Plato's Symposium
If you've not read the Symposium, I highly recommend it. A symposium in Athens at the time of Plato's writing was a celebratory drinking party. This particular symposium was in celebration of the poet Agathon's recent victory at some drama contest. The topic of the symposium: Love.

Several speakers attempt to characterize love, each seeming to miss something of the phenomenon. Subsequent speakers identify lacunae and add to the characterization of love, culminating with Socrates. Socrates, however, does not give his own characterization of love, but that of a priestess Diotima. Diotima explained - and Socrates relays - that love is meaningful only insofar as it either is or is concerned with what is universal and objective.

But the dialogue doesn't stop with Socrates. Alcibiades, an uninvited influential charismatic Athenian politician at the time, barges into the symposium uttering one of my favorite lines "Gentlemen, I'm drunk." Alcibiades was absolutely adored by the Athenians. He literally seemed to do no wrong. Let me just give one example of this. During the Peloponnesian War, he literally switched sides and joined Sparta against Athens, but then he was later recalled and welcomed back, after which he served as the head general of the Athenian army for several years. Think about that. How persuasive and charismatic do you think someone must be to be able to literally betray you and your nation, but you still welcome them back with open arms? That's like Colin Powell aligning with Iraq halfway through the Persian Gulf War, then returning as if nothing happened, and we all act like nothing happened. It's almost inconceivable. Most of us know how it worked out for George Costanza when he tried to do that with the Yankees…

Anyway, the life of Alcibiades was full of this sort of stuff. It's one of the reasons Socrates spent so much time trying to teach Alcibiades virtue, and why Plato spent so much time talking about him. He was influential, intelligent, and powerful.

But Socrates failed Alcibiades. I think the close of the Symposium makes this clear. Alcibiades enters and finds Socrates sitting next to Agathon. Note, the word "agathos" meant "good" in Greek, so Alcibiades effectively walks in and sees Socrates sitting next to the Good. Alcibiades strolls in and sits directly between Socrates and Agathon, i.e. momentarily blocks Socrates from access to the Good. Alcibiades then offers his speech on love. To my ears, it is heartbreaking. I paraphrase:

I love Socrates; I love this man. He tells me my beliefs are wrong; he shows me they must be, and I believe him. But I return to my life, and find my old beliefs and vices exalted by the Athenians. I am weak. I fall into pride of my skills, supported on nearly every side in my vice. But I know better; the man I love showed me better. The weight of the world is too much though, despite what I know, so I crawl back to my love, weeping, in need. But he is gone, distant, off in contemplation, far away from me. I try to wait for my love. Where can I go, back to the Athenians? They praise vice. To virtue, alongside my love? He won't show me the way. I can only wait alone, knowing virtue but only able to live in vice; knowing my love abandons me when I need him most. Socrates speaks of love as objective and universal. If he's right, then witness love before you. I am love; love is torture. 

Alcibiades has been shown the truth. But convincing a vicious person to be virtuous without showing them how is torture. Socrates failed to show Alcibiades how to be virtuous, and so he failed him as a teacher. I take this, moreover, to be an incalculable failure. Preach virtue, but as long as there are people like Alcibiades - charismatic, influential, persuasive, vicious, people - just as capable of preaching vice, and as long as we're disposed to vice as we seem to be, vice has the upper hand. Socrates spent so much energy arguing against sophists; this is small potatoes. The hard case was Alcibiades, and no answer is given for addressing such a character.

Simone Weil
Why is this relevant to our discussion of Simone Weil? Weil too appeals to love, truth, beauty, and justice as objective, resting this on our intuitions about such things. Weil claims we build idealized legal and social rules, then use these rules to justify moral judgments they can't justify. In a nutshell: Is murder wrong because it's illegal? No. Morality is what is supposed to underwrite the law, not the other way around. Is murder wrong because my culture says so? No, for similar reasons. Where then does morality rest? Your moral judgments. What do these rest on? Intuitions.

How do we find ourselves reversing the priority of morality? We lie to ourselves, of course. We construct legal and social principles for idealized scenarios, and ignore or dismiss evidence that the world doesn't align with those principles. This is doubly problematic. On the one hand, it makes us think we've ready answers to cases of theft, murder, etc. when that's no always so clear. On the other hand, it provides us false confidence in our moral judgments even if we admit that we're ultimately relying on them.

How then do we get out of this bind? Weil seems to be suggesting something like reflective coherent equilibrium for moral judgments, born out of exposure to a variety of moral scenarios; baptized - as it were - by fire. Only then can you trust your moral judgments. This, I take it, motivates much of her criticism directed at individuals who appear to avoid pain, struggle, and tough moral scenarios; they simply don't understand the experiences of agents in those scenarios, and so moral judgments involving those individuals are suspect. Concretely: Do you think you really understand what it's like to think murdering someone is the right thing to do? You can of course describe it; you can of course rely on cultural knowledge and legal discussions about such things; but can you really understand what it's like to think that's the best thing to do in a scenario? Likely not. That suggests you may not understand enough of what's going on in such scenarios to be able to justifiably pass moral judgment, and similarly, legal and social judgment. That's quite the pickle. Perhaps you should expose yourself to more such scenarios, in fact, to gain a fuller picture of the purview of moral judgment…

To be candid, I think Weil is right about this up to a point. Most of us likely don't have sufficient exposure to various moral scenarios to justifiably pass judgment on agents involved in those scenarios, though we do it all the time anyway. Moreover, it's likely most of us haven't reflected carefully on the moral intuitions we have, though we rely on them to make such judgments. I have to disembark from this line of reasoning though once the prescribed remedy is to experience struggle, harm, and pain before passing relevant moral judgment. To see why, let me make this personal, since reading Weil reminds me of my own ways of thinking from about 5 years ago.

Weil's life was one of ostracism, pain, and discomfort. Being raised in such a life gives one what you might call an appetite for discomfort. Contrast this with those who fortunately are raised in more or less comfortable environments, with friends, family, support, etc. Being raised in such a life gives one what you might call an appetite for comfort. Individuals with these respective appetites likely have distinctive expectations and behaviors concerning many aspects of life. Those raised in discomfort find familiarity in further discomfort, and expect it in life, and perhaps may even seek it out. Just as important, they often may not seek out comfort. As an example from my own life of the latter, for many years I rarely took action to make my daily life more comfortable. I didn't purchase a backpack when I started school even though it would've made carrying things easier. I didn't sleep on a bed for many years since the floor seemed fine. Etc. On the other hand, those raised in comfort find familiarity in further comfort and expect it too, often seeking it out.

This is not to say those with an appetite for comfort don't understand discomfort, or vice versa. But there are further distinctions we can draw between them, since it seems those with an appetite for, say, comfort don't thereby have an appetite for pain too. Nevertheless, those raised in comfort acquire what we might call a taste for pain, and those raised in discomfort acquire a taste for pleasure. For example, many watch sensational and uncomfortable news from the comfort of their homes, i.e. watching an Amber Alert without even trying to help, sending thoughts and prayers, etc. On the other hand, some watch comfortable events from a distance without seeking engagement, i.e. enjoying comedy shows rather than Law and Order. In these ways, those with an appetite for discomfort while having life seasoned with a bit of comfort here and there, and those with an appetite for comfort may season like with discomfort. The balancing act between comfort and discomfort should of course be familiar, since they seem these respective phenomena seem mutually dependent. What I'm pointing to here is the dispositions some have towards one or the other. We're creatures of habit, and often find ourselves doing what we've been doing, for better or worse.

Now, Weil seems to be suggesting those with only a taste for pain should learn to develop an appetite for it, since it brings one closer to the objective truth of justice, beauty, and truth. I take the point, but not the prescription. Speaking as someone raised in discomfort for the first 13 years of his life, I can say I've an appetite for pain, and only a taste for pleasure. To put it more phenomenologically, I find exposure to pleasure…difficult. I rarely expect it; my behavior suggests that I contingency plan to minimize discomfort, but each plan I make involves some discomfort by default. As an innocuous example, I never send food back because I don't like it. Never. And yet I believe there have been times when I should have. Importantly, it doesn't seem to me to stem from some virtuous good-hearted character, though it does stem from character. I literally don't think to do such a thing, and if someone points out to me that I should, I dismiss it without much reflection. Now as a less innocuous example, I've difficulty blaming others even when it seems plausible they deserve blame. I still have trouble blaming my stepfather for any of the terrible things he did. In my mind, he's no more blameworthy than the asphalt is for scraping my knee. Bad things are expected, not good. And while my default is not to blame, it is to praise others. Again, I don't expect good things, so I tend to call attention to them when they arise. If you've an appetite for comfort, you might have parallel experiences. For example, you may find it easy to blame but difficult to praise. Similarly, you may carry expectations for how others treat you, e.g. it may not occur to you not to send your food back if it's not to your liking. Of the two of us, I suspect Weil might strongly suggest you avoid pain, and are at risk of overlooking objectivity and true moral intuitions. Moreover, it seems Weil might suggest you experience a bit more discomfort in the effort of gaining better purchase on objectivity.

Perhaps, but I don't think we should take this too far. I think Weil's correct that those with an appetite only for comfort tend to deceive themselves about the world. But I think this charge applies equally to people like Weil and myself, i.e. those with an appetite for discomfort. I've been in therapy for a few years now. Prior to therapy, I'd assumed most people in the world thought roughly the way I did, i.e. had an appetite for pain but a taste for pleasure (though I wouldn’t have put it that way). Through therapy, I realized something like my way of thinking is characteristic of people with PTSD. I'd been rather anti-social most of my life up until then. I'd not had many close friends. I'd convinced myself I didn't need them, in fact. Dependence on others seemed weakness. But I'd been lying to myself. I wanted intimacy, friends, etc. I'd tried for years to form close relationships with people, but they always seemed to fail. I could never figure out why, and I seemed to keep repeating the same patterns. I convinced myself I didn't need such relationships because I was exhausted, because I thought I just couldn't have them. I'd convinced myself I needed to give up on such things and devote my life to something else, namely, philosophy. So I did. And I was successful too, which I think looking back is to the chagrin of our discipline rather than praise of me, since our discipline encourages and rewards such reclusive, productive, behavior. In any event, when I realized others often thought about the world much differently than I did, things began to make sense. I began approaching interactions with others with an open mind. I no longer tried to predict what people might say next in conversation; I stopped expecting people to hurt me. My life became so much more relaxed. Now I can say I do have close intimate relationships, and I understand better how one might acquire them, and why they're important. The point here is that I've been learning to acquire not just a taste for comfort, but an appetite for it. This while I maintain my appetite for discomfort. I'm learning to inhabit two perspectives at once.

And this is why I think Weil's prescription is too narrow. Those with only an appetite for discomfort are just as susceptible to self-deception as those with only an appetite for comfort. For 30 years people in my life have been trying to love me and I couldn't see it. I genuinely didn't think they cared. I see they do now, and I can see why my well-intentioned reasoning, motivated largely by an appetite for discomfort, obscured that truth from me. This is just to say the prescription to acquiring a more honest understanding or moral intuitions in on point. The method for suggesting, I think, should be expanded to include both of these perspectives. But at the same time, I don't think extreme discomfort is anything we should be prescribing. I'm proud I've made it to where I am, I've no idea what my life would be like without the background I have, and I wouldn't change anything that's happened. But I would never wish it on anyone else. Simply put, I think there are many ways to arrive at similar enough positions in life, and one need not go through what I or Weil went through if one wanted to end up like I have or she did. Some trauma is too much to recommend direct exposure. I spent 30 years thinking in an overcontrolled way and believing everyone else thought that way too. That's far too long for someone to spend being so fundamentally wrong.

More to the point, I don't think you need to have direct experience to understand someone like me, or others who have experienced such extremities of life. I focus here, I hope it's clear on the hard cases like Weil and myself, because I think what I'm going to say equally applies to easier cases like being a wage laborer in a factory, or being someone inclined to vote against their interests. We don't need more suffering people; what we need is to think creatively about how to bridge this gap in understanding….

Narrative Themes Revisited
And this finally brings us back to Alcibiades. Socrates was a pillar of virtue, able to ignore vice and keep his eye on virtue despite the vicissitudes of the world. But because only virtue caught his eye, he wasn't able to understand vice enough to compassionately engage with Alcibiades, and in doing so help him reach virtue. Socrates (in the mouth of Plato) obscured vice by making virtue objective and universal. It seems to me a useful ethical theory needs both. It also seems to me a useless ethical theory isn't an ethical theory.

But look, Socrates need not descend to the world, and acquire an appetite for vice to accompany his appetite for virtue. He was surely a creative enough thinker to be able to avoid that sort of excursion. We've already discussed one way in which he could've done this…narrative themes. This is, moreover, the way I encourage you to acquire something more than a taste for discomfort. Your imagination is powerful; use it. Here is some guidance:

• Step 1: Revisit the discussion of the Binding of Isaac; remind yourself of narrative themes and how they work.

• Step 2: Reflect on how one might understand extreme suffering without experiencing it themselves.

• Step 3: Reflect on how narrative theme analysis might've helped Socrates better understand Alcibiades, and how this might've helped Socrates avoid that incalculable failure I mentioned above.

• Step 4: Reflect on how Alcibiades was already employing something like narrative theme analysis to understand the life of virtue through Socrates, but how this wasn't enough to lead him to virtue.

Between Step 3 and Step 4, you'll gain a better understanding of both the strengths and weaknesses of narrative theme analysis, i.e. where it can be helpful and where it's not so helpful. One major takeaway from this post is that it's more useful than many think, even if it's not always useful. Let's not let perfection get in the way of the good though.