Regarding the "Mount Vernon Statement"

I've been asked by a conservative friend to "sign" the Mount Vernon Statement.  Actually, he sent me a canned email message I assume he was provided when he electronically accepted it himself, and was thereupon encouraged to foward to the email boxes of unsuspecting others.

It seems a relatively harmless statement, as such silly statements go.  Doubtless it was carefully drafted to be acceptable to most of that ideological persuasion.  There seems nothing especially weird about it.  No insistence, for example, on the United States being a "Christian" nation, whatever that is supposed to mean, or being the instrument of God's will in this evil world (one wonders what battles were fought to exclude such pretentions).   And, being of a libertarian bent (which does not mean Libertarian, my dear readers), if I have any political position at all, I'm not automatically adverse to all those who call themselves conservative, though certain of them--all too visible in these tiresome times--make me groan.  I have no intention of signing it, however.

First, I'm fearful of what would happen if I did.  Would I appear on some dreadful electronic list, and be bombarded with exhortations and appeals from such as Limbaugh or Beck or, worse yet, the Republican Party or its members?  There may be worse fates, true.  I could be subjected to communications from the Democratic Party as well.  The idiots and venal creatures infecting our politics are legion; I wish there was some Ambrose Bierce for our time, who would shower them with the splendid vituperation they deserve.

Second, I'm hesitant to identify myself with any political group which holds itself out as being, somehow, wise, or at least wiser than others.  Why bother to do so?  Being something of a pragmatist, I understand that I will never agree with such and such group or party on all things, because I believe that intelligence, properly applied, is not rigid.  Intelligence, as I believe Dewey would say, is a method of resolving problems; it isn't a set of select standards to be applied in each case, or a recipe to be followed in every instance.  There may be certain things we have found to be most, or more, effective in bringing about desirable results over the years; it may be that certain forms of government have been shown to be more likely to result in the free application of intelligence and freedom of thought, and the freedom to live our lives most productively in accordance with our own desires, than others.  But, purporting to commit ourselves to such things as "family, neighborhood, community and faith" to paraphrase this statement, to the extent it means anything at all, is either to commit ourselves to a limited and possibly (and most likely) exclusivist point of view, or to something so vague as to be practically meaningless.

The statement is merely another aspect of the increasing polarization taking place in our politics, I fear.   There is no need to make a such a statement.  There is a need to identify problems and attempt to resolve them, in a realistic and non-ideological manner.

Stoicism and the Status Quo

I saw on some blog an argument that stoicism is a philosophy favoring the status quo.  According to the author, that's why it was the favorite philosophy of the Roman Emperors.

Although no emperor was named, one must assume the author had Marcus Aurelius in mind, and may have somehow concluded, rather stupidly, from the fact that he was a stoic that all, or most, emperors were stoics as well.  As far as I am aware, though, no other emperors were acknowledged stoics; not even other "good" emperors like Antoninus Pius. 

What the author apparently wasn't aware of is the fact that most emperors were not fond of the stoics, or other philosophers for that matter.  They tended to send them into exile or otherwise repress them.  For example, Domitian sent one of the greatest stoic philosophers, Epictetus, as well as others, into exile.

They emperors had what was, for them, good reason to find the stoic philosophers a major annoyance.  The stoics held that no one, not even an emperor, could compel them to do anything that was contrary to the tenents of stoicism.  An emperor, like others, could only do things to the body of the stoic.  The essential nature of the stoic, that which is in his sole control--his thoughts, his integrity, his knowledge, his reason--remained untouched.  Epictetus even spoke of this by directly referring to the emperor and his power, and the fact that for all that power the stoic may remain  unaffected.  Stoics always oppposed tyranny, and the emperors, or at least those many who were tyrants, were well aware of this fact.

I suppose the claim that stoicism is a philosophy which accepts the status quo has its basis in the fact that the stoics valued and sought tranquility, and attaining this state meant that one had to accept the fact that certain things are beyond one's control.  But, stoicism also teaches a respect for one's fellow creatures, the value of virtue and honesty, the control of violent emotions.  If an emperor or a state purported to restrict the ability of a stoic to follow what stoicism considered good and live "according to nature" the stoic would not simply accept that fact, or believe it to be a part of nature, or beyond his control, and therefore "good" or even indifferent.  To maintain otherwise is simply the result of ignorance.  A stoic would continue to live in accordance with the tenets of stoicism, even if thrown in jail, or tortured, or killed as a result.

The Implications of Vastness: Some Thoughts on Stoicism

The universe is stunningly vast.  There may be other universes, equally vast.  What are the implications for us humans?

One would think the contemplation of such vastness would tend to place a limit on our self-regard.  It's difficult to assign oneself--or anyone else--a great deal of importance in the face of such immensity.  In fact, it's difficult to consider humanity as a whole as having any significance.  And, when one comes to that conclusion, it may be difficult to think of any human concerns as having any significance.

At that point, one might be tempted to descend into the kind of romantic despair which typified far too much of European literature in the 19th century and into the 20th century.  Worse, one might begin to think like all too many European philosophers during the same period, perpetually encountering and bewailing abysses, horrors and fears of all sorts stemming from the admittedly repugnant (for some) realization that one's fate is not of essential importance to the universe.  Worse yet, one might become a nihilist.

Replacing self-regard with self-pity is hardly useful, however, nor does it say much for one's fortitude.  It should be possible for us to live contentedly even knowing that we are not the focus of creation.  It may even lead us to live better.  When we recognize that our concerns are not the essential bases of reality we may be less inclined to do things like fly airplanes into buildings, or otherwise seek to kill or control people we think are wrong, to satisfy ourselves or someone, or thing, or because we believe it to be for the good.

I sometimes wonder what the ancient stoics would have thought if they knew the universe to be as vast as we do.  I think that their understanding of the tenants of stoicism would not be much altered, and that they would remain stoics.  Some claim that stoicism encourages a kind of selfishness, but I think it is more the case that it induces detachment.  The concerns of most, which appear small and insignificant given the immensity of reality, are not of much concern to the stoic in any case.  The stoic knows that there is very little within his control, and doesn't seek to control anything but what he can control, which are things which cannot be influenced by any other person or source.  The stoic does not believe himself to be of great importance, and sees himself merely as a part of nature, and therefore seeks to live "according to nature."

The ancient stoics believed that humans shared in the divine in that they can reason.  In that sense, stoicism is somewhat anthropomorphic.  But the stoic divinity has never been seen as human, or even human-like beyond being the fact that humans have the capacity to reason.  As a result stoicism is not subject to the kinds of questions the vastness inevitably raises for those belief systems which focus on humanity, i.e. are premised on the assumption that humans and their affairs are of the greatest importance.

The vastness of the universe serves, I think, to encourage and supplement the stoic point of view.  Nature is so overwhelmingly impressive; it just makes sense to live "according to" it.  Would the vastness of the universe effect the stoic view that nature is good, and that what occurs, as according to nature, is good as well?  I think not.  We don't consider that which impresses us and creates in us a sense of awe to be "bad."

Of Fatuousness and Philosophy

Do other minds exist?  Does the external world exist?  For that matter, do I exist?  Imagine seriously considering such questions.  Then, imagine asking yourself why you do so.  Then, consider that brilliant people have devoted time and effort to their consideration, have written regarding them extensively, and that students have been compelled, or induced, to read those writings for many, many years.

It seem self-evident that these questions are not serious; that they are in fact foolish, and that we regularly treat them as such.  We always act "as if" we, others and the external world exist.  In fact, we never really doubt that this is the case, nor do we have any reasonable basis on which to doubt.  As we live our lives, we are not faced with such questions.  They present no problems which must be resolved by us in "ordinary day-to-day life."  The consideration of these questions, therefore, make no difference in our lives.

It may be argued that their consideration can have educational value, and I think that's true.  Their consideration can be an engaging and useful intellectual exercise.  But their consideration has not been treated as such typically, and if they were thought of as educational exercises this would not explain why they have been, and are, treated with a kind of reverence and accorded a significance they plainly don't have to us if our conduct is any measure of significance.  It may be argued also that their consideration at certain times throughout our history can be explained and justified.  For example, Descartes can be said to have given them legitimate consideration because an old order was crumbling and a new one was needed.  But this doesn't explain the fact that they continue to be debated, or the effort devoted to their consideration now.

Is it possible that those who devote time and effort to such questions do so knowing they are engaged in a foolish quest, but are, nevertheless, content to continue?  It seems a bit harsh to claim that this aspect of philosophy is a kind of glorified playground for the fatuous.  Perhaps there is something in us (or certain of us) which makes us ponder and concern ourselves with that which makes no difference in our lives.  Perhaps such philosophizing is a kind of OCD.

Regardless, I can't help but feel regret whenever I see such questions being debated, especially by intelligent people, and wish that such intelligence was being devoted to the resolution of the serious problems we actually must face in life.

The Need for a War against "War"

In our blessed Republic, wars were once declared.  They were also won or lost, or in any case ended, after some time.

Since the end of WWII, however, we have told ourselves and others that we have been engaged in a number of wars, which seemingly differ from wars as traditionally conceived in the sense that they do not end, and probably cannot end.  I don't refer to the Korean or Vietnam wars, which it is true also differed from wars as traditionally conceived in the sense that they were not formally declared.  I refer to such wars as the War on Poverty, the War on Drugs, and more recently the War on Terror.

These wars have been declared in a sense--often loudly and continually.  And the latter two have involved the use of military or quasi-military force, and have resulted in deaths, like traditional wars.  But thus far at least, they haven't ended, and there is no reason to believe they will anytime soon.

The use of the word "war" in connection with these programs, or policies, may be attributed to an understandable, though I think regrettable, tendency to indulge in dramatic displays.  They may be intended by our leaders and those who seek to influence (manipulate?) us to demonstrate that they are serious efforts, i.e. that we will stamp out poverty, drugs and terrorism with the same fervor and intensity as we would employ if we were actually waging a real war.  The trouble is we don't, and likely never will.

The War on Poverty and the War on Drugs have lasted for decades.  The War on Terrorism will soon have lasted a decade.  Poverty and drug use have shown no inclination to diminish, though, and although we may assert that there have been no successful terrorist strikes within the U.S. since 9/11, terrorism is very much a part of the world, and has been for quite some time.  It's not going to go away because there is no indication that the world anytime in the forseeable future will be rid of furious people filled with hate who think they have nothing to lose, just as there is no reason to think that poverty will vanish or that people will stop using and paying for drugs they desire.

What we have been calling wars, therefore, are more correctly described as seemingly endless, expensive, and so far and most likely to continue be futile efforts on the part of our government to eradicate certain things.  It seems silly to call such efforts "wars."  Perhaps more significantly, calling such things "wars" serves only to emphasize the fact that the efforts made are unnsuccessful.  What is the point of having a war we cannot win, because it will never end? 

Unless, that is, we prefer to see ourselves at "war."  Or, that there are those who would prefer us to believe we are, perpetually, at war.

Some Thoughts on Civility

President Obama noted there is an absence of civility in our politics at the meeting of influential figures oddly named the National Prayer Breakfast recently (do they pray while eating breakfast--do they contemplate prayer while doing so--do they pray specifically for the nation prior to, during, or after breakfast?).  It happens I'm reading a book by the English diplomat Sir Harold Nicolson called Good Behaviour, which is a kind of study of ideals of civility in history, and so was particularly interested in his comments which, alas, seem fairly uninspired, and even routine.

That there is such an absence certainly can't be doubted, of course, and it seems quite appropriate that the President and others point this out.  Indeed, the character of politics has become so rancorous that it it even seems appropriate to question his motives in commenting on the need for civility--what advantage does he seek to gain by doing so?  Is he trying to paint his opponents as rabid as well as misguided?  Does he seek to deflect criticism that he is detached and unconcerned by painting himself as a gentleman?

Thus far in my reading Nicolson has given his thoughts regarding ancient Greek and Roman concepts of civility, that of Confucian China, that of chivalry, that of the court of Louis XIV, that (it seems) of 19th century Germany, and that of the English.  I haven't finished his book but, being cynical as well as stoic, my guess is that he will conclude that true civility is personified by the English gentleman, who will very much resemble Nicolson himself.  As he was a successful and accomplished diplomat, I suspect he was quite civil, and I tend to agree with him that civility when it degenerates into mere affectation and manners is not admirable, and doesn't necessarily insure behavior most would consider appropriate.  Louis' courtiers had fine manners, but also apparently relieved themselves throughout the halls and under the stairways while at court.

Civility, I think, follows naturally when one tries to intelligently and reasonably resolve problems in combination with others.  Intelligence and reason should tell us that vituperation and caustic criticism, hysteria, inflammatory speech, etc. will not be conducive to arranging a resolution.  We don't thereby work well and play well with others (there was something about this trait in old school report cards, I think). 

But I can't help but wonder whether civility is possible in politics, or in any kind of dispute, today.  This isn't a thoughtful age, and perhaps it cannot be, where communication of most every thought is made immediately.  The technology seems to encourage us to say what we think and feel at every moment in the shortest and least considered manner possible.  Twitter, email, facebook, etc. are not conducive to communication of any length; so, what is communicated are only those thoughts, desires and opinions that can be communicated in a sentence or two, or even in a phrase.  Our language, they say, is an essential part of our civilization, even of our being capable of civilization, i.e. being civilized.  When it has become important simply to say something, or react, as quickly as possible, language as a way of expressing ourselves, and thinking, becomes debased, as do we.