In Chapters 4 and 5 MacIntyre begins his critique of modern political thought, going backwards from existentialism to the early modern period, tracing the steps that led to the disconnect with the older Aristotelian/Christian tradition. After finding that no modern political thought has been able to adequately ground its preferences for certain moral principles in anything solid, he argues that most of these philosophers operated with unacknowledged preferences for traditional values but had no good argument for them. He then begins the process of arguing for a teleological perspective–the idea that we can judge things (and people?) good or bad based on whether or not they fulfill their natural function. This is, of course, the most controversial element in MacIntyre’s argument so far, because it may be construed as threatening the freedom of the individual to invent himself.

In Chapters 2 and 3 of MacIntyre’s After Virtue, we learn what “emotivism” is and why MacIntyre dislikes it. In particular, he identifies emotivism as the primary way people now think about moral arguments, and he blames emotivism for our inability to reach any moral agreement. Even more interestingly, he sees in the modern bureacratic/managerial organization an expression of emotivism that leads to a lack of agency and responsibility. This is because the emotivist “self” is basically empty–moving from feeling to feeling but with no real grounding–and this emptiness is then filled by stronger forces in society–political and commercial. MacIntyre argues that in a traditional society the self is filled by pre-ordained social roles–but is this any better? The latter is a question we’ll ask as we move on into MacIntyre’s defense of Aristotelian virtue ethics.

Alasdair MacIntyre developed a method that promised a third way, avoiding the problems of both moral absolutism and moral relativism. He makes clear in his Prologue to the third edition of After Virtue that he borrows from counter-Enlightenment philosopher Giambattista Vico in developing his methodology of empathetic imagination with the aim of creating a way to gain an understanding of the flaws in the liberal system and the possible cures for those flaws in an older Aristotelian framework.

We start with the fundamentals. In order to understand where Alisdair MacIntyre is coming from in After Virtue, we have to understand a few ideas inherited from the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle concerning teleology, man as political, and the meaning of virtue from Aristotle’s perspective. I take a first pass at contrasting Aristotelian thinking with the modern thought that MacIntyre thinks exploded the means of moral agreement within communities.

After Virtue was first published in 1981, but MacIntyre wrote a new preface in 2007 reasserting his full confidence in the arguments. After Virtue promises to take on emotivism and moral relativism generally and to help us navigate not toward moral absolutism but toward moral judgment through a renewal of Aristotelian virtue ethics. This video introduces key themes, including his disagreement with communitarianism, and a bit of the life of MacIntyre–who’s still going at 90– in preparation for a reading of the third edition of After Virtue.

If you’re going to succeed where others have failed you have to avoid the pitfalls and stay the course. I start with a brief introduction to the Greta Thunberg and the youth Climate Strike movement, then discuss the movement’s underlying assumptions, the pitfalls associated with those assumptions, and some suggestions for how to avoid those pitfalls.

Near the end of Dreaming Dangerously, Zizek mentions German philosopher Peter Sloterdijk’s idea of encouraging the wealthy to give gifts in exchange for honor instead of forcing them to pay through taxation. This video explains Sloterdijk’s position and how it fits and doesn’t fit with Zizek’s notions about what truly motivates people.

Do protests and demonstrations accomplish anything? And, if they often don’t, why? Answering that question should determine what we choose to do, and how, in any particular call for action. Zizek’s Chapter 7 on Occupy Wall Street serves as a launching pad for some observations on political demonstrations, including the Climate Strike scheduled for September 20, 2019.\

I’m sitting back, listening to a friend go through Plato’s Republic Book 1 again (I’ve sat in on this class so many times I can’t count them). There’s that point where he reads the rare straight-up Socratic narration: “Now, Thracymachus did not agree to all of this so easily as I tell it now, but he dragged his feet and resisted, and he produced a wonderful quantity of sweat, for it was summer. And then I saw what I had not yet seen before–Thracymachus blushing.” (1.350.d) This point in the dialogue has the same resonance for me as that point in Shakespeare’s Henry IV part 1, when Falstaff says to Prince Henry: “No, my good lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins, but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry’s company, banish not him thy Harry’s company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.”   And in Henry IV, part 2, where, right before becoming King,  Prince Henry banishes Falstaff: “I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers. How ill white hairs becomes a fool and jester. I have long dreamt of such a kind of man, So surveit-swelled, so old, and so profane; But being awaked, I do despise my dream.” The reason these parts from Henry IV are so significant is that they very brutally indicate the reality of the relationship between Falstaff and Henry. The reality is the use Henry has made of his “friend.” The reality is an absence of the relationship.  But with that moment in the Republic where Thracymachus blushes we have another similar type of eruption of reality. It is that moment when Thracymachus understands that he has undone himself, that he has allowed himself to be bested by the “sniveling infant” Socrates, Socrates who supposedly needs a “wet nurse.” He has been bested by Socrates because his whole life has been spent avoiding really defending his positions.  The blush indicates the absence of wholeness, because in that moment, Thracymachus is not embarrassed that he’s a bad man. He is embarrassed that he doesn’t really know what he’s saying. That makes him not so much a bad man as a stupid man, as Socrates insists. And hence Socrates’ most radical thought–no one is bad; everyone is stupid.  Thracymachus blushing is the moment of self-awareness. It’s the possible presence of a stunted conscience, confirming that even monsters are also human beings. It is the embarrassing momentary glimpse into our profound nakedness. It’s the shame that still exists, no matter how faintly and on life-support, among the “privileged” (who named themselves) who have made their living killing, stealing, raping and enslaving. It’s the eternal defeat of the powerful and the burst of the Kingdom from the crack in the dense cloud-cover of our consciousness. The blush matters more than all the arguments that set the stage for it.  Thracymachus blushing is the momentary understanding that we are reactive and ridiculous children, so puffed up with pride that we think we are IN CONTROL. Or maybe he himself would not quite make it to that level of understanding, but we the readers can–Thracymachus blushing is our momentary understanding of our own reactive and ridiculous selves.  For one brief liminal side-ways glance, we understand that we are high-tech dumb-shits still enthralled by toys, by yogurts with natural active cultures, iPhone 20’s, the latest Boris Johnson memes, or (more sophisticatedly), political parties. Constantly playing. Thracymachus, for one brief moment, sees himself shitting in this little boy sandbox, making castles that crumble, making lakes that last for seconds, sticking grit in his eye and up his ass, and into the next kid’s mouth when he punches him. Thracymachus undone, blushing. And who facilitates his undoing? The man who knows nothing. The old, worn out, tiresome, almost-Falstaff Socrates, the one not begging to sit at the table in the grand hall…the one who takes the Prince through embarrassing, seemingly pointless childhood games to where he can see the necessity for manhood. Manhood as adulthood, as in getting your large ass out of the sandbox so that you can clean it up for the kids. Featured image: “Red Monkey” by @Doug88888 is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Zizek’s chapter on the Arab Spring in The Year of Dreaming Dangerously elicits thoughts on why revolutions get derailed and what if anything can be done about it.