Since philosophy is a dialogue, there is no reason to suppose
that the last one to give his opinion is the one who is right.
-- Don Colacho
01 May 2012
21 April 2012
Stories from the local news
You can learn a lot about the real culture by reading stories you can only find in the local news.
Years ago, while traveling through Wyoming, I read in one of those small-town newspapers about a man who had recently died.
He'd been drinking with some friends and went outside to relieve himself. Apparently he passed out while he was out there, because later that night one of his friends found him lying on the bluff.
Now here's the thing that caught my eye: this friend didn't help him up and back into the house, even though it was a fairly cold night. This was the American West, you see, the land of rugged individualism. It would be an insult to imply that someone couldn't take of himself.
So what did this "friend" do? He put a coat over the man lying on the ground and then went back in to rejoin the party.
The next day they found the man dead, still lying out there on the bluff.
That story has always stuck in my mind as the epitome of the cowboy ethos.
-- A comment I originally posted on Bruce Charlton's blog. Reposting here with some minor edits.
Years ago, while traveling through Wyoming, I read in one of those small-town newspapers about a man who had recently died.
He'd been drinking with some friends and went outside to relieve himself. Apparently he passed out while he was out there, because later that night one of his friends found him lying on the bluff.
Now here's the thing that caught my eye: this friend didn't help him up and back into the house, even though it was a fairly cold night. This was the American West, you see, the land of rugged individualism. It would be an insult to imply that someone couldn't take of himself.
So what did this "friend" do? He put a coat over the man lying on the ground and then went back in to rejoin the party.
The next day they found the man dead, still lying out there on the bluff.
That story has always stuck in my mind as the epitome of the cowboy ethos.
-- A comment I originally posted on Bruce Charlton's blog. Reposting here with some minor edits.
19 April 2012
Hermitage
It's a drippy, wet day here in the Pacific Northwest, so this poem seems particularly apt:
(h/t Michael Gilleland)
Curtained by spring showers
pouring down from the eaves,
a place where someone lives,
idle, idle,
unknown to others.
Saigyō (1118-1190), Spring Showers in a Mountain Dwelling—written at Ōhara, tr. Burton Watson
(h/t Michael Gilleland)
fads
Today I was browsing the archives of a Macintosh-related website and came across a comment I made there back in 2006:
Six years later and I don't see any reason to retract a single word. I overlooked blogs, which were already prevalent back then, but now I would have to add Facebook pages, Youtube channels, and worst of all, tweets. It's all the same.
***
So I haven't been posting much lately.
On the one hand, I haven't had much worth saying. I'm as prone to blathering as anyone else, but I often catch myself doing it and then fall into a prolonged, embarrassed silence. It's been like that lately.
On the other hand, spring has arrived here in the Pacific Northwest and there's work to done in the garden. There's a lot to dislike in Voltaire's Candide, but I think he got something right in the ending...
Many trends in computing are like the CB fad of the 1970's. Technically interesting, but ultimately just another vehicle for pointless blather.
I mean, c'mon. IM, online photos, personal websites? 10-4, good buddy.
Six years later and I don't see any reason to retract a single word. I overlooked blogs, which were already prevalent back then, but now I would have to add Facebook pages, Youtube channels, and worst of all, tweets. It's all the same.
***
So I haven't been posting much lately.
On the one hand, I haven't had much worth saying. I'm as prone to blathering as anyone else, but I often catch myself doing it and then fall into a prolonged, embarrassed silence. It's been like that lately.
On the other hand, spring has arrived here in the Pacific Northwest and there's work to done in the garden. There's a lot to dislike in Voltaire's Candide, but I think he got something right in the ending...
21 March 2012
On books
Unlike some people I have met, I do not despise book-learning.
On the contrary, I treasure it as a way to converse with friends who are no longer alive, or who are thousands of miles away from me here in my hermitage.
Most of all, I treasure the fact that the people who write books (the ones I read, anyway) are willing to have a long, sustained conversation and explore the subject matter in detail. They do not, like so many people I meet in "real life", become impatient and irritated when things get serious -- or when I stop to ponder a single point for days on end.
I like it when someone refers me to a book I haven't read. I think of it as being set up on a blind date by a matchmaking friend: "You'll like her. She's into many of the same things as you."
On the contrary, I treasure it as a way to converse with friends who are no longer alive, or who are thousands of miles away from me here in my hermitage.
Most of all, I treasure the fact that the people who write books (the ones I read, anyway) are willing to have a long, sustained conversation and explore the subject matter in detail. They do not, like so many people I meet in "real life", become impatient and irritated when things get serious -- or when I stop to ponder a single point for days on end.
I like it when someone refers me to a book I haven't read. I think of it as being set up on a blind date by a matchmaking friend: "You'll like her. She's into many of the same things as you."
On knowledge and truth
What does it mean to say that x is true for Sally but not for Jim? What sort of statements could possibly satisfy this schema?
Suppose we admit that knowledge implies truth, i.e., that "Sally knows that x" implies that "x is true".
Does it follow that if x is true, Jim must know it? Obviously not. It might very well be true that Sally is on the train to Tokyo, but Jim doesn't necessarily know it. Indeed, Jim might not even know that Sally exists, let alone her present whereabouts. Nevertheless, there are truths about Sally which can be asserted.
So at least at first glance it seems that, while knowledge describes a subjective condition, truth does not. What's true is true, whether or not anyone knows it to be true.
*
Next, when we say for example that x was true yesterday but not today, aren't we usually describing a contingent state of affairs? "It's raining" was true yesterday, but not today. But the statement "It's raining" has an implicit time index = "now". If we reformulate the statement to make the time index explicit, say, "It's raining at time t" then there is no problem seeing how the truth-value might change with different values of t.
Similarly, if all that is meant is that there are truths about Sally that are not true about Jim -- for example, that Sally believes that x, while Jim does not -- then there is really nothing surprising here (or worth arguing about.) Logically, it's like the fact that this ball is red while that one is blue.
The same goes for the fact that a hundred years ago most people believed that x, but now most people don't.
To say that x is always true is to say that for all times t, x is true at t. There is nothing inherently problematic about this schema, as far as I can see, although determining whether it applies to any given statement will often require some investigation and/or thought.
And again (using the the usual meaning of the words "know" and "true") what is always true is true whether or not anyone ever knows that it is.
So it might be an interesting question for historical research whether people at time t believed that x, and it might be interesting to explore the reasons they gave for their beliefs, but otherwise it has no direct bearing on the truth of x. (Dittos for what people have always believed.)
If you want to assert something different from this, I think you owe us an explanation of how you are using words like "knowledge" and "truth".
*
When people say x is true for Sally but not for Jim, perhaps what they're intending to say is that x doesn't have the same meaning for Sally that it does for Jim?
But if Sally and Jim aren't talking about the same thing, there really shouldn't be any puzzle about the fact that they assign different truth-values to x.
What this situation calls for is for Sally and Jim to explain what they mean by x. Once they do so, the apparent conflict between them will usually be resolved.
Many disagreements (but not all!) are of this kind. We must always be sensitive to the possibility that others are using words differently than we are. (I wish I followed this advice more often myself.)
(reposted from a thread at the Hermitary, with some revisions)
Suppose we admit that knowledge implies truth, i.e., that "Sally knows that x" implies that "x is true".
Does it follow that if x is true, Jim must know it? Obviously not. It might very well be true that Sally is on the train to Tokyo, but Jim doesn't necessarily know it. Indeed, Jim might not even know that Sally exists, let alone her present whereabouts. Nevertheless, there are truths about Sally which can be asserted.
So at least at first glance it seems that, while knowledge describes a subjective condition, truth does not. What's true is true, whether or not anyone knows it to be true.
*
Next, when we say for example that x was true yesterday but not today, aren't we usually describing a contingent state of affairs? "It's raining" was true yesterday, but not today. But the statement "It's raining" has an implicit time index = "now". If we reformulate the statement to make the time index explicit, say, "It's raining at time t" then there is no problem seeing how the truth-value might change with different values of t.
Similarly, if all that is meant is that there are truths about Sally that are not true about Jim -- for example, that Sally believes that x, while Jim does not -- then there is really nothing surprising here (or worth arguing about.) Logically, it's like the fact that this ball is red while that one is blue.
The same goes for the fact that a hundred years ago most people believed that x, but now most people don't.
To say that x is always true is to say that for all times t, x is true at t. There is nothing inherently problematic about this schema, as far as I can see, although determining whether it applies to any given statement will often require some investigation and/or thought.
And again (using the the usual meaning of the words "know" and "true") what is always true is true whether or not anyone ever knows that it is.
So it might be an interesting question for historical research whether people at time t believed that x, and it might be interesting to explore the reasons they gave for their beliefs, but otherwise it has no direct bearing on the truth of x. (Dittos for what people have always believed.)
If you want to assert something different from this, I think you owe us an explanation of how you are using words like "knowledge" and "truth".
*
When people say x is true for Sally but not for Jim, perhaps what they're intending to say is that x doesn't have the same meaning for Sally that it does for Jim?
But if Sally and Jim aren't talking about the same thing, there really shouldn't be any puzzle about the fact that they assign different truth-values to x.
What this situation calls for is for Sally and Jim to explain what they mean by x. Once they do so, the apparent conflict between them will usually be resolved.
Many disagreements (but not all!) are of this kind. We must always be sensitive to the possibility that others are using words differently than we are. (I wish I followed this advice more often myself.)
(reposted from a thread at the Hermitary, with some revisions)
... on the other hand
Once you come down from the manic phase exemplified in that song, you realize that it's usually not true that "every day will be a holiday."
Other people rarely live up to such great expectations.
When we are lonely, we imagine that the Other will make it all better, will fill up all our emptiness.
More often than not, they disappoint us and we disappoint them.
Other people rarely live up to such great expectations.
When we are lonely, we imagine that the Other will make it all better, will fill up all our emptiness.
More often than not, they disappoint us and we disappoint them.
19 March 2012
Support Our Troops
Bring them home now. Bring them all home.
(Thinking about war stories reminded me of one of my favorite songs.)
(Thinking about war stories reminded me of one of my favorite songs.)
15 March 2012
Here's Sherry Weddell, writing about trends in Catholicism (but it seems to apply to other things just as well):
h/t Mark Shea
I can’t tell you how wearying living with the reaction to the reaction to the reaction to the reaction is getting. Now that I’m seeing (as I knew was inevitable) the first signs of reaction by the very youngest seminarians to their trad “elders”.
The cycle of reaction and rejection keeps speeding up and now it only take 5 – 10 years or so for a “new generation” to take the required stance against the failures of its “elders” (who may still be in their 20’s).
Each group sees itself as the inevitable wave of the future and each group can’t grasp that their unique take on the world won’t triumph forever in a climate where contempt between generations is normative.
Profound enmity and distrust between the generations means that we can’t build anything deep and thoughtful because we can’t pass anything on to the next generation. We are hard-wired not to learn anything from our elders (evil scum!) and we can’t pass anything onto to those who follow us (who regard us as evil scum!) Everyone is just waiting for the bastards (those people over there) to die, just biding our time until we have the power to level their life’s work and build our own on the rubble. No matter which generation says it, “never trust anyone over 30″ is incredibly impoverishing and appallingly stupid.
h/t Mark Shea
13 March 2012
08 March 2012
On free speech
I'm still digesting Thomas Bertonneau's fascinating essay on Voegelin and Girard, but this passage inspires me to comment:
The liberal feigns a willingness to let anyone and everyone speak, and considers this a sign of respect for them as persons.
This logic is carried to ridiculous extremes: schoolchildren encouraged to give their opinion on the social issues of the day, and comment threads on many websites reduced to a chaotic babble of voices each trying to shout louder than the others.
We, on the other hand, can recognize that not everyone has earned the right to be heard, because we have respect for the truth.
Thus, when we meet those who -- like the "Sons of Thrasymachus" I have mentioned before -- are obviously not interested in the pursuit of truth but only in asserting and enlarging their own power, we are under no obligation to listen to them or to engage them in dialogue.
At the same time, we can and should be willing to yield the floor to what the Quakers would call our weighty friends: those who have already demonstrated their capacity for sound judgment, wisdom, and insight.
Addendum:
Bertonneau's essay is itself an example of the related and useful role of the curator, who helps us recognize the weighty friends among us whom we might otherwise overlook. He not only calls our attention to Voegelin and Girard, he shows us their relevance to our context and suggests how we ought to interpret them.
Whether he works in the field of philosophy, fine arts, music, etc., a good curator is a matchmaker, who introduces us to others whose works it will be most beneficial for us to study.
Finding a good curator can be almost as important to our education as finding those friends to whom he introduces us.
Second Addendum:
When I say that we have no obligation to dialogue with those who show no interest in the pursuit of truth, I do not mean to say that we should not bother to defend ourselves against their encroachments.
Bill Vallicella has a post today on the necessity for that kind of defense.
I agree with what Vallicella says, but would quibble with his closing remarks which seem to suggest that the goal is to "command the respect of [our] opponents."
I don't think that goal is achievable.
Here again, the principles of effective rhetoric apply, and one of them is correct identification of our target audience. When we defend ourselves against what Bertonneau calls "the deconstructors of society", we shouldn't think of them as our audience, because they're not likely to give us a fair hearing anyway. Our audience should be those who are still open to the truth, the undecided, and those on our side who are wavering or need to better understand what we're up against.
Opposition to “change” for the sake of change, and to “change” as goalless indefinite regress, which is what the vaunted “progress” really is, will likely take the name of Conservatism, the very label that Voegelin wanted not to descend on him as the sign of his political identity. Voegelin knew that words, like ideas, have consequences. Under this admonition, a number of cautionary remarks can be made about the word “Conservatism” and what it implies. For one thing, as soon as one posits Conservatism, one has created an inevitable verbal artifact – Conservatism versus Liberalism – that is structurally Manichaean. This should give pause. Manichaean, dualistic structures are a characteristic Gnostic appurtenance, which philosophers should avoid. It would be useful at this point to recall the earlier thesis that the opposition to ideological doctrine cannot be another ideological doctrine, for that would be ideological rivalry without meaning rather than engagement in debate for the sake of truth. It would be other than the dignified quest, as, to use Voegelin’s essay-title, “In Search of the Ground.”
[...]
There should be a good deal more clear articulation of the fact that the deconstructors of society have doctrines, false doctrines galore, and that we, by contrast, have an interest in truth, to the objectivity of which we remain open. Cultic doctrines kill freedom; they demand its immolation in the sacrificial flames of their causes. Truth and free will – truth and freedom – by contrast require and nourish one another. We must vigorously remind our friends and neighbors of these facts.
The liberal feigns a willingness to let anyone and everyone speak, and considers this a sign of respect for them as persons.
This logic is carried to ridiculous extremes: schoolchildren encouraged to give their opinion on the social issues of the day, and comment threads on many websites reduced to a chaotic babble of voices each trying to shout louder than the others.
We, on the other hand, can recognize that not everyone has earned the right to be heard, because we have respect for the truth.
Thus, when we meet those who -- like the "Sons of Thrasymachus" I have mentioned before -- are obviously not interested in the pursuit of truth but only in asserting and enlarging their own power, we are under no obligation to listen to them or to engage them in dialogue.
At the same time, we can and should be willing to yield the floor to what the Quakers would call our weighty friends: those who have already demonstrated their capacity for sound judgment, wisdom, and insight.
Addendum:
Bertonneau's essay is itself an example of the related and useful role of the curator, who helps us recognize the weighty friends among us whom we might otherwise overlook. He not only calls our attention to Voegelin and Girard, he shows us their relevance to our context and suggests how we ought to interpret them.
Whether he works in the field of philosophy, fine arts, music, etc., a good curator is a matchmaker, who introduces us to others whose works it will be most beneficial for us to study.
Finding a good curator can be almost as important to our education as finding those friends to whom he introduces us.
Second Addendum:
When I say that we have no obligation to dialogue with those who show no interest in the pursuit of truth, I do not mean to say that we should not bother to defend ourselves against their encroachments.
Bill Vallicella has a post today on the necessity for that kind of defense.
I agree with what Vallicella says, but would quibble with his closing remarks which seem to suggest that the goal is to "command the respect of [our] opponents."
I don't think that goal is achievable.
Here again, the principles of effective rhetoric apply, and one of them is correct identification of our target audience. When we defend ourselves against what Bertonneau calls "the deconstructors of society", we shouldn't think of them as our audience, because they're not likely to give us a fair hearing anyway. Our audience should be those who are still open to the truth, the undecided, and those on our side who are wavering or need to better understand what we're up against.
05 March 2012
War Stories
I was in Vietnam 1971-2 but saw no combat.
I worked in an army depot in Da Nang, and I’ve always said it was more like an especially bad summer camp than anything else. Bad food, warm beer, and the biggest mosquitos I’ve ever seen.
The American way of war requires a lot of REMF’s like I was, so there are probably lots of veterans with similar boring stories to tell.
-- a comment previously posted on the Spearhead website. I think it was Veterans Day or something.
I worked in an army depot in Da Nang, and I’ve always said it was more like an especially bad summer camp than anything else. Bad food, warm beer, and the biggest mosquitos I’ve ever seen.
The American way of war requires a lot of REMF’s like I was, so there are probably lots of veterans with similar boring stories to tell.
-- a comment previously posted on the Spearhead website. I think it was Veterans Day or something.
04 March 2012
askesis
Philosophical argument cannot save us.
But there is more to philosophy than what goes by that name in modern academia:
Thus, for example, the famous passage from Plotinus:
(FWIW, I don't think askesis can save us either.)
But there is more to philosophy than what goes by that name in modern academia:
... Hadot shows that unlike today, philosophers in the age of Plato’s Academy and Aristotle’s Lyceum practiced their craft; they did not merely study it. Since they considered philosophy a means of inner transformation rather than a purely theoretical endeavor, the ancients aimed not at resolving abstract problems or thinking systematically but at preparing themselves for truth and making themselves susceptible to it by cultivating certain attitudes of mind: equanimity and absence of worry (ataraxia), independence (autarkeia), good disposition (euthumia), and so forth. These inner calibrations in turn demanded a highly developed philosophical exercise (askesis) of self–awareness, self–mastery, and examination of the conscience. Philosophy required rational living as much as rational thinking.
-- Benjamin Balint, review of Pierre Hadot's What Is Ancient Philosophy? Available online here.
Thus, for example, the famous passage from Plotinus:
... the soul must be trained—to the habit of remarking, first, all noble pursuits, then the works of beauty produced not by the labour of the arts but by the virtue of men known for their goodness: Lastly, you must search the souls of those that have shaped these beautiful forms.
But how are you to see into a virtuous soul and know its loveliness?
Withdraw into yourself and look. And if you do not find yourself beautiful yet, act as does the creator of a statue that is to be made beautiful: He cuts away here, he smoothes there, he makes this line lighter, this other purer, until a lovely face has grown on his work. So do you also: Cut away all that is excessive, straighten all that is crooked, bring light to all that is overcast, labour to make all one glow of beauty and never cease chiselling your statue, until there shall shine out on you from it the godlike splendour of virtue, until you shall see the perfect goodness surely established in the stainless shrine.
-- The Enneads, I.6
(FWIW, I don't think askesis can save us either.)
27 February 2012
infinity
Perhaps it's an effect of recent reading, but last night I had a dream which used to often come to me when I was a teenager. I haven't dreamed it in years since then.
In my dream, I'm trying to place the infinitely big next to the infinitely small. Usually this proves impossible to visualize and I wake up suddenly with a feeling of dread. My waking is like a thunderclap: I remember one time when it seemed like something had burst into my room with a loud shout. It was as if I'd been thrown out of the dream for daring to approach something too holy to gaze upon.
In last night's dream, however, I wasn't trying to put the infinitely small next to the infinitely large. Rather, I imagined it within the large, so that no matter how far I "zoomed" in or out, the smaller was always embraced by the large.
Just as there is no center on a line that extends to infinity, so there is no central, privileged or default "zoom level."
But you could also say that every point on the line is a center, and every "zoom level" is privileged.
In my dream, I'm trying to place the infinitely big next to the infinitely small. Usually this proves impossible to visualize and I wake up suddenly with a feeling of dread. My waking is like a thunderclap: I remember one time when it seemed like something had burst into my room with a loud shout. It was as if I'd been thrown out of the dream for daring to approach something too holy to gaze upon.
In last night's dream, however, I wasn't trying to put the infinitely small next to the infinitely large. Rather, I imagined it within the large, so that no matter how far I "zoomed" in or out, the smaller was always embraced by the large.
Just as there is no center on a line that extends to infinity, so there is no central, privileged or default "zoom level."
But you could also say that every point on the line is a center, and every "zoom level" is privileged.
26 February 2012
On the intellectual life
Things I wish I'd been told when I was young:
Of course, I did hear this kind of advice when I was young, but I did not listen. Nor would I have known how to apply it, since I was too anxious to leap ahead to conclusions of my own, and too unwilling to accept an elder's guidance on what things I should work on, even if only provisionally. Thus I became an intellectual vagabond, and now I fear it's too late to become anything else...
In the first free years after early studies, when the ground of our intelligence has been newly turned-up, and the seed sown, what splendid tillage could be undertaken! That is the time that will never come again, the time that we shall have to live on by and by. What it is, we shall be; for we can hardly put down new roots. The future is always the heir of the past; the penalty for neglecting, at the right time, to prepare it, is to live on the surface of things. Let each one think of that, while thinking may be of some avail.
How many young people, with the pretension to become workers, miserably waste their days, their strength, the vigor of their intelligence, their ideal! Either they do not work -- there is time enough! -- or they work badly, capriciously, without knowing what they are nor where they want to go nor how to get there. Lectures, reading, choice of companions, the proper proportion of work and rest, of solitude and activity, of general culture and specialization, the spirit of study, the art of picking out and utilizing data gained, some provisional output which will give an idea of what the future work is to be, the virtues to be acquired and developed -- nothing of all that is thought out and no satisfactory fulfillment will follow.
What a difference, supposing equal resources, between the man who understands and looks ahead, and the man who proceeds at haphazard! "Genius is long patience," but it must be organized and intelligent patience. One does not need extraordinary gifts to carry some work through; average superiority suffices; the rest depends on energy and wise application of energy. It is as with a conscientious workman, careful and steady at his task: he gets somewhere, while an inventive genius is often merely an embittered failure.
-- A. G. Sertillanges, The Intellectual Life: Its Spirit, Conditions, Methods
Of course, I did hear this kind of advice when I was young, but I did not listen. Nor would I have known how to apply it, since I was too anxious to leap ahead to conclusions of my own, and too unwilling to accept an elder's guidance on what things I should work on, even if only provisionally. Thus I became an intellectual vagabond, and now I fear it's too late to become anything else...
25 February 2012
On moral responsibility
Today I came across a reference to Harry Frankfurt's paper on what he called the Principle of Alternative Possibilities.
It raises some rather serious doubts about the idea that a person is only morally responsible for what he does if he could have done otherwise. That moral responsibility implies freedom. Or to put it in the way I often have, that no one should be blamed for doing something he was coerced to do.
I'm still reading the paper and probably haven't yet grasped the full point of his argument. But it's already occasioned a few thoughts:
- Even when I am being coerced, I still have the freedom to refuse. I can still be a martyr, and say with Gandhi that they can have my broken body but never my obedience. Usually it's my cowardice or my pragmatism that leads me to give in to the coercion. That, or a judgment that it isn't worth fighting over: in the grand scheme of things there are more important things to do. But surely I am responsible for my cowardice, my pragmatism, and my sense of the relative value of things?
- In my post about Oscar Wilde and the tragic sense of life, I remarked on the way we seem inexorably driven to our fates. "...it’s as if we were actors in a story written by someone else, and we had no choice except to play the part as it was written for us. We’re character studies in a Greek tragedy, brought inexorably to the final, sobering scenes by the quirks and flaws in our own nature. Even our best qualities seem to have worked to our undoing." And yet, don't we still believe, down deep, that none of this excuses us, that we are still responsible for being who we are?
- Frankfurt's paper was published in 1969, years before I studied philosophy as an undergraduate and long before I began my sojourn through libertarianism. This is the first I've heard of it, yet it is considered to be a seminal paper and one that has convinced many philosophers and libertarians that the Principle of Alternative Possibilities is false. This just goes to show that I am not familiar with the relevant literature, and therefore cannot claim to be an expert in these matters.
See this article for a discussion of the philosophical context of Frankfurt's paper.
Addendum: now that I've read the paper and the discussion of its context on the plato.stanford.edu site, I can say that it's mostly irrelevant to my own position -- which is better described by what, in another article, the SEP calls an agent-causal theory. I don't know if I would agree with everything any of the philosophers cited in that section have said about such theories, but I'm glad to add them to my already-overflowing reading list.
I should also add that I did miss Frankfurt's point at first. He is arguing in favor of the theory that free will is compatible with determinism. He is indeed rejecting the principle that moral responsibility implies the ability to do otherwise, but in doing so, he wants to suggest that the concept of moral responsibility has been incorrectly analyzed. The first SEP article linked above explores some of the ways others have followed up on that suggestion. I can't say I find any of their ideas appealing.
It raises some rather serious doubts about the idea that a person is only morally responsible for what he does if he could have done otherwise. That moral responsibility implies freedom. Or to put it in the way I often have, that no one should be blamed for doing something he was coerced to do.
I'm still reading the paper and probably haven't yet grasped the full point of his argument. But it's already occasioned a few thoughts:
- Even when I am being coerced, I still have the freedom to refuse. I can still be a martyr, and say with Gandhi that they can have my broken body but never my obedience. Usually it's my cowardice or my pragmatism that leads me to give in to the coercion. That, or a judgment that it isn't worth fighting over: in the grand scheme of things there are more important things to do. But surely I am responsible for my cowardice, my pragmatism, and my sense of the relative value of things?
- In my post about Oscar Wilde and the tragic sense of life, I remarked on the way we seem inexorably driven to our fates. "...it’s as if we were actors in a story written by someone else, and we had no choice except to play the part as it was written for us. We’re character studies in a Greek tragedy, brought inexorably to the final, sobering scenes by the quirks and flaws in our own nature. Even our best qualities seem to have worked to our undoing." And yet, don't we still believe, down deep, that none of this excuses us, that we are still responsible for being who we are?
- Frankfurt's paper was published in 1969, years before I studied philosophy as an undergraduate and long before I began my sojourn through libertarianism. This is the first I've heard of it, yet it is considered to be a seminal paper and one that has convinced many philosophers and libertarians that the Principle of Alternative Possibilities is false. This just goes to show that I am not familiar with the relevant literature, and therefore cannot claim to be an expert in these matters.
See this article for a discussion of the philosophical context of Frankfurt's paper.
Addendum: now that I've read the paper and the discussion of its context on the plato.stanford.edu site, I can say that it's mostly irrelevant to my own position -- which is better described by what, in another article, the SEP calls an agent-causal theory. I don't know if I would agree with everything any of the philosophers cited in that section have said about such theories, but I'm glad to add them to my already-overflowing reading list.
I should also add that I did miss Frankfurt's point at first. He is arguing in favor of the theory that free will is compatible with determinism. He is indeed rejecting the principle that moral responsibility implies the ability to do otherwise, but in doing so, he wants to suggest that the concept of moral responsibility has been incorrectly analyzed. The first SEP article linked above explores some of the ways others have followed up on that suggestion. I can't say I find any of their ideas appealing.
20 February 2012
The modern project in a nutshell
As long as I'm quoting Rabbi Heschel, I should share my favorite of his sayings:
Setting aside the somewhat awkward phrasing, isn't this the perfect summation of the chutzpah involved in the whole modern project?
"Oh yeah? Well, I'll show you!"
After having eaten the forbidden fruit, the Lord sent forth man from Paradise, to till the ground from which he was taken. But man, who is more subtle than any other creature that God has made, what did he do? He undertook to build a Paradise by his own might, and he is driving God from his Paradise.
Setting aside the somewhat awkward phrasing, isn't this the perfect summation of the chutzpah involved in the whole modern project?
"Oh yeah? Well, I'll show you!"
The Timeless Moment at Sinai
It turns out that the passage I was looking for is by Rabbi Heschel and in fact it is in the same essay from which I quoted a few days ago.
Can it be said that all events involving God have this timeless quality, of occurring both at this particular time and yet also for all time?
Isn't that why and how the sacrament of marriage creates an unbreakable, lifelong bond, because it also "thinks the future in the present tense"?
When we first hold our newborn child, aren't we at one with every father who has ever experienced that bond of love, along with all those who ever will, each of us participating in the eternal idea of fatherhood?
God is eternal: how could anything involving Him not have this timeless quality?
Over at the orthosphere blog, there's been some discussion of the traditional doctrines of continuous or perpetual Creation. It's because Creation is timeless that we can experience it in every waking moment, if only we take care to look.
The decisive event in the spiritual history of our people was the act that occurred at Sinai. It had a twofold significance. One in opening up a new relationship of God to man, in engaging Him intimately to the people of Israel; and second in Israel's accepting that relationship, that engagement to God. It was an event in which both God and Israel were partners. God gave His word to the people, and the people gave its word of honor to God.
That word of honor was not given by one generation alone. All generations of Israel were present at Sinai. It was an event that happened at a particular time and also one that happened for all time. "Nor is it with you only that I make this sworn covenant, but with him who is not here with us this day as well as with him who stands here with us this day before the Lord our God." (Deuteronomy 29:13-14).
It was an act of transcending the present, history in reverse: thinking of the future in the present tense
-- Abraham Joshua Heschel, "The Moment at Sinai" (italics in the original, bold emphasis added)
Can it be said that all events involving God have this timeless quality, of occurring both at this particular time and yet also for all time?
Isn't that why and how the sacrament of marriage creates an unbreakable, lifelong bond, because it also "thinks the future in the present tense"?
When we first hold our newborn child, aren't we at one with every father who has ever experienced that bond of love, along with all those who ever will, each of us participating in the eternal idea of fatherhood?
God is eternal: how could anything involving Him not have this timeless quality?
Over at the orthosphere blog, there's been some discussion of the traditional doctrines of continuous or perpetual Creation. It's because Creation is timeless that we can experience it in every waking moment, if only we take care to look.
CorkyAgain
When I was a boy, my father nicknamed me "Corky" and most of my extended family and friends called me that.
When I became a teenager, I decided the name was childish and let it be known that henceforward I was to be called by my given name.
So from then on I was known as "Charlie."
(Never "Chuck." That was the name of that obnoxious kid from down the street. "Charlie," on the other hand, was a name I shared with a grandfather and a great-grandfather.)
But after my divorce, I saw the need to review my life and to re-affirm some of the things I had been missing over the years.
Thus, Corky, again.
I also found some self-deprecating humor in using it as a screen name while commenting on other people's blogs. I imagine readers coming across one of those comments and saying to themselves, "Oh no, not him again!"
When I became a teenager, I decided the name was childish and let it be known that henceforward I was to be called by my given name.
So from then on I was known as "Charlie."
(Never "Chuck." That was the name of that obnoxious kid from down the street. "Charlie," on the other hand, was a name I shared with a grandfather and a great-grandfather.)
But after my divorce, I saw the need to review my life and to re-affirm some of the things I had been missing over the years.
Thus, Corky, again.
I also found some self-deprecating humor in using it as a screen name while commenting on other people's blogs. I imagine readers coming across one of those comments and saying to themselves, "Oh no, not him again!"
19 February 2012
The spirit of romanticism
A splendid description of one of the formative strands of liberal thought:
h/t Michael Gilleland
Of course, the Romantic view sets up a false dichotomy. It is true that worldliness of the sort described is something to be opposed, but the heroic individualism of the Romantics is not the only alternative. There is also the idea of fealty to proper authority, of loyalty to kith and kin, of humility rather than self-assertion.
The romantic outlook condemns success as such as both vulgar and immoral; for it is built, as often as not, on a betrayal of one's ideals, on a contemptible arrangement with the enemy. A correspondingly high value is placed upon defiance for its own sake, idealism, sincerity, purity of motive, resistance in the face of all odds, noble failure, which are contrasted with realism, worldly wisdom, calculation, and their rewards—popularity, success, power, happiness, peace bought at morally too high a price. This is the doctrine of heroism and martyrdom, as against that of harmony and wisdom. It is inspiring, audacious, splendid, and sinister too.
-- Isaiah Berlin, The Crooked Timber of Humanity
h/t Michael Gilleland
Of course, the Romantic view sets up a false dichotomy. It is true that worldliness of the sort described is something to be opposed, but the heroic individualism of the Romantics is not the only alternative. There is also the idea of fealty to proper authority, of loyalty to kith and kin, of humility rather than self-assertion.
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