Going Downstream From Materialism

In philosophy of mind, materialism (also known as physicalism) is the view that certain neural processes are consciousness or generate consciousness. The basic idea is that everything (i.e., everything that exists) is physical or material, so consciousness must also be physical. Rather than advancing a critique of this view, I’d like, in this post, to look at the downstream consequences in mainstream culture. They are not good.

Limited Consciousness

We’ve come to believe, erroneously yet persistently, that when the brain is dead the light of consciousness is snuffed out. And we’ve come, further, to presume that brain death spells the end of our identities.


If, as I’ve defined it before, meaning just is being in touch with some greater reality, then meaning is impossible for whatever creature is necessarily circumscribed by the limits of its own consciousness. The brain may, it’s alleged, be afforded “peak experiences” or “altered states,” but these are just that: temporarily altered states and not the delocalization and expansion of being into what there ultimately is.

It’s not for nothing that, owing partly to materialism, nihilism abounds.

Fear of Death

Materialism suggests that the death of the physical body entails the end of consciousness. And there is nothing more or else than this.

Given the ways in which materialism has flowed downstream, it’s not surprising that many people are deathly afraid of dying and of death. Moreover, many try, hubristically and impossibly, to “leave a dent in the universe” (Steve Jobs), so that they may feel as if their lives were not lived in vain. Existential anxiety is inevitable for any self-reflective person who has succumbed to the materialist worldview.

An Indifferent Universe

Neither classical physics nor quantum mechanics, unlike alchemy, makes any claims about an animated cosmos (anima mundi) wherein we might find ourselves. Instead, our lived experience is that the universe is indifferent, aloof, and mechanistically-mathematically understood. We feel it is, feel it as nothing to us, and this, I assure you, is a radical departure from understandings of the cosmos that predate modernity.


If I am just a limited consciousness, then I’m already primed to care about my life rather than a life shared in common. Whereas other religious traditions find ways of describing how one person may be “cut from the same cloth” as all other persons (for instance, Christianity invites us to see ourselves as “children of God” while Buddhism argues that there is nothing but Buddha nature all the way down), materialism can do no more than gesture toward homo sapiens‘s capacity to cooperate. Yet Covid-19 has exposed just how tenuous such an evolutionary argument is, at least in the United States. While materialism does not entail social atomism, it certainly prepares the way for its reception.


In the final analysis, materialism offers us no grounds for seeking because there is nothing to seek and nowhere to seek it. While the Axial Age helped to disclose the possibility of individual salvation through transcendence, our materialist paradigm can countenance no such possibility. Under materialism, there is no depth, no height, and no width; there is no way to seek, nothing worth seeking, and no reason to start seeking.

The only pallid options are forms of amelioration: habit changing, life hacking, wellness enhancement, and self-development.

We are in deep trouble and have been for quite a while.

Covid And Educational Bankruptcy

I’m sure you’ve seen headlines like this from Business Insider: “One of the big three rating agencies sees college enrollment down as much as 20% for colleges this fall.” Behind the headlines can be discerned conflicts and uncertainties as well as opportunities.

Will some students elect to take a gap year? Will college adjuncts, the wage slave backbones of many colleges and universities, return to classroom teaching this fall? Will aged, fully tenured Boomers refuse to step into classrooms? Will colleges without large endowments, those dependent on tuition dollars, be forced to file for bankruptcy? Will Covid, in brief, thin out the number of American universities?

I can’t imagine that a number of eager entrepreneurs haven’t already begun dreaming and scheming up alternatives to higher education. Consider some very obvious truths: much of higher education leans on a bloated loan industry; few students really learn that much at college; the party experience, for those unfortunately committed to hedonism (which is to say, most college students), can be decoupled from the college campus; most courses could be offered in different forms (MOOCs being one already existing example); the class of administrators has grown appreciably since the 1980s and is largely unnecessary; and so on. In short, just as Napster unbundled music, so Covid could help to unbundle education.

Covid, after all, is simply what exposes, to students and families, the raw deal we call “the college experience.” Surely, entrepreneurs see an opportunity to rethink education.

Could there be more, say, one-off online AI courses that provide successful students with certificates that they can show to tech startups that are hiring? Could there be more homesteader programs that teach students how to live off the land? How about deep-dive apprenticeships in certain scientific investigations? What about the “folk high school” tradition that has been so popular in Scandinavia? Or could we see former academics turn to Teachable where students can learn about philosophy or religion in a more intimate, more engaging manner? Will there be small-scale guilds and academies?

I don’t know why people continue to hope that life will get back to normal. Normal sucked. I mean really sucked a lot and for a lot of people, and institutional education in particular has largely been miseducation. Oh, and life after formal education–namely, gainful employment–not only sucks but also fails to promise what it used to more readily deliver: success, money, and status.

Since our current institutions are unraveling all around us, we should take this time to think seriously about how terrible they were and about how much better we can do.

‘That’s It; Your Body Goes In The Ground’

I was speaking with a boyhood friend this morning, someone with whom I hadn’t spoken in earnest in over 20 years, about happiness. In passing, he noted that life is short and that we only have a finite length of time to live. And that’s it.

When I was 18, another friend, who’d been raised Lutheran and who’d been fairly sheltered up until then, recounted how “speechless” he was when, while running alongside me, he asked me what happens when one dies. He recalled that I said, “That’s it; your body goes in the ground.”

Oh, brother.

“I hope,” I wrote to him today, “I was just being funny, perhaps speaking partly in jest, but I suspect I wasn’t.” For then I was convinced of the veracity of secularism, which insists that there is, ontologically speaking, only this temporal world and nothing else.

How strange it is to be convinced, not really by force of argument but by virtue of embracing the default position of modern culture, that secularism is obviously true; how terrible it is to be filled with such unjustified conviction; and how lonesome and terrified this position leaves you.

It’s worse than that, actually. For while it may seem, as the inimitable Charles Taylor writes in his glorious tome A Secular Age, as if it’s the intellectually and morally courageous thing to do to face up to the ‘hard facts of secularism’ in lieu of plumbing for the cheap consolation of some ‘superannuated theistic religion,’ it’s, in truth, a way of shooting yourself in the foot–without your bloody knowing it.

If–here comes an old saw–I had a dime for all the times someone, especially while philosophizing with me, told me that we have “precious time left” or “a finite length or amount of time to live,” I’d be rich.

“The fact that it’s common,” you might say, “doesn’t mean that it’s not true.”

“Fair enough,” I’d reply, “but have actually taken time to consider whether it is true? I hadn’t when I was younger, and I bet you haven’t as you grow older.

I press on:

“Don’t you see that your fears and anxieties stem from the belief and feeling that your life is necessarily finite?

“Can’t you accept that your paralysis, now as you turn 40, can’t be understood unless you consider that alleged finitude upon which it rests?

“Do you really think your fear of death will ever subside until you get around to actually investigating your metaphysics?

“Don’t you see that there are more options than just an atheistic ‘that’s it’ and a theistic afterlife?

“How does it feel to treat your loved ones when you’re frantically thrust into impatient, restless, aggravated busyness owing to your desire to leave behind ‘some kind of legacy’ when ‘you’ are gone?

“If you call yourself a freethinker and a free spirit, then why this white-knuckled clinging to something that you’d be better off at least admitting falls, prima facie, into the great unknowing?

“Don’t you see that, like me at 18, you are clueless?

“My friend, you grant that there are limitations. Why not be more intellectually rigorous, huh? For all we need for a starting point for a genuine philosophical inquiry is for you to open yourself up to the possibility that ‘my consciousness is limited’ may itself be incorrect. Nay, even less: all I need from you is for you to open yourself up to the possibility that there are things you don’t presently understand and that those things just might be properly called ‘mysterious.’

“Earnest existential honesty invites you to drop the unwarranted convictions and to pony up to ‘I don’t know.’ Come on, friend! Pony up! What’s amazing is that your own experience, right now, is imbued with a kind of freedom you haven’t ever felt. An opening is an openness. Henceforth use a sniff test: trust your lucid, direct experience, not your alleged beliefs.”

We Need To Break The Spell: Against Secularism, Physicalism, & Humanism

I just finished reading Bernardo Kastrup’s excellent book The Idea of the World: A Multi-Disciplinary Argument for the Mental Nature of Reality (2019). The book is a critique of the physicalist ontology and a spirited defense of an idealist ontology that, as I see it, is essentially nondualist.

In this post, I’d like to comment on (1) secularism, (2) physicalism, and (3) humanism. Understanding how these three strands are woven together should give us a certain picture of the modern world and of the tragic predicament we find ourselves in.

I. Secularism

Secularism is the view that there is only this temporal world. Derived from the term saeculum, secularity, over time, has come to mean the rejection of any notion of eternity, of any eternal world, of anything beyond the inexorable unfolding of chronos time.

What secularism advances without making it seem as if it’s advancing anything at all is the interminable nature of what I have elsewhere called “diurnality and mundanity.” Concerning “secular monks,” I there wrote:

[For secular monks,] [t]he practical conduct of everyday life defines the scope of human existence, with daily affairs, tasks, and projects all shaped by habits. There is no world but this one, no day but today, no self but the one knitted together in this perishable mind-body composite. Mundanity, diurnality, and finitude combine to make up a profane ordinariness, an order in which it is unimaginable that anything could possibly happen beyond what is typical and expected. I am finite, time is scarce, and this world is all there is.

Secularism entails the horizontal flattening of the world such that every event lifelessly resembles every other event. In other words, secularism places its stamp of implicit approval on the ordinary events in the temporal world. Life under secularism is like the dullest soap opera, with each episode like, while promising to be other than, the last one.

II. Physicalism

Physicalism, or materialism, is the view that everything is physical. That may not sound like anything interesting or terribly disturbing, but it turns out to be both. Consciousness, for instance, is held by physicalists to be what is constituted by, or generated from, a physical arrangement of elements in the brain (this is a paraphrase of Kastrup’s formulation of physicalism). Among other things, Kastrup argues that physicalism simply cannot solve “the hard problem of consciousness” (Chalmers): that is, the problem of how it’s possible to explain the qualitative experiences we undeniably have–the sweets we each taste, the reds we each see, the sounds we each hear, and so forth.

“Who cares?” you might say. Here’s why you should care: downstream of this view will come dismissive rejections of free will (see Sam Harris, Free Will on why free will is thought, by physicalists, to be an illusion), of any notion of postmortem existence, of anything that could be considered sacred, and of any connection, really, with meaning.

Notice what we’ve seen so far: secularism says that everything is temporal and physicalism that everything is material or physical. If both positions are correct, then it follows that everything is temporal and material. Or the material unfolds in the temporal, the temporal consists of the material.

If you don’t begin to feel how horrifying this is, then I invite you to take a second, harder look. Nihilism is already on the prowl. But wait for humanism!

III. Humanism

According to humanism, “man is the measure of all things.” I still find it difficult to make this clear beyond my felt sense of what it means, but here goes:

Try to think about what we care about during Covid-19. We care about ourselves first (think about the reckless behavior of many summer-goers) and about other human beings. Notably, we care about the perdurance of the physical body (secularism plus physicalism). Next, we care about pets yet, to be sure, only insofar as they are ours. Next, while we may, from this humanist point of view, care about what is limply today called “the environment,” the chief reason is that we don’t want to keep spoiling our front and back yards: we’re worried, that is, about there being no homes for future generations of (you guessed it) homo sapiens. To a considerable degree, then, we care about “the environment” for instrumental reasons, not for inherent reasons.

Viewing life through humanist eyes, you come to see that the human drama is pretty much all we care about. Not theos or cosmos but only anthropos. In fact, we care about humankind because we seem to know no divine or cosmic kind, because we know–this is true–no great intimacy with the folds or pleats of reality.

IV. Putting Them Together

Secularism gives us our singular and myopic this-worldly orientation: time is scarce. Physicalism sweeps away any talk of, let alone the possible reality of, Consciousness (Advaita Vedanta), transcendence, and so on. It’s all mechanisms and physical laws all the way down. Then humanism, bringing up the rear, gives us our weird, pretty lame purpose: be narcissistically concerned with the human species first (e.g., “socially impactful work”), with any other living organism only to the degree that it serves our own purposes.

Here they are in a nutshell: you are a human agent living in the temporal world and set to expire when the body, being material, perishes. Good luck!

The consequences of these views are (1) stupidity and depthlessness: no way of inquiring into matters of ultimate concern because these are ruled out from the outset; (2) Total Work, the view according to which each human being is a Worker; (3) hedonism, the view according to which we’re here also to pursue the pleasures of sex, food, altered states, etc.; and, of course, (4) nihilism.

It is therapeuticized culture, together with the massive entertainment industry, that makes us believe that everything is all right when it so clearly is not. The former helps to socialize us while handing us “good coping strategies” while the latter, an opiate, sedates us, mollifying our tense nervous systems.

“A picture held us captive” (Wittgenstein). Damn right it has! Born into mystery, we are beings bound for transcendence. We must see through the illusions of secularism, physicalism, and humanism before we can truly break the spell.

Political Freedom, Slavery, & Manual Labor In Classical Athens: Parts I & II

It took me a little while to write Part II, so I thought I’d include both in what follows.

In Part I (also included below), I discussed Benjamin Constant’s important essay.

In Part II, I turn to the question of manual labor in Classical Athens and, in particular, to the way in which labor, often regarded as a lowly endeavor, was tied to social status. The least privileged chattel slaves were those tasked with laboring. Why?

This is a short except from my book The Total Work Manifesto. To subscribe and thus to read along as the book is written, go here.


The Ancients And The Moderns

Benjamin Constant (1767-1830) was an early proponent of French classical liberalism. Having lived through the French Revolution and therefore having experienced, in his words, the “revolutionary torrent,” he sought out a form of governance that would be harmonious with modern times. 

In 1819, he gave an important speech, “The Liberty of the Ancients Compared with That of the Moderns,” in which he argued that 

(i) individual independence is the first need of the moderns; therefore (ii) they should never be asked to make sacrifices in order to establish political liberty. It follows (iii) that none of the numerous and over-praised institutions which hindered individual liberty in the ancient republics is admissible in modern times.

His argument needs to be unpacked. 

It can be inferred that Constant’s diagnosis of the French Revolution is that revolutionaries sought–honorably, tragically, yet unwisely–to create a republic that would resemble Classical Athens when such was impossible. This establishment, he suggests, was doomed to fail because the character of the ancients is not like that of the moderns. Where the ancients valued “political liberty” or “positive liberty” because it enabled Greek citizens to engage in “social power” on behalf of the city-state, we moderns stand by negative liberty, the autonomy of the individual, and the rights of individuals. While theirs was a time of bellicosity and political fervor, ours is an age of commerce and the pleasures of private life. Accordingly, we hand off the responsibilities of governance to “stewards” whom we nonetheless are tasked with keeping a close eye on lest they abuse their power or fail to listen to us, the governed.

What is needed now is a form of governance that is fit for the people today, and that, he concludes, must be a classical liberal polity. Since individuals are, as it were, sovereign, a modern minimal state must abstain from interfering or intervening in the lives of individuals except in those cases where one individual, or entity, causes or deigns to cause harm to another individual.

I start my discussion of Classical Athens (480–323 BC) here because Constant certainly gets a few things right about the ancients. One is that Athenian citizens were–dare I say?–crazy about political freedom (or positive liberty): perchance the highest aim of the citizen was to (quoting Constant) 

discuss and make decisions about war; form alliances with foreign governments; vote on new laws; pronounce judgments; examine the accounts, acts, and stewardship of the magistrates; call the magistrates to appear in front of the assembled people; accuse the magistrates and then condemn or acquit them.

This was direct–not liberal–democracy at its finest, and to ensure that it was at its finest citizens needed to continue to play an active, participatory, hands-deep role in the flourishing of the polis. Another is that the leisure (schole) of citizens, a form of leisure necessary for such ongoing, active participation in the lifeblood of the polis, was in key part dependent upon chattel slavery. Constant again: “And, as an equally necessary result of this mode of existence [namely, the propensity to wage war], all these states [in Greece] had slaves. The manual labor and even (in some nations) the business activities were entrusted to people in chains.” This is true.

And third, as is hinted at by Constant, Classical Athenians were freedom-loving people in a way that is perhaps hard for us to understand, let alone inwardly to feel. In The Discovery of Freedom in Ancient Greece, Kurt Raaflaub shows that the Persian Wars (499-449 BCE) were interpreted by Greeks as “wars of freedom.” What mattered above all to Athenian citizens was political freedom, and what they bristled at was the very real possibility of being subjugated to a race of barbarians. They would not yield their necks to the “yoke of servitude,” and thus their battle cry at the Battle of Salamas, a key and surprising victory for the Greeks against a massive Persian war machine, was: “Forward, you sons of Hellas! Set your country free! Set free your sons, your wives, tombs of your ancestors, and temples of your gods. All is at stake: now fight!” 

It would be almost impossible to overstate the crucial axiological, political, and metaphysical distinction between free and slave. To be Xerxes’ slave–this would have been a fate truly worse than death! Thus, social life in Athens adhered, to a considerable degree, to the civic ideology of three exclusive status groups (though as we shall see shortly this tripartite structure was not an exhaustive or entirely accurate picture of the Athenian polis) were citizen, metic, and chattel slave. A citizen was fully–that is to say, politically–free; a metic, a foreigner living in Athens and upon whom was conferred some, but not all, privileges; and an often foreign-born chattel slave who was indeed involved in manual labor ranging from the worst such as mining and agriculture to more respective professions like banking and trade.

[Part II starts here.]

Ponos And Tîmê

We come now to labor, and here we should not forget Sisyphus, whose punishment by Zeus was to roll a boulder up a hill, only to have it roll back down, and then to repeat ad infinitum, or Tantalus, who was sentenced to go ever-thirsty and ever-hungry because water and food would approach, but never touch, his mouth. Labor, so depicted, was arduous, futile, and fruitless. What might it tell us about labor as it was construed by Classical Athenians?

In Greek mythology, Ponos is the child of Eris, the goddess of strife, and Erebos, the god of darkness. And who is Ponos? Ponos is “the personified spirit (daimon) of hard labour and toil. He presided over extreme physical labour rather than just hard work–e.g. the toil required of subsistence farmers just to survive.” Labor mixes discord (eris) with death (erebos).

Tellingly, in The New Testament, the meaning of ponos as hard physical labor persists. According to Vine’s Greek New Testament Dictionary, ponos refers both to “labors” and “toil” as well as to “the consequences of toil”–namely, “distress, suffering, pain. In fact, pain itself, presumably without explicit reference to any toil preceding it, can be translated as ponos as in Revelations 16:10: “And the fifth angel poured out his vial upon the seat of the beast; and his kingdom was full of darkness; and they gnawed their tongues for pain [ponos].”

Already, we should be given pause. When Bertrand Russell, in his essay “In Praise of Idleness,” defined one kind of work as that which “alter[s] the position of matter at or near the earth’s surface relatively to other such matter,” he was being cheeky but he wasn’t kidding. Prior to technological advancements brought on by, most notably, the Industrial Revolution, manual labor was grunt work. The intimacy between labor and pain–is it not still here with us, albeit felt more faintly, more intellectually?

In “Praxis and Labor in Hegel,”Oliva Blanchette spells out the implications of ponos in Classical Athens:

For the Greeks praxis meant the political activity of free men, who were free precisely because they did not have to labor [ponos, as we’ve just seen]…. This was something reserved mainly for slaves whose very lack of freedom was a function of their being caught up with having to provide for the necessities of life, and whose labor made it possible for others to be free for taking part in praxis. This accounts for why Greek philosophers like Plato and Aristotle had so little to say about ‘labor’, since they were concerned much more with political activity where men were more truly men, and less animal. 

Labor, undertaken mainly by chattel slaves, freedmen, metics, and women, is precisely what made possible the “Golden Age” of Classical Athens, an age defined by the positive liberty of citizens engaged in direct democracy (see, again, Constant), tumultuous wars, flourishing culture (the tragedies and comedies, for example), and more. 

Key to Blanchette’s argument is that there was a firm distinction between the political (praxis) and the economic (ponos) in Classical Athens, which boiled down to a class distinction between the unfree and less free (chattel slaves and metics, respectively) and full male citizens. Slavery generated wealth for the household and “the economic problem,” as Keynes once put it, having been met for citizens thus enabled politics, art, and contemplation to come into the foreground and to flourish. 

Work was, above all, a class matter, which signaled significant status differences. What must be held firmly in mind is that, in Classical Athens, labor was, barring exceptions, in addition to being hard and painful, ignoble (without tîmê). Little to no honor accrued to the laborer whereas the tragedian, the statesman, or the rhapsode might enjoy the praise of other citizens. And yet, as “infrastructure,” labor enabled some to lead full lives (eudaimonia). To bring this point home, I can’t help but cite at great length the inimitable and erudite Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor:

‘Ordinary life’ [he writes] is a term of art I introduce to designate those aspects of human life concerned with production and reproduction, that is, labour, the making of the things needed for life, and our life as sexual beings, including marriage and the family. When Aristotle spoke of the ends of political association being “life and the good life” (zen kai euzen), this was the range of things he wanted to encompass in the first of these terms; basically they englobe what we need to do to continue and renew life.

For Aristotle the maintenance of these activities was to be distinguished from the pursuit of the good life. They are, of course, necessary to the good life, but they play an infrastructural role in relation to it. You can’t pursue the good life without pursuing life. But an existence dedicated to this latter goal alone is not a fully human one…. The proper life for humans builds on this infrastructure a series of activities which are concerned with the good life: men deliberate about moral excellence, they contemplate the order of things; of supreme importance for politics, they deliberate together about the common good, and decide how to shape and apply the laws. (Sources of the Self, pp. 211-12)

Note this well: “an existence dedicated to this latter goal alone [namely, to procuring the means of survival] is not a fully human one”: could not Tayor be addressing us moderns for whom the “spell cast” has sought to transmogrify “life” into “the good life”? Not so, in the tragically beautiful and unjust ways I’ve sought to describe, for Athenians. Most often and excluding cases where men accrued exceptional wealth that made it possible for them to engage in largesse on behalf of the wellbeing of Athens, honor (tîmê), glory, esteem, virtue, and wisdom belonged to those farthest away from labor. 

Chattel Slavery And Male Citizenship

By and large, chattel slaves were the spoils of war as most were “barbarians”–that is, not Greek. Labor, we’ve seen, was hard, painful, and low status. The worse-off slaves would be relegated to the mines or the mills or, slightly better, to the fields. The fortunate ones found themselves in finance, a clerical position, or the domestic sphere. By this means, they might, over time, amass enough wealth to receive the “gift” of citizenship.

Compare the lot of the chattel slaves with that of the full male citizen. First consider the basest chattel slaves as summarized by Deborah Kamen:

[T]he status of the basest chattel slave… was characterized by a (nearly) complete lack of rights: he had no claims to property; no power over his own or others’ labor and movement; no power to punish others, while being very susceptible to corporal punishment himself; no privileges in the judicial realm; virtually no privileges in the realm of family; limited opportunities for social mobility; little autonomy in the religious sphere; no involvement in politics; and a limited role in the military.

What must it have felt like to have been so utterly unfree? We do not know but we can imagine. Imagine–to exaggerate only slightly–being alone, powerless, friendless, defenseless, worthless, susceptible to lashings, and circumscribed in one’s movements. Classical Athens, Kamen tells us, was quite a litigious society–only think of what that meant for slaves who would have been threatened by physical force as well as by force of law?  

And now the full male citizen:

Ideally, a male citizen did not perform labor on behalf of others, since doing so was considered banausic and servile. In fact, Aristotle, who reflects (in his own way) many ideological assumptions of his time and place, thought that in an ideal society, working people would be disqualified from citizenship. However, in practice, many poor citizens worked as artisans and laborers. Such citizens were not only looked down upon (though they were that) but also at risk of having their own or their children’s citizenship questioned. Any citizen had legal control over the labor of those employed by him, whether they were slaves, freedmen, or even lower-ranking citizens. Likewise, a citizen had control over his own and his slaves’ movement, with some de facto restrictions. 

We might dwell for a moment on that curious adjective “banausic” used in passing. The noun form is banausos, which was, especially for philosophers like Plato and Aristotle, a pejorative aimed at craftsmen and manual laborers. According to Andrea Wilson Nightingale, “In the most general terms, ‘banausoi’ is the label for people who earn a living by plying a trade or craft that involves the use of the hands…. It is important to emphasize that the term ‘banausos’ generally carries a pejorative sense, since it marks a person as mercantile and servile.” 

But why is artisanship servile? Perhaps the answer is already clear to you, yet more nonetheless may need to be said. The closer one is to bare survival, the more intimate one is with the bare body. And the bare, precarious body is far away from–nay, seemingly worlds apart from–the flights of intellectual contemplation of the Good and the Unmoved Mover taken by Plato and Aristotle, respectively. For the essence of the human is the rational intellect, argued Aristotle, and in other respects humans resemble animals. It’s thus that Aristotle, in The Politics, thought of slaves as “living tools” akin to beasts of burden.

Competing Intuitions

We cannot come away from reading the Greeks without some blood on our hands and some sweetness in our hearts. The experience remains tragic, bittersweet, melancholic, and more. On the one hand, we denounce slavery, as we should, as an unjust institution, one that could be no more barbaric and inhumane. On the other hand, if we’re being honest with ourselves, we can’t help but feel that the Greeks, in some sense, got something right. While we might not call labor “base” or “ignoble,” we must, still today, carry without our breasts the intuition that human beings were meant for so much more. 

How beautiful is the idea that labor is but “infrastructure”; how noble the view that the vita activa of full political engagement and the vita contemplativa, that is, the pouring of our beings in the direction of the infinite, are of the highest importance; how beautiful the creation of tragic dramas that revealed the character of the people, with all their ethical dilemmas; and yet, yes, how sorrowful it is to realize that Culture (with a capital C) was built atop the deculturation of others.

The wrong turn we made in modernity was to make work seem honorable in the very moment it became ubiquitous. No longer relegated to baser classes, work was to redeem itself in our eyes only if its value could soar also. This is our tragedy–but now I’m getting quite ahead of myself. The remainder of the story shall, in due course, reveal just this.