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Archive of "philosophy" Category
Common Sense Ethics
Fair warning: this entry contains philosophical theory. I have done my best to make it accessible, but if the very thought bores you, I suggest skimming or skipping this entry.
“If your Bible is an argument for the degradation of woman, and the abuse by whipping of little children, I advise you to put it away, and use your common sense instead.” — Lucy Colman, paper delivered at New York teacher’s convention (The Truth Seeker, March 5, 1887).
I recently came across this quote as it was passed on by a sceptic of my acquaintance on FarceBook. It’s an interesting one, and I agree with it – as far as it goes. But it might strike the average reader (or listener) as a tad simplistic, particularly those who believe that human reason is inferior as a moral guide to the teachings of whichever god is currently in fashion. What is this “common sense” to which she refers and which she places above religious morality?
Some believe it to be intuition. This isn’t far from the mark, in my view, but it is (of course) a bit more complicated than that. After all, following one’s intuition can lead to moral relativism – that is (at its core), the view that what one deems to be moral is so. If “common sense” is defined as being common through its being shared by the majority of people, then it most likely resembles a combination of various factors – the chief among them being intuition, empathy, and duty.
It’s a very interesting area of ethics, and increasingly popular among academics of such. Known generally as contextualism, or contextualist ethics, it is – to my mind – the first ethical theory to be informed by, and applicable to, the real world and real situations. This in contrast to those tiresome and unrealistic theories such as utilitarianism and Kant’s Categorical Imperative, which take morality to such abstractions as to be very useful in philosophical discourse, yet renders them of little use in real situations. Are we to believe that proponents of these theories truly stop to consider, in the midst of an ethical dilemma, the possible outcomes of each course of action, and how those outcomes affect the overall happiness of those involved? Or weigh whether or not what they consider to be the right course would work as a universal law?It’s possible, of course, but even if those few did so, it would not be a realistic approach to ethics, acceptably applied across the board. The question that begs to be asked here is: people are, generally speaking, moral. What is the phenomenon that causes this? Is it the hand of an invisible deity, silently and carefully guiding us? Possibly, but probably not. What is more likely is common ethical sense – also known variously as contextualism, role ethics, and vocational ethics, among others. It is also closely associated with virtue ethics, that school of thought founded by Aristotle millennia ago.
The gist of it is that we as moral agents see ourselves in various roles (this is related to the fascinating concept of narrative identity, or the narrative self). Each of these roles carries with it certain duties in our perception, so for instance someone who sees himself in the role of a nurse might (indeed probably should) consider it his duty to care for his patients, or someone who sees herself as a student considers studying to be a duty. Of course, we all have a multitude of roles and therefore a great range of duties we see ourselves as being under obligation to obey – we see ourselves as mother, brother, godfather, employee, volunteer, carer.. to name but a few.
Ethical dilemmas arise from conflicts between duties. A Christian nurse has a duty to care for her patient who will die without an abortion; she also has a duty which flows from her faith to absolutely not administer or assist in that procedure. It is not a calculated balance between happiness in consequences that informs her decision, but a battle between these duties, between these roles. Ultimately one must be placed above the other, and the consequences of that decision must be dealt with in turn.
Life is not simple. Ethics, if it is to be realistic, has to be likewise complex and even a little messy. There are few, if any, right answers, objectively speaking. We don’t always make the right call, and our moral self-perception is ever-shifting as we take on new roles, and new duties within those roles; as we discuss these duties and roles with our peers; as we are informed by society at large what our duties should be.So perhaps this is common sense – messy, complicated, and the best we can do in the circumstances. I would argue that it is not morality that comes from religious teachings, but vice versa – naturally we are inclined to instill our own beliefs into the stories we tell.
Aurelius’ Antidote
Many of you will have heard of Pascal’s Wager; it is one of the more well-known arguments against adopting an atheist world-view. Summarised, it states that it is better to believe in God because if one is wrong, one loses nothing, whereas if the atheist is wrong, (s)he goes to hell. Not only is this a truly cynical way to come to religious belief, but there are certain other flaws also – primarily, the issue of which God.For instance, suppose you took it seriously, and began worshipping the God of the Bible, the Christian God – quite confident in your now-unassailable position. You can’t lose! If there’s no God, no harm done. If there is, you’re in his good books. However, when you finally meet your maker, it turns out to be Allah. He’s not too pleased about your outspoken worship of a rival God, and you end up in Hell anyway. So much for the wager.
Until recently, I thought this was the best argument to marshal against the infamous wager. Then I was introduced to this elegant quotation from Marcus Aurelius, Emperor of the Roman Empire from 161 to 180. Which means that this quote predates Pascal’s Wager by approximately 1500 years.“Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones.”
It is always gratifying to find one’s own thoughts put so eloquently into text.
The Power of the Hypothetical
“So remember, when you’re feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth…”In science, an hypothesis is a wonderful thing. It is the glimmer of imagination and possibility that can give rise to years of research and fascinating advances in our knowledge of the world. But it is still just the preliminary stage – when people say something is “just a theory”, they are thinking of the colloquial meaning which is more analogous to hypothesis. It’s a weak form of knowledge, little better than conjecture.
But the power of the hypothetical goes beyond that. In philosophy, hypothetical scenarios are often (or indeed exhaustively) used to examine arguments, beliefs, and assumptions – of which the subject is sometimes previously unaware of using / having / making. I’m currently leafing through a book full of such hypotheticals – called The Pig That Wants To Be Eaten. The title is perfectly demonstrative of the kind of thinking contained therein – thought experiments which are often semi-nonsensical, but which nevertheless challenge us to examine our underlying reasons for what we believe. IS it immoral to eat a pig that wants to be eaten (assuming it is immoral to eat one that does not)? And if so, why?
This is one of the reasons I so enjoy science fiction – there is such an immense crossover with so many areas of philosophy, and there is no better arena for bringing thought experiments and hypotheticals into the mainstream consciousness. Just look at The Matrix – how many people had questioned the very nature of reality, and the evidence of their senses, before watching that film? Every philosopher was familiar with the idea, of course – as it was an imaginative adaptation of Descartes’ hyperbolic doubt and evil demon hypothetical. But it wasn’t well-known, in the public sense of the phrase.Now it seems the hypothetical has been given yet more power – or rather, yet another facet of its power has been discovered. Previous to this recent research, people were often encouraged to promote a positive outlook in themselves by focusing on the good things in their lives, “counting their blessings”, as it were. However, studies into this method returned mixed results at best, and a new hypothesis was tested – that, rather than simply thinking about the positive aspects of one’s life, one should imagine what one’s life would be like had those things never happened at all. The contrast this creates between the present and the parallel (and negative) “possible presents” reinforces the positivity of one’s life.
So next time, instead of just thinking “it could be worse”, perhaps you should actually think about exactly how it could be worse. And how easily it might have turned out that way.
Koo, M., Algoe, S., Wilson, T., & Gilbert, D. (2008). It’s a wonderful life: Mentally subtracting positive events improves people’s affective states, contrary to their affective forecasts. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 95 (5), 1217-1224 DOI: 10.1037/a0013316
The Power of Metaphor, or, Don’t Blame Santa
Before I begin, I ought to warn you that there is no real conclusion or argument to be found in this entry; it is rather intended as a collection of musings hoped to inform but primarily provoke further thought. Most of what is contained herein is part of an ongoing internal discussion I’m holding with myself, and this forms something of an update as to the point that that debate has reached. So open your mind, and read on.
I have made mention before of my status as a pagan atheist. It’s not just an incidental matter for me, either; while I don’t believe the Gods or spirits are actual entities capable of any kind of interaction with this world, I believe they are powerful and practically useful metaphors for a great deal of human life. The Gods we choose for ourselves – if choose them we do – represent those principles which are most important to us. For this reason I tend more toward the Northern European pantheon, in particular the Norse Gods. If I had a Sabbath like the Christian Sunday or Jewish Friday, it would be Wednesday, named for Odin, a.k.a. Woden (Woden’s Daeg -> Wednesday) – for he is the figure with whom I most identify.
He is the symbol for wisdom, courage, and honour – among many other things. He is also seen as the guardian of travellers, much as the Christian Saint Christopher. All of these themes are ones which ring true with me: I aspire to be wise, courageous and honourable above all else; I can think of no qualities I would rather possess. There is also an emphasis on respect and reverence for nature in the Northern European religions, which it won’t surprise you to find has particular resonance with me.So why, you might ask, don’t I just identify with those qualities directly instead of expressing them through the language of mythology and religious faith? It is a good question, and one which I have asked myself on many an occasion. I think the answer, as far as I can fathom it, lies in what I refer to as the “power of metaphor”; that is, the linguistic and emotional force that can be expressed only in terms of phenomena that transcend the physical, evidential world. Humanity is known for being a fickle race, and a claimed devotion to an abstract concept such as justice seems to hold less force, somehow, than a claimed devotion to a deity personifying that concept. It is an appeal to the eternal nature of these ideals as opposed to the sometimes-fleeting nature of humanity’s adherence to them.
Another example of this that I recently found out about (thanks to my friend the Nietzschean feminist) is Laveyan satanism, which again is essentially an atheist religion. The ideals it favours are individualism, a realistic approach to humanity’s darker impulses and an acceptance of these drives as an inevitable an essential component of understanding what it is to be human. There is also a strong element of anarchism, a rebelliousness and hostility toward authority that is reflected in few other mythologies. But it is atheist – and specifically non-Christian, a claim which cannot be made by theistic Satanism – because it entails a commitment to these ideals only, not a belief in a literal Satan or lesser demons. There is much in LaVeyan Satanism which rings true with me and values which are shared by the pagan faith.On a tangentally-related topic, I also want to address the topic of Santa Claus – not as a metaphor, but as a belief tantamount to religion but treated as a socially-acceptable falsehood. This line of thought comes from listening to my backlog of Point of Inquiry podcasts, specifically the interview with Todd C. Riniolo. He noted an objection to the widely-used argument in sceptical circles that it is little wonder that people are credulous in adulthood when they are raised to believe in Santa Claus as children. It is rarely used as a forceful argument, usually instead forming a arbitrary comment; but nonetheless is worth addressing. Riniolo’s objection is that there is simply no proof that belief in Santa during childhood leads to credulity in adulthood. Indeed, he argues, the “debunking” of Santa constitutes many a child’s first truly sceptical activity.
I thought this was a very interesting point, and it contributed to an ongoing internal debate I’ve been conducting with regards to how best to raise a child in the sceptical mindset. It hasn’t helped me make up my mind on the subject, but has made a significant contribution to the complexity of the issue. Is it wrong to lie to one’s children in this regard, or is it a valuable experience that teaches them that deception (harmless or otherwise) is everywhere and that nobody is to be trusted implicitly? On a personal note, I think I “grew out of” notions like God and spiritualism around the same time as I did the notion of Santa. I don’t recall being annoyed at the deception, either; at some point it just became a childish absurdity and I scoffed at my parents for persisting in the charade.So would it be better or worse to deny one’s child this experience? Should we rather explain as best we can the lessons that would be learned through it, rather than perpetuate the white lies? At the very least, it seems that the lies do less harm than one might think.
What else could it be?
Via Neil Gaiman on Twitter, comes the news that not only has Plato been revived from the dead, not only is he now writing for The Sun, but his fabled lost city of Atlantis has been found. Quite the news day.
In typical Sun fashion, the article could hardly be more credulous; nothing is considered as alternative explanation for the find. But when the Telegraph article on the same subject follows suit, perhaps credulity is indeed the answer. Especially if Plato says it’s true.Here are but a few reasons to be sceptical (other than the very good reason of simply having this as a default position): the reported “city” is the size of Wales. Does anyone else think that maybe that’s just a little on the large side, even for a fabled city of legend? There isn’t the kind of detail you’d expect to see in the outline if this was indeed a city the size of a relatively small country. There are only ten or so “streets” in either plane, and no less distinct, narrower lines in between to indicate smaller streets or buildings of any normal size.
Secondly, Atlantis is generally accepted in scholoarly circles as being nothing more than a narrative, heuristic device by Plato to illustrate his points and tell a story. In this way it can be seen as any product of imagination as opposed to history: nothing of the Atlantis myth (aside from the sheer scale, a classic exaggeration of such tales) cannot be traced to something historical with which Plato would have been familiar; wars were certainly no stranger to the Athens of his lifetime, and even a city lost to the sea overnight would have been a familiar concept.Finally, we have the problem of all the other discoveries of Atlantis over the years; as recently as 2004, sites have been found and claimed to be the fabled lost city because of some feature or other that matches with Plato’s rhetorical account. What makes this one more likely than the others?
Now, I don’t know enough about oceanography or indeed Google Ocean to postulate convincingly on what this picture might show – the possibilities as far as I can think are some kind of geological formation, or perhaps an artifact of the mapping process. I’d welcome any suggestions, but will take some considerable convincing that what this picture shows is a city our only source of knowledge for which is the probably-rhetorical account of a philosopher well known for talking out of his arse.
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UPDATE: The Daily Mail, of all things, has “dashed hopes” that Atlantis had been found. Guess what it was. Yup, an artifact of the mapping process.
“Details for the ocean maps on Google Earth come from sonar measurements of the sea floor recorded by boats – and the area around the Canaries was mapped by boats travelling in a series of straight lines.”
Well that explains that, then. Is the magic gone, now that the truth is known? Only in a literal sense; the explanation of how this illusion happened is still very interesting. Or maybe that’s just me.
Small Wonders #1: Evolution
My head is somewhat fuzzy with The Ill at the moment, so just a quick entry today in case coherence is in short supply.
What better way to inaugurate my “Small Wonders” series than with Darwin’s Theory of Evolution, something so often taken for granted? It seems common sense to say that life as we know it has evolved from less complex forms, and yet look at it more closely and it is truly an absolute wonder that one man (ignoring, as most of the world sadly does, young Wallace) formulated, researched, developed and presented a theory with such staggering implications for virtually every field of study.
It seems so elegantly simple, and yet at the same time mind-numbingly complex. “Species change over time” is the pithy, easily-understood summary of literally a lifetime’s work, and it has branches reaching off into innumerable other lifetimes’ works. Genetics; medicine; zoology; biology; even ethics and philosophy were profoundly affected by the dawn of the Theory.
I greatly recommend finding out more about this subject; there should be no lack of freely-available information at this of all times. It is quite simply one of the most important scientific breakthroughs of all time, and one which can be appreciated at any level – from its simplest summary to the greatest levels of detail.
The Life, Death and Legacy of Deep Throat
Possibly the most famous informant since Judas, the man known until just three years ago only as “Deep Throat”, has died, aged 95. There are a few reasons for mentioning this here.
Firstly, he is an interesting figure for sceptics – he contributed one of the greatest amounts of fuel to the fire of the conspiracy theory culture that any one person has managed. It finally proved, in the eyes of many, that the government cannot be trusted; that there really are conspiracies and cover-ups at the highest levels of government.
Despite this being a perfectly valid point, however, what is rarely if ever taken into account by conspiracy nutstheorists is that not only do conspiracies and cover-ups happen, but so does whistleblowing. Compared to some conspiracy theories, the Watergate scandal was relatively small in terms of how many people knew the truth; and yet someone spoke up. This is a perfect demonstration of one of the mainstays of arguing against conspiracies – the whistleblower argument. So not only did Deep Throat provide conspiracy theorists with the perfect proof, he also provided the perfect counter-argument.The second thing I find interesting about Mark Felt is his expressed misgivings about what he did; apparently he felt guilty about “betraying his FBI badge”. Some critics agree with this assessment and brand him a traitor for turning on the Commander in Chief – a strange assessment considering the FBI is not a military organisation but a civilian one. Either way, I disagree with his critics and argue rather that he upheld his oath as a federal employee; the oath he took bound him to uphold the constitution, not to defend the president.
Of course, it’s not as simple as that. As associate director of the FBI, he was also supposed to protect the information relating to the investigation, and send it through the correct channels. This is the obligation he violated, and surely the source of his moral discomfort. What he did, though, fulfilled the spirit of his role rather than the by-the-letter procedure thereof.Here comes the quick ethical philosophy section, because me being me I find it hard to resist. Mark Felt suffered a moral dilemma, which is what happens when one or more roles in which you sees yourself oblige you to take two conflicting courses of action. In this case, he was obliged to follow procedure, and also to see that justice was done. Normally these two obligations would not conflict – and indeed the theory is that they are more or less synonymous. However, with regards to the Watergate scandal, the procedure was blocked, hindered, and/or corrupt – giving rise to the dilemma.
I say he did the right thing. He chose principle over procedure, and in exposing the Nixon administration’s misdeeds, he carried out the most important role of his position. It was, after all, an important founding tenet of the constitution that nobody would be above the law; his obligation to defend and enact this principle overrode his obligation to follow Bureau procedure. What’s more interesting than the whole Watergate débacle is his later conviction (and pardon) for approving illegal raids. That has echoes in recent legislation, and involves arguments about the right to privacy and the measures necessary to combat terrorism.That will have to wait for another day and another blog entry. For now, it is enough to remember the man known for over thirty years only as Deep Throat, and what he did. I only hope that his Alzheimer’s provided him some degree of moral peace in his final years, and he died free of torment.
Away Turf
One of the more commented posts here recently was Home Turf, in which I inveighed at some length regarding the logically necessary divide between science and religion. Religion is fine, I concluded, as long as it remains in the private sphere.
My good friend Von made a comment which brought to attention something which was left unsaid (though perhaps implied) in my original rant – why religion is actually OK at all.
There is no doubt in my mind whatsoever that religion has played a positive role in a great many lives. The advantages it brings are almost too numerous to list, but here’s a cursory top-of-the-head job: removes/reduces fear of death; provides consolation after a loss; creates a sense of wonder; absolves from guilt; “explains” everything; provides cast-iron moral code; binds communities together… I could go on, but I won’t.
These are the things which should be celebrated about religion; but they should not be considered – as they so often are – the sole domain thereof. As an atheist, I am truly and profoundly insulted when people argue that atheism means amorality; I don’t fear death because all evidence suggests that it is the absence of experience, and it is thus senseless to fear it; and a sense of wonder is certainly no stranger to me – nature in all its complex splendour is quite amazing enough without having to resort to supernature.
But isn’t it more interesting (and fruitful) to discuss these issues, like the true value of religion and the role it might, should, does – or not – play in society? Rather than obsessing over complete and eternal non-starters like the verifiability of deities? Religious-types: stop offering proof. Scientific-types: stop demanding it.
The first step in looking for meaningful answers is to ask meaningful questions.
Home Turf
Yes, dear reader, you’re getting treated to another of my regular helpings of “Why philosophy is great”. I’m sure you’re suitably thrilled at this prospect.
There is a school of thought within philosophy (generally Wittgensteinian if you’re interested) which argues that the most (perhaps the only) important contribution philosophy can make to real life is the diagnosis and treatment of misunderstandings, particularly those caused by language. There are many possible examples of this, such as subjective definitions of “proof”, “knowledge”, “belief”, etc.
As an illustrative anecdote from my own life, I occasionally have arguments (not rows; series of progressive statements intended to establish a consensus) with my dear mother about – amongst other topics – alternative medicine. Toward the end of one such discussion, I made note of the fact that we actually agreed, despite appearances. This was because I had noticed that we were simply operating on different definitions of the word “work”; when considering what it is for a treatment to “work”, she includes the placebo effect and I do not. Aside from this, we were making entirely the same points and agreeing throughout; once I pointed out this fundamental misunderstanding, the discussion was less confrontational.I believe there is a misunderstanding at the core much of the antagonism between science and religion, and it is what will always happen when a naturally rational being attempts to justify their irrational beliefs in rational terms. There is nothing wrong with irrational beliefs, as long as one accepts that they are irrational; as soon as you start trying to justify (for example) your belief in a deity on empirical grounds, you invite, if not outright ridicule, at least a sound defeat in rational debate.
God and all metaphysical phenomena lie outside empirical perception – that is why they’re called metaphysical. There is no point looking for evidence because the very (supposed) nature of these things denies the possibility of evidence. All attempts to prove the existence of deities on purely logical grounds, too, have failed miserably and laughably. The fact that claims of the supernatural are exclusively beyond the purview of rational science means that there is a huge gulf separating them from it. Irrationality should never try to justify itself on rational grounds – its very nature precludes success.This is why I believe religion should be kept on the personal level; as long as it does no harm and doesn’t pretend to be rational, I have no problem with it – but society as a whole cannot afford to be irrational.
The only time that science and religion should engage each other is when one is attempting to pass itself off as the other. I won’t lie here – it’s (almost?) always religion trying to pass itself off as science; because guess what? They think that seeming rational and basing their beliefs on empirical evidence is a desirable trait – cognitive dissonance anyone? The current classic example of this is creationism (a completely irrational belief if ever there was one) trying to pass itself off as science under the guise of Intelligent Design. Apparently there are those who believe that irrationality has a place in science classrooms; this is exactly when science and the rational community should defend with every argument at our disposal, and keep the irrational separate.
The divide between religion and science is identical with the divide between rationality and irrationality. As long as you keep them separate, all is well. But cross over from one to the other and you’ve got a fight on your hands.
The importance of antidote
There are many reasons I see such a strong link between philosophy and scepticism. One of these is probably bias on my part, being a great lover of both and prone to making connections. Another prominent reason, however, can be summed up in the word therapy.
While in other contexts this is a word which would set off some alarm bells – it’s one which is used extensively by Supplementary, Complementary and Alternative Medicines (my favourite acronym) to give the illusion of competence where none exists – in this context, it is therapy of the most genuine and beneficial sort.
People suffer from misconceptions. It’s just a fact of life that this is the case, and there’s nothing we can do to completely prevent this on a global scale. What the philosopher or sceptic is able to do is analyse an argument or a stated position, and identify fallacies. They can then determine the appropriate way of dissuading the person from that misconception (though of course there must be a degree of willing on the part of the subject). This diagnosis-treatment approach is why this particular brand of philosophy is known as therapeutic – and the parallels with scepticism are striking.This process in scepticism is aided substantially by the wonders of the interwebs and the ever-growing freedom of information. Someone insisting that acupuncture or homeopathy has a proven track record in clinical trials? Ask to see the published research – or better yet, show them the reams of research which contradicts their position.
Of course, an important part of any therapy is to treat primary causes rather than the symptoms alone; and the source of so much of the ignorance and misunderstanding in the world is the mainstream media. For the majority of people, who do not get their news from the internet, the main sources of information are television and the dead tree press – the worst of which are the tabloids. It seems impossible for a story to appear in The Scum that isn’t in some way serving the editorial agenda, every story spun to promote the paper’s pet worldview.
An example: for one reason or another, lately there has been a rise in awareness of knife crime in the UK; the government is pledging new measures to combat it, and the opposition are using it as further “evidence” that society is going down the pan. The latest crime survey figures were recently splashed across the headlines – crying out things like “crime wave” and “a stabbing every 4 minutes in Blade Britain”.Now, I’ve spoken before about the evil of statistics in the media, and this is another case of the media twisting the figures to suit their agenda. This is where we need our antidotes, and there are few as effective at bursting the hyperbolic bubble of social commentary as Obsolete, and in this case he certainly doesn’t disappoint. His entry on the subject reveals the figures behind the hysteria: 6% of violent crime in England & Wales in the last year involved a knife.
Without going into too much detail (head over to Obsolete’s article if you want the full load), the basic point here is that crime is down – and even knife crime in particular has seen a (albeit statistically insignificant) decrease in the last year. Where, then, does this apocalyptic vision of a Broken, Blade-wielding Britain come from? Speculatively, I would have to say that it’s probably the media themselves; though the Why is a different matter.
But can you imagine how hard it would be to get the facts were it not for the internet? How much more widespread the influence of the media would be? I shudder at the thought, to be honest.The internet is a wonderful resource, and one of the best uses to which it can be put is as part of the therapeutic process of scepticism, treating misconceptions and bringing the “antidote” of actual facts to a wider audience.
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