Speaking Of That Regarding Which We Must be Silent

If a person knows anything about Wittgenstein, it's likely they know, at least, that he wrote in his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus the famous sentence generally translated as:  "Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one should be silent."

Wittgenstein was the favorite philosopher of one of my philosophy professors in college, and so I devoted some time to reading his works, but what I read at that time were his later works, specifically The Blue and Brown Books and Philosophical Investigations.  I ventured into the Tractatus later, on my doubtless uncomprehending own.  Wittgenstein seems to have been given to gnomic and almost oracular pronouncements, which is something I've found frustrating.  His later works as we know them are apparently the joint work product (as we lawyers say) of devoted students and others in the sense they are based on notes of his classes, just as what we know of the teachings of Epictetus are based on the notes of his student, Arrian.  This may account for some of the difficulty I've had deciphering his later works, but the Tractatus as I understand it is his and his alone, so I can't blame my difficulties with that work on the errant scribblings of students.  I can take comfort, however, in the fact that Wittgenstein is known to have complained that Bertrand Russell did not understand what Wittgenstein  was doing although he wrote an introduction to that book.  From what I read of Wittgenstein's character, my guess is he felt that quite a few people didn't understand what he was doing.

His command that philosophers be silent is peculiarly satisfying in many ways, but it seems that in issuing this command he meant that they should stop trying to deal with many of what have traditionally been considered the great philosophical problems, and they show no sign of doing so, for good or ill.  For my part, I find this command insightful and wise to the extent it is intended to limit philosophical inquiry into certain questions or problems which philosophical inquiry has failed to resolve for centuries, and to the extent to which it recognizes that there are certain aspects of our lives which cannot be usefully addressed in words.

There is nothing necessarily wrong, or unreal, about these latter things because words just don't quite work in their case.  I tend to think that everything is part of "reality", even those things which we don't normally contend are "real."  For example, dreams or hallucinations are as much a part of our existence, or experience, as anything else.  They differ from other things we experience because they are dreams and hallucinations.  This doesn't make them any less real, though it makes them different.

Among the things words are not useful in addressing are experiences of transcendence, wonder, "oneness" with nature, and "God."  Wittgenstein also mused, I think, that certain things must be shown.  I think this is true, in the sense that some of the most intense and profound experiences I've had along these lines have been the result of things that I saw, usually startlingly beautiful landscapes:  Mount Nevis at sunset, crowned with a cloud; the stars over the ocean from a balcony in St. John, U.S.V.I; an entirely cloudless sunset over the ocean in Key West; a misty sunrise in the Appalachian mountains; a meadow in the Alps; beautiful blue lakes surrounded by trees exploding in glorious color on a perfect Indian Summer day seen from Bearskin Trail south of Minocqua, Wisconsin.

What is felt in those circumstances is no less real than anything else, and I don't see how this can be denied.  Does what is felt in such circumstances mean something?  Clearly it does.  What does it mean?  I'm not sure.  Do such feelings indicate the existence of something beyond or in addition to what is seen?  Not in any rational sense, and it's through the use of reason and scientific method that we've learned the most about the universe in which we live.  But I question whether the use of reason and scientific method is necessary in all cases.  It may be that they, like words, cannot usefully be employed in addressing certain things which we nevertheless feel or experience.

Not Asking, Telling or Caring

It seems "don't ask, don't tell" (which our media, at least, insists on designating as "DADT") is done--DADTID?  It was a strange policy, motivated by apparent concerns which I've always thought strange as well.

I've never understood the view, which is apparently still held by some, that gays don't make good soldiers.  It seems to have no basis in anything resembling reality.  History informs us of the Sacred Band of Thebes, reputedly magnificent warriors, and there is always the ultimate warrior of antiquity, Achilles, and Alexander, whom we know was a great military leader if only because "great" is part of the name by which he is known.  The cavalry of ancient Rome was said by some to be the branch of its military favored by gays.

If there is no basis on which to believe gays make bad soldiers (and the very idea that certain "groups" make bad soldiers is odd) what is/was the concern which motivated the policy, or any policy prohibiting a military career to the gays?  Fear that passes will be made on unsuspecting heterosexuals?  Hasn't Nancy Reagan had the answer for this (and of course drugs) for some time now?  If sexual assault is the concern, is there any reason to believe gays are more inclined to this than straights?  If the concern is that unfortunate prejudices will create discord, that would seem to justify all sorts of exclusions.

I don't really know just how the end of this policy will effect the processing of people into the military, but hope that the result will be that no inquiry whatsoever is made into sexual preferences.  We Americans have been fascinated by sex for far too long (perhaps this is part of our being a "Christian Nation").  I also like to think that no need is felt by any soldier (or other person) to trumpet his/her sexuality.  Simply put, sexual preference shouldn't be a concern in such circumstances.

We are an odd nation in some senses, when you think of it, that sex should be an overwhelming political concern, i.e. one which our legislators must address when there are other, seemingly more important, concerns to address.  We've always been fixated on the personal conduct of others in such matters as sex, drugs, and alcohol and have spent far too much time and money trying to regulate that conduct.  We must learn to accept the fact that this is one of many things government can't do for us.

Pondering the Holiday Season

A fairly impressive snow storm which is keeping me in my house and deprived it of electrical power for about seven hours has reminded me that I live in the northern region of these incomparable united states, and leads me to wonder while I still do so.  It has also served to remind me, along with many other things, that it is what we like to call the Holiday Season, or perhaps I should say the Christmas Season, in order to mesh more fully with those who amuse themselves (and others, I suspect) with the belief that there is a "War on Christmas."  As most if not all of the wars in which we Americans have involved ourselves since 1945 have been long, grim and futile (one thinks of the "War on Poverty" or the "War on Drugs" if not the wars in which our combat troops engage), I'm inclined to believe the "War on Christmas" if there is such a thing will be much the same.

"Christmas" most appropriately rhymes with "Mithras", the Persian God who was born, of a virgin mother, on December 25th while shepherds watched even as other shepherds were apparently watching the birth of the Christ-child.  These two contemporaneous and happy events were a source of confusion in ancient times gradually rectified with the triumph, as it were, of Christianity.  This should be common knowledge, just as it should be common knowledge that the propensity to exchange gifts and engage in festivities this time of year has its foundation in a variety of pre-Christian holidays and rituals.  Historians scratch their heads over the claim that Caesar ordered all in his empire to return to their places of birth for census purposes and various other claims made in those remarkable documents we call the New Testament, but ultimately this and the other oddities which make up the traditional Christmas Story (I can't help but wonder where the little drummer boy came from) are not pertinent to my purpose.

We've celebrated this season for quite some time, which I think is well and good.  There is nothing wrong with celebrating.  It can even be fun.  It can be great fun for children, especially.  It can make us feel good about each other, and even dream of world peace, for a time, much like a good stiff drink or two.  Why not leave it at that?

I'm not sure just what those who ask us to remember the "true meaning" of Christmas intend, frankly.  This may be a result of the fact that I'm not inclined to take what is called the Christmas Story literally.  However, if I did take it literally, I'm not sure just how this would effect my conduct or that of others.  I would presumably be joyous, just the same, and in much the same way.  Would I be less inclined to buy presents for people, attend Christmas parties, etc.?  I don't think so.  Perhaps I would spend more time in church, sing certain songs more feelingly.  After all, it's not time to feel bad yet; that comes with Good Friday, or perhaps Lent, but then we're supposed to be joyful on Easter, in any case.  Sad, then glad; glad, then sad.  That's the way of it.

I rather doubt there is any "true meaning" and think we err in searching for it in Christmas just as we err in seeking it elsewhere.  It's all true, in the sense that it all happens, good and bad.  We may ponder "true meaning" all we like, but would be better off acting as if we believed in peace and brotherhood than if we were waiting for someone to come and impose it on us.

A problem in believing in saviors is that we wait to be saved.

Thoughts on Secrecy and Self-Appointed Guardians

Wikileaks and its strangely wraith-like front man, Julian Assange, may be many things, good and bad, but it can be said of them, at least, that they and what they represent should be the objects of serious thought.

Secrecy in government or business, or perhaps in anything, is not prima facie admirable.  Most of us would consider it "good" to be open and honest at almost all times.  The truly good person (it's no doubt been said by someone, sometime) wouldn't fear exposure of any act on their part (there are few, if any, truly good persons, however).  When we are being secretive we are necessarily hiding something from someone, or if not actively doing so we are failing to disclose something.  This seems dishonest in some sense, and the question why we are being secretive naturally arises, and should be addressed.

For me if for nobody else, self-appointed guardians of humanity are not prima facie admirable, either.  Those who consider themselves our saviors, or watch dogs and protectors necessarily believe themselves to be, in some sense, better than the rest of us, or that the rest of us are in some fashion deficient where they are not.  That is why we need saviors, watch dogs and protectors, of course.  They consider themselves nobler or at least more intelligent than those poor souls they are destined to enlighten.  And, of course, they think that there is something or someone from which we must be protected.  They are consumed by the need to find out evil in order to protect us from its horrible consequences.

Regardless, both secrecy and self-appointed guardians can be useful in certain cases.  Only an absolutist would deny this, and the absolutists among us are most be be feared.  Whether they're useful will depend on the circumstances, just as most other things will.  That's not to say that all things are relative (a very annoying phrase employed far too often by people who don't seem to know what it means) but it is to say that consequences are significant, and circumstances effect consequences.

We don't seem to have any evidence indicating as of this time that some discernible, significant harm has directly resulted from the disclosures made by Wikileaks.  As far as I'm aware, it hasn't been maintained that anyone has died or been injured in some fashion as a result of the huge data dumps which have been made, and all that's been admitted to is embarrassment, something which can be becoming in a government official.  We are being exposed to more of the shrill hysterics which seem to typify certain actors on the national and world stage, but this will pass, and they will find something else regarding which they may strike whatever attitudes and adopt whatever postures they deem appropriate.

As far as I know, however, there is no evidence indicating that any significant benefit has resulted, either.  Perhaps I'm too cynical, and I certainly haven't read all that's been disclosed and never will, but I have at least heard of nothing which I find very surprising, let alone shocking.   I find it difficult to believe anyone else would be surprised or shocked by what has been disclosed.

Absent any harm, is there anything for which Wikileaks should be blamed?  Absent any benefit, is there anything for which it should be praised?

If laws have been broken, that's a serious concern, especially given the fact that there seems thus far at least to be no good reason for breaking them (that's where benefit might come in).  Even more concerning to me is the fact that there is no control over our self-appointed guardian in this case or what it may think appropriate to obtain by any means from anyone and hurl at the world at large.  Uncontrolled power in the hands of any person (including government officials) who thinks they are better or know better than anyone else is frightening.

We all have done, said or written things which we regret.  Should these be subject to disclosure in any circumstances?  One would hope not, unless there was good reason to do so.  Who should determine whether that reason exists?  What sources of information should be subject to raiding for purposes of disclosure?  Should Wikileaks or some other zealous protector of the race have the freedom to obtain whatever information from whatever source it desires and disclose what it feels should be disclosed?

I would say not.  We lawyers speak of "fishing expeditions" where efforts are made without a reasonable basis to obtain information in the hope that something damning will appear.  Zealous protectors thrive on fishing expeditions.

Where wrongdoing is exposed as a result of this kind of effort, it makes no sense to claim it shouldn't have been disclosed.  But governments can do to each of us much the same sort of thing Wikileaks is doing to them.  Neither governments nor Wikileaks or any other person or organization should have the unlimited discretion to do so.

Eden, Paradise, What We Had, Have and May Have

While exploring the steadily expanding universe of electronic books, I came upon Pagan and Christian Creeds by Edward Carpenter.  It's a good summary of the enormous debt Christianity owes pagan religion and philosophy.  It also is a summary of, and the author speculates on, the similarity of myths throughout human history relating to a Golden Age or Eden which existed in the distant past and a Paradise to come.

Many cultures have myths which relate to a time when humans lived in harmony and innocent bliss with each other, their fellow creatures and nature, just as they have myths of savior gods born of virgin mothers, or mothers somehow impregnated by a god, who are killed and rise again.  The belief in an Eden, common to humanity according to Carpenter, may be a kind of race-recollection of a time when primitive humans though superior in intelligence to other animals nonetheless lived very much like other animals in unity with those of their kind and their environment in general.  According to Carpenter, what drove us from this Eden was the development of self-consciousness (emphasis on the self).  We became concerned with ourselves, our pleasure, and our own personal interaction with God and our salvation, to the exclusion of our relations with each other, nature and our fellow creatures.  From this there came forth a grand procession of evils, culminating for Carpenter in the oddly named Great War (why not the "Great Big War"?).  He wrote in 1919.

Despite the colossal idiocy of that particular war (which he seems to have thought of as the last great paroxysm of selfish evil), Carpenter was hopeful that humanity was on the threshold of a great transformation, which would allow it to once more achieve that ancient harmony with the retention, though, of a kind of intelligence which transcends that of what were once called "savages", i.e. the less civilized of humans.  Religions, and Christianity in particular, would have to acknowledge and accept their evolution from the One World Religion or dissipate.  The emphasis on self would vanish, as would all sorts of nasty things, and we would achieve a kind of paradise, ultimately.

One can't help but wonder whether Carpenter may have been a bit disappointed when things began to go very sour twenty or so years after he wrote, if he lived that long.  I suspect, though, that the Second World War would have been merely grist for his mill; just an indication that we weren't quite there yet--paradise was to be deferred for a time.  Such is human nature, once it succumbs to grand systems of explanation.

I have a certain fondness for practical intelligence and what it can achieve, but flatter myself that I am aware of its limitations.  It's not a very emotionally satisfying product of our species, and we do like to be emotionally satisfied.  In fact, we would rather be emotionally satisfied than anything else.  There's nothing wrong with being emotionally satisfied, and we may have to be emotionally satisfied in order to be truly content.  So, we struggle to achieve such satisfaction, and no doubt always will.

We run into problems, however, when we seek such satisfaction in spite of or separate from the use of our practical intelligence.  We become un-intelligent;  we become grandiose, get mystical--we come to think that our salvation lies in abandoning ourselves to some imagined "real nature" of our species which is, we somehow come to think, irrational.  We might start believing in a great Volk, for example, of which we are but a part, or unifying on a grand quest to achieve a high destiny under an inspired leader.

The quest for unity, "brotherhood", "oneness" with nature need not be exclusively through the irrational, though it cannot be ignored.  The stoics felt it could be obtained through the exercise of intelligence and reason, which they thought to be peculiar to humans--the extraordinary aspect of our nature, compared with that of other creatures.  The emphasis on intelligence as a vehicle, though, necessarily results in a lessening of expectations.  We no longer believe we will march as a vast army against evil, or dance ecstatically towards revelation.  We no longer seek to convert (or destroy, or banish) those who stand in the way of our destiny.  We become cautious, thoughtful.   We seek to resolve problems that present themselves in a more immediate fashion, and which are more likely subject to resolution.  We doubt our conclusions, and those of others, but respect others as well.  We understand that there are things beyond our control, and seek to do what we can to reasonably employ that which is in our control.

This is in some sense a selfish course of action, as it is directed to our own conduct, our own contentment.  But the content don't seek to dominate, repress, kill, torture or imprison others.  There may be a less inspired, quieter path to paradise.

Romanticism and Heroes

Being something of an fan of the history of the Roman Republic and Roman Empire, I took up and began to read, though not through the agency of a divine voice like St. Augustine, a book called Imperial Purple by Edgar Saltus, and was reminded again that there are those who feel excessive admiration for "great men of action" and wondered just why they do.

Saltus essentially drools over Julius Caesar, working himself into a seeming frenzy of adoration, and then proceeds to heap scorn on his chosen heir and adopted son, whom we know as Augustus Caesar.  This puzzles me.  In salivating over Julius, Saltus reminds me of Colleen McCullough, who did much the same in her entertaining books on ancient Rome, and Mary Renault, who may have worshipped Alexander the Great, in her fine novels regarding that remarkable figure, as well as her "non-fiction" effort breathlessly entitled The Nature of Alexander.

It's interesting that these authors glorify the characters and careers of men who were responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands if not millions while simultaneously criticizing, often in a very ad hominen fashion, their more sedate contemporaries.  For Saltus the opposite of his hero is the "cool politician" Augustus (which is how Gore Vidal once referred to him); McCullough selected Cicero as target for her barbs, and Renault chose Demosthenes and Aristotle.  Renault goes so far as to imply that Aristotle had some part in causing the death of Alexander (if her novels are any guide, she seemed disinclined to believe, as do others, that he caused his own death by self-destructive stupidity).

Augustus, Cicero, Demosthenes and Aristotle were certainly not warriors.  What glory they achieved didn't involve wholesale slaughter, at which Julius and Alexander excelled.  They didn't inspire men to race to their deaths or send others to theirs; they probably were not even loved by all but a few.  But we remember them nonetheless.  They are great figures of history.

To focus on Augustus, he was ruthless in his pursuit of power, and condemned hundreds to death in obtaining it.  He was a very poor soldier, and even frail, physically.  He managed, though, to give the Roman world decades of peace--something Julius never could do, and didn't seem particularly interested in doing.  Julius Caesar was certainly a brilliant man, as was Alexander, and neither were "mere" soldiers.  They each had many talents.  But they were also in some sense incapable of imparting peace or stability to the worlds they dominated, assuming they were concerned to do so, which is questionable.  The same could be said of another great romantic hero, Napoleon.  Augustus had enough sense to realize that he could wield almost absolute power without encouraging others to murder him, and had the wit to find a way to structure the state for that purpose.  Julius apparently was incapable of such an effort.

Why do many of us succumb to hero-worship of great military men?  I think we do so for emotional reasons, or perhaps more accurately psychological reasons.  If we paused enough to think, we would likely realize that no reasonable person could admire the devastation wrought by such men in pursuit of what was ultimately their personal glory, regardless of their skill and talents.  But we don't care to stop and think, in this and other things, far too often.  Romanticism is excessive by nature and its heroes are excessive as well.  Reason is skeptical of excess. 

"Graphic Images" Get In Your Eyes

I find the current controversy regarding the plan to emblazon what the media enjoys describing as "graphic images" on cigarette packages interesting as a study in the exercise of governmental power.

I will first establish my bona fides.  I smoked for twenty years--cigarettes mostly, but I was also a pipe smoker.  I'd smoke a cigar once in a great while.  I haven't smoked for many years.  I quit "cold turkey" as we like to put it, although I did use nicotine patches for a time rather half-heartedly.  I don't miss cigarettes, but feel the occasional urge to light up a pipe--I like the smell of pipe tobacco (well, some pipe tobacco).

I smoked many different brands of cigarettes.  I started with Camels; no filters, the hard stuff.  I also smoked Lucky Strikes, Pall Malls and Chesterfields.  I would sometimes smoke Players when I could find them, as they seemed exotic.  The filtered cigarettes I smoked were Viceroys, Marlboros, Marlboro Lights, and even the silly True brand, sometimes.  I never smoked menthol cigarettes.

I can't say I was ever induced to smoke by the images displayed on cigarette packaging.  I found the Pall Mall package amusing, especially the use of the Latin phrase supposedly heard by Constantine in his dream before the battle of the Mulvian Bridge, "In Hoc Signo Vinces."  What, I would wonder regarding the package, was the sign supposed to be, and what was to be conquered?  At least they didn't display the image of the Emperor lighting-up while gazing in amazement at the cross in the sky.

I frankly don't know how I would have been effected by any of the "graphic images" being considered by our wise regulators.  I tend to doubt it, but those were very different times.  Smoking in public was quite common.  It was, in a way, social.  Cigarettes were borrowed, people would ask each other for lights (matches or lighters) during or in the course of striking up a conversation.  Gruesome, ugly packages would have been weird, certainly, but I don't think anyone noticed the packaging in any case, except to identify the brand.

Let's start, as we always should, with the law.  The FDA probably has the authority to make cigarette packing really ugly and disgusting, if it can be reasonably concluded that this will in some manner decrease smoking.  This is a matter of the police power of the government, as the health and welfare of the public are involved, and government has a great deal of discretion when it comes to imposing its police power.  One would hope the government has taken the time to make a record that the regulation proposed will have such an effect.  If it hasn't, and if instead this is the brainchild of some disapproving, but well-meaning (no doubt) bureaucrat, then it is a different story.

I think that adults should be able to smoke if they want to do so, provided it doesn't harm or inconvenience others.  I have no problem, therefore, with laws prohibiting smoking in the presence of others without their consent.  Tobacco being a luxury, and as I don't believe in some kind of absolute right to smoke, I have no problem with taxing or otherwise regulating the sale and use of tobacco, provided the regulations are reasonable.  Prohibiting someone from smoking in his/her home while alone or with other smokers would strike me as unreasonable, regardless of the fact that tobacco may be addictive.  We are long past the point where sneaky tobacco companies can lure people into smoking with ease or through trickery.  Tobacco's effects are too well known, and advertising is heavily regulated.  Adults should be allowed to make choices, even foolish ones, where they harm only themselves.  We have not (yet?) granted government the authority to make us healthy, wealthy or wise as it considers to be the case where only our individual status is concerned, nor should we.

There comes a point, I think, when government intervention of this kind becomes excessive, and that point is reached where the government treats its citizens as if they were utterly incapable of making choices, i.e., where government feels that it must make choices for them, or influence them to make the choices the government believes desirable for them (as opposed to others they are likely to harm by the choice to be made).  There is something in us which makes us think we know better than others what is good for them, and we tend to compel them to do what we think is best for them when we have authority and power.  This is dangerous, as we often don't know what is best for others, and we shouldn't get into the habit of viewing fellow humans as incapable of knowing what is best for them--because what we come to feel for them in that case is, too often, contempt.

Regarding Secularism and Government

The curiously named Newt Gingrich enjoys referring to something called "secular socialism", primarily in reference to what he seems to consider the goal or nature of government as conceived by the Obama administration or, perhaps, liberals in general.  I'd like to focus on his use of the word "secular" for a moment, putting aside the question of socialism.

One wonders just why reference is made to secular socialism.  Is there some religious kind of socialism to be distinguished from the secular sort?  Christian Socialism, perhaps?  This seems a necessary consideration, given the definition of "secularism" one finds lurking in dictionaries.  Is Mr. Gingrich a religious socialist, socialist in the sense that some have claimed Christianity is socialist, to reserve his scorn for secular socialism?

I doubt it.  I think it's more likely that Mr. Gingrich either associates socialism with secularism (or knows the meaning of neither term; which is I suppose to say much the same thing) or is asserting that government should not be secular.  I think it most likely he feels government should not be secular.

It's troubling that some think secularism in government is somehow inappropriate.  That government is secular does not mean that those in government, or those subject to government, must be atheist or in some other sense irreligious.  A secular government is, however, not a religious government.  We've had religious governments before, of course, and there are those who apparently think government should be religious now.  Thus we have nations which have what are called Islamic governments--the rule and law they impose are purported to be Islamic.

If Gingrich and others believe our government should be a religious government, then they could be said to favor a form of government which can fairly be described as un-American.  Our revered Founders quite deliberately and wisely sought to assure that our government would not be a religious government in the sense that it would not be a government dominated by any organized religion.  One doubts even the more extreme of our so-called conservative politicians and pundits (including Gingrich) would deny this fact.  But what could they otherwise mean by criticizing secular government?

Do they feel that if our government representatives would merely invoke God more often, or pray more often, publicly, our government would lose the taint of secularism?  If that's the case, it seems that they would like our government to at least have the appearance of being religious in some sense.  Do they desire that Christ in particular be publicly invoked?  Do they contend that liberal policies are necessarily secular, while conservative policies are necessarily non-secular, if not religious?

None of these seem likely.  If this is the case, though, the probability is they want something else, something which would render government religious in substance and not merely form.  And that is a disturbing thought, for those whose idea of religion may differ from those controlling the government.

Musings on the Midterms

No doubt virtually all on earth have an opinion regarding the results of the midterm elections here in this remarkable nation.  That is not a good reason for expressing mine, but I will do so nonetheless.

Naturally, the first reaction is one of relief; we will not be bombarded with relentless advertisements for the politicians which are foisted upon us by their investors--for a time, at least.  There will be those who will blame the peculiarly uninteresting and repetitive commercials we've endured this election on the Citizens United decision, but I doubt it made any material difference.  The stupidity of the advertising is more annoying, to me, than their negativity.  After all, the reviling on those seeking office is a part of the American tradition.  In the early years of the Republic, politicians were regularly lambasted and even slandered, in an almost fantastic manner.  This gives the vituperation of those days a kind of charm.  Ridicule can be amusing, especially when it is exaggerated.  What we experience today, though, is a kind of dull, ponderous, heavy, plodding, sanctimonious disapproval, transmitted in a simplistic, almost insulting fashion.

After this relief, what I feel most is curiosity.  I can feel no joy or even satisfaction in the outcome.  I don't think the Democrats have lost in status and power because they are evil, or incompetent (any more than any other politicians are incompetent) or venal (any more than any other politicians are venal).  I don't think the Republicans have gained in status in power because they are good, or competent, or less inclined to grease their palms and those of their buyers.  The results of this election seem to me to be caused by a very real dissatisfaction.

I'm curious whether those who benefited in the election are aware of this, and will act upon it.  The dissatisfaction seems to have its basis in economic fears more than anything else.  For my part, I doubt our economic problems will be resolved unless we make a concerted effort to reduce our debt, and the bulk of our expenditures are military.  Whether those in government are capable of making any significant reduction in expenditures is an interesting question.  A significant reduction must be made, but in order to be made those who govern must give up power, and those without power must accept that it cannot be employed to their relief in all cases, and neither of these possibilities are likely in this demanding age.

After curiosity, I'm ashamed in a way to admit that what I feel is fear.  In this country, conservative  politics is too much associated with social and religious concerns and views which are restrictive.  Those who profess to favor limited government often feel that the power of government should be employed in imposing certain social and religious norms.  This is one of the reasons why I prefer to describe myself (when I want to or must do so, which thankfully isn't often) as a classical liberal or even libertarian rather than a conservative.  One hopes that those newly elected won't concern themselves with things like prayer in schools, or teaching of creationism along with evolution, or that eternal American fixation, sexual conduct, and its implications for marriage and reproduction and other things, rather than focusing on restoring economic prosperity and stability.

The question is, I believe:  Can we achieve a limited government without imposing unreasonable limitations on thought and conduct?

Certain Views Regarding "Enlightened" Paganism

It seems characteristic of many books addressing philosophical, or "enlightened", paganism in the Roman Empire to describe it as a mere precursor to Christianity, or to criticize its proponents as  being inconsistent by continuing attachment to ancient pagan beliefs and rituals.  By philosophical or enlightened paganism I refer to Stoicism, Cynicism, Platonism or Neo-Platonism, and other philosophical schools prevalent in the empire prior to the advent of Christianity.  Christian authors, even recent Christian authors, generally profess to admire this kind of pagan thought but are at pains to criticize it in some fashion because it is undeniably heathen--i.e. pre-Christian.

It seems to me that those who claim this kind of paganism merely "prepared the way" as it were for Christianity encounter problems because it can be maintained just as easily that Christianity is in many ways simply derivative of this kind of paganism, just as it is in many ways derivative of less enlightened paganism, having borrowed so much of its dogma and ritual from various religions circulating in the empire before Christianity became, in effect, the imperial state religion.

Those who assert that the enlightened pagans betrayed themselves by their willingness to follow the ancient rituals, or were somehow inexplicably compelled to do so despite the wisdom of their other beliefs, encounter similar problems.  These assertions typically contrast the enlightened beliefs with the supposedly silly anthropomorphic simplicity of ancient beliefs and rituals.  However, it would seem that the figure of Christ is inherently anthropomorphic, if not the ultimate in anthropomorphic theism, as at once human and divine.  And, the enlightened pagans tended to justify their adherence to ancient rituals as signs of devotion to aspects of the divine which were merely represented by the various gods and goddesses, but which formed a single unity (not unlike, it would seem, the doctrine of the Trinity and devotion to the saints).

It's difficult not to see this tendency on the part of certain authors as defensive and disingenuous.  It doesn't make much sense to deny the colossal debt Christianity owes to the pagan beliefs prevalent in the empire (not to mention its Jewish origins) at the time of its spectacular growth, although this would seem to be necessary given its claim to exclusiveness and its nature as a revealed religion.

One also finds the somewhat inconsistent view that philosophical paganism failed because it was insufficiently anthropomorphic; that it was left for Christianity, as the true religion, to combine the need for a human religion with the philosophical abstractions said to be needed for truly enlightened thought.

I think it's likely, though, especially as we reconcile ourselves to our disappointingly small place in the universe, that we'll find ourselves more and more attracted to religions which emphasize the non-human characteristics of the divine.  The "enlightened" pagans may have had the right idea after all.

On Censors and Censorship

In the Roman Republic, a censor was a public official who had duties concerning the census, and was also a kind of guardian of public morality.  One of the more famous censors we know of was M. Porcius Cato, commonly known as Cato the Elder for purposes of distinguishing him from M. Porcius Cato the Younger, who as one might guess was a descendant of the elder Cato.  Neither the elder nor the younger Cato were particularly jolly fellows, from what we know of them.  Cato the Elder famously "censored" Scipio Africanus, the great Roman general who defeated Hannibal at Zama, for being depraved and wearing "Greek dress"--in short, for being insufficiently Roman.  Since Hannibal had rampaged through Italy and defeated the legions in every prior engagement, in Scipio's place I would have been inclined to remark that if he was not a good Roman, being "un-Roman" proved to be very useful to Rome in at least one case.

Of course, our word "censorship" derives from the title of the dour busybodies who as censors made life miserable for the ancient Romans in so many ways.  It seems to me appropriate, therefore, that the word "censorship" carries with it a hint of self-righteousness employed in the regulation of free expression.

Currently, there is much ado about National Public Radio's firing of commentator Juan Williams for making some remarks to the effect that when he boards a plane and sees passengers wearing what is believed to be traditional Muslim garb, he becomes nervous.  I have not yet heard of anyone claiming his First Amendment rights were violated, despite the fact that NPR receives some government funding, and am grateful for this; which is not to say it hasn't been claimed by someone, or will not be claimed, as the claim is probably inevitable.  But, there are calls for the cessation of government funding being made by those people one would expect would make such calls, and NPR is being defended by those people one would expect would defend it in these circumstances.  Such is the predictable nature of our politics here in the United States, Rome's rather unlikely successor in today's world.

This latest circus is another indication of how very difficult and sometimes perilous it has become for any person, but especially public figures of any kind, to engage in discourse.  One of the reasons for this is obviously the fact that anything of a vaguely controversial nature which is recorded will be transmitted almost instantly all over the world, and have all sorts of ramifications.  Another reason, I'm afraid, is the fact that everyone has become a censor or potential censor.  Self-righteousness--the most despicable human characteristic, I think--has descended upon us in an almost pentecostal manner, and having received its fiery directive we are spreading out to note and condemn those with whom we disagree at every opportunity.

It is likely, whether we like it or not, that the nervousness referred to by Williams is shared by many others.  That's human nature, I think.  It shouldn't make anyone proud, and it's unquestionably regrettable, and even unjust.  But fear makes us irrational, and that irrationality is not limited to Williams.  His error, if error it was, was to admit he had such feelings on a popular TV show.

Self-righteousness played its part in his termination--there appears to have been nothing in the nature of a "there but for the grace of God" hesitance on  the part of the higher powers at NPR.  It seems that NPR was looking to part ways with him, and that may have played a part as well.  Self-righteousness is now playing a part in the condemnation of NPR, as are other things, most notably the desire to reap a political benefit. 

One wonders if there were different ways in which this incident could have been handled, and it's clear there were, and that it's likely that if there had been a little thought prior to action then we would not have to endure this latest irritating uproar.  But one also must wonder if we've reached a point where the honest airing of thoughts and feelings or reasonable resolution of disputes is even possible, now that words can be taken, in or out of context, and displayed for the world at large in an appeal for outrage to people all too disposed to outrage.

Some Thoughts Regarding "Natural Law"

I'm reading a book called Marcus Aurelius and the Later Stoics by F.W. Bussell, one of the many books which are freely available through, and which I freely download on, my nook, and a sentence of his to the effect that theology without anthropomorphism is Natural Law, "got me thinking" as we like to say.

As far as I'm concerned, the fact that so many of the religions we've dreamt up during our relatively short time on earth ascribe very human traits, and even sometimes forms, to a deity creates problems for their credibility.  Among these problems are those associated with the idea that a supreme being came to live among us, and those which assume that such a being finds peculiarly human conduct or misconduct of great and indeed paramount interest.  For example, for me at least, it's difficult to believe that God is very troubled if we have sex out of wedlock, and even more difficult to believe that he punishes those who do eternally.

"Natural Law" can mean different things, in ethics and in law.  But one of the things about stoicism I find interesting is that it considers human nature, and nature generally, in coming to certain conclusions regarding good conduct and the good life.  In coming to these conclusions, it doesn't necessarily rely on the existence of a transcendent and bafflingly human God functioning as law-giver, although it does maintain that there exists as a part of nature a kind of Divine Spirit or Reason in which we as humans share.  Bussell (and others I've read) seems to feel that the later stoics began to think of this Spirit, or Reason, or Logos as transcendent and personal, and I know that Epictetus, for example, would sometimes refer to it in a personal manner (i.e. as if it were something like a person); but I'm not so sure.

Be that as it may, I'm personally sympathetic to the view that we humans generally share certain characteristics which can be identified and described through the use of our intelligence, just as the rest of nature has characteristics which can be identified and described through the use of that capacity.  If that's the case, it would seem to be possible to use that information in making certain reasonable inferences regarding good conduct and the good life, based on what most of us find desirable (there will always be people who want or at least will profess to want to kill and torture other people, or who are insane, but I don't think their existence precludes us from making such inferences any more than "freaks of nature" or highly unlikely but still possible results prevents us from coming to scientific conclusions as to probable outcomes).

Such inferences could result in certain non-absolute rules, and to the extent that they are based on human nature and the place of humans within nature might be considered something like Natural Law.   Unlike Natural Laws, however, those rules need not be conditioned on a belief that that they exist in some fashion separate from us, or are imposed by some transcendent higher power.  They cannot be separate from humanity or from nature as they are derived from both--from the intelligent consideration of humans as they interact with each other and their environment.

So, perhaps Natural Law theory if broadly defined can have a naturalistic basis, one independent of the need for God as traditionally conceived.

On the Proposed Israeli Loyalty Oath

As lawyers know, the word "and" can be quite significant.  We tend to be sensitive to its use.  It's conjunctive.  So if, for example, a legal right or duty is conditioned on the existence of "X and Y", then normally both X and Y must exist in order for the legal right or duty to apply.  On the other hand, if it's conditioned on "X or Y" then the right or duty will apply if either X or Y exists.

When one pledges loyalty to a "Jewish and democratic state" then, one is in the legal sense pledging loyalty to one that is both Jewish and democratic, not one or the other.  This fact seems to create difficulties.

The proponents of the oath maintain that Israel has been a Jewish state since its foundation; it was, after all, created to be a homeland for Jewish people.  This is apparently noted in its Declaration of Independence (from what, I wonder?--I must check that out).  The fact that it may be a state associated with a particular religion would not in itself make it remarkable.  There are nations which contend they are Islamic, as we know.  As loyalty oaths are fairly common, it would be unsurprising if such nations required loyalty to an Islamic state.  Why should there be any outcry over the fact a Jewish state requires an oath of loyalty to itself as peculiarly Jewish?

Citizens of the U.S., used to the idea of the separation of church and state, may claim that a nation cannot be simultaneously Jewish (or Islamic, or Christian) and democratic--although some of the louder and more belligerent among them seem to claim it is itself a Christian nation.  But that separation is one dreamed up (fortunately, I think) by the shrewd lawyers, merchants and farmers we call the Founders; it isn't a universal characteristic of a democratic government or nation.

But Israel is in this case, and in others, extraordinary.  Some of its population isn't Jewish, and apparently don't wish to be.  It's unlikely they will be eager to pledge their loyalty to a Jewish state of any kind.  It is surrounded by nations which are not Jewish, and apparently don't wish to be, and indeed would rather there would not be a Jewish nation next door to them, or perhaps anywhere in the world.  So, requiring such an oath in these circumstances appears unwise, as a purely practical, political and military matter, because it is bound to create difficulties among Israel's population, its neighbors and, because of the importance of the region, to the world at large.

This kind of problem will arise whenever nations are considered as anything but secular entities.  When they are not merely nations or governments, but are instead nations, governments and religious, or ethnic, and exclusively so, difficulties result, due to intolerance and discrimination.

So we should be thankful to the Founders here in this great republic, and hope that their work won't be overturned by those politicians, pundits and preachers of our time who seek to do so.

Law, Politics, Persuasion and Pessimism

"The law" according to Aaron Burr, an able lawyer among other things, "is whatever is boldly asserted and plausibly maintained."  It's a rather cynical comment.  I'm not sure that is as much the case in the law today as it was in his time; the law has become so complicated that extensive knowledge of it, or particular areas of it, is likely more essential than it was in his relatively carefree time.  But his comment is applicable to many other things, and is particularly applicable to our politics and culture as to what is believed to be true or significant--although it's questionable whether it is necessary to plausibly maintain most anything anymore.

Recently, I argued a case before the Supreme Court of the state in which I practice.  Because this court in most cases is not required to accept appeals, this is quite rare.  It can be an interesting and daunting experience.  I've done it before, but in this case the argument was not held in the imposing courtroom at the state capitol, but in the local court of the county in which the cases to be argued arose, apparently as part of a project to "bring" the court to the people, giving them an opportunity to see how the state's highest court operates.  So, the courtroom was mobbed, and had the atmosphere of an event, even a kind of show, which was unusual given the nature of the case in which I appeared, which has legal significance but is not terribly exciting.

I think this is a fine idea, and don't think it impacted the quality of the arguments at all.  Bold assertions plausibly maintained may impress but tend to be less compelling in the higher courts, even when an unusually large audience is present.  But this admirable idea of exposing the less known aspects of the functioning of the law to those interested reminded me that we as a people are more than ever a kind of audience, who expect events or shows, and are persuaded by them, for good or ill.

When the highest court of a jurisdiction becomes involved in a case, and has the discretion to accept matters, public policy will generally be an issue.  In interpreting and applying a statute, however, a court should not impose its own view of what is appropriate, in most cases.  The policy behind a law is presumably the concern of the legislature which adopted the law; part of the obligation of the court is to determine legislative intent, and the language of the law is all important to this determination.

This is a sound rule, as legislators are elected representatives of the people empowered to adopt laws.  But in these times when the show is so important and apparently so persuasive, one has to wonder whether elected legislators have the interests of the people in mind.

It's election time in this great republic, and advertisements for the various candidates (they cannot reasonably be called anything else) deluge us.  These advertisements are (perhaps necessarily) simple-minded, bombastic and, of course negative--they don't even extol the virtues of the preferred candidate, being focused exclusively on the many defects of his/her opponent.  They boldly assert, and are intended to persuade, but no effort is made to plausibly persuade anyone. 

I find this approach insulting, and ignore the advertising as much as possible, but it is pervasive--it can't be escaped.  Surely, it must have some effect.  Presumably, commercials regarding beer and cars and various other products influence consumers, though I've never considered myself particularly influenced.  Why else would such huge amounts money be paid to create such things?

It is now commonly felt, I think, that our politicians are products like any other, and have been bought and sold so many times before they are elected that they cannot serve the interests of any but their current owners.  If that isn't too cynical a view, it's hard not to consider that at least a limited kind of judicial activism is to be encouraged--unless, of course, judges are made as susceptible as politicians to the influence of others.  This would seem to require that they be protected from such influence.

It's the old problem, of course.  How independent can the judiciary be without becoming a kind of anti-democratic elite?  Can we hope that the politicians, pundits and preachers who endlessly hector us will be unsuccessful in their efforts to persuade us with mere assertions?  When will we demand that they provide plausible explanations for their claims and actions?

Santayana and the Tea-Partiers

I just completed Santayana's Character and Opinion in the United States, and was struck by what he writes regarding liberty in the final essay of that book.  He was comparing what he calls "English liberty" favorably with other conceptions of liberty, and those "other conceptions" seem disturbingly familiar in these disturbing times.

Conceptions of liberty, like most things, may be reasonable or unreasonable.  Reasonable conceptions of liberty, according to Santayana as I understand him, acknowledge limitations to liberty, because it is necessary to do so to achieve anything resembling harmony in our affairs.  X's liberty may infringe on that of Y; it may be necessary to restrict liberty in some cases to foster the common good; we shouldn't have the liberty to trample upon others, much as we may wish to do so, merely because we may do so, still less because we think we should do so.  "English liberty" which was largely the conception of liberty acknowledged by those we insist on calling the Founders of this glorious Republic, and the political system they put in place is therefore one which operates as a series of "checks and balances" on power as we were all taught, or perhaps simply told, in the happy days of our youth.

Conceptions of liberty which maintain that we all should be free to do whatever we like are unreasonable.  Too often, those who maintain this view actually mean that they should be free to do whatever they like.  It is a conception of liberty which seems essentially (and inevitably) selfish.  Santayana notes that it is often a highly romantic view, having its basis not only in self-love but in the belief that we are entitled to unlimited freedom because this is required for us to achieve some goal set either by some God or ourselves in some personal quest for glory or renown, or because this is a kind of birthright we have merely by being humans (or better humans than others).  It is the conception of liberty peculiar to the martyr, the madman and the criminal according to Santayana.

This conception of liberty seems to have taken hold of some of us.  I confess to having libertarian leanings, but the tendency of some to object to almost all government action of any kind and to object to it because it infringes on our self-proclaimed sacred liberty is a matter of concern.  It is, first, unrealistic.  Any thinking person in these times must know that his/her liberty is necessarily restricted, and that he/she wants the liberty of others to be restricted.  It is hypocritical.  If something bad happens to one holding this conception of liberty, it may reasonably be expected that they will be shrieking that the government should be doing something about it.

It seems to have its basis in a romantically nostalgic view of a past which likely never existed.  The cowboy, a kind of 19th century migrant-worker, probably didn't celebrate his freedom much.  His life was likely a Hobbesian one, nasty, brutish and short.  The very wealthy and well-off doubtless had pretty much their way with everyone else in the past; it's not that long ago that the robber-barons did whatever they pleased, and if we but think a bit it will occur to us that most of us would not have been then, and are not now, in a position to do whatever we please, and that we'd rather not see others doing as they pleased.

Limitations on government (and especially government spending) are desirable.  But the current anti-government movement is too often infantile and short-sighted.  Those limitations should be intelligent limitations.  The fact is that most of those on our hectic political stage are not seeking limitations in any intelligent sense.  They are as beholden to special interests and certain government programs as any other politicians.  If they are brave enough to support cuts in spending, they will not do so with respect to that spending those who support them consider to be their bread and butter.

Reasonableness and the Sacred Chickens

One of my favorite stories of the ancient Romans involves Publius Claudius Pulcher and some sacred chickens.  Pulcher was a consul during the First Punic War and commanding a fleet sent to take a Carthaginian port.  Romans were especially superstitious where the sea was concerned, but it was in any case not unusual for the sacred chickens to be consulted before a battle.  They would be fed grain.  If they ate it, the battle would be won; if they declined to eat, the battle would be lost.  In this case, the chickens were duly released and the grain displayed before them.  They were not interested.  Pulcher was told the sacred chickens wouldn't eat.  "Then" he responded, "let us see if they will drink" and had them thrown into the water.

Drinking (and drowning) was no substitute for eating, though, and the Romans lost the sea battle.  But I've been an admirer of Pulcher ever since I read this story.

In some ways, we remain as superstitious as we were some 2300 years ago.  There are moments when we recognize just how silly it is to be irrational in this fashion, and react much as Pulcher did when it suits us to do so.  Thereafter, we may not be as superstitious in the future, or we may conclude that whatever God or Fate we appealed to so unsuccessfully had reasons for disappointing us (which we need not understand), and keep on feeding the damn chickens.

This kind of stupidity on our part is not limited to religious beliefs or lesser rituals devoted to what we call "luck."  We see it whenever we strongly feel that something is or should be the case, or want something so badly that we're unwilling to make a reasonable assessment of whether it can be obtained, and act accordingly.  We see it quite often these days in our political and cultural disputes.

The Pontifex Maximus (as I like to call him) is currently visiting the United Kingdom (or maybe he left already--it doesn't matter).  Unsurprisingly, he is calling for a resurgence of religious belief, which he feels is somehow the cause of, or at least connected to, virtuous conduct in life and especially in government.  Other, and of course necessarily lesser, religious leaders have joined him in urging us "back" into the fold.  Many of us honestly seem to feel that if only we start worshiping some God in some fashion things will get better.  Just which God is to be worshipped and how that is done vary from place to place, person to person.

I happen to think virtuous conduct is desirable, and of course that we should be more virtuous.  However, I don't think we can achieve this by further resort to the kinds of Gods and religions we've been more or less (generally less) devoted to for a very, very long time.  In other words, I doubt that further recourse to the sacred chickens of our time will be useful.

We must face the fact that we've been down this path many times before, and achieved nothing.  There is no reason to believe that returning to the path will do us any more good than it has done in the past.  Invariably, no matter how much we claim that we are required by some God to do certain things, or that failing to do those things will result in our doom, we don't do them with any frequency or regularity.  I think this is in large part due to the fact that we aren't inclined to, for example, be virtuous, merely because we think some God wants us to be or requires us to be.  We're inclined to act in certain ways when we see some practical benefit result from the act.

Practical benefit results, over the long term, from thinking; from a reasonable assessment of the circumstances in the context of what is to be done to achieve a desirable outcome.  Long term benefit won't be achieved, however, by focusing on the achievement of purely personal desires.  The world is far too complicated and crowded now, in any case, to go it alone.  From a purely practical standpoint if for no other reason, we're required to acknowledge the existence of others, and their desires.

The traditional religions discourage thought; they especially discourage the application of thought to improving ourselves and our circumstances.  This isn't to say that they are utterly bad or that they have contributed nothing of value.  Often, they laud good conduct, but they do so for reasons which are ultimately unconvincing or which draw our attention to some hypothetical other existence or place.  Some devoutly religious people have been very good people, but the nature of their devotion has rendered them unique--they're few and far between, as is said.  We must turn to a religion, or morality, which emphasizes our betterment for different reasons.

O tempora! O mores!

Cicero must have been something to see, once he got going.  By all accounts he was quite adept at words as a Senator and as a lawyer; as Consul as well, of course.  Thoughtfully, he saw to it that his words were preserved for our benefit.  He may be said to have dug his own grave with them, at least as far as Anthony was concerned.  But I doubt Cicero himself would have the words needed to adequately describe our times, our manners.

We have words, and we say and write them with particular urgency these days, it seems.  For good or ill, we all have the tools needed to do so now on what can be called a world stage.  By posting this, I participate in the clamor.  Perhaps I am as guilty as anyone else of the seemingly pathological narcissism we may all indulge in courtesy of this great democratic tool, or highway, as I think the Supreme Court once called it when striking down some attempt to restrict the Internet is some manner, no doubt related to sex.

It is a remarkable tool, and like all our tools may be used wisely or unwisely.  I won't romanticize it or our other technology, nor will I weep at its results.  But I think it may fairly be said that it is one of the results of our technology that our worst and our best are immediately known, to all who need but look (and sometimes have no need to do so).  Unfortunately, our worst is far more prevalent than our best.  And now it is ubiquitous.

A tiny group of--somethings--decides to burn the holy book of millions around the world for reasons which are at best unclear, and all must know of it.  The antics of this curious little congregation actually put people in danger.  To some extent, they do so because there are those who are equally bizarre in their beliefs, and maintain that burning the book or even threatening to do so is not merely stupid, but profoundly sinful and just cause for violence.  In other respects, though, we allow them to do so, and even encourage their efforts.  We do that by paying attention to them, and by treating them as in some sense significant.  It's likely that in no other time in history have so few been allowed to wreck such havoc so instantly. 

The stoics were right, I think, in pointing out that it is not the acts, words or thoughts of others that cause us distress, but rather our judgment of them.    We live in a time where virtually everyone has the capacity (with the assistance of the frenetic media denizens, pundits, politicians and preachers who infest our society) to foist themselves and their often mindless beliefs on us at all times.  If we hope to go through life unmanipulated, thoughtful and tranquil, we must learn to disregard this intrusion in our lives when it is clear that it can only result in distress to us and others if given any serious consideration.  This can be done, and extraordinary effort isn't required.

Everybody (in certain cases) Must Get Stoned

It's difficult to believe that even in these highly irrational times there is a need for people and even sovereign nations or institutions like the Vatican to condemn stoning.  The need exists, of course, because people and even sovereign nations (one in particular) believe we must, under certain circumstances, be stoned.  That is also difficult to believe.

It can be argued, of course, that those people or nations who feel the death penalty is applicable in certain cases have no business condemning the manner in which that penalty is imposed.  But the counter-argument that the death penalty should be applied only in cases of extreme misconduct (which does not include adultery), and when applied should not be carried out in such a manner as to assure the process is particularly painful and drawn out, seems an effective riposte--for those committed to the death penalty, in any case. 

The practice of stoning seems to be one developed if not popularized during the Bronze Age, where we humans for various reasons developed certain practices and beliefs which plague us to this day.  I know too little of Islam or, if you wish, extreme versions of it, to state whether it is believed in this case that stoning is one of those punishments claimed to have been cheerfully imposed by the Deity.  I know stoning was practiced by the ancient Jews, if the Bible is any guide; we all know that it was suggested that he who is without sin should throw the first stone.  It is possible that stoning is not the cruelest death ever devised by our clever species.  The Romans crucified, and it's difficult to imagine a worse death.  Still, stoning may be the cruelest of deaths being imposed by the righteous these days.

I haven't heard of anyone taking the position of the cultural relativists in this debate.  But surely there must be someone, perhaps some academic or student of an academic, somewhere, who would if pressed assert that this is one of those customs which we cannot judge as right or wrong, being irretrievably guided by prejudices imposed on us for which there is no real justification (there being, of course, no such thing as justification in any real sense--not that anything is real). 

This kind of response just doesn't sit well, though.  I feel it doesn't because there are certain things which we find repulsive when we are thinking.  That is to say, when we are not in a state where it is believed that thinking is improper for some reason--because, e.g., God has done that already and come to certain absolute conclusions which cannot be questioned but must simply be imposed.  When we question, we think.  When we think, we wonder whether something is fair or appropriate.  We may even wonder whether God would want someone stoned or burned.

This is the kind of thing which makes me wonder whether the "New Atheists" as they are called are right, and religion is something to be condemned and eradicated.  But that would be to accept an absolute conclusion as well; that one cannot be religious and thoughtful.  And it seems apparent that there have been those who were "religious" and still thought, and having thought could not accept that there is some implacable Deity which requires that we be cruel to one another in certain circumstances.  Some of these people are still around today, and they are not to be scorned.

Restoring Religion

I suppose it was inevitable that the event in D.C. held by Glenn Beck, a wretch once lost but now found, would ultimately become a kind of salvation show.  Like other such wretches, he's determined that others find what he found.  He seems a strange fellow; one can see why he was lost, why he was blind and now "sees."  He is emotional, even sentimental, and his appeal, such as it is, is emotional and sentimental.  One can argue that one must willfully forsake reason to accept wholesale the claims of the Mormon and other institutionalized religions.

One need not be vapid and weepy in order to be religious.  It's possible to be thoughtfully religious.  But thought doesn't bring in the crowds, nor does it make believers of the kind sought by Beck and others of his kind.

It's unfortunate that the kind of religion most seem to favor and seek in this great republic and elsewhere requires that one give up thinking.  What is necessary instead is the belief that all thinking--to the extent thought is even required--has been done already by a kind of Law-Giver, who seems oddly human for the creator of such a vast universe.  He's determined what is good and bad, what we should and should not do, what we should and should not think, and that's all there is to it.  It's merely necessary that we accept this and all will be well, with us and and the world.  We need only follow His orders.   We don't have to determine what the appropriate course may be; we don't have to resolve problems by intelligently considering the circumstances and making reasoned decisions.

It's hard to think--to think well, in any case--and it's comforting to believe that it isn't really needed.  But it seems a pathetic, hypocritical and even cowardly  response to the problems of life to dispense with reason and accept instead as governing in all cases a set of rules which we have in fact always managed not to follow whenever it pleased us to ignore them.

It's surely hard to think, but it's dangerous not to, particularly where our politics are concerned.  If we would rather not think, if we become convinced that there are predetermined rules which merely need to be enforced and that there are those who know these rules and how to enforce them, the kind of politics we're likely to favor and accept are anti-democratic; totalitarian, authoritarian and even theocratic.

The Great American City

Let's ignore "Mosque Madness" for a time or if you'd rather not, depart from this place as I do so.

I post today to sing the praises of the City of the Broad Shoulders (don't be intimidated by them), renowned for many things if not (yet?) the fact that it is the place of my birth.  Yes, it's my kind of town, my hometown, where, invariably, I lose the blues.  And it's true of course that not even Billy Sunday could shut it down.

My maternal grandmother learned how to knit at Hull House.  My maternal grandfather was a conductor on the L (which I've also seen characterized as the EL) back when the CTA had conductors and would take my brother and I along on his route now and then.  My parental grandparents were both in Vaudeville, and performed in Chicago and elsewhere.  My maternal grandparents are buried in the same cemetery, and not far from, the last resting places of Al Capone and Frank Nitte.

I've mentioned before here that Norman Mailer called it "a great American city" in his New Journalism classic Miami and the Siege of Chicago, and that I think of it as the Great American City.  Wandering through Grant Park at the Gold Coast Art Fair I was reminded of when, in 1968, the "whole world was watching" the Democratic Convention dissolve into chaos courtesy of disaffected college students and the police of the city.  Sitting in Andy's Jazz Club on East Hubbard and listening to a trio play a few days ago, I felt called on to explain why I think it's a special place.

Happily, the smell of the stockyards is no longer with us, but Chicago owes much of its status and history to them, and to the railroad.  It was for many years the hub which all roads led to and from in the days when Americans rode the rails, and many of the great from the east and the west coasts would stop there.  Route 66 commenced in the city.  It was and remains a great financial center.  It is very much a central city, more or less in the heart of the nation.  It is sufficiently detached from the east and west coasts to avoid the influence, both good and bad, of foreign nations to a greater extent than New York and L.A.

Insulated from that influence, it developed a peculiarly American sense of style, particularly in its architecture.  A friend who has lived for many years in Manhattan told me Chicago is much more interesting in its architecture than New York, and I think he is quite right.  Burnham, Wright and others did amazing things in and out of the Loop.  Great American writers had their origins in the city.  John Dewey and Jane Adams did great work there.

It seems to exude a kind of power, a quasi-Roman kind of grandeur.  It is a very practical city, as Rome once was, and a very violent and venal city, as Rome once was.  It is remarkable in that it was once openly run by gangsters, that is to say rival men of power, again as Rome once was, during the late Republic, when Marius, Sulla, Pompey, Caesar, Anthony and Octavian dominated.

Money, violence and politics seem to be peculiarly American concerns in some ways, and they are grandly on display in Chicago.  Yet it's also accomplished in the arts.  Literature and poetry, though sometimes harsh, flourished there.  It is one of the great homes of jazz, the peculiarly American musical form.  The rather brazen works of Picasso and Chagall seem very much at home there.

New York is a world capital (as I think Mailer called it).  Los Angeles may have become one as well.  They seem, sometimes, removed from the United States in certain ways.  Chicago does not, ever.  Chicago is the Great American City

The Thing that's (too?) Near the Place: Some Lessons to be Learned

There are many lessons to be learned from this, the amazing saga of the Thing (called sometimes a mosque, or an Islamic culture center with place of prayer, or something that's not a mosque) that's near--but not on--the Place (called sometimes Ground Zero, or the site on which the World Trade Center once stood, or the grave site).  One of them is that the application of intelligence rather than emotion results in certain conclusions which are useful in creating some perspective, and would have probably prevented the very unfortunate circumstances which now obtain.  If we remove the emotion, histrionics and posturing, I think we must conclude the following:

The law clearly allows the use.  That should be all the state has to say about the matter.  The law has nothing to do, and should have nothing to do, with encouraging the use or discouraging the use.  There is no legal issue.  First Amendment rights or other legal rights will not be violated regardless of whether the Thing is built near the Place.  First Amendment rights in any case can only be violated by the state.  So, those like Dr. Laura and others who claim their First Amendment rights are being violated whenever people get angry at them for saying something are, very simply, wrong.  Those who try to characterize this mess as being about the "freedom of religion" are either ignorant or disingenuous.  Those who claim that the Thing must be built near the Place because that's what the Constitution is all about are at best very misinformed.

Commentary by functionaries of the state (including politicians of all sorts) should be limited accordingly.  Their concern should only be with the law. They should limit comment to what the state can or cannot do, legally.  They may also, of course, urge a change in the law.  But that's all they should do.

There is no legal prohibition against people, even lots of people, disagreeing with a proposed real estate development of any kind. or doing so loudly, insistently, and even stupidly.  They may lobby their representatives to change the law if they desire.  The mere fact that they do so does not mean that they are bigots.  Whether they are bigots may be determined by what they say and how they act, but it doesn't follow they are bigots merely because they say the development is inappropriate or do something to stop it, within the law.  Those who claim that anyone who opposes the development is a bigot are wrong, and being provocative.

Those Muslims who hate the United States and wish it harm will not be convinced or influenced not to hate the United States or not to do it harm if the Thing is built near the Place.  They hate the United States and wish it harm for reasons unrelated to the Thing.

Those who believe all Muslims hate the United States and wish it harm have no reasonable basis on which to do so.

There is no reasonable basis on which to assert that the Thing is being funded by terrorists, nor is there any reason at this time to even wonder whether it is being funded by terrorists.  The developer has no obligation to provide information regarding funding for the project to anyone.

The controversy which has resulted could have been anticipated.  The developer must have known that the process of obtaining approval from the local authorities would make the project public, and that protests would be made.  For good or ill, this happens quite frequently with real estate developments of many kinds, not merely religious ones.  It happens when commercial developments believed to contain obnoxious uses are involved, when low-income housing is involved, when community based residential facilities are involved, when wind towers are involved.  Perhaps the developer thought there would be no problem; if so, the developer is paying for that rather foolish conclusion now.  If it was not anticipated, it should be clear to everyone, now, including the developer, that if the Thing is built near the Place there could be trouble, even though there should not be trouble.

The developer has a decision to make.  The developer must decide whether to continue with the building of the Thing near the Place, or elsewhere.  The developer is probably best advised not to listen to anyone on either side of the controversy.  The developer has no obligation to please either side.  The developer should consider what is in the best interests of the project.  That will depend on the goal of the project.  If the goal of the project is to build a fine Islamic Cultural Center with or without a mosque, that is not necessarily dependent on it being located near the Place.  It may be the most sensible location depending on the economics of the situation--that's something I don't know and have not seen addressed.  If that's the case, the developer must weigh the benefits against the risks in this complicated situation.  If it's not, the developer must still weigh the benefits against the risks and determine whether to take the project somewhere else.

It's the developer's decision to make. 

The Scope of Judicial Authority

The late philosopher Sidney Hook has some interesting things to say regarding the authority of the Supreme Court in his book Paradoxes of Freedom, published in 1987.  Essentially, he claims that the authority exercised by the Supremes in determining adopted legislation to be unconstitutional is (1) not granted by the Constitution, and (2) fundamentally undemocratic (perhaps anti-democratic is more appropriate).

Hook seems very fond of Thomas Jefferson.  I'm not.  I think he was very much a hypocrite, in various ways, and particularly regarding political power.  His actions when he had power were quite contrary to and went far beyond the limits he claimed so frequently should be placed on those who held power when he did not.  There's no doubting his significance in American history, though, or his brilliance.  In any case, his problems with the judiciary when he presided over the United States were many and serious, and I don't know that he was quite the objective analyst of judicial power Hook seems to think him to be.

Hook does have a point, though.  The Constitution doesn't appear to say anything regarding the power to hold legislation unconstitutional which was assumed by the Court long ago and is and has been exercised so avidly by it and lesser courts ever since.  And, there is something not very democratic about the Supremes, and the judiciary generally, having the last word regarding the validity and enforceability of legislation adopted by the duly elected representatives of the people.  The Supremes, of course, are appointed for life, and there is no significant check on them once they ascend, as it were, to the bench of the nation's highest court.  They may die or grow incapable, or may be subject to impeachment for high crimes and misdemeanors, but that is all.

Hook argues, rather persuasively I think, that the (legendary in some respects) Founders never intended this result. 

I think there are some controls in place.  I have rather more confidence in the force of precedent than Hook does, and think the judiciary is, generally in any case, naturally conservative in the sense that judges don't feel comfortable in actively tinkering with the law by the time they reach the higher courts.  The Supremes seem to have had the ability to control themselves in most cases (I know there are some who would disagree with me on this point).  But it's interesting to consider what would happen if a group of 5 or so determined "lawmakers" somehow found their way onto the Court, and began actively to strike down legislation in pursuit of a particular agenda which could not be justified in the manner legal decisions normally (but not in all cases) are supported at least on their face, i.e., by established law of some kind.

Just what could be done in that case?  Such activity doesn't seem to be in the nature of a high crime or misdemeanor.  I think all kinds of extra-legal pressures would be employed, assuming the agenda turns out to be unpopular.  But it would seem that the only legally effective recourse would be a constitutional amendment expressly restricting judicial authority.  There are of course other possibilities depending on how just extreme matters become, such as lower courts refusing to follow Supreme Court decisions, popular uprisings, dissolution of the Union, but I like to think that these are unlikely, even in our remarkable time.

The Magnificent Seven (American Philosophers)

There was quite a bit going on in American philosophy, starting in the late 19th century and extending well into the 20th.  These names stand out, I think:  C.S. Peirce, William James, John Dewey, Josiah Royce, Ralph Barton Perry, George Santayana and Roy Wood Sellars.

Santayana was actually born in Spain, of course, but spent only his early years there; his philosophical career can fairly be called American.  And, I don't mean to discount other American philosophers of prominence in the 20th century, some in the pragmatic tradition, some not.  But these seven seem to me to be of particular significance.  Perry and Sellars, unfortunately, are mostly forgotten, it seems.

They were all, naturally enough, influenced by the theory of evolution.  They were all not religious in any traditional sense.  They all had concerns which related to practical and social (science, education, politics, art, law) matters in addition to any concern they may have had with the "special" metaphysical or epistemological concerns of philosophy which seem, to me at least, so apart from the way we live our lives (Peirce perhaps can be said to have had more of an interest in certain of the "special" concerns than the others, but as the creator of the pragmatic method he was something of a revolutionary and turned the focus of those concerns to us and the world in which we live, and away from futile speculations induced by the tendency to "doubt in philosophy what we do not doubt in our hearts").  And, they all felt philosophers could, as philosophers, address those concerns; and they addressed them.

One wonders if the time in which they worked contributed to their emphasis on the real.  There were great changes being made in technology, the character of America was changing with massive immigration, there was the Great War, the new movements in art, music and literature.  The world was rather hard to ignore.  Some think we live in a similar time.  Perhaps we'll be fortunate, and we'll encounter similar minds.

Of course, they differed in very significant respects as well.  But they were all participants in an effort to "recover" philosophy, to use Dewey's word, to addressing the "problems of men" to use Dewey's phrase.  I think that philosophy may have returned to the contemplation of the practically useless for a time.  But there are indications that might be changing.  In any case, I hope that's changing.

Of a Mosque in Manhattan

I've deliberately ignored the saga of the plans for a mosque near what the media insists on calling "Ground Zero" (as if it is the only such place) to the extent reasonably possible.  This isn't to say I'm completely ignorant of it; I've simply tried to avoid what I assumed would be the incessant and relatively mindless chattering of politicians, pundits and preachers on the subject.  Now that it appears it will take place, for the time being in any case, I feel an inclination to comment on the matter, so bear with me (or don't, if you like).

Since Congress in its wisdom adopted the strangely named Religious Land Use and Incarcerated Persons Act (RLUIPA), local governments which prohibit the use of land for religious purposes may find themselves experiencing the delights of litigation in the federal court.  Local governments are precluded from doing so except when they can establish good cause which must, of course, have nothing to do with the contemplated religious use.  The law has very real, and sharp, teeth.  Successful litigants may be awarded costs and attorneys fees, and even punitive damages in some cases, in addition to a court order that the planned use be allowed.

It's not very surprising, then, that permission was granted.  It would be difficult in this case to establish that a refusal to grant permission had nothing to do with the religious nature (the Islamic nature) of the contemplated use, and litigation would likely have resulted on a refusal.  It may still result now, though I'm not sure what the basis for any action would be.

There seems to be no basis in the law on which objection to the use can be made.  Are there other bases?

This can't legitimately be said to be the equivalent of establishing the headquarters of a neo-Nazi party next to Auschwitz, I think.  Those who carried out the 9/11 attacks are evidently not representative of Islam.  Still, it's hard not to think that those who intend to build this mosque suffer, at the least, from an insensitivity which is monumental.  It's also difficult to believe that those who intend to build the mosque were unaware of the fact that the community would find it very objectionable.

Why, then, decide to place the mosque in this location?  Unless it's the case that it simply could not be placed anywhere else (and I don't know this has been established), one must wonder regarding the intent involved.  It's likely that the mosque will be a site of protest and controversy (and possibly even violence) for quite some time to come; this would be the expectation of any reasonable person, I think.  Why would those involved in this development invite such a result, if they had any alternative?  These are questions which inevitably come to mind, and it would not be surprising in these emotionally charged circumstances that some of those who consider these questions infer that some disagreeable intent is involved, and act accordingly.

I don't particularly like RLUIPA, as I think it creates a de facto preference for religious land use (de jure too, I suppose) and I don't think the state should be involved in favoring religious use in this manner, regardless of the nature of the religion involved.  I don't think it is "wrong" (immoral) that a mosque be built in this case, but I think a case can be made that it is unwise and even offensive, and that unfortunate results may be anticipated.  It therefore seems to make no sense to build a mosque at this location.

If Only We Would Stop Thinking

The apparent prejudice many of those thought to be great figures in our intellectual history have against the "real world" and our interaction with it continues to baffle me.  I wonder, though, if any such figure can be a more impressive example of the problems which result from this prejudice than Henri Bergson.  There is something amazing about Bergson.  He is a thinker who wants us to stop thinking.

He seems to recognize that we think, normally, very much in the way that a Deweyian Pragmatist would maintain that we do.  In other words, when we think, we do so with a purpose in mind; we wish to solve a problem or attain some other end.  When we think well, critically and analytically, we achieve practical results, and this is good in a way, he admits.  But this seems an admission he makes only grudgingly.  This is the way we proceed on a common sense basis, and also when we're doing science.  We obtain great benefits as a consequence.  But this simply is not good enough.

If I understand him correctly (and it is sometimes difficult to believe he's being serious) thinking prevents us from truly knowing anything.  Our thoughts, and particularly our language, prevent us from discerning what is truly "real."  In thinking, we interpose constructs in place of the real.  Worse, we focus on certain things to the exclusion of others.  By focusing on one thing in particular, we fail to acknowledge other things (we fail to know them).  And, as we focus on things for a purpose, we can never know even that thing.  We must stop this business of thinking if we're going to really know.  Philosophers should know what is truly real.  So, philosophers should stop thinking.

We can only know what is truly real by intuiting it, in some fashion that is not described, and probably can't be described, as that would involve the use of language and that troublesome tendency to think we indulge in all too often.  Bergson is reduced to employing analogy as a means to communicate what cannot be communicated.  It's all rather Zen, in a way.

He apparently maintains that the way in which memory functions supports his view.  His view of memory seems rather antiquated, however.  Specifically, references to the fact that we can, under hypnosis or otherwise, recall past events in minute detail may not be as persuasive as intended given the phenomenon of "false memory."

What I find marvelous about this (not in a good way) is the extent to which it divorces what we are and what we do from what is claimed to be true, and ultimately worthy.  The fact that we are a "thinking animal" becomes for Bergson a problem.  It prevents us from knowing.  We can't even console ourselves by lauding scientific achievements.  Presumably, as these result from extended thought and analysis, they merely emphasize the fact that we fail to know what is real.  It seems the more we achieve, the more we think, the less we know.

What can Bergson mean?  Let's acknowledge that one can, through meditation and mindfulness, for example, experience oneself and the rest of reality in a manner different from the manner we normally do when we're golfing or working on a project of some kind.  When we focus on a particular task, it certainly can legitimately be argued we ignore other things, people, occurrences.  Is this all he means?  If so, why infer from such commonplaces some dramatic theory that we cannot know what is truly real?

There is something dangerous about this view.  It encourages thoughtlessness.  It seems to encourage mysticism, and the irrational.  If we can't know what is true by thinking, particularly analytic or critical thinking, how is it possible to make judgments regarding what is true or what we know?  On what basis would we distinguish between the intuitions of person X or those of person Y, and indeed, why would we want to do so?

I'm simplifying, of course.  Bergson seems to believe philosophers will be able to communicate with each other in some fashion regarding the real and true.  And he thinks, and analyzes, and reasons, and does all those things we shouldn't do, he claims, to truly know what is real.  He was a human being, after all, and that is what we do, very naturally, though sometimes we do it well and sometimes we don't.  Why does he and why do others feel we shouldn't do what humans do, quite naturally, and--worse yet?--do it well?

On the Death of Death in the Afternoon

The Catalans have decided to abolish bullfighting, and this leads me to muse on this peculiar display, or custom, or institution, or whatever it may be.

I'm hardly an expert.  I've read Hemingway, of course, and know his fondness for matadors and of bullfighting in general, so I have what knowledge can be absorbed from reading him.  I've seen some film of these animals being tormented by picadors and dispatched by the matador, and of the parade they put on before the torment begins.

As may be guessed, I have no objection to this spectacle being abolished, in Catalonia or elsewhere.  I can't say I've ever understood the explanations, or justifications, of bullfighting to the extent I know of them.  I can't recall exactly what Hemingway wrote--something about courage, and grace, and defying fate, and custom, and art, I think; some romantic musings about life and death.   He made an outraged old lady his foil in his book on the issue; a very typical Hemingway touch.  Papa was somewhat peculiar himself, of course, and could be rather brusque in characterizing people.  He thought El Greco was a homosexual based on the appearance of his paintings ("viva El Greco el rey de los maricons").

I think one need be neither an old lady nor a homosexual to be baffled by bullfighting--why it takes place, why anyone finds it interesting or attractive.  The Romans, of course, amused themselves by watching men fight various wild animals.  But even the Romans had pity on the animals now and then (especially elephants) and the crowd would actually stop the shows in some cases.  Also, the Romans didn't idolize the animal fighters as they did the gladiators.  They recognized there could be no real glory in killing a beast.

I'm not sure there is any glory in killing a human, but would agree with the Romans there is certainly none in killing an animal, especially killing one in a lengthy, convoluted, showy, elaborate manner.  After being repeatedly gored by men on horseback and on foot, it's a wonder a bull can do anything at all to a matador, let alone hit one with a horn now and then.  A matador would seem to have to deliberately put himself in harms way to incur any risk--which I suppose may be what delights the fans of bullfighting in some fashion.

If so, there are other ways of achieving such a result.  Displays of boxing or other martial arts at least pit human against human.  There can be said to be something in the nature of fairness involved in those cases. Each participant knows the risk, each has trained for the fight, they are more or less equally matched (each of them are human, at least, and can think and plan and react intelligently).

Using custom, tradition, history, art, or most anything, to justify tormenting and killing an animal seems a shabby thing.  One wonders why this macabre display survives, anywhere.