"Pandemonium" is a word which, by my understanding, was created by John Milton. It was the capital of Hell in his Paradise Lost, to which all demons were summoned to confer by Lucifer, n/k/a Satan (or better, perhaps, the angel formerly known as "Lucifer"). It's derivation is clear enough: pan + daemon or daemonium=all demons or evil spirits, or if needed the place at which they do what they do, are what they are.
Over the years the word has come to mean uproar or chaos resulting from some event or other. It seems that it was assumed that Hell or at least its capital is a loud and confused place, demons being perpetually noisy and frenzied. That doesn't seem quite right, though, for the capital of Milton's great rebel against God and erstwhile archangel. Once Son of the Morning, Light Bearer, now the Prince of Darkness. Would such a being tolerate disorder in the ranks of his followers, particularly of an uproarious nature? Evil can be administered through chaos, certainly, but Satan has typically been considered much more than a bomb-thrower, much more than someone running about in a frenzy, wrecking havoc.
Some may feel "pandemonium" in the sense of uproar or chaos describes what is taking place in our nation since our new president assumed his office, and certainly if one reads what is being churned out by the media or watch TV it may seem so. The unusual can cause discomfort, and "unusual" is an apt word in this case. The new president, unlike Satan, is something of a bomb thrower and I suspect there will be bombs thrown as long as he's in office, though I also suspect that there will be a good deal of "walking back" from particularly odd and exclamatory pronouncements he might make, as necessary, once someone does some thinking about them. Then again, it's unclear to what extent wiser heads will be allowed to prevail, or even whether they'll have the chance to do so.
Uproar seems to be a fact of life in these remarkable times. We are increasingly exposed to outrage, some genuine, some manufactured. That pandemonium in this sense is being fabricated by certain of us is, I think, clear. Outrage has been a staple of talk radio for years now. It's a means of attracting listeners, of course. It's likely even the most rabid of the talkers understands this and makes use of it.
We see more of the same on TV, though its use has grown more slowly in that medium. What are disturbingly called "reality shows" play up conflict and anger, and especially the expression of anger by those who are participants in snide and silly asides, often laced with tactfully deleted profanity. I wouldn't be surprised if this was encouraged by producers and directors and their lackeys, but nor would I be surprised if it was genuine. Perhaps participants are chosen based on their irascible nature. And, of course, the stars themselves are allowed if not encouraged to be apoplectic, like a certain British chef known to us all.
Outrage strikes me as being related to if not caused by self-righteousness. Self-righteousness is in turn related to if not caused by a perverted certainty in conviction. It's strange that in increasingly complicated times and situations those who purport to represent and govern us also purport to be, or may in fact feel, more and more certain of their convictions and what needs to be done. This kind of certainty is also becoming characteristic of the pundits who plague us as much as politicians. And so we have conflict, uproar and outrage aplenty.
Excessive emotion of any kind impairs reason and the intelligent consideration of options; intelligent inquiry and decision-making. I'm inclined to think that the pandemonium of our time is one of the reasons why we're seeing a resurgence of interest in the philosophy of Stoicism. It's recognition of the fact that certain emotions are destructive, its emphasis on reason and focusing on what's in our control and its good use as opposed to disturbing ourselves with what isn't in our control are valuable tools for living at all times, but especially in these times. It's unfortunate that the influential and powerful haven't become familiar with it, and probably never will be.
Pandemonium is certainly the capital of Hell in Milton's great work. Pandemonium in another sense seems to be characteristic of the hell we've made for ourselves here.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
Friday, January 20, 2017
Constructing (Deconstructing?) Constructivism
I pause in mourning the advent of this peculiar new presidency and its even more peculiar president to consider the philosophical view called, I believe, "Constructivism." If I understand it correctly, it is an epistemological view, and roughly speaking is the belief that our knowledge is "constructed" because it is contingent on human perception, conventions and social or cultural experience. As a result, it's claimed, our knowledge isn't of an external world or reality.
As you might expect, those who accept Constructivism are disinclined to believe there is any objective truth or knowledge of what is real, because what we consider to be reality is, in fact, and necessarily, constructed reality. I confess I have a tendency to maintain that such a view is a difference which makes no difference and is thereby not a difference at all. (I paraphrase, and forget who said this, but believe it was either William James or Mr. Spock, or perhaps even both of them). That tendency has its basis in my feeling that if we can't know what reality is it's foolish to dwell on that fact; we'll never know what it is and so our time is better spent in dealing, as we must, with constructed reality.
But I also think that the use of the word "Constructivism" and the claim that we "construct" reality as a result of our interaction with the (presumably but it seems unknowable) real, is misleading. We certainly can construct things, but when we do so we act intentionally to do so. We construct a bridge, a building. However, when we see, feel, hear, etc., we construct nothing at all. If I see an apple I'm not constructing it, nor even am I constructing what I see if it is in the "external world" or unconstructed reality something different that I can't know (just what that might be we can't say, because we can't know what it is according to Constructivism). I am, instead, seeing. I'm doing part of what we do as living, human, organisms which are part of the world. I'm living.
It seems to me Constructivism partakes of the same kind of duality as certain other theories of knowledge which are committed to the belief that we're separate from reality; apart from it rather than a part of it. At least, our minds are thought to be separate from it if not our bodies. Our minds are constructing reality being as they are dependent on our senses, our society, our culture.
If we don't construct a reality (if we don't make it) separate from the "really real"--if in other words we merely live as humans do given our characteristics as living creatures, see as humans must do, hear as they do, eat as they do, feel as they do, etc. as parts of the world--it strikes me there is neither the need nor the inclination to maintain that the environment in which we do those things, the world of which we're a part, is in any way disconnected from us or unknowable. We aren't different from reality, or observing reality, or studying reality. We're a part of reality. We're reality just as much as everything else is. There is no reality without us because reality would in that case not be reality; it would be something different.
It happens we humans, as part of what we do while living in the world (as constituents of reality) congregate, form bonds with others, form tribes, nations, societies, cultures. They're likewise parts of the world, the real. What we do as members of nations, societies, cultures are naturally influenced by them, but there's nothing unreal about this. They may be different from one another as a result of what takes place with humans in different parts of the world, but they're all parts of reality as well. This doesn't mean that we're incapable of knowing what the "really real" is, it means we're living in the "really real." It doesn't follow from this that there is some external world unknowable to us.
Submitted for your consideration, some thoughts I have while avoiding what I'd rather not think about.
As you might expect, those who accept Constructivism are disinclined to believe there is any objective truth or knowledge of what is real, because what we consider to be reality is, in fact, and necessarily, constructed reality. I confess I have a tendency to maintain that such a view is a difference which makes no difference and is thereby not a difference at all. (I paraphrase, and forget who said this, but believe it was either William James or Mr. Spock, or perhaps even both of them). That tendency has its basis in my feeling that if we can't know what reality is it's foolish to dwell on that fact; we'll never know what it is and so our time is better spent in dealing, as we must, with constructed reality.
But I also think that the use of the word "Constructivism" and the claim that we "construct" reality as a result of our interaction with the (presumably but it seems unknowable) real, is misleading. We certainly can construct things, but when we do so we act intentionally to do so. We construct a bridge, a building. However, when we see, feel, hear, etc., we construct nothing at all. If I see an apple I'm not constructing it, nor even am I constructing what I see if it is in the "external world" or unconstructed reality something different that I can't know (just what that might be we can't say, because we can't know what it is according to Constructivism). I am, instead, seeing. I'm doing part of what we do as living, human, organisms which are part of the world. I'm living.
It seems to me Constructivism partakes of the same kind of duality as certain other theories of knowledge which are committed to the belief that we're separate from reality; apart from it rather than a part of it. At least, our minds are thought to be separate from it if not our bodies. Our minds are constructing reality being as they are dependent on our senses, our society, our culture.
If we don't construct a reality (if we don't make it) separate from the "really real"--if in other words we merely live as humans do given our characteristics as living creatures, see as humans must do, hear as they do, eat as they do, feel as they do, etc. as parts of the world--it strikes me there is neither the need nor the inclination to maintain that the environment in which we do those things, the world of which we're a part, is in any way disconnected from us or unknowable. We aren't different from reality, or observing reality, or studying reality. We're a part of reality. We're reality just as much as everything else is. There is no reality without us because reality would in that case not be reality; it would be something different.
It happens we humans, as part of what we do while living in the world (as constituents of reality) congregate, form bonds with others, form tribes, nations, societies, cultures. They're likewise parts of the world, the real. What we do as members of nations, societies, cultures are naturally influenced by them, but there's nothing unreal about this. They may be different from one another as a result of what takes place with humans in different parts of the world, but they're all parts of reality as well. This doesn't mean that we're incapable of knowing what the "really real" is, it means we're living in the "really real." It doesn't follow from this that there is some external world unknowable to us.
Submitted for your consideration, some thoughts I have while avoiding what I'd rather not think about.
Friday, January 13, 2017
Trimalchio Ascendant
We all know Trimalchio. He is an unforgettable character in a surviving portion of the Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter, friend, for a time, of the Emperor Nero. A former slave, now a freeman, of enormous wealth who is holding a great banquet his friends and those beholden to him attend. These lavish dinners were serious business to the Romans. You were, almost literally, nobody unless you were invited to one hosted by the high and mighty, the notorious, the famous.
Trimalchio's dinner is described in detail, as is Trimalchio himself. The dinner is many-coursed and remarkable in its excess. It may be that Petronius' detailing of the dinner and the conduct of Trimalchio, his slaves and friends, served to inspire the belief in Roman decadence which many of us hold so dear, and which has been depicted in various films.
Trimalchio is described as self-important, boorish, arrogant, ignorant, loud, verbose, without breeding or taste. His ego is astounding. He even treats his guests to an enactment of what he has decreed will take place at his own funeral; naturally a very grandiose affair, solemnly acting his part as his revered corpse.
He's referred to with some frequency by authors who lived after Petronius, who died by his own hand when condemned by Nero, spending his last moments, it's said, elegantly and savagely relating the Emperors various faults to those in attendance. The parties held by Scott Fitzgerald's Gatsby are compared to Trimalchio's feast, for example. It seems he comes to mind whenever the defects of the very rich and wasteful are in evidence, particularly the newly rich who haven't yet learned to display their wealth with a degree of taste and class.
Alas, he also comes to mind, to my mind in any case, whenever our president-elect is mentioned or appears before me on my TV, PC or smart phone. He is ubiquitous of course; our technology makes him so, certainly, but he is responsible himself for his omnipresence because of his various invariably silly or smug or angry or sophomoric tweets when not in the public eye, his blatant self-promotion, his stunts, his propensity for overstatement, the enthusiasm with which he extols his many virtues and denigrates those he feels fail to do the same or oppose him in some fashion. He seems incapable of ignoring any slight, real or imagined.
He won't be a dignified president, I think. He'll likely be what he's shown himself to be in the past: a showman, a salesman, a kind of carnival barker and insult comic. Not what one wants as a president, but as we like to say these days, it is what it is. He'll schmooze when it serves his purpose, and sulk when things don't go his way. If he's wise, or if his handlers are, he'll be content to be a kind of figurehead, wheeled out to condemn or praise or make prepared announcements while his people do the hard work of government. This seems to have been how he's handled his businesses, in fact. If this is how it will be, he may be safely ignored or become a kind of character in a TV series whose statements are always suspect and whose missteps are mitigated by those surrounding him. He wouldn't be a serious figure.
We can hope for that, in any case. We already see a rather extensive about-face on his part. He blithely ignores the promises and claims he made before the election; his nominees are avidly taking positions contrary to those he's taken. He will say, it seems, most anything that appears to be advantageous at the moment and then do the contrary if it appears to be advantageous later.
So perhaps we'll be fortunate, and can watch Trimalchio do what he does now as we watched him as a character in a story told by an ancient author well-acquainted with those like him who were rich and powerful in his time, and having watched will be sadder, but will survive to be wiser.
Trimalchio's dinner is described in detail, as is Trimalchio himself. The dinner is many-coursed and remarkable in its excess. It may be that Petronius' detailing of the dinner and the conduct of Trimalchio, his slaves and friends, served to inspire the belief in Roman decadence which many of us hold so dear, and which has been depicted in various films.
Trimalchio is described as self-important, boorish, arrogant, ignorant, loud, verbose, without breeding or taste. His ego is astounding. He even treats his guests to an enactment of what he has decreed will take place at his own funeral; naturally a very grandiose affair, solemnly acting his part as his revered corpse.
He's referred to with some frequency by authors who lived after Petronius, who died by his own hand when condemned by Nero, spending his last moments, it's said, elegantly and savagely relating the Emperors various faults to those in attendance. The parties held by Scott Fitzgerald's Gatsby are compared to Trimalchio's feast, for example. It seems he comes to mind whenever the defects of the very rich and wasteful are in evidence, particularly the newly rich who haven't yet learned to display their wealth with a degree of taste and class.
Alas, he also comes to mind, to my mind in any case, whenever our president-elect is mentioned or appears before me on my TV, PC or smart phone. He is ubiquitous of course; our technology makes him so, certainly, but he is responsible himself for his omnipresence because of his various invariably silly or smug or angry or sophomoric tweets when not in the public eye, his blatant self-promotion, his stunts, his propensity for overstatement, the enthusiasm with which he extols his many virtues and denigrates those he feels fail to do the same or oppose him in some fashion. He seems incapable of ignoring any slight, real or imagined.
He won't be a dignified president, I think. He'll likely be what he's shown himself to be in the past: a showman, a salesman, a kind of carnival barker and insult comic. Not what one wants as a president, but as we like to say these days, it is what it is. He'll schmooze when it serves his purpose, and sulk when things don't go his way. If he's wise, or if his handlers are, he'll be content to be a kind of figurehead, wheeled out to condemn or praise or make prepared announcements while his people do the hard work of government. This seems to have been how he's handled his businesses, in fact. If this is how it will be, he may be safely ignored or become a kind of character in a TV series whose statements are always suspect and whose missteps are mitigated by those surrounding him. He wouldn't be a serious figure.
We can hope for that, in any case. We already see a rather extensive about-face on his part. He blithely ignores the promises and claims he made before the election; his nominees are avidly taking positions contrary to those he's taken. He will say, it seems, most anything that appears to be advantageous at the moment and then do the contrary if it appears to be advantageous later.
So perhaps we'll be fortunate, and can watch Trimalchio do what he does now as we watched him as a character in a story told by an ancient author well-acquainted with those like him who were rich and powerful in his time, and having watched will be sadder, but will survive to be wiser.
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
The Pertinence Maxim: A Matter of Time
While I was attending college, a new professor appeared on campus. Although it was, and still is so far as I know, a small liberal arts college, that in itself wasn't extraordinary or significant. Professors would appear now and then and some would leave after a time; some would not. What was unusual in the case I recall here was that this particular professor was said to be a sociologist. He was the first of his kind at my college. At least, he was the first to be called a sociologist.
As a professor of philosophy I admired and respected thought him to be worthy, I signed up for one of his classes. The class in question addressed Time. If I remember correctly, the first thing we students were asked to do was submit a paper describing what we felt Time to be. I think I wrote something to the effect that time was a concept by which we determined when certain events took place or should take place (planting crops, for example). I thought, in other words, that we came to keep time because it was useful to do so for various purposes, especially as our societies became larger and more complex. This I suppose was a kind of anthropological view. Time was a method used in determining and defining what takes place or should take place. Such was, and is, my guess, in any case. But in all honesty I'm not sure just what I thought. That was a long time ago.
I confess I thought my view of Time to be superior to the views of others in the class who relied on Simon and Garfunkel (Hazy Shade of Winter) and others to arrive at a definition. The professor, though, treated our views as equally deficient and dismissed them all in a rather cursory manner. To this day I have no idea what he thought was the correct definition of "Time." I know only he was almost contemptuous of what we thought ("Ah yes, this is the so-and-so. view of Time"). He may have declined to give us a definition. He was one of those professors who thought that teaching consists of asking, not answering, questions. I encountered a few like-minded professors in law school. It may be there is or was a widespread belief that this style of teaching is the fabled Socratic Method. I find it hard to believe that anyone who actually reads Plato can come to such a conclusion, as I think he carefully prepared his dialogues so that they would inevitably result in a position he thought appropriate through the device of questions; much as a lawyer prepares questions to put to a witness.
It happens that Time is a subject of philosophical analysis. There are philosophers of Time and so must be a Philosophy of Time. The ontological status of time is studied and debated. Philosophers discuss the difference between the past, the present and the future. They consider why Time seems to us to be an arrow. They wonder whether there truly is anything but the present. They wonder about fatalism. They ask why Time seems to move swiftly in some cases or to certain people.
For my part, I wonder as I do in most cases whether these wonderings make any difference to how we live our lives, and am inclined to say they make no difference whatsoever. Also for my part, I feel that if they make no such difference, debating them is futile. This may well be a fault of mine. There may be something lacking in me.
Perhaps the professor of sociology I encountered (or did I? It was in the past!) would have though that C.S. Peirce's pragmatic maxim would be of some assistance in defining Time; more assistance, even, than Paul Simon's lyrics. It's hard to say. The maxim has appeared in different forms, but I'll make reference to the form in which it appeared in Peirce's essay entitled How to Make Our Ideas Clear:
"Consider what effects, that might conceivably have practical bearings, we conceive the object of our conception to have. Then, our conception of these effects is the whole of our conception of the object."
I can't remember whether I knew of this maxim when I studied under the eminent sociologist, but would have recourse to it now if recourse was required. Happily, it isn't. But I think the maxim would indicate that our conception of Time would be one which is made up of the uses to which we put that concept in doing things we do, e.g. eating, sleeping, working, taking vacations, parking cars, etc.
I find myself baffled if I seek to define Time or even think of it in any other way. Baffled, I say, in finding any reason to do so. Clearly, we say there is a difference between what has happened and what is happening, and in identifying such things the concept of Time can be useful. Should we say that there is such a difference? Why not? How do we err if we do? Should we say there is no past? Why?
Won't we keep on living as we do, using Time, making Time, regardless of the ontological status of Time? Won't we continue to distinguish past, present and future regardless of the differences there may be between them? It seems we understand the differences between them well enough, and those differences hardly seem surprising or worthy of analysis. Will we ever, seriously, claim that nothing happened in the past, that there will be no future? Do we ever make the distinctions philosophers make or reach the conclusions they do as to Time while living our lives? If we don't, doesn't that tell us something significant about the Philosophy of Time?
Perhaps another maxim along the lines of the pragmatic maxim would be useful. Something like this: "Consider what effects, that might conceivably have practical bearings, which may result from our study of the subject in question. If there are no such effects, then our study serves no purpose." Let's call it "the pertinence maxim." [Copyright Ciceronianus, 2017.]
It may be that there are aspects of Time that may usefully be subject to scientific study, e.g. the reasons why we perceive times' passage in different ways in different circumstances. Of course, Time has also been a subject of study in physics. It seems to me, though, that this kind of study is one best pursued by scientists, not by philosophers.
As a professor of philosophy I admired and respected thought him to be worthy, I signed up for one of his classes. The class in question addressed Time. If I remember correctly, the first thing we students were asked to do was submit a paper describing what we felt Time to be. I think I wrote something to the effect that time was a concept by which we determined when certain events took place or should take place (planting crops, for example). I thought, in other words, that we came to keep time because it was useful to do so for various purposes, especially as our societies became larger and more complex. This I suppose was a kind of anthropological view. Time was a method used in determining and defining what takes place or should take place. Such was, and is, my guess, in any case. But in all honesty I'm not sure just what I thought. That was a long time ago.
I confess I thought my view of Time to be superior to the views of others in the class who relied on Simon and Garfunkel (Hazy Shade of Winter) and others to arrive at a definition. The professor, though, treated our views as equally deficient and dismissed them all in a rather cursory manner. To this day I have no idea what he thought was the correct definition of "Time." I know only he was almost contemptuous of what we thought ("Ah yes, this is the so-and-so. view of Time"). He may have declined to give us a definition. He was one of those professors who thought that teaching consists of asking, not answering, questions. I encountered a few like-minded professors in law school. It may be there is or was a widespread belief that this style of teaching is the fabled Socratic Method. I find it hard to believe that anyone who actually reads Plato can come to such a conclusion, as I think he carefully prepared his dialogues so that they would inevitably result in a position he thought appropriate through the device of questions; much as a lawyer prepares questions to put to a witness.
It happens that Time is a subject of philosophical analysis. There are philosophers of Time and so must be a Philosophy of Time. The ontological status of time is studied and debated. Philosophers discuss the difference between the past, the present and the future. They consider why Time seems to us to be an arrow. They wonder whether there truly is anything but the present. They wonder about fatalism. They ask why Time seems to move swiftly in some cases or to certain people.
For my part, I wonder as I do in most cases whether these wonderings make any difference to how we live our lives, and am inclined to say they make no difference whatsoever. Also for my part, I feel that if they make no such difference, debating them is futile. This may well be a fault of mine. There may be something lacking in me.
Perhaps the professor of sociology I encountered (or did I? It was in the past!) would have though that C.S. Peirce's pragmatic maxim would be of some assistance in defining Time; more assistance, even, than Paul Simon's lyrics. It's hard to say. The maxim has appeared in different forms, but I'll make reference to the form in which it appeared in Peirce's essay entitled How to Make Our Ideas Clear:
"Consider what effects, that might conceivably have practical bearings, we conceive the object of our conception to have. Then, our conception of these effects is the whole of our conception of the object."
I can't remember whether I knew of this maxim when I studied under the eminent sociologist, but would have recourse to it now if recourse was required. Happily, it isn't. But I think the maxim would indicate that our conception of Time would be one which is made up of the uses to which we put that concept in doing things we do, e.g. eating, sleeping, working, taking vacations, parking cars, etc.
I find myself baffled if I seek to define Time or even think of it in any other way. Baffled, I say, in finding any reason to do so. Clearly, we say there is a difference between what has happened and what is happening, and in identifying such things the concept of Time can be useful. Should we say that there is such a difference? Why not? How do we err if we do? Should we say there is no past? Why?
Won't we keep on living as we do, using Time, making Time, regardless of the ontological status of Time? Won't we continue to distinguish past, present and future regardless of the differences there may be between them? It seems we understand the differences between them well enough, and those differences hardly seem surprising or worthy of analysis. Will we ever, seriously, claim that nothing happened in the past, that there will be no future? Do we ever make the distinctions philosophers make or reach the conclusions they do as to Time while living our lives? If we don't, doesn't that tell us something significant about the Philosophy of Time?
Perhaps another maxim along the lines of the pragmatic maxim would be useful. Something like this: "Consider what effects, that might conceivably have practical bearings, which may result from our study of the subject in question. If there are no such effects, then our study serves no purpose." Let's call it "the pertinence maxim." [Copyright Ciceronianus, 2017.]
It may be that there are aspects of Time that may usefully be subject to scientific study, e.g. the reasons why we perceive times' passage in different ways in different circumstances. Of course, Time has also been a subject of study in physics. It seems to me, though, that this kind of study is one best pursued by scientists, not by philosophers.
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