Another Memorial Day in this republic.
I recently encountered the view that the dead have no rights. Therefore, goes the argument, it's improper to assert that their rights are somehow violated if some lunatic does things to them like desecrate their graves, or other--even worse--things. Egyptologists and othe archaeologists, who have been merrily descrating graves for some time now, are generally mentioned in this connection. If the dead have no rights, it would seem to follow that we have no obligations to them, either.
I'm one who thinks it is proper to honor the dead, and to respect them. I don't think I'm alone; in fact, I think most humans feel this way, and have felt this way for a very long time. Does the claim that the dead have no rights then constitute yet another example of certain of us denying or doubting for no clear reason that which most of us don't deny or doubt, coupled with the assertion that there is nothing wrong about doing that which most of us wouldn't do or think of doing?
Perhaps. But, there is no question that the dead are no longer aware; they can't feel pain; they can't protest; they no longer exist as we do. There is some difference then between desecrating a grave, for example, and burying someone in one while they are alive. Certainly the consequences of acts against the dead are different from acts against the living.
So it can be maintained reasonably enough that we don't honor the dead or respect the dead, or refrain from defiling them or their graves, due to some expected consequences to them we find desirable or undesirable or think they would find desirable or undesirable (or don't anymore for the most part, in any case).
There are, though, certain characteristics and acts most of us humans have admired and honored throughout our history, with good reason. Among these are courage, wisdom, self-sacrifice, duty. And there is also certain conduct which we have found contemptible and improper throughout our history--conduct which we feel degrades us when we engage in it, which we feel is wrong. I think such things are involved in explaining why we honor and respect the dead.
Now of course some will ask why we do so, and more specifically why such feelings are appropriate or good. Well, we've been around for some time now. We've been interacting with each other and our environment all the time we've been around. In the course of that interaction most of us have come to value certain conduct and to deplore other conduct. This all seems undeniable, and even objectively verifiable. Doesn't the fact that most humans have felt this way and acted this way for such a long time tell us something regarding our nature and what we have found to be a viable way to live among one another over a great period of time? It would seem more appropriate under the circumstances to respond to those who ask why we do so why they feel there is no basis for us doing so, or why they feel we should do otherwise. Do they maintain we should act otherwise? If that's the case, they should explain why they feel that way. If they can't provide a reasonable explanation, they can't, and we should judge their position accordingly. If they respond they don't feel we should do otherwise, they're just wondering why we act as we do, and what our justification is for doing so, then wouldn't it seem reasonable to respond as to the first inquiry--well, that's an interesting speculation, here's why I think we do, and then go on with life; as to the second inquiry--why do you feel there must be something more in the way of justification?
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Detachment, Tolerance, Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts
Yes, part of the title of this post is borrowed from Donald Barthelme. I recall reading his work with some fondness, and could do with reading him again now. He had, at least, a sense of humor, and made use of it in experiencing and relating the absurd.
Recently, feeling mischevious, I brought up for discussion by some philosophically inclined persons certain actions I thought were entirely absurd and disgusting and inquired whether they were "bad." I believed that I wouldn't be taken seriously, and that, in the unlikely event I was, any response would be unequivocally to the effect that they were indeed bad, and even disgusting. I was wrong.
There were those who felt no ethical issue was presented. There were those who inquired why certain people may find such actions wrong or disgusting. There were those who came up with some reasons why, and those who questioned whether those were good reasons. A few admitted to disgust, but did not necessarily feel that disgust to be justified.
Of course it is unsurprising that philosophers, or those non-philosophers who philosophize, may take a detached attitude towards certain conduct when debating its character. For good or ill (I think for ill) philosophers have spent much time and effort on questions which are utterly unrelated to how we live our lives (e.g., Do I exist? Do other people exist? Does my computer exist?). Why be shocked when they devote time and effort to considering conduct which most everyone would deplore?
It can be maintained that such debates may be useful in the sense that they serve to clarify what it is that we find deplorable. Well and good. But I wonder whether there may be more involved.
What do we achieve when we give serious consideration to whether we should or should not murder, or torture or rape (for example)? When someone claims that such conduct cannot be condemned, or even that such conduct may evoke a kind of beauty, just what is being sought by such a person, what is the intent? To shock? That seems a very adolescent desire, though. What if we're dealing with someone who is ostensibly, at least, an adult?
Presumably, the person making such claims would object to being tortured or killed, or seeing his loved ones being tortured or killed, unless he/she is extremely odd (and certainly there are such people, but one hopes not many of them are philosophers). If that is the case, though, why would they argue that such conduct cannot be said to be "wrong"?
I think there are those who have come to believe that it is somehow unsophisticated, or unwise, or improper to acknowledge that certain conduct is deplorable--especially conduct that "ordinary people" would find deplorable. They would likely act as if such conduct is deplorable if ever confronted with it outside of a discussion, but have come to think that intellectually they shouldn't find it deplorable.
Perhaps it's the same condition or impulse which leads certain of us to claim we can't know whether the world or people we deal with unthinkingly from moment to moment are real. There is something very curious involved when we insist on doubting or appearing to doubt what we don't doubt in any meaningful way, and I wonder what that is.
Recently, feeling mischevious, I brought up for discussion by some philosophically inclined persons certain actions I thought were entirely absurd and disgusting and inquired whether they were "bad." I believed that I wouldn't be taken seriously, and that, in the unlikely event I was, any response would be unequivocally to the effect that they were indeed bad, and even disgusting. I was wrong.
There were those who felt no ethical issue was presented. There were those who inquired why certain people may find such actions wrong or disgusting. There were those who came up with some reasons why, and those who questioned whether those were good reasons. A few admitted to disgust, but did not necessarily feel that disgust to be justified.
Of course it is unsurprising that philosophers, or those non-philosophers who philosophize, may take a detached attitude towards certain conduct when debating its character. For good or ill (I think for ill) philosophers have spent much time and effort on questions which are utterly unrelated to how we live our lives (e.g., Do I exist? Do other people exist? Does my computer exist?). Why be shocked when they devote time and effort to considering conduct which most everyone would deplore?
It can be maintained that such debates may be useful in the sense that they serve to clarify what it is that we find deplorable. Well and good. But I wonder whether there may be more involved.
What do we achieve when we give serious consideration to whether we should or should not murder, or torture or rape (for example)? When someone claims that such conduct cannot be condemned, or even that such conduct may evoke a kind of beauty, just what is being sought by such a person, what is the intent? To shock? That seems a very adolescent desire, though. What if we're dealing with someone who is ostensibly, at least, an adult?
Presumably, the person making such claims would object to being tortured or killed, or seeing his loved ones being tortured or killed, unless he/she is extremely odd (and certainly there are such people, but one hopes not many of them are philosophers). If that is the case, though, why would they argue that such conduct cannot be said to be "wrong"?
I think there are those who have come to believe that it is somehow unsophisticated, or unwise, or improper to acknowledge that certain conduct is deplorable--especially conduct that "ordinary people" would find deplorable. They would likely act as if such conduct is deplorable if ever confronted with it outside of a discussion, but have come to think that intellectually they shouldn't find it deplorable.
Perhaps it's the same condition or impulse which leads certain of us to claim we can't know whether the world or people we deal with unthinkingly from moment to moment are real. There is something very curious involved when we insist on doubting or appearing to doubt what we don't doubt in any meaningful way, and I wonder what that is.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Peirce's Guess at the Riddle
I've just finish reading an interesting little book by John Sheriff on this topic. The riddle in question is that of the Sphinx, (as described by the sometimes inspiring and often muddle-headed Ralph Waldo Emerson) and it seems C. S. Peirce had hopes of publishing a book to be called A Guess at the Riddle which Sheriff believes was to set forth Peirce's unified theory of cosmology, including the meaning and purpose of human life. Sheriff takes a shot at describing that theory.
Peirce was a remarkable thinker, though difficult at times to read and understand. I find him fascinating, and if Sheriff's interpretation is accurate, I find this "unified theory" fascinating as well. Peirce apparently speculates (this is a very rough and simple attempt at description after a first read) that the universe could have resulted from a nothingness which was somehow pregnant with potential, that time came into being when it somehow became potential, that it slowly came to take on characteristics of what we perceive as order by "habit", a kind of repetition of possibilities, that the repetition by repetition came to be in the nature of rules or law, that the universe over the ages came to be more complicated but also more organized, that its tendency toward organization is something we participate in and is a kind of creative process in which we can play a part. We do so, and should do so, through the exercise of Reason; however, we understand that Reason is appropriate through sentiment. Also, we function as a community in the exercise of Reason. Reason, and knowledge, is social. Reason and ethics derive from knowledge which has developed over thousands if not millions of years as we humans have interacted with each other and the rest of the universe, and found through trial and error--and sometimes even through the use of the experimental method--that certain acts had certain consequences, and were desirable to us as a community. The exercise of reason and enjoyment of knowledge being social, we ourselves should be social, selfless, creatures--loving, apparently in the Christian sense--in order to assist and participate in the process of creation.
Peirce evidently came to such conclusions through his creation (he would say discovery, I think) of a triadic system inherent to all which he felt explains everything, which he factored into all of his thought and work.
Part of what I find interesting is the fact that (at least to someone like me, with no knowledge of physics) it sounds familiar to what one hears may be a plausible explanation for the development of the universe. Peirce's cosmology, like his pragmatism, was evolutionary, of course; the influence of Darwin on the early pragmatists was profound.
I'm also struck by the fact that his conclusions regarding Reason and morality, and love, arise from nothing that is supernatural, or beyond nature, but from the very development of the universe itself. He doesn't vary from his fondness for logic and the experimental method in making these inferences, though he sees those methods as themselves developing naturally as consequences of creation. Finally, it seems interesting that this theory lead him to conclusions regarding how to live which seem on their face to be very similar to the Stoic belief that a kind of Divine Reason governs the universe, and that we partake in that Reason when we live according to reason and nature, and leads to the position that we should be selfless and love others.
Peirce was a remarkable thinker, though difficult at times to read and understand. I find him fascinating, and if Sheriff's interpretation is accurate, I find this "unified theory" fascinating as well. Peirce apparently speculates (this is a very rough and simple attempt at description after a first read) that the universe could have resulted from a nothingness which was somehow pregnant with potential, that time came into being when it somehow became potential, that it slowly came to take on characteristics of what we perceive as order by "habit", a kind of repetition of possibilities, that the repetition by repetition came to be in the nature of rules or law, that the universe over the ages came to be more complicated but also more organized, that its tendency toward organization is something we participate in and is a kind of creative process in which we can play a part. We do so, and should do so, through the exercise of Reason; however, we understand that Reason is appropriate through sentiment. Also, we function as a community in the exercise of Reason. Reason, and knowledge, is social. Reason and ethics derive from knowledge which has developed over thousands if not millions of years as we humans have interacted with each other and the rest of the universe, and found through trial and error--and sometimes even through the use of the experimental method--that certain acts had certain consequences, and were desirable to us as a community. The exercise of reason and enjoyment of knowledge being social, we ourselves should be social, selfless, creatures--loving, apparently in the Christian sense--in order to assist and participate in the process of creation.
Peirce evidently came to such conclusions through his creation (he would say discovery, I think) of a triadic system inherent to all which he felt explains everything, which he factored into all of his thought and work.
Part of what I find interesting is the fact that (at least to someone like me, with no knowledge of physics) it sounds familiar to what one hears may be a plausible explanation for the development of the universe. Peirce's cosmology, like his pragmatism, was evolutionary, of course; the influence of Darwin on the early pragmatists was profound.
I'm also struck by the fact that his conclusions regarding Reason and morality, and love, arise from nothing that is supernatural, or beyond nature, but from the very development of the universe itself. He doesn't vary from his fondness for logic and the experimental method in making these inferences, though he sees those methods as themselves developing naturally as consequences of creation. Finally, it seems interesting that this theory lead him to conclusions regarding how to live which seem on their face to be very similar to the Stoic belief that a kind of Divine Reason governs the universe, and that we partake in that Reason when we live according to reason and nature, and leads to the position that we should be selfless and love others.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Shameful Anticipation of an Imbecile Display: The Kagan Nomination
I suppose I shouldn't look forward to this so much, but the nomination of the unfortunate Ms. Kagan (unfortunate because she has been nominated, and has accepted the nomination) affords so much potential for silliness, stupidity, posturing and sanctimony that I can't wait for the hearings to begin. Already her sexual orientation is at issue. I'd say that is what she gets for not having a "paper trail" but I'm reminded that Judge Bork, who had a substantial one, was grilled regarding his religious faith, or lack of it (and so much else, of course). He, of course, had to deal with Teddy Kennedy, who was not notable for his legal scholarship in or out of law school, but was fully capable of demonizing those who were. One wonders if Kagan will find herself borked and, if so, who will do the borking in her case.
These spectacles are remarkable and, to me, such fun, because of the extent to which they have so little to do with what can reasonably be expected from anyone appointed to the Supreme Court. I don't think we will hear much of anything regarding her legal experience and ability; with some reason, I feel, as she apparently hasn't had much experience except as a law school professor and administrator. We will instead likely be exposed to an exploration of her sexuality, religious feelings, the character and extent of her empathies with various and sundry, her thoughts on abortion, race, immigration, etc. She will give the expected uninteresting and bland responses, and say she cannot expound greatly on matters regarding which she may have to render decisions. Politicians will posture for a time. Commentators will bore us with their most predictable commentary. And she will become a Justice of the Supreme Court.
Thus do we choose those who will decide great legal issues for decades to come. The question is just how stupid the process will be in this case. We probably can't expect anything quite like the Bork circus to reappear. But we can hope that idiocy will be on parade. More data for those future scientists of stupidity I hope someday to see cluttering our institutes of higher learning.
These spectacles are remarkable and, to me, such fun, because of the extent to which they have so little to do with what can reasonably be expected from anyone appointed to the Supreme Court. I don't think we will hear much of anything regarding her legal experience and ability; with some reason, I feel, as she apparently hasn't had much experience except as a law school professor and administrator. We will instead likely be exposed to an exploration of her sexuality, religious feelings, the character and extent of her empathies with various and sundry, her thoughts on abortion, race, immigration, etc. She will give the expected uninteresting and bland responses, and say she cannot expound greatly on matters regarding which she may have to render decisions. Politicians will posture for a time. Commentators will bore us with their most predictable commentary. And she will become a Justice of the Supreme Court.
Thus do we choose those who will decide great legal issues for decades to come. The question is just how stupid the process will be in this case. We probably can't expect anything quite like the Bork circus to reappear. But we can hope that idiocy will be on parade. More data for those future scientists of stupidity I hope someday to see cluttering our institutes of higher learning.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Greatness and the Limits of Definition
I think it was Goethe who said of Napoleon that he was as intelligent as a man can be without wisdom, and as great as a man can be without virtue. It seems easy enough to conceive of a person who is highly intelligent but not wise. But, is it possible for a person to be great without being virtuous? Goethe seemed to think so.
I suspect others would disagree. In the western tradition I think those others would, for the most part, be ancient and possibly medieval philosophers. One can almost hear them debating what it is that makes someone truly great, and it's extremely probable that virtue would be a significant attribute of the great, if not the only "great" characteristic, at the end of what I think would have been a very dull day. In the eastern tradition, it seems apparent that Buddha, Lao Tzu, Confucious and other wise men would, at the least, say it is not great to masterfully practice the art of war over the length and breadth of a continent for some 20 years.
There are many, though, who consider such as Napoleon to be great. Although I would hesitate to compare him to Hitler, Heidegger, who worshiped the Fuhrer, is an example of a philosopher who rejoiced in such men of action. Not all were as thoughtful as Pompey, who named himself magnus, thereby saving others the trouble. But there is of course Alexander, and he has had his share of admirers, including Mary Renault, who wrote delightful books about him and his time but accorded him a kind of semi-divine status, which seems to take admiration a bit too far. And there is Caesar, and others.
Teddy Roosevelt used to to speak of the man in the arena as being the only truly great man. One wonders just what arena he was referring to; I don't think huge sports arenas existed during his heyday, or that sports figures had wide popularity. One only hopes he was not referring to the Roman arena.
We speak also of great artists, great writers, great musicians, but in their cases I think we are reserving the adjective "great" to their works, possibly because that is the means by which they are measured. What, though, about great people? What, so to speak, is so great about them?
We humans have a bad habit. For some reason, we seem to feel the need to define things which do not admit of clear definition. We tend to take that need to extremes. We must know what is truly great, or good, for example. We think that there is some ultimate, usually singular, definition to be arrived at; worse yet, we feel we have to determine what it is that is truly great, or good. Once we know that, then we will know how to distinguish the great and the good, in all cases. Better yet, we will be able to become great and good. Even better, we will then be able to tell other people what is great and good; and if we're very fortunate, we'll be able to make them do what we think is good, and what is needed to make them (and us) great.
It is a foolish conceit, I think. Greatness can consist of many characteristics and abilities, and they need not all be present in order to make someone "great." There are things we justly admire in others. Just what will be admirable, though, may vary with the time and the circumstances. Not all great people will be models of what the ancients believed to be virtue. The stoic wise man may well be considered great, but except perhaps as a teacher or model, will not have a great impact on society (too many things will be "indifferent" to such a sage). "Great" is a flexible word, used to refer to the remarkable, the extraordinary and other things. The effort to establish what is truly great, or who is truly great, is an artificial exercise, just as the effort to establish what is truly good, or really true, or really real is artificial in the sense that it can have no practical application in our lives. We don't live through the application of absolutes.
I suspect others would disagree. In the western tradition I think those others would, for the most part, be ancient and possibly medieval philosophers. One can almost hear them debating what it is that makes someone truly great, and it's extremely probable that virtue would be a significant attribute of the great, if not the only "great" characteristic, at the end of what I think would have been a very dull day. In the eastern tradition, it seems apparent that Buddha, Lao Tzu, Confucious and other wise men would, at the least, say it is not great to masterfully practice the art of war over the length and breadth of a continent for some 20 years.
There are many, though, who consider such as Napoleon to be great. Although I would hesitate to compare him to Hitler, Heidegger, who worshiped the Fuhrer, is an example of a philosopher who rejoiced in such men of action. Not all were as thoughtful as Pompey, who named himself magnus, thereby saving others the trouble. But there is of course Alexander, and he has had his share of admirers, including Mary Renault, who wrote delightful books about him and his time but accorded him a kind of semi-divine status, which seems to take admiration a bit too far. And there is Caesar, and others.
Teddy Roosevelt used to to speak of the man in the arena as being the only truly great man. One wonders just what arena he was referring to; I don't think huge sports arenas existed during his heyday, or that sports figures had wide popularity. One only hopes he was not referring to the Roman arena.
We speak also of great artists, great writers, great musicians, but in their cases I think we are reserving the adjective "great" to their works, possibly because that is the means by which they are measured. What, though, about great people? What, so to speak, is so great about them?
We humans have a bad habit. For some reason, we seem to feel the need to define things which do not admit of clear definition. We tend to take that need to extremes. We must know what is truly great, or good, for example. We think that there is some ultimate, usually singular, definition to be arrived at; worse yet, we feel we have to determine what it is that is truly great, or good. Once we know that, then we will know how to distinguish the great and the good, in all cases. Better yet, we will be able to become great and good. Even better, we will then be able to tell other people what is great and good; and if we're very fortunate, we'll be able to make them do what we think is good, and what is needed to make them (and us) great.
It is a foolish conceit, I think. Greatness can consist of many characteristics and abilities, and they need not all be present in order to make someone "great." There are things we justly admire in others. Just what will be admirable, though, may vary with the time and the circumstances. Not all great people will be models of what the ancients believed to be virtue. The stoic wise man may well be considered great, but except perhaps as a teacher or model, will not have a great impact on society (too many things will be "indifferent" to such a sage). "Great" is a flexible word, used to refer to the remarkable, the extraordinary and other things. The effort to establish what is truly great, or who is truly great, is an artificial exercise, just as the effort to establish what is truly good, or really true, or really real is artificial in the sense that it can have no practical application in our lives. We don't live through the application of absolutes.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
More on Mencken: Thoughts on "An American Credo"
I was surprised to find next to nothing on the Web regarding this remarkable book, written by the magnificent H. L. Mencken and George Jean Nathan. I don't know Nathan at all; I've never read him. So, I can't say to what extent he contributed. What I've read so far seems gloriously Menckenish, however.
An American Credo purports to be a study of the American, or the Americano as Mencken would say, circa 1920, and we were apparently a sorry lot back then. Alas, I think Mencken would find us no less sorry now, and for much the same reasons.
I am somewhat surprised at the extent to which members of the primary Christian religious heirarchy of the United States are being lambasted. Mencken was never fond of institutionalized religion, of course, but he seems to view the clergy as particular scoundrels. Interestingly, the Protestant clergy are mocked far more than the Catholic as being vain, ignorant and venal. Although the Catholic Church is criticized for coming to dominate the secular governments of the larger cities, it is given credit for being wordly and tolerant, and its heirarchy is seen as more intelligent, though as an elite leading its flock by the nose. Of course, the absurdity of Prohibition, which loomed over that time, was a monstrosity of exclusively Protestant creation, and it is difficult to understand how any human being of moderate intelligence and sophistication could have supported such a law--not just a law but a constitutional amendment, forsooth.
The other great event of the time, naturally, was the recently ended First World War, and I confess to delight at the manner in which Woodrow Wilson is lambasted as a Titan, a prodigy, of craven dishonesty. He was, according to the authors, a "man of morals" rather than a "man of honour." Assured of the morality of each of his often fantastically inconsistent actions, he plowed through and trampled on the solemn pledges he made at every opportunity, serene in his self-righteousness. Those who opposed him, being sinners, deserved the harshest treatment.
Dr. Wilson was a very peculiar man; we can only hope we won't see his like again at the head of our government. But I fear that in such times as these such a person is bound to "rise" to the top of our politics. I think this is yet another age when the person of morals (to be more modern and correct) will win out over the person of honor. I can't help but think of those looming on our political horizon, Republican and Democrat, as terrifying moralists, intent on our compliance with their thoughtless take on what is right. More and more our politicians become preachers, and so it seems do our intellectuals. We need a new Mencken, I think.
An American Credo purports to be a study of the American, or the Americano as Mencken would say, circa 1920, and we were apparently a sorry lot back then. Alas, I think Mencken would find us no less sorry now, and for much the same reasons.
I am somewhat surprised at the extent to which members of the primary Christian religious heirarchy of the United States are being lambasted. Mencken was never fond of institutionalized religion, of course, but he seems to view the clergy as particular scoundrels. Interestingly, the Protestant clergy are mocked far more than the Catholic as being vain, ignorant and venal. Although the Catholic Church is criticized for coming to dominate the secular governments of the larger cities, it is given credit for being wordly and tolerant, and its heirarchy is seen as more intelligent, though as an elite leading its flock by the nose. Of course, the absurdity of Prohibition, which loomed over that time, was a monstrosity of exclusively Protestant creation, and it is difficult to understand how any human being of moderate intelligence and sophistication could have supported such a law--not just a law but a constitutional amendment, forsooth.
The other great event of the time, naturally, was the recently ended First World War, and I confess to delight at the manner in which Woodrow Wilson is lambasted as a Titan, a prodigy, of craven dishonesty. He was, according to the authors, a "man of morals" rather than a "man of honour." Assured of the morality of each of his often fantastically inconsistent actions, he plowed through and trampled on the solemn pledges he made at every opportunity, serene in his self-righteousness. Those who opposed him, being sinners, deserved the harshest treatment.
Dr. Wilson was a very peculiar man; we can only hope we won't see his like again at the head of our government. But I fear that in such times as these such a person is bound to "rise" to the top of our politics. I think this is yet another age when the person of morals (to be more modern and correct) will win out over the person of honor. I can't help but think of those looming on our political horizon, Republican and Democrat, as terrifying moralists, intent on our compliance with their thoughtless take on what is right. More and more our politicians become preachers, and so it seems do our intellectuals. We need a new Mencken, I think.
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