Amelie Rorty

(1932 - 2020)

The Two Faces of Stoicism: Rousseau and Freud AMI~LIE OKSENBERG RORTY Nor do the Stoics mean that the soul of their wisest man resists the first visions and sudden fantasies that surprise [him]: but [he] rather consents that, as it were to a natural subjection, he yields .... So likewise in other passions, always provided his opinions remain safe and whole, and.., his reason admit no tainting or alteration, and he in no whit consents to his fright and sufferance. Montaigne, Essays, I. 1 THE STOICS ARE A WEIGHTY EMBARRASSMENT to their friends who, like myself, want to defend them from the charges that their views are at best vague or ludicrous, perhaps offensive or inconsistent. There is no doubt that some of their pronouncements seem material for Aristophanic comedy, others callous and yet others incoherent. And there is also no doubt that they openly defy common sense and deliberately change the terminology they inherit, introduc- ing neologisms ad hoc. And yet, and yet -- it is no accident that they continue, rightly continue, to have a powerful hold on ordinary belief and acute philo- sophical reflection. Here -- in what is itself a parody -- are some of the commonplaces famil- iarly attributed to the Stoics.' First, the notorious matter of Stoic apatheia. Diogenes Laertius reports that I believe, but cannot here argue, that despite the signficant differences between early, middle and late Stoics, the classical Stoics shared a common agenda. It is..

In Part I, I consider the normal contexts of assertions of belief and declarations of intentions, arguing that many action-guiding beliefs are accepted uncritically and even pre-consciously. I analyze the function of avowals as expressions of attempts at self-transformation. It is because assertions of beliefs are used to perform a wide range of speech acts besides that of speaking the truth, and because there is a large area of indeterminacy in such assertions, that self-deception is possible. In Part II, I analyze the conditions of self-deception, and discuss the grounds on which it is regarded as irrational, even when particular instances may be beneficial. I consider some of the classical analyses of the motives for self-deception, and attempt to give an account of the occasions in which it is likely to occur. In the final section, I discuss the complex organization of the self that is presupposed by the phenomena of self-deception.

This is the first anthology to present the full range of the many forms evil. Amelie Rorty has assembled a collection of readings that include not only the most common forms of evil, such as vice, sin, cruelty and crime, but also some which are less well known, such disobedience and willfulness. The readings are drawn from a rich array of historical, philosophical, theological, literary, dramatic, psychological and legal perspectives. Amelie Rorty's introductions to the readings sets each one in context and makes the anthology essential reading for anyone interested in the philosophy of evil.

In this paper the view is presented that self‐knowledge has no special status; its varieties constitute distinctive classes, differing from one another more sharply than each does from analogous knowledge of others. Most cases of self‐knowledge are best understood contextually, subsumed under such other activities as decision‐making and socializing. First person, present tense ‘reports’ of sensations, intentions, and thoughts are primarily adaptively expressive, only secondarily truth‐functional. The last section sketches some of the disadvantages, as well as some of the advantages, of being the sort of animal that is capable of treating itself as an object, to be known as others are known.

To be rational is to be engaged in collaborative, corrigible, historically informed inquiry and deliberation. Critical intelligence is merely the beginning of rationality. Substantive rationality also requires reflective and imaginative inquiry. Its active exercise presupposes trust and mandates a commitment to the common good, to responsible attempts to create the political institutions and social conditions on which intellectual and political trust can flourish. Without these, formal and calculative intelligence are – however brilliant – mere cleverness; and without these, rationality can undo itself.

We are all ambivalent at every turn. “Should I skip class on this gorgeous spring day?” “Do I really want to marry Eric?” Despite being uncomfortable and unsettling, there are some forms of ambivalence that are appropriate and responsible. Even when they seem trivial and superficial, they reveal some of our deepest values, the self-images we would like to project. In this paper, I analyze collaborative ambivalence, the kind of ambivalence that arises from our identity-forming close relationships. The sources and resolutions of collaborative ambivalence reveal how much of our thinking—and so also of our motivational structure—emerges from the details of our collaborative and dialogical engagements. The imaginative skills and strategies exercised in remaining justifiably of two minds—of preserving appropriate ambivalence—are central to practical reasoning. Because these skills provide models for addressing conflicts in the public sphere, because they prompt shared deliberation, they are among the civic virtues

CONTEMPORARY discussions of the passions are often puzzlingly pulled in what appear to be opposing directions. We sometimes hold people responsible for their emotions and the actions they perform from them. Yet abnormal behavior is often explained and excused by the person "suffering" an emotional condition. We treat emotions as interruptions or deflections of normal behavior, and yet also consider a person pathological if he fails to act or react from a standard range of emotions. Sometimes emotions are classified as a species of evaluative judgments whose analysis will be given in an adequate theory of cognition. But sometimes the cognitive or intentional character of an emotion is treated as dependent on, and ultimately explained by, a physical condition. These conflicting intuitions about the emotions are not easily reconciled: we cannot, for example, construct a tidy taxonomy of emotions, sorting out varieties that are cognitively from those that are primarily physically identifiable, or distinguish those that are strongly associated with "normal" motivational processes from those that are invasive interruptions.

Plato's dialogues can be read as a carefully staged exhibition and investigation of paideia, education in the broadest sense, including all that affects the formation of character and mind. The twentieth century textbook Plato — the Plato of the Myth of the Cave and the Divided Line, the ascent to the Good through Forms and Ideas — is but one of his elusive multiple authorial personae, each taking a different perspective on his investigations. As its focused problems differ, each Platonic dialogue exhibits a somewhat different model for learning; each adds a distinctive dimension to Plato's fully considered counsel for education. Setting aside the important difficult questions about the chronological sequence in which the dialogues were written and revised, we can trace the argumentative rationale of Plato's fully considered views on paideia, on who should be educated by whom for what, on the stages and presuppositions of different kinds of learning. Those views are inextricably connected with his views about the structure of the soul, about the virtues and the politeia that can sustain a good life; and about cosmology and metaphysics.

This paper gives an account of the picture of the self that saves the phenomena of self-deception. On one theory of the self, the phenomena of selfdeception are incoherent: the self as a unified critically reflective rational inquirer cannot deceive itself. On another theory of the self, the phenomena evaporate: the self as a loosely organized system composed of relatively independent subsystems can be conflicted, mistaken, ignorant, compartmentalized. But it does not deceive itself. Our practices as moral agents and rational inquirers are explained by the first theory; our capacities as adaptive survivors are explained by the second. Neither picture can be reduced to the other; neither can be abandoned. The phenomena of selfdeception appear - and are saved by the superimposition of the two theories.

Annette Baier sets the title, the genre, and the task of her book from Hume’s essay "Of Moral Prejudices." Rather than arguing from or towards general principles, these essays call upon a wide range of reading, observation, and experience: we are not only meant to be enlightened, but also invited to adopt the reflective habits of mind they exemplify. Like Hume, Baier analyzes and evaluates our attitudes and customs; like him, she finds that our foibles and our strengths are closely linked; and like him, she is both a proponent and a model of good sense. When she is unfairly prejudiced— as she is against what she sees as the harsh and narrow rigors of Kant—she is, with all the bonnehommie of Hume, more ready to tease than to demolish.

Courage is dangerous. If it is defined in traditional ways, as a set of dispositions to overcome fear, to oppose obstacles, to perform difficult or dangerous actions, its claim to be a virtue is questionable. Unlike the virtue of justice, or a sense of proportion, traditional courage does not itself determine what is to be done, let alone assure that it is worth doing. If we retain the traditional conception of courage and its military connotations–overcoming and combat–we should be suspicious of it. Instead of automatically classifying it as a virtue, attempting to develop and exercise it, we should become alert to its dangers. And yet and yet. There is an aspect of traditional courage that serves us: we require the capacities and traits that enable us to persist in acting well under stress, to endure hardships when following our judgments about what is best is difficult or dangerous. If courage is checked, redefined as the virtue that enables virtue–the various sets of dispositions, whatever they may be, that make us resolute in worthy, difficult action–then we need not fear the dangers of courage. We need rather to reform it by diversifying it, as a heterogeneous variety of traits that enable us to act well under stress, against the natural movements of self-protection.

IN PREPARING A HANDBOOK ON RHETORIC, Aristotle proceeds as he does for a discussion of any craft or practice. After distinguishing it from other closely related arts, he defines its proper aim: that of finding the means that can be used to persuade an audience of any subject whatever. Since the most effective exercise of any craft or faculty is conceptually connected to its fulfilling its norm-defined aims, his counsel is directed to guiding the master craftsman who is responsive to the larger issues that surround the exercise of his skill--a rhetorician speaking about important matters to those authorized to affect them. Aristotle's advice to the rhetorician imports the results of his philosophic investigations: the Rhetoric presupposes and is implicitly informed by Aristotle's logical works, by his philosophy of mind, and his theory of action; it is also strongly conjoined with his political and ethical theory. But while the rhetorician relies on these theories, he is not himself a philosopher, logician, statesman, or moralist.

Philosophic writing appears in a variety of genres, addressed to a variety of audiences; it appears nestled within distinctive 'enterprises' : Plato, Berkeley and Hume wrote dialogues; Augustine and Rousseau wrote autobiographical confessions; Mill and Bernard Williams wrote reports to Parliament; Boethius and Descartes wrote meditations; Bacon, Montaign and Hume wrote essays; Aquinas and our contemporaries contribte articles;Leibniz and Hume wrote histories' they all wrote letters and discourses.