Was Aristotle a Pragmatist?

Was Aristotle a pragmatist? Not as we understand pragmatism today, as a systematic method or philosophy of life—depending on whether you’re a Peircean or Jamesian pragmatist. 

In Topics, Aristotle explores the various ways one can make a rational argument, or question the logic of an opponent’s argument. In Book Three, which is devoted to methods for weighing alternatives, he writes in Chapter Two, “[W]hen two things are very like each other, and we cannot perceive any superiority of the one to the other, we must investigate from the consequences” and “we must take whichever consequence may be useful” (Trans. Octavius Owen).     

That whole idea of usefulness is what received Bertram Russell’s ire. He had no use for modern pragmatism. For Russell, we believed things because they were true, whether they were useful or not. This sounded too much like relativism for Russell. 

Russell neglected to notice the qualifier, when “we cannot perceive any superiority,” which for Aristotle, meant a rational reason to value one over the other.  If that rational reason existed, then what William James would go on to call the “pragmatic maxim” wouldn’t apply. True, Aristotle wasn’t above a little relativism. He goes on to write that he values “temperance over courage,” since temperance is useful all the time, and courage only some of the time. Even this bit or relativism points out one of the hallmarks of pragmatism, it tends to concern questions about abstracts in philosophy, and the as yet unknown in science, not the concrete or known. 

Peirce’s version of the pragmatic maxim is even more grounded in logic than Aristotle’s. Peirce writes "Consider what effects that might conceivably have practical bearing we conceive the object of our conception to have. Then, our conception of these effects is the whole of our concept of the object" ("How to Make Our Ideas Clear" 218)

James, as usual, is a little more whimsical: “Now, without pledging ourselves in any way to adopt this hypothesis, let us dally with it for a while to see to what consequences it might lead if it were true” (Pragmatism 302).

Ah, Russell would have a problem with that one. But, James would only apply this maxim to something that we were still uncertain of, not those things we were certain of.

Where the Rest of Us Run--My Hill Repeats

The Lower Rio Grande Valley is actually a river delta, not a valley. I have to drive an hour to get to the closest hill--unless I want to run up and down a freeway overpass. 

Instead I often run in a local park with two soccer fields. The soccer fields are in a basin designed to catch runoff in flood conditions, and are twenty feet or so below street level. I can be seen some mornings running up and down those twenty-foot berms, trying to get some hill repeats in.

Where the Rest of Us Trail Run

If you live in Colorado you have the Rockies. California has the Sierras. The East Coast has the Appalachian Tail. The rest of us, well, we make do. It's a four hour drive from the RGV to anywhere in the Hill Country, ten to Big Bend. So, I make do. Sometimes I run the service roads that run along the irrigation canals that crisscross the Valley. After a few rains, the canals can look almost park-like.

Platonic Form or Running Form?

Recently read Three Running Tips to Make You Faster by David Roche, Trail Runner Online, July 21, 2015. The next day, in the middle of my run, I decided to try out tip #2 “Engage Your Glutes.”

I remembered something about holding a quarter between your butt cheeks. So I gave it a try. The first thing I noticed was that my toes turned out. I knew that wasn’t good form, so I backed off a little. Better. I had a nice, neutral pronation. But that wasn’t the point. I was supposed to engage my gluts. All I felt was uncomfortable, like I has slight constipation. 

After the run I pulled the article back up and read what I had missed: “Don’t clench.” Precisely what I’d done. “Relax your hips and allow your glutes to stay together.” I’d been the opposite of relaxed. I read on to the next paragraph, where Roche writes, “while standing, relax your hips and feel your glutes engage. Your hips should move forward slightly and you may feel your spine straighten.” 

I tried that, and immediately noticed a difference in the placement of my hips. And it did feel relaxed. The next day, instead of clinching my cheeks while running, before running, I practiced that relaxed hip posture. When I started running, I noticed a difference immediately. I stopped occasionally during that run and made sure my hips were where I wanted them. Even so, I managed to knock twenty second off a mile for the same effort. 

Slightly more effort breathing. Not sure why. I finally noticed that I had allowed my spine to curve in, just enough that it was pressing against my lungs and cutting into my breath. I consciously straightened my spine and my breathing became more relaxed, even at an increased pace. 

I’ve noticed in the past that whenever I make a change to form, no matter how small, it results in unexpected changes. I look forward to seeing the results of this change.  

Is there are Platonic lesson to be learned here? I guess we could look at Plato's idea of forms, that what we see is just the appearance of the real, that there is somewhere a perfect form. The perfect runner or the perfect form? I know that I am neither a perfect runner, not have perfect form. In fact, I know that every time I read advice about form, I need to test it to make sure it works for this imperfect body. 

What Chariot?

"It would seem that there may be friendship between a man and himself, when the rational and irrational parts are no longer two things but one thing" Aristotle. Nicomachean Ethics B1 Ch4

Unlike Plato, who always saw the irrational, or emotional, side of man as destructive, Aristotle postulates that it is possible for emotion and reason to come into balance. 

Aristotle's statement doesn't match exactly with Plato's allegory. The horses of Plato's chariot were emotion and desire (or mind and body). The charioteer was the soul or reason. The difference between the chariot and Aristotle's idea lies less in how the person is divided than in the intent of the allegory--one to find balance, the other to gain control.  

Turtle in the Road

Almost didn't see this guy. Skidded to a stop and almost clipped him. He hissed at me when I picked him up to move him to the side of the road.

Featherless "Running" Biped

According to legend, Diogenes (who, incidentally, Oscar the Grouch is supposedly based upon) brought a plucked chicken into Plato or Aristotle’s school (legend is a bit iffy here) and declared, “Behold, a man!” He did so because Plato wrote in The Statesman, that Socrates defined man as a featherless biped. This story, humorous in itself, simply illustrates how often Plato’s readers misread the Socratic Dialogues, perhaps because they think philosophy is serious, or simply should be serious.

Even a cursory reading of The Statesman should reveal that the “featherless biped” definition is intended to be ironic—and cutting humor. Our first clue is that the topic of The Statesman is to be “the art of man herding.” From that phrase, Socrates slowly hones his definition of man by first distinguishing them from quadrupeds, and finally coming up with “herds of voluntary bipeds.” 

Today we might use phrases such as “herd mentality,” or “led by the nose.” By defining man in this way, Socrates is pointing out how easily men are led by a strong leader—just like a herd of cows—not the physical attributes of man. 

Aristotle takes man as a biped more seriously. However, he never actually defines man as a biped, he simply says that biped could be one property of man. Even with that he doesn’t actually say that being a biped is a property of man, but only that it’s possible to argue that being a biped is a property of man. 

How strange that both Plato and Aristotle are victims of “sound bites” thousands of years before that particular term was coined.