I've just read a book with the portentous title The End of Ethics in a Technological Society by Lawrence Schmidt, "with Scott Marrotto" (I wonder what "with" means here; usually we see this with books by athletes and celebrities who have problems writing, don't we?). It's a worthy book I believe, but I think it representative of a school of thought I find disturbing, in that it portrays technology as something apart from humanity and in some sense controlling it, resulting in...."the end of ethics."
This is not to say that the authors think we have no part in creating technology, of course. However, they seem to think that technology, once created, effects us in ways which diminish us as ethical creatures, leading us to engage in conduct driven by the technology itself and the desire to create more technology. They claim that the liberal ethical tradition of rights and duties is not adequate to combat the nihilism which has resulted from technology. They seem to advocate a return to transcendental, steady, uniform values, possibly of a supernatural nature although they also appear to acknowledge that the idea of natural law, which was abandoned in the Enlightenment, need not have a supernatural basis.
I say they "seem" to advocate this because they claim they are not making any proposal of any kind, but are merely pointing out that other ways of combating this nihilism don't work. This is one of the annoying aspects of the book, the employment of the "I'm not saying what I believe is right is, in fact, right, but everything else is wrong" approach to critical study.
To me, the book is far more persuasive than the criticism of technology one sees in Heidegger, which seems sentimental and romantic. Schmidt (with Scott Marrotto!) doesn't invoke joyous peasants placing seeds in the bosom of nature, or chalices, or monstrous hydro-electric plants, which I think is fortunate for us all. But like Heidegger they take a passive approach to the "problem" of technology. Heidegger thought only a god can save us (unsurprising I think for someone who thought that Hitler was the "future of Germany and its law"), and they evidently believe a return to a God-sanctioned morality is required to "stop" technology and its effects.
The Enlightenment no doubt fostered an unrealistic belief in the perfection of humanity, although I think the excitement generated when thought slipped the surly bonds of ancient and medieval conceptions of "science" was understandable. And I think it's quite correct that technology can and does present a danger. But I think it's a mistake to think that technology does so as something unnatural to humanity, that turns us away from the spiritual or the higher concerns which should guide us. Technology is entirely natural in humans and is something we do quite naturally. As a result, we do it sometimes without thought. But it is a result of our desire to make life more comfortable and less of a challenge to us, and is used for the satisfaction of other desires as well. Those desires have always been with us.
Technology has not ended ethics of any kind, as ethics itself is a kind of technology; it is a way of resolving problems, a guide for better living. What it can do, though, is to eliminate what has stood in the way of the satisfaction of certain desires in the past, and provided reasons for not indulging those desires. A large portion of the book is devoted to a discussion of the ways in which technology has facilitated warfare. The authors point out that drones, for example, leave us detached from the harm they cause. That may well be, but the reasons for war are the same as they have even been, e.g., a desire to dominate other peoples, a need for resources of one kind or another, fear, hatred, etc.
When we are less likely to suffer harm, when we risk less, we're more inclined to do things, good or bad. In that sense, technology can impact our moral conduct. But this doesn't make technology bad in itself (if it can even be thought of as distinct from us).
If this has a rather Deweyian sound to it, it should (also it should sound like Dewey's interpreter as to technology, Larry Hickman). Dewey of course would be (and was) subject to criticism as a proponent of Enlightenment thinking, a "progressive" who believed nature should be dominated by humanity. But I think this is incorrect because Dewey, unlike his critics, didn't distinguish humanity and nature, technology and ethics or spirituality, philosophical problems and the problems of day to day life as they did. Nor did he think of technology as an end in itself, as he thought means and ends formed a continuum.
The problem of technology must be addressed actively, by requiring the intelligent use of technology--not use in a short-sited fashion, or in the satisfaction of short-term desires. Intelligence establishes our resources are limited, and that certain technologies destroy our environment. Intelligence should tell us that we are parts of nature, not superior to it or that our true life is waiting for us beyond it.
There will be no god to save us, nor need there be. Waiting for that god or any god is a good way of either achieving nothing or sanctioning absolutism and fanaticism when someone appearing to be that god or a precursor to that god comes on the scene, as one would think Heidegger should have known by the time he allowed himself to be interviewed by Der Spiegel. Either we will save ourselves or we won't.
But we won't save ourselves by becoming Luddites, or ascetics, or monks, or peasants, or little Buddhas, or nature-loving neo-pagans and Wiccans, though--simply because we won't become them. We will always be technological.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
The Queen of the May
I refer to Mary, the mother of Jesus, in her capacity as Queen of the May, a title she holds in addition to multiple versions of "Our Lady", generally of something or someplace, in the religion of my joy and my youth--or, at least, my youth.
I can remember her crowning fairly well, in fact. I even remember snatches of the song we sung: "O Mary we crown thee with blossoms today, Queen of the Angels and Queen of the May." For some reason, I keep remembering the lyric as "Queen of the Rosary" instead of "Queen of the May." Long ago but not all that far away. We lived in Michigan then, and I was very young and in a way impressed by the ceremony, and with Mary crowned with flowers and the beginning of spring in the upper Midwest of our Great Republic. Spring was eagerly awaited and still is in those parts.
Marian devotion is an interesting aspect of the Catholic faith. It has a long enough history, but in some respects it is also a very modern development. Mary is mentioned in what we called the Apostles' Creed (the Nicene Creed) as semper virgini; the idea of the Immaculate Conception has been around a very long time. The Assumption, though, is quite recent in the long history of the Church, pronounced by Pius XII. Robert Lowell's poem Beyond the Alps addressed that proclamation of the Pontifex Maximus. He envisioned Mary rising "gorgeous as a jungle bird." It's a beautiful picture. John Paul II had a particularly intense devotion to her. Again, interesting.
Shameless popery as the bastard progeny of the Reformation would no doubt say, or have said in any case. The worship of the mother of Christ is considered a kind of paganism to some, or a mutation of monotheism. Alas, that is what I find attractive in it. The vestiges of paganism in the Church render it far more interesting to me than the dreary, colorless faith and churches of Luther and Calvin and other Protestant denominations. There is a human truth and need involved in the ancient devotion to the mother goddesses such as Isis and Magna Mater. I'm frankly baffled by the fact that the Catholic Church has sought since Vatican II to become more and more Protestant, and to me more and more dull. Perhaps my religious sense is too aesthetic.
I used to go to Novenas with my mother, there to call upon Mary in her capacity as Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Definitely not "Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility" created by Garrison Keillor. That's amusing of course, but Mary is traditionally a comforter and someone who intervenes with the sterner God, Father and/or Son, to forgive if not forget. The hymns sung were lovely, particularly "Immaculate Mary" and "Mother Dearest, Mother Fairest." It's unsurprising that Mother's Day is celebrated in May.
Springtime is necessarily welcome in the northern countries, and it's appropriate to celebrate it, regardless of the manner of celebration, I think. The Queen of the May has other incarnations as well in northern Europe, where yearly some bewildered girl takes the place of the Queen in parades. It's the season of rebirth of course, which has been considered a time of redemption and resurrection for millenia.
We can't wholly detach ourselves from what we are, and we are thinking organisms in a vast universe which is overwhelming. That we take comfort in what we may of that universe is unsurprising. We only flounder, I think, when we try to take comfort in something beyond it.
I can remember her crowning fairly well, in fact. I even remember snatches of the song we sung: "O Mary we crown thee with blossoms today, Queen of the Angels and Queen of the May." For some reason, I keep remembering the lyric as "Queen of the Rosary" instead of "Queen of the May." Long ago but not all that far away. We lived in Michigan then, and I was very young and in a way impressed by the ceremony, and with Mary crowned with flowers and the beginning of spring in the upper Midwest of our Great Republic. Spring was eagerly awaited and still is in those parts.
Marian devotion is an interesting aspect of the Catholic faith. It has a long enough history, but in some respects it is also a very modern development. Mary is mentioned in what we called the Apostles' Creed (the Nicene Creed) as semper virgini; the idea of the Immaculate Conception has been around a very long time. The Assumption, though, is quite recent in the long history of the Church, pronounced by Pius XII. Robert Lowell's poem Beyond the Alps addressed that proclamation of the Pontifex Maximus. He envisioned Mary rising "gorgeous as a jungle bird." It's a beautiful picture. John Paul II had a particularly intense devotion to her. Again, interesting.
Shameless popery as the bastard progeny of the Reformation would no doubt say, or have said in any case. The worship of the mother of Christ is considered a kind of paganism to some, or a mutation of monotheism. Alas, that is what I find attractive in it. The vestiges of paganism in the Church render it far more interesting to me than the dreary, colorless faith and churches of Luther and Calvin and other Protestant denominations. There is a human truth and need involved in the ancient devotion to the mother goddesses such as Isis and Magna Mater. I'm frankly baffled by the fact that the Catholic Church has sought since Vatican II to become more and more Protestant, and to me more and more dull. Perhaps my religious sense is too aesthetic.
I used to go to Novenas with my mother, there to call upon Mary in her capacity as Our Lady of Perpetual Help. Definitely not "Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility" created by Garrison Keillor. That's amusing of course, but Mary is traditionally a comforter and someone who intervenes with the sterner God, Father and/or Son, to forgive if not forget. The hymns sung were lovely, particularly "Immaculate Mary" and "Mother Dearest, Mother Fairest." It's unsurprising that Mother's Day is celebrated in May.
Springtime is necessarily welcome in the northern countries, and it's appropriate to celebrate it, regardless of the manner of celebration, I think. The Queen of the May has other incarnations as well in northern Europe, where yearly some bewildered girl takes the place of the Queen in parades. It's the season of rebirth of course, which has been considered a time of redemption and resurrection for millenia.
We can't wholly detach ourselves from what we are, and we are thinking organisms in a vast universe which is overwhelming. That we take comfort in what we may of that universe is unsurprising. We only flounder, I think, when we try to take comfort in something beyond it.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Pragmatic Stoicism
A few months ago I mentioned John Lach's book Stoic Pragmatism. I've been describing myself as a stoic and a pragmatist in this blog for quite some time, and welcome his book as part of a resurgence of both schools of philosophy. But what I think about their merger differs somewhat from Lach's view. Hence the title of this post and the reason for it as well.
The pragmatism I find admirable is that of John Dewey. His instrumentalism, his notion of inquiry and creative intelligence and his devotion to the scientific method appeal to me. So does his creed that philosophy should be devoted to the "problems of men" rather than to the problems of philosophers.
The stoicism I find admirable is that of Epictetus and, to a lesser extent, that of Seneca and Marcus Aurelius (the later or Roman stoics as they've been called). There is wisdom in their focus on things in our control and in abjuring things and events not in our control, particularly given our increasingly interesting world. Also, their recognition of the fellowship of human beings and emphasis on the divine or semi-divine status of nature is appealing.
Deweyan pragmatism and stoicism are similar in their recognition of the fact that humans are parts of nature, an organism among organisms in a vast universe. We are unique in some respects (we may learn we're not as unique as we think), but the universe was not made for us--it is not our dominion. Pragmatism probably contemplates that we take and should take a more active role in shaping our environment than does stoicism, but stoicism recognizes a duty to act in such a manner (according to nature) as to benefit our fellow human beings, at least, as we are by nature social.
Dewey's pragmatism takes what might be called a psychological approach to philosophical problems, in that he seems to address in all his works which I've read the manner in which we interact with our environment and others and uses this as a basis on which to theorize regarding knowledge, logic, ethics and metaphysics. Although he rejects absolutes of all kinds, this seems to me to be not all that different from the stoic manner of drawing conclusions or making inferences from human nature and our place in the universe, which resulted in the concept of natural law. Now that I think of it, there are indications natural law theory may be reviving as well.
Perhaps these revivals may be the result of a reaction against nihilism, existentialism and postmodernism--the intellectualization of futility. Pragmatism has often been criticized as relativistic, but this seems to me to disregard Dewey's emphasis and reliance on the method of inquiry and the use of intelligence and the scientific method or versions of it in resolving problems. Certain philosophers called neo-pragmatists purport to be disciples of Dewey but they appear to ignore the central role intelligence and problem-solving plays in his philosophy.
There may be a place in our world for Pragmatic Stoicism. Philosophers and others are becoming more and more concerned regarding technology these days. The concern is legitimate, but I'm not convinced the despairing and melodramatic responses of some are either merited or useful. The claim that technology is somehow alienating us from our own humanity strikes me as particularly misguided, if taken literally, in any case. Virtually all we do and are involves technology; we wouldn't be humans without it. Pragmatic stoicism may be a guide in how to control it, as it would necessitate the recognition of dwindling resources and a new emphasis on duties owed to each other and to nature in general, and use this as a basis on which to seek solutions.
Intelligent involvement in a world full of problems, seeking solutions with respect for nature and our fellow creatures with the wisdom not to be overwhelmed (or obsessed) by things which are beyond our control but instead to seek to improve what is in our control. It seems a worthy path, to me.
The pragmatism I find admirable is that of John Dewey. His instrumentalism, his notion of inquiry and creative intelligence and his devotion to the scientific method appeal to me. So does his creed that philosophy should be devoted to the "problems of men" rather than to the problems of philosophers.
The stoicism I find admirable is that of Epictetus and, to a lesser extent, that of Seneca and Marcus Aurelius (the later or Roman stoics as they've been called). There is wisdom in their focus on things in our control and in abjuring things and events not in our control, particularly given our increasingly interesting world. Also, their recognition of the fellowship of human beings and emphasis on the divine or semi-divine status of nature is appealing.
Deweyan pragmatism and stoicism are similar in their recognition of the fact that humans are parts of nature, an organism among organisms in a vast universe. We are unique in some respects (we may learn we're not as unique as we think), but the universe was not made for us--it is not our dominion. Pragmatism probably contemplates that we take and should take a more active role in shaping our environment than does stoicism, but stoicism recognizes a duty to act in such a manner (according to nature) as to benefit our fellow human beings, at least, as we are by nature social.
Dewey's pragmatism takes what might be called a psychological approach to philosophical problems, in that he seems to address in all his works which I've read the manner in which we interact with our environment and others and uses this as a basis on which to theorize regarding knowledge, logic, ethics and metaphysics. Although he rejects absolutes of all kinds, this seems to me to be not all that different from the stoic manner of drawing conclusions or making inferences from human nature and our place in the universe, which resulted in the concept of natural law. Now that I think of it, there are indications natural law theory may be reviving as well.
Perhaps these revivals may be the result of a reaction against nihilism, existentialism and postmodernism--the intellectualization of futility. Pragmatism has often been criticized as relativistic, but this seems to me to disregard Dewey's emphasis and reliance on the method of inquiry and the use of intelligence and the scientific method or versions of it in resolving problems. Certain philosophers called neo-pragmatists purport to be disciples of Dewey but they appear to ignore the central role intelligence and problem-solving plays in his philosophy.
There may be a place in our world for Pragmatic Stoicism. Philosophers and others are becoming more and more concerned regarding technology these days. The concern is legitimate, but I'm not convinced the despairing and melodramatic responses of some are either merited or useful. The claim that technology is somehow alienating us from our own humanity strikes me as particularly misguided, if taken literally, in any case. Virtually all we do and are involves technology; we wouldn't be humans without it. Pragmatic stoicism may be a guide in how to control it, as it would necessitate the recognition of dwindling resources and a new emphasis on duties owed to each other and to nature in general, and use this as a basis on which to seek solutions.
Intelligent involvement in a world full of problems, seeking solutions with respect for nature and our fellow creatures with the wisdom not to be overwhelmed (or obsessed) by things which are beyond our control but instead to seek to improve what is in our control. It seems a worthy path, to me.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
The Mind of an Apologist
Now and then I take up and read, without the urging of a divine voice as far as I know, a work devoted to a defense of religion or belief in God. I think I do so in the hope that I will find one which is convincing or at least worthy of respect. I have not yet encountered such a work, alas.
Dorothy Sayers, known for her detective fiction and the character she created, Lord Peter Wimsey, wrote such a work or two regarding Christianity, though it's not clear that she felt she did. One of them is called The Mind of the Maker, which I'm currently reading.
When I say it's not clear she felt she was writing as an apologist I refer to the somewhat irritated preface of that book, in which she complains that another work she wrote was taken to be in the apologetic line when it was not; it was, she maintains, simply an effort to explicate Christian doctrine, and so could not be taken as a defense of it let alone as an expression of personal beliefs. One might infer, then, that The Mind of the Maker was similarly written as an explanation, not justification, but thus far that's an inference I find difficult to make. I can't help but wonder if she was hedging her bets, in the hope that she could respond to any criticism of her claims by stating that they're not hers, but that of the Christian faith.
She was a friend of another apologist, C.S. Lewis. I've read him as well, and also G.K. Chesterton. I've been disappointed by both Lewis and Chesterton, but perhaps they didn't think they were apologists either. Lewis struck me as illogical and gullible (in his acceptance of Christian assertions), and Chesterton struck me as someone who did not think or argue so much as relentlessly manufacture mots.
Sayers' book addresses the doctrine of the Trinity, and naturally enough references St. Augustine's De Trinitate. It seems she feels as he felt that the concept of the Trinity is something which we can understand by analogy with similar aspects of nature, i.e. the universe, and our interaction with it. She evidently thinks that God as creator can be understood through contemplation of the creative process engaged in by artists, including writers of fiction like herself, because artists in creation engage in a process which itself involves a trinity--Energy, Idea and Power, which come into play not necessarily in that order. And, since this creative process involves a trinity....etc. It's perhaps unsurprising that she associates herself with God in this fashion (although I for the life of me cannot think of God as a lawyer).
I'm not that far into the book, but already I feel myself anticipating another disappointment. St. Augustine indulged in this sort of thing as well, finding triads of all kind in all sorts of things (for example the act of seeing) which are in or take place in nature. Indeed, C.S. Peirce was big on triads. The number 3 has long been considered by some to be magical or mystical. Perhaps this means something.
However, it seems to me this imposition of categories of three on the universe is facile and artificial. Why not categories of four or five, or more? We can do that sort of thing with relative ease. Impulse, Energy, Idea and Power--how's that? Interaction, Impulse, Energy, Idea and Power. Why not?
She responds to critics who maintain that God should not be compared to humans and ascribed human characterises by claiming that we're always anthropomorphizing. I suppose we do, or at least do so quite often. It doesn't follow from this, though, that God should be ascribed human characteristics, nor does it follow from this that God shouldn't be thought of as having certain human characteristics in particular.
She maintains that biblical claims that God punishes not only sinners but their innocent descendants doesn't really mean that God does anything of the sort. It is rather a metaphor reflecting the fact that certain conduct results in adverse consequences which continue over time. Metaphor and analogy abound in Christianity, of necessity as we cannot truly understand the divine.
Well, at this time I sigh and go on reading. But it seems to me that the efforts of these apologists consist in ignoring that which they purport to defend, or interpreting it in manner which requires they disregard it "as is." That's been going on for some time. In my reading so far, apologists for established religions have invariably expounded on claims and constructed arguments which, if they are valid, don't require the acceptance of aspects of those religions which render them unique and which are seemingly essential to them in the sense they make them different from other religions.
Thomas Aquinas repeated arguments for the existence of God made long before by pagan philosophers and claimed they established the existence of the Christian God, which one would think would of necessity have been different from the god of the pagan philosophers. If the Christian God was not different, well and good, but Thomas presumably would have been loathe to make that claim. If the Christian God is different, has the existence of a different god been proved by the philosophers?
An apologist for a religion whose apology does not address that which distinguishes the religion does not defend or justify that religion. Instead, the apologist establishes that he/she is unable to defend or justify its distinctive features. The apologist unwittingly thereby puts the veracity of the religion in doubt.
For which, no doubt, the apologist should apologize.
Dorothy Sayers, known for her detective fiction and the character she created, Lord Peter Wimsey, wrote such a work or two regarding Christianity, though it's not clear that she felt she did. One of them is called The Mind of the Maker, which I'm currently reading.
When I say it's not clear she felt she was writing as an apologist I refer to the somewhat irritated preface of that book, in which she complains that another work she wrote was taken to be in the apologetic line when it was not; it was, she maintains, simply an effort to explicate Christian doctrine, and so could not be taken as a defense of it let alone as an expression of personal beliefs. One might infer, then, that The Mind of the Maker was similarly written as an explanation, not justification, but thus far that's an inference I find difficult to make. I can't help but wonder if she was hedging her bets, in the hope that she could respond to any criticism of her claims by stating that they're not hers, but that of the Christian faith.
She was a friend of another apologist, C.S. Lewis. I've read him as well, and also G.K. Chesterton. I've been disappointed by both Lewis and Chesterton, but perhaps they didn't think they were apologists either. Lewis struck me as illogical and gullible (in his acceptance of Christian assertions), and Chesterton struck me as someone who did not think or argue so much as relentlessly manufacture mots.
Sayers' book addresses the doctrine of the Trinity, and naturally enough references St. Augustine's De Trinitate. It seems she feels as he felt that the concept of the Trinity is something which we can understand by analogy with similar aspects of nature, i.e. the universe, and our interaction with it. She evidently thinks that God as creator can be understood through contemplation of the creative process engaged in by artists, including writers of fiction like herself, because artists in creation engage in a process which itself involves a trinity--Energy, Idea and Power, which come into play not necessarily in that order. And, since this creative process involves a trinity....etc. It's perhaps unsurprising that she associates herself with God in this fashion (although I for the life of me cannot think of God as a lawyer).
I'm not that far into the book, but already I feel myself anticipating another disappointment. St. Augustine indulged in this sort of thing as well, finding triads of all kind in all sorts of things (for example the act of seeing) which are in or take place in nature. Indeed, C.S. Peirce was big on triads. The number 3 has long been considered by some to be magical or mystical. Perhaps this means something.
However, it seems to me this imposition of categories of three on the universe is facile and artificial. Why not categories of four or five, or more? We can do that sort of thing with relative ease. Impulse, Energy, Idea and Power--how's that? Interaction, Impulse, Energy, Idea and Power. Why not?
She responds to critics who maintain that God should not be compared to humans and ascribed human characterises by claiming that we're always anthropomorphizing. I suppose we do, or at least do so quite often. It doesn't follow from this, though, that God should be ascribed human characteristics, nor does it follow from this that God shouldn't be thought of as having certain human characteristics in particular.
She maintains that biblical claims that God punishes not only sinners but their innocent descendants doesn't really mean that God does anything of the sort. It is rather a metaphor reflecting the fact that certain conduct results in adverse consequences which continue over time. Metaphor and analogy abound in Christianity, of necessity as we cannot truly understand the divine.
Well, at this time I sigh and go on reading. But it seems to me that the efforts of these apologists consist in ignoring that which they purport to defend, or interpreting it in manner which requires they disregard it "as is." That's been going on for some time. In my reading so far, apologists for established religions have invariably expounded on claims and constructed arguments which, if they are valid, don't require the acceptance of aspects of those religions which render them unique and which are seemingly essential to them in the sense they make them different from other religions.
Thomas Aquinas repeated arguments for the existence of God made long before by pagan philosophers and claimed they established the existence of the Christian God, which one would think would of necessity have been different from the god of the pagan philosophers. If the Christian God was not different, well and good, but Thomas presumably would have been loathe to make that claim. If the Christian God is different, has the existence of a different god been proved by the philosophers?
An apologist for a religion whose apology does not address that which distinguishes the religion does not defend or justify that religion. Instead, the apologist establishes that he/she is unable to defend or justify its distinctive features. The apologist unwittingly thereby puts the veracity of the religion in doubt.
For which, no doubt, the apologist should apologize.
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