A conversation with philosopher Hannes Böhringer about the good life, artificial intelligence, and the art of finding the right balance.
Questions by Frank Haas.

Mr. Böhringer, on my way over here I asked ChatGPT what I should know about you. And honestly, what it came out with was a little underwhelming. My daughter, however, often uses ChatGPT as a kind of mental coach, and I get the impression that there it does a pretty decent job. How do you think AI can contribute to a good life?
I have a feeling – and it is just a feeling – that artificial intelligence doesn’t have anything substantial to offer for a good life. It can, clearly, give advice and what have you. But the adulation that seems to exist for machine-led chat – I find that sort of thing quite troubling.

But it can also be good for people. Don’t you think that AI is incredibly useful for people who have grown up with it?
That might be so. For me the question is whether I really need to be part of all that. I probably can’t avoid it in the long run, but I haven’t quite decided yet how to approach it. As things stand, I don’t think I need it in my life. Having said that, this does pose a very important question: Should we only do what we need to? If so, won’t we be selling ourselves a bit short? Curiosity likes to break through boundaries, of course, and this leads us to surprising discoveries. As far as AI is concerned, though, I’m just very old-fashioned.

Might this kind of fawning over AI even be dangerous?
It’s imperative we stay in touch with the real world. That’s the issue with many rulers: they can rule as they want to, and they only listen to people who they cannot be sure are telling them the truth. That’s a terrible state of affairs. We all need people – a wife or husband, say – who can be honest with us and are prepared to give us a reality check now and again.

When you look back over two-and-a-half thousand years of intellectual history, would you say ideas of what constitutes a good life have changed over time? Or have some people always gravitated a little more towards pleasure and indulgence, while others place greater value on inner peace?
When people nowadays talk about a “good life,” it makes my skin crawl a little. There is that pervading sense of affluence bound up in it, of something for divorcees who spend a lot of money studying mindfulness at a spiritual retreat. In ancient philosophy, there was still the hope that small city-states would function well and provide a good life. For example, Aristotle was of the view that you can only live a good life in the city, and not in the countryside, where you are more wild than the animals. Because in the city there is division of labor and you have the opportunity to choose what suits you best – for example, whether you’d prefer to be a blacksmith or a carpenter. You have the opportunity to bring to fruition what is inherently within you. Then you have a “good life.” It is closely linked to self-realization and participation in the political sense.

Self-realization and participation: this idea of a good life still has plenty to get on board with, doesn’t it?
For sure – “city air makes you free,” as the old German saying goes. But that’s not the only way to look at things. For example, in the late Roman period the Stoics’ answer to the question of what made a happy life was “dealing with misfortune.” By this they meant that, while the philosopher knows that he has no control over fate, he also knows that he does have control over his inner attitude – and that makes him invincible.

But there were also ancient philosophers who believed you didn’t need to teach people to live well, because they already had everything they needed to achieve this within themselves.
Yes, I also believe that. As an idea, it leans toward the art of living, which actually mimics ancient medicine. They used to say you should live where the winds are favorable, you should attach a lot of importance to sleeping and waking, and to passions – that sort of thing. And nothing much has changed in this respect. We’re always chasing after every medical trend and getting hectored by doctors. But what people completely overlook is their own common sense and sound judgement. We should by all means turn to the relevant experts if we need specific help, but not as a matter of course. What I’m trying to say is that philosophy has little more to impart than what common sense will tell you – i.e., what you already know inside.

If the ability to have a good life is already inherent in humans, why do we repeatedly allow ourselves to be led astray? Instagram, for example, can suggest any number of routes to happiness, none of which has any philosophical substance. One minute, there’s someone telling you an alkaline – perhaps also vegan – diet will be great for your hormones and make getting up in the morning that much easier. The next, you’re hit by a post claiming the opposite. And then there are the numerous promises of miracle healing from the consumer goods industry. Why is it all so effective?
People are very quick to give up their autonomy: better to live in relative subjugation than to be
independent beings. Kant referred to this as laziness, i.e., delegating critical thinking to others. But we can all also call on our own powers of judgement and the art of discernment. The German word for “discernment” is “Unterscheidung,” which is where the word “Bescheidenheit” (humility) comes from. Humility suggests an ability to make the right distinctions and exercise caution. That’s why I think a good life has a lot to do with humility – and, by extension, striking the right balance. Happiness is not something we can target directly, it is more of an agreeable side effect that can creep up “under the radar,” you might say.

Yes, but happiness also transpires when I try to overcome obstacles or do good things. It’s like bravery: I get braver when I confront fear. Or generosity, which is also something that can be learned.
That’s right, and it was Aristotle’s view that there is a big difference between inheriting money and earning it oneself. It’s important to differentiate between generosity shown by a person who doesn’t know how difficult it is to acquire wealth and generosity from someone who has worked hard for their money.

Which you can appreciate.
Yes, but I don’t necessarily need Aristotle to tell me that. It is, though, good to know that Aristotle was saying something that tallies with my own life experience.

Let’s stay on the subject of virtues for a little longer. Aristotle said that, as well as virtues, the presence of good fortune – i.e. material things – also offers a path to happiness. How do you assess the importance of wealth?
Wealth is important, there’s no doubt. But where do you draw the line? When does it get to be too much? Philosophers do not need a great deal. They travel light and will lose little if their ship sinks. But wealth can also make you happy, no question. If I was rich – and I mean seriously rich – I’d like to give lots of money away. Philanthropy is something I admire about wealthy Americans, the idea of earning your money and then using it to affect change.

By building a museum of art?
That’s one example. This sense of philanthropy still exists today. The fine people involved probably don’t talk about it much, and that’s a good thing. But philanthropy is also a virtue.

When we were talking earlier, you said you’ve never wanted to burden yourself with possessions. And I can understand that.
I have a thing for simplicity. My parents were quite well off at one point, but then lost the lot. Having had polio as a kid, I always felt I had to prove that I was capable of doing things. Later, I had the immense good fortune to become a university professor. That brought me such a sense of fulfilment; alongside my work teaching I still had time to write. For me, this was a simple life, and it’s true that I would feel burdened by copious possessions. Perhaps there is a fear that I would make a mess of things, like my parents did. That’s why I have passed on what I did end up inheriting straight to my son. Simplicity is, if you like, also a kind of passion. I used to think that life had to be complicated. However, in the visual arts and in music I’ve always been far more interested in the simpler elements of the works. And I’ve strived to learn from those.

Another aspect of a good life is most definitely friendship.
Yes, friendship already played a hugely significant role back in ancient times – the philosophical schools were very much circles of friends. With social media, etc., the individual now faces far greater pressures within wider society. We need help to negotiate this relationship, but who is there to do the job? Hegel pointed to clubs. I'm not really much of a clubs person myself, but I can see how – like friendships or a spouse –they can act as an intermediary, a source of ideas who can understand you and put things into perspective. That’s a very important factor in a good life.

Are you talking about people who know you well and don’t immediately overreact if you get something slightly wrong? Associations are sadly no longer as fashionable as they used to be.
No, but they can still make a difference. My wife and I have a small house in a rural village an hour outside Berlin. City dwellers who still work in the capital are moving to the village in increasing numbers. They make efforts to integrate, of course. And how do they do that? They get involved in clubs and associations, start to feel at home, their kids go to local daycare and they build relationships with the neighbors. People recognize the benefits of getting to know each other – they don’t need to read Hegel’s words to get the message, they just know it already. These kinds of relationships and connections act like capillary vessels for a good life.

You’ve also written about “admiration.” There has always been a line drawn between idols and admirers. But I get the impression that many people no longer want to admire others, they just want to point out their short-comings. When I say I admire someone, I’m often met with a quizzical look.
The question here is: Where are we setting our sights? We don’t gain anything by bringing everything and everyone down to our level, going looking for our heroes’ flaws. Is that really what we want to achieve? The nice thing about admiration is that it allows us to engage with that person; they raise us up and improve our lives.

If I refuse to admire others, it means I constantly have to knock people off their pedestal, and can no longer pull myself up or improve myself. Yet that is exactly what we see so often nowadays. We hammer away at someone until they finally slip up – and then we’re like: “See, they’re no better than me after all.”
And what do you get out of it?

Yes, what indeed. You strip that person of their honor. And the open window into our lives created by social media has made this situation almost unbearable.
Where a sense of bitterness might be souring the atmosphere, a little admiration can go a long way. Here, my mind turns to the canonization of literature. Whether you’re talking Vergil or Goethe is immaterial; you can debate their work long into the night. This is more about giving yourself the opportunity to learn from others. About how they have formulated an idea using examples and put it out there on a platform to be heard. Everyone has their own hit parade of stars who have produced work they love – wonderful sentences, verses or lines from songs that provide comfort or boost the spirits.

As well as writing about admiration, you’ve also looked at mockery. You point out that we can either admire or mock things or people of higher standing. Does mockery in some way help improve our lives? I’m thinking about how we like to make fun of something when we feel powerless about it – a government, for example.
Mockery is a way of liberating ourselves from greatness. And within it lies the ability to break free from the compulsion and power to imitate. René Girard describes humans as a huge mimetic machine. For example, we think we can see the failings in our parents and do everything better. But at some point we realize that actually we’ve just kept doing the same nonsense as them after all. The question of how we break the imitation cycle is therefore a huge one. One solution could be to turn the situation on its head, to choose the path of irony and mockery. There’s no doubt we like to mock exactly those things we actually admire. Because admitting it is tough: I’m envious that so-and-so can act the way they do, because I unfortunately cannot.

From admiration, it is only a short hop to love. What role does love play in a good life? Have you also written about that?
Of course. Writing about it isn’t easy, as you need to find the right tone in order to avoid schmaltziness. However, love is a very important impulse for anyone who is questioning if they’re fine being “on their own.” After all, if you love someone, you put yourself in their hands and relinquish the autonomy that the philosopher always wants to retain. If you are then loved in return, it is like being given this autonomy back as a gift. That’s why love needs an ingredient like fidelity to maintain its balance. Does that make sense? A happy life is not just about autonomy and self-realization, but also the opposite: restriction. If we fall in love with another person, we’re entering into a commitment that qualifies our autonomy. And recognizing that we’re not enough for ourselves? That’s actually rather nice.