Fight Riff

I thought that I wouldn't put anything up today, but this is like an addiction that I cannot shake. Now that I'm writing I seem to have lost all of my thoughts. Unfortunately, this happens way more often than I'd like. What I've been thinking about is the fact ...

WHAT IS KANTIAN EGOISM?

I had this ethics class. The project at the end of the quarter was to defend a moral theory. That is, we were supposed to find THE True Moral Theory, and argue why it is so. At that time, I argued rule egoism, with an objective view of the good. I picked egoism, because it came as close to how I make my moral decisions. I believe that I cannot make any choice (be it moral, ontological, or epistemic) without seeing it through the prism of my self. No matter where I go, there I am. Even if I supported divine command theory, I'd still figure in there, somewhere. But, despite my firm egoism, I still had a problem. The theory seemed a bit binding. It was limited in that I wasn't always so selfish when I decided what to do. Surely my decisions were always made through the filter of me-ism, but I wasn't always such a dedicated egoist. There were always other theories creeping in. Namely, I found myself more often than I had expected, running my moral choices through Kant's Catagorical Imperative. This was disturbing to me. I was, after all, an egoist. There was no duty to others, only duty to myself. I was told that, in the interest of consistency, one could not be an egoist and a Kantian simultaneously. Doing so is about as possible as being both in Paris and Fontana at the same time. And that just ain't happening. But somehow it was. I was using what I thought were two opposing moral theories simultaneously. How was this possible? It took awhile and some getting over some denial before I realized that I was indeed both -- I am a Kantian and I am also an egoist. 18th century German philosopher Immanuel Kant wrote, in Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals (1785), that the moral value of an act is weighed in that that action is performed from duty. We evaluate the moral value of our actions according to two principles, which Kant calls the Catagorical Imperative. Principle 1 states that we act only on a maxim that we can at the same time make universal law. Principle 2 holds that we act in such a way as not to use others as mere means for our own ends. Now, it doesn't take much useage to figure out that Kant's ethics, when actually practiced, tend to cause a complication or two. We often find ourselves tweeking the rules, which is exactly what we are not supposed to do. Kant's rules are absolute, and unbendable. Kant's theory works in ethics bowl, but it makes for trouble in the real world. Likewise, egoism also tends to, when we attempt to live as pure egoists, cause it's fair share of agony. According to Hobbes, the primary goal of all men is self preservation. Because we don't like things like pain or death, we decide to make agreements with others to cooperate with one another so as to create a more peaceful and stable society. This is Hobbes' idea of the social contract. We are motivated to do what works best to preserve our own interests. Ayn Rand wrote that men, " must live for his own sake, neither sacrificing himself to others nor sacrificing others to himself; he must work for his rational self-interest, with the achievement of his own happiness as the highest moral purpose in life". For the egoist, our highest moral duty is when we act according to our own self-interest. *I realize how many people out there feel about Ayn Rand, and really, I agree with all of you. For using Rand to make a point, I totally, wholeheartedly apologize* But there's a word that is common to both theories -- duty. And the Kantian will admit that among our duties includes duties to self. Likewise, both theories stress the role of making rational moral decisions. At first glance, it may seem that these are conflicting moral systems. One may ask, how can one be an egoist, yet maintain Kant's C.I.? It seems that they conflict, but in fact, they do not. At this point, I think that it's important to clear up what we mean when we say "egoist". Now, The antics of Rand followers like Alan Greenspan aside, an egoist is not one who is exclusively motivated by unbridled greed. Quite the contrary, an egoist is one who merely evaluates his moral choices according to how they coincide with his rational self-interest. It is possible that when someone thinks of an egoist, what he is thinking of is an egotist -- which is someone who operates according to his primary goal of getting as much profit or pleasure as possible. The egotist is motivated purely by selfishness. An egoist knows that, in the pursuit of his own interests, he may encounter periods or situatons that may be very unpleasant. An egoist isn't so centered on his own interests that he neglects the needs of others. In fact, he may be motivated to do for others before he satisfies his own physical needs -- if he sees that by serving others he ultimately serves himself. This is how the egoist declares that despite the outward appearance of altuism, he is no altruist. For his actions are based in the service of himself. The fact that others may benefit is just a good consequence. A classic example of egoist thinking is the "prisoner's dilemma". In the arena of interantional politics, nation-states conduct their affairs according to their own best interests. The reason they do is because the govenrments of nations do not know the internal affairs of other nation-states. So, for example, during the Cold War, the United States armed itself with various sorts of nuclear missiles because we did not know what the Soviets had in their nuclear facilities (ok, I know that that's not exactly true, but it fits the example). And, this sort of way of going about things works on the macrocosmic level of nation-states. Unfortunately, it tends to be alittle difficult on the personal level. If you stockplied weapons in your garage because you don't know what kinds of guns your neighbor has, you might come off as a little nutty. It might do an egoist some good if he adopted for himself as an overriding moral principle something like this: in the pursuit of my own self-interest, I will live according to 1) do not engage in any act or act according to any maxim that I cannot also universalize, and 2) do not use others as a mere means to my own ends. Of course, this is easily recognized as Kant's Catagorical Imperative. My motivation, I add, is if I live according to these two principles, I am less likely to get my ass kicked. In this way, my duties to self and to others is not limited in the way that Kant's ethics are often binding in the real world, in that among my considerations I include consequences to myself. My ethical position recognizes that in the real world, it is difficult to live purely according to one set of moral principles. We often find ourselves operating according to multiple theories, sometimes simultaneously. Few of us are strict utilitarians or unshakable moral relativists. Often we find ourselves splitting the difference between moral theories -- taking the elements from each that allows us to decide what to do. What I am doing is not "shopping" for moral theories, but finding where seeming opposing theories cohere and allow me to make rational moral decisions that benefit others any (more importantly) benefit myself. My ethical position simply finds the workable parts of Kantianism and egoism and binds them together into a more practicable moral theory (than any one is on their own). Hence, I call myself a kantian egoist, or an egoist with a Kantian view of the good. Now that I'm thinking of it, this all stinks of intuitionism.

What Makes A Philopsopher?

I was reading the latest issue of Rolling Stone magazine a couple of days ago. There was an article inside about Cornell West. The author of the article called West a "philosopher". I was thrown off a little bit by the designation. Here was a nationally, if not internationally known magazine, and on the cover, it identified Cornell West as a philosopher. Now, I know that professionally speaking, he is a professor of religion at Princeton. And I know that, in that case, there is a tremendous amount of philosophy to be had. But, somehow, despite this fact, he doesn't fit into what I had been taught what a philosopher is. And yes, despite it's unhipness, I still read Rolling Stone magazine. Although I enjoy Blender much more. By his own description, Cornell West fancies himself a jazzman and a bluesman. He speaks in the language that is understood by all feeling people -- much like everybody, no matter what race, gender, or social status, sometimes feels the blues. This made me think about what I'm doing, or at least attempting to do. My project, this blog, is meant to help me (and hopefully others eventually) to undestand philosophy through the medium of popular culture. Like Cornell West's view on the universality of the blues, I feel that the universality of popular culture is the best medium to use to communicate the themes that affect all of us. We all live in a world affected by television, motion pictures, music, the internet, and plain human interaction. Everyting is influenced by something, and those somethings are the ideas, some of which were thought up by some people called philosophers. As Cornell West calls himself a jazzman, I call my philosophy "zeitgeistology" (or philosogeistology). It's seeing how the "spirit" of our times affects the old ideas and principles that we hold and have influenced how we think and live. When I hear West or read about him, he suggests that our world, though shaped by ideas, is a world of humans of all stripes, who have to communicate and interact with each other. We can't divorce ourselves from our views of the world no matter how hard we may try. There are no impartial observers. And that's just the thing. I ask, when I write, when I think philosophically, how much of myself should I bring into what I think and say? Should all of my term papers be expressed from the point of view of "I"? Is it possible to look at life as an impartial observer? Should I look at life from that point of view? If I should be personal, where do I cross the line from personal to diary entry? And if I do, does that mean I've stopped thinking philosophically? I've been writing this blog (and my soon to be uncompleted book) for some time now, and time and again I feel that I'm missing something. I feel that there is something that I am not covering. Should I be saying something profound and important? Or should I say something about what is important? It's difficult, especially in light of the fact that "philosophers" aren't the most revered people in society to maintain that any of this philosophic thinking matters. There are plenty of accusations of overthinking (something I admit that I do anyway, and started long before I ever stepped foot in a philosophy class), or not being productive -- which means, in short, it's great to do all that thinking, but being a philosopher don't pay the bills. Unless you're Oprah, people don't pay you for your opinions. Maybe it's a matter of what you call it, but when I tell people that I have a philosophy degree, I get lots of rolled eyes and "boy, that's a useless degree!". But here's the funny thing about all of it. The same people that will tell you that you wasted the state's money getting a useless degree (and I've been told exactly that), will occasionally say a bit of philosophy. The thing is, is that they don't know that even though they'll say that all that opinionizing is stupid, in the same conversation, they might say, "what does not kill me makes me stronger", or explain the drawbacks of inductive reasoning without ever realizing that they just quoted Nietzsche or paraphrased Hume. Even though they won't admit it (and I'm saying "they" to mean professional philosophers and laymen alike), everyone is a philosopher. It would be difficult for me to make a strong claim that I am a surgeon, despite the fact that I have no medical degree, but I can sure as hell say that I am a philosopher. If I've ever sat and thought for more than five minutes on any given topic (helps if they are the "big" topics), I am a philosopher. No degree is necessary. I was listening to a lecture given by the late Alan Watts last week. He was talking about what's wrong with Western philosophy. He said that the problem with philosophy in the West is that it got away from it's point, its mission. Philosophy in the West became so theory laden and bogged down in terminology that it forgot its purpose. It forgot the questions that it was meant to solve. Worse yet, Watts claimed, it forgot about the people involved in it. Philosophy had committed a mortal sin -- it had become disconnective. It's that same feeling of disconnectivity that had always bothered me while I was earning my degree. I thought, if I couldn't connect to it -- and I was studying philosophy -- how in the hell was any of this was supposed to connect to any of the naysayers out there? We can't just ignore them. But that's just what I saw was going on. I kept asking who are we doing this for? What purpose do we, philosophers serve if no one is interested in hearing us speak? If the only people who are interested in philosophy are other philosophers, then we are committing the worst kind of intellectual crime. What we are doing isn't the pursuit of knowledge, it's masturbation. It's alot of workin' and jerkin' but ultimately you're only with yourself. You can't say that you scored last night if your hot date was your own hand. Likewise, you can't say that you did anything useful for humanity and the pursuit of knowledge if the only people who see it are just like you. This stuff that we were doing and thinking about was meant to help. The professors kept insisting that learning how to do derivations and stuff ws supposed to make us sharper thinkers. But what good is sharper thinking when everyone wlse out there looks at you and shrugs? The world has neglected the philosopher, and people seem to be getting along just fine. I think that what Alan Watts said is still true. There is something wrong with the entire project. Having recently left the halls of academia, I will tell you that the problem starts there. Allow me to relay a personal story: I had a classmate, who for personal reasons, could not attend class. Since I like to write, I tend to take rather detailed notes ( for which I pat myself on the back). I made arrangements with this student that I would take notes and then hand copies over to that student. I hadn't spoken to the student in a while so, and maybe this is where I made a mistake, asked the professor if there was any complaint about the quality of my notes ( I would hate it if someone was giving me shitty notes so I asked to see if my notes were ok). The professor did answer my question, that is, there was no complaint, but then added a bit of well... TMI. The professor said that they were disappointed that that student had come along that far without anyone telling them that that should have taken another (different) major. The student wasn't cut out for philosophy, and should have been persuaded to do something else. Now, my first inclination was to say that it seemed that the professor was suggesting that that student was stupid. And the fact is, is that that student was not. I had had plenty of discussions with that person where we did some pretty heaving thinking -- some of it beyond what we were learning -- meaning sometimes we were ahead of the lesson. But what really got to me was the idea that anyone would say that you're not good at thinking. That's a pretty big statement to make. I thought to myself, who on God's green earth made it so that a person needed to have a degree to qualify us to be or not to be something?!? Especially in light of the fact that life is something that we all experience. We've all asked, in one form or another, 'why am I here?' or 'why do I believe the way that I do?'. When I spoke to my classmate, there was no indication that this person operated subpar. The problem was, they often said, is that the lessons weren't connecting to anything. There was all that talk, but there was no life in it. I would say to my classmate, I'm sure if you asked my logic professor if I was worthy of being a philosopher, the professor would most assuredly say no. To be honest, I flunked my first logic class, and the last one I took, I barely passed with a D- (yep. No joke. The lowest passing grade above an F). I remember sitting in that first go-around at logic 200, wondering how this connected to anything. I knew that it mattered abstractly and that I should take it seriously, but there was nothing that made me want to study it. It just wasn't concrete to me. Which brings me to another point. There's a reason why, if one would listen, as to why people on the outside have a particular disdain for philosophers. There are some people who seem to delight in knowing some things that other people don't know, or that people don't understand. There is way too much of this going on in philosophy. Announcing to your class that most people won't pass the class on the first day of class becomes self-fufilling. I know that it's meant to weed out the chaff, but it also says to people who may be genuinely interested, 'Go away. You can't cut it'. More importantly, it re-inforces the idea that I-know-something-you-don't-know attitude that people claim that philosophers have. That kind of undermines the whole idea of doing it, doesn't it? I had asked a professor, once if philosophers were going the way of the alchemist? I said that, in a world of psychologists, anthropologists, linguists, sociologists, doctors of medicine, physicists, and neuroscientists, things that were once speculated upon are now being explained and demonstrated. The terminology has been made readily accessible and easy to understand. It's put into the common vernacular. No one looks to the philosopher for answers much anymore (there's an argument to be made that ethics is still a thriving field, but that's about it. And really, why go to an ethicist when you can call Dr.Laura?). When we want answers about the workings of the human body, we don't read Descartes, we turn to Dr.Oz, or if we want to know what makes people tick, we watch Dr. Phil, or Dr. Laura, or if we need a professional to tell us why our girlfriend is a total whack-job, we'll ask Dr. Drew Pinsky. Nobody out there reads Aristotle or Bentham (for answers, anyway). For most folks, so far as philosophy goes, I said, it's nice to know, but it can't give you the gold you're looking for. And I think that's why Cornell West appeals to people. He's learned, but he understands that this -- all this thinking about life and our place in it -- has to appeal to the common folk. Life doesn't just affect philosophers or the well-educated. He doesn't hold back because this has to do with all of us. We can't afford to leave anyone behind. You can't keep knowledge and truth away from people. It's immoral to do so. In the Rolling Stone article, the author said that everyday people rallied around West in the street, carrying copies of his book. Now, I'm sure that some of those people wouldn't be philosophy student material. But, they wanted to know -- they wanted to learn. When someone expresses an interest in learning, if they are filled with a curiosity about life, if they want to understand the why we do and think, even if they don't get all of the heavy lifting (which may, in the long run, be more extraneous than useful) -- if they want to learn, you teach them. You don't lament that no one flushed that student out. Because as Cornell West will tell you, everyone gets the blues. And there is no one who is not entitled to the title philosopher.

On the Question of Intent and the Illusion of Altruism

No matter how hard I try, I keep coming back to the idea of intent and morality. What is it that really motivates our actions? How are our intentions connected to our actions? Can a morally wrong act be a good thing, or conversely, can something good be wrong? It's easy to think about intent when we think of classic "thought experiment" cases like murder or genocide. With few exceptions, there are very few people who would be on board for carrying out whole-scale or even small-scale murder. There are those cases where we have some difficulty deciding how to act -- for instance, whether we should blast a fat man to kingdom come if he has wedged his body in front of the only exit. We might have some difficulty when we say we must blow him up to save the lives of others. But then, there are those instances when we might think that the morally right thing to do is the worst thing to do. It's especially difficult when we are not exactly sure of what our own intentions are in the matter. Is there ever a time when a moral wrong is ok? Are there times when our intentions may be bad but they are really good? It's easy to calculate the moral wrong of something like murder. Even the egoist has to say that it's wrong, even if it does not directly affect him ( he might have to say something like, I disapprove of murder because it makes the city where I live look bad, and that makes me sad). But what about an act with a little moral ambiguity. Let's take adultery. Now, first off, we're pushing the Christians out of the room, they're no fun in this game. They tent to count everything as a moral wrong. Second, let's decide which moral theory that we'd like to use first. Personally, I'm quite partial to Kantian ethics, so I'll start there. Kant's great moral theory is expressed through his Catagorical Imperative (C.I.). At first glance, it seems that by applying the principles of Kant's moral theory, sexual impropriety is a no-no. But let's look a little closer. Let's look at an example: I'm assuming that many philosophers would not admit to watching, let alone enjoying pornography. There's not much in the way of deep thinking in your garden variety skin flick (there's alot of other deep stuff going on, but it ain't what you'd call thinking). Back in the 1970s, when adult films were coming (no pun intended) into the mainstream, some filmmakers attempted to create "real" cinema. That is, some pornographers had in mind to make movies that a mature adult audience would see at the local cineplex. You'd take out the wife to see a double bill of Barbara Broadcast and Smokey and the Bandit. Or so it was assumed that's what people would do. One of these "adult" films was The Private Afternoons of Pamela Mann directed by Henry Paris (by the way, watchers of so-called "soft-core" films may be aware of the fact that Henry paris is also known as Radley Metzger. As Radley Metzger, he directed the movie Carmen, Baby. I only mention this fact because Carmen, Baby contains a scene that, once you've seen it, you will never think of wine bottles the same). Where was I? Oh yes. So, luckily for filmgoers looking to arouse their prurient interests, porn plots are fairly uncomplicated. This film is no exception. It goes like this: man has cheating wife. Man hires private dick (ha, ha) to follow wife. Wife seduces P.I. Detective removes himself from the case because he feels (get this) guilty for betraying his employer's trust (although he doesn't admit to the real reason why he quits). When all's said and done, we learn that it's all been a set-up. Man and wife actually do this to get their rocks off. As they wish each other a happy anniversary, the curtain falls (literally) on the post-coital couple. Now, let's throw out the fact that sex is supposed to be inherently dirty and morally wrong. Let's run it through Kant's C.I. First, we ask, would we want to universalize the act that the Mann's did in the movie? Well, they might answer yes. In fact, if we take Kant's declaration that we must first and foremost act from duty as our dominant principle, Mr. and Mrs. Mann may suggerst that they did act out of duty to each other. If couples did as they do, they might reason, their marriages may actually be better off. Ok. Let's move on. Second, we ask, did anyone get used as a mere means to their end? We might answer yes, the P.I. did. But wait, let's look at the private detective. He knew that he was following a married woman. He was hired by her husband. He knew what she was up to, namely sharing her virtue with anyone within a five mile radius of her person. So, when she seduces him, was he really used as a mere means? It seems that the detective wasn't so much used as the pair decided to use each other. The act was mutually beneficial to both. No one got any more out of the act than the other. When the detective regigns from the job, he does not tell Mr. Mann why he is leaving the case. He merely states that "something came up" (I think that pun was intended). He evades the real reason for his leaving because he felt that what he did was morally suspect. And lastly, no one got hurt! At the end of the movie, everyone is happy. This not only checks out for the Kantian, but for the utilitarian, and (especially) the egoist as well. Ok, the Christians still have a problem with the whole adultery thing. So let's ditch the porn. I've gone through how a seemingly bad act can be good, or at least not as bad as it may seem. But, what about so-called morally good acts? Can they be hiding a hidden evil? For some strange reason, I decided to watch Superman Returns the other day (maybe it has to do with finding Kevin Spacey oddly attractive. Whatever), and watching that made me want to watch the far-superior Superman: the Movie starring the late Christopher Reeve as the Man of Steel. Why they tried to make that dude in Superman Returns act like Christopher Reeve, I don't know. I mean really, they didn't get some chick who looked like Margot Kidder! But then, we all know why they didn't, don't we? Anyway, In the movie, Lois is killed during an earthquake, which is caused by a missile detonating in the San Andreas fault. As Superman stands over her dead body, he suddenly screams to the heavens and darts up straight into the sky. He is confronted by the ghost of his father, who seems to know exactly what he is going to do, who reminds his so that it is forbidden to interfere with human history. But Superman won't have any of this forbidden business. He spins around the earth, making it reverse it's spin, thus reversing history and allowing him to go back in time, thwart the missile, and save Lois from death ( he did what Anakin Skywalker could only dream of doing for Padme). By the way, can that really cause an earthquake? Superman not only saves Lois, but he saves some kids on the Golden Gate Bridge from tumbling over the side in their bus, he stops up a dam from flodding a community and all sorts of other good stuff. It all sounds good. It sounds altruistic. But is it so? On the surface, Superman's actions check out pretty much according to every moral theory. But when we check out his true intentions, his actions are suddenly morally suspect. Ok, let's say that when we ask Superman why he did it, he says that he has a duty to sav humanity. Ok. That sounds just fine. but the Randian in me (and really, I like to keep her bound and gagged at all times) is saying, no. His duty was not to mankind. He's doing it to get something. Superman is motivated by his want to fufill his own self-interest, not to serve the needs of mankind. When he arrived in Metropolis, it shifted from something to someone -- Lois. We might suspect that had Lois lived, he wouldn't have gotten so riled up over all that destruction. He probably would have saved as many lives as he could, but would not have defied his own father to save any one person in particular. Superman reversed time to save Lois, pure and simple. His motivation towards saving her wasn't duty -- it was that he wanted to do to Lois what he eventually did do to Lois in Superman II (that is, he pulled a private detective on her). Like the Mann's, Superman may try to sneak duty past us when he explains to us why he saves people. But this is just not so. His goal is to get Lois. If you want to get really dark about things, you can say that the entire state of California served as a mere means to his getting Lois -- an act which puts Superman's morality right along side of a typical character you'd find in your average smut flick (in fact, this would make a terrific plot. Superhero saves lady. Lady feels need to shower with equally hot roommate. Cable guy shows up...). Let's not forget the fact that the utilitarian can say that Superman's supposed altruistic act caused more harm than good. By diverting the missile and letting it explode in outer space, Superman shattered the phantom zone, thus releasing General Zod and his equally evil companions to take their revenge against Superman's father out on the citizens of earth. Superman merely swapped one evil for a greater evil. Instead of Lois dying or just the people of California in danger, Superman endangered the entire planet when Zod and his two cohorts were released from captivity. When all's said and done, Superman's acts only have the veneer of good deeds, but deep down, they're truly evil. Which makes me think that this is why, when I think of what I do in the real world, my decisions are not so cut and dry. I find that, despite my disappointment in admitting as much, I am far too often a Superman. All of my seemingly selfless acts stink of ulterior motives and hidden wants and desires. I used to think that watching movies and TV was nothing more than brain candy, stuff that, instead of being a useful tool to sort out my own thoughts, sucked my thoughts away and made me into a passive participant. Not so. I think, and I think that it's not just me on this one, when we watch TV or movies or play video games, we can just sit back and consume. Or, we can look with a careful eye, watching the moments and situations that should and can help us to sort out our own lives. Heck, if I can learn in two hours while watching a movie what takes ten weeks sitting in a classroom listening to often boring lectures -- which one would anyone rather choose?

More From the Realm of Bad Analogies: On the Role of Faith In Our Belief in God

I get frustrated at the fact that so many philosophers seem to ignore the obvious. That is, they want things like theories that are consistent or arguments where conclusions logically follow from the premises. They like things like precision. But they ignore the fact that life, and especially life as it is lived by humans, just doesn't give us the consistent, logically correct conclusions that we'd like to get from life. Life just ain't that way. but still, they try and try, and push themselves further and further away from what or how people actually think and feel. There. I just said it. Philosophers push themselves away from how people feel. Emotions are somewhat akin to dirty words in philosophy. They're not supposed to be mentioned among educated company. Emotions are irrational. Emotions live in the realm of wishful thinking and contradictory beliefs. We can't use them. At least, no philosopher would ever trot out a "I think that because I just feel that it's right" during an argument. Although sometimes, I secretly begged that one would. But they don't. They can't. It wouldn't be philosophic. Which, by the way, all that clinging to all things orderly and philosophic has always bothered me when I hear philosophers discuss matters of God and religion. It seems that, with all of their finely-tuned arguments that philosophers kinda miss the point. They know what they need to say, but they can't say it. God is meant to be felt. But our philosophic arguments for believing in God won't allow us to say that exact reason why any of us ever accepts God, or Jesus, or whatever in the first place. Jesus is a better high than any drug. And not only does God love us, but we love him. And you can't argue for or against that. I had a constant question that I kept asking in my philosophy of religion class: who was all of that reilgious philosophy written for? I mean, I may knock Alvin Plantinga or Peter van Inwagen or whomever, not just because it's fun to take shots at people who are more intelligent that I can possibly become, but because I wanted these guys to lay their feelings (yes, feelings) out on the line. I wanted to hear some philosopher say, "look buddy, this is what I believe. And no, wise guy, I don't have a legitimate reason for doing so. It's all about what I feel when I'm in church, or when I know that God is with me". This is the way that most believers speak about their beliefs. They say, look, if you don't appreciate what I believe, then you can take your non-believing, condemned ass out somewhere and take a hike. I was waiting for the moment when I would read one of these guys say, "you don't believe, then that's too bad. I'm dusting off my feet, now". But nope. All I read was arguments. All of those premises, and inferences, and conclusions, possibility and probability and all those possible worlds... The funny thing is, is that when you get down to the wire, arguing for the existence of God is like explaining to someone who doesn't like chocolate that chocolate tastes good. You can't say exactly what makes chocolate good other than saying that you feel the goodness when you put it in your mouth. When you eat chocolate, your mouth goes, "yeah". If you don't experience the "yeah" you never will. You can put up the most logically correct argument, and the world will look at you, and philosophers will adore you, and tell you that your proof for the existence of God is elegant and wonderful. But the plain truth is, is that no matter how wonderful, there will always be some asshole (most likely me) that shrugs and says, "nah, I ain't buying it". No matter if your argument pushes the existence of God from possible to probable (and if you're reading the Bible, from probable to certain), so long as any person can say they ain't convinced, your wonderful, logically correct theory is just another example of overthinking on a rather simple thing. And the lesson is this: No matter what anyone, philosopher or otherwise, will tell you, God is more than the sum of our arguments. We cannot ignore the fact that what we feel, call it faith if you want, is at the heart of our belief in God. There isn't an argument that any man can construct that can sway, crush, or create faith in the hearts of men. And that is a capital T truth. But then, I'm not saying anything that hasn't been said before. I think that I like this one from the Book of Luke: The kingdom of God does not come with your careful observation, nor will people say, "here it is", or "there it is", because the kingdom of God is within you. (Luke 17:20-21) 'nuff said.

On A Tangentally Philosophic Topic

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And You Say The Devil's A Bad Guy

I seem to enjoy doing things that really creep me out. A couple of months ago, I decided to watch The Exorcist. Now, I've seen this movie at least a dozen times, and there's really nothing in it that wasn't there the last time that I watched it. But somehow, that movie ends up unnerving me. That Spider walk is plain creepy. May I take a moment to say here, that it's not so much the fact that the movie, that is the visuals, that are scary. What's scary is Mercedes McCambridge's voice! In that scene where Reagan does the crucifix number, and then whips her head around and says to her mother "do you know whay she did?!?", I nearly crap my pants every time! So, I was busy creeping myself out, watching "the version you've never seen" ( during the daytime, with the lights on, I'll admit). But I was alone, and that counts for something. Anyway, there's a scent that is in this version, where Father Karras and Father Merrin have just finished a session with Reagan. They are both exhausted. As Father Karras, who is caught in a crisis of faith himself, rests, he asks Father Merrin a question. He asks, why this little girl? What purpose does possessing and possibly killing her serve? Father Merrin answers -- the possession has nothing to do with the girl. The devil wants us to feel that we are unworthy of God's love. He wants us to feel that we are sinful, vile, and lowly creatures who cannot earn or deserve the grace of God. That's the way, Father Merrin explains, the devil gets us to turn away from God. That made me think. Now, if the devil wants me to turn away from God, he may cause a situation (say something like a demonic possession) that causes me to lose faith and turn from God. But, I have to remember that my rejection of God was due to my free choice, not because the devil made me do it (so to speak). I will burn in Hell for all eternity because I made the choice to turn from God. I have to be held accountable for the choices that I made and make freely. This is because I have free will. One of the reasons that we are given that there is evil in the world, is because people, like me, have the freedom to choose to do evil deeds. Because God made man with the ability to choose, he cannot interfere with our choices (because if he did intervene that would mean that we didn't have very much free will). So, I thought, we make ourselves so busy asking what role that God plays in man-caused evil, that we don't ask what role God plays in Satan-caused evil. If all intelligent beings created by God have free will, does that mean that the devil has free will as well? And if he has free will, is God bound to allow the devil to make choices that may be the source of the world's evil (or at least a strong influence)? Ok, I know that Satan, as an angel, is what we call a fully actualized being. That means that he is all that he will ever be. He doesn not "grow" in the sense that people mature and find enlightenment or come to know the divine.As something near perfection, once the devil makes a choice, he's locked into it. Which explains a bit as to why he cannot repent for his misdeeds. But that's just it. He chose to fall from God. We might assume that he didn't have to. That is, if you don't believe that there is such a thing as determinism. So, Let's say that Satan chose to leave God. There. He made a choice. And God seems to have respected his decision to do so. So, Satan decides that he is so thoroughly disgusted with mankind that he will forever torment God's creation. He will make our lives so horrible that we will run to God for shelter. These all seem to be career choices that the devil made when he decided to leave the family business. If our actions aren't determined, then is it ok to say that Satan's actions aren't determined, either? But then, if we assert that the devil has free will, we must account for exactly what kind of free will he has. According to the standard free will defense, man's free will is libertarian -- that is, with any choice we make, we are free to do otherwise. So, for example, if someone has a gun to my head and says that he will kill me if I don't announce in a public place that I molest collies, I don't have to choose to make the announcement. There is the choice, albeit a very unlikely one that I'd pick, to get shot. There are alternatives that I may take. But, the devil is fully actualized. He doesn't get the mulligans that I do when I make mistakes or decide to change my mind (for instance, I can decide to repent from my evil ways and accept Jesus as my personal savior. It's unlikely, but I very well could). Satan, as stated, cannot so as such. But he seems to make choices all the same. Although he free will is not libertarian as it is with people, he seems to have some, limited free will. This free will (if even the freedom to do one thing) is to create evil. So, it may be that we are hanging our coat on the wrong rack. We're looking to God to explain why he allows evil (as if we are saying that God somehow is a generator of some of this evil), but we might take a look down and say that God "permits" evil because Satan has free will that God is bound to respect. As with any other agent, the lord of all that is unholy is free to do as he sees fit. Unfortunately for us, that means occasionally killing someone's grandma with colon cancer, or running over the family pet, letting Two and A Half Men run for another season, or putting the desire to set the forest ablaze in the mind of an arsonist for the sole purpose of burning furry little animals to a crisp. To make matters worse, the fact that God is bound by Satanic free will means that (lest we give rise to a massively irregular world) God may, and in fact does, lose souls to the devil's influence (This is due in two parts: 1) Satan has free will, and b) humans have the free will to follow the devil's influences). I don't know if I'm putting forth anything revolutionary (I'm sure that I'm not), and maybe I'm giving the devil a little too much power, but it is worth thinking that the devil's influence on our actions may be because he has the same free will as we. Besides, it's really a cheap way to say that we can have evil and God at the same time -- resorting to that old, worn-out cliche "the devil made me do it". I thought that this time I would try to give it some philosophic legitimacy. I don't think it worked.

Gettier Gods

I think that I have an OCD. Really. I'm an atheist, but I just can't seem to stop thinking about God. I guess it may be due to, in some part, the fact that I live in a culture that is, whether it practices it or not, Christian. No matter where I go, there is either a "God bless you", "have a blessed day", or someone declaring that they've been blessed. So, no matter how hard I try, God and thinking about God is unavoidable. This would be bad, if not for the fact that I have this blog. At least it gives me something to write about. That said, I was thinking some time ago about my philosophy of religion class (that I had almost a year ago). There was, as I recall (then again, I could be making this up for the sake of making a point), there was some talk about the limits (if any) of the powers of God, namely on the topic of God's omnipotence. The question was, are there things that God can't see? That is, if we say that God knows all (all events that happen in the past, present and future), how can humans have free will? Well, for one, when I was a Christian, I was steadfastly a determinist. I figured that God, being a all-powerful being, had ultimate knowledge. There is no thing that he does not see. And being that he saw any particular event, it has to happen.The events of our lives are not only seen by God, but also actively planned.I thought that, if God even sees all things generally, he also sees what occurs specifically -- including the choices that we make. And since God's knowledge is eternal, he may have seen what I'm doing right now the instant that he created the universe. So, I figured, there is not such thing as free will for people. But my Christianity didn't stay with me for long. I soon shrugged it off in favor of the cold, harsh cynicism of atheism. When I started on the path to Hell (i.e. becoming an atheist), I slid from divine determinism to biological determinism. Instead of God commanding my destiny, my choices were determned by my genes. Anatomy is destiny, as they say. This has always been a problem for me -- not because I don't like the idea of everything I do being beyond my control, but because I fancy myself an existentialist. And that's all free will. I know that, even among non philosophers, the idea of determinism is none too popular. People don't like the idea that the things that they do are out of their control. That makes sense. I hate the idea myself. But, for the life of me, I can't figure how a God that sees all events in all times does not in some way determine my fate. Which made me think of something that I heard on the radio a couple of years ago. Out here in So Cal, there's a radio show that comes on on Sunday mornings called "the Jesus Christ show" (it's on KFI AM 640, for those who want to know). The show is hosted by the Son of Man himself! The format is that callers call in with questions to Jesus and he answers them. I suppose that all of his answers are the correct ones, given the fact that he's Jesus. Better than calling Dr. Laura. Anyway, a couple of Christmases ago, a caller asked Jesus about predestination. She wondered how man can have free will in the same universe with a God that sees and knows all. She said that even if we attempt to do otherwise, God can make you do what he has seen you do, and since we humans cannot defy God (I'm thinking that she meant physically), we are subject to God's will. Therefore, she concluded, we have no free will. Jesus answered that man does in fact have free will. Despite the fact that God is all-seeing, all-knowing, and all-powerful, we humans still determine our own choices in life. Jesus said that the caller was mistaken, and gave an example of what is meant when we say that God sees and knows all. He explained it by way of analogy: Jesus said that our free will and God is like "The Newlywed Game". He said that, during the game, one spouse let's say the husband, is secluded from his wife while she is asked a series of intimate questions (usually something to do with "whoopee"). The husband returns and is asked the same questions. They get points when their questions match. So let's say that the wife is asked "what part of your body does your husband like most?". She answers. "he likes my very shapely rear end". When the husband returns from seclusion, he is asked the same question. He answers, "well, my wife knows that I totally dig her sweet bum!". He got the same answer. Jesus told the caller that God's knowledge is just like that. He said that the fact that the husband answered the same as his wife doesn't mean that he knew what she was going to say. He said that God gets the answer right despite the fact that he doesn't know what we're going to do exactly. But then, all sorts of red, flashing lights went off in my head. The husband guessed the right answer. He really had no clue what she was going to say. A man's knowledge of what goes on in his wife's head is limited. But when we speak of God, this is not the case. God knows what we feel in our hearts. He knows about the sins that we merely think about. So, if God knows all the nasty thoughts (well, to be honest -- in most cases, desires) that I entertain about rock stars, former high school classmates, and college professors, how can he not know what actions that I will undertake during the course of my lifetime? It seemed to me that the God that radio Jesus was describing was a God who only managed to get the right answers by guessing the right ones. He was right, but only gettierally. Besides, that, I know that, given the law of averages, some guesses are bound to be wrong. If there is even a chance that God might ( God forbid) guess wrong, then what does that mean for a God who among his qualities is perfection? I'd say that that would make him not God, wouldn't it? Well, some people out there say that what the deal is, is that God sees all possibilities, that is, among the possible thousands of choices that we could have made in any situation, God sees every one of them, which includes the one that we eventually choose. So, say there are five possible worlds, and I'm trying to figure out which pair of shoes to wear. In one world, I put on my black Converse high tops. In another, I choose the white Nikes. In another, I wear high heels. In the fourth, I put on flip-flops, and in the fifth, I go barefoot. God sees all of these. (he sees every possible alternative, even the ones that I'm not aware that I have). All of these includes the choice that I make. I choose, since it's such a nice day, to go barefoot. Now, that allows me to choose, since God saw everything and not me specifically. But I still have a problem. If God sees possible worlds, who he saw in those other worlds wasn't me -- as I exist in this particular world. He saw someone who looked like me who put on a pair of Converse high tops, but I, in this world, did not. So, God doesn't know what will happen anywhere, which is really bad for the creator of the universe. Then again, we say that God sees all possibilities. Even if there are a million, God sees them (which leads me to ask, is there a point where we say that all those possibilities of everyone on the earth makes God's task of seeing all possibilities too big of a task for God?). That means that my array of choices is within God's knowledge. God is still setting the boundaries of my choices. Even if he sees all choices, my actual choice is there -- he still saw it. This means to me that God is not only determining what goes on in my particular universe, but since all of those other people in those other possible universes (who look like me) have choices that are seen by God, he knows what they're going to do. God not only determines choices here, but in all of those other worlds as well. Wow.

A Word

Before I lay into my topic, I want to say that I've been cruising the blogisphere lately, and I've seen something that others possess that my blog severely lacks, namely pictures. As I have chosen to write about the influence that popular culture has on philosophy, and by extension, on our collective psyches, I realize that a tremendously important element of our popular culture is the visual image -- the photograph, the motion picture, the television, YouTube, etc. I realize that my omission is well... disabling in that a blog about pop culture should reflect just that -- popular culture. I should have pictures of Gerard Butler or Megan Fox plastered all over my blog. But I do not. It's the philosopher in me that insists that I need not display flashing lights nor need I show big boobs to garner an audience. Which just serves to prove why Katy Perry is more popular than Alvin Plantinga.

Philosophic Blah Blah Blah of a Star Trek Geek

I saw the latest Star Trek flick the other day. Like so many "purists" out there, I really wnated to hate it. Something to do with messing with a hallowed tradition, or some BS like that. I really wanted to leave the theater seething and declaring that Gene Roddenberry would be rolling in his grave at the travesty that passes itself off as a Star Trek movie. But I liked it. Not just moderately, but really liked it. Too bad. I was looking forward to a good rant. Now, if only someone would get hold of Star Wars... What I noticed, and liked, was the fact that it didn't have that typical/traditional Star Trek bash you over the head philosophic grandstanding that's usually passed off as "undertones" or "subtext". I found that a relief. But, a funny thing happened. The philosophic question just came. I was there, sitting in the darkened theater, and my mind started thinking. My brain actually started to look for some philsophic subtext to the plot. And eventually, I found one. Because of a slight time travel problem ( it wouldn't be Star Trek without some time travel, would it?), there results a pair of Spocks -- one older and one younger. Now, I thought, while munching on my sneeked in food, there are two Spocks, are they the same person? If I stuck the duo side by side and said something like, "Spock=Spock", would I be correct? Is this fact that I am putting forth analytically true? Putting age aside, the Spocks are the same genetically: they are both the son of the human woman Amanda and Vulcan Ambassador Sarek. They are the same, I presume, on the quantum level. And anything that is the same on the quantum level is identical, that is, itself. So, I would be forced to say yes, they are the same person. I'm not sure, since I'm no physicist, that there isn't some additional requirement that the Spocks have to occupy the same space to be exactly the same, or if the fact that they are not the same age makes them similar, but different. I don't know. But, even without considering any additional questions or possibilities, I feel that they, despite their quantum similarities, are not the same person. I know, from reading Quine, that if say, one spock was missing his left index finger, that we could easily say that the spocks are not the same person. Strikingly similar, but indeed not the same (as one is missing his left index finger). Like I said, I'm not sure if age functions the same as a missing finger. But, when we think of things like what makes us who we are, we tend to look beyond our physicality. We are, we say, more than our DNA. (Master Yoda says that we are more than "this crude matter". Yes, I mixed franchises. I am sci-bi after all.) We are made up of many things that comprise who we are: our experiences, our environment, our beliefs, thoughts and feelings all have to do with what makes us us. Our physical bodies may suggest something, but taken as a whole, we are something else -- that is, our bodies say what we are, but there is a matter of who we are ( and I don't think that the Existentialists are alone in suggesting this). In the much maligned Star Trek: Nemesis ( I still think this is one of the better flicks, despite the fact that they totally ignored the fact that Dr. Soong created more androids than data and B4), the explanation that Dr. Crusher gives to Captain Picard as to why he and Shinzon are not the same person is that their life experiences made them different people. Shinzon, for those who haven't seen the movie -- and plenty didn't, since it only grossed $43 million -- was a clone of Captain Picard. That means that Shinzon was an exact duplicate of the Captain. But, they had different lives. Picard grew up on earth, the son of a winemaker. Shinzon was raised on the Romulan moon Remus, where he was enslaved and mistreated by his Romulan captors. They shared the exact same DNA, but in essence, they were not the same person. The idea of essence has is connected to the fact that we do see personhood as something beyond the mere physical. "Person" is a loaded term. Being a person, as opposed to being a mere being, conveys a a uniqueness, perhaps even something transcendent within all of us. It is something that is unique to us as individuals that differentiates us from all others, including identical twins of clones. So, using this idea, I could say (spoiler alert) that one Spock , the younger one, lived in a timeline wherein he saw the death of his mother, the destruction of his homeworld Vulcan, and knew that James T. Kirk's father was killed before Kirk was born. The other, older Spock lived in an alternate timeline where Kirk shared his story about how his father watched him graduate from Starfleet Academy, and where his homeworld still existed (presumably), or at the very least his mother wasn't killed when Vulcan was destroyed. Their experiences make them different. It's not beyond the possibility that experiences make us physically different as well. We know that we can influence ourselves physically with our own minds. anyone who has ever thought himself sick or worried about a midterm to the point of puking knows this. We know that what we think can change ourselves internally. A brain of a person suffering from depression looks different from a person who does not. A brain that is injured by accident or drug use or whatever else looks different from a healthy brain. So, one might postulate that it may be possible to tell which Sopck is which from looking at their brains. The older Spock might, due to his life experiences (ones that the younger Spock did not have), show differences on an MRI that we would not see in the younger Spock. If this is so, then we have additional physical evidence to say that they merely look alike, but are not the same person. OK, I know. I know that this one wasn't supposed to lay on the heavy philosophic stuff. This one isn't supposed to lead to heavy philosophic discussions, and I should accept that this one is a early summer action flick. So, I'll end on this note: the special effects were great (especially the scene when the Enterprise comes out of warp speed in the middle of a debris field), and Zachary Quinto's Spock -- totally hot.