Setting: Aristotle (the philosopher) and Alexander (the young, one day to be ‘the great’) are walking home from a speech by Protagoras the sophist.
Alexander: Are the words of Protagoras true; that the ways of men are whimsical and at the mercy of the winds? Or perhaps it is true that man is the puppet of his soul?
Aristotle: What a fine question young Alexander. The Oracle of Apollo must surely agree that your life is destined for greatness. Most who listen to the words of the sophists are carried away by their elegance and certainty, that they never consider to question them for themselves.
Alexander: I am flattered by your praise, my teacher. But if it were true that I am destined, and that the gods know our fates, then is it because the gods know the patterns of the winds (or perhaps draw the winds themselves, as children draw canals on the beach with a stick)? Or is it because the gods can see the soul of a man, just as a herbalist may look at a leaf and know whether it may cool the humours or cause them to heat?
Aristotle: You have snared me in my own words. Allow me mercy befitting a man stumbling before the beauty of youth, and let me rescind my words for now. Perhaps we can determine together the meaning of these questions, and find an answer for ourselves.
Alexander: Very good.
Aristotle: If a man wakes up every day late in the morning, when the sky is already high in the sky, do we expect him to awaken tomorrow at dawn?
Alexander: He may wake up at dawn if he is made restless by worries or noise, or obligations call upon him.
Aristotle: And if none of these things is true?
Alexander: Then we expect him to wake up at late morning, as he always does. It is difficult for a man to shorten his sleep.
Aristotle: And what now of the man who wakes up every day in the twilight before dawn, do we expect him to awaken tomorrow before dawn, or might he by chance wake up at noon?
Alexander: He might wake up later, if perhaps he is ill, or severely tired.
Aristotle: And if he is none of these things?
Alexander: Then we expect him to wake up before dawn, as he always does. Although the man would not be shortening his sleep, it is difficult for him to sleep longer.
Aristotle: It appears as if the life of men were in the pattern of a horse’s gait. The messenger’s horse that is taught only to gallop is most inclined to do so. And the ploughing horse that is taught only to walk is most inclined to do so.
Alexander: But what of the horse that was once for messengers and now for ploughing? And what of the man that was once a later rise, and now rises early? What is the cause of the changes in man? We have not yet discovered anything new. Are these changes due to the winds that cast mortals first in one lifestyle and then in another, or is there a force in the soul that pulls each creature towards its next destiny?
Aristotle: You have never been patient Alexander.
Alexander: Nor, I pray, will I ever be.
Aristotle: Why, dear Alexander, does the man who rises late, not rise earlier though he knows that the hours of daylight are limited?
Alexander: Perhaps he has no need of daylight. Or perhaps he does not think of its benefits, but instead thinks of the warmness of his bed. It is hard for him to rise earlier, and he seeks the pleasure that is available to him in that moment of indecision.
Aristotle: I think you are onto something. What do you mean by the moment of indecision? Do you refer to those experiences when a man flickers with considerations, thinking perhaps I should do this, or perhaps I should do that? And do you call it a moment, because it is surpassed briefly, the decision reached by whichever of his heart’s voice speaks loudest? And do you call it indecision, because rarely does he glance at his options more than superficially, nor methodically employ his reason in their presence?
Alexander: This is exactly what I mean, although I was not ready to explain it so thoroughly.
Aristotle: Let us elaborate on our cases and see if we can discover a cause for these instincts. If a man is asked to awaken a short while earlier, or sleep a short while later, are these things easier for him than a long while?
Alexander: Yes, of course.
Aristotle: And if he is asked to make many changes? Awakening at a different hour, performing a different job, conducting himself in the face of the unfamiliar. Do the number of these requests add to their difficulty?
Alexander: Yes. Although in the case of a new recruit to the army, all the changes are imposed upon him at once and still he succeeds.
Aristotle: But if the man who was to be a recruit were to attempt all those changes at the impetus of his own intentions, is he not more likely to fail? Is the success of the recruit assisted by the environment of the camp?
Alexander: He might fail, and I would expect him to do so. It is the business of the officer to perform the unwieldy and difficult transformation of men into soldiers.
Aristotle: So it appears that the changes undergone by men are measured in difficulty, according to their differences and magnitude. And that the changes undergone by men are affected by the motivations that inform them. So that if a man is told he would earn a drachma for every day he awoke early, would he not do so?
Alexander: If he a were a desperate man.
Aristotle: You would not know him.
Alexander: Then yes, a man may be motivated by a reward to perform against his nature.
Aristotle: But even so, if he were asked to make many changes, all unfamiliar to him. Could he still struggle?
Alexander: Yes, yes Aristotle. But I do not see your point.
Aristotle: Here, one final question and I think we are close to some discovery. Might a man who failed committing many unfamiliar changes, nonetheless succeed if they were made incrementally? So that first he awakens at a slightly different hour, and performs a task slightly unfamiliar. And then he continues to move his awakening by steps, and the complexity of the unfamiliar task by steps.
Alexander: Of course Aristotle, this is obvious, there is no need to ask me these things.
Aristotle: What things should I ask you? Without your answers to my obvious questions, I may struggle to notice the light of the muses. Was it not you which pointed out the changes in men induced by illness and reward, or the soldier’s reforms? You have given me these ideas, now see if they agree with you.
The changes in men are twofold: traumatic and motivated. By traumatic I mean those experiences that affect the men so deeply as to scar him with change. As when a man who falls off a horse will forever ride cautiously, though this habit was always available to him. By motivated, I mean those desires whose fruits lie in the future, and which express themselves in a compendium of continuous minute changes. As when a businessman wishes for wealth, and slowly increases the range of his goods, and later buys a caravan, and then a ship.
Protagoras says that man is not the master of his life, but that life is given to him, and the illusion of choice convinces him otherwise. And he is sometimes right. A man cannot control the traumatic effects of his life, as to whether he born to wealthy parents or slaves, or whether he is struck by false friends. Nor can a man control his character in the manner of wet clay. If he is a lazy character, then that is his essence, and he may not awaken tomorrow and choose otherwise.
Alexander: Unless, in your words, by some trauma.
Aristotle: Yes, very good.
But a man is given the gift of time, and the opportunity that is the struggle to do every day that which is against his nature.
Oh, look Alexander. The slaves are coming out with wine and fruits. Let us enjoy them.
