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."
21 March 2012
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.)
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