“I know I shouldn’t, but I love beignets. How can just one more hurt? I’ll exercise in the morning to burn off the calories.”
“Weakness of will.”
“What?”
“Akrasia, weakness of will, a term one learns in Philosophy 101. You know what is good for you, but you act contrary to your best interests. You know beignets are tasty but fattening; yet, you order more.”
“But we’re in New Orleans. We’re at Café du Monde; it’s jazz on the street. It’s great food. Come on, it’s just for a few days. Who can resist a beignet? Look; you’re eating one.”
“I know. Weakness of will applies to me, also. I probably do many things that are contrary to my best interests. Like, well, having a beer or dessert, eating too much red meat, not drinking enough water. I can go on.”
“So, why bring this ak… What’s it called?”
“Akrasia. Obviously, your philosophy prof didn’t mention it.”
“Akrasia. Look, we can’t always do what’s in our best interest because we don’t always know what is in our best interest.”
“But when we do know and ignore what we know, that’s akrasia.”
“Okay. Then basically, every human being is akrasiatic.”
“Akratic. That’s the adjective.”
“Akratic. We don’t like to admit it. We’re too involved in justifying what we do. We can always figure some justification to excuse our actions. I wonder whether anyone has ever figured out a way to quantify the proportion of actions done in self-interest and actions done contrary to self-interest.”
“That’s an interesting thought. We don’t subject ourselves to quantification very often—maybe not at all. We’re always on the inside looking out. To quantify requires some self-distancing, some looking at oneself from the outside.”
“So, everyone is akratic to some degree, but no one knows the exact degree. It would be an interesting personal experiment to see how many times I act akratically. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to keep count, but tonight, I’m eating the extra beignet.”
“I’m not surprised. Well, since we’re sitting here, I’ll have another one, too.”
“Weakness of will.”
“What?”
“Akrasia, weakness of will, a term one learns in Philosophy 101. You know what is good for you, but you act contrary to your best interests. You know beignets are tasty but fattening; yet, you order more.”
“But we’re in New Orleans. We’re at Café du Monde; it’s jazz on the street. It’s great food. Come on, it’s just for a few days. Who can resist a beignet? Look; you’re eating one.”
“I know. Weakness of will applies to me, also. I probably do many things that are contrary to my best interests. Like, well, having a beer or dessert, eating too much red meat, not drinking enough water. I can go on.”
“So, why bring this ak… What’s it called?”
“Akrasia. Obviously, your philosophy prof didn’t mention it.”
“Akrasia. Look, we can’t always do what’s in our best interest because we don’t always know what is in our best interest.”
“But when we do know and ignore what we know, that’s akrasia.”
“Okay. Then basically, every human being is akrasiatic.”
“Akratic. That’s the adjective.”
“Akratic. We don’t like to admit it. We’re too involved in justifying what we do. We can always figure some justification to excuse our actions. I wonder whether anyone has ever figured out a way to quantify the proportion of actions done in self-interest and actions done contrary to self-interest.”
“That’s an interesting thought. We don’t subject ourselves to quantification very often—maybe not at all. We’re always on the inside looking out. To quantify requires some self-distancing, some looking at oneself from the outside.”
“So, everyone is akratic to some degree, but no one knows the exact degree. It would be an interesting personal experiment to see how many times I act akratically. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to keep count, but tonight, I’m eating the extra beignet.”
“I’m not surprised. Well, since we’re sitting here, I’ll have another one, too.”
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