A rule of simplicity -- for example, Ockham's Razor -- is normative. In its traditional formulation, Ockham's Razor can be expressed as follows: one should avoid the needless multiplication of entities. What counts as needless -- that is, one's standard of simplicity -- does not matter here. What does matter is that there be a rational ground for deciding among hypotheses. This decidability presupposes boundary conditions among which is one or another standard of simplicity. Without some standard of simplicity, one cannot succeed in falsifying a hypothesis, because one cannot reasonably rule out ad hoc complications introduced to accommodate facts that would otherwise falsify the hypothesis.
A rule of simplicity expresses a relationship between a purpose sought in attempting to explain and a means necessary for achieving that purpose. A rule of simplicity is thus a norm expressible in the form of a conditional: if one wishes to achieve any purpose by an attempt at explanation, then one may not arbitrarily introduce complications.
Inasmuch as it is a rule, a rule of simplicity is not a statement of fact, although it is related to the facts which make up the process of scientific inquiry itself. A rule of simplicity involves a claim about a relationship between two aspects of that process -- namely, a purpose of the process and one of the conditions necessary to achieve it.
[...]
A determinist can admit a difference between conditional statements and conditional norms which he can explain on his own ground. Conditional norms might be explained, for instance, as expressions of emotion or as causally determined exhortations. The general rule of efficiency we have described might be explained, for instance, as a key component in the survival mechanism of the organism.
For the sake of argument we will grant any such deterministic account of normativity in terms of antecedent determining conditions. But in conceding this point, we mean to hold determinists to all the implications of determinism, including those implications which determinists ignore when involved in arguments with someone who disagrees with them. In particular, we wish to call into question the consistency between any determinist's account of normativity and his assertion of his position, involving -- as it necessarily does -- a rule of simplicity as an essential ingredient.
Any determinist hypothesis must be able to account for the existence in the world of conflicting attempts to account for the data of human experience -- there are positions that contradict determinism. A determinist might try to account for this fact by saying that both positions are determined effects of different sets of antecedent conditions.
Nevertheless, every determinist makes the claim that his account of the data is superior to his opponent's, and therefore ought to be accepted in preference to the alternative position. The question is, what meaning can a determinist attach to the word "ought" in this context? Certainly no determinist can mean what anyone who would disagree with him would mean by saying that we ought not accept determinism. Someone rejecting determinism can distinguish between the force of a norm and the force of determining conditions. But, any determinist must say that among the sets of determining conditions there is one set of determining conditions that determines him to say "ought" and determines whatever effects follow from his utterance of "ought." And he must give the same account of his opponent's utterance of "ought." This result will not seem odd to a determinist; it follows logically from any form of the determinist hypothesis.
On his own account of "ought," then, a determinist is perfectly able to say we ought to accept his position and ought not hold the contradictory position. But on those same grounds he must also grant that someone who has articulated a contradictory position is equally able to say that we ought to accept his position and ought not accept a determinist hypothesis.
No determinist can avail himself of a distinction between positions in fact maintained and positions justifiably maintained in any sense of that distinction which a determinist account would preclude. Where normativity is explained in terms of antecedent determining conditions, the exclusion of any position can be achieved only be excluding the very articulation of that position. But inasmuch as determinism is a more economical account of a set of facts that initially present themselves as including the naively realistic interpretation of the experience of choice -- which any determinist hypothesis explains as an illusion -- the contradictory position is necessarily articulated whenever any determinist position is articulated.
It follows that a determinist hypothesis cannot exclude its contradictory in the only sense of "exclude" that is available to a determinist. Any determinist hypothesis implies the impossibility of excluding its counterpositions, but necessarily presents its own counterposition in its very articulation. But a determinist, in arguing with his opponent, precisely does want to exclude the contradictory position. Otherwise there would be no point in the determinist's entering the argument, because the utterance of a sentence without the intention of excluding the contradictory is not a statement.
Joseph M. Boyle, Jr., Germain Grisez, and Olaf Tollefsen
"Determinism, Freedom, and Self-Referential Arguments"
The Review of Metaphysics 26 (1972-3)
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Evolution and Information Theory
I've heard some critics of evolution claim that all we have evidence for is micro-evolution, and this only involves decreases in genetic information rather than increases. So, for example, there was an original bear "kind" which -- due to mutations, geographical separation, and the different environmental pressures different populations of this kind faced -- devolved into the various species of bears in the world today, such as grizzly, Kodiak, polar, etc. In other words, when various groups of bears were isolated and so had a smaller genetic stock to work with, certain traits were expressed that had not been expressed by the larger group -- such as the lack of pigment in the polar bear's fur, or the lack of certain genes which make their paws under-developed but better for swimming.
I find it ironic that this claim is championed by young-earth advocates, since it is a known paradigm of Darwinian evolution called allopatric speciation. What these critics of evolution claim is that this speciation only applies to the family or order level and, since it only allows for the loss of information not gain, it demonstrates that an intelligent agent directly created the original kinds with all of the genetic differences of the particular genera and species already in place but not expressed.
Now I've read very little about information theory, but what I have read contradicts this (although, I think these critics of evolution are partially excused because some defenders of evolution describe it in these same categories). According to Information and the Origin of Life by Bernd-Olaf Küppers it's a misunderstanding of information theory to claim that these scenarios involve a loss of information. Information is, by definition, expressed. If it is not expressed, it is not information; it is potential information (or technically, "syntactic" or "Shannon" information). For example, a string of 100 characters of gibberish may have more potential information than a string of 30 characters that makes up a coherent sentence since the first string contains more characters to which one could ascribe meaning. But in point of fact, the string of 100 characters of gibberish does not convey any information insofar as it is gibberish, whereas the string of 30 characters that make up a coherent sentence does convey actual information. Thus, if the meaningless string of 100 characters turned into the meaningful string of 30 characters by losing 70 characters, this would involve an increase in information.
Let me illustrate this. If you have a string of characters
and it experiences a mutation so that only every third character is expressed, it leaves us with the following string:
Now according to the critics of evolution -- at least those who argue as I've indicated -- the first string contains more information than the second. But this is false. The first string has more characters, certainly, but it doesn't have any meaning, and hence conveys no information. The second string, on the other hand, does have meaning and does convey information. If the first string evolved into the second as I've illustrated, this would be an increase in information, since it goes from a series of characters that's meaningless to one that's meaningful.
Potential information is essentially just the building blocks before they are actually arranged into any kind of meaningful order. Any combination is equally likely or unlikely as any other, regardless of whether they have any meaning. This isn't "nothing", since it is an actual series of the building blocks in question, but the sequence is irrelevant. Potential information can "carry" information, but is not true information itself.
Beyond this is semantic information, in which there is a code where meaning is attached to certain sequences. To use one of our previous examples, 30 characters making up a coherent sentence has more semantic information than 100 characters of gibberish, since the former means something and the latter does not. The next level is pragmatic information, where the information evokes action. Obviously, these three dimensions of information are all inter-related: the pragmatic level presupposes the semantic level, which in turn presupposes the potential. Moreover, semantic information cannot exist by itself without evoking a response, and thus always leads to the pragmatic level. The point in all of this is that these critics equivocate between potential information on the one hand and semantic or pragmatic information on the other.
What this illustrates is that actual (i.e. semantic or pragmatic) information always requires a context. If our meaningless sequence of 100 characters lost 70 characters, and became a meaningful, coherent sentence, it would constitute an increase in information. If a genetic mutation prevented some kind of protein synthesis, but the overall effect was a positive one, it would constitute an increase in information. If a mutation prevented some minor aspect of an animal's normal morphological development, but the change made the animal more able to survive in its particular environment, it would constitute an increase in information. The context determines whether the change constitutes an increase or a decrease in information, and in the above contexts, the acquired meaning, or the improved adaptability of the cell or the individual animal means that the changes in question were increases in information.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
I find it ironic that this claim is championed by young-earth advocates, since it is a known paradigm of Darwinian evolution called allopatric speciation. What these critics of evolution claim is that this speciation only applies to the family or order level and, since it only allows for the loss of information not gain, it demonstrates that an intelligent agent directly created the original kinds with all of the genetic differences of the particular genera and species already in place but not expressed.
Now I've read very little about information theory, but what I have read contradicts this (although, I think these critics of evolution are partially excused because some defenders of evolution describe it in these same categories). According to Information and the Origin of Life by Bernd-Olaf Küppers it's a misunderstanding of information theory to claim that these scenarios involve a loss of information. Information is, by definition, expressed. If it is not expressed, it is not information; it is potential information (or technically, "syntactic" or "Shannon" information). For example, a string of 100 characters of gibberish may have more potential information than a string of 30 characters that makes up a coherent sentence since the first string contains more characters to which one could ascribe meaning. But in point of fact, the string of 100 characters of gibberish does not convey any information insofar as it is gibberish, whereas the string of 30 characters that make up a coherent sentence does convey actual information. Thus, if the meaningless string of 100 characters turned into the meaningful string of 30 characters by losing 70 characters, this would involve an increase in information.
Let me illustrate this. If you have a string of characters
nbtldwepob( kvpkhla&u jsgv *xfndistvl,emc nbijnsmv $hsfgevlvs.ecjn
and it experiences a mutation so that only every third character is expressed, it leaves us with the following string:
two plus five is seven
Now according to the critics of evolution -- at least those who argue as I've indicated -- the first string contains more information than the second. But this is false. The first string has more characters, certainly, but it doesn't have any meaning, and hence conveys no information. The second string, on the other hand, does have meaning and does convey information. If the first string evolved into the second as I've illustrated, this would be an increase in information, since it goes from a series of characters that's meaningless to one that's meaningful.
Potential information is essentially just the building blocks before they are actually arranged into any kind of meaningful order. Any combination is equally likely or unlikely as any other, regardless of whether they have any meaning. This isn't "nothing", since it is an actual series of the building blocks in question, but the sequence is irrelevant. Potential information can "carry" information, but is not true information itself.
Beyond this is semantic information, in which there is a code where meaning is attached to certain sequences. To use one of our previous examples, 30 characters making up a coherent sentence has more semantic information than 100 characters of gibberish, since the former means something and the latter does not. The next level is pragmatic information, where the information evokes action. Obviously, these three dimensions of information are all inter-related: the pragmatic level presupposes the semantic level, which in turn presupposes the potential. Moreover, semantic information cannot exist by itself without evoking a response, and thus always leads to the pragmatic level. The point in all of this is that these critics equivocate between potential information on the one hand and semantic or pragmatic information on the other.
What this illustrates is that actual (i.e. semantic or pragmatic) information always requires a context. If our meaningless sequence of 100 characters lost 70 characters, and became a meaningful, coherent sentence, it would constitute an increase in information. If a genetic mutation prevented some kind of protein synthesis, but the overall effect was a positive one, it would constitute an increase in information. If a mutation prevented some minor aspect of an animal's normal morphological development, but the change made the animal more able to survive in its particular environment, it would constitute an increase in information. The context determines whether the change constitutes an increase or a decrease in information, and in the above contexts, the acquired meaning, or the improved adaptability of the cell or the individual animal means that the changes in question were increases in information.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Perspective
I think he's too ungracious towards the political left, but Victor Davis Hanson argues that, for all our criticism of American society, we're forgetting how good we have it.
Of course there are (and always will be) plenty of things in society that are messed up, and we have a duty to alleviate them as much as we can. But by focusing exclusively on what's wrong we pass over what's right, and that inevitably leads us to having a distorted picture. If you only see the bad in society, you need to take a step back, rub your eyes, and take another look.
(see a previous dose of perspective here)
This is the most tolerant society in the world, the most multiracial and richest in religious diversity — and the most critical of its exceptional tolerance and the most lax in pointing out the intolerance of the least diverse and liberal.
It is market capitalism, unfettered meritocracy, and individual initiative within a free society that create the wealth for Al Gore to live in Montecito (indeed to create a Montecito in the first place), or for Michelle to jet to Marbella, or for John Kerry to buy a $7 million yacht. We know that, but our failure to occasionally express such a truth, coupled with a constant race/class/gender critique of American society, results in an insidious demoralization among the educated and bewilderment among the half- and uneducated.
In short, the great enigma of our postmodern age is how American society grew so wealthy and free to create so many residents that became so angry at the conditions that have made them so privileged — and how so many millions abroad fled the intolerance and poverty of their home country, and yet on arrival almost magically romanticize the very conditions in the abstract that they would never live under again in the concrete.
Of course there are (and always will be) plenty of things in society that are messed up, and we have a duty to alleviate them as much as we can. But by focusing exclusively on what's wrong we pass over what's right, and that inevitably leads us to having a distorted picture. If you only see the bad in society, you need to take a step back, rub your eyes, and take another look.
(see a previous dose of perspective here)
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Better Never To Have Been (Written)
This is a book review of a philosophy book I haven't read. I just want to get that out of the way up front: I have not read this book, and I doubt I will ever read it, despite the fact that its thesis resonates very deeply with me. The book is Better Never To Have Been: The Harm of Coming into Existence by David Benatar. The book is summarized as follows:Most people believe that they were either benefited or at least not harmed by being brought into existence. Thus, if they ever do reflect on whether they should bring others into existence---rather than having children without even thinking about whether they should---they presume that they do them no harm. Better Never to Have Been challenges these assumptions. David Benatar argues that coming into existence is always a serious harm. Although the good things in one's life make one's life go better than it otherwise would have gone, one could not have been deprived by their absence if one had not existed. Those who never exist cannot be deprived. However, by coming into existence one does suffer quite serious harms that could not have befallen one had one not come into existence. Drawing on the relevant psychological literature, the author shows that there are a number of well-documented features of human psychology that explain why people systematically overestimate the quality of their lives and why they are thus resistant to the suggestion that they were seriously harmed by being brought into existence. The author then argues for the 'anti-natal' view---that it is always wrong to have children---and he shows that combining the anti-natal view with common pro-choice views about foetal moral status yield a "pro-death" view about abortion (at the earlier stages of gestation). Anti-natalism also implies that it would be better if humanity became extinct. Although counter-intuitive for many, that implication is defended, not least by showing that it solves many conundrums of moral theory about population.
The first thing that occurs to most people after reading this, I think, is if existence is that terrible, why bother writing a book about it? That would just seem to add to the problem. The second thing is that writing a book like this ranks right up there with making pornography as "things you can't do until your parents are dead".
However, I'm a very pessimistic person (I have to be heavily medicated to be as pleasant as I am), and this kind of perspective fits in well with how I instinctively view things. I used to think that the best thing I could do was to minimize the effect I had on the world -- not in an environmental sense, but in a social sense. I should just try not to infect others with my presence by avoiding personal contact and relationships as much as is reasonable. But of course, this wouldn't work because I always had some people who cared for me and to shut myself away from them would cause them distress. So it seems, either way, I'd cause harm.
The way God got me out of this was my wife. She is the rarest of all people: someone who is a) intrinsically happy, even cheerful, and b) not annoying. I had tricked myself into thinking that even though my pessimism was my instinctive and uncritical way of looking at the world it was nevertheless the more intellectual and responsible way of thinking of things. Optimism, I thought, was a naïve refusal to recognize the bad things about life. What I've discovered is that this is not the case. Pessimism is a refusal to see the good in things that is actually there, while optimism recognizes it. The fact that most good things have been polluted by the bad doesn't justify ignoring the good that is still there. I could say more about this, but I'll stop with that.
Now, from the description of Better Never To Have Been given above, Benatar would counter that we subconsciously trick ourselves into thinking existence is better than it is. Even though this is not the way I think, I could see myself believing this about others very easily. The way God gets me out of this is my kids. Both of my children are very happy, inherently happy. Being children, they of course have plenty of things that make them cry. But I was expecting them to be colicky, I guess because I thought that was just what all young kids were. Yet they give every indication of thoroughly enjoying existence. They behave, and have behaved since the days they were born, as if they perceive their existence as good; not just good, but as overflowing with wonder and glory. My point being that it's difficult to think of existence as bad when those who are thrust into it seem to think the opposite.
Now I suspect Benatar's claim is that even if you live a life characterized by great joy, as long as you experience one bad thing, all the goodness is negated; it would be better not to have any bad or good things happen to you rather than one bad thing and millions of good things. But I still think my kids' obvious delight in existence refutes this. And even though I have a strong inclination to agree with Benatar before I think about it, once I do think about it, I don't see any reason to think that negative experiences so outweigh the positive ones. Perhaps I'd have to read Better Never To Have Been before I can say that, since Benatar probably goes into some detail about it. But I fear that, for me at least, to read this book would be to enflame an unhealthy aspect of my personality, an aspect that is better left to atrophy.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Why I Love the Internet, part 5
Via Dangerous Idea I learn that there is a new website devoted to historical apologetics, "the branch of apologetics dealing with the authenticity and credibility of the scriptures and particularly of the New Testament": The Library of Historical Apologetics, run by philosopher Timothy J. McGrew.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
My reading
The reason I signed up with GoodReads, and the reason I have a widget in the sidebar advertising what I'm reading, is to guilt-trip me into reading the books I need to in order to write my dissertation. I have reached a slight problem: I have several notebooks of articles -- some of which are chapters or shorter excerpts from books, but most of which are from philosophy journals -- and I need to start immersing myself in them. But these are not listable on GoodReads. I was thinking of having something in the sidebar listing what articles I was reading, but that might get cluttered. The best idea I have right now is that I'll just write a post each week summarizing what I've read. This might smack of bragging, but that was a problem with the GoodReads widget too. It's still just an idea, but if I start listing articles in the near future, you'll know what's happening.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Oddity and Audacity of Openness Theodicy
Openness theology is a sort of halfway house between traditional Christian theology and process theology. Much of the motivation for it rests in its theodicy, the attempt to reconcile the occurrence of evil with the existence of an omnibenevolent God.
According to process theology, God is dependent on the world; as such, he is unable to directly cause any events, but can only "woo" free agents (free in the libertarian sense) to submit to his will. This absolves God of evil fairly easily: God doesn't stop evil because he can't. Such a view, however, can't be reconciled with Christianity, or even theism -- it's panentheistic rather than theistic. God cannot perform miracles, such as the creation of the universe or raising Jesus from the dead. It exchanges God's omnipotence for impotence.
Traditional Christian theology has claimed that God, being omnibenevolent, is not responsible for evil. Human beings, being free agents, are responsible for most of the evil that they experience. God, however, allows such evil, but then uses it to bring about good. Jesus' crucifixion is the paradigm for this: the one innocent human being that has ever lived was brutally tortured and executed. Yet, by his death, the human race is reconciled to God. In fact, this seems to suggest that the greater the evil, the greater the good that God can bring out of it.
Openness theologians and philosophers object to this scenario, since it would mean that God foreknows horrific evils and doesn't stop them. God knew the Holocaust would happen, recognized it as evil, and then let it happen anyway. By allowing evil to take place, God is culpable for it, and this is incompatible with his omnibenevolence. They consider this to be simply unacceptable. God must not know that evil will take place before it happens, and therefore he must not know anything before it happens. The future is "open". It is not already laid down for us in the divine mind. We are free to choose the evil or the good. Of course, traditional Christian theology says we are free as well, but openness theologians do not think this view of freedom is acceptable, partially, again, because it makes God bear much of the responsibility for evil.
But this raises enormous problems for openness theologians, not least of which is whether their theodicy really accomplishes what they think it does. First, although God may not know infallibly what will happen, does that mean that he has no idea whatsoever what the future holds? To deny this would seem absurd: human beings can often know what's going to happen before it actually does, and while this knowledge is certainly fallible, it still allows us to sometimes see evil approaching before it reaches us. Thus, openness theology does not deny that God may know with great probability what we will freely choose to do, he just doesn't know it with absolute certainty. But this raises the question, how often is God right? Wouldn't it be possible for God to know everything with such a high degree of probability that he's never wrong? If so, we're faced with the same problem of evil as traditional Christianity has wrestled with; if not, why not? If God's foreknowledge is not infallible, on what basis does the openness advocate determine the degree to which God can know our future free decisions?
So the openness theologian's claims would seem to suffer from the same critiques which he gave to traditional Christian theology: if God knows that a particular evil will probably transpire, why wouldn't he stop it? The only way out of this for the openness theologian that I can see is if every instance of evil goes against what God expected would probably occur. But surely this is preposterous; after all, Nietschze predicted that the twentieth century would be the bloodiest that humanity had ever seen, a prediction that was fulfilled. Would the openness theologian maintain that an atheist philosopher had more insight than God? (If so, the atheist philosopher would appear to be right. Perhaps Nietschze meant to say God is dumb instead of dead.) The point here is that human beings have some capacity to successfully prognosticate when bad things will happen, so it would seem absurd to deny God the same faculty. The difference is that God supposedly has greater motive and ability to intercede.
Even if God were surprised by every instance of evil, this would still leave openness theology with a less adequate theodicy than traditional Christian theology. After all, according to the latter, God allows specific instances of evil only to prevent greater evils or to produce good. In the openness view, God is surprised by specific instances of evil, has no purpose in allowing them to continue, but allows them to anyway. Openness theology claims it is completely implausible that God could have had morally sufficient reasons for allowing the Holocaust; it's more reasonable to think that God didn't know the Holocaust was going to happen. But if this is the case, why didn't God stop it once it started? Why didn't God intervene and stop the Holocaust when it first began instead of letting six million Jews be killed over several years? The traditional Christian theologian can claim that God had morally sufficient reasons for allowing the Holocaust. The process theologian can claim that God was incapable of stopping it. But the openness theologian must maintain that God had the capacity to stop the Holocaust, had no morally sufficient reason not to, but didn't anyway. In other words, their attempt to build a better theodicy has produced the very worst theodicy possible, short of maltheism.
According to process theology, God is dependent on the world; as such, he is unable to directly cause any events, but can only "woo" free agents (free in the libertarian sense) to submit to his will. This absolves God of evil fairly easily: God doesn't stop evil because he can't. Such a view, however, can't be reconciled with Christianity, or even theism -- it's panentheistic rather than theistic. God cannot perform miracles, such as the creation of the universe or raising Jesus from the dead. It exchanges God's omnipotence for impotence.
Traditional Christian theology has claimed that God, being omnibenevolent, is not responsible for evil. Human beings, being free agents, are responsible for most of the evil that they experience. God, however, allows such evil, but then uses it to bring about good. Jesus' crucifixion is the paradigm for this: the one innocent human being that has ever lived was brutally tortured and executed. Yet, by his death, the human race is reconciled to God. In fact, this seems to suggest that the greater the evil, the greater the good that God can bring out of it.
Openness theologians and philosophers object to this scenario, since it would mean that God foreknows horrific evils and doesn't stop them. God knew the Holocaust would happen, recognized it as evil, and then let it happen anyway. By allowing evil to take place, God is culpable for it, and this is incompatible with his omnibenevolence. They consider this to be simply unacceptable. God must not know that evil will take place before it happens, and therefore he must not know anything before it happens. The future is "open". It is not already laid down for us in the divine mind. We are free to choose the evil or the good. Of course, traditional Christian theology says we are free as well, but openness theologians do not think this view of freedom is acceptable, partially, again, because it makes God bear much of the responsibility for evil.
But this raises enormous problems for openness theologians, not least of which is whether their theodicy really accomplishes what they think it does. First, although God may not know infallibly what will happen, does that mean that he has no idea whatsoever what the future holds? To deny this would seem absurd: human beings can often know what's going to happen before it actually does, and while this knowledge is certainly fallible, it still allows us to sometimes see evil approaching before it reaches us. Thus, openness theology does not deny that God may know with great probability what we will freely choose to do, he just doesn't know it with absolute certainty. But this raises the question, how often is God right? Wouldn't it be possible for God to know everything with such a high degree of probability that he's never wrong? If so, we're faced with the same problem of evil as traditional Christianity has wrestled with; if not, why not? If God's foreknowledge is not infallible, on what basis does the openness advocate determine the degree to which God can know our future free decisions?
So the openness theologian's claims would seem to suffer from the same critiques which he gave to traditional Christian theology: if God knows that a particular evil will probably transpire, why wouldn't he stop it? The only way out of this for the openness theologian that I can see is if every instance of evil goes against what God expected would probably occur. But surely this is preposterous; after all, Nietschze predicted that the twentieth century would be the bloodiest that humanity had ever seen, a prediction that was fulfilled. Would the openness theologian maintain that an atheist philosopher had more insight than God? (If so, the atheist philosopher would appear to be right. Perhaps Nietschze meant to say God is dumb instead of dead.) The point here is that human beings have some capacity to successfully prognosticate when bad things will happen, so it would seem absurd to deny God the same faculty. The difference is that God supposedly has greater motive and ability to intercede.
Even if God were surprised by every instance of evil, this would still leave openness theology with a less adequate theodicy than traditional Christian theology. After all, according to the latter, God allows specific instances of evil only to prevent greater evils or to produce good. In the openness view, God is surprised by specific instances of evil, has no purpose in allowing them to continue, but allows them to anyway. Openness theology claims it is completely implausible that God could have had morally sufficient reasons for allowing the Holocaust; it's more reasonable to think that God didn't know the Holocaust was going to happen. But if this is the case, why didn't God stop it once it started? Why didn't God intervene and stop the Holocaust when it first began instead of letting six million Jews be killed over several years? The traditional Christian theologian can claim that God had morally sufficient reasons for allowing the Holocaust. The process theologian can claim that God was incapable of stopping it. But the openness theologian must maintain that God had the capacity to stop the Holocaust, had no morally sufficient reason not to, but didn't anyway. In other words, their attempt to build a better theodicy has produced the very worst theodicy possible, short of maltheism.
Friday, July 30, 2010
The Space Trilogy and the Argument from Reason
I can't believe I forgot this, but in my post of C. S. Lewis's shorter statements of the Argument from Reason, I left out a fascinating passage from Perelandra, the second book in his Space Trilogy (I will be correcting that mistake as soon as I post this). Ransom and Weston are discussing the purpose of life, and they make some interesting claims.
The Argument from Reason comes in Ransom's responses to Weston: first, in his claim that the universe he's describing seems alien to us (in the sense that we don't feel at home in it). Second, in his question to Weston: why, if Reason is not veracious, bother to say anything at all? And I find it interesting that Lewis allows Weston a response: why do ghosts frighten? That's what they do. But of course, he's still giving Ransom a reason. Even in denying Reason, he is unable to step outside it.
The Argument from Reason is mentioned in the third book, That Hideous Strength, as well. I've quoted this passage a couple of times on my blog already, but it's so poignant I'm going to do it again:
This is the hideous strength of the title: the "strength" to deny God, to prefer hell to Him, to do everything one can in life to remove one's own humanity. If, while you're doing so, you're able to remove the humanity of others too, well, that's just gravy.
"Well, now, that's another point," said Weston. "I've been to church as well as you when I was a boy. There's more sense in parts of the Bible than you religious people know. Doesn't it say He's the God of the living, not of the dead? That's just it. Perhaps your God does exist -- but it makes no difference whether He does or not. No, of course you wouldn't see it; but one day you will. I don't think you've got the idea of the rind -- the thin outer skin which we call life -- really clear. Picture the universe as an infinite globe with this very thin crust on the outside. But remember its thickness is a thickness of time. It's about seventy years thick in the best places. We are born on the surface of it and all our lives we are sinking through it. When we've got all the way through then we are what's called Dead: we've got into the dark part inside, the real globe. If your God exists, He's not in the globe -- He's outside, like a moon. As we pass into the interior we pass out of His ken. He doesn't follow us in. You would express it by saying He's not in time -- which you think comforting! In other words He stays put: out in the light and air, outside. But we are in time. We 'move with the times.' That is, from His point of view, we move away, into what He regards as nonentity, where He never follows. That is all there is to us, all there ever was. He may be there in what you call 'Life,' or He may not. What difference does it make? We're not going to be there for long!"
"That could hardly be the whole story," said Ransom. "If the whole universe were like that, then we, being parts of it, would feel at home in such a universe. The very fact that it strikes us as monstrous --"
"Yes," interrupted Weston, "that would be all very well if it wasn't that reasoning itself is only valid as long as you stay in the rind. It has nothing to do with the real universe. Even the ordinary scientists -- like what I used to be myself -- are beginning to find that out. Haven't you seen the real meaning of all this modern stuff about the dangers of extrapolation and bent space and the indeterminacy of the atom? They don't say in so many words, of course, but what they're getting to, even before they die nowadays, is what all men get to when they're dead -- the knowledge that reality is neither rational nor consistent nor anything else. In a sense you might say it isn't there. 'Real' and 'Unreal,' 'true' and 'false' -- they're all only on the surface. They give way the moment you press them."
"If all this were true," said Ransom, "what would be the point of saying it?"
"Or of anything else?" replied Weston. "The only point in anything is that there isn't any point. Why do ghosts want to frighten? Because they are ghosts. What else is there to do?"
"I get the idea," said Ransom. "That the account a man gives of the universe, or of any other building, depends very much on where he is standing."
"But specially," said Weston, "on whether he's inside or out. All the things you like to dwell upon are outsides. A planet like our own, or like Perelandra, for instance. Or a beautiful human body. All the colours and pleasant shapes are merely where it ends, where it ceases to be. Inside, what do you get? Darkness, worms, heat, pressure, salt, suffocation, stink."
The Argument from Reason comes in Ransom's responses to Weston: first, in his claim that the universe he's describing seems alien to us (in the sense that we don't feel at home in it). Second, in his question to Weston: why, if Reason is not veracious, bother to say anything at all? And I find it interesting that Lewis allows Weston a response: why do ghosts frighten? That's what they do. But of course, he's still giving Ransom a reason. Even in denying Reason, he is unable to step outside it.
The Argument from Reason is mentioned in the third book, That Hideous Strength, as well. I've quoted this passage a couple of times on my blog already, but it's so poignant I'm going to do it again:
Frost had left the dining room a few minutes after Wither. He did not know where he was going or what he was about to do. For many years he had theoretically believed that all which appears in the mind as motive or intention is merely a by-product of what the body is doing. But for the last year or so -- since he had been initiated -- he had begun to taste as fact what he had long held as theory. Increasingly, his actions had been without motive. He did this and that, he said thus and thus, and did not know why. His mind was a mere spectator. He could not understand why that spectator should exist at all. He resented its existence, even while assuring himself that resentment also was merely a chemical phenomenon. The nearest thing to a human passion which still existed in him was a sort of cold fury against all who believe in the mind. There was no tolerating such an illusion. There were not, and must not be, such things as men. But never, until this evening, had he been quite so vividly aware that the body and its movements were the only reality, that the self which seemed to watch the body leaving the dining room and setting out for the chamber of the Head, was a nonentity. How infuriating that the body should have power thus to project a phantom self!
Thus the Frost whose existence Frost denied watched his body go into the ante-room, watched it pull up sharply at the sight of a naked and bloodied corpse. The chemical reaction called shock occurred. ...
Still not asking what he would do or why, Frost went to the garage. The whole place was silent and empty; the snow was thick on the ground by this. He came up with as many petrol tins as he could carry. He piled all the inflammables he could think of together in the Objective Room. Then he locked himself in by locking the outer door of the ante-room. Whatever it was that dictated his actions then compelled him to push the key into the speaking tube which communicated with the passage. When he had pushed it as far in as his fingers could reach, he took a pencil from his pocket and pushed with that. Presently he heard the clink of the key falling on the passage floor outside. That tiresome illusion, his consciousness, was screaming to protest; his body, even had he wished, had no power to attend to those screams. Like the clockwork figure he had chosen to be, his stiff body, now terribly cold, walked back into the Objective Room, poured out the petrol and threw a lighted match into the pile. Not till then did his controllers allow him to suspect that death itself might not after all cure the illusion of being a soul -- nay, might prove the entry into a world where that illusion raged infinite and unchecked. Escape for the soul, if not for the body, was offered him. He became able to know (and simultaneously refused the knowledge) that he had been wrong from the beginning, that souls and personal responsibility existed. He half saw: he wholly hated. The physical torture of the burning was not fiercer than his hatred of that. With one supreme effort he flung himself back into his illusion. In that attitude eternity overtook him as sunrise in old tales overtakes and turns them into unchangeable stone.
This is the hideous strength of the title: the "strength" to deny God, to prefer hell to Him, to do everything one can in life to remove one's own humanity. If, while you're doing so, you're able to remove the humanity of others too, well, that's just gravy.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
This is funny
I just received a book that is extremely obscure that I've been wanting for some time. I learned of it by reading J. P. Moreland's book Scaling the Secular City: A Defense of Christianity, in his chapter on the argument from mind. He addresses, at one point, the claim that naturalism -- or alternatively, determinism -- is self-defeating. It takes away any reason why we should accept naturalism or determinism because it takes away reasons. In defense of this, he quotes the existentialist philosopher and theologian Hans Jonas from his book On Faith, Reason and Responsibility. I've looked for this book periodically on AbeBooks but there has never been a single entry for it when I did. I looked for it on WorldCat, but I could only find two libraries that have it, both in California. However, a few months ago I tried Amazon.com (yes, it should have been obvious) and I found a copy from a used bookstore. Now I have it on my desk and am very happy.
The quotation Moreland uses is from pages 42-3 and deals explicitly with epiphenomanlism, the view that all that appears in the mind is a by-product of what the body is doing. Thus, the mind has no power itself to act; it may seem like it does, but when we decide to do something what is really happening is that the mental by-product that appears tricks us into thinking it came before the action it allegedly led to. In fact, the action appeared first, and the mental by-product appeared afterwards. It had to, unless we give the mind some sort of self-motive power, and this conflicts with naturalism and determinism. Here is the quote in full:
Now, the title of this post is "This is funny" yet nothing funny has been mentioned yet. Here's what's funny. I typed the above quote and planned to post it as a Quote of the Day. In doing so, I went back to Amazon.com and found the page with this book on it. As I copied the URL address, I looked at the picture of the book presented on Amazon. It's my book. I don't mean it's the same edition or the same publisher as the book I just bought, I mean it's numerically the same book. It has the same folds in the cover, the same discoloration on the top.
It just made me laugh.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
The quotation Moreland uses is from pages 42-3 and deals explicitly with epiphenomanlism, the view that all that appears in the mind is a by-product of what the body is doing. Thus, the mind has no power itself to act; it may seem like it does, but when we decide to do something what is really happening is that the mental by-product that appears tricks us into thinking it came before the action it allegedly led to. In fact, the action appeared first, and the mental by-product appeared afterwards. It had to, unless we give the mind some sort of self-motive power, and this conflicts with naturalism and determinism. Here is the quote in full:
So much for the internal critique of the concept of epiphenomenon. More devastating still are the consequences which flow from it for everything else: for the concept of a reality that indulges in this kind of thing, for a thinking that explains itself by it, and for itself as a thought of that thinking. Here the charge is not inconsistency but absurdity.
First, what sort of being would that be which brings forth, as its most elaborate performance, this vain mirage? We answer: not a merely indifferent, but a positively absurd or perverse being, and therefore unbelievable. If living behavior were nothing but a deaf-mute pantomime, performed by supremely sophisticated physical systems without enjoyment of subjectivity, it could well be termed pointless but not strictly absurd. The show becomes absurd when it accompanies itself with music as if its predecided paces were set by it. A lie can have a function, but not here: the mechanical needs no bribe. And yet it should sound -- in will, pleasure and pain -- a siren song with no one there to seduce? A song that only sings its error to itself, including the error of being the singer? Something devoid of interest in the first place, and with no room for its intercession in the second, should stage the grandiose comedy of interest, shamming a task that is not there and a power it does not have? The sheer, senseless futility of such an elaborate hoax is enough to disqualify it as a caricature of nature. He who makes nature absurd in order to circumvent one of her riddles has passed sentence on himself and not on her and has forfeited the right to speak any more of laws of nature.
Even more directly than via the slander of nature has he passed judgment on himself by what his thesis says about the possible validity of any thesis whatsoever and, therefore, about the validity claim of his own. Every theory, even the most mistaken, is a tribute to the power of thought, to which in the very meaning of the theorizing act it is allowed that it can rise above the power of extramental determinations, tat it can judge freely on what is given in the field of representations, that it is, first of all, capable of the resolve for truth, i.e., the resolve to follow the guidance of insight and not the drift of fancies. But epiphenomenalism contends the impotence of thinking and therewith its own inability to be independent theory. Indeed, even the extreme materialist must exempt himself qua thinker, so that extreme materialism as a doctrine be possible. But while even the Cretan who declares all Cretans to be liars can add, "except myself at this moment," the epiphenomenalist who has defined the nature of thought can not make this addition, because he too is swallowed up in the abyss of his universal verdict.
Thus we have a twofold reductio ad absurdum, according to the twofold question of what to think of a reality that brings forth this futile mirage and what of the attempt of this self-confessed mirage to establish a truth about that reality. Nature as an impostor on the one hand, a theory destroying itself on the other, was the outcome of the scrutiny.
Now, the title of this post is "This is funny" yet nothing funny has been mentioned yet. Here's what's funny. I typed the above quote and planned to post it as a Quote of the Day. In doing so, I went back to Amazon.com and found the page with this book on it. As I copied the URL address, I looked at the picture of the book presented on Amazon. It's my book. I don't mean it's the same edition or the same publisher as the book I just bought, I mean it's numerically the same book. It has the same folds in the cover, the same discoloration on the top.
It just made me laugh.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Thought of the Day
I've never understood the expression "the exception that proves the rule." Exceptions disprove rules.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Psalm 104 and the Early Chapters of Genesis
Psalm 104 is a creation psalm, but a unique one. It actually reiterates the description of events of creation week step by step; it's essentially the earliest commentary on Genesis 1. This allows us to check our interpretation of Genesis 1 to see if it's in accord with Psalm 104; if it's not, then we should go back and check to see where the misinterpretation lies.
The significance of this is that one of the things that fuels the claim that science and Christianity are at odds with each other is that some Christians insist on interpretations of the Bible which blatantly contradict the discoveries of modern science. If the problem lies in the interpretation rather than what the Bible actually teaches, this would be an important point in the debate. Of course, there are other responses one can give to the science vs. Christianity metanarrative; for example, the Bible was never intended to provide a comprehensive description of the world, nor has it been historically understood to do so. As David Lindberg and Ronald Numbers write, "The notion that any serious Christian thinker would even have attempted to formulate a world view from the Bible alone is ludicrous."
One significant difference between the two texts is that Genesis focuses on what was created and Who did the creating. The Psalm, however, also addresses the why: why did God create this? Its point is to show how God is in charge of his creation, and that each part has a role to play in his overarching purpose.
Here are the main parallels between Psalm 104 and Genesis 1:
Point 2 is interesting. Genesis 1 describes how the early Earth was totally covered with water, and that God brought the land out of it, raising the seabed above sea level in certain places. Psalm 104 describes this same event, but includes another point that Genesis doesn't make: "You set a boundary they [the waters] cannot cross; never again will they cover the earth." So after God created dry land, there was never a time when water completely covered it.
This doesn't conflict with Genesis 1, but it does conflict with how many people understand the flood chapters. It's often thought that Genesis 7-8 is describing a global flood. But Psalm 104 does not allow this interpretation. The flood could not have been global, since after God first formed the dry land, he promised to never again allow it to be completely covered with water. The flood, therefore, must have been a local event, which presumably destroyed the local ecosystem and the human race who hadn't spread out to cover the earth yet.
The only way out of this is to claim that, perhaps, Psalm 104 is not referring to the establishment of dry land during creation week but to the flood itself. In fact, this is how most commentaries that I've read understand it. Part of the motivation for this is that, after the flood, God promised to never destroy the human race by flood again. Thus, the promise in Psalm 104 to never let water cover all the face of the earth is allegedly the same promise God made after the flood.
However, the parallels between Psalm 104 and Genesis 1 confute the idea that these texts are describing the same promise. Essentially, this would require us to believe that Psalm 104 parallels Genesis 1 regarding the creation of the universe; then jumps ahead to describe the flood; then jumps back to Genesis 1 where it left off; then skips over the account of the creation of dry land (which just happens to sound exactly like what Psalm 104 is describing); then continues paralleling Genesis 1 as if the hop, skip, and jump hadn't happened. This is an incredibly ad hoc explanation; you could defend just about any interpretation using such tactics.
Another interesting issue is point 5. This describes God's creation of the animals. Genesis 1 includes the detail that God gave the earliest humans and animals plants to eat. From this, some conclude that they only ate plants. This accords with the idea that carnivorous activity -- where animals kill and eat each other -- is a result of the fall of humankind, and was not a part of God's original creation plan.
Psalm 104, however, includes carnivorous activity as part of his purpose in creation, referring to God's providence in the predator-prey relationship. Verse 21 states, "The lions roar for their prey and seek their food from God". Moreover, a few verses later, this and other aspects of God providing for his creation are called "good": "These all look to you to give them their food at the proper time. When you give it to them, they gather it up; when you open your hand, they are satisfied with good things" (vv. 27-28). This recalls the repeated statement in Genesis 1 where God, after creating something, calls it "good". This strongly suggests that there wasn't some sort of vegetarian mandate in effect prior to the fall of humankind.
A similar passage is in Job where God challenges Job by asking him if he can do everything God does. In 38:39-40 God says, "Do you hunt the prey for the lioness and satisfy the hunger of the lions when they crouch in their dens or lie in wait in a thicket?" Since this comes in a list of things of how God provides for his creation, it means that God is the one who brings other animals to the lion for it to kill and eat as the lion waits in a place hidden from them. This doesn't explicitly tie it to creation week as does Psalm 104, but it still removes the claim that it's contrary to God's providential ordering of the universe.
A potential escape hatch is that Psalm 104 refers to many things that weren't in effect during creation week. The bodies of water, for example, are there so people can build boats and sail on them (v. 26). But this ignores the fact that the Psalm is describing what the various stages in creation are for; he is describing why he created the various things he did, using Genesis 1 as a blueprint. Thus, he reiterates the order of things in Genesis, but then adds how each stage of creation paved the way for future stages, even those stages not a part of creation week itself.
But then couldn't the same thing be said of the lion hunting it's prey? That, after all, is a current phenomenon, and we do not necessarily have to ascribe it to creation week. The problem with this is that, in addition to being a creation psalm, Psalm 104 is a praise psalm. That is, it's describing the good things God has done, not the negative result of sin or the fall. The psalmist praises God for providing the lion with its food (that it kills and eats) and calls this good, just as Genesis 1 calls the various stages of creation good.
Of course, both of these claims open up a can of worms. There are other objections to the claim that animal death was present prior to the fall of humankind; there are other arguments that the formation of land in Psalm 104 is referring to the flood chapters, not Genesis 1. Nevertheless, I think this Psalm is a good starting point. It opens doors that we may not realize are open because of common interpretations of the early chapters of Genesis.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
The significance of this is that one of the things that fuels the claim that science and Christianity are at odds with each other is that some Christians insist on interpretations of the Bible which blatantly contradict the discoveries of modern science. If the problem lies in the interpretation rather than what the Bible actually teaches, this would be an important point in the debate. Of course, there are other responses one can give to the science vs. Christianity metanarrative; for example, the Bible was never intended to provide a comprehensive description of the world, nor has it been historically understood to do so. As David Lindberg and Ronald Numbers write, "The notion that any serious Christian thinker would even have attempted to formulate a world view from the Bible alone is ludicrous."
One significant difference between the two texts is that Genesis focuses on what was created and Who did the creating. The Psalm, however, also addresses the why: why did God create this? Its point is to show how God is in charge of his creation, and that each part has a role to play in his overarching purpose.
Here are the main parallels between Psalm 104 and Genesis 1:
1. Ps. 104:2-5/Gen. 1:1 -- Creation of the universe
2. Ps. 104:6-9/Gen. 1:6-10 -- Formation of dry land
3. Ps. 104:14-17/Gen. 1:11-13 -- Creation of plants (for men and animals)
4. Ps. 104:19-23/Gen. 1:14-19 -- Establishment of the heavens as calendar “markers”
5. Ps. 104:24-30/Gen. 1:20-25 -- Creation of animals
Point 2 is interesting. Genesis 1 describes how the early Earth was totally covered with water, and that God brought the land out of it, raising the seabed above sea level in certain places. Psalm 104 describes this same event, but includes another point that Genesis doesn't make: "You set a boundary they [the waters] cannot cross; never again will they cover the earth." So after God created dry land, there was never a time when water completely covered it.
This doesn't conflict with Genesis 1, but it does conflict with how many people understand the flood chapters. It's often thought that Genesis 7-8 is describing a global flood. But Psalm 104 does not allow this interpretation. The flood could not have been global, since after God first formed the dry land, he promised to never again allow it to be completely covered with water. The flood, therefore, must have been a local event, which presumably destroyed the local ecosystem and the human race who hadn't spread out to cover the earth yet.
The only way out of this is to claim that, perhaps, Psalm 104 is not referring to the establishment of dry land during creation week but to the flood itself. In fact, this is how most commentaries that I've read understand it. Part of the motivation for this is that, after the flood, God promised to never destroy the human race by flood again. Thus, the promise in Psalm 104 to never let water cover all the face of the earth is allegedly the same promise God made after the flood.
However, the parallels between Psalm 104 and Genesis 1 confute the idea that these texts are describing the same promise. Essentially, this would require us to believe that Psalm 104 parallels Genesis 1 regarding the creation of the universe; then jumps ahead to describe the flood; then jumps back to Genesis 1 where it left off; then skips over the account of the creation of dry land (which just happens to sound exactly like what Psalm 104 is describing); then continues paralleling Genesis 1 as if the hop, skip, and jump hadn't happened. This is an incredibly ad hoc explanation; you could defend just about any interpretation using such tactics.
Another interesting issue is point 5. This describes God's creation of the animals. Genesis 1 includes the detail that God gave the earliest humans and animals plants to eat. From this, some conclude that they only ate plants. This accords with the idea that carnivorous activity -- where animals kill and eat each other -- is a result of the fall of humankind, and was not a part of God's original creation plan.
Psalm 104, however, includes carnivorous activity as part of his purpose in creation, referring to God's providence in the predator-prey relationship. Verse 21 states, "The lions roar for their prey and seek their food from God". Moreover, a few verses later, this and other aspects of God providing for his creation are called "good": "These all look to you to give them their food at the proper time. When you give it to them, they gather it up; when you open your hand, they are satisfied with good things" (vv. 27-28). This recalls the repeated statement in Genesis 1 where God, after creating something, calls it "good". This strongly suggests that there wasn't some sort of vegetarian mandate in effect prior to the fall of humankind.
A similar passage is in Job where God challenges Job by asking him if he can do everything God does. In 38:39-40 God says, "Do you hunt the prey for the lioness and satisfy the hunger of the lions when they crouch in their dens or lie in wait in a thicket?" Since this comes in a list of things of how God provides for his creation, it means that God is the one who brings other animals to the lion for it to kill and eat as the lion waits in a place hidden from them. This doesn't explicitly tie it to creation week as does Psalm 104, but it still removes the claim that it's contrary to God's providential ordering of the universe.
A potential escape hatch is that Psalm 104 refers to many things that weren't in effect during creation week. The bodies of water, for example, are there so people can build boats and sail on them (v. 26). But this ignores the fact that the Psalm is describing what the various stages in creation are for; he is describing why he created the various things he did, using Genesis 1 as a blueprint. Thus, he reiterates the order of things in Genesis, but then adds how each stage of creation paved the way for future stages, even those stages not a part of creation week itself.
But then couldn't the same thing be said of the lion hunting it's prey? That, after all, is a current phenomenon, and we do not necessarily have to ascribe it to creation week. The problem with this is that, in addition to being a creation psalm, Psalm 104 is a praise psalm. That is, it's describing the good things God has done, not the negative result of sin or the fall. The psalmist praises God for providing the lion with its food (that it kills and eats) and calls this good, just as Genesis 1 calls the various stages of creation good.
Of course, both of these claims open up a can of worms. There are other objections to the claim that animal death was present prior to the fall of humankind; there are other arguments that the formation of land in Psalm 104 is referring to the flood chapters, not Genesis 1. Nevertheless, I think this Psalm is a good starting point. It opens doors that we may not realize are open because of common interpretations of the early chapters of Genesis.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
A Rather Obvious Point
Often when someone brings up Islamic terrorism, one of the responses given is that other religions and ideologies have their kooks as well, and we shouldn't judge Islam because it has its own share. Obviously this response is at least half true: no matter where you go in life, no matter what group you associate with, there's always going to be what I call an assh*le element. Any and every group will have people who join it for the wrong reasons, so to single out one group because of this is inappropriate.
As I say, this response is certainly half true. However, it's no more than that, because it misses something important, something very important, and in fact, blindingly obvious: Ideas have consequences. Just because every group is going to have its assh*le element doesn't mean that every group is equal in all moral respects. Some groups are going to encourage violence, others will allow it in pursuit of a higher cause, etc. Ideas have consequences, and different ideas have different consequences.
An ideology which rejects the intrinsic value of human beings -- perhaps all people or perhaps just members of other groups -- will obviously have significantly different results than one which upholds the intrinsic value of all human beings, including those who belong to people groups that are usually held in contempt. And this remains true even though the latter ideology has members who obviously don't act accordingly. For example, at the end of the film To End All Wars, the lead character narrates an aspect of the Bushido code which had been introduced earlier in the movie (I'm paraphrasing): "The individual life weighs less than a feather." The narrator responds, "What is the result of believing the individual life weighs less than a feather?" The preceding two hours of the film answer that question.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
As I say, this response is certainly half true. However, it's no more than that, because it misses something important, something very important, and in fact, blindingly obvious: Ideas have consequences. Just because every group is going to have its assh*le element doesn't mean that every group is equal in all moral respects. Some groups are going to encourage violence, others will allow it in pursuit of a higher cause, etc. Ideas have consequences, and different ideas have different consequences.
An ideology which rejects the intrinsic value of human beings -- perhaps all people or perhaps just members of other groups -- will obviously have significantly different results than one which upholds the intrinsic value of all human beings, including those who belong to people groups that are usually held in contempt. And this remains true even though the latter ideology has members who obviously don't act accordingly. For example, at the end of the film To End All Wars, the lead character narrates an aspect of the Bushido code which had been introduced earlier in the movie (I'm paraphrasing): "The individual life weighs less than a feather." The narrator responds, "What is the result of believing the individual life weighs less than a feather?" The preceding two hours of the film answer that question.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
Thursday, July 1, 2010
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