One of the things that Dawkins and the new atheists like to do is point out the terrible things that religion has done over the ages. They pull together enough examples to leave their audience stupefied and conclude, rather wildly, that religion must be therefore evil. Or, at least, the world would be better off without it. All of it.
There are a lot of problems with this, both historical and logical. The logical problem is this: do religious communities perform atrocities because they are religious, or because they're made up of humans. Again I wonder if Dawkins has used that handy old scientific method to isolate his variables. For example, do we see less aggression, greed, etc from atheists than we do from normal people? I'd certainly never argue that atheists can't be good people; I think they can be. But are we suddenly going to take the dizzying leap into saying that atheists tend to be better people, more generous, forgiving, etc? Shouldn't we have a problem with atheists even using the word "better" and thereby imposing their morals on us? That's what they accuse me of doing. Isn't that at least a little bit ironic?
Historically, the case is even better. The trouble here is that neither Dawkins nor his ilk seems to have read any recent, peer-reviewed literature on some of the pop-history they're parading around. (And yes, for the record, I have - history is my background. No pun intended.) Here are two big examples, since Christianity is often picked on in these debates, being the dominant faith in the West.
We'll deal with one thing at a time, since they're worth talking about in their own right. Others will get their own posts. First up:
1) The Crusades! Look at that, shout the new atheists, "Holy wars! Holy wars!!!" Much is made of this one, but it's a canard. And, honestly, the objective version is much more interesting. So:
The Pop-History Version: Those nasty Europeans, goaded by that nasty pope, launched a war against those poor people in the Holy Land. I hardly have to go into it; all the stereotypes speak for themselves. And, admittedly, atrocities occurred on both sides in this war as in any war. The attacks on Jews, for example, or the sack of Constantinople. But consider-
The Historical History: Europe at the time of the Crusades was hardly a super power. In fact, Islam was far more powerful and culturally advanced than Europe. Europe was the underdog and, more importantly, Christianity was the underdog that had been beaten back by the conquering Muslims for the first 400 years after Mohammed. In the first hundred years of Islam's life a full half of Christian lands fell to their armies. After the dominance of the Romans, this was an impressive feat.
But they also continued from their, pushing across North Africa into Spain and Sicily, taking much of Asia Minor (Turkey.) The Byzantine emperors fought as well as they could, with some success, but then the nomadic Seljuks arrived from the steppes, converted to Islam, and layed waste to the Bysantine Empire. In desperation the Emperor called on the Western Pope for aid and he was answered.
The old idea was that knights went for the purpose of gaining land, but current scholarship has knocked that theory on the head. Many who went were already wealthy and funded both themselves and their retinues. It was an extremelt costly endeavour and a knight would have to provide his own supplies, requiring as much as a year worth of income. Modern historians are discovering that crusaders generally believed in what they were doing, which was pushing back an oppressor that had been hounding them for centuries.
In that sense, the Crusades were a series of defensive wars fought to stem the attacks on Constantinople and to take back some of what had been lost, especially Jerusalem. In the end they were a failed defense, though they were able to accomplish wonders with the small number of men who actually made it, and considering how rarely they were given reinforcements. But it was a wash, and the world of Islam remained undiminished.
For a Christian Europe that wanted to remain Christian this was unfortunate. Islam continued pressing on its borders, taking lands in Eastern Europe and holding Spain until almost 1500. In 1453 the Muslims took Constantinople (renaming it Istanbul of all things, which was just a bastardization/mispronunciation of the Greek word for "The City") and continued pressing in on Europe. As late as 1683 the Ottoman Turks threatened Vienna itself, though they failed in that at least.
In the end it was only the discovery of the New World and the wealth that came with it that allowed Europe to build the ships and the armies it would take to defeat Islam. Much later it was the Europeans who were colonizing. But that was much later. If we examine the Crusades we see a very different picture than mere imperialism. Europe was too weak and divided to be imperial in its ambitions, and imposing an 18th Century vision of Europe onto the 11th Century hardly seems fair. Colonialism hadn't even been invented yet!
Now, every culture has a right to exist. European culture also has that right. The Crusades were a matter of a civilization struggling and failing to defend itself from an outside threat. Christianity was certainly involved, since the words Europe and Christian were (at the time) more or less synonymous.
Summation? Here's one historical nugget that often gets cited as a proof of how brutal religion is at its core. And yet these wars were justifiable, far more so than some of the recent conflicts we've seen in the name of democracy.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Dawkins and the Scientific Method
A brief word on Dawkins and the scientific method: First, I do respect this man's capabilities as a scientist. The man is Oxford trained and is vastly influential in genetic and evolutionary biology. However, when he departs from science into the realm of religious debate he seems to forget the very objectivity and consideration that make the scientific method work.
I responded to someone in a comment box that I thought Dawkins was deficient in his consideration of the other side of the God question. He has not read Thomas Aquinas, for example, or any of the other philosophical heavy-weights (Aquinas really was a heavy-weight) supporting a theistic world-view. His response is that he doesn't have to, that the opposing view is so ridiculous that it doesn't bear examination. One response of his was to point out that we hardly need to read the works of leprechaunologists in order to dismiss a belief in leprechauns.
I disagree.
Or, I should say, I would agree that Dawkins doesn't need to study "leprechaunology" unless the majority of humanity for the vast majority of human existence believed in leprechauns. I would have to disagree with Dawkins and insist that we look more closely if the belief in leprechauns had become the basis of various moral systems and legal codes. I would disagree if millions alive today claimed that faith in leprechauns had changed their lives for the better, or if belief in leprechauns had become inspiration for much of the world's best art.
If all of these things were true, that the belief in leprechauns was widespread and deeply important to people, I might still simply dismiss it like the old atheists would, content in my personal freedom from the wee folk. But Dawkins doesn't do that; the new atheist isn's satisified with his own personal state. The new atheist needs to prove it to others. And if I, like Dawkins, were trying to prove that leprechauns didn't exist, and that belief in leprechauns was foolish, it would be incumbent on me to at least look at the real beliefs of these faerie-worshippers in order to properly engage them. And further, if I then claimed that belief in leprehcauns was a major cause of war and suffering, if I claimed that teaching children about leprechauns amounted to child-abuse then I might have a responsibility to respond to the objections of my detractors.
This sort of glib leprechaun statement is such a dodge. That sort of belief, in fairies, is so harmless and risible that it doesn't rate a real debate. But then, you wouldn't write books about the "Leprechaun Delusion" if it weren't worthy of debate, would you? So treating the whole theistic mindset, whether Christian or Jew or otherwise, as if it equates with childhood fantasy, is not a sincere attempt at engaging in a debate. And Dawkins has engaged these systems in debate, so the question still remains: how does he respond to Aquinas or the many others who have presented reasonable cases for the belief in God?
Dawkins is primarily a scientist. He's the one who went out on a limb and proposed his theory that runs counter to the Christian theory. But he attempts to do so without seriously examining the Christian body of work on the matter, without inquiring about our intellectual methods (and they do exist.)
If nothing else, it is Dawkins' stature as a heavy-weight scientist that places him in a situation where we have to criticize his objectivity. He's so personally certain of this thing that he refuses to look into it, not even to further the debate, equating all those who oppose him as participating in a childish delusion. And it's that personal certainty that's the problem; it's not at all scientific.
This all in itself doesn't constitute an argument, nor does it touch on the substance of what theistic philosophers would argue if Dawkins were to read them. It is simply an opener to suggest the possibility of a gap in Dawkins thinking.
I responded to someone in a comment box that I thought Dawkins was deficient in his consideration of the other side of the God question. He has not read Thomas Aquinas, for example, or any of the other philosophical heavy-weights (Aquinas really was a heavy-weight) supporting a theistic world-view. His response is that he doesn't have to, that the opposing view is so ridiculous that it doesn't bear examination. One response of his was to point out that we hardly need to read the works of leprechaunologists in order to dismiss a belief in leprechauns.
I disagree.
Or, I should say, I would agree that Dawkins doesn't need to study "leprechaunology" unless the majority of humanity for the vast majority of human existence believed in leprechauns. I would have to disagree with Dawkins and insist that we look more closely if the belief in leprechauns had become the basis of various moral systems and legal codes. I would disagree if millions alive today claimed that faith in leprechauns had changed their lives for the better, or if belief in leprechauns had become inspiration for much of the world's best art.
If all of these things were true, that the belief in leprechauns was widespread and deeply important to people, I might still simply dismiss it like the old atheists would, content in my personal freedom from the wee folk. But Dawkins doesn't do that; the new atheist isn's satisified with his own personal state. The new atheist needs to prove it to others. And if I, like Dawkins, were trying to prove that leprechauns didn't exist, and that belief in leprechauns was foolish, it would be incumbent on me to at least look at the real beliefs of these faerie-worshippers in order to properly engage them. And further, if I then claimed that belief in leprehcauns was a major cause of war and suffering, if I claimed that teaching children about leprechauns amounted to child-abuse then I might have a responsibility to respond to the objections of my detractors.
This sort of glib leprechaun statement is such a dodge. That sort of belief, in fairies, is so harmless and risible that it doesn't rate a real debate. But then, you wouldn't write books about the "Leprechaun Delusion" if it weren't worthy of debate, would you? So treating the whole theistic mindset, whether Christian or Jew or otherwise, as if it equates with childhood fantasy, is not a sincere attempt at engaging in a debate. And Dawkins has engaged these systems in debate, so the question still remains: how does he respond to Aquinas or the many others who have presented reasonable cases for the belief in God?
Dawkins is primarily a scientist. He's the one who went out on a limb and proposed his theory that runs counter to the Christian theory. But he attempts to do so without seriously examining the Christian body of work on the matter, without inquiring about our intellectual methods (and they do exist.)
If nothing else, it is Dawkins' stature as a heavy-weight scientist that places him in a situation where we have to criticize his objectivity. He's so personally certain of this thing that he refuses to look into it, not even to further the debate, equating all those who oppose him as participating in a childish delusion. And it's that personal certainty that's the problem; it's not at all scientific.
This all in itself doesn't constitute an argument, nor does it touch on the substance of what theistic philosophers would argue if Dawkins were to read them. It is simply an opener to suggest the possibility of a gap in Dawkins thinking.
Dawkins and the New Atheism
In the next week I plan a spree of posts dealing with Richard Dawkins. But when I refer to Dawkins, I'm also referring to a new brand of atheism that is not satisfied with unbelief but feels a moral obligation to spread the good word to the people. This new atheism is militant, spreading, and carries with it views of history and humanity that a Catholic must object to.
Again, I am a Catholic writing with a Catholic philosophy. It is my opinion that my set of beliefs are reasonable and good, though ultimately not proveable. Dawkins does not believe that my beliefs are justified by reason and believes the world would be a better place without them. I believe his position amounts to ill-considered bigotry.
Now, there are enough points to argue in this that I'll be breaking it down into pieces. Please feel free to point out anything I haven't touched on yet; if it isn't already on my list of items I'll gladly add it. Last, this represents my core beliefs. I've come to this place through a long road of reading, thinking, arguing, etc. I think I'm right, which is fair since I wouldn't be standing on this little hill and defending it if I thought I was wrong. You're more than welcome to comment or argue, but please maintain courtesy and fairness while doing so. I will attempt to do the same.
Again, I am a Catholic writing with a Catholic philosophy. It is my opinion that my set of beliefs are reasonable and good, though ultimately not proveable. Dawkins does not believe that my beliefs are justified by reason and believes the world would be a better place without them. I believe his position amounts to ill-considered bigotry.
Now, there are enough points to argue in this that I'll be breaking it down into pieces. Please feel free to point out anything I haven't touched on yet; if it isn't already on my list of items I'll gladly add it. Last, this represents my core beliefs. I've come to this place through a long road of reading, thinking, arguing, etc. I think I'm right, which is fair since I wouldn't be standing on this little hill and defending it if I thought I was wrong. You're more than welcome to comment or argue, but please maintain courtesy and fairness while doing so. I will attempt to do the same.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Richard Dawkins - An Introduction
Here's a lovely fellow for you, if you've never heard of him: Richard Dawkins. He's a briliant scientist and a famous, outspoken atheist. In fact, his atheism has become something of a crusade, as he thinks that the world would be better off without religion. Hitler, for example, is something he lays at the feet of Christianity (rather than Nietzsche, say.) If Christianity did not exist then there would have been no Nazis. Lovely.
So, the man is mad and woefully unformed in matters of philosophy. I'll post on free will and genetics next week, for example, and you'll see where he falls down. Hell, we'd better discuss the whole Darwinist catastrophe (one which Darwin himself would roundly reject.)
For now, watch this and consider this a friendly introduction. And, yes, millions of people listen to this man, read his books, and agree that the world would be a better place without religion. Long live diversity!!!
Oh. Did I mention he's on record as saying he considers it child abuse to raise a child in a religious atmosphere?
Richard Dawkins Owned, Note he did not answer the question
I love guys like Dawkins. By all accounts he's a wonderful chemist. But he's a lousy philosopher without much grasp on the logic of ideas. Unfortunately he's part of a new wave of militant atheists who believe that they can prove God doesn't exist, and that religion is evil. Now, of course, we might inform Mr. Dawkins that if God doesn't exist then nothing is objectively evil, so he should stop bothering us with his subjective and relative constructions of the real. Bah.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
In Defense of The United States: Part One
An interesting response to a goofy tid-bit here prompted this post, a defense of the Americans. I'll probably post a few of these just to clear the air about what I think of the American people. This is a blog, and people have a right to their own opinions. But keep the following in mind (Warning, warning! Opinion inbound!)
I think American history has left an indelible mark on the American psyche, both for good or ill. Their War of Independence saw them bleed for their freedom, and their experiment in democracy was as a result one of the best beginnings to a human political endeavour. I say again: the American experiement started as well as anything the world has ever seen (and I'm thinking of times and places like the early Roman Republic.) It started far better than the French with their Revolution, for example, that muddled thing that ended in an Emperor anyway.
The founding fathers of the United States were great men, and the United States has it within itself to be great (in its good moments it may just be the best damned country on the planet.) I'll make that case, which is a weird one for me, over the next few weeks.
For now, let me say two things. First, all the things we say to criticize the American people they freely do themselves. They are a political people, like any, so they'll disagree with one another while they're doing it, but few would say and mean "My country right or wrong" (which Chesterton said was like proclaiming "My mother, drunk or sober.") So they hold certain things fairly dearly, and we should value them from that.
The second thing is this. Look at our country. Canadians are generally a pretty decent people: friendly, relatively peaceful, all of that. But we can be smug. Oh we can be smug. And yet we do as much, on our scale, to hurt others as anyone. Our military is small, so our imperialism doesn't manifest in the form of fighter squadrons or carrier groups, but our banks and our multinationals have proven very effective at taking it to the little guy.
A case study (and home-work for anyone who's curious): Google "Canadian Mining Companies" and scroll past the actual corporate websites to the many reports on atrocities in Africa or South America. Canadian companies own more than 50% of the world's mining corporations. There are places you don't want to admit Canadian citizenship because of that.
Another thought: Look at our standard of living. We're part of that small North American population that consumes to much of the world's resources (40% or something like that? Anyone?) We live on the blood of others as much as any Westerner. So, Iraq aside, we don't have a great deal to brag about.
Ben. Yes, I write this as an ode to the flower that is you. But don't take it too heavily; you just sparked some thoughts, and I appreciate the comments. You're a good man.
I think American history has left an indelible mark on the American psyche, both for good or ill. Their War of Independence saw them bleed for their freedom, and their experiment in democracy was as a result one of the best beginnings to a human political endeavour. I say again: the American experiement started as well as anything the world has ever seen (and I'm thinking of times and places like the early Roman Republic.) It started far better than the French with their Revolution, for example, that muddled thing that ended in an Emperor anyway.
The founding fathers of the United States were great men, and the United States has it within itself to be great (in its good moments it may just be the best damned country on the planet.) I'll make that case, which is a weird one for me, over the next few weeks.
For now, let me say two things. First, all the things we say to criticize the American people they freely do themselves. They are a political people, like any, so they'll disagree with one another while they're doing it, but few would say and mean "My country right or wrong" (which Chesterton said was like proclaiming "My mother, drunk or sober.") So they hold certain things fairly dearly, and we should value them from that.
The second thing is this. Look at our country. Canadians are generally a pretty decent people: friendly, relatively peaceful, all of that. But we can be smug. Oh we can be smug. And yet we do as much, on our scale, to hurt others as anyone. Our military is small, so our imperialism doesn't manifest in the form of fighter squadrons or carrier groups, but our banks and our multinationals have proven very effective at taking it to the little guy.
A case study (and home-work for anyone who's curious): Google "Canadian Mining Companies" and scroll past the actual corporate websites to the many reports on atrocities in Africa or South America. Canadian companies own more than 50% of the world's mining corporations. There are places you don't want to admit Canadian citizenship because of that.
Another thought: Look at our standard of living. We're part of that small North American population that consumes to much of the world's resources (40% or something like that? Anyone?) We live on the blood of others as much as any Westerner. So, Iraq aside, we don't have a great deal to brag about.
Ben. Yes, I write this as an ode to the flower that is you. But don't take it too heavily; you just sparked some thoughts, and I appreciate the comments. You're a good man.
Us and Them
Continuing with my notion that Canadian culture ought to be an offshoot of British rather than American culture, I thought I'd make a brief comparison. Ahem- at least they share a colour.
British culture gave us this.
The American equivalent, while strong on enthusiasm, lacks something in historical nuance...
My question: How many ways can you think of in which these two pictures represent the differences between British and American?
British culture gave us this.
The American equivalent, while strong on enthusiasm, lacks something in historical nuance...
My question: How many ways can you think of in which these two pictures represent the differences between British and American?
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Men and Jane Austen
I might have listed this under "the Problem with Jane Austen" but it seemed to deserve its own heading. The problem is that the most likely to resist Jane Austen (or similar literature) in the classroom are the young men. Some aren't into it; some are against it altogether. Some claim they don't like the characters, etc, etc, etc...
I think it's common to have men reluctant to read real literature. Our society doesn't exactly go out of its way to promote literature as something "manly" after all, and the breakdown of males vs females in the academic literature classroom isn't in favour of boys at all. But literature isn't of itself a feminine pursuit; it's a human pursuit, as human as dreaming. If anything our culture is a bit out of sync, and is experiencing a pretty word reverse-sexist thing where men avoid letters (esp. here in Alberta!) whereas a century ago it would have been men who in many ways dominated letters. Solutions? Hug your children! Other than that or the occasional rant, I don't know.
But Jane Austen, by God, is something worth reading. Aside from some of the patriotic stuff I pushed a few days ago there's the sheer humanity of it. Love! Passion! And the male characters! Gentlemen, if you've read the book, read it again and pay close attention to Mr. Darcy. A manlier man there is none. Even his faults are simply manly virtues misperceived through the haze of prejudice started by Wickham. Chesterton (who?) thought that Austen understoon men better than some men he knew. And if you look at the men in the book, this is true. Wickham, Bingley, Darcy and Mr. Collins are all types of men we see around us (well, maybe not Collins) and the mistakes they make are related to their respective characters.
Yes, the unaccustomed mind doesn't immediately see all of this in the reading. But that's what practise is about. If you read carefully (slowly enough as if you meant to -gasp- enjoy the book) you'll find sarcasm, dry wit, genuine warmth and a sense of romance that is not at all restricted to women. God help us all if only the women in the world oare capable of that!
Gentlemen, read the books. If nothing else, you don't want to turn yourself into the sort of man who genuinely doesn't understand women nor care for their pleasures, their dreams, or the kind who genuinely thinks that the sorts of things a woman values are weak. You want to be that guy? Good luck getting married.
I think it's common to have men reluctant to read real literature. Our society doesn't exactly go out of its way to promote literature as something "manly" after all, and the breakdown of males vs females in the academic literature classroom isn't in favour of boys at all. But literature isn't of itself a feminine pursuit; it's a human pursuit, as human as dreaming. If anything our culture is a bit out of sync, and is experiencing a pretty word reverse-sexist thing where men avoid letters (esp. here in Alberta!) whereas a century ago it would have been men who in many ways dominated letters. Solutions? Hug your children! Other than that or the occasional rant, I don't know.
But Jane Austen, by God, is something worth reading. Aside from some of the patriotic stuff I pushed a few days ago there's the sheer humanity of it. Love! Passion! And the male characters! Gentlemen, if you've read the book, read it again and pay close attention to Mr. Darcy. A manlier man there is none. Even his faults are simply manly virtues misperceived through the haze of prejudice started by Wickham. Chesterton (who?) thought that Austen understoon men better than some men he knew. And if you look at the men in the book, this is true. Wickham, Bingley, Darcy and Mr. Collins are all types of men we see around us (well, maybe not Collins) and the mistakes they make are related to their respective characters.
Yes, the unaccustomed mind doesn't immediately see all of this in the reading. But that's what practise is about. If you read carefully (slowly enough as if you meant to -gasp- enjoy the book) you'll find sarcasm, dry wit, genuine warmth and a sense of romance that is not at all restricted to women. God help us all if only the women in the world oare capable of that!
Gentlemen, read the books. If nothing else, you don't want to turn yourself into the sort of man who genuinely doesn't understand women nor care for their pleasures, their dreams, or the kind who genuinely thinks that the sorts of things a woman values are weak. You want to be that guy? Good luck getting married.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
"Progressives" and the Lot of the Common Man
I plan on writing several posts about this idea: that the left, in its own way, is as bent on the repression of the common man as the right is. This is, surprise, surprise, a central idea that comes up when reading Chesterton. (Who is he? Check here. There's a solid introduction to him as well as a lot of his work.)
Generally the idea is this. Once upon a time people owned things. They owned land, their own businesses, their own houses. That time has passed, and with it a lot of the autonomy that people used to enjoy. Chesterton blames this on big industry and big government, and you shouldn't be surprised to read more about that later.
What I'd like to focus on is a certain feel on the Left that's hard to pin down, as if the common man isn't to be respected. Think of the very term "common man." It used to be something you could refer to in stirring tones, as if it were the common man holding things together (which was and is often the case.) Or consider the ideas of common wisdom, common law, common sense. They all used to have a certain weight to them. No longer. And why?
There are probably a few answers to that question. One is certainly the slow failing of Tradition in the West (along with its prophets, the elderly, who here like no place else are mocked and marginalized.)
Another big one is the marginalization of the common man himself (and -ahem- herself.) To say common implies things in common, meaning normalcy. And normalcy itself has become a taboo word to the Politically Correct crowd. The Progressive stands for progress, which means Change, which means that simply doing with people has always done has to go, whether it was good or not. And the fruits are heavy: relativism, transhumanism, some would say the impending demographic crisis in the West (more than impending if you're Russian.)
These are the days, I believe, in which the West either falls are somehow redefines and reinvigorates itself (and it has done so in the past.) The upcoming posts on the Common Man will outline why I think the normal, everyday people we pass on the streets will have more to do with that than any dubious cultural elite.
Generally the idea is this. Once upon a time people owned things. They owned land, their own businesses, their own houses. That time has passed, and with it a lot of the autonomy that people used to enjoy. Chesterton blames this on big industry and big government, and you shouldn't be surprised to read more about that later.
What I'd like to focus on is a certain feel on the Left that's hard to pin down, as if the common man isn't to be respected. Think of the very term "common man." It used to be something you could refer to in stirring tones, as if it were the common man holding things together (which was and is often the case.) Or consider the ideas of common wisdom, common law, common sense. They all used to have a certain weight to them. No longer. And why?
There are probably a few answers to that question. One is certainly the slow failing of Tradition in the West (along with its prophets, the elderly, who here like no place else are mocked and marginalized.)
Another big one is the marginalization of the common man himself (and -ahem- herself.) To say common implies things in common, meaning normalcy. And normalcy itself has become a taboo word to the Politically Correct crowd. The Progressive stands for progress, which means Change, which means that simply doing with people has always done has to go, whether it was good or not. And the fruits are heavy: relativism, transhumanism, some would say the impending demographic crisis in the West (more than impending if you're Russian.)
These are the days, I believe, in which the West either falls are somehow redefines and reinvigorates itself (and it has done so in the past.) The upcoming posts on the Common Man will outline why I think the normal, everyday people we pass on the streets will have more to do with that than any dubious cultural elite.
Man, oh Man!
Like wow! A brief word on how I intend on using language on this site. I will use words like "he" and "man" (though not together, I think - that part of my childhood is well behind me) and I will use them in the generic sense, a default grammatical expression when the biological gender of a thing is unknown or when the group is mixed, as in Mankind.
Sexism! you cry. No. In fact it isn't. Many think so, bu that's simply because they haven't dug deeply enough. The word homo in Latin, for example, is known as a common noun. That means it can be used for humans of either sex. Likewise the word "man" began as a common noun way back before the days of dark Grendel, in the shadowy roots of continental linguistic history (think thousands of years.) Then mann in Germanic languages meant a person of either sex, and the special words wer (think werewolf) and wif-man (woman) were used when referring specifically to one or the other. Edmund Burke could use the word to use both sexes as late as the last days of the 18th century, only two-hundred years ago. ("Such a deplorable havoc is made in the minds of men (both sexes) in France")
The individual use of man has become distinct in its reference to an adult male, but the collective "Man" and "Mankind" remain, or ought to remain. Reference to the collective "human" lacks any poetic weight, after all. Too clinical.
Therefore I will use the term as it has always been used (the case is similar for "he"). My household is not a particularly sexist place, and I hold that men and women are equal in worth and in dignity. That's non-negotiable for me. But I won't needlessly sacrifice language for that, nor will I avoid or any way censor older writers.
So there.
Sexism! you cry. No. In fact it isn't. Many think so, bu that's simply because they haven't dug deeply enough. The word homo in Latin, for example, is known as a common noun. That means it can be used for humans of either sex. Likewise the word "man" began as a common noun way back before the days of dark Grendel, in the shadowy roots of continental linguistic history (think thousands of years.) Then mann in Germanic languages meant a person of either sex, and the special words wer (think werewolf) and wif-man (woman) were used when referring specifically to one or the other. Edmund Burke could use the word to use both sexes as late as the last days of the 18th century, only two-hundred years ago. ("Such a deplorable havoc is made in the minds of men (both sexes) in France")
The individual use of man has become distinct in its reference to an adult male, but the collective "Man" and "Mankind" remain, or ought to remain. Reference to the collective "human" lacks any poetic weight, after all. Too clinical.
Therefore I will use the term as it has always been used (the case is similar for "he"). My household is not a particularly sexist place, and I hold that men and women are equal in worth and in dignity. That's non-negotiable for me. But I won't needlessly sacrifice language for that, nor will I avoid or any way censor older writers.
So there.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Word of the Day: Antidisestablish-Americanism???
Or "A Refinement"
There have been enough posts about this (and a few questions in the hall) that's I'd like to refine the whole "American Lit" vs "British Lit" thing.
First, let me say that the revolution brought about by American Literature in the second half of the twentieth century was good. The literature it has produced, at its highest, is good. Further, I'm pretty fond of a lot of that literature myself, both the good stuff and a lot of the dime-store stuff. And though I get tired of some shock-writers (who will not be named) a lot of my reading, even most of my reading, comes from this school. And that, dear children, is okay. But it is American, and more the power to them for adding something to the language.
But if it is all you read then you become dependent on it and incapable of making it through even a moderately challenging read (like Tolkien's Silmarillion, which is indeed only moderate.) That closes the door to too much good reading, so one ought to broaden one's horizons. That would go for any reader in the English language: Don't ignore the hard stuff!
Specific to Canadians I would go the step further. We began as an offshoot of Britain, first colonial, later a Dominion, and even now we're still a part of the Commonwealth. That's part of our shared heritage even if we aren't all from British stock. And with that should come some kind of cultural awareness. Again, I'm a big lover of American history and culture. I don't have much patience for some of the smugness that Canadians have towards our southern cousins because it's uncharitable and unjustified. But we're not Americans. We're Canadians and a shared literature is part of that. So for us, reading things like Jane Austen or the others I listed the first time (and countless more, Lord: Dickens, Conrad (though English was his second langauge,) Melville, Wilde, etc) is part of getting back in touch with something older. Try Robertson Davies, a Canadian writing in the British idiom, yet still fresh (and sometimes scandalous.)
My advice? Grab your Pride and Prejudice, or a copy of Bleak House, and hoist a cup of tea for what was. There's no reason to turn your back on the past just because you've forgotten it. After all, that's what reminders are for.
There have been enough posts about this (and a few questions in the hall) that's I'd like to refine the whole "American Lit" vs "British Lit" thing.
First, let me say that the revolution brought about by American Literature in the second half of the twentieth century was good. The literature it has produced, at its highest, is good. Further, I'm pretty fond of a lot of that literature myself, both the good stuff and a lot of the dime-store stuff. And though I get tired of some shock-writers (who will not be named) a lot of my reading, even most of my reading, comes from this school. And that, dear children, is okay. But it is American, and more the power to them for adding something to the language.
But if it is all you read then you become dependent on it and incapable of making it through even a moderately challenging read (like Tolkien's Silmarillion, which is indeed only moderate.) That closes the door to too much good reading, so one ought to broaden one's horizons. That would go for any reader in the English language: Don't ignore the hard stuff!
Specific to Canadians I would go the step further. We began as an offshoot of Britain, first colonial, later a Dominion, and even now we're still a part of the Commonwealth. That's part of our shared heritage even if we aren't all from British stock. And with that should come some kind of cultural awareness. Again, I'm a big lover of American history and culture. I don't have much patience for some of the smugness that Canadians have towards our southern cousins because it's uncharitable and unjustified. But we're not Americans. We're Canadians and a shared literature is part of that. So for us, reading things like Jane Austen or the others I listed the first time (and countless more, Lord: Dickens, Conrad (though English was his second langauge,) Melville, Wilde, etc) is part of getting back in touch with something older. Try Robertson Davies, a Canadian writing in the British idiom, yet still fresh (and sometimes scandalous.)
My advice? Grab your Pride and Prejudice, or a copy of Bleak House, and hoist a cup of tea for what was. There's no reason to turn your back on the past just because you've forgotten it. After all, that's what reminders are for.
Utilitarianism and the Christian ethos
More words.
We've talked a little about Utilitarianism and some of the problems that go with it. It's a subject that makes me want to rant a little, foam at the mouth and all that. After all, it's so fuzzy! But then, maybe that's why some people slip into it. Add a dash of relativism and the "good" you're seeking can be anything, especially in a Western mindset that has twisted freedom and personal autonomy into licence and narcissism.
Take the Wiccan commandment, for example: "An (if) it harm none, do as thou wilt." Now, I like commandments (especially commandments written in Elizabethan English!) but "harm" is a very fuzzy concept, and solidly consequentialist in its basis (another sign, by the way, of Wicca's newness on the world stage, all those carefully placed "thous" and "wilts" notwithstanding.) All of this leads to a case by case approach to morality that applies extremely vague ideas like Good and Harm, with a measuring stick of Consequence that we can never fully measure. You would need to be omniscient to fully know the consequences of any act.
Then there is the opposite of the Consequentialist approach, which is really just the principled approach. You begin with a set of principles like "All life is sacred" or "All men are created equal" and then simply apply them (okay, the application can be complicated and demanding.) People dislike doing this because it requires too much thinking, or maybe because operating from principles invites dangerous conversation, like where those principles comes from. Much easier to go with the fuzzy "do less harm than good" even if you can't properly define harm or good, much less quantify them.
Some people asked, after the post on Aristotle, how that really disproved or countered Utilitarianism. The answer is also a Christian answer, that good or ill lies in the nature of the thing itself and not merely in thinking it (though Catholic thought has room for the intent as well, as in accidentally killing for example.) The Christian thic comes from the Christian Faith, namely that there is a God who created the world out of love. He came down among us and died for our sins (more on that later) and has commanded us to live in love for our good and happiness. That seems easy, but look how it plays out and see how you might just be a Utilitarianism: If I kill one to save many, I am still a murderer. Don't ask how many; there is no sudden tipping point where 9 isn't enough but 10 means I can shoot the guy. It's always wrong (unless it's defensive, but let's assume an innocent victim for this discussion.)
That's Catholic. The individual life is sacred. More than that, so is your soul. Last time I talked about the Aristotelian idea that our actions slowly change our essence. Imagine that the essence we're talking about is not simply your psychology but your soul. Imagine for a moment that you have one (hopefully no struggle.) The Christian ideal is focussed on both this world and the next, neither at the cost of the other. Hence the Scripture: "What does it profit a man to gain the world if he lose his soul?" Hence also the Jewish proverb: "He who saves a single life saves the world entire." The single soul, every single soul is as important as anything. Every one.
Now that's pretty radical, you say. And it is. Christianity is only easy and self-satisfied if it isn't attempted but only glossed over. It was Chesterton who said that "the Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried."
The Christian philosophy rejects measuring consequences as a means of founding morality for so many reasons. Consequences can't be measured. Humanity cannot invent any "Good" on its own and agree on it. Consequences, when they can be measured, allow the few to suffer so the many can be happy: that's tyranny. The Christian response to this is revolutionary, counter-cultural, exactly the sort of rebellion that so many young people are looking for. It is only a matter of stepping into it, adopting a different worldview, and exercising your human will. Hopefully some of you do.
We've talked a little about Utilitarianism and some of the problems that go with it. It's a subject that makes me want to rant a little, foam at the mouth and all that. After all, it's so fuzzy! But then, maybe that's why some people slip into it. Add a dash of relativism and the "good" you're seeking can be anything, especially in a Western mindset that has twisted freedom and personal autonomy into licence and narcissism.
Take the Wiccan commandment, for example: "An (if) it harm none, do as thou wilt." Now, I like commandments (especially commandments written in Elizabethan English!) but "harm" is a very fuzzy concept, and solidly consequentialist in its basis (another sign, by the way, of Wicca's newness on the world stage, all those carefully placed "thous" and "wilts" notwithstanding.) All of this leads to a case by case approach to morality that applies extremely vague ideas like Good and Harm, with a measuring stick of Consequence that we can never fully measure. You would need to be omniscient to fully know the consequences of any act.
Then there is the opposite of the Consequentialist approach, which is really just the principled approach. You begin with a set of principles like "All life is sacred" or "All men are created equal" and then simply apply them (okay, the application can be complicated and demanding.) People dislike doing this because it requires too much thinking, or maybe because operating from principles invites dangerous conversation, like where those principles comes from. Much easier to go with the fuzzy "do less harm than good" even if you can't properly define harm or good, much less quantify them.
Some people asked, after the post on Aristotle, how that really disproved or countered Utilitarianism. The answer is also a Christian answer, that good or ill lies in the nature of the thing itself and not merely in thinking it (though Catholic thought has room for the intent as well, as in accidentally killing for example.) The Christian thic comes from the Christian Faith, namely that there is a God who created the world out of love. He came down among us and died for our sins (more on that later) and has commanded us to live in love for our good and happiness. That seems easy, but look how it plays out and see how you might just be a Utilitarianism: If I kill one to save many, I am still a murderer. Don't ask how many; there is no sudden tipping point where 9 isn't enough but 10 means I can shoot the guy. It's always wrong (unless it's defensive, but let's assume an innocent victim for this discussion.)
That's Catholic. The individual life is sacred. More than that, so is your soul. Last time I talked about the Aristotelian idea that our actions slowly change our essence. Imagine that the essence we're talking about is not simply your psychology but your soul. Imagine for a moment that you have one (hopefully no struggle.) The Christian ideal is focussed on both this world and the next, neither at the cost of the other. Hence the Scripture: "What does it profit a man to gain the world if he lose his soul?" Hence also the Jewish proverb: "He who saves a single life saves the world entire." The single soul, every single soul is as important as anything. Every one.
Now that's pretty radical, you say. And it is. Christianity is only easy and self-satisfied if it isn't attempted but only glossed over. It was Chesterton who said that "the Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and left untried."
The Christian philosophy rejects measuring consequences as a means of founding morality for so many reasons. Consequences can't be measured. Humanity cannot invent any "Good" on its own and agree on it. Consequences, when they can be measured, allow the few to suffer so the many can be happy: that's tyranny. The Christian response to this is revolutionary, counter-cultural, exactly the sort of rebellion that so many young people are looking for. It is only a matter of stepping into it, adopting a different worldview, and exercising your human will. Hopefully some of you do.
Requests!
No surprise, I have tons (tonnes I say) of things I'd like to blog about. No lack of opinions here. But please email or post if there are things you'd like to read about.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Team Hoyt: Father and Son
I think of this when I think of what real manhood means, and fatherhood. This is what you do when your son can't walk...
Thursday, May 8, 2008
The Problem With Jane Austen
(for Canadian readers only)
I'll start by saying that Jane Austen is one of the best writers in the English language. But a lot of people find her difficult (and by this I mean that a lot of students don't seem to enjoy her, especially males. But more on them, later.) There are a few reasons for all of that, but I don't accept them. Surprise, surpise.
So, here it is. My essay on how reading Jane Austen is patriotic. (Again, Canadian readers are the least likely to be offended by this post. I say least.)
British English started forming long ago, hundreds of years before even Shakespeare. In the 1200s to 1300s French was the language of the aristocracy, thanks to the vigour and success of William of Normandy and the happy aristocrats that followed him in 1066. But in over those centuries there was also a growing resentment of the supremacy of a foreign language, as well as the awareness that French was more civilized. So, English writers (like Chaucer in the Canterbury Tales) were revolutionary in pursuing English as a proper language for literature: until then it was only a language for peasants.
But as they wrote these writers were also finessing English, adding words (Latin and French) and altering its style to suit a more civilized mode. (The peasants still spoke - peasant. Don't worry.) As an example, it was considered a virtue in Latin to be able to express a complex and elegant thought with a similarly elegant and complex sentence. Cicero was a master of this; some of his sentences are a paragraph long. But they were beautiful and they made sense. Latin writers also enjoyed using ironic understatement and double-negatives (sometimes at the same time) and the British eventually took on a surprisingly similar tone in their language. Hence the wordy, ironic, dry British prose that we so often can spot but not understand.
Now, fast forward to the mid-twentieth century. An American group of writers, including such greats (ahem) as Ernest Hemingway and Gertrude Stein, broke from this old mode in favour of shorter, more direct language. Hemingway in particular, who was a fan of boxing and bullfighting (not to mention drinking and getting married) felt that writing should be like wrestling: strong, visceral work with no room for elegant rejoinder. Almost all our literature today is a child of the American system of Hemingway et al. And admittedly, the style is easy to read and powerful in its own way. But it has two problems. Three. (Three, milord.) Right.
First, it makes it hard to approach British literature. When you're used to short, pre-chewed senetences expressing short, pre-chewed thought, Victorian sentences are hard.
Second, and more specifically: it makes Jane Austen seem like a burden rather than a blessing for young Canadian students. So they often avoid it.
Third, and for Canadian students only: An addiction to American style prose makes your mind a small colony to the United States; your thoughts become their thoughts. Our history as a country, whatever your ethnicity (and I'm a Francophone for the love of all that's holy, and I'm writing this) is decidedly British. So, at least we have an excuse to follow one mode rather than the other, since we have yet (I say yet) to be American. Reading something like Jane Austen is more than a wonderful literary experience: for the Canadian it can be a step towards reclaiming a lost heritage and exercising some real independence from the Yanks (God Bless 'Em.) Seriously.
So, an unlikely entreaty: Free yourselves! Free your minds from the oppressive burdens of lazy prose! Revitalize a past that is British in focus rather than American! Read Austen! Read Robertson Davies! Read Shakespeare, Chaucer, O'Brian, Milton! And maybe, just maybe, your mind will slowly awaken to subtlety and the joy of an English language that was, once upon a time, dry, clever, and mischievous. I dare you.
I'll start by saying that Jane Austen is one of the best writers in the English language. But a lot of people find her difficult (and by this I mean that a lot of students don't seem to enjoy her, especially males. But more on them, later.) There are a few reasons for all of that, but I don't accept them. Surprise, surpise.
So, here it is. My essay on how reading Jane Austen is patriotic. (Again, Canadian readers are the least likely to be offended by this post. I say least.)
British English started forming long ago, hundreds of years before even Shakespeare. In the 1200s to 1300s French was the language of the aristocracy, thanks to the vigour and success of William of Normandy and the happy aristocrats that followed him in 1066. But in over those centuries there was also a growing resentment of the supremacy of a foreign language, as well as the awareness that French was more civilized. So, English writers (like Chaucer in the Canterbury Tales) were revolutionary in pursuing English as a proper language for literature: until then it was only a language for peasants.
But as they wrote these writers were also finessing English, adding words (Latin and French) and altering its style to suit a more civilized mode. (The peasants still spoke - peasant. Don't worry.) As an example, it was considered a virtue in Latin to be able to express a complex and elegant thought with a similarly elegant and complex sentence. Cicero was a master of this; some of his sentences are a paragraph long. But they were beautiful and they made sense. Latin writers also enjoyed using ironic understatement and double-negatives (sometimes at the same time) and the British eventually took on a surprisingly similar tone in their language. Hence the wordy, ironic, dry British prose that we so often can spot but not understand.
Now, fast forward to the mid-twentieth century. An American group of writers, including such greats (ahem) as Ernest Hemingway and Gertrude Stein, broke from this old mode in favour of shorter, more direct language. Hemingway in particular, who was a fan of boxing and bullfighting (not to mention drinking and getting married) felt that writing should be like wrestling: strong, visceral work with no room for elegant rejoinder. Almost all our literature today is a child of the American system of Hemingway et al. And admittedly, the style is easy to read and powerful in its own way. But it has two problems. Three. (Three, milord.) Right.
First, it makes it hard to approach British literature. When you're used to short, pre-chewed senetences expressing short, pre-chewed thought, Victorian sentences are hard.
Second, and more specifically: it makes Jane Austen seem like a burden rather than a blessing for young Canadian students. So they often avoid it.
Third, and for Canadian students only: An addiction to American style prose makes your mind a small colony to the United States; your thoughts become their thoughts. Our history as a country, whatever your ethnicity (and I'm a Francophone for the love of all that's holy, and I'm writing this) is decidedly British. So, at least we have an excuse to follow one mode rather than the other, since we have yet (I say yet) to be American. Reading something like Jane Austen is more than a wonderful literary experience: for the Canadian it can be a step towards reclaiming a lost heritage and exercising some real independence from the Yanks (God Bless 'Em.) Seriously.
So, an unlikely entreaty: Free yourselves! Free your minds from the oppressive burdens of lazy prose! Revitalize a past that is British in focus rather than American! Read Austen! Read Robertson Davies! Read Shakespeare, Chaucer, O'Brian, Milton! And maybe, just maybe, your mind will slowly awaken to subtlety and the joy of an English language that was, once upon a time, dry, clever, and mischievous. I dare you.
Weird Mix: Beatles, Juggling, Interpretive Dance
I have to admit that I was impressed. But watching the expression on the guy's face was its own reward. And it's a good song. Strangely hypnotic.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Word of the Day: Aristotelianism!
Well, not all of it. The whole of the man's philosophy is huge. The only part of Aristotle's philosophy I'll talk about here is whatever seems to knock Utilitarianism on the head. This is the second part of a post dealing with the shortcomings of Utilitarianism. There will be at least a third, probably after I blog on something a bit different.
Aristotle said - well lots of things. But I'll start with this one: Things have natures. Now that seems straightforward, but it means that things are the way they are because that is their nature. They need to be that way or they become - something else. And yes, so far I hear people nodding and saying "Seems obvious." But the danger of most common sense is that it has logical consequences (like the fact that men don't have ovaries... but - ahem - that's a post for later.)
But Aristotle would have meant more than the natures of birds and trees. He would have meant everything, including the nature of humanity at its core, beyond the physical. Now, John Stuart Mill called Aristotle an early Utilitarian because the Greek philosopher claimed that happiness resulted from the actions a man took in his life. But that seems a stretch. And here's why:
Mill would say that the happiness is a consequence of those actions if they make the man happy (or the group) - which is close enough to being circular that we'll ignore it. But Aristotle wasn't concerned with external consequences (though he was concerned with how the community fared.) He was concerned with how a man's actions change his essence.
And there's the main insight for this post: Aristotle and essence. Aristotle felt that a man could change his essence by immersing himself in another essence. Do a good thing, then another until it becomes habit, and keep the habit until it is so firmly ingrained in your person that you are permanently altered. "Moral excellence comes about as a result of habit. We become just by doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts." he says. (Hamlet mentions it to his mother by the way: Assume a virtue if you have it not... For use almost can change the stamp of nature") That isn't to say this sort of change is easy: ask anyone trying to break a habit. But it's possible, and not just for the better.
The point here? Things are too hard for a Utilitarian to measure. For if you torture to defend freedom, you change yourself slowly into an enemy of freedom. You make yourself darker everytime you commit evil in for some mythical "greater good." And in the end, you risk becoming an enemy of the very things you are defending. How can you defend liberty by destroying it, truth by betraying it? Those bent on "results" by doing wrong for the sake of good can't understand the nature of goodness, nor the nature of their selves.
And that's a point the Utilitarians never touch, because their philosophy is too fuzzy, too simplistic to stand up to that kind of scrutiny. They only look at the greater good of the group and aren't concerned with the inner life of the individual. And that is a lovely segue into a philosophy that is immensely interested in the internal state of the person. But more on that later...
Aristotle said - well lots of things. But I'll start with this one: Things have natures. Now that seems straightforward, but it means that things are the way they are because that is their nature. They need to be that way or they become - something else. And yes, so far I hear people nodding and saying "Seems obvious." But the danger of most common sense is that it has logical consequences (like the fact that men don't have ovaries... but - ahem - that's a post for later.)
But Aristotle would have meant more than the natures of birds and trees. He would have meant everything, including the nature of humanity at its core, beyond the physical. Now, John Stuart Mill called Aristotle an early Utilitarian because the Greek philosopher claimed that happiness resulted from the actions a man took in his life. But that seems a stretch. And here's why:
Mill would say that the happiness is a consequence of those actions if they make the man happy (or the group) - which is close enough to being circular that we'll ignore it. But Aristotle wasn't concerned with external consequences (though he was concerned with how the community fared.) He was concerned with how a man's actions change his essence.
And there's the main insight for this post: Aristotle and essence. Aristotle felt that a man could change his essence by immersing himself in another essence. Do a good thing, then another until it becomes habit, and keep the habit until it is so firmly ingrained in your person that you are permanently altered. "Moral excellence comes about as a result of habit. We become just by doing just acts, temperate by doing temperate acts, brave by doing brave acts." he says. (Hamlet mentions it to his mother by the way: Assume a virtue if you have it not... For use almost can change the stamp of nature") That isn't to say this sort of change is easy: ask anyone trying to break a habit. But it's possible, and not just for the better.
The point here? Things are too hard for a Utilitarian to measure. For if you torture to defend freedom, you change yourself slowly into an enemy of freedom. You make yourself darker everytime you commit evil in for some mythical "greater good." And in the end, you risk becoming an enemy of the very things you are defending. How can you defend liberty by destroying it, truth by betraying it? Those bent on "results" by doing wrong for the sake of good can't understand the nature of goodness, nor the nature of their selves.
And that's a point the Utilitarians never touch, because their philosophy is too fuzzy, too simplistic to stand up to that kind of scrutiny. They only look at the greater good of the group and aren't concerned with the inner life of the individual. And that is a lovely segue into a philosophy that is immensely interested in the internal state of the person. But more on that later...
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Utilitarianism: The Economy of Deeds
Utilitarianism seems easy to define. At its basis it's simply a matter of trying to achieve the greatest possible happiness for the greatest possible number. And who can argue with that? It seems like arguing about the merits of motherhood (though today that happens) or apple pie (which in my mind is unassailable.)
But like most things, you just have to dig below the surface a bit. What, after all, is happiness? Can we agree on a definition? And is happiness the highest good? What do we mean by "the highest good" anyway? As you'll see, the way in which utilitarians answer these questions and how they seek happiness for the "greatest number" can pose a problem.
The generally ackowledged fathers of utilitarianism are Mill and Bentham (though Sidgwick and others have had their influence.) They suggested a system of morality that is based on consequence rather than focusing on the nature of the act or the intent of the person. They seek the greatest possible happiness (or the greatest possible fulfillment of people's desires, Sidgwick's refinement of the system.) For that reason they are often called consequentialists.
There are a couple of problems with that consequentialism that I'd like to address here. I won't suggest an alternate system (that comes later); I'll just throw a few rocks at this one.
One problem with consequentialism as a moral system is its lack of morality. By that I mean that it boils too much down to numbers. Consequentialists (those happy utilitarian bean-counters) go through a lot of effort to quantify the greater good and how much bad you can inflict before it becomes - well- bad. It's like using a slide-rule to figure out whether something is good or bad: I've inflicted 15 units of suffering and gained 100 units of happiness. A net gain! But if the right thing is based entirely on some numerical quantity then the individual is lost. For example:
Groups often identitify themselves along cultural or ethnic lines. And who's to judge that this is wrong, so long as they're happy? But what if you have a small minority within a community. Should they suffer if the larger group wills it? What if the larger group is afraid or suffering and don't know where to turn. What if seeing a common enemy unites them and gives them a sense of comfort, a greater sense of solidarity that allows them to pull through difficult times? The modern utilitarian will balk at that, worried that you're about to invoke Nazis and Jews. But he can only resist by appealing to the relative intensity of the Jewish suffering and the mildness (and questionable veractiy) of the comfort or economic gain of those people forcing them to work slave-labour in the ghettoes. His complaint is still quantifiable and not moral. At some point, in the Utilitarian mind, few enough people are suffering that the scale tips and atrocity becomes allowable.
The classic objection to Utilitarianism is the reference to a group of people who are all going to die if they don't get their own unique organ transplants. With the utilitarian slide rule it becomes allowable to kill the one healthy man outright in order tosave the many, whether he volunteers or not. The greater happiness of the greater number rules. Numbers rule. The good of the many, yada yada... But wait - if the good of the many outweigh the good of the few, the many rule the few.
So, utilitarianism is simply rule by numbers, a moral twist on the old "might is right." (Admittedly, Democracy itself is a twist of "might is right" by weight of numbers. That's why democracy is a politcal system and not a moral one.)
The second objection is simply this: Utilitarianism destroys any sane philosophy the West has presented. More on that in another post.
And what the heck: a third objection. One reason that utilitarianism isn't sane is that anything goes. If the harm isn't there, or if it's outweighed by the benefit, anything goes. But while the "anything goes" part is straightforward the rest of it is all so impractical. How do you measure happiness anyway? How do you compare the intensity of suffering in one person and the level of happiness in another? What IS happiness? Is it simply a bio-chemical state of the person, or something else? Utilitarianism doesn't even try to answer these things.
All in all the system is a mess. It assumes a lot about certain questions, primarily the spiritual ones. And if I were to throw two systems at Utilitarianism they would be Aristotelianism and the entire Judeo-Christian ethic. (to be continued...)
But like most things, you just have to dig below the surface a bit. What, after all, is happiness? Can we agree on a definition? And is happiness the highest good? What do we mean by "the highest good" anyway? As you'll see, the way in which utilitarians answer these questions and how they seek happiness for the "greatest number" can pose a problem.
The generally ackowledged fathers of utilitarianism are Mill and Bentham (though Sidgwick and others have had their influence.) They suggested a system of morality that is based on consequence rather than focusing on the nature of the act or the intent of the person. They seek the greatest possible happiness (or the greatest possible fulfillment of people's desires, Sidgwick's refinement of the system.) For that reason they are often called consequentialists.
There are a couple of problems with that consequentialism that I'd like to address here. I won't suggest an alternate system (that comes later); I'll just throw a few rocks at this one.
One problem with consequentialism as a moral system is its lack of morality. By that I mean that it boils too much down to numbers. Consequentialists (those happy utilitarian bean-counters) go through a lot of effort to quantify the greater good and how much bad you can inflict before it becomes - well- bad. It's like using a slide-rule to figure out whether something is good or bad: I've inflicted 15 units of suffering and gained 100 units of happiness. A net gain! But if the right thing is based entirely on some numerical quantity then the individual is lost. For example:
Groups often identitify themselves along cultural or ethnic lines. And who's to judge that this is wrong, so long as they're happy? But what if you have a small minority within a community. Should they suffer if the larger group wills it? What if the larger group is afraid or suffering and don't know where to turn. What if seeing a common enemy unites them and gives them a sense of comfort, a greater sense of solidarity that allows them to pull through difficult times? The modern utilitarian will balk at that, worried that you're about to invoke Nazis and Jews. But he can only resist by appealing to the relative intensity of the Jewish suffering and the mildness (and questionable veractiy) of the comfort or economic gain of those people forcing them to work slave-labour in the ghettoes. His complaint is still quantifiable and not moral. At some point, in the Utilitarian mind, few enough people are suffering that the scale tips and atrocity becomes allowable.
The classic objection to Utilitarianism is the reference to a group of people who are all going to die if they don't get their own unique organ transplants. With the utilitarian slide rule it becomes allowable to kill the one healthy man outright in order tosave the many, whether he volunteers or not. The greater happiness of the greater number rules. Numbers rule. The good of the many, yada yada... But wait - if the good of the many outweigh the good of the few, the many rule the few.
So, utilitarianism is simply rule by numbers, a moral twist on the old "might is right." (Admittedly, Democracy itself is a twist of "might is right" by weight of numbers. That's why democracy is a politcal system and not a moral one.)
The second objection is simply this: Utilitarianism destroys any sane philosophy the West has presented. More on that in another post.
And what the heck: a third objection. One reason that utilitarianism isn't sane is that anything goes. If the harm isn't there, or if it's outweighed by the benefit, anything goes. But while the "anything goes" part is straightforward the rest of it is all so impractical. How do you measure happiness anyway? How do you compare the intensity of suffering in one person and the level of happiness in another? What IS happiness? Is it simply a bio-chemical state of the person, or something else? Utilitarianism doesn't even try to answer these things.
All in all the system is a mess. It assumes a lot about certain questions, primarily the spiritual ones. And if I were to throw two systems at Utilitarianism they would be Aristotelianism and the entire Judeo-Christian ethic. (to be continued...)
Sunday, May 4, 2008
First Things (not really)
I've been thinking about making a blog for a while now. Whether it's as a touchpoint for old friends and students, a way to explore ideas, or a vessel for continuing conversations both manifold and fascinating, this is the place. Facebook doesn't allow for real communication (cute as it was.) So I'll try this:
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