspired to reach some ideal. In turning away from vice, one is pushed to overcome the shame or feeling of deep dissatisfaction that one has come to associate with oneself.

In the concluding chapter, I distill the lessons learned from the previous chapters. I demonstrate that the true roots for self-transformation come both from below and from above: though effective upbuilding resolutions must be well-considered intentions, they are just as much products of highly-charged emotional groundswells. Self-approbation is possible provided that one can transmute one’s affective, emotional states into principles for joyful self-ownership.

It is my hope that by exploring weakness of will in this affective way, a new and seminal vein of inquiry has been opened for greater exploration. Weakness of will or again akrasia (being without power or rule) is a real phenomenon: it defines a possible relationship that we may have to the self. But as I hope to show, it need not define us—transformation is possible. As I try to demonstrate (by revealing the conceptual and affective underpinnings of weakness of will) we can improve the relationship we have to ourselves only if we perform the hard work of identifying the push and pull forces that disperse the clouds of temptation allowing all of us to ascend towards the Sun.²

1. The middle works of Plato denote the dialogues that were written by Plato in the middle period of his writing career. They typically focus on metaphysical and epistemological themes.

2. The Sun is an analogue for the Good in Plato’s most celebrated and widely read work, Republic. Here I am using it as a metaphor to demonstrate the ideal relationship we instinctively seek to create to ourselves.

Chapter One

What is Weakness of Will?

Philosophers begin a philosophical investigation by asking questions. The investigation that is the subject matter of the present book is no different. However, all philosophical questions serve to guide subsequent query. This point seems obvious and perhaps trivial to some, but it will have significant bearing on our investigation as will be seen. For example, questions such as: What is Being? Or What is Knowledge? seem to be basic starting points for the philosophical areas of metaphysics and epistemology respectively. Indeed, it is difficult to conceive of a more basic foundation from which to investigate these fields of philosophic inquiry. Such questions, furthermore, seem to not only be elementary, but integral to the very formation of each area. For if these questions make sense then the area of philosophy that is in question, unfolds almost naturally.

Indeed, we might even call such queries classic Socratic questions for they have the bare structure of the kind of questions Socrates asks in the early Platonic dialogues (e.g., Protagoras, Laches, Euthyprho, etc.) The above two questions have the same basic structure: they ask what is the essence of some thing? Richard Robinson, a highly respected Platonic scholar, called such questions, What is X? questions and claims that this sort of questioning is indicative of an aporetic Platonic dialogue: a type of dialogue that belongs to Plato’s early period of writing and one, moreover characterized by a failure of the interlocutors of the dialogue to come to any definitive conclusion or answer regarding some philosophical question.¹

For example, in Euthyphro, Socrates asks Euthyphro, a temple priest, What is Piety? Euthyphro attempts to answer Socrates’ question—though failing miserably in the process—by providing a definition that would serve to explain all instances of pious reverence.² Socratic questions try to get at the essence of some concept by defining it. Although Socrates is not successful in the early dialogues in eliciting such an answer, the method, called elenchus, is still important and has become a hallmark of philosophic inquiry ever since.³

The idea behind Socrates’ method is to demonstrate that either (a) some idea is conceptually contained within a larger genus or (b) to show that the concept is a unique combination of two more basic and immediately knowable ideas. Let’s concretize the above point by providing an example. Let us investigate the question What is knowledge? The first step of the investigation would require that we define what knowledge is. This definition would seek to arrive at the essence for all examples of knowledge. We would then proceed to answer this question by demonstrating how one might satisfy the necessary conditions for the answer. By satisfying the necessary conditions needed to acquire knowledge, we would then and only then be able to provide a sufficient response to the What is knowledge? question as well as the related question, How may we attain it? Unfortunately, not all approaches to philosophical questions appear this simple and straightforward.

Continuing with this line of inquiry, one might claim that to define knowledge requires, at the very least, a three-part analysis. In Theaetetus, Plato, via the character Theaetetus, provides his infamous tripartite definition of knowledge. He writes: He said that it [knowledge] is a true judgment with an account.⁴ In effect, Plato evinces that knowledge is comprised of three components: a belief, the justification for this belief, and the truth of the belief in question. Thus, an answer to the singular question: What is knowledge? Now involves three: What is belief? What is truth? and What is justification?

To answer each of these questions is to get closer to the overall answer that one initially sought. There is a clear path, so to speak, to the destination of the query. To be certain, the destination, as the annals of Western philosophy show, is still difficult to reach. Such a mapping of the destination point does not make the journey any easier. Each of the above questions will have their own sub-questions and so on. Although there are many branches to each of these paths and some of these branches may lead to dead-ends, still, there is at least a firm understanding of where one needs to go; there is a sense that one is inching closer and closer to the desired endpoint.

This is not the case with the above question: What is weakness of will? For infused within this seemingly basic question are questionable, contestable, and indeed problematic conceptual frameworks which, if accepted as elementary, or indubitable starting points, serve to direct, uncritically, and indeed perhaps even skew, unknowingly, any subsequent inquiry founded thereon. There is something more that needs to be explored as regards this question than the questions put forward above. They appear in the parlance of the logical positivists to have the same logical form as the above question concerning knowledge, but when the grammatical garb is removed, the logical form of this question takes on a whole new appearance.⁵

What’s more, such questions (e.g. What is weakness of will?) when uncritically assumed to be basic or self-grounded naturally spill over—much like boiling water left in a pot that has been unattended—into other fields, making a mess of everything. For example, the problem of weakness of will has been taken up by epistemologists. Some epistemologists have argued that the solution to the justification question (the J question) or When is a subject justified in believing some proposition? requires a virtuous component.⁶ Such scholars support this contention by arguing for two points: (1) the act of investigating is not a purely epistemic matter. It is not cognitively self-contained; there is leakage. For to investigate any given area or matter of inquiry presupposes that there is a desire on the part of some subject to perform this investigation and not some other. Thus, investigations are not value neutral: there is an agenda regarding the very purpose of the investigation. It is in the very nature of an investigation to be shot through with interest, broadly construed.⁷ (2) Even if we restrict ourselves to mere fact acquisition, it is clear that facts, which are propositional attitudes believed to be true, are not value neutral either. For believing itself is an action and therefore pertains to the will of an agent. An agent must decide whether he or she desires to pursue some object of investigation. No inquiry could begin without some epistemic desire of some agent to know something about some object.

Justificatory failure might occur, so this theory goes, not because the subject lacks the required cognitive capacities to know p, where p stands in place for some proposition, some statement taken to be true, but because he lacks the willpower to believe p to be true. The individual is weak-willed, but not necessarily weak-minded: he understands both the evidence that is required along with the amount of such evidence needed in order to have sufficient justification to believe in some statement, yet he still fails to believe because he does not wish the statement to be true.⁸ He may even believe some statement such as: If another rational agent were presented with the same evidence, E, which I just examined, he would conclude P and therefore believe P, but I cannot. If this line of reasoning is a live option, then scholars, who self-identify as virtue epistemologists, argue that some other component other than belief, justification, and truth is required in order to answer the What is knowledge? question.

If the above analysis is correct, namely, that knowledge requires some mysterious fourth component, then the tripartite analysis fails to adequately capture the concept of knowledge. Perhaps, virtue epistemologists argue, one would believe in the justification of p if one were strong-willed. From here the theory is that epistemic virtues, just like moral virtues, need to be built-up in order for one to acquire knowledge.⁹

But now consider the following possibility: weakness of will is a misnomer. It does not exist, simpliciter. But notice that if weakness of will is like a square-circle, a flatus vocis, a name given to something that does not truly exist, then the solution to the J question (if one accepts a particular virtue epistemic position) falls apart. The solution tendered to fix the traditional conception of knowledge—namely, that of justified true belief—is no longer viable because there is simply put no such thing as weakness of will. For epistemic reasons, it becomes incumbent to question the veracity of weakness of will both in terms of its existence and, if it does exist, whether it is possible to clarify what it involves and when it happens.

It should also be noted that the complexity involved in stating such a question perspicuously, let alone discovering an answer, is not just simply a problem about language. That is to say, the way in which the question of weakness of will is framed is not just a question about semantics as the non-philosopher might put it, for it is the asking and meaning of these questions that serve to underwrite the answers one expects from them. It is what philosophers call a hard problem. Each question presupposes a unique