Rob, Lie, Kill

I haven't done much reading lately, much to my chagrin, but when have I've ever been able to sate the reading bug? I am making a concentrated effort to change that though, and now that I'm no longer in school I really have no excuse for lazy reading habits. My most recent "conquest" is Tolstoy's Anna Karenina, and while I'm proud to have completed such a significant (not to mention hefty!) piece of literature, I certainly can't boast about the 4+ months it took me to get through it. Hopefully I'll show a bit more concentration with the next few books I pick up...though I may not be able to proceed directly to another Russian novel as I had originally planned (it's a genre which I have neglected in the past, again to my regret).

Just one note on the quotes: somehow they all come from the very end of the book. I hope that's only incidental and not an indicator that I somehow didn't pay attention to the rest of the work. Though I'm inclined to doubt the latter since I read approximately the first half in the summer of 2006 and re-read the entire piece this time around, thus doubling up on 400 or so pages. Then again, perhaps a third reading is in order to grasp the full weight of Tolstoy's writing.

Regardless, without further ado, and in order of appearance, I give you quotations.

     "Understanding clearly for the first time that for every man and for himself nothing lay ahead but suffering, death and eternal oblivion, [Levin] decided that it was impossible to live that way, that he had either to explain his life so that it did not look like the wicked mockery of some devil, or shoot himself [...]
     'What would I be and how would I live my life, if I did not have those beliefs, did not know that one should live for God and not for one's needs? I would rob, lie, kill. Nothing of what constitutes the main joys of my life would exist for me.' And, making the greatest efforts of imagination, he was still unable to imagine the beastly being that he homself would be if he did not know what he lived for.
     'I sought answer to my question. But the answer to my question could not come from thought, which is incommensurable with the question. The answer was given by life itself, in my knowledge of what is good and what is bad. And I did not acquire that knowledge through anything, it was given to me as it is to everyone, givenbecause I could not take it from anywhere.
     'Where did I take it from? Was it through reason that I arrived at the necessity of loving my neighbor and not throttling him? I was told it as a child, and I joyfully believed it, because they told me what was in my soul. And who discovered it? Not reason. Reason discovered the struggle for existence and the law which demands that everyone who hinders the satisfaction of my desires should be throttled. That is the conclusion of reason. Reason could not discover love for the other, because it's unreasonable.'"
—Tolstoy, Leo. Anna Karenina. Trans. Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. Penguin Group: New York, 2000. pp 796-797.

     "'And don't all philosophical theories do the same thing, leading man by a way of thought that is strange and unnatural to him to the knowldege of what he has long known and known so certainly that without it he would not even be able to live?'"
—ibid. pg 798.

     "'It's the newspapers that all say the same thing,' said the prince. 'That's true. And it's so much the same that it's like frogs before a thunderstorm. You can't hear anything on account of them.'"
—ibid. pg 808.

Semi-Obligatory Back-to-School Post

It has come to my attention that I haven't posted since, well, early June. Shameful. And here I am, about to launch into a most mundane exposition of my return to academia.

The return to academic pursuits, though, is not without its disadvantages. It also signals the end of summer reading, which, though better than last year, was not as rigorous as I might have anticipated. Completed books include:

* Harry Potter, numbers I-IV. And yes, these were a first-time read. Chide me as you must, I'm not one for fad literature.
* The Good Earth
* The Secret Life of Bees
* Good in Bed
* Enchantment
* The Lovely Bones
* Princess

At any rate, the summer passed without event-- mostly work, work, and more work, with a periodic interlude of visits to Seattle and such. It was a comfortable routine, one which gave me at least the appearance of stability. Now, however, I about to quit said stable job-- to throw myself into the early stages of a new "career," as it were, and embark on my journey into the legal profession. Which simply stated means I found a job as a menial desk clerk in a law firm.

This vocational transition corresponds neatly to the commencement of my final year in undergraduate work. Thus far, said final year is off to a solid start. Perhaps I say this only because it is Tuesday, and my classes are limited to Latin and Logic. Ah yes, I at last return to my classical foundations. Enough with the pragmatism of trial and argument; they have their place, to be sure, but so often I neglect the principles behind these tools. Hopefully taking such basic classes will revive my interest in and focus on the purpose of argument, and not simply its utilitarian qualities.

Furthermore, I love having quaint little teachers who look and dress as though they ought to be singing "I'm a Little Teapot" and yet speak formidably about the ins-and-outs of symbolic logic. I should say the semester is off to a most advantageous start.

Commenting on Lewis

The truth of the matter is that I don't read nearly as often or as much as I would like; this, regrettably, has caused a chronic stagnation of the intellect. Writing for class can hardly be considered rigorous, but it at least maintains some level of thought in a mind-turned-vegetative. Here is a rather forced commentary on Lewis' brilliance in A Grief Observed:

It cannot be denied that suffering exists in the world. Some would even go so far as to say it pervades the human experience, tainting each joy, marring each beauty, infecting each seeming perfection. And, independent from our own experiences, we constantly witness the injustice done to others. In the presence of such tragedy, it is easy to doubt the existence of a loving God, one who governs the course of creation and yet allows evil to pollute it. Our reason cries out against faith, "If God truly loved His creation, and if He is truly all-powerful, He would intervene to prevent suffering and injustice." But contrary to this argument, the fact that we as humans experience suffering does not contradict the existence of an all-knowing, all-loving God; rather, it emphasizes His great wisdom in creating a being who can freely choose to reciprocate His love.

In order to address the "problem of evil" in creation, it is critical to define this evil, particularly in relation to God, whose nature is good. According to Aquinas, evil cannot exist on its own—it is not a self-sustaining entity, but rather the privation of some good. Just as "darkness is known through light," so is evil known through distinction from that which is good (Summa Theologica). Good and evil are not two active, opposing forces in the universe; rather, evil exists only in the perversion of goodness. Similarly, because it is not a being, evil has no power to create suffering. Put succinctly, "Badness is only spoiled goodness" (Mere Christianity). Thus, the injustice seen in creation cannot exist apart from the goodness of creation itself. Evil exists as a potentiality within the actuality of creation, functioning as the privation of an intended good.

From this definition of evil, it seems to follow that evil, and its byproduct, suffering, coexist with goodness, corrupting what they may within creation. Thus, claims David Hume, is the "problem of evil": the fact that an all-powerful God does not prevent suffering and an all-loving God tolerates the existence of injustice seems contradictory. For, if God were truly good, he would not desire His creation to suffer evil. And if He were truly omnipotent, He would have the power to prevent this evil. C.S. Lewis, in a book written after the tragic death of his wife, also wrestles with this issue, questioning the goodness of God in conjunction with his own suffering. "Reality," he says, "is unbearable. And how or why did such a reality blossom (or fester) here and there into the terrible phenomenon called consciousness? Why did it produce things like us who can see it and, seeing it, recoil in loathing?" (A Grief Observed). Addressing the apparent contradiction between divine love and the human suffering, Lewis speculates that perhaps God is really a Cosmic Sadist, watching the torment of His creatures and refusing to intervene. Like Hume, Lewis begins to doubt the goodness of a God who, regardless of his power, allows the existence of evil. For, rationally, it seems impossible to have faith in a perfectly loving God who despite His power, does not prevent the injustice or suffering.

But Lewis’ musings do not end here, in a presumed conflict of faith and reason. Rather, he continues to ponder the existence of evil, reasoning that it is perhaps a paradoxical necessity for the existence of love on the part of human beings. Beginning with the premise that God has created us in order to love, Lewis states that "Bereavement is a universal and integral part or our experience of love […] It is not the truncation of the process but one of its phases; not the interruption of the dance, but the next figure" (A Grief Observed). Logically, too, this idea is sound. For, God has created us with free will, the capacity to choose good or evil. In creating this potentiality for evil, He gave humanity a genuine capacity to love—for had He simply created good without the possibility of evil, we would have no ability to truly love. Thus the potentiality of evil is introduced to creation, not to merely perpetrate suffering and injustice, but rather to grant the actuality of love within it. Lewis notes this is another work, The Problem of Pain: "Try to exclude the possibility of suffering which the order of nature and the existence of free wills involve, and you find that you have excluded life itself." Here faith and reason are in perfect accord—we believe in a loving God, one who had created us also to love. And in order to do so, it was necessary for Him to create the possibility of un-love (that is, evil and its proximate result, suffering). Without the ability to choose against good, we would never truly be able to choose good itself, for there would be no choice. Thus, though we witness a great deal of tragedy and suffering in the world, it is illogical to conclude that this suffering contradicts the existence of an all-loving, all-powerful God. Rather, reason supports faith in a God who, in His perfect love, created a world with creatures who might reflect that same love.

Thus, even in his profound grief, Lewis notes that the existence of suffering is not only allowable by a loving God, but also necessary for the existence of free will and human love. Evil does not demonstrate a conflict between faith and reason—its very presence validates the human capacity for love and compassion, a choice for good rather than evil. For Lewis, suffering even serves as a reinforcement of his faith, which had been as a "house of cards" before the death of his wife (A Grief Observed). But in the presence of death and profound tragedy, Lewis notes the strengthening of his faith, his all-the-more genuine choice to trust God despite suffering. Thus, the existence of evil does not contradict the existence of a supremely good and powerful God; rather, it allows us as humans to reflect His divine love in an act of genuine faith.

Philosophy—How I Love the Sophists

“Nothing is guaranteed, except that what is born will die, and that in life ruin cannot be avoided.”

~Critias

On Utilitarianism

In explaining his theory of Utilitarianism, Mill addresses many of the criticisms leveled against that ethical system. He argues that utility—the achievement of happiness by maximizing pleasure and minimizing pain—is the fundamental principle of all morality. And in doing so, Mill finds it necessary to refute the accusations both of those who misunderstand the Utility Principle and those who understand and yet reject it.

As a primary concern, Mill sets out to (better) define his terms so as to eliminate some of the misunderstanding surrounding Utilitarianism. All moral systems, he says, are based on general principles, regardless of whether those general principles are inherent or “learned” through experience. He further argues that happiness always governs our actions, and thus is the fundamental (if unacknowledged) ethical standard. This refutes Kant’s idea that ethics is governed by the potential consequences from the universal adoption of an individual’s action. According to Mill, Kant’s principle fails because it only deals with the theoretical situation in which consequences are universally applied—something that almost never happens in reality. In contrast, Utility is by definition “the ultimate ethical principle for human conduct” since all humans inherently value pleasure and “the good.”

After discussing the impracticality of Kant’s transcendentalism, Mill moves on to address the accusation that Utilitarianism neglects pleasure by promoting usefulness or practicality. To refute this misconception, Mill reiterates that the central tenet of Utilitarianism is the promotion of pleasure and the absence of pain. And while the Utility principle is not preoccupied with instant physical gratification, it does revolve around pleasure both inherently and as a means to the promotion of future pleasure. Conversely, the Utility principle does not reduce humans to pleasure-seeking animals, but rather elevates humans by acknowledging the superiority of their faculties to those of animals. Mill also emphasizes that Utility balances the quality of pleasure with quantity; thus some pleasures are inherently more valuable than others. As humans, we can appreciate this difference in quality by virtue of our “moral experience,” something lacking in animals. Whereas sensory/animalistic pleasures do at times direct the human psyche, pursuing higher pleasures most often leads us to sacrifice those fleeting passions. Finally, Mill makes the distinction between happiness and contentment, saying that even if our higher sensibilities cause us to be dissatisfied, we still have a greater capacity for happiness than a satisfied but “ignorant” being.

The most compelling argument against Mill’s Utilitarianism, however, is that it places the individual’s interests over those of the human community as a whole. Mill even goes so far as to admit that Utility “requires us to be as strictly impartial as a disinterested and benevolent spectator.” He further claims that in order to achieve this, we must educate people to associate individual good with the good of the whole. But in reality, most individuals are not impartial spectators, and neither can they simply be taught to act as such. Each individual by nature places his own interests over those of others, thereby creating the need for ethics. Mill’s only response is that so long as we make the distinction between motives and actions (a distinction he presupposes to be crystal-clear), morality needs only to restrain acts and not seek to constrain the propelling interests behind those acts. And while Mill attempts to show that morality can never really address motives, his argument becomes incredibly circular as he seeks to redefine morality. Mill’s morality, then, is incomplete because it deals only with consequences of human action—in a way similar to law. Thus while Utilitarianism offers a “tangible and intelligible mode” for regulating human behavior, it neglects the deeper problem of motives and their direct correlation to human nature and behavior.

Wrestling with Hume

Yes, so we've moved at all too rapid a pace until reaching the Continental Rationalists (Descartes, Spinoza, Leibniz) and the British Empiricists (Berkeley, Locke and Hume). And though I didn't much like what Descartes did with induction- which I believe was at least slightly marred by the professor's bias- I find Hume's philosophy absolutely repugnant, even in comparison. And yet my refutations crumble before the professor's rhetorical battering ram.

Here's what little I managed to write last night:

Despite the accusations of my opponents, I don't reject Hume because I dogmatically hate. That would be rash-- throwing the baby out with the bath water, in effect. But when the baby has drowned in the fetid water, reason demands they both be thrown out.

Hume has no concept of truth. For him, it's either analytic (viz tautological) and thus completely impractical, or synthetic and thus merely a fleeting human "impression." And, even ignoring the fact that these implications are false, some truths are both analytic and synthetic- the two interact.

Consider, for example, the proposition "God exists." God, by definition, exists, for He is the highest, most perfect form of reality (see Anselm's ontological argument). Nevertheless, we also know He exists because we witness the aspects of His existence in creation through general revelation (Romans 1:20). So the truth of God's existence is both tautological and experienced through finite human impressions.

Thus Hume, while guarding against a post hoc, ergo propter hoc of the highest degree, is guilty of an even more serious apriorism.

The fool has said in his heart "there is no God"...

Science and religion: mutually exclusive?

I must apologize for the lack of intelligent posts over the past week or so. Between writing a résumé, filling out 8 job applications, and taking midterms, I haven't had much time to blog- or think, for that matter. To speak with perfect honesty, I suppose I've had the time, just not the motivation to do so.

Because I've been discussing the relationship between religion and science with my philosophy professor lately, I thought I'd look into the matter a bit over the weekend. More specifically, my professor acknowledges that evolution is often dogmatic (and therefore not true science), but refuses to let it go until I can propose and support something better. My solution would be Intelligent Design Theory. Here's what I found in a post entitled Mere Creation:

"The main thrust of design theory is that (given the Christian premise that God interacts with the world He has made) God's activities within the world are empirically detectable, showing up as evidence of intelligent causation. Building up from the distinction between undirected natural causes and intelligent causes which science itself already recognizes, design theory seeks to show that life is the product of intelligent design, not of random, undirected natural forces (as in naturalism).
Design Theory avoids the polarization that always occurs when "religion" is perceived to be "meddling" in "science" by focusing rigorous scientific inquiry "not on intelligent causes per se [God] but of informational pathways induced by intelligent causes." Once such intelligent causation is recognized, design theory permits a scientist to go beyond the constricting confines of materialist philosophy (which would absolutely insist that some "purely natural" explanation be found) and probe deeper into the created order, to in effect "reverse-engineer" the objects previously shown to be the product of intelligent design. Such a project is certainly worthy of being pursued by scientists, and in fact, is pursued by even the most radical naturalistic scientist, who simply refuses to admit that he, as an intelligent agent, is interfering with the "natural" course of the universe (much as God would have during the creation week!)."

Finally some Christian philosophy!

Today in class we covered Augustine and the professor, though always "fair," did a particularly good job of both explanation and advocacy. Wonders never cease! Like I said, this prof. is very good at supporting any philosophical perspective, but I still half-expected him to snub Augustine a bit in typical university style.

After lecturing on Augustine's synthesis of Plato and Paul, pronouncing the philosopher's name AU-gus-tine the whole while, the professor asked a few people what they thought of the theologian/philosopher's work. And the general concensus was that regardless of how much "sense" Augustine had, or how logical his arguments are, they still aren't worth accepting. The reason? As given by my fellow students, because Augustine is too religious sounding.

Having read so much about Plato's concept of ignorance, I find it astounding that my classmates can so reject any philosopher just because they aren't religious. I mean, we hear so much about ideology and discrimination in the Christian worldview, but in truth it's the Christians who are "discriminated against." How someone can openly acknowledge an argument is true and yet still refuse to accept it is beyond me... Honestly what kind of intellectual integrity is that?

And it's still Au-GUS-tine.

Supreme Reason

Once again I return to the blog with nothing important to say. I'm sitting with the sliding door wide open, watching the furies of the rain from the shelter of the basement. You know it's wierd-- sometimes I like rain and sometimes I don't.

But on to deeper things...

In discussion group on Thursday we talked about the practical application of Plato's division of the Soul. In the Republic he says that the state is basically made up of three types of people. The first group is "golden" in nature- these people are well disciplined and live through Reason. Though rare, Plato claims they should be the elite governing class, the Philosopher-Kings as it were. And, as rational thinkers, these individuals are completely selfless, reaping no physical reward for their labors. The next group is the "silver." They are ruled by Spirit and will power and are destined to carry out the commands of the Philosopher-Kings. This group is slightly larger and is responsible for military measures and the like. The final class is by far the largest: the iron/brass people who are governed by their fleshly desires or appetites. This group simply submits to the Philosopher-Kings and is allowed to engage in pleasure constantly.

I think this breakdown, though slightly oversimplified, is generally true. However, my philosophy professor insists that this system is "disturbing" because it discounts the value of inherent human rights. Now this professor is not the typical thoughtless liberal you encounter on campus; he has a lot of good sense and I've come to respect him a great deal. But I just don't get what's so "uncanny" about intelligent, rational people governing the rest of us. Obviously, power has the ability to corrupt, but that doesn't mean it has to. If these Philosopher-Kings are truly rational and selfless, they'll be able to resist the temptations power has. Besides, they're not supposed to be paid. So while there may be a few odd exceptions, overall I think this sort of aristocracy is safe, not to mention beneficial.

Perhaps I ought to read the Republic myself before I say anything too ignorant. After all, even Plato thought the system would require the Philosopher-Kings to lie to the "masses"...

"Philosophy requires...

...the virtues of patience and charity"? That's exactly what our professor told us in his first lecture. And, being my ignorant self, I half-ignored half-discounted what he had said. After all, so many of my professors have boasted in their particular discipline's superiority, etc, etc. That certainly requires patience... But charity?!?

Yep, charity too, though not in the sense of tolerance or weak benevolence. In this instance, it's more like Humility. The strength of character to acknowledge when we don't know the answers. Not a feeble "I'm not sure..." but a courageous "I'm too finite to know a lot of things!"

Although this is relevant to any (and every) discipline, it is absolutely essential to philosophy in particular. Philosophy is, quite literally, the love of knowledge/wisdom. And what is true knowledge? According to Socrates, it's knowing what we don't know, and knowing that we don't know it. Is there any better definition of humility? Thus charity and wisdom are inseparable- you can't have one without the other.

Conversely, when Socrates equates ignorance with evil, we see that ignorance is simply a form of pride. He wasn't claiming that childlike innocence is evil, rather that the worldly "knowledge" possessed by so many is quite the opposite- foolishness. In thinking that we know, we blind ourselves to higher, more glorious truths like the prisoners in Plato's Cave. This ignorance is a deliberate suppression of the truth, humanity's willful rejection of a Divine gift (Romans 1:18-23, 25).

The only way to get out of the Cave, our own personal prison, is to realize the folly of our earthly "knowledge." That, in effect, is the goal of philosophy: to rid the individual of his trite, mundane "knowledge" in preparation for the real Truth and Beauty and Wisdom from above.

"Professing to be wise, they became fools and changed the glory of God into an image made like corruptible man..."

More insights

Stumbled across some thoughts on the Relativism issue so I decided to post them even though they're not my own. This was drawn from Russ Lipton's blog at http://www.coffeehouse-at-end-of-days.com/:

"If all religions are right, no religions are right .... except agnosticism. After all, even a child recognizes the obvious contrasts and contradictions between the claims of the world's different religions. They can't .... all .... be .... right.

Only agnosticism (on the skeptical side) or Hinduism perhaps (on the credulous side) can claim to swallow up all other religions by relativizing them. Today's New Age agnosticism neatly does both in the post-modern West (and, increasingly, East).

Those of us in the West live in a culture where it is not only permissible to talk about sex, we must talk about it - all the time, if possible. Yet, while we are not persecuted openly for talking about religion (I said, openly), speaking seriously about religion is considered either a breach of manners or a sign of moral stupidity.

Note, I said, speak 'seriously'. This can only mean speak about my religion as though it were right - true. The truth. While agnostic New Age man fails to understand that he too makes an absolute claim to truth, we do understand that. We understand that it is literally impossible to follow any way of life unless one is convinced that it is the truth."

I think that pretty well summarizes the inherent flaw of Relativism. If, as Relativists would assert, there is no absolute truth, then what truth lies in their own position?

More Parmenides

Ahh, now I have the time to elaborate more on philosophy. I don't have my previous post in front of me at the moment, so this may be a little difficult- forgive me if I misquote myself.

Anyway, and without sounding contradictory (I hope), I have developed a new respect for Parmenides. I haven't changed my opinion about his argument, but after giving it some thought I can't say he's completely off track. Even my own Christian worldview is based on paradox, so I can't exactly expect some pagan to come up with all the answers without bumping into a few "non-explainables."

Here's why I respect the guy: I think a lot of the problems I noticed in his argument before are evidence of the impact our materialistic society has had on me. Yes, even as Chirstians we are sometimes pulled into the world's current. In a "post-modern" society (whatever that's supposed to mean), we want everything to be scientific. Everything needs an "intellectual" disecting before we can accept it as true. And if we can't see it, it must not exist because our senses our supremely rational. We love to rely on our empirical conclusions.

Now I'm not trying to discout the value of science; what I'm saying is that even true, sincere science sometimes fails to come up with an explanation for things. We are fallible, finite human beings and we need to admit it. That's where I agree with Parmenides-- not everything we "sense" or observe is as it appears. I won't go so far as to say it's all an illusion, but I will grant that some things, perhaps many more than we realize, simply defy our human perception. Modern "academics," however, absolutely cannot bear to acknowledge that they don't know all the answers. They delight in being Skeptics, questioning and criticizing theism/the metaphysical without end. But when it's all said and done, what have they to offer? They pride themselves in their knowledge and yet what do they know? Only the suffering and instability of this world. That is what they spend their time observing, after all.

But Parmenides, though also fallible, goes a step beyond this arrogance. He at least can admit that "the One" is infinite, unknowable, far above "all we ask or imagine." And that is an amazing breakthrough for a pagan philosopher.

filosofia

Here's a little humor I found in my online wanderings tonight:

An old guru walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath. This made him a super callused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

Anyway, I thought I'd put in something different from my usual dreary journal entry. Like I said before, philosophy class has been very engaging (and a little confusing so far). But I've managed to muddle through it. Here's something I was trying to argue in class, but once again more poor communication skills got in the way and I made a fool of myself in addition to convincing my prof that I have some inborn "hatred" of these guys :)

Parmenides' Basic Argument
Premise 1: Something is, or something is not.
Premise 2: We can only conceptualize and think about something that is.
Conclusion 1: Therefore, it is impossible to prove that something is not.*

Parmenides goes on to argue that change does not exist, because if it did, that would require us to prove something was, but has changed, and now something is not. Which obviously negates his first conclusion. Similarly, if things cannot change then all we perceive as change is a mere illusion. Thus, according to Parmenides, there is no such thing as change, motion, or flux; all is an infinite, eternal changeless "One."

This argument is, however, very circular when you consider the philosopher's claim that change/motion/finiteness does not exist. This is equivalent to saying that change is not, which defies Parmenides' original conclusion that it is impossible to prove something is not. By asserting that all is One, he outrules the extistence of the Many, thus contradicting the very foundation of his argument (conclusion 1).

All right, now I see why I looked so dumb in class- I really don't have a handle on phrasing this stuff very effectively. Consequently, I think I will begin to use this blog as a forum for my philosophical discourses. Hopefully that will improve my critical thinking skills and my rhetoric, as well as giving me a better understanding of the course material. We'll see how it works out.

Though I don't intend to fully abandon my random musings either...

*Material drawn from Stumpf and Fieser's "Philosophy: History and Problems," (c) 2002.