Thank you for sharing this remarkably well-written overview of magnanimity (megalopsychia). If I may add to your reflections on If you take your morality to extremes you may not be prepared for what you find there, I think you should read Søren Kierkegaard’s work Fear and Trembling. In it, he explores what it means to pursue righteousness and moral glory to it’s extreme through the story of Abraham and Isaac. It’s been a while since I had re-read his work, and while I fear to paraphrase him poorly, but essentially Kierkegaard makes a distinction between the magnanimous man, and the “merely” tragic hero.
Kierkegaard explores magnanimity through the story of the Binding of Issac, and how Abraham’s sacrifice of his son is a paradigmatic example of magnanimity and it’s moral terror. For those unfamiliar with the story, Abraham was asked by God to sacrifice his son, Isaac, and Abraham complies. Kierkegaard opens the monograph by asking “What sort of man could sacrifice his only son in such a manner?” i.e. pursue righteousness and moral virtue to the most terrific of extremes? He reminds us that Abraham’s decision to sacrifice his son was not one that happened ‘in the spur of the moment,’ but it must have came after several days of thought and preparation — especially since the journey to the mountain was one that must have taken several days:
One forgets that Abraham rode only on an ass, which carried him slowly along the way, that he had three days’ journey, that he needed some time to cut the wood, bind Isaac, and sharpen the knife.
— Problemata: Preliminary Expectoration
Kierkegaard makes a case that the magnanimous person is somehow different from the tragic hero. The tragic hero is one who “merely” pursues ordinary virtues to their extremity. In Kierkegaard’s words:
He who denies himself and sacrifices himself for duty gives up the finite in order to grasp the infinite—he is secure enough; the tragic hero gives up what is sure for that which is still surer, and the observer’s eye rests confidently on him
— Problemata: Problema I
This could describe the someone who donates 10% of their income for the certain good, they whom we may applaud and appreciate unreservedly, even if we may not have the strength to pursue their virtues to the same extent. However, a magnanimous man is somehow by nature different — they are, properly speaking, an object of horror.
But he who gives up the universal in order to grasp some still higher thing, which is not the universal, what does he do? Is it possible that this can be anything but a spiritual agon? And if it is possible, but the individual makes a mistake, what salvation is there for him? He suffers all the tragic hero’s pain, he annihilates his joy in the world, he renounces everything, and perhaps he, in the very same moment, barricades himself off from the exalted joy that is so precious to him that he would buy it for any price. Him, the observer cannot understand in the slightest, nor indeed can he rest his eye confidently on him. Perhaps it cannot be done at all, this thing the believer intends, because it is quite inconceivable. Or if it could be done, but the individual misunderstood the deity—then what salvation is there for him? The tragic hero needs tears, and he demands tears, and where was the envious eye that was so barren that it could not cry with Agamemnon? But where is the soul that is so crazed as to dare to weep over Abraham?
[...]
Abraham one cannot weep over. One draws near to him with a religious horror.
— Problemata: Problema I
And is it not the case that your example of Beatrice and Cornelius Boeke one that invokes a similar sense of horror? Perhaps that is the difference between mere moral excellence, and true magnanimity. It is like the difference between a person who donates 10 percent of their income, versus someone who takes a vow of poverty — gives up their worldly possessions, a person who donates their kidney, who sacrifices the very possibility of an ordinary life for that higher thing.
I think you’re right to intuit that at a first glance, a life of magnanimity can be a very unhappy existence. Although, I would also bring up Socrates’ argument from The Gorgias, where he claims that it is better the suffer injustice than to act injustly, where a just (i.e. magnanimous life) is happy for it’s own sake.
I’m grateful for your posting of this essay on righteousness and megalopsychia. While I also hesitate to opine on it, as I do not believe I have came upon any conclusions myself, it is clear to me that these matters are important for us to contemplate if we seek to pursue a moral life, irrespective of our underlying values. You’ve given me much to think about!
Thank you for sharing this remarkably well-written overview of magnanimity (megalopsychia). If I may add to your reflections on If you take your morality to extremes you may not be prepared for what you find there, I think you should read Søren Kierkegaard’s work Fear and Trembling. In it, he explores what it means to pursue righteousness and moral glory to it’s extreme through the story of Abraham and Isaac. It’s been a while since I had re-read his work, and while I fear to paraphrase him poorly, but essentially Kierkegaard makes a distinction between the magnanimous man, and the “merely” tragic hero.
Kierkegaard explores magnanimity through the story of the Binding of Issac, and how Abraham’s sacrifice of his son is a paradigmatic example of magnanimity and it’s moral terror. For those unfamiliar with the story, Abraham was asked by God to sacrifice his son, Isaac, and Abraham complies. Kierkegaard opens the monograph by asking “What sort of man could sacrifice his only son in such a manner?” i.e. pursue righteousness and moral virtue to the most terrific of extremes? He reminds us that Abraham’s decision to sacrifice his son was not one that happened ‘in the spur of the moment,’ but it must have came after several days of thought and preparation — especially since the journey to the mountain was one that must have taken several days:
Kierkegaard makes a case that the magnanimous person is somehow different from the tragic hero. The tragic hero is one who “merely” pursues ordinary virtues to their extremity. In Kierkegaard’s words:
This could describe the someone who donates 10% of their income for the certain good, they whom we may applaud and appreciate unreservedly, even if we may not have the strength to pursue their virtues to the same extent. However, a magnanimous man is somehow by nature different — they are, properly speaking, an object of horror.
And is it not the case that your example of Beatrice and Cornelius Boeke one that invokes a similar sense of horror? Perhaps that is the difference between mere moral excellence, and true magnanimity. It is like the difference between a person who donates 10 percent of their income, versus someone who takes a vow of poverty — gives up their worldly possessions, a person who donates their kidney, who sacrifices the very possibility of an ordinary life for that higher thing.
I think you’re right to intuit that at a first glance, a life of magnanimity can be a very unhappy existence. Although, I would also bring up Socrates’ argument from The Gorgias, where he claims that it is better the suffer injustice than to act injustly, where a just (i.e. magnanimous life) is happy for it’s own sake.
I’m grateful for your posting of this essay on righteousness and megalopsychia. While I also hesitate to opine on it, as I do not believe I have came upon any conclusions myself, it is clear to me that these matters are important for us to contemplate if we seek to pursue a moral life, irrespective of our underlying values. You’ve given me much to think about!