Читать книгу Leading a Worthy Life - Leon R. Kass - Страница 6

Introduction

“MAY YOU LIVE in interesting times!” This ancient Chinese curse appears to have landed on us – we whose lives have spanned the end of the twentieth century and the beginning of the new millennium. In addition to the usual run of crises, foreign and domestic, we face genuinely novel prospects both for good and for ill, the harms often emerging tragically as unavoidable consequences of the benefits. Ours is the age of atomic power but also of nuclear proliferation, of globalized trade but also worldwide terrorism, of instant communication but also fragmented communities, of free association but also marital failure, of limitless mobility but also homogenized destinations, of open borders but also confused identities, of astounding medical advances but also greater worries about health, of longer and more vigorous lives but also protracted and more miserable deaths, of unprecedented freedom and prosperity but also remarkable anxiety about our future, both personal and national. In our age of heightened expectations, many Americans fear that their children’s lives will be less free, less prosperous, or less fulfilling than their own, a fear that is shared by the young people themselves. Like their forebears, our youth still harbor desires for a worthy life. They still hope to find meaning in their lives and to live a life that makes sense. But they are increasingly confused about what a worthy life might look like, and about how they might be able to live one.

In less interesting times, a dominant and confident culture was able to provide many young people with authoritative guidance for how to live. Religious traditions and inherited customs and mores pointed the way to a good life. Adults, quite comfortable with their moral authority, were not stingy with their praise and blame, reward and punishment, nor did they neglect the effort to model decent conduct for the young to follow. In the post–World War II years of my boyhood, the prevailing culture took pains to turn children into grown-ups. It offered guidance for finding work and vocation, customs of courtship for finding a suitable spouse, and a plethora of vibrant local institutions and associations – religious, fraternal, social, political, charitable, cultural – for finding meaningful participation in civic and communal life. The institutions of higher learning proudly believed in light and truth, and were pleased to initiate the next generation into the intellectual and artistic treasures of the West. To be sure, those less interesting times also offered fewer opportunities for women and minorities and less room for individual divergence from the norm, and the more imaginative and independent people among us sometimes felt stifled. But there were at least norms to be rebelled against, and most people acquired at least some beginning ideas about what makes a life worth living.

No longer. Young people are now at sea – regarding work, family, and civic identity. Authority is out to lunch. Courtship has disappeared. No one talks about work as vocation. The true, the good, and the beautiful have few defenders. Irony is in the saddle, and the higher cynicism mocks any innocent love of wisdom or love of country. The things we used to take for granted have become, at best, open questions. The persons and institutions to which we once looked for guidance have ceased to offer it successfully. Today, we are supercompetent when it comes to efficiency, utility, speed, convenience, and getting ahead in the world; but we are at a loss concerning what it’s all for. This lack of cultural and moral confidence about what makes a life worth living is perhaps the deepest curse of living in our interesting time.

I do not mean to imply that my fellow Americans are living empty or meaningless lives. Far from it. Many people today are fulfilled in their work, their families, their communities, and their religious devotions. But they live their worthy lives in the absence of strong and confident cultural support. Indeed, they do so in the face of relentless attacks – from intellectuals, popular culture, and media celebrities – on their core beliefs, practices, and institutions. We are awash in cynicism about work, love, marriage, government, and seeking the truth – and, truth to tell, not without cause.

Other peoples, in earlier times and places, have also been cursed to live in interesting times. Great nations have experienced crises of confidence, whether from war weariness, declining religious beliefs, or cultural disarray. Consider ancient Athens, for example, a city-state that came to prominence in the Persian Wars, after which it found itself in possession of an empire, more by default than by design. Athens predominated for several decades, only to enter upon interesting times as a consequence of the Peloponnesian War with Sparta and her allies, the plague of Athens, and a decline in manners and morals at home. Cynical public intellectuals and wise guys (my translation of sophistes) ran around undermining belief in the gods and in traditional mores, also teaching the young how to make the weaker argument appear the stronger. The conservative elders – their equivalent of our American Legion – looked back nostalgically to the glory days of Marathon, even as demagogues swayed the multitude and as public speech and morals headed for the sewer.

Yet precisely because the old orthodoxies were crumbling, these troubled times in Athens offered great opportunities for renewal and growth, at least for individuals. It was then that Socrates, calling philosophy down to earth from its preoccupation with the heavens, made famous the question “How to live?” He gathered around him the finest youths, who warmed to his insistence that the unexamined life was not worth living. Instead of receiving authoritative answers, his students were encouraged to discover genuine and weighty questions, and to undertake real quests in search of a worthy and flourishing life. Never mind that the city fathers, mistaking Socrates for one of the subversive Sophists, convicted and executed him for impiety and for corrupting the young; his influence lives to the present day as the supreme model of a thoughtful life, thanks to the divine Plato, who commemorated the life of his teacher in his famous dialogues. Though Socrates professed no substantive teaching, he exemplified – and still exemplifies – what it means to live thoughtfully and worthily, fully open to the world, fully present to his friends and his city. His example underscores the opportunity that we still enjoy today, in part because we too live in interesting and open-ended times, to seek and find a worthy life for ourselves. We can begin by rejecting the despair and cynicism that often surround us and cloud our vision.

This book is written in a Socratic spirit. Recognizing both the fatigue of our inherited ways and the opportunities it opens up, I aim to encourage our flagging moral confidence by illuminating key aspects of a worthy life that are still available to us and by defending them against some of their enemies. I hope to be helpful to both secular and religious readers, to people who are looking for meaning on their own and to people who are looking to deepen what they may have been taught or to square it with the spirit of our times.

The book grows out of the two major activities of my professional life, spanning nearly fifty years: examining closely the human meaning of the new biology and its life-altering biotechnologies, and teaching searchingly great books that offer profound but competing accounts of the good life. It also no doubt reflects what I have learned, over a long and blessed life, from lived experience – as a child of unschooled but humanly splendid Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe, who grew up in an ethnically diverse, lower-middle-class neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago after the Second World War; as a young lover, husband, father, and grandfather, blessed as few have been in his marriage of fifty-four years; as a student of the liberal arts, medicine, and biochemistry, a practitioner of biomedical research at the National Institutes of Health, and (for most of my life) a teacher of the humanities at St. John’s College and the University of Chicago; as a member of the National Council on the Humanities and as chairman of the President’s Council on Bioethics; as a research scholar at the American Enterprise Institute; and as an engaged citizen of the United States under fourteen of its forty-five presidents. During this time I have witnessed and thought about many large cultural changes in American society, most of them initiated or accelerated by technological innovations introduced or popularized in my lifetime: washing machines and dryers, television, antibiotics, interstate highways and colossal automobilty, commercial aviation, the Pill, the Internet, the Human Genome Project and genetic screening, psychoactive drugs, in vitro fertilization, organ transplantation, personal computers, smartphones and instant messaging. More than most of my contemporaries, I have regarded these innovations as mixed blessings, recognizing the ways in which they contribute to bettering human life, but noticing too the challenges they present to our very humanity.

Although I have learned much from experience and from knowledge of times and authors past, I write not with nostalgia for those less interesting days, but rather with both concern and hope for the present and the future: concern lest we diminish our chances for a worthy human life amidst a glut of distracting, addicting, and isolating amusements; hope that we can recover and strengthen our appreciation of the permanent possibilities for a rich and meaningful life. I believe that such a life is, in fact, more accessible to many more people than ever before, thanks to freedom, prosperity, and life-easing technologies, even if the fundamental features and deeper significance of such a life are harder to recognize and sustain in the confusions of our times. My main purpose in writing this book is to shine fresh light on several fundamental and irreplaceable aspects of the good life, as well as on the specific threats they face today and tomorrow: love, family, and friendship; human achievement, human excellence, and human dignity; learning and teaching in search of understanding and wisdom; and fulfilling the enduring human aspirations for the true, the good, and the beautiful, for the righteous and the holy, and for freedom, equality, and self-government. I seek to provide an articulate defense of what many Americans tacitly believe or seek in their heart of hearts but have forgotten how to articulate or defend. And I wish to suggest how these aspects of a worthy life, once recognized and defended, can still be pursued under present circumstances, as goals toward which we may continue to steer our voyages over turbulent waters, in newfangled and ever-changing conveyances.

* * *

The chapters in this book were originally separate essays, written for different occasions over a period of twenty years. They have all been revised and updated, and organized into a coherent structure, informed by the purposes just reviewed. The first chapter, “Finding Meaning in Modern Times: An Overview,” introduces the theme of the book and presents a synoptic view of four domains in which people can and do find meaning in their lives: in fulfilling work, in love and family, in love of country and public service, and in seeking the truth about ourselves and the world. Activities in these domains (especially the second and the fourth) are explored in greater detail in the subsequent chapters.

The first section, “Love, Family, and Friendship,” deals with the domain of deep interpersonal intimacy and familial flourishing, the aspect of a worthy life that is in principle most accessible to, and most sought by, the largest number of people. In my experience, most young people – despite the cheap cynicism they hear about the dim prospects for enjoying happy and enduring marriage – still harbor a desire to find a soulmate with whom they might make a life. They want to be taken seriously; they want to love and be loved. Although chastened by the sad experience of their parents’ generation, and therefore fearful of failure, they would gladly, if they could, pledge “In sickness and in health, until death do us part” to a worthy partner.

There are many obstacles in the way of their meeting the right – or a right enough – one, but perhaps none greater than the lack of cultural forms and social encouragement on a path that points to marriage. This deficit is the point of departure for the chapters in this section. Chapter Two, “The End of Courtship,” identifies and discusses the numerous impediments in modern American life to the nearly extinct practice of “courting” – finding and winning a life partner – and seeks to explain why so many young people are “loveless in Seattle.” It shows why those now defunct forms were well adapted to getting people to the altar, where lives could be joined under a promise of fidelity, loyalty, and enduring care; and it suggests which aspects of those old forms of courting might find practical modern substitutes, even if courtship itself is not revivable as a widespread cultural practice.

The next chapter, “The Higher Sex Education” (adapted from an essay written with my late wife, Amy), offers a correction to the way our culture now educates young people about our sexuality. For the true goal of sex education is not the prevention of pregnancy and (other) unwanted sexually transmitted consequences – the useful but limited purpose of today’s low sex education – but rather the elevation and education of the heart, achieved by refining its sensibilities, enlarging its imaginings, ennobling its erotic desires, educating its judgments of prospective beloveds. This chapter illustrates by example how such edifying education is still available to present-day would-be lovers, through the wise use and thoughtful exploration of literature that we have inherited from less interesting times.

Chapter Four, “Virtually Intimate,” looks at the strengths and weaknesses of Internet matchmaking services. For many people today, these are the best available means of meeting a worthy life partner, and they have already been used successfully to introduce millions of people to their missing other halves. But because Internet matchmaking is a disembodied technological remedy for the isolating deformations of our social lives – deformations resulting in large part from prior technological innovations – it carries dangers of its own, potentially adding a new set of impediments to genuine and full intimacy, whether between lovers or friends.

Looking past courtship to marriage and parenthood, Chapter Five, “What’s Your Name?” (also taken from an essay written with Amy), raises questions about the culturally controversial “marital name” and about the significance of names that parents give their children. Naming is not only an act of identification by which we become known in the world; it also expresses our hopes and wishes both for ourselves as marital partners and parents, and for the children we name. Against the stream, I (we) argue for the once universal practice of having a common marital name, symbolic of a shared new life, to be shared also with all future children of the union. I also explain why it makes more sense for the bride to accept the offer of the groom’s surname than for him to adopt hers, or for both of them to invent some altogether new surname unconnected with a familial past.

The second section of the book moves from private and intimate domains to the more public realm of action, with special attention to human excellence and human dignity, long considered central aspects of a worthy life. According to ancient moral philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle, an especially worthy life was most of all a life of virtuous activity, in fulfillment of our given nature. Cultivation and education provided the means to a worthy life; the complete or perfected human being constituted the end. Young people were encouraged to keep their eyes on the heights of human possibility and the peaks of human flourishing, as objects of aspiration and emulation.

Modern moral philosophers, in contrast, were less interested in shining examples of human excellence than in the basic conditions of a worthy life, especially health and prosperity. Struck by the stinginess of nature and the limitations of our given nature, they were more concerned to lift the base of the human condition than to reach the summit of human possibility. They looked to a new quantitative science, pregnant with powerful technological possibilities, to alleviate human misery – to achieve, in Francis Bacon’s words, “the relief of man’s estate.” But they also envisioned ways to overcome all human limitations (including our mortality) and to improve upon our given human nature. Their bold dream of mastering human nature has come of age in our time, as novel biotechnologies – based on amazing progress in molecular genetics, developmental biology, neuroscience, and aging research – hold out the promise not only of cures for deadly diseases but also of major enhancements of body and mind, issuing in superior performance, better children, ageless bodies, and happy souls.

Many people will of course want to avail themselves of these enhancing techniques, which offer easier and more effective ways to improve upon their natural gifts and their chances for worldly success. But a little reflection will show that these are, to say the least, mixed blessings. The technologies that promise all sorts of enhancement of our nature may, paradoxically, diminish the chances for genuine human achievement, human virtue, and human dignity.

The first chapter in this section, “Ageless Bodies, Happy Souls,” provides an overview of the subject of biotechnical enhancement, with special attention to the dignity of human agency and the difference between technologically attained partial goals and full human flourishing. It argues that the pursuit of an ageless body and longer life will turn out to be a distraction from the possibility of living well. And it suggests that the technologically assisted pursuit of an untroubled and self-satisfied soul will turn out to be deadly to all worthy desires.

Chapter Seven explores two accounts of human dignity, often at odds with each other in public discussion. One of these emphasizes the basic dignity of human being (called by some the sanctity or inviolability of human life); the other focuses on the full dignity of being human (of living humanly and excellently). This chapter seeks to discover the basis for each sort of dignity, and it shows why both need our vigorous defense in this biotechnological age. Finally, it argues that the two dignities are mutually implicated and interdependent, both of them reflections of our unique, “in-between” nature as the one godlike animal.

A test case for thinking about human dignity in action is presented in the next chapter, “For the Love of the Game” (written with Eric Cohen). Taking off from the steroid scandal in baseball, this chapter uses the domain of athletics to consider the public pursuit and display of excellence, with and without enhancing technique. It provides a strong defense of the beauty and grace of athletic performance, pursued and appreciated for their own sake, against the deforming single-minded pursuit of victory or statistical records by any means necessary. It articulates the deep humanity of athletic activity (and, by extension, of all embodied human action), and discusses the aesthetics of sport and the character of worthy fandom, concluding with some suggestions about transcendent possibilities in sport (and in many other human activities).

The ninth chapter examines life not at its zenith but at its nadir, with death on the doorstep, as it eventually comes for us all. “A Dignified Death and Its Enemies” argues against giving dehumanization a final victory by embracing a technological fix for our finitude, in the practices of assisted suicide or euthanasia. This chapter aims to show why we esteem the virtues of courage and equanimity in the face of death. It also defends the venerable and intrinsic virtues of the medical profession, which, if it stays true to its calling, will never abandon either its patients or the goodness of their lives. And it argues that a true physician adhering to his ethical calling, especially in difficult straits, can vindicate and preserve the dignity of agent and patient alike, thereby serving as a model of worthy and meaningful work.

Chapter Ten, “A More Perfect Human,” deepens our reservations about enhancement biotechnologies and about the technical solutions of assisted suicide and euthanasia, by looking at an earlier national effort to use science and medicine to achieve the perfect human being and to eliminate deficiency, deformity, and disability. Written as a commentary on “Deadly Medicine: Creating the Master Race,” the remarkable and disturbing exhibit about German science and medicine between the two world wars, produced by the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, the chapter shows the devastating consequences of pursuing so-called human perfection by technological means and of trying to “fix” the human condition by science alone. It examines the dangerous practices of negative and positive eugenics, a topic creeping back into American conversation as we enter the age of genetic engineering, and it exposes the dangerous thinking of “soulless scientism,” which looks to health as our salvation and medicine as the messiah.

The third section of the book, “In Search of Wisdom,” moves from the domain of action to the realm of thought, where many people still seek and find meaning in the life of wonder, inquiry, learning, and reflection. Here, too, we twenty-first-century Americans face serious challenges and obstacles. In higher education, learning for its own sake is culturally disparaged, partly because the costs of getting an education compel students to focus on practical studies aimed at making a living after college rather than on liberal learning aimed at living well. Computer science, economics, and business majors – yes; classics, literature, and philosophy majors – no. In addition, political correctness and academic trendiness among the faculty, especially in the humanities and social sciences, discourage those who would seek truth and wisdom, and generally result in what Allan Bloom called the closing of the American mind. In place of the love of learning, we get pseudosophisticated cynicism about the search for truth. In place of skeptical science, we get dogmatic scientism. In place of a desire to know, we adopt the knowing pose that snickers at such innocence.

Yet the desire for understanding is hard to eradicate, and many a young person is still interested in the big questions. At most colleges and universities there are still pockets of liberal learning, and great (or good enough) teachers who care about students and nurture their interest in living meaningful lives. It takes only one or two really good teachers to open a mind and turn around a soul. And for students of whatever age, it takes only an openness to learning and a desire not to be self-deceived to make for ourselves a life of thoughtfulness, and to become people who will not sleepwalk through life but will delight in learning whatever we can about the world’s limitless mysteries, beauties, and truths.

The first chapter in this section, “The Aims of Liberal Education,” is addressed especially to entering college students. It considers several competing goals of a college education, and rejects them in favor of a wisdom-seeking – a philo-sophical and liberating – habit of thoughtfulness, through which we seek deeply to understand ourselves in relation to the world around us. Making use of a distinction between two different types of thinking – asking questions (the way of Socrates) and solving problems (the way of modern science) – this chapter argues for the life-giving benefits of questing for what is true and good, of having and honing a mind that is open and hungry, yet also modest and self-critical.

Chapter Twelve, “Looking for an Honest Man,” offers as an example my own wisdom-seeking journey, from medicine and biochemical research to philosophy, literature, and Bible study, all in the service of understanding the meaning of our common humanity and of learning how to live a worthy life. Although autobiographical in character, the chapter is meant to convey what anyone can learn from a serious engagement with big questions and great authors. It points the way to a revival of humanistic learning, in which the books that we have inherited are treated neither as authoritative guides nor as relics of a no longer relevant age, but as friends who will walk with us through life, challenging our assumptions, elevating our sensibilities, and giving us new questions and insights into the things that matter, now and always.

Going beyond philosophy and literature, Chapter Thirteen considers the two great intellectual and cultural edifices that compete for our adherence and that seem to offer the most comprehensive truths: science and religion. The age-old tension between these two complementary but adversarial domains – often mistakenly called the domains of reason and of faith – has for centuries been an animating force of Western civilization. But recent partisan attempts to reduce the tension by eliminating the other side now threaten to mislead us about both. By a careful critique of “scientism” – a quasi-religious faith that natural science can answer all questions about the world and our place within it – I try to rescue the biblical teachings from the belief that science has rendered them unbelievable. Instead, I argue for the compatibility of the Bible, properly read as an account of what things mean and of how to live, with science, properly seen as an immensely powerful but ultimately more modest and partial effort to understand (only) how things work.

The final section of the book, “The Aspirations of Humankind: Athens, Jerusalem, Gettysburg,” comprises three essays, each one focused on a famous text that I love and have often taught, each text associated with a famous city, each city associated with a different strand of Western civilization and culture, each strand displaying and advancing one or another of the great aspirations of humankind.

First, Athens, the leading city of ancient Greece. According to Pericles, her leading statesman, Athens was the school of Hellas, later to become also a major source of Western civilization. Western civilization would hardly be what it is were it not for the Athenians, who at the battles of Salamis and Marathon repulsed the huge Persian invasion, thus saving the ground for Greece’s golden age – for democratic self-rule, individual freedom, and the enduring works of Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, and Aristophanes; Herodotus and Thucydides; Phidias and Polycleitus; Plato, Xenophon, and Aristotle. It is from the Greeks that the West inherited the ideas and ideals of human virtue or excellence (aretê), as well as a devotion to the beautiful (to kalon), both in nature and in art. And it is from the Greeks that the West inherited also the liberal arts of arithmetic and geometry, music and astronomy, grammar, rhetoric, and logic, as well as the passion for truth and the love of wisdom known as philosophia. These humanistic teachings – especially about virtue and wisdom, and their relation to human flourishing – received their supreme expression in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, the subject of Chapter Fourteen.

Next, Jerusalem, the holy city of ancient Israel – of God’s originally chosen people, the People of the Book, who under the leadership of Moses entered into a covenant with the Lord at Sinai in which they bound themselves to pursue righteousness and holiness under His commandments. Jerusalem, final home also of Jesus of Nazareth, the story of whose life and teachings, crucifixion and resurrection became the basis of a new and hugely successful universal religion that spread biblical teachings to all regions of the globe. It is from Jerusalem (that is, Judaism and Christianity) that the West inherited the ideas and ideals of man (and woman) made in the image of God, of loving your neighbor as yourself, and of loving the one God with all your heart and all your soul and all your might. It is from Jerusalem that the West inherited also a devotion to justice and mercy and a belief in the dignity of all human beings – the brotherhood of man under the fatherhood of God. The biblical teachings – especially about the relations among law, justice, and holiness, and between man and God, as presented in the Ten Commandments – are the subject of Chapter Fifteen.

And finally, Gettysburg. To the old trope of “Athens and Jerusalem,” long regarded as twin sources of the West, I add – in all seriousness – the site of a justly famous cemetery and an even more justly famous speech. The name of Gettysburg stands for the unique contribution to Western civilization made by the idea and practice of the United States of America. If Greece gave the West virtue, beauty, and philosophy, and if biblical religion gave the West reverence, righteousness, and love of neighbor, America gave the West – and the world – its first enduring political embodiment of the ideas and ideals of freedom and equality and the practice of constitutional self-government in the service of those ideals. Gettysburg is, perhaps, an odd choice to stand as the representative of the United States. Philadelphia, site of the signing of the Declaration of Independence and home of the Constitutional Convention, has an older and more fundamental claim. And Washington, D.C., as the nation’s capital, would be a more obvious choice. But it was at Gettysburg that our greatest and wisest president gave the canonical speech that remains to this day the most powerful and most beautiful statement of the American creed and purpose. The concluding chapter offers a close analysis of the Gettysburg Address and reflections on Abraham Lincoln’s “refounding” of the American nation.

* * *

Even this cursory summary of what lies in store should alert the reader to the fact that I offer no single account of what makes for a worthy life. The various chapters and sources I rely on point in different, often competing directions. Which is it: private intimacy, public action, or the search for wisdom? Which is the better life: questioning or reverence, giving the law to yourself or living under command, seeking truth or serving others? Whose call should we answer: Athens, Jerusalem, or Gettysburg? As we have many talents and diverging circumstances, the path to a worthy life taken by one of us will rarely match the path taken by another. But in one respect, the goal is, at least formally, the same for all: to have earned in word and deed our place at the banquet of human life to which we have been so graciously (and undeservedly) invited.

I have no idea whether I will someday have to answer for my life before the bar of judgment. I have never lived my life either in hope of heaven or fear of hell. But I have long liked the idea of having to give an account of my life when my time is up, not so much in terms of specific good deeds and bad, virtues and vices, kindnesses and sins, as to explain what I have done with the unmerited gift of a place on our planet, and, to boot, with all the advantages of living in America in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Yes, our circumstances have changed greatly. Our streets are no longer paved with cobblestones, and we do not travel by horse and buggy. We no longer write letters or go on dates, and we spend much of our lives in mediated existence before a mesmerizing screen, or two or three. Our culture no longer offers us authoritative guidance on how to live. But we still have our race’s age-old longings for love and friendship, meaningful work, understanding and wisdom, a place in our community, an opportunity to serve, and a relationship to something higher or beyond. Let us not sell them short.