The belief that there is something called "Natural Law" has been around for quite some time. Since at least the time of the Stoics, it has been claimed as an unquestionable guide to conduct. In its great days, Roman jurisprudence was informed by the belief. One can see its influence in medieval thinkers such as Aquinas, and in the thinkers of the Enlightenment. It's influence on those we call the Founders of this great republic was profound.
Like all claims that morality may have an objective basis, or worse yet to some a divine basis, it has been the subject of attack if not derision in intellectual circles for quite a number of years, but my recollection is that even in the remote time when I was receiving a philosophical education there were hints that it might be having a kind of renewal. Aquinas's name was being whispered by some back then. "Should old Aquinas be forgot and never brought to mind?" I remember a visiting professor singing during a meeting of our university philosophy club--not very well, and to some nervous titters by us undergrads, and stern looks from the members of our very modern (back then in any case) philosophy department.
I confess I have a certain fondness for the concept of Natural Law, which I suppose is to be expected in an admirer of the Stoics. and Cicero, that hybrid Stoic-Academic. And it seems to me that some, at least, of the objections made to it may be addressed.
First, I think it's quite possible to recognize Natural Law without believing it to be of divine origin. The universe exists, as do we humans, whether we are creatures of a divine creator or not. Created or uncreated, the universe, and human beings, have characteristics which can be observed and regarding which intelligent inferences can be made. Certain characteristics can be said to lead to certain conduct. Certain characteristics and desires seem to be shared.
Second, it's not necessary to believe in absolute laws, or laws founded in some kind of unchangeable certainty, applicable in all circumstances. Warranted conclusions may be drawn based on available evidence, which are not absolute but are recognized as being subject to modification as necessary--just as secular laws are understood to be subject to amendment or repeal. Even as the "laws" of science are understood to be subject to modification.
It may be that Natural Law understood in this fashion won't satisfy those who deny that morality can have any objective basis apart from humanity. However, it doesn't seem to me that their satisfaction is of much importance. For my part, though, the fact that morality is essentially human is neither surprising nor a sign that it must necessarily be defective or inadequate in some sense. We are as much a part of nature as anything else. Our thoughts and desires are influenced by the universe of which we are a part, and they in turn influence our conduct in the universe, which influence other creatures and things in the universe. To speak of them as not being "objective" in the sense other constituents of the universe may be objective seems, to me, to be dependent on the view that they are not part of the universe in some sense.
If they're not part of the universe, though, just what are they supposed to be? Is it possible that the critics of Natural Law themselves assume there are things outside or beyond nature? Or are they as much victims of the "quest for certainty" as those they criticize, and have come to believe that without absolute certainty all is subjective, relative?
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The Motionless Mind
Dualism may be the fundamental error in Western thought--in our assessment of the universe and our place in it, and therefore in what we do in it. There are problems with viewing the mind as something distinct from the body. The mind becomes a kind of receiver of transmissions from the external world; it is passive. Or a citadel; where we are protected from the world. Or our only access to that which is said to be beyond the universe. Or what sets us apart from the rest of the universe, i.e. those creatures which have the misfortune of being something other than human, and gives us a kind of dominion over it. Sometimes we maintain that our minds are the only means by which we can ascertain what is really true. Sometimes we come to consider our thoughts and feelings as existing apart from the universe--they are private, subjective, relative, they cannot be considered objective.
Perhaps this dualism enters into Eastern thought as well. There seems in some instances to be a desire to detach the mind from the body, not to mention the rest of the world, in pursuit of the ultimate.
For a time, one can "detach" oneself from the "rest of the world" in a certain sense. One can sit motionless and do nothing, or stay in one's room, or meditate, or pray. There may be benefits in doing so in certain cases. But these are peculiarly selfish activities, if one can use that word. They may be dangerous activities in some cases. Chances are excellent that we would in any case act soon enough, as we'll become hungry or thirsty, at least. That damn body keeps interrupting our contemplation, or self-absorption. Worse yet, other people or things do, as well.
The view that the mind is somehow distinct from all else strikes me as puzzling. There doesn't seem to me to be anything particularly dismal about being a living organism which necessarily interacts with its environment and other organisms. It seems quite natural, in fact. Unless, I suppose, one hates the environment with which one must necessarily interact or others which inhabit it. But that is something I think could properly be called unnatural--or at least futile.
This dualism pervades traditional philosophy. The "problems" of the external world and other minds seem to follow from this view as a matter of logic. So, in strangely similar ways, do the views that morality is a matter of absolutes or is completely subjective.
But it seems clear that the mind is not something separate. We act and react. Our thoughts, feelings and desires are not private, as they result from our involvement in the world and have consequences in the world. They don't simply "exist" somewhere in the mind. They are, as Dewey maintains, part of our conduct, part of what we do as living creatures.
The stoics and some of the other ancients realized this as well, I think. It was part of their conception of humanity as a functioning part of the universe, albeit a special part. Those who maintain the stoics were supremely selfish misconstrue them. Recognizing that there are things beyond our control which we should not allow to influence us--especially to dismay us--was a kind of practical wisdom. It wasn't intended to be a means by which we separate ourselves from the universe and our fellow creatures, as it is essential to Stoicism that we honor and respect the universe and others.
Somehow, we came to believe that we are apart from not only the world, but our own bodies. It would be interesting to explore how this happened. Do we blame Plato and other Greek thinkers, because of their view that what can change is inferior? Do we blame religion and its focus on a presumed other world, much more important than this one? Yeats wrote of our neglect of "monuments of unaging intellect." But why assume change, a necessary condition of growth, is inappropriate?
I think it would be useful to rid ourselves of this fantasy. Assume, arguendo, that that we're merely transients in this world, on our way to another, which may be either heaven or hell; assume even that this is the only world. In what sense do either of these views mean that we should not live better lives, and better ourselves and others? The mind is not something unchanging, unmoving, or a mere observer; it's simply a part of us, as we are parts of the universe.
Perhaps this dualism enters into Eastern thought as well. There seems in some instances to be a desire to detach the mind from the body, not to mention the rest of the world, in pursuit of the ultimate.
For a time, one can "detach" oneself from the "rest of the world" in a certain sense. One can sit motionless and do nothing, or stay in one's room, or meditate, or pray. There may be benefits in doing so in certain cases. But these are peculiarly selfish activities, if one can use that word. They may be dangerous activities in some cases. Chances are excellent that we would in any case act soon enough, as we'll become hungry or thirsty, at least. That damn body keeps interrupting our contemplation, or self-absorption. Worse yet, other people or things do, as well.
The view that the mind is somehow distinct from all else strikes me as puzzling. There doesn't seem to me to be anything particularly dismal about being a living organism which necessarily interacts with its environment and other organisms. It seems quite natural, in fact. Unless, I suppose, one hates the environment with which one must necessarily interact or others which inhabit it. But that is something I think could properly be called unnatural--or at least futile.
This dualism pervades traditional philosophy. The "problems" of the external world and other minds seem to follow from this view as a matter of logic. So, in strangely similar ways, do the views that morality is a matter of absolutes or is completely subjective.
But it seems clear that the mind is not something separate. We act and react. Our thoughts, feelings and desires are not private, as they result from our involvement in the world and have consequences in the world. They don't simply "exist" somewhere in the mind. They are, as Dewey maintains, part of our conduct, part of what we do as living creatures.
The stoics and some of the other ancients realized this as well, I think. It was part of their conception of humanity as a functioning part of the universe, albeit a special part. Those who maintain the stoics were supremely selfish misconstrue them. Recognizing that there are things beyond our control which we should not allow to influence us--especially to dismay us--was a kind of practical wisdom. It wasn't intended to be a means by which we separate ourselves from the universe and our fellow creatures, as it is essential to Stoicism that we honor and respect the universe and others.
Somehow, we came to believe that we are apart from not only the world, but our own bodies. It would be interesting to explore how this happened. Do we blame Plato and other Greek thinkers, because of their view that what can change is inferior? Do we blame religion and its focus on a presumed other world, much more important than this one? Yeats wrote of our neglect of "monuments of unaging intellect." But why assume change, a necessary condition of growth, is inappropriate?
I think it would be useful to rid ourselves of this fantasy. Assume, arguendo, that that we're merely transients in this world, on our way to another, which may be either heaven or hell; assume even that this is the only world. In what sense do either of these views mean that we should not live better lives, and better ourselves and others? The mind is not something unchanging, unmoving, or a mere observer; it's simply a part of us, as we are parts of the universe.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
On the Connections between Religion and Morality
One of the many things Augustus boasted of in his Res Gestae, which he thoughtfully had inscribed for our benefit in various parts of the empire, was his assiduous restoration and dedication of temples of the gods. He names those who were so honored, but I won't repeat them here.
Augustus and others of his time were concerned that Rome had gone astray by forgetting or at least ignoring ancestral pieties. As a result, Rome had been plunged into civil war, and its citizens were degenerating, indulging in innumerable vices and sometimes succumbing to the depraved charms of outlandish religions, primarily of weird, oriental (decidedly un-Roman) origins. Augustus therefore felt it necessary to legislate morality, and actively preached the benefits of the simple, rigorous, religious and chaste lifestyle of the old Romans in the Senate and elsewhere. If Suetonius and others are any indication, he was ignored by most Romans, including members of his family in particular. Nevertheless, he was cheered on in his efforts by many, including Horace and Virgil.
Of course, this is a story we're familiar with; indeed its been repeated so often that this familiarity may be seen to breed a certain contempt. We hear today as we've heard for centuries that we're degenerating and that this degeneration is the result of our failure to be religious, or more properly our failure to be religious in the sense that our fathers and mothers reputedly were. That is to say, our failure to be Christian enough here in the West, and apparently our failure to be Muslim enough elsewhere.
Christians of a historical bent may feel somewhat uncomfortable in taking this position. They may recall that Christianity was once perceived as a depraved oriental cult and that its prevalence was said to be the reason for the fall of the Roman Empire, as late as Gibbon but especially during the fall of the empire. The early Church Fathers spent a significant portion of their energies denying that Rome must return to worship of traditional pagan deities in order to retain its glory. Some cynical souls may speculate that the Church's incorporation of many aspects of pagan religions was motivated by a desire to placate the feelings of those who felt that abandoning the old ways was wrong, and harmful.
Must one be religious--in particular traditionally religious--in order to be moral, to live an ethical life? I don't see how this proposition can be maintained. Even the religious have been known to admit now and then, perhaps grudgingly, that atheists have lived highly moral lives. Christian morality may be different in some respects from pagan morality, but pagan philosophers, Platonic, Aristotelian, Stoic, Cynic and even Epicurean championed high moral standards and had no need to rely on the very personal God of Christianity in order to do so. This has even been acknowledged by Christians--think of Dante placing the great pagan philosophers rather comfortably in the first circle of hell; they were not deserving of the horrors he delighted in visiting on other citizens of that place, many of whom were Christian.
If the pagan philosophers managed to promulgate high moral standards without recourse to "religion" as organized religions conceive it, it would seem it's very possible to do so, and even to live by those standards, without religion as such. Why then are we so frequently being told otherwise?
Some may maintain that one must at least believe in some kind of law-giver God in order to be moral, but that doesn't seem to work, either, nor does it seem that some kind of creator God is required. Certainly systems of morality were derived in the past and are still derived from the belief in natural laws, or the wisdom of living in accordance with nature. But these systems are justified based on nature itself; they don't necessarily require that nature have been specifically created by a God for some purpose.
So perhaps it isn't necessary to be religious to be moral. It's simply necessary to be moral, and morality isn't necessarily grounded in what most believe to be religion, although it may be grounded in wisdom. Those who claim we must "return" to religion, and especially a certain kind of religion, to save ourselves from depravity may therefore do so because they think that most of us can't be wise if left to ourselves, or because they feel a certain religion is exclusively true, or for other reasons which aren't all that compelling or honorable.
Augustus and others of his time were concerned that Rome had gone astray by forgetting or at least ignoring ancestral pieties. As a result, Rome had been plunged into civil war, and its citizens were degenerating, indulging in innumerable vices and sometimes succumbing to the depraved charms of outlandish religions, primarily of weird, oriental (decidedly un-Roman) origins. Augustus therefore felt it necessary to legislate morality, and actively preached the benefits of the simple, rigorous, religious and chaste lifestyle of the old Romans in the Senate and elsewhere. If Suetonius and others are any indication, he was ignored by most Romans, including members of his family in particular. Nevertheless, he was cheered on in his efforts by many, including Horace and Virgil.
Of course, this is a story we're familiar with; indeed its been repeated so often that this familiarity may be seen to breed a certain contempt. We hear today as we've heard for centuries that we're degenerating and that this degeneration is the result of our failure to be religious, or more properly our failure to be religious in the sense that our fathers and mothers reputedly were. That is to say, our failure to be Christian enough here in the West, and apparently our failure to be Muslim enough elsewhere.
Christians of a historical bent may feel somewhat uncomfortable in taking this position. They may recall that Christianity was once perceived as a depraved oriental cult and that its prevalence was said to be the reason for the fall of the Roman Empire, as late as Gibbon but especially during the fall of the empire. The early Church Fathers spent a significant portion of their energies denying that Rome must return to worship of traditional pagan deities in order to retain its glory. Some cynical souls may speculate that the Church's incorporation of many aspects of pagan religions was motivated by a desire to placate the feelings of those who felt that abandoning the old ways was wrong, and harmful.
Must one be religious--in particular traditionally religious--in order to be moral, to live an ethical life? I don't see how this proposition can be maintained. Even the religious have been known to admit now and then, perhaps grudgingly, that atheists have lived highly moral lives. Christian morality may be different in some respects from pagan morality, but pagan philosophers, Platonic, Aristotelian, Stoic, Cynic and even Epicurean championed high moral standards and had no need to rely on the very personal God of Christianity in order to do so. This has even been acknowledged by Christians--think of Dante placing the great pagan philosophers rather comfortably in the first circle of hell; they were not deserving of the horrors he delighted in visiting on other citizens of that place, many of whom were Christian.
If the pagan philosophers managed to promulgate high moral standards without recourse to "religion" as organized religions conceive it, it would seem it's very possible to do so, and even to live by those standards, without religion as such. Why then are we so frequently being told otherwise?
Some may maintain that one must at least believe in some kind of law-giver God in order to be moral, but that doesn't seem to work, either, nor does it seem that some kind of creator God is required. Certainly systems of morality were derived in the past and are still derived from the belief in natural laws, or the wisdom of living in accordance with nature. But these systems are justified based on nature itself; they don't necessarily require that nature have been specifically created by a God for some purpose.
So perhaps it isn't necessary to be religious to be moral. It's simply necessary to be moral, and morality isn't necessarily grounded in what most believe to be religion, although it may be grounded in wisdom. Those who claim we must "return" to religion, and especially a certain kind of religion, to save ourselves from depravity may therefore do so because they think that most of us can't be wise if left to ourselves, or because they feel a certain religion is exclusively true, or for other reasons which aren't all that compelling or honorable.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Libertarianism, Liberalism, Conservatism and the Dangers of Idealism
Reading Murray Rothbard can, in a sense, be comforting to someone with libertarian leanings. This is because Rothbard recognizes that the libertarian view has its origins in what was called classical liberalism, and is antipathetic to authoritarianism in all its forms, theocratic, feudal, aristocratic, collectivist, mercantile. This is comforting because Libertarianism has come to be associated with Conservatism (note the capital letters) and Conservatism, at least in these dark times, is unattractive in several respects.
This is not to say that what is now called Liberalism is particularly attractive, and certainly not when compared with classical liberalism. Both Liberalism and Conservatism as currently practised in what remains of our great republic seem overwhelming concerned with controlling us, in one way or another, for our own good, of course. And both seem intent on manipulating the government to do so, albeit in different ways.
Liberals have for some time thought that only government can save us from those who have the power to enslave us, and some of them appear to believe that we can only avoid this enslavement if most all aspects of our lives are regulated by the government. Conservatives, while claiming that we must have less government, seem sometimes to feel primarily that less government means less government authority to prevent us from acceding to certain social and religious standards. Federal government, and particularly the federal courts, should not have the power to prevent us from living as we feel appropriate, nor should it have the power to prevent us from requiring others to live as we feel appropriate, something it is believed can be achieved most readily through local government.
Rothbard notes that for those who prize liberty, there is little difference between the kind of collectivism associated with "communism" and the authoritarian government which arises through a partnership of the government with great business interests, sometimes associated with organized religion as a not very silent third partner. This may be called fascism by some, but I hesitate to use the term as it is used so commonly these days that I'm uncertain it is meaningful in any useful sense.
I view Liberalism and Conservatism (and other things as well) as ideologies disassociated from the practical in the sense that they're dependent on certain ideals which are unquestionable, notwithstanding facts or circumstances to the contrary. And it seems to me that the reliance on such ideals is the result, in part at least, of certain kinds of philosophical idealism.
John Dewey once gave a series of lectures at around the time of the First World War which were subsequently published under the name German Philosophy and Politics. In those lectures he opined, with many a caveat, on the relation between German Idealism and the German Politics (and it should be said militarism) of that time. It's an interesting read, if only because he is on occasion witty, indeed wry and sardonic at times, and at least in my reading of him this is unusual. That it should come at the expense of German Idealism is perhaps not surprising in a pragmatist, and is in any case enjoyable to me as I'm not fond of German Idealism and the German Romanticism I think comes with it almost necessarily.
As I understand him, he sees in this idealism a kind of substitution of Divine Providence with the a priori. Humans in a way impose on nature certain forms or categories, and these may include moral concepts such as duty. These do not result from experience, nor do they result from God. They are not of divine origin, but they are nonetheless supersensible, and it seems that certain German thinkers feel that Germans, whether due to their language or their unique aspects are particularly good at understanding them. Others tend to think empirically only; they base their judgments purely on consequences or utility, for example.
Even when the a priori is claimed to be rational in some sense, viewing such knowledge or morality as distinct from what we experience--as something which experience is formed by, something which facts are to fit within as necessary--can lead to the belief that they should be controlling regardless of facts, regardless of consequences. And therein lies the danger, as when we begin living our lives, or demanding that others live their lives, regardless of consequences according to certain unquestionable ideals which cannot be corrected or modified even if problems result in the "real world" we can be very dangerous indeed.
Making judgments based on reasonable methods shown to be successful rather than ideals, and allowing for modification of judgments based on circumstances and results, abjuring certainty, may not be inspiring or glorious, but it may be the only way we can live our lives freely, neither dominating nor dominated by others.
This is not to say that what is now called Liberalism is particularly attractive, and certainly not when compared with classical liberalism. Both Liberalism and Conservatism as currently practised in what remains of our great republic seem overwhelming concerned with controlling us, in one way or another, for our own good, of course. And both seem intent on manipulating the government to do so, albeit in different ways.
Liberals have for some time thought that only government can save us from those who have the power to enslave us, and some of them appear to believe that we can only avoid this enslavement if most all aspects of our lives are regulated by the government. Conservatives, while claiming that we must have less government, seem sometimes to feel primarily that less government means less government authority to prevent us from acceding to certain social and religious standards. Federal government, and particularly the federal courts, should not have the power to prevent us from living as we feel appropriate, nor should it have the power to prevent us from requiring others to live as we feel appropriate, something it is believed can be achieved most readily through local government.
Rothbard notes that for those who prize liberty, there is little difference between the kind of collectivism associated with "communism" and the authoritarian government which arises through a partnership of the government with great business interests, sometimes associated with organized religion as a not very silent third partner. This may be called fascism by some, but I hesitate to use the term as it is used so commonly these days that I'm uncertain it is meaningful in any useful sense.
I view Liberalism and Conservatism (and other things as well) as ideologies disassociated from the practical in the sense that they're dependent on certain ideals which are unquestionable, notwithstanding facts or circumstances to the contrary. And it seems to me that the reliance on such ideals is the result, in part at least, of certain kinds of philosophical idealism.
John Dewey once gave a series of lectures at around the time of the First World War which were subsequently published under the name German Philosophy and Politics. In those lectures he opined, with many a caveat, on the relation between German Idealism and the German Politics (and it should be said militarism) of that time. It's an interesting read, if only because he is on occasion witty, indeed wry and sardonic at times, and at least in my reading of him this is unusual. That it should come at the expense of German Idealism is perhaps not surprising in a pragmatist, and is in any case enjoyable to me as I'm not fond of German Idealism and the German Romanticism I think comes with it almost necessarily.
As I understand him, he sees in this idealism a kind of substitution of Divine Providence with the a priori. Humans in a way impose on nature certain forms or categories, and these may include moral concepts such as duty. These do not result from experience, nor do they result from God. They are not of divine origin, but they are nonetheless supersensible, and it seems that certain German thinkers feel that Germans, whether due to their language or their unique aspects are particularly good at understanding them. Others tend to think empirically only; they base their judgments purely on consequences or utility, for example.
Even when the a priori is claimed to be rational in some sense, viewing such knowledge or morality as distinct from what we experience--as something which experience is formed by, something which facts are to fit within as necessary--can lead to the belief that they should be controlling regardless of facts, regardless of consequences. And therein lies the danger, as when we begin living our lives, or demanding that others live their lives, regardless of consequences according to certain unquestionable ideals which cannot be corrected or modified even if problems result in the "real world" we can be very dangerous indeed.
Making judgments based on reasonable methods shown to be successful rather than ideals, and allowing for modification of judgments based on circumstances and results, abjuring certainty, may not be inspiring or glorious, but it may be the only way we can live our lives freely, neither dominating nor dominated by others.
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