It necessarily follows from [Socrates'] identification of virtue with knowledge that virtue can be taught. We would make a distinction: intellectual knowledge of what virtue is can be imparted by instruction, but not virtue itself. However, if wisdom as real personal conviction is stressed, then *if* such wisdom can be taught, perhaps virtue can be taught too. The chief point to remark is that "teaching" for Socrates did not mean mere notional instruction, but rather leading a man to a real insight. Yet although such considerations undoubtedly render Socrates' doctrine of the teachability of virtue more intelligible, it remains true that in this doctrine the over-intellectualism of his ethic is again apparent. He insisted that as, e.g., the doctor is the man who has learnt medicine, so the just man is he who has learnt what is just.
--Fr. Frederick Copleston, A History of Philosophy: Greece & Rome Volume I Part I
You know, it's all well and good for Fr. Copleston to talk about the teachability (and by extension, learnability) of virtue, and quite another thing to try and tell your friends that learning virtue is your new pet project. Amazingly enough, it all sounds kind of stupid when you sit around talking about it over a Miller 64. It sounds about as stupid as a 64 calorie beer. Yeah, that stupid.
But there it is; and here I am. This all got started when an acquaintance of mine inquired into my apparent lack of interest in dating. This observation isn't entirely correct. I've not lost track of the appeal that a Stanwyck-like spunk and Dietrich-like swagger hold; I've just got other things to think about. And it's just occurred to me (i.e., within the past 4 years) that morality and virtue are pretty damned exciting. They're remarkably applied concerns and, as Socrates would point out, refreshingly over-intellectualized. It's like mental masturbation on overdrive.
Truth is, though, that you get going fast enough and virtue turns out to be not just stimulating but scary too. Maybe I'm doing something wrong, but this seems to be having a profoundly isolating effect on my psyche. Whereas Plato promised me that contemplation of the Forms and of the Good would lead to true happiness, all I'm feeling at present is distant, marooned, and peevish. Like I said, maybe I'm not doing it right. Or maybe the cynicism and nihilism inherent in MGD 64 speaks the truth. Hard to say.
Meanwhile, back at the party wherein a I made an ass of myself to such an extent that my friends felt the need to reassure me that they still loved me me even though they think I'm a fool, the conversation drifted to various dyke drama (as it inevitably always does). The drama is not so important as the conclusion that was reached: that so long as a woman is dating another woman, she should have no need to meet with a another woman alone. "There is nothing a woman should have to say to a friend that she can't say in front of her lover," it was declared. It is as I've always feared--that modern lesbianism is contributing to the death of female intimacy. I can think of plenty of things a woman might want to say to a friend in the absence of a lover, and none of them have to do with cheating, disloyalty, or dishonesty. Rather, it recognizes that bonds of intimacy vary across female friendships. They need not threaten a romantic attachment because they do no compete with it nor do they betray it. It's just another tool in the toolbox.
Finding intimate friendships to be threatening to a romantic relationship is, I believe, one of the less desirable attributes that lesbianism has assimilated from heterosexuality. This is to be expected, though. Within the whole infrastructure of society is an element remarked upon by some feminists but hardly defeated--that one of patriarchy's primary goals is to isolate women. Lesbianism, which should have outsmarted patriarchy, has been duped by it, adopting heterosexual norms that serve to isolate women every bit as much as a hetero relationship would. It's sad; it's scary. Yes, as scary as 64 calorie beer.
