Octavia Ratiu
Staff Writer
ALTHOUGH CONSIDERED one of the most influential moral and political philosophers of our age, Notre Dame’s own Professor Alasdair MacIntyre found time to give a lecture on “Why Philosophy Matters” to the artists, entrepreneurs, lawyers, doctors, and of course, philosophers of tomorrow. The well-attended talk was held in Keenan on November 15.
Tae Kang, a Keenan RA in 4 North who hosted the event, introduced MacIntyre not only as an academic, but also as a passionate fan of the Red Sox and Duke Blue Devils (but only their basketball).
“I’m here to tell you why it matters to do philosophy, not to persuade you to take philosophy courses,” MacIntyre began. In a lecture, philosophy can merely be described—the only way one can actually do philosophy is by engaging in a dialogue with others, MacIntyre stated matter-of-factly.
‘What is philosophy?’ a curious student might have wondered before MacIntyre began. Philosophy is a particular way of being reflective, asking not merely “Do I have a reason to do X?” but also “What makes my reasons for doing X good?” By engaging in this love of wisdom (from the Greek philein = “to love” + sophia = “wisdom”) known as philosophy, we are able to raise questions about things we take for granted.
MacIntyre provided a taste of real philosophy by inviting the audience to examine in detail the concept of happiness. How should we begin thinking about happiness? He identified four things we should observe: the language with which we express happiness, the intentional objects of the language, the fact that we use these phrases recursively, and finally the question, “Does A have good reason to be happy?”
Assuming that happiness is a desirable thing, MacIntyre presented his first thesis on the nature of happiness: we are characteristically not just ‘happy’ but ‘happy because’ or ‘happy about’ something, and it is desirable to be happy only if we have good reasons for being happy.
He paused for any objections, but the resulting silence showed the audience’s initial unfamiliarity with thinking philosophically. Smiling, MacIntyre pointed to an obvious objection—what about those mornings when one wakes up in an inexplicably happy mood? The thesis must then be modified to make an exception for moods. However, MacIntyre made it clear that moods are not completely separate from reason: it would be seriously wrong if, upon hearing of the death of a friend, one’s inexplicably happy mood did not change.
Having accounted for the objection, the room was now in agreement that happiness requires good reason. MacIntyre shifted the dialogue to the nature of unhappiness, stating—much to the chagrin of any utilitarian—that unhappiness is desirable if one has good reason. After all, “Only a fool wants to be happy,” MacIntyre said, quoting Charles de Gaulle.
He mentioned the results of a study claiming that those who are slightly unhappy see the world with more accuracy than “normal” people. “I happen to be a mildly depressive sort of person,” MacIntyre jovially revealed to the audience. “I see lots of normal people sitting in front of me and have no desire to be like that.”
In response to a student’s objection that unhappiness may lead to cynicism and inaction, he modified the thesis so that unhappiness is desirable just in case it is energizing and moves one to action—citing Mother Teresa as a role model and the government’s lamentable response to Hurricane Katrina as an instance where unhappiness should lead to action.
Thus in the span of 45 minutes, the crowd—with MacIntyre as its guide—changed its notion of happiness from a simple idea into a complex set of distinctions.
“The point of doing philosophy is not to be taken in by simple-mindedness,” MacIntyre concluded. “[Nor is it] to convince others, but to open oneself up to other ideas. Philosophy is a form of self-criticism that throws out the loose and imprecise ways in which one deceives oneself and others.”
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