The Magnificent Seven (American Philosophers)

There was quite a bit going on in American philosophy, starting in the late 19th century and extending well into the 20th.  These names stand out, I think:  C.S. Peirce, William James, John Dewey, Josiah Royce, Ralph Barton Perry, George Santayana and Roy Wood Sellars.

Santayana was actually born in Spain, of course, but spent only his early years there; his philosophical career can fairly be called American.  And, I don't mean to discount other American philosophers of prominence in the 20th century, some in the pragmatic tradition, some not.  But these seven seem to me to be of particular significance.  Perry and Sellars, unfortunately, are mostly forgotten, it seems.

They were all, naturally enough, influenced by the theory of evolution.  They were all not religious in any traditional sense.  They all had concerns which related to practical and social (science, education, politics, art, law) matters in addition to any concern they may have had with the "special" metaphysical or epistemological concerns of philosophy which seem, to me at least, so apart from the way we live our lives (Peirce perhaps can be said to have had more of an interest in certain of the "special" concerns than the others, but as the creator of the pragmatic method he was something of a revolutionary and turned the focus of those concerns to us and the world in which we live, and away from futile speculations induced by the tendency to "doubt in philosophy what we do not doubt in our hearts").  And, they all felt philosophers could, as philosophers, address those concerns; and they addressed them.

One wonders if the time in which they worked contributed to their emphasis on the real.  There were great changes being made in technology, the character of America was changing with massive immigration, there was the Great War, the new movements in art, music and literature.  The world was rather hard to ignore.  Some think we live in a similar time.  Perhaps we'll be fortunate, and we'll encounter similar minds.

Of course, they differed in very significant respects as well.  But they were all participants in an effort to "recover" philosophy, to use Dewey's word, to addressing the "problems of men" to use Dewey's phrase.  I think that philosophy may have returned to the contemplation of the practically useless for a time.  But there are indications that might be changing.  In any case, I hope that's changing.

Of a Mosque in Manhattan

I've deliberately ignored the saga of the plans for a mosque near what the media insists on calling "Ground Zero" (as if it is the only such place) to the extent reasonably possible.  This isn't to say I'm completely ignorant of it; I've simply tried to avoid what I assumed would be the incessant and relatively mindless chattering of politicians, pundits and preachers on the subject.  Now that it appears it will take place, for the time being in any case, I feel an inclination to comment on the matter, so bear with me (or don't, if you like).

Since Congress in its wisdom adopted the strangely named Religious Land Use and Incarcerated Persons Act (RLUIPA), local governments which prohibit the use of land for religious purposes may find themselves experiencing the delights of litigation in the federal court.  Local governments are precluded from doing so except when they can establish good cause which must, of course, have nothing to do with the contemplated religious use.  The law has very real, and sharp, teeth.  Successful litigants may be awarded costs and attorneys fees, and even punitive damages in some cases, in addition to a court order that the planned use be allowed.

It's not very surprising, then, that permission was granted.  It would be difficult in this case to establish that a refusal to grant permission had nothing to do with the religious nature (the Islamic nature) of the contemplated use, and litigation would likely have resulted on a refusal.  It may still result now, though I'm not sure what the basis for any action would be.

There seems to be no basis in the law on which objection to the use can be made.  Are there other bases?

This can't legitimately be said to be the equivalent of establishing the headquarters of a neo-Nazi party next to Auschwitz, I think.  Those who carried out the 9/11 attacks are evidently not representative of Islam.  Still, it's hard not to think that those who intend to build this mosque suffer, at the least, from an insensitivity which is monumental.  It's also difficult to believe that those who intend to build the mosque were unaware of the fact that the community would find it very objectionable.

Why, then, decide to place the mosque in this location?  Unless it's the case that it simply could not be placed anywhere else (and I don't know this has been established), one must wonder regarding the intent involved.  It's likely that the mosque will be a site of protest and controversy (and possibly even violence) for quite some time to come; this would be the expectation of any reasonable person, I think.  Why would those involved in this development invite such a result, if they had any alternative?  These are questions which inevitably come to mind, and it would not be surprising in these emotionally charged circumstances that some of those who consider these questions infer that some disagreeable intent is involved, and act accordingly.

I don't particularly like RLUIPA, as I think it creates a de facto preference for religious land use (de jure too, I suppose) and I don't think the state should be involved in favoring religious use in this manner, regardless of the nature of the religion involved.  I don't think it is "wrong" (immoral) that a mosque be built in this case, but I think a case can be made that it is unwise and even offensive, and that unfortunate results may be anticipated.  It therefore seems to make no sense to build a mosque at this location.

If Only We Would Stop Thinking

The apparent prejudice many of those thought to be great figures in our intellectual history have against the "real world" and our interaction with it continues to baffle me.  I wonder, though, if any such figure can be a more impressive example of the problems which result from this prejudice than Henri Bergson.  There is something amazing about Bergson.  He is a thinker who wants us to stop thinking.

He seems to recognize that we think, normally, very much in the way that a Deweyian Pragmatist would maintain that we do.  In other words, when we think, we do so with a purpose in mind; we wish to solve a problem or attain some other end.  When we think well, critically and analytically, we achieve practical results, and this is good in a way, he admits.  But this seems an admission he makes only grudgingly.  This is the way we proceed on a common sense basis, and also when we're doing science.  We obtain great benefits as a consequence.  But this simply is not good enough.

If I understand him correctly (and it is sometimes difficult to believe he's being serious) thinking prevents us from truly knowing anything.  Our thoughts, and particularly our language, prevent us from discerning what is truly "real."  In thinking, we interpose constructs in place of the real.  Worse, we focus on certain things to the exclusion of others.  By focusing on one thing in particular, we fail to acknowledge other things (we fail to know them).  And, as we focus on things for a purpose, we can never know even that thing.  We must stop this business of thinking if we're going to really know.  Philosophers should know what is truly real.  So, philosophers should stop thinking.

We can only know what is truly real by intuiting it, in some fashion that is not described, and probably can't be described, as that would involve the use of language and that troublesome tendency to think we indulge in all too often.  Bergson is reduced to employing analogy as a means to communicate what cannot be communicated.  It's all rather Zen, in a way.

He apparently maintains that the way in which memory functions supports his view.  His view of memory seems rather antiquated, however.  Specifically, references to the fact that we can, under hypnosis or otherwise, recall past events in minute detail may not be as persuasive as intended given the phenomenon of "false memory."

What I find marvelous about this (not in a good way) is the extent to which it divorces what we are and what we do from what is claimed to be true, and ultimately worthy.  The fact that we are a "thinking animal" becomes for Bergson a problem.  It prevents us from knowing.  We can't even console ourselves by lauding scientific achievements.  Presumably, as these result from extended thought and analysis, they merely emphasize the fact that we fail to know what is real.  It seems the more we achieve, the more we think, the less we know.

What can Bergson mean?  Let's acknowledge that one can, through meditation and mindfulness, for example, experience oneself and the rest of reality in a manner different from the manner we normally do when we're golfing or working on a project of some kind.  When we focus on a particular task, it certainly can legitimately be argued we ignore other things, people, occurrences.  Is this all he means?  If so, why infer from such commonplaces some dramatic theory that we cannot know what is truly real?

There is something dangerous about this view.  It encourages thoughtlessness.  It seems to encourage mysticism, and the irrational.  If we can't know what is true by thinking, particularly analytic or critical thinking, how is it possible to make judgments regarding what is true or what we know?  On what basis would we distinguish between the intuitions of person X or those of person Y, and indeed, why would we want to do so?

I'm simplifying, of course.  Bergson seems to believe philosophers will be able to communicate with each other in some fashion regarding the real and true.  And he thinks, and analyzes, and reasons, and does all those things we shouldn't do, he claims, to truly know what is real.  He was a human being, after all, and that is what we do, very naturally, though sometimes we do it well and sometimes we don't.  Why does he and why do others feel we shouldn't do what humans do, quite naturally, and--worse yet?--do it well?

On the Death of Death in the Afternoon

The Catalans have decided to abolish bullfighting, and this leads me to muse on this peculiar display, or custom, or institution, or whatever it may be.

I'm hardly an expert.  I've read Hemingway, of course, and know his fondness for matadors and of bullfighting in general, so I have what knowledge can be absorbed from reading him.  I've seen some film of these animals being tormented by picadors and dispatched by the matador, and of the parade they put on before the torment begins.

As may be guessed, I have no objection to this spectacle being abolished, in Catalonia or elsewhere.  I can't say I've ever understood the explanations, or justifications, of bullfighting to the extent I know of them.  I can't recall exactly what Hemingway wrote--something about courage, and grace, and defying fate, and custom, and art, I think; some romantic musings about life and death.   He made an outraged old lady his foil in his book on the issue; a very typical Hemingway touch.  Papa was somewhat peculiar himself, of course, and could be rather brusque in characterizing people.  He thought El Greco was a homosexual based on the appearance of his paintings ("viva El Greco el rey de los maricons").

I think one need be neither an old lady nor a homosexual to be baffled by bullfighting--why it takes place, why anyone finds it interesting or attractive.  The Romans, of course, amused themselves by watching men fight various wild animals.  But even the Romans had pity on the animals now and then (especially elephants) and the crowd would actually stop the shows in some cases.  Also, the Romans didn't idolize the animal fighters as they did the gladiators.  They recognized there could be no real glory in killing a beast.

I'm not sure there is any glory in killing a human, but would agree with the Romans there is certainly none in killing an animal, especially killing one in a lengthy, convoluted, showy, elaborate manner.  After being repeatedly gored by men on horseback and on foot, it's a wonder a bull can do anything at all to a matador, let alone hit one with a horn now and then.  A matador would seem to have to deliberately put himself in harms way to incur any risk--which I suppose may be what delights the fans of bullfighting in some fashion.

If so, there are other ways of achieving such a result.  Displays of boxing or other martial arts at least pit human against human.  There can be said to be something in the nature of fairness involved in those cases. Each participant knows the risk, each has trained for the fight, they are more or less equally matched (each of them are human, at least, and can think and plan and react intelligently).

Using custom, tradition, history, art, or most anything, to justify tormenting and killing an animal seems a shabby thing.  One wonders why this macabre display survives, anywhere.

The Life of the World to Come

These are, of course, the final words of the Nicene Creed (not counting the obligatory "amen").  Lately, I've found myself wondering how this life beyond the world in which we live came to be of such concern to so many of us.  Reading about concepts of the afterlife in Roman paganism has prompted this speculation.

I find it interesting that so many managed to live without this concern, long ago.  The Romans seem to have had no opinion on the subject up until the first century C.E., judging from funerary inscriptions, and sometimes urged those still living to live it up while they can, so to speak.  The Epicureans and Stoics didn't seem to believe in any afterlife, or if so believed in one in which we simply merged with Nature or the Universal Reason.  Things began to be different in the Roman world with the onset of the eastern religions and cults, e.g. that of Isis, Cybele and Christ.

This is not to say that those who did not believe in an afterlife were indifferent to immortality of a sort.  In the ancient west, it was considered important to to have achieved such glory in life that one would be remembered for long years after death.  I was somewhat disappointed to learn that Epicurus apparently decreed that his followers should celebrate his birthday after he dispersed into atoms.  If it was his desire that he be regularly honored after his death, this seems to diminish him, somehow.  Still, this is something different from the desire to have a continuous, personal existence.

It's interesting that many of the ancients found a way to live, and even do great things and think great thoughts without a belief that they would live on or be punished or rewarded after death.  One must wonder why it is so difficult for us to do so now.  I think of the near-hysteria which gripped so many of the romantics of the 19th century, especially, at the thought that there may be no God or no life beyond this world, and the contrast with these ancients is astonishing.  Did we simply grow so weak, so cowardly, so craven that we quiver in fear at the thought of our dissolution, questioning the meaning of our lives and the use of doing anything while they lived and fought and thought and worked and achieved regardless of their fate?