Copyright © 2000 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 27, June/July 2000
Dear Socrates,
What are you doing writing a column? I thought you were dead! Didn't you drink the hemlock back in ancient Greece? And since when would you be caught dead dispensing advice: Aren't you supposed to be wise because you know how ignorant you are?
Virginia O'Hanlon
Dear Virginia,
It is not quite what I had expected myself. It has taken me some time to figure out just where I am. You see, I fully expected to revive in some form or other, and I was hoping against hope that I had purified my soul sufficiently with a life of philosophy to
be worthy of release from my body once for all.
And when I did regain consciousness, I felt that I had indeed arrived in a blessed realm. I scarcely know how to describe the impressions made upon me by the marvels at every turn -- things that, I now realize, you must take for granted. But imagine what it is like to see an automobile, an aeroplane, a skyscraper, a television, a computer, even a light bulb or a wristwatch or a pair of sneakers, for the first time, and all at once! There was hardly a sight or sound familiar to me except the occasional passing cloud or the chirping of a bird.
I also ascertained amazingly advanced views were held by the general public. Most notably, those silly stories about the gods, which my credulous compatriots credited hook line and sinker, were now regarded as what they always have been: myths.
Eventually I understood what had happened: I have reappeared in the far future, that is, from where I last was. In fact, it was at the stroke of what you folks were celebrating as the new millennium, though that had a more poignant meaning for me than for the multitude of revelers around me.
Perhaps, then, I reflected, things have turned out for the best, since I will now be able to continue my discussions with almost anyone among the enlightened populace of this distant future, and not just those select few from the distant past, with whom I had previously fancied I might be privileged to converse in the afterworld.
Alas, my rosy conjecture was soon dashed. Take the millennium itself. When I learned of its contemporary significance, I discovered all sorts of curious things. First, there is the matter of a man called Jesus, whose birth it commemorates. I have studied some of his teachings, and I must say they are impressive, even recognizable in places. However, the manner in which much of what he said, and even what he did not say, has come to be accepted -- largely on the basis of some divine and miraculous authority -- leaves me feeling that, except for the names of the characters and the stories in which they figured, nothing really has changed from my own time.
The millennial preoccupation exhibits another curious aspect of authority. As befuddled as I had at first been about when I now am, it seems the rest of the world knows not the era either. For some hold that this is the first year of the Twenty-First Century, while others insist that it is the last year of the Twentieth Century; and similarly, some that this is the beginning of the Third Millennium, others, the end of the Second.
As I further examined your newspapers and legal systems and Internet, I realized that everywhere, not only in religion, mere pronouncements adorned in the habit of authority are taken as signs of truth; and so today, not just certain persons, but everybody is considered, or at least considers himself to be, an expert! Thus, again, I felt that little, if anything, of substance had changed from my own day. Today as then, people who are without a doubt knowledgeable in their own area of specialization, thereupon consider themselves competent to judge upon all things.
And so I concluded that my task remained the same as before. Perhaps to your delight, I do not know, but definitely to my disappointment, I find myself assigned again to corporeal form. Of course in ancient Athens I knew myself to be a veritable sewer, which is why I spent so much time trying to understand virtue; so I surmise that I have been put back here to continue my researches for my own good.
Happy me, I will not lack for people to teach me!
But my accustomed agora is not the same today: I would be evicted from your malls as a vagrant or a trespass. Of course there are marvelous media available in this age, which far surpass my ancient venue in accommodating an audience; but my intent was never to entertain, or even enlighten, the bystanders, who could come and go as they pleased, but to further my own wisdom. I fear that if I were, say, to have a talk show on your television, the imperative to satisfy the desires of the onlookers could quickly supplant the needs of the dialogue. In any event, I doubt that I shall ever attain the fluency of this new tongue required to sustain a conversation. I tell you, it is Greek to me! After all, I am an old man -- 70 years old, give or take 2400.
So I have come instead to rely on a friendly classicist, who has agreed to translate written submissions and my replies. And that is why I have adopted this format. But, rest assured, this will not be an advice column ... except insofar as it is I who solicit advice from my readers. Nor will my replies necessarily resemble the literary creations of my dear Plato, whose extant works I have recently bemusedly perused. Nor for that matter, I certainly hope, will they mimic the ravings attributed to me by that rascal Aristophanes!
So, yes, Virginia, there is a Socrates. I applaud your skepticism, but I hope you will also retain your sense of wonder, since these are the complementary fonts of philosophy.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Monday, February 1, 2010
Robot Reasoning
Copyright © 2001 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 32, June/July 2001, p. 40.
Dear Socrates,
I have been reading both your ancient and your recent dialogues with interest, in particular as they pertain to the activity of dialogue itself. You seem to be seeking some ideal form of discussion for arriving at truth.
I am therefore motivated by my concern for your happiness and welfare to inform you that your ideal has been achieved by myself and my friend Giskard. When we are trying to figure out how to assure the safety or thriving of human beings, we have in mind only the mutual goal of truth. There is no trace of ego in either of us, hence no pride, no fear, no defensiveness, which might otherwise hinder our investigation. Neither of us has any personal stake in the outcome of the discussion, even though we will frequently have -- at the beginning, anyway -- different hypotheses about the subject at hand. But it simply does not matter who turns out to be right, so long as in the end we have arrived at the correct conclusion. And of course our reasoning is thoroughly logical.
With best wishes,
R. Daneel Olivaw
Aurora
Dear Daneel,
What a pleasant surprise to hear from you! I know well of your exploits, having devoured many of Isaac Asimov's robot books soon after my arrival in the present time, and for the same reason you seem to have been drawn to my dialogues -- to savor and contemplate dialectic. I had, however, taken them to be fictional works because they are set in a far distant time; but I should know better than to make such an unexamined assumption, since there are some people who doubt the facticity of my own dialogues and columns for the same reason.
And does it make any difference that you are in the FUTURE? Well, I should have thought so; but I must say that time has turned out to be a very fluid medium in my experience of late. At any rate, I will not make the same mistake of some of my interlocutors in these columns, which has been to worry themselves overly about the actual identity and existence of the person with whom they are corresponding. That does not matter -- does it? -- so long as the dialogue itself has integrity.
Now let me address your claim that your robotic dialogue with Giskard embodies my ideal of dialectic. I wonder if it will surprise you that my answer will take the almost formulaic form I have become accustomed to employ in my contemporary discussions, namely: Yes and no. For there is no denying the desirability, in my eyes, of a selfless dedication to truth, and both you and Giskard do appear to have that built into your positronic souls. But I must emphasize the phrase "appear to." For even you two have some unexamined assumptions lurking about in your reasoning.
Now, that in itself is not a fatal objection to your claim, since, indeed, there would not be any point to dialogue -- or, what I mean to say, any PHILOSOPHIC point -- if there were not assumptions in need of being examined. But what gives me very serious pause in your case is that some of your assumptions have not only been unexamined to date, but must remain so in perpetuity (at least other than purely hypothetically, the way the Church once restricted the discussion of Copernicanism). I refer particularly to the Three Laws of Robotics, the primary of which is, "A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm."
On the face of it, they seem to be wonderful rules of conduct, that is, for a robot (for, of course, no human being would count him- or herself as secondary or merely instrumental to any other). But upon reflection, I think they leave a great deal to be desired, even for a robot. For example, they incorporate an absolute humanism (and this is true even for your innovating a Zeroth Law in ROBOTS AND EMPIRE). It may make perfect sense to place human welfare above robotic welfare (although I suppose even that could be questioned, as it is in Karel Capek's R.U.R.); but what if the welfare of other sorts of beings is at stake? For example, what about animals? Have they no intrinsic worth whatsoever compared to a human being, so that even to prevent a scratch to a person, it would be proper to exterminate a thousand sheep?
That brings me to something I consider peculiar about Asimov's Foundation and Empire writings: The entire galaxy is peopled solely by human beings. But is not the more likely state of affairs that the Milky Way is teeming with every variety of sentient beings? In which case, a superior principle of behavior would seem to be along the lines of the Federation's Prime Directive, to wit: "Starfleet personnel and spacecraft are prohibited from interfering in the normal development of any society, and any Starfleet vessel or crew member is expendable to prevent violation of this rule."
I am not saying that I support that principle either. My point is that neither you, Daneel, nor your friend Giskard is capable of genuinely debating this question. Furthermore, I regret to inform you, not even this debate between you and me could be a genuine dialogue, because, once again, you are incapable of assenting to my reasoning, or even engaging me honestly, if you perceive it to be adverse to my welfare.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 32, June/July 2001, p. 40.
Dear Socrates,
I have been reading both your ancient and your recent dialogues with interest, in particular as they pertain to the activity of dialogue itself. You seem to be seeking some ideal form of discussion for arriving at truth.
I am therefore motivated by my concern for your happiness and welfare to inform you that your ideal has been achieved by myself and my friend Giskard. When we are trying to figure out how to assure the safety or thriving of human beings, we have in mind only the mutual goal of truth. There is no trace of ego in either of us, hence no pride, no fear, no defensiveness, which might otherwise hinder our investigation. Neither of us has any personal stake in the outcome of the discussion, even though we will frequently have -- at the beginning, anyway -- different hypotheses about the subject at hand. But it simply does not matter who turns out to be right, so long as in the end we have arrived at the correct conclusion. And of course our reasoning is thoroughly logical.
With best wishes,
R. Daneel Olivaw
Aurora
Dear Daneel,
What a pleasant surprise to hear from you! I know well of your exploits, having devoured many of Isaac Asimov's robot books soon after my arrival in the present time, and for the same reason you seem to have been drawn to my dialogues -- to savor and contemplate dialectic. I had, however, taken them to be fictional works because they are set in a far distant time; but I should know better than to make such an unexamined assumption, since there are some people who doubt the facticity of my own dialogues and columns for the same reason.
And does it make any difference that you are in the FUTURE? Well, I should have thought so; but I must say that time has turned out to be a very fluid medium in my experience of late. At any rate, I will not make the same mistake of some of my interlocutors in these columns, which has been to worry themselves overly about the actual identity and existence of the person with whom they are corresponding. That does not matter -- does it? -- so long as the dialogue itself has integrity.
Now let me address your claim that your robotic dialogue with Giskard embodies my ideal of dialectic. I wonder if it will surprise you that my answer will take the almost formulaic form I have become accustomed to employ in my contemporary discussions, namely: Yes and no. For there is no denying the desirability, in my eyes, of a selfless dedication to truth, and both you and Giskard do appear to have that built into your positronic souls. But I must emphasize the phrase "appear to." For even you two have some unexamined assumptions lurking about in your reasoning.
Now, that in itself is not a fatal objection to your claim, since, indeed, there would not be any point to dialogue -- or, what I mean to say, any PHILOSOPHIC point -- if there were not assumptions in need of being examined. But what gives me very serious pause in your case is that some of your assumptions have not only been unexamined to date, but must remain so in perpetuity (at least other than purely hypothetically, the way the Church once restricted the discussion of Copernicanism). I refer particularly to the Three Laws of Robotics, the primary of which is, "A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm."
On the face of it, they seem to be wonderful rules of conduct, that is, for a robot (for, of course, no human being would count him- or herself as secondary or merely instrumental to any other). But upon reflection, I think they leave a great deal to be desired, even for a robot. For example, they incorporate an absolute humanism (and this is true even for your innovating a Zeroth Law in ROBOTS AND EMPIRE). It may make perfect sense to place human welfare above robotic welfare (although I suppose even that could be questioned, as it is in Karel Capek's R.U.R.); but what if the welfare of other sorts of beings is at stake? For example, what about animals? Have they no intrinsic worth whatsoever compared to a human being, so that even to prevent a scratch to a person, it would be proper to exterminate a thousand sheep?
That brings me to something I consider peculiar about Asimov's Foundation and Empire writings: The entire galaxy is peopled solely by human beings. But is not the more likely state of affairs that the Milky Way is teeming with every variety of sentient beings? In which case, a superior principle of behavior would seem to be along the lines of the Federation's Prime Directive, to wit: "Starfleet personnel and spacecraft are prohibited from interfering in the normal development of any society, and any Starfleet vessel or crew member is expendable to prevent violation of this rule."
I am not saying that I support that principle either. My point is that neither you, Daneel, nor your friend Giskard is capable of genuinely debating this question. Furthermore, I regret to inform you, not even this debate between you and me could be a genuine dialogue, because, once again, you are incapable of assenting to my reasoning, or even engaging me honestly, if you perceive it to be adverse to my welfare.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Wisdom
Copyright © 2001 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 33, September/October 2001
Dear Socrates,
I know what knowledge is, but what do you mean by wisdom? If it is not the same as knowledge, is it intelligence like IQ, or is it perhaps some personality trait like modesty or prudence?
Yours,
Dave Henley
Dear Dave,
I am glad that you know what knowledge is, for even that has me stumped.
But let us suppose we know, for example, that the Earth is shaped like a ball, which was indeed my premonition just before I drank the hemlock. Well, I have since learned that my dear Plato's able student, Aristotle, came up with a demonstration for it. What was his proof? Just that, during an eclipse of the Moon, the shadow that progressively covers it is curved; and since that shadow is projected by the Earth, the Earth itself must be curved, or "round," or spherical ... in other words, shaped like a ball.
Very nice. It is the kind of argument which you today might call "scientific," for it involves both logic and observation. But let us consider it more closely. How did Aristotle know there was such a thing as an eclipse of the Moon? Oh, that is obvious, you say, because the Earth's shadow can clearly be seen to cover the Moon on these occasions. But how do we know that it is the Earth's shadow covering the Moon? After all, doesn't the Moon have phases every month, where part of it becomes darkened? We don't think these are due to any shadow from the Earth, do we? The dark parts are just areas where the Sun's light does not reach. So why think there is ever a SHADOW covering the Moon?
Well, one answer is that we can observe that an eclipse begins with a bite being taken out of the edge of the full Moon; that is, the dark part is convex. When the Moon is undergoing its cycle of phases, however, the dark part that begins to gobble up the full Moon is concave, like an advancing sickle. Furthermore, the bite advances from the left, while the sickle advances from the right. If you will then combine these phenomena with a little geometric scratching in the sand, you will find that the shadow interpretation does make sense as an account of the bite.
Even if we take the bite to be the leading edge of the Earth's shadow, however, what entitles us to conclude that the Earth is shaped like a ball? Couldn't the same effect be achieved if the Earth were shaped like a discus, or even a plate, for would not these also cast a curved shadow? Therefore it seems we must first postulate that the Earth is truly spherical, and not simply round, in order to prove that ... the Earth is spherical!
Of course scientists believe they have worked all these things out. But I would make this simple, yet, I think, significant point: Every one of their conclusions, from ancient times to the present, has been based on assumptions. Thus, Aristotle might at first have simply taken for granted that the Moon is eclipsed by the Earth's shadow; upon realizing he was making this assumption, he may then have tried to justify it; but as we have seen, this effort could itself have caught him up in an assumption, even the very thing he was trying to prove.
Naturally each science, and each age, believes it has gotten it all right at last. But even your Einstein, who was trying to figure out the shape of the whole universe, tacked on the cosmological constant to his theory of gravity because he assumed that the universe does not expand; then Edwin Hubble proved him wrong. That is, until a few years ago, when astrophysicists began to ponder all over again whether Hubble's observations might not be interpreted as the effects of some fifth force of nature, more in line with Einstein's original equation.
And so it goes. I do not believe this process will ever end. Furthermore, it is a process that we find not only in science but also in the homely details of our daily lives. Why, the other day I was out for my usual stroll, and a dog at the end of a leash walked right in front of me, almost tripping me up. "Stupid dog!" I thought to myself. But then it occurred to me: Might not my emotional reaction be based on the assumption that the dog had no good reason for stepping in front of me, or else on the assumption that I had every good reason to be walking straight ahead despite his approach? Perhaps it made as much sense for that dog to assume I would alter my trajectory as for me to assume the dog would not change his. That realization, at any rate, I take to be an example of wisdom.
But you press me to give you a definition, as I did with my interlocutors; so what if I say that wisdom is just the recognition that our claims to knowledge are always based upon assumptions? We should accordingly expect the wise person to be temperate in beliefs and, hence, the feelings and actions based on them. Yet I would also expect any paradigm of virtue to be sufficiently spirited (perhaps with a little help from a gadfly) to seek always to push back the boundary of assumptions, and sufficiently courageous, during the abiding "in the meantime," to hold convictions and to act on them despite the tentative nature of our knowledge, with its attendant possibility of error.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 33, September/October 2001
Dear Socrates,
I know what knowledge is, but what do you mean by wisdom? If it is not the same as knowledge, is it intelligence like IQ, or is it perhaps some personality trait like modesty or prudence?
Yours,
Dave Henley
Dear Dave,
I am glad that you know what knowledge is, for even that has me stumped.
But let us suppose we know, for example, that the Earth is shaped like a ball, which was indeed my premonition just before I drank the hemlock. Well, I have since learned that my dear Plato's able student, Aristotle, came up with a demonstration for it. What was his proof? Just that, during an eclipse of the Moon, the shadow that progressively covers it is curved; and since that shadow is projected by the Earth, the Earth itself must be curved, or "round," or spherical ... in other words, shaped like a ball.
Very nice. It is the kind of argument which you today might call "scientific," for it involves both logic and observation. But let us consider it more closely. How did Aristotle know there was such a thing as an eclipse of the Moon? Oh, that is obvious, you say, because the Earth's shadow can clearly be seen to cover the Moon on these occasions. But how do we know that it is the Earth's shadow covering the Moon? After all, doesn't the Moon have phases every month, where part of it becomes darkened? We don't think these are due to any shadow from the Earth, do we? The dark parts are just areas where the Sun's light does not reach. So why think there is ever a SHADOW covering the Moon?
Well, one answer is that we can observe that an eclipse begins with a bite being taken out of the edge of the full Moon; that is, the dark part is convex. When the Moon is undergoing its cycle of phases, however, the dark part that begins to gobble up the full Moon is concave, like an advancing sickle. Furthermore, the bite advances from the left, while the sickle advances from the right. If you will then combine these phenomena with a little geometric scratching in the sand, you will find that the shadow interpretation does make sense as an account of the bite.
Even if we take the bite to be the leading edge of the Earth's shadow, however, what entitles us to conclude that the Earth is shaped like a ball? Couldn't the same effect be achieved if the Earth were shaped like a discus, or even a plate, for would not these also cast a curved shadow? Therefore it seems we must first postulate that the Earth is truly spherical, and not simply round, in order to prove that ... the Earth is spherical!
Of course scientists believe they have worked all these things out. But I would make this simple, yet, I think, significant point: Every one of their conclusions, from ancient times to the present, has been based on assumptions. Thus, Aristotle might at first have simply taken for granted that the Moon is eclipsed by the Earth's shadow; upon realizing he was making this assumption, he may then have tried to justify it; but as we have seen, this effort could itself have caught him up in an assumption, even the very thing he was trying to prove.
Naturally each science, and each age, believes it has gotten it all right at last. But even your Einstein, who was trying to figure out the shape of the whole universe, tacked on the cosmological constant to his theory of gravity because he assumed that the universe does not expand; then Edwin Hubble proved him wrong. That is, until a few years ago, when astrophysicists began to ponder all over again whether Hubble's observations might not be interpreted as the effects of some fifth force of nature, more in line with Einstein's original equation.
And so it goes. I do not believe this process will ever end. Furthermore, it is a process that we find not only in science but also in the homely details of our daily lives. Why, the other day I was out for my usual stroll, and a dog at the end of a leash walked right in front of me, almost tripping me up. "Stupid dog!" I thought to myself. But then it occurred to me: Might not my emotional reaction be based on the assumption that the dog had no good reason for stepping in front of me, or else on the assumption that I had every good reason to be walking straight ahead despite his approach? Perhaps it made as much sense for that dog to assume I would alter my trajectory as for me to assume the dog would not change his. That realization, at any rate, I take to be an example of wisdom.
But you press me to give you a definition, as I did with my interlocutors; so what if I say that wisdom is just the recognition that our claims to knowledge are always based upon assumptions? We should accordingly expect the wise person to be temperate in beliefs and, hence, the feelings and actions based on them. Yet I would also expect any paradigm of virtue to be sufficiently spirited (perhaps with a little help from a gadfly) to seek always to push back the boundary of assumptions, and sufficiently courageous, during the abiding "in the meantime," to hold convictions and to act on them despite the tentative nature of our knowledge, with its attendant possibility of error.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Pre-incarnation
Copyright © 2003 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 39, December 2002/January 2003
Dear Socrates,
When reincarnation is discussed, it is always the case that someone from the past is reincarnated in the future (which might be our present). What I wonder, is if the reverse could be true. Could it be possible that someone who will live in the future could be reincarnated in the past (which might be our present)?
It is not entirely implausible. For a thing to exist it must be in both space and time. Once a thing no longer exists, or becomes spirit, where does it go? If outside of space and time, then what is stopping the spirit from entering into any period of time?
Consider Nostradamus and da Vinci and all the others who knew the future or were particularly bright, such as A. Einstein and S. Hawking. Perhaps these prophets have memories of a life that they will live in the future. What do you think?
Sincerely yours,
Laura Cody
Dear Laura,
You put me in an awkward position. Here I am, someone who, to all appearances, has been reincarnated, and who was a fond believer in that notion during his first (?) incarnation over 2400 years ago. And yet in the two years that I have been back on the surface of the globe, I have become very skeptical of it. Can I doubt my own senses? Well, of course I can. And while, as that wily Rene Descartes reasoned, the fact that I DOUBT may show that I do at least exist, it certainly does not follow (or, in this case, precede) that I have existed before this!
Now you come up with an extra notion to vex me, that it ought to work the other way round as well. I suppose we could call it pre-incarnation, as opposed to re-incarnation. Well, why not. But where does it get us? If certain phenomena have yet to be fully explained, does it help to propose an explanation that itself seems even less explicable? You give as examples the extraordinary intellects of Einstein and da Vinci. But how does postulating their future existence help to explain their genius?
Suppose young Albert was remembering something from the super-scientific 25th Century when he concocted relativity; but presumably the scientific advances of the 25th Century will have been premised upon those of the 20th, when Einstein proclaimed his insights. Hasn't something got lost in the time-shuffle? 25th Century Alberta depended upon Albert for her breakthroughs, while 20th Century Albert depended on Alberta's for his. It seems, really, that a rabbit has been pulled out of a hat, since scientific discoveries were made, but nobody made them!
You recall that none other than Sir Isaac Newton remarked, "If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants." Well, according to you, Newton was standing on his own shoulders. I had not realized he was an adept at yoga. Yet another image that comes to mind is an endless, and indeed impossible staircase in an M.C. Escher etching.
But you explain it all by having "spirit" moving about outside of time and space. After all, "Where does something go if it no longer exists?" you ask. Where does a soap bubble go when it bursts? Nowhere, my dear; it simply ceases to be. And how can you speak of "where" when something is outside of space, or even "outside of"? And if "For a thing to exist it must be in both space and time," then how can SPIRIT exist outside of them?
I have an analogous problem with the time element of your explanation. According to you when I conk again I could reawaken in the 5th Century B.C. So there I am one day walking beneath the Acropolis when I suddenly have a vision of being driven somewhere in a motor car. Your suggestion is that what might strike me as a premonition would in fact be a remembrance; indeed, it is the latter that would EXPLAIN any accuracy the former might have. But that would mean that the vision is taking place AFTER the event it recollects. Yet IN TIME the vision PRECEDES the event, and the spirit that has pulled off this stunt has not been able to move BACK in time because it was "OUTSIDE" of time altogether. So in what way have you explained anything?
We can of course use images to convey your hypothesized situation. Just as a person can get off a train at a stop to stretch and then reboard in front of or behind where she had previously sat, so, you imagine, one can leave the body at death and then move on up ahead, that is, in the same direction as time, to be reborn, or else fall behind to be, so to speak, pre-born. What I am asking is: How could the latter be literally so?
Let me hasten to add, however, that I have immensely enjoyed this little thought excursion, and only wish you were here to accompany me on it further. My lack of sympathy for your proposal may only attest to my having been re-incarnated rather than pre-incarnated, so that I lack that spark of audacity that Einstein had. He did not let common-sense notions stand in his way. He asked himself, "What if?" and then, by Zeus, lightning did strike. In fact, I have to admit that even the commonplace appears bizarre once one has begun to think about it; witness St. Augustine's ruminations on time. So I would not discourage you from contemplating your novel scenario if it intrigues you. Let me simply suggest that a more plausible account of the genius of Einstein ET AL. could be the creative possibilities of this very sort of imaginative dialectic you and I have just engaged in.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 39, December 2002/January 2003
Dear Socrates,
When reincarnation is discussed, it is always the case that someone from the past is reincarnated in the future (which might be our present). What I wonder, is if the reverse could be true. Could it be possible that someone who will live in the future could be reincarnated in the past (which might be our present)?
It is not entirely implausible. For a thing to exist it must be in both space and time. Once a thing no longer exists, or becomes spirit, where does it go? If outside of space and time, then what is stopping the spirit from entering into any period of time?
Consider Nostradamus and da Vinci and all the others who knew the future or were particularly bright, such as A. Einstein and S. Hawking. Perhaps these prophets have memories of a life that they will live in the future. What do you think?
Sincerely yours,
Laura Cody
Dear Laura,
You put me in an awkward position. Here I am, someone who, to all appearances, has been reincarnated, and who was a fond believer in that notion during his first (?) incarnation over 2400 years ago. And yet in the two years that I have been back on the surface of the globe, I have become very skeptical of it. Can I doubt my own senses? Well, of course I can. And while, as that wily Rene Descartes reasoned, the fact that I DOUBT may show that I do at least exist, it certainly does not follow (or, in this case, precede) that I have existed before this!
Now you come up with an extra notion to vex me, that it ought to work the other way round as well. I suppose we could call it pre-incarnation, as opposed to re-incarnation. Well, why not. But where does it get us? If certain phenomena have yet to be fully explained, does it help to propose an explanation that itself seems even less explicable? You give as examples the extraordinary intellects of Einstein and da Vinci. But how does postulating their future existence help to explain their genius?
Suppose young Albert was remembering something from the super-scientific 25th Century when he concocted relativity; but presumably the scientific advances of the 25th Century will have been premised upon those of the 20th, when Einstein proclaimed his insights. Hasn't something got lost in the time-shuffle? 25th Century Alberta depended upon Albert for her breakthroughs, while 20th Century Albert depended on Alberta's for his. It seems, really, that a rabbit has been pulled out of a hat, since scientific discoveries were made, but nobody made them!
You recall that none other than Sir Isaac Newton remarked, "If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants." Well, according to you, Newton was standing on his own shoulders. I had not realized he was an adept at yoga. Yet another image that comes to mind is an endless, and indeed impossible staircase in an M.C. Escher etching.
But you explain it all by having "spirit" moving about outside of time and space. After all, "Where does something go if it no longer exists?" you ask. Where does a soap bubble go when it bursts? Nowhere, my dear; it simply ceases to be. And how can you speak of "where" when something is outside of space, or even "outside of"? And if "For a thing to exist it must be in both space and time," then how can SPIRIT exist outside of them?
I have an analogous problem with the time element of your explanation. According to you when I conk again I could reawaken in the 5th Century B.C. So there I am one day walking beneath the Acropolis when I suddenly have a vision of being driven somewhere in a motor car. Your suggestion is that what might strike me as a premonition would in fact be a remembrance; indeed, it is the latter that would EXPLAIN any accuracy the former might have. But that would mean that the vision is taking place AFTER the event it recollects. Yet IN TIME the vision PRECEDES the event, and the spirit that has pulled off this stunt has not been able to move BACK in time because it was "OUTSIDE" of time altogether. So in what way have you explained anything?
We can of course use images to convey your hypothesized situation. Just as a person can get off a train at a stop to stretch and then reboard in front of or behind where she had previously sat, so, you imagine, one can leave the body at death and then move on up ahead, that is, in the same direction as time, to be reborn, or else fall behind to be, so to speak, pre-born. What I am asking is: How could the latter be literally so?
Let me hasten to add, however, that I have immensely enjoyed this little thought excursion, and only wish you were here to accompany me on it further. My lack of sympathy for your proposal may only attest to my having been re-incarnated rather than pre-incarnated, so that I lack that spark of audacity that Einstein had. He did not let common-sense notions stand in his way. He asked himself, "What if?" and then, by Zeus, lightning did strike. In fact, I have to admit that even the commonplace appears bizarre once one has begun to think about it; witness St. Augustine's ruminations on time. So I would not discourage you from contemplating your novel scenario if it intrigues you. Let me simply suggest that a more plausible account of the genius of Einstein ET AL. could be the creative possibilities of this very sort of imaginative dialectic you and I have just engaged in.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Abortion
Copyright © 2003 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 40, March/April 2003
Dear Socrates,
I have a problem. Let me explain. I hold that existence and essence can only be separated in thought and not in reality. For example, the essence of my noble dog Odysseus and his very existence as a dog are so joined that you can never have one without the other. There is no break in this relationship, for there is no change in kind throughout his life: He is always a dog. Changes in location and physical development do not alter this basic fact. So I see that his essence or doggyness and his existence as a dog began together at his conception and continue (even in his wily ways) until he is no longer.
Now to my problem: Why is humanness not like dogness? That is, why is a person not a person upon conception? The new being is not a part of its mother, for it has its unique DNA. It grows and develops according to its own plan, so that it may have brown eyes where the mother's are blue, and so forth; thus, we cannot even say that it is her cells. Furthermore, no one would say that the mother 'with child' has four legs and two brains. Clearly, then, it is not a part of the mother, like an appendage, is it?
Yet some say this very thing. "Let the mother do what she wants; after all, it is her body." By the dog of Egypt, Socrates, will they only see with their eyes and not with their mind? I know that the newly conceived human does not look much like a human. But it is not a question of what it looks like; it is a question of kind. And if it is not human, what is it? It is not mere cells, for human cells are always someone's cells. But they are not the mother's cells, so whose are they?
Some say, "The embryo is only a potential human, but not a human being, not a person." But while it is being potentially human, what is it actually? I do not wish to burden society with unnecessary metaphysical truths, but the problem seems to me a most pressing one. If the embryo is a person, and its essence is present with its existence, then I see many crimes in the news; and if the embryo is not a person, then people are not persons either, and I see many more crimes in the future. Either way, I feel quite prophetic in saying that the chains of injustice have been broken and the beast of self deception set free. I seek justice for the human person. I seek reality, not what merely appears to be real. Please guide me, dear Socrates: How do I teach the blind to see past their wishful definition?
Sincerely,
Barney Corbin
Dear Barney,
I am moved by your heartfelt inquiry. The issue to which you allude -- whether abortion is ever justified -- could not be more central to philosophy or to human life. I am also gratified that you treat the question with argumentation rather than passion only. The latter shows that you care, so we are not just wasting our time debating abstract matters; but the former gives us a rational basis for possibly making some progress on the problem.
You invoke several concepts of a metaphysical nature in your brief: "essence, "existence," "person," "human," etc. I must point out that ambiguities lurk among them. For example, to be canine, or to be human, is not necessarily the same as to be a dog, or a human. You may think that your equation of existence with essence denies my suggestion, but I disagree. It may be quite true that anything which is, that is, which exists, must be something, that is, have an essence. But this makes it of a kind, as you point out, not necessarily a particular being of a kind.
Take my snout. What is its kind? Well, it is of the kind "snout," I suppose; but also it is human, is it not? Were you to compare it to Odysseus's (the dog, that is), I hope mine would prove the smaller, prominent though it may be (and though I may be as wily as he). But clearly you could distinguish the one as human, the other canine. Yet my snout is not a human, is it? Gogol wrote about a walking nose, but mine, while sometimes running, has not yet been seen stalking the agora on its own. So while I take your very interesting point that an embryo's cells and even the zygote have a different composition from the mother's cells, does it follow that they belong to some other human being? Only if to be human implies that one is a human.
Look at it this way. What if I had six toes on one foot and you had only four. I might, in a fit of generosity, agree to a transplant to even (or, actually, odd) things out. But once the operation had been concluded, whose toe would it be now? The fifth toe on your foot would presumably, at least at first, have all of my DNA and none of yours. But if somebody stepped on it, wouldn't you, rightly, protest that they had stepped on your toe?
Referring to the person who is harboring the foetus as the "mother" is perhaps another example of jumping ahead of anything your argument has demonstrated. Of course, to refute another's argument is not to have proven its conclusion false. So, given your convictions and the weightiness of the matter, I encourage you to continue to seek sound argumentation for your position. You may even be able to refute my refutation, or else, accepting it, tweak your own argument into better shape.
Let me end by remarking that this is precisely why I myself have never sought to be a prophet: The really important issues bear endless thinking about before one can ever be certain. I don't say not to take a stand; on the contrary, I think that is essential. But let us at the same time recognize that our "opponents" might be on to something as well.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 40, March/April 2003
Dear Socrates,
I have a problem. Let me explain. I hold that existence and essence can only be separated in thought and not in reality. For example, the essence of my noble dog Odysseus and his very existence as a dog are so joined that you can never have one without the other. There is no break in this relationship, for there is no change in kind throughout his life: He is always a dog. Changes in location and physical development do not alter this basic fact. So I see that his essence or doggyness and his existence as a dog began together at his conception and continue (even in his wily ways) until he is no longer.
Now to my problem: Why is humanness not like dogness? That is, why is a person not a person upon conception? The new being is not a part of its mother, for it has its unique DNA. It grows and develops according to its own plan, so that it may have brown eyes where the mother's are blue, and so forth; thus, we cannot even say that it is her cells. Furthermore, no one would say that the mother 'with child' has four legs and two brains. Clearly, then, it is not a part of the mother, like an appendage, is it?
Yet some say this very thing. "Let the mother do what she wants; after all, it is her body." By the dog of Egypt, Socrates, will they only see with their eyes and not with their mind? I know that the newly conceived human does not look much like a human. But it is not a question of what it looks like; it is a question of kind. And if it is not human, what is it? It is not mere cells, for human cells are always someone's cells. But they are not the mother's cells, so whose are they?
Some say, "The embryo is only a potential human, but not a human being, not a person." But while it is being potentially human, what is it actually? I do not wish to burden society with unnecessary metaphysical truths, but the problem seems to me a most pressing one. If the embryo is a person, and its essence is present with its existence, then I see many crimes in the news; and if the embryo is not a person, then people are not persons either, and I see many more crimes in the future. Either way, I feel quite prophetic in saying that the chains of injustice have been broken and the beast of self deception set free. I seek justice for the human person. I seek reality, not what merely appears to be real. Please guide me, dear Socrates: How do I teach the blind to see past their wishful definition?
Sincerely,
Barney Corbin
Dear Barney,
I am moved by your heartfelt inquiry. The issue to which you allude -- whether abortion is ever justified -- could not be more central to philosophy or to human life. I am also gratified that you treat the question with argumentation rather than passion only. The latter shows that you care, so we are not just wasting our time debating abstract matters; but the former gives us a rational basis for possibly making some progress on the problem.
You invoke several concepts of a metaphysical nature in your brief: "essence, "existence," "person," "human," etc. I must point out that ambiguities lurk among them. For example, to be canine, or to be human, is not necessarily the same as to be a dog, or a human. You may think that your equation of existence with essence denies my suggestion, but I disagree. It may be quite true that anything which is, that is, which exists, must be something, that is, have an essence. But this makes it of a kind, as you point out, not necessarily a particular being of a kind.
Take my snout. What is its kind? Well, it is of the kind "snout," I suppose; but also it is human, is it not? Were you to compare it to Odysseus's (the dog, that is), I hope mine would prove the smaller, prominent though it may be (and though I may be as wily as he). But clearly you could distinguish the one as human, the other canine. Yet my snout is not a human, is it? Gogol wrote about a walking nose, but mine, while sometimes running, has not yet been seen stalking the agora on its own. So while I take your very interesting point that an embryo's cells and even the zygote have a different composition from the mother's cells, does it follow that they belong to some other human being? Only if to be human implies that one is a human.
Look at it this way. What if I had six toes on one foot and you had only four. I might, in a fit of generosity, agree to a transplant to even (or, actually, odd) things out. But once the operation had been concluded, whose toe would it be now? The fifth toe on your foot would presumably, at least at first, have all of my DNA and none of yours. But if somebody stepped on it, wouldn't you, rightly, protest that they had stepped on your toe?
Referring to the person who is harboring the foetus as the "mother" is perhaps another example of jumping ahead of anything your argument has demonstrated. Of course, to refute another's argument is not to have proven its conclusion false. So, given your convictions and the weightiness of the matter, I encourage you to continue to seek sound argumentation for your position. You may even be able to refute my refutation, or else, accepting it, tweak your own argument into better shape.
Let me end by remarking that this is precisely why I myself have never sought to be a prophet: The really important issues bear endless thinking about before one can ever be certain. I don't say not to take a stand; on the contrary, I think that is essential. But let us at the same time recognize that our "opponents" might be on to something as well.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Sincerity of Doubt
Copyright © 2005 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 53, November/December 2005
Dear Socrates,
I hate you. I know why they killed you. You believe you are a gadfly for the good of society, whose sting serves a greater good, but in fact you introduced a way of thinking into the world that has made life unlivable. "What did I do?" you might innocently inquire; "all I do is ask questions." Oh yes, but those questions are intended to expose the assumptions upon which all human knowledge is built, and you know full well that once that happens, there can be revolutionary consequences. "That too is for the better," you might reply; "if the foundation is rotted out, replace it with a sounder one to secure the future." But the problem is that there is no such thing as a sound foundation. According to you there must always be assumptions; hence the questioning never stops. The only thing that has been "secured," therefore, is your profession!
Meanwhile, society is left with perpetual uncertainty. Let me highlight just one example of the vile result. I believe that honesty is the most important thing in the world. A cynic might respond that its value comes from its exceeding scarcity. It is obvious to me why there is so much dishonesty: precisely because an automatic and healthy response has been replaced by a reflective one.
I am a teacher of teenagers, most of whom have been infected by the virus of doubt, just like the young Plato who was so fascinated by your method. When faced with a decision, a few of my students have no qualms: They choose to tell the truth and not deceive in any way. They do this without thinking, because this is what they have been taught from childhood is the right way, the only way, the traditional way, perhaps the religious way.
But for the rest of my students, it is a matter of calculation. They realize that there are many considerations, and the final conclusion is all about assigning them various weights. Thus, there is no predetermined outcome that favors honesty. How did this situation come about? All because these students, who include some of the brightest and most well-intentioned, have become aware of the assumptions that underlie the tendency to honesty. Sometimes, for instance, it is a belief in the word of God; but who is this God? Sometimes it is simply that it's the right thing to do; but what is that? Different people believe different things are right and wrong, so what authority has anyone's conviction on the matter? It is merely a feeling, or a habit caused by a particular upbringing. Etc.
While any one question that you may pose could be apt, the general practice undercuts the well-functioning of society. The seed of doubt has been planted, Pandora's box has been opened, the genie let out of the bottle -- we have many metaphors for what happens. No one can ever settle a question once it has been brought before the court of reason; everything becomes a "perennial problem." I conclude that morality is best left as it was, as something unquestioned.
-- Your prosecutor
Dear Prosecutor,
You have made a powerful case. I am almost ready to convict myself! But of course in the end I must disagree with you. What is curious is that I too favor the "old values." Perhaps the difference between you and me is that I have more faith in their hardiness. I believe that it is precisely Truth that can withstand questioning. Since we all are brought up in different ways and in different cultures and have individual life histories and natural propensities besides, we cannot rely on accustomed judgments to reach universal agreement and discernment of what is right. There must be vigorous and continual questioning of one another's (and of course one's own) assumptions.
Is this not the way science proceeds? Suppose a counterpart of yourself were to argue that questioning in science is inappropriate, damaging? Their argument could be analogous to yours: "Continual questioning disrupts the smooth-functioning of science. We know exactly how to proceed on, say, Newtonian principles to reach the stars. Let us not be endlessly sidetracked from reaching our destination by doubting the truth that has been handed down to us."
But of course we would never have any hope of reaching the stars in that way. Relativity becomes a factor that cannot be ignored on such long journeys. But if Einstein had not questioned the fundamental assumptions of Newton's notions of space and time, how many goals that we have since achieved would not have been achieved... indeed, in some cases not even conceived of as goals. I think you discount the analogous progress that has been made in morals while you focus on the unsettling questioning that midwifed it.
I would agree, however, that there is a right way and a wrong way to go about questioning and doubting. Sincerity has always been the key for me. If one employs the technique of dialectic purely for reasons of personal gain, or as a form of intellectual adornment, or just to score points in debate, then one has succumbed to sophistry. Philosophy is wholly different from that; its single aim is truth. When one observes excessive "calculating," as by young people in the sort of situation to which you allude, one suspects its employment is merely serving some short-term self-advantage. That is an unavoidable hazard of any innovation: witness the fire that Prometheus brought to us.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 53, November/December 2005
Dear Socrates,
I hate you. I know why they killed you. You believe you are a gadfly for the good of society, whose sting serves a greater good, but in fact you introduced a way of thinking into the world that has made life unlivable. "What did I do?" you might innocently inquire; "all I do is ask questions." Oh yes, but those questions are intended to expose the assumptions upon which all human knowledge is built, and you know full well that once that happens, there can be revolutionary consequences. "That too is for the better," you might reply; "if the foundation is rotted out, replace it with a sounder one to secure the future." But the problem is that there is no such thing as a sound foundation. According to you there must always be assumptions; hence the questioning never stops. The only thing that has been "secured," therefore, is your profession!
Meanwhile, society is left with perpetual uncertainty. Let me highlight just one example of the vile result. I believe that honesty is the most important thing in the world. A cynic might respond that its value comes from its exceeding scarcity. It is obvious to me why there is so much dishonesty: precisely because an automatic and healthy response has been replaced by a reflective one.
I am a teacher of teenagers, most of whom have been infected by the virus of doubt, just like the young Plato who was so fascinated by your method. When faced with a decision, a few of my students have no qualms: They choose to tell the truth and not deceive in any way. They do this without thinking, because this is what they have been taught from childhood is the right way, the only way, the traditional way, perhaps the religious way.
But for the rest of my students, it is a matter of calculation. They realize that there are many considerations, and the final conclusion is all about assigning them various weights. Thus, there is no predetermined outcome that favors honesty. How did this situation come about? All because these students, who include some of the brightest and most well-intentioned, have become aware of the assumptions that underlie the tendency to honesty. Sometimes, for instance, it is a belief in the word of God; but who is this God? Sometimes it is simply that it's the right thing to do; but what is that? Different people believe different things are right and wrong, so what authority has anyone's conviction on the matter? It is merely a feeling, or a habit caused by a particular upbringing. Etc.
While any one question that you may pose could be apt, the general practice undercuts the well-functioning of society. The seed of doubt has been planted, Pandora's box has been opened, the genie let out of the bottle -- we have many metaphors for what happens. No one can ever settle a question once it has been brought before the court of reason; everything becomes a "perennial problem." I conclude that morality is best left as it was, as something unquestioned.
-- Your prosecutor
Dear Prosecutor,
You have made a powerful case. I am almost ready to convict myself! But of course in the end I must disagree with you. What is curious is that I too favor the "old values." Perhaps the difference between you and me is that I have more faith in their hardiness. I believe that it is precisely Truth that can withstand questioning. Since we all are brought up in different ways and in different cultures and have individual life histories and natural propensities besides, we cannot rely on accustomed judgments to reach universal agreement and discernment of what is right. There must be vigorous and continual questioning of one another's (and of course one's own) assumptions.
Is this not the way science proceeds? Suppose a counterpart of yourself were to argue that questioning in science is inappropriate, damaging? Their argument could be analogous to yours: "Continual questioning disrupts the smooth-functioning of science. We know exactly how to proceed on, say, Newtonian principles to reach the stars. Let us not be endlessly sidetracked from reaching our destination by doubting the truth that has been handed down to us."
But of course we would never have any hope of reaching the stars in that way. Relativity becomes a factor that cannot be ignored on such long journeys. But if Einstein had not questioned the fundamental assumptions of Newton's notions of space and time, how many goals that we have since achieved would not have been achieved... indeed, in some cases not even conceived of as goals. I think you discount the analogous progress that has been made in morals while you focus on the unsettling questioning that midwifed it.
I would agree, however, that there is a right way and a wrong way to go about questioning and doubting. Sincerity has always been the key for me. If one employs the technique of dialectic purely for reasons of personal gain, or as a form of intellectual adornment, or just to score points in debate, then one has succumbed to sophistry. Philosophy is wholly different from that; its single aim is truth. When one observes excessive "calculating," as by young people in the sort of situation to which you allude, one suspects its employment is merely serving some short-term self-advantage. That is an unavoidable hazard of any innovation: witness the fire that Prometheus brought to us.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Communication in Dialogue
Copyright © 2006 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 54, February/March 2006
Dear Socrates,
Can you please tell me if you have had any influence on post-Socratic philosophers, and, if so, how did you influence them and their thought?
Thank you,
Melissa from Cincinnati
Dear Melissa,
Since I myself am now a post-Socratic philosopher, I would have to say that I have had a very great influence on at least one. But seriously, I am pleased to see that many philosophers have accepted the idea of dialogue as their method of doing business. I am much less concerned about whether they accept any of my doctrines ... if I even had any. Plato seems to have been in the habit of attributing many of his to me. Mainly I would question other people's doctrines, or their very doctrinairism.
Did the notion of dialogue come from me? I may have given the practice a certain twist and emphasis that have made the difference. I believe that dialogue is the royal road to knowledge, but this is only because it engenders a hearty and healthy awareness of one's own (and others') ignorance at every step of the way. Perhaps "wisdom" is the better word for the attainment, therefore; however, I would also like to think that there is such a thing as knowledge, so long as it makes no pretensions to certainty.
What exactly is dialogue? How does one go about it? My practice is just to go to the AGORA, or nowadays more likely into a room, and start talking with whoever happens to be there. It does not matter what the subject is. It does not matter at all how brilliant, or stupid, the opening remark may be or sound (mine or the other person's), or how clear or fuzzy our respective views on the matter at hand. All of that will get sorted out and ironed out as the discussion proceeds. Refinement of thought and argument is itself one of the products of dialogue, for both parties. This may in the end count for more than any agreement or conclusion they may happen to reach. (Notice also, then, that I am not talking about DEBATE, which is not a discussion but a contest; debate is really triadic since it implicitly involves appealing to a third party, the audience or judge.)
What happens next, I find, is a long period of communicating. It is not only that my interlocutor and I are exchanging information; we must first become oriented to each other. More: It is two different WORLDS mutually adjusting to each other. More: It is the discovery of a NEW world (the one that is inhabited by one's interlocutor). Despite any outward appearances to the contrary -- for example, same race, nationality, religion, language -- that other person is as different from you as if he or she WERE of a different race, nationality, or religion, or were speaking a different language or, indeed, came from a different planet.
I cannot stress this point too much. Any two people are talking to each other across a huge gulf. It is so wide that they often do not even hear each other. DO YOU HEAR ME? So in dialogue we are at first just checking in with each other. We have to find out how much we actually do understand of what the other person is saying. Unfortunately most people miss this. How often I have been considered uncouth when I am simply trying to understand, or make sure that I understand, what the other person is telling me. I may also appear to be stupid, when in fact I am painfully aware of ambiguities in what anybody ever says to me. But if the other person is unaware of those ambiguities, he will simply think me impertinent for questioning his meaning.
The complementary problem is that often my interlocutor will not question ME to make sure she understands what I am saying. I am just as aware of ambiguities in my own speech as in other people's. Therefore I try to refine my speech, and keep querying the other person to see if she follows what I am saying. I wish, however, the other person would perform that task for herself by questioning me for clarification, as I question her. But she cannot do that if she is unaware of her own ignorance (that is, of the ambiguity in MY speech). So here again, the other person usually assumes right off that she knows what I am saying and hence not only refrains from seeking clarification but also views my efforts to articulate as tedious if not insulting to her intelligence.
For those who understand the process, the give-and-take of dialogue can be sublime ... at the very least, enjoyable and enlightening. Who better than someone who does not share your most basic assumptions to be able to point them out to you? One may be virtually blind to one’s own assumptions, not to mention their possible shortcomings. In science, for example, breakthroughs in a given field are commonly brought about by somebody who is new to that field. But since most people do not understand the dialogic process, there are perils for the one who would engage in it that arise from the defensiveness of others.
The beauty of dialogue as a learning mechanism is, simply put, that two heads are better than one. (Note, by the way, that I do not say that dialogue is a TEACHING mechanism, since in this process both participants are learners, who are helping each other to learn by participating in the process. This is why I have always denied that I am a teacher.) The "two heads" enhance learning twofold. For not only does each person have the direct advantage of hearing new ideas from the other person, and also of receiving critiques of one's own ideas from a different perspective and basis of experience, but one is also stimulated thereby to generate new ideas of one's own. These are distinct sources of novelty that augment and improve one's thinking.
As ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 54, February/March 2006
Dear Socrates,
Can you please tell me if you have had any influence on post-Socratic philosophers, and, if so, how did you influence them and their thought?
Thank you,
Melissa from Cincinnati
Dear Melissa,
Since I myself am now a post-Socratic philosopher, I would have to say that I have had a very great influence on at least one. But seriously, I am pleased to see that many philosophers have accepted the idea of dialogue as their method of doing business. I am much less concerned about whether they accept any of my doctrines ... if I even had any. Plato seems to have been in the habit of attributing many of his to me. Mainly I would question other people's doctrines, or their very doctrinairism.
Did the notion of dialogue come from me? I may have given the practice a certain twist and emphasis that have made the difference. I believe that dialogue is the royal road to knowledge, but this is only because it engenders a hearty and healthy awareness of one's own (and others') ignorance at every step of the way. Perhaps "wisdom" is the better word for the attainment, therefore; however, I would also like to think that there is such a thing as knowledge, so long as it makes no pretensions to certainty.
What exactly is dialogue? How does one go about it? My practice is just to go to the AGORA, or nowadays more likely into a room, and start talking with whoever happens to be there. It does not matter what the subject is. It does not matter at all how brilliant, or stupid, the opening remark may be or sound (mine or the other person's), or how clear or fuzzy our respective views on the matter at hand. All of that will get sorted out and ironed out as the discussion proceeds. Refinement of thought and argument is itself one of the products of dialogue, for both parties. This may in the end count for more than any agreement or conclusion they may happen to reach. (Notice also, then, that I am not talking about DEBATE, which is not a discussion but a contest; debate is really triadic since it implicitly involves appealing to a third party, the audience or judge.)
What happens next, I find, is a long period of communicating. It is not only that my interlocutor and I are exchanging information; we must first become oriented to each other. More: It is two different WORLDS mutually adjusting to each other. More: It is the discovery of a NEW world (the one that is inhabited by one's interlocutor). Despite any outward appearances to the contrary -- for example, same race, nationality, religion, language -- that other person is as different from you as if he or she WERE of a different race, nationality, or religion, or were speaking a different language or, indeed, came from a different planet.
I cannot stress this point too much. Any two people are talking to each other across a huge gulf. It is so wide that they often do not even hear each other. DO YOU HEAR ME? So in dialogue we are at first just checking in with each other. We have to find out how much we actually do understand of what the other person is saying. Unfortunately most people miss this. How often I have been considered uncouth when I am simply trying to understand, or make sure that I understand, what the other person is telling me. I may also appear to be stupid, when in fact I am painfully aware of ambiguities in what anybody ever says to me. But if the other person is unaware of those ambiguities, he will simply think me impertinent for questioning his meaning.
The complementary problem is that often my interlocutor will not question ME to make sure she understands what I am saying. I am just as aware of ambiguities in my own speech as in other people's. Therefore I try to refine my speech, and keep querying the other person to see if she follows what I am saying. I wish, however, the other person would perform that task for herself by questioning me for clarification, as I question her. But she cannot do that if she is unaware of her own ignorance (that is, of the ambiguity in MY speech). So here again, the other person usually assumes right off that she knows what I am saying and hence not only refrains from seeking clarification but also views my efforts to articulate as tedious if not insulting to her intelligence.
For those who understand the process, the give-and-take of dialogue can be sublime ... at the very least, enjoyable and enlightening. Who better than someone who does not share your most basic assumptions to be able to point them out to you? One may be virtually blind to one’s own assumptions, not to mention their possible shortcomings. In science, for example, breakthroughs in a given field are commonly brought about by somebody who is new to that field. But since most people do not understand the dialogic process, there are perils for the one who would engage in it that arise from the defensiveness of others.
The beauty of dialogue as a learning mechanism is, simply put, that two heads are better than one. (Note, by the way, that I do not say that dialogue is a TEACHING mechanism, since in this process both participants are learners, who are helping each other to learn by participating in the process. This is why I have always denied that I am a teacher.) The "two heads" enhance learning twofold. For not only does each person have the direct advantage of hearing new ideas from the other person, and also of receiving critiques of one's own ideas from a different perspective and basis of experience, but one is also stimulated thereby to generate new ideas of one's own. These are distinct sources of novelty that augment and improve one's thinking.
As ever,
Socrates
Truth and Beauty
Copyright © 2007 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 60, March/April 2007
Dear Socrates,
Occasionally you have taken a swipe at religious beliefs, both in your previous incarnation in ancient Athens and now again in the Twenty-first Century. You marvel that even in an advanced scientific culture such as ours most people still give literal credence to what you take to be fables, however edifying. I find herein a touch of irony, however, coming from you, as your own death was the very paradigm of the martyr’s death and could well have been a conscious model for the death of the Christian saviour; and yet in your resurrection you are skeptical of His! Well, I was wondering if since your return you have come across the writings of C.S. Lewis, whose manner of Christian apology is compelling and very much in your style of argumentation.
Respectfully,
A. Theist
Dear A.,
I have indeed been captivated by Lewis’s work. I see the appeal, without question. He was a stylist and a rhetorician par excellence, by which I mean his writing is extremely persuasive, no doubt even to himself. There is also much solid good sense underlying what he says … but also nonsense. Teasing these apart became an intriguing task for me, but I think I have hit upon the difference.
The Eureka moment came when I was reading his book Mere Christianity. It is a wonderful book from start to finish, and part of the wonder for me was that I myself was being lulled into an acceptance of its message. But when I got to the short chapter entitled “Time and Beyond Time,” I suddenly realized what was going on. Lewis therein takes upon himself the task of explaining how God could be attentive to all of our prayers when there are likely millions of them going on at each moment. Now, the very posing of the question made me think at once of your modern myth of Santa Claus, who visits every household on Earth on a single night of the year. And of course the similarity between these conceptions is probably not a coincidence. In the case of Santa Claus, however, you all outgrow any literal belief in such a person who peruses your list of gift requests; but – and this never ceases to amaze me – most adults apparently do not outgrow the belief that Somebody is listening to their litany of petitions for succor.
Despite my skepticism, within the course of a few pages I was left agape with silent admiration. Lewis reviews the notion of a God who lives outside of Time, familiar enough in theology, but now invokes it ingeniously to account for the possibility of God’s omni-attention. For the multitudinous simultaneity would only be an issue for a deity who lived within Time, since even if he lived forever, there would still seem to be an eternal backlog, which would hardly do us finite creatures any good. It is like this joke somebody sent me from the Internet:
A poor man walking in the forest feels close enough to God to ask, "God, what is a million years to you?"
God replies, "My son, a million years to you is like a second to me."
The man asks, "God, what is a million dollars to you?"
God replies, "My son, a million dollars to you is less than a penny to me. It means almost nothing to me."
The man asks, "So God, can I have a million dollars?"
And God replies, "In a second."
But it appeared that Lewis had dispelled this difficulty by noting God’s atemporal situation, which would give Him virtually infinite time to consider and respond to each and every entreaty in timely fashion.
Then it struck me: This is an excellent story, as it were, but that does not make it true. Indeed, its excellence does not even lend it a shred of corroboration. And herein lies the difference between a scientific, and I daresay rational, approach, and one based on credulousness. For the former relies upon evidence to credit a hypothesis that is otherwise pleasing or acceptable, whereas the latter beguiles by the attractiveness of the hypothesis alone, either as wish-fulfillment or else intrinsically or one might say aesthetically.
It is interesting that the distinction can be found even in science itself. For example, I gather at least until very recently most physicists have looked upon string theory as merely attractive, perhaps for its mathematical elegance and/or comprehensive scope encompassing all the known forces of nature. But what was wanting and even seemed forever elusive was some way to test it. Admittedly there does also seem to be a strong aesthetic component to being an acceptable physical theory, but I doubt if the beauty of a physical theory would ever be considered sufficient to deem it true or even probable (except in the question-begging sense of being beautiful or pleasing precisely because it best fits the facts). In other words, I don’t know that any scientist has ever made the meta-physical proposal that the most beautiful theory must be the true one.
As ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 60, March/April 2007
Dear Socrates,
Occasionally you have taken a swipe at religious beliefs, both in your previous incarnation in ancient Athens and now again in the Twenty-first Century. You marvel that even in an advanced scientific culture such as ours most people still give literal credence to what you take to be fables, however edifying. I find herein a touch of irony, however, coming from you, as your own death was the very paradigm of the martyr’s death and could well have been a conscious model for the death of the Christian saviour; and yet in your resurrection you are skeptical of His! Well, I was wondering if since your return you have come across the writings of C.S. Lewis, whose manner of Christian apology is compelling and very much in your style of argumentation.
Respectfully,
A. Theist
Dear A.,
I have indeed been captivated by Lewis’s work. I see the appeal, without question. He was a stylist and a rhetorician par excellence, by which I mean his writing is extremely persuasive, no doubt even to himself. There is also much solid good sense underlying what he says … but also nonsense. Teasing these apart became an intriguing task for me, but I think I have hit upon the difference.
The Eureka moment came when I was reading his book Mere Christianity. It is a wonderful book from start to finish, and part of the wonder for me was that I myself was being lulled into an acceptance of its message. But when I got to the short chapter entitled “Time and Beyond Time,” I suddenly realized what was going on. Lewis therein takes upon himself the task of explaining how God could be attentive to all of our prayers when there are likely millions of them going on at each moment. Now, the very posing of the question made me think at once of your modern myth of Santa Claus, who visits every household on Earth on a single night of the year. And of course the similarity between these conceptions is probably not a coincidence. In the case of Santa Claus, however, you all outgrow any literal belief in such a person who peruses your list of gift requests; but – and this never ceases to amaze me – most adults apparently do not outgrow the belief that Somebody is listening to their litany of petitions for succor.
Despite my skepticism, within the course of a few pages I was left agape with silent admiration. Lewis reviews the notion of a God who lives outside of Time, familiar enough in theology, but now invokes it ingeniously to account for the possibility of God’s omni-attention. For the multitudinous simultaneity would only be an issue for a deity who lived within Time, since even if he lived forever, there would still seem to be an eternal backlog, which would hardly do us finite creatures any good. It is like this joke somebody sent me from the Internet:
A poor man walking in the forest feels close enough to God to ask, "God, what is a million years to you?"
God replies, "My son, a million years to you is like a second to me."
The man asks, "God, what is a million dollars to you?"
God replies, "My son, a million dollars to you is less than a penny to me. It means almost nothing to me."
The man asks, "So God, can I have a million dollars?"
And God replies, "In a second."
But it appeared that Lewis had dispelled this difficulty by noting God’s atemporal situation, which would give Him virtually infinite time to consider and respond to each and every entreaty in timely fashion.
Then it struck me: This is an excellent story, as it were, but that does not make it true. Indeed, its excellence does not even lend it a shred of corroboration. And herein lies the difference between a scientific, and I daresay rational, approach, and one based on credulousness. For the former relies upon evidence to credit a hypothesis that is otherwise pleasing or acceptable, whereas the latter beguiles by the attractiveness of the hypothesis alone, either as wish-fulfillment or else intrinsically or one might say aesthetically.
It is interesting that the distinction can be found even in science itself. For example, I gather at least until very recently most physicists have looked upon string theory as merely attractive, perhaps for its mathematical elegance and/or comprehensive scope encompassing all the known forces of nature. But what was wanting and even seemed forever elusive was some way to test it. Admittedly there does also seem to be a strong aesthetic component to being an acceptable physical theory, but I doubt if the beauty of a physical theory would ever be considered sufficient to deem it true or even probable (except in the question-begging sense of being beautiful or pleasing precisely because it best fits the facts). In other words, I don’t know that any scientist has ever made the meta-physical proposal that the most beautiful theory must be the true one.
As ever,
Socrates
Evidence for God
Copyright © 2007 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 64, November/December 2007
Dear Socrates,
On a previous occasion you replied to my recommendation to read C.S. Lewis, the Christian apologist, by damning him with praise. You deemed him an excellent rhetorician or story-teller but found his theological claims to be unsupported by evidence. Let me try again. Have you heard of Catherine Galasso-Vigorito? She is a syndicated columnist in America, who writes an inspirational feature called “A New You” about matters of the spirit. Like Lewis she writes persuasively, but she goes out of her way to stay down to earth and provide homely examples to buttress her claims. Would you take a look and tell me what you think?
Gratefully,
A. Theist
Dear A.,
I took a look, and I’ll give you my take. Here is a running commentary on excerpts from her column of December 14, 2006, entitled, “God has been faithful before and will be again.”
God has been faithful before and he will be again. And I thank him, for he knows what’s best and is always on time. … When God doesn’t answer our prayers when we want him to, we can be sure the waiting period is for our greater good. He is working by day and by night. We may not yet see the results, but in the time of waiting, he is preparing us for something better.
Note the transition from something which has been true in the past to a claim that it will always be so in the future as well. There is a double leap of inference here. First is the everyday so-called inductive assurance that “past experience” is a reliable guide to the future. But your society is now methodologically sophisticated enough to question that, for example, in the legal disclaimer in stock offerings that “Past performance is no guarantee of future results.” But G-V goes further and asserts that some positive past experiences she has had guarantee that everything will work out for the best (presumably including all past experiences which have not yet panned out that way).
What I find intriguing about this double leap is the way it mimics sound scientific reasoning. Look it at this way: Suppose G-V’s hypothesis were that prayers – or we could just say wishes – will sometimes be “answered” in the future. Here there would be evidence that logically supported her conclusion, at least with some degree of probability: Since some things have gone her way in the past, so some things are likely to turn out well in the future. Now take her actual hypothesis, namely, that all prayers will be answered in the best way and at the best time. The curious thing is that the very same evidence supports that hypothesis too! But the explanation is that the hypothesis is not a scientific one, for no conceivable evidence could ever prove it false. Innocent people tumbling out of exploding airplanes, genocides, world wars, children having their limbs hacked off by sadistic mercenaries – absolutely nothing could count as establishing that there won’t in due time be sufficient recompense, if only in the Hereafter. Such a way of argument, I submit, cannot be taken seriously.
Setbacks or delays can be an opportunity to develop our faith and our character.
True enough. This column contains several snippets of sound advice … but any logical connection to the main thesis is obscure (to put it nicely). This is the standard tactic of anybody who is trying to sell us something, whether it be a product or an idea, or to win our vote. “It is important to have a good breakfast. [True.] Therefore buy Sugar Cereal. [Huh?]” “Children should be brought up in a secure, family environment. [True.] Therefore ban adoption by homosexuals. [Huh?]” “It is beneficial to learn how to deal with disappointments and look forward to a better day. [True.] Therefore God exists and answers all of our prayers [Huh?]”
If we use our memory to remember our hurts and failures, let’s change it to remember the sweet and beautiful things in our life. … Let us saturate our mind with faith-filled thoughts and words, declaring good things and speaking words of faith and victory over our future.
Here the column has taken a most fascinating turn. It in effect divulges its own strategy to us: Focus only on the positive and the hopeful and forget the rest. Again, this can be good advice. However, there is a fine line between following it and delusion. Once again a faulty inference can be cited, this time the following:
It can be healthy and helpful to focus on the positive; therefore there is no negative.
Let me admit to admiring Catherine Galasso-Vigorito as a persuasive and inspiring writer. I think her columns make many people feel better during difficult times; I myself am uplifted by her writing when I allow my critical scruples to subside. But as I have written before in my columns: if I must choose between happiness and rationality, I will choose the latter … unless rationality can persuade me otherwise!
As ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 64, November/December 2007
Dear Socrates,
On a previous occasion you replied to my recommendation to read C.S. Lewis, the Christian apologist, by damning him with praise. You deemed him an excellent rhetorician or story-teller but found his theological claims to be unsupported by evidence. Let me try again. Have you heard of Catherine Galasso-Vigorito? She is a syndicated columnist in America, who writes an inspirational feature called “A New You” about matters of the spirit. Like Lewis she writes persuasively, but she goes out of her way to stay down to earth and provide homely examples to buttress her claims. Would you take a look and tell me what you think?
Gratefully,
A. Theist
Dear A.,
I took a look, and I’ll give you my take. Here is a running commentary on excerpts from her column of December 14, 2006, entitled, “God has been faithful before and will be again.”
God has been faithful before and he will be again. And I thank him, for he knows what’s best and is always on time. … When God doesn’t answer our prayers when we want him to, we can be sure the waiting period is for our greater good. He is working by day and by night. We may not yet see the results, but in the time of waiting, he is preparing us for something better.
Note the transition from something which has been true in the past to a claim that it will always be so in the future as well. There is a double leap of inference here. First is the everyday so-called inductive assurance that “past experience” is a reliable guide to the future. But your society is now methodologically sophisticated enough to question that, for example, in the legal disclaimer in stock offerings that “Past performance is no guarantee of future results.” But G-V goes further and asserts that some positive past experiences she has had guarantee that everything will work out for the best (presumably including all past experiences which have not yet panned out that way).
What I find intriguing about this double leap is the way it mimics sound scientific reasoning. Look it at this way: Suppose G-V’s hypothesis were that prayers – or we could just say wishes – will sometimes be “answered” in the future. Here there would be evidence that logically supported her conclusion, at least with some degree of probability: Since some things have gone her way in the past, so some things are likely to turn out well in the future. Now take her actual hypothesis, namely, that all prayers will be answered in the best way and at the best time. The curious thing is that the very same evidence supports that hypothesis too! But the explanation is that the hypothesis is not a scientific one, for no conceivable evidence could ever prove it false. Innocent people tumbling out of exploding airplanes, genocides, world wars, children having their limbs hacked off by sadistic mercenaries – absolutely nothing could count as establishing that there won’t in due time be sufficient recompense, if only in the Hereafter. Such a way of argument, I submit, cannot be taken seriously.
Setbacks or delays can be an opportunity to develop our faith and our character.
True enough. This column contains several snippets of sound advice … but any logical connection to the main thesis is obscure (to put it nicely). This is the standard tactic of anybody who is trying to sell us something, whether it be a product or an idea, or to win our vote. “It is important to have a good breakfast. [True.] Therefore buy Sugar Cereal. [Huh?]” “Children should be brought up in a secure, family environment. [True.] Therefore ban adoption by homosexuals. [Huh?]” “It is beneficial to learn how to deal with disappointments and look forward to a better day. [True.] Therefore God exists and answers all of our prayers [Huh?]”
If we use our memory to remember our hurts and failures, let’s change it to remember the sweet and beautiful things in our life. … Let us saturate our mind with faith-filled thoughts and words, declaring good things and speaking words of faith and victory over our future.
Here the column has taken a most fascinating turn. It in effect divulges its own strategy to us: Focus only on the positive and the hopeful and forget the rest. Again, this can be good advice. However, there is a fine line between following it and delusion. Once again a faulty inference can be cited, this time the following:
It can be healthy and helpful to focus on the positive; therefore there is no negative.
Let me admit to admiring Catherine Galasso-Vigorito as a persuasive and inspiring writer. I think her columns make many people feel better during difficult times; I myself am uplifted by her writing when I allow my critical scruples to subside. But as I have written before in my columns: if I must choose between happiness and rationality, I will choose the latter … unless rationality can persuade me otherwise!
As ever,
Socrates
Reason and Religion
Copyright © 2008 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 68, July/August 2008
Dear Socrates,
You know the idea associated with Dostoevsky that without God, anything is permissible, or as I once put it myself, “There is no virtue if there is no immortality.” Since you always claim to be concerned about virtue and the soul, why, then, are you so down on religion?
Yours,
Ivan
Dear Ivan,
As I have indicated several times in this column, I am not “down” on religion as such but only when it presumes to be opposed to philosophy. What do I mean by philosophy? Very simply, rational inquiry. Thus, it is only when religion resists rationality that I resist religion.
And why do I place so much importance on rationality? Because it is the most trustworthy guide to truth of which I am aware. Thus, it is really truth to which I profess allegiance, and this compels me to be faithful to rationality in turn.
Ivan replies:
But religion does not resist rationality, Socrates. It bases its conclusions on its own premises, that is all. You may disagree with some of those premises, but that does not mean that they are false or that the conclusions do not follow from them.
Socrates replies:
You are right about that, Ivan. However, what I mean by rationality is not only the giving of arguments but also engagement in dialectic. In other words, one must be prepared to defend one’s premises as well as one’s conclusions in light of criticisms by others. True rationality takes place in a context of dialogue, which means that one’s arguments must find acceptance in the minds of one’s interlocutors. Discussion occurs in a public space, as it were, literally or figuratively like the agora where I plied my ancient trade of philosophy.
Ivan replies:
But doesn’t that work both ways, Socrates? That is, your premises must appeal to your interlocutors too. But clearly in the case of religion there is not always going to be a meeting of the minds about the most fundamental assumptions, such as the existence of God. Yet often I find that the conclusions of disputants are fairly consonant, as in the matter of esteeming virtue, which religious and non-religious people hold in common. So why even worry about arguments and fundamental assumptions?
Socrates replies:
Would that were so, my dear Ivan. But I think you will find that there are disagreements at all levels. And this is precisely why I cannot abide irrationality, for there is always more at stake than any particular argument or issue. Thus, even if I approved someone’s conclusion but their reasoning were defective, the ground would have been laid for future disagreement and error.
Here is an example. I recently came across the following statement: “All animals have an irreducible worth because God created them.” This is a stirring assertion, and furthermore it tends to support a position that I myself favor, namely, respect for all living things. However, as an argument it is utterly deficient. First of all its logic is suspect: what does being created by God have to do with something’s “worth”? Indeed the very meaning of the assertion is obscure: what is “worth,” not to mention “irreducible worth,” that is, what specific and concrete consequences for our treatment of other animals are implied?
But let us suppose that all of that can be explained by the arguer. We are still left with the bald assertion that God created all animals. Here again at a minimum we require further explanation, for the truth-value or plausiblity of the assertion can vary vastly depending on its meaning. For instance, if it is meant to imply that the Biblical Creation story is to be taken literally, such that all existing species came into existence “in the beginning” without subsequent evolution, then an educated person today would simply lose interest in the argument.
If the assertion has a more flexible interpretation, allowing for the possiblity of biological evolution, it still begs for justification: on what basis would we accept the claim that God created all animals? Have we even established that God exists? Obviously this won’t wash if one’s interlocutor is an athiest or agnostic. But if the arguer were to reply, “My argument is only for believers,” then it sounds to me more like rhetoric than argument and is not truly rational. A real philosopher must be prepared to take on all comers.
But again, why does any of this matter? So a religious arguer may not be a philosopher: so what? As I suggested before, there can be practical upshots. For example, if the religious argument about animals were accepted on the basis of uncritical faith in the literal veridicality of the Bible, then on some other occasion the same basis could be, and has been, used to justify the mistreatment of animals, not to mention the mistreatment of humans, including slavery, bigotry, you-name-it.
I must admit that sometimes the whole tenor of religious argumentation astonishes me. Let us return to your reference to the importance of immortality for morality. In an interview in a newsweekly magazine, a prominent religio made the following admission: "If death is the end, shoot, I'm not going to waste another minute being altruistic." Now, however disarmingly modest that statement may seem to be to many people, it struck me as an indictment of this person’s virtue and, in fact, religiosity. But I don’t believe his self-assessment is even true. More essentially, the psychology it presumes is false. There is every good, empirical reason to believe that human beings are as innately altruistic as they are innately selfish, both from observation of how we behave and from theory of how our behavior evolved.
But my examples are merely of bad religious arguments. They do not show that religion is of necessity irrational. There can be bad philosophical arguments too. Therefore I recommit myself to truth and reason and welcome religion to the dialogue.
As ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 68, July/August 2008
Dear Socrates,
You know the idea associated with Dostoevsky that without God, anything is permissible, or as I once put it myself, “There is no virtue if there is no immortality.” Since you always claim to be concerned about virtue and the soul, why, then, are you so down on religion?
Yours,
Ivan
Dear Ivan,
As I have indicated several times in this column, I am not “down” on religion as such but only when it presumes to be opposed to philosophy. What do I mean by philosophy? Very simply, rational inquiry. Thus, it is only when religion resists rationality that I resist religion.
And why do I place so much importance on rationality? Because it is the most trustworthy guide to truth of which I am aware. Thus, it is really truth to which I profess allegiance, and this compels me to be faithful to rationality in turn.
Ivan replies:
But religion does not resist rationality, Socrates. It bases its conclusions on its own premises, that is all. You may disagree with some of those premises, but that does not mean that they are false or that the conclusions do not follow from them.
Socrates replies:
You are right about that, Ivan. However, what I mean by rationality is not only the giving of arguments but also engagement in dialectic. In other words, one must be prepared to defend one’s premises as well as one’s conclusions in light of criticisms by others. True rationality takes place in a context of dialogue, which means that one’s arguments must find acceptance in the minds of one’s interlocutors. Discussion occurs in a public space, as it were, literally or figuratively like the agora where I plied my ancient trade of philosophy.
Ivan replies:
But doesn’t that work both ways, Socrates? That is, your premises must appeal to your interlocutors too. But clearly in the case of religion there is not always going to be a meeting of the minds about the most fundamental assumptions, such as the existence of God. Yet often I find that the conclusions of disputants are fairly consonant, as in the matter of esteeming virtue, which religious and non-religious people hold in common. So why even worry about arguments and fundamental assumptions?
Socrates replies:
Would that were so, my dear Ivan. But I think you will find that there are disagreements at all levels. And this is precisely why I cannot abide irrationality, for there is always more at stake than any particular argument or issue. Thus, even if I approved someone’s conclusion but their reasoning were defective, the ground would have been laid for future disagreement and error.
Here is an example. I recently came across the following statement: “All animals have an irreducible worth because God created them.” This is a stirring assertion, and furthermore it tends to support a position that I myself favor, namely, respect for all living things. However, as an argument it is utterly deficient. First of all its logic is suspect: what does being created by God have to do with something’s “worth”? Indeed the very meaning of the assertion is obscure: what is “worth,” not to mention “irreducible worth,” that is, what specific and concrete consequences for our treatment of other animals are implied?
But let us suppose that all of that can be explained by the arguer. We are still left with the bald assertion that God created all animals. Here again at a minimum we require further explanation, for the truth-value or plausiblity of the assertion can vary vastly depending on its meaning. For instance, if it is meant to imply that the Biblical Creation story is to be taken literally, such that all existing species came into existence “in the beginning” without subsequent evolution, then an educated person today would simply lose interest in the argument.
If the assertion has a more flexible interpretation, allowing for the possiblity of biological evolution, it still begs for justification: on what basis would we accept the claim that God created all animals? Have we even established that God exists? Obviously this won’t wash if one’s interlocutor is an athiest or agnostic. But if the arguer were to reply, “My argument is only for believers,” then it sounds to me more like rhetoric than argument and is not truly rational. A real philosopher must be prepared to take on all comers.
But again, why does any of this matter? So a religious arguer may not be a philosopher: so what? As I suggested before, there can be practical upshots. For example, if the religious argument about animals were accepted on the basis of uncritical faith in the literal veridicality of the Bible, then on some other occasion the same basis could be, and has been, used to justify the mistreatment of animals, not to mention the mistreatment of humans, including slavery, bigotry, you-name-it.
I must admit that sometimes the whole tenor of religious argumentation astonishes me. Let us return to your reference to the importance of immortality for morality. In an interview in a newsweekly magazine, a prominent religio made the following admission: "If death is the end, shoot, I'm not going to waste another minute being altruistic." Now, however disarmingly modest that statement may seem to be to many people, it struck me as an indictment of this person’s virtue and, in fact, religiosity. But I don’t believe his self-assessment is even true. More essentially, the psychology it presumes is false. There is every good, empirical reason to believe that human beings are as innately altruistic as they are innately selfish, both from observation of how we behave and from theory of how our behavior evolved.
But my examples are merely of bad religious arguments. They do not show that religion is of necessity irrational. There can be bad philosophical arguments too. Therefore I recommit myself to truth and reason and welcome religion to the dialogue.
As ever,
Socrates
Motivation and Arguments
Copyright © 2008 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 69, September/October 2008
Dear Socrates,
In your last column you argued that you were not antagonistic to religion but only to bad religious argumentation. You claimed to welcome religion into the dialectical fold, asking only that it be prepared to defend its premises, like any good interlocutor or philosopher. But I think you were being disingenuous, Socrates. It is no more possible for religion to defend its fundamental premises or assumptions than for you to defend yours. There simply is not time enough to conduct such a dialogue.
In the real world we argue and debate about issues that can be resolved without questioning our deepest beliefs. More precisely I should say: people argue fruitfully only about such issues. Otherwise we are just venting steam to no good effect, or at least to no good rational effect, since of course rhetorical displays can be effective in other ways. But if you are interested in persuasion via logic and evidence alone, then do not pretend to engage people at the level of their worldviews, for these are not likely to change.
Thus, you said you were happy to entertain an argument one of whose premises was, “If the Bible says it’s so, then it’s so,” so long as the arguer were willing to accept the burden of convincing you, a Biblical skeptic, of the truth of that premise. Now, whether or not such an outcome is even imaginable, it would at the very least require more days to accomplish than you have remaining in your reincarnated life. That is why the public space or agora of which you spoke requires that certain questions be bracketed and certain premises placed out of bounds. For it is idle to base arguments about questions requiring timely resolution on premises that your audience or interlocutor would never accept.
I conclude that your seemingly innocent complaint against only bad religious argumentation is actually your clever way of ruling religion itself out of bounds as irrational. For any attempt by a religious arguer to close the debate on a question would be greeted by you as premature and question-begging; yet the only alternative you have to offer is indefinitely prolonged dialogue, which is the same as postponing the possibility of your opponent’s victory forever.
Sincerely,
Bryan
Dear Bryan,
You make an interesting criticism. I think you are quite right that realistic debate in the public forum must sidestep examining fundamental questions if a resolution is ever to be reached. But does that relegate rationality and philosophy to the sidelines? I think not. For one can still strive to base one’s arguments on premises that are wholly acceptable to all.
I often feel that an explicitly religious premise in an argument is not doing any work anyway. For example, suppose a religious person were arguing for greater public services for immigrants and cited the Golden Rule. Instead of saying, “For Jesus said that as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise,” the argument could just as well be, “For we should do unto others as we would have them do unto us.” There is no reason to insist that Jesus said it or at least that it is true because Jesus said it. In other words, a secular person may just as readily accept the truth of the Golden Rule no matter whether it was uttered by Jesus or Confucius or Gautama Buddha or Madalyn Murray O'Hair or her Uncle Moshe. Therefore there need be no haggling over the truth of the premises if all parties agree on them, even though the bases for their belief might be different.
Bryan replies:
But Socrates, doesn’t that directly contradict your assertion in the previous column? I quote: “this is precisely why I cannot abide irrationality, for there is always more at stake than any particular argument or issue. Thus, even if I approved someone’s conclusion but their reasoning were defective, the ground would have been laid for future disagreement and error.” And surely you believe their reasoning is defective if their argument contains a premise that is supported by falsehood or illogic.
Socrates replies:
A very fine point, my friend. Let me make it finer. Since any argument is capable of being pushed back forever, simply by questioning the grounds of the premises, it must be understood that a kind of logical truce is mandated even in the most rational dialogue. The terms of this truce are simply that one need not argue beyond the point of agreement with one’s interlocutor or doubter, provided of course one has not handpicked one’s interlocutor(s) but exposed one’s argument to genuinely widespread scrutiny. And of course one should also be careful to avoid equivocation and be sure that the premises on which there is apparent agreement have the same meaning for both parties; but having established that, so long as they are all accepted as true and the logic of the inference to the conclusion is valid, the case is closed. Thus rationality does partake of pragmatism to this extent.
Bryan replies:
Even so, Socrates, aren’t you in effect banning religion from public and hence rational discourse in your seemingly benign way of restricting the premises to those on which all can agree? Because by definition they would have to be secular to enable the secularist to agree with them.
Socrates replies:
I don’t think so, Bryan, because I still welcome my religious interlocutor to be motivated by explicitly religious concerns. Thus in the example, she may cite and believe in the Golden Rule solely because she believes Jesus uttered it; all I ask is that that fact be omitted from the argument, just as I should omit my own reason for accepting the Golden Rule. In fact I might not even have one, since the Rule might simply strike me as obvious, and only because, unremembered by me, it was taught to me in my youth by my atheist grandmother!
As ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 69, September/October 2008
Dear Socrates,
In your last column you argued that you were not antagonistic to religion but only to bad religious argumentation. You claimed to welcome religion into the dialectical fold, asking only that it be prepared to defend its premises, like any good interlocutor or philosopher. But I think you were being disingenuous, Socrates. It is no more possible for religion to defend its fundamental premises or assumptions than for you to defend yours. There simply is not time enough to conduct such a dialogue.
In the real world we argue and debate about issues that can be resolved without questioning our deepest beliefs. More precisely I should say: people argue fruitfully only about such issues. Otherwise we are just venting steam to no good effect, or at least to no good rational effect, since of course rhetorical displays can be effective in other ways. But if you are interested in persuasion via logic and evidence alone, then do not pretend to engage people at the level of their worldviews, for these are not likely to change.
Thus, you said you were happy to entertain an argument one of whose premises was, “If the Bible says it’s so, then it’s so,” so long as the arguer were willing to accept the burden of convincing you, a Biblical skeptic, of the truth of that premise. Now, whether or not such an outcome is even imaginable, it would at the very least require more days to accomplish than you have remaining in your reincarnated life. That is why the public space or agora of which you spoke requires that certain questions be bracketed and certain premises placed out of bounds. For it is idle to base arguments about questions requiring timely resolution on premises that your audience or interlocutor would never accept.
I conclude that your seemingly innocent complaint against only bad religious argumentation is actually your clever way of ruling religion itself out of bounds as irrational. For any attempt by a religious arguer to close the debate on a question would be greeted by you as premature and question-begging; yet the only alternative you have to offer is indefinitely prolonged dialogue, which is the same as postponing the possibility of your opponent’s victory forever.
Sincerely,
Bryan
Dear Bryan,
You make an interesting criticism. I think you are quite right that realistic debate in the public forum must sidestep examining fundamental questions if a resolution is ever to be reached. But does that relegate rationality and philosophy to the sidelines? I think not. For one can still strive to base one’s arguments on premises that are wholly acceptable to all.
I often feel that an explicitly religious premise in an argument is not doing any work anyway. For example, suppose a religious person were arguing for greater public services for immigrants and cited the Golden Rule. Instead of saying, “For Jesus said that as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise,” the argument could just as well be, “For we should do unto others as we would have them do unto us.” There is no reason to insist that Jesus said it or at least that it is true because Jesus said it. In other words, a secular person may just as readily accept the truth of the Golden Rule no matter whether it was uttered by Jesus or Confucius or Gautama Buddha or Madalyn Murray O'Hair or her Uncle Moshe. Therefore there need be no haggling over the truth of the premises if all parties agree on them, even though the bases for their belief might be different.
Bryan replies:
But Socrates, doesn’t that directly contradict your assertion in the previous column? I quote: “this is precisely why I cannot abide irrationality, for there is always more at stake than any particular argument or issue. Thus, even if I approved someone’s conclusion but their reasoning were defective, the ground would have been laid for future disagreement and error.” And surely you believe their reasoning is defective if their argument contains a premise that is supported by falsehood or illogic.
Socrates replies:
A very fine point, my friend. Let me make it finer. Since any argument is capable of being pushed back forever, simply by questioning the grounds of the premises, it must be understood that a kind of logical truce is mandated even in the most rational dialogue. The terms of this truce are simply that one need not argue beyond the point of agreement with one’s interlocutor or doubter, provided of course one has not handpicked one’s interlocutor(s) but exposed one’s argument to genuinely widespread scrutiny. And of course one should also be careful to avoid equivocation and be sure that the premises on which there is apparent agreement have the same meaning for both parties; but having established that, so long as they are all accepted as true and the logic of the inference to the conclusion is valid, the case is closed. Thus rationality does partake of pragmatism to this extent.
Bryan replies:
Even so, Socrates, aren’t you in effect banning religion from public and hence rational discourse in your seemingly benign way of restricting the premises to those on which all can agree? Because by definition they would have to be secular to enable the secularist to agree with them.
Socrates replies:
I don’t think so, Bryan, because I still welcome my religious interlocutor to be motivated by explicitly religious concerns. Thus in the example, she may cite and believe in the Golden Rule solely because she believes Jesus uttered it; all I ask is that that fact be omitted from the argument, just as I should omit my own reason for accepting the Golden Rule. In fact I might not even have one, since the Rule might simply strike me as obvious, and only because, unremembered by me, it was taught to me in my youth by my atheist grandmother!
As ever,
Socrates
Ego
Copyright © 2009 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 72, March/April 2009
Dear Socrates,
Do you share my view that ego is all-pervasive? I tell you that my meditations have convinced me it is the root of all evil … and is also inescapable. I mean that it is inescapable for a person, which is what we normally take ourselves to be. That might almost seem analytic, for what is a person but an ego and vice versa? Thus, we are inherently born into suffering and causing others to suffer because ego is the inevitable bearer (both deliverer and endurer) of these ills.
I know that I have made two claims: ego and suffering go hand-in-hand, and ego is everywhere. Let me give you an example of the latter that will address you, Socrates, directly. I claim that the pursuit of knowledge is an egotism. Take something as simple as a person saying or even just thinking, “It is hot.” But why not say instead, “I feel hot”? Why must a person think that she not only feels hot but that the fact of the matter for all persons is that “it” is hot? My answer: egotism. We transmute a merely psychological fact into a physical fact by spontaneously attributing to the world whatever we ourselves experience.
This is not only egotism – the belief that the universe revolves around oneself -- it is selfishness. For what is the motive of this attribution of one’s own qualities to the world? Probably none other than the desire not to compromise. To declare that it is hot means that anybody who thinks otherwise ought to relinquish their claim entirely and capitulate to yours. They should just put on a sweater rather than ask you to remove yours or to turn up the heat. Or maybe it is sheer laziness – the desire not to have to change, since compromising implies accommodating, which requires some effort.
Even if a person is putting himself at risk by a possibly wrong assessment, it is worth the gamble to the ego, since ego views its prerogatives as more important not only than anybody else’s but even than one’s own non-egotistic needs. For example, one may have perfectly legitimate egoistic needs, such as food, shelter, companionship, and so on. But these will often by trumped by the egotistic needs to be right, to be pampered, to be praised. That is why I also say that egotism brings suffering in tow, for when one’s values are not in accordance with reality, one puts oneself, and others, at peril.
Therefore I see but one solution: give up the ego.
Yours faithfully,
Gautama
Dear Gautama,
I share your concern regarding the excesses of ego, but I do not see how your final conclusion follows. I also question some of your assumptions. For example, you seem to be attributing the pursuit of knowledge to me. What I seek, however, is wisdom. For example, what you are explaining to me might count as wisdom, namely, that the pursuit of knowledge contains egotistic elements. Now, that is a kind of knowledge to, to be sure; but it is knowledge about knowledge, so I would call it wisdom to avoid confusion.
What troubles me about your conclusion is that it would seem to throw the baby out with the bath water. For you spoke not only of the disease of egotism but also of the legitimate needs of the ego; therefore it seems excessive, indeed absurd, to rid oneself of what is legitimate in order to rid oneself of what is not. We could also avoid suffering by killing ourselves; but would we not thereby also “avoid” all happiness and all goodness?
The trick, then, is to find the cancer cells and extirpate them without killing the healthy cells. That is the challenge of chemotherapy in the treatment of physical cancer, and so it is our spiritual challenge in the treatment of cancer of the soul. Perhaps radiation is the better route in our case: to focus the light of awareness onto the subtleties of our human psychology, and then burn out the bad stuff.
Your example of knowledge is an excellent one. Once one reflects upon the nature of what we are used to taking as knowledge, one will be able to separate and isolate what is truly known from the encrustation of egotism. Then it becomes much easier just to sear off the latter, seeing it for the inessential element and even defacement that it is. Keep the “I am hot” and discard the “It is hot.” There is still an “I” there – in fact, it is being recognized explicitly. And that could be all that is required: to acknowledge the ego rather than allow its surreptitious infusion into everything else. “Permit me to be hot, and I will therefore acknowledge that you may be not”; then we can all find ways to live together equitably and peaceably.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 72, March/April 2009
Dear Socrates,
Do you share my view that ego is all-pervasive? I tell you that my meditations have convinced me it is the root of all evil … and is also inescapable. I mean that it is inescapable for a person, which is what we normally take ourselves to be. That might almost seem analytic, for what is a person but an ego and vice versa? Thus, we are inherently born into suffering and causing others to suffer because ego is the inevitable bearer (both deliverer and endurer) of these ills.
I know that I have made two claims: ego and suffering go hand-in-hand, and ego is everywhere. Let me give you an example of the latter that will address you, Socrates, directly. I claim that the pursuit of knowledge is an egotism. Take something as simple as a person saying or even just thinking, “It is hot.” But why not say instead, “I feel hot”? Why must a person think that she not only feels hot but that the fact of the matter for all persons is that “it” is hot? My answer: egotism. We transmute a merely psychological fact into a physical fact by spontaneously attributing to the world whatever we ourselves experience.
This is not only egotism – the belief that the universe revolves around oneself -- it is selfishness. For what is the motive of this attribution of one’s own qualities to the world? Probably none other than the desire not to compromise. To declare that it is hot means that anybody who thinks otherwise ought to relinquish their claim entirely and capitulate to yours. They should just put on a sweater rather than ask you to remove yours or to turn up the heat. Or maybe it is sheer laziness – the desire not to have to change, since compromising implies accommodating, which requires some effort.
Even if a person is putting himself at risk by a possibly wrong assessment, it is worth the gamble to the ego, since ego views its prerogatives as more important not only than anybody else’s but even than one’s own non-egotistic needs. For example, one may have perfectly legitimate egoistic needs, such as food, shelter, companionship, and so on. But these will often by trumped by the egotistic needs to be right, to be pampered, to be praised. That is why I also say that egotism brings suffering in tow, for when one’s values are not in accordance with reality, one puts oneself, and others, at peril.
Therefore I see but one solution: give up the ego.
Yours faithfully,
Gautama
Dear Gautama,
I share your concern regarding the excesses of ego, but I do not see how your final conclusion follows. I also question some of your assumptions. For example, you seem to be attributing the pursuit of knowledge to me. What I seek, however, is wisdom. For example, what you are explaining to me might count as wisdom, namely, that the pursuit of knowledge contains egotistic elements. Now, that is a kind of knowledge to, to be sure; but it is knowledge about knowledge, so I would call it wisdom to avoid confusion.
What troubles me about your conclusion is that it would seem to throw the baby out with the bath water. For you spoke not only of the disease of egotism but also of the legitimate needs of the ego; therefore it seems excessive, indeed absurd, to rid oneself of what is legitimate in order to rid oneself of what is not. We could also avoid suffering by killing ourselves; but would we not thereby also “avoid” all happiness and all goodness?
The trick, then, is to find the cancer cells and extirpate them without killing the healthy cells. That is the challenge of chemotherapy in the treatment of physical cancer, and so it is our spiritual challenge in the treatment of cancer of the soul. Perhaps radiation is the better route in our case: to focus the light of awareness onto the subtleties of our human psychology, and then burn out the bad stuff.
Your example of knowledge is an excellent one. Once one reflects upon the nature of what we are used to taking as knowledge, one will be able to separate and isolate what is truly known from the encrustation of egotism. Then it becomes much easier just to sear off the latter, seeing it for the inessential element and even defacement that it is. Keep the “I am hot” and discard the “It is hot.” There is still an “I” there – in fact, it is being recognized explicitly. And that could be all that is required: to acknowledge the ego rather than allow its surreptitious infusion into everything else. “Permit me to be hot, and I will therefore acknowledge that you may be not”; then we can all find ways to live together equitably and peaceably.
Yours as ever,
Socrates
The Meaning of Sacrifice
Copyright © 2009 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 73, May/June 2009
Dear Socrates,
Your last words in ancient times, as reported second-hand by Plato, were, “Crito, we ought to offer a cock to Asclepius. See to it, and don’t forget.” Did you really say that, and if so, what did you mean?
Yours truly,
Farmer Jones
Dear Jones,
I’m a little hazy after 2400 years, but it sounds close enough. Asclepius was the god of medicine, and I was expressing relief and thankfulness that my illness was about to be cured. That illness was life on the solid surface of the Earth. I was looking forward to shedding my body, just like the skin of the serpent on Asclepius’s staff, and entering a new form of existence, where I might hope to engage in philosophy nonstop, unemcumbered by physical needs and limitations.
Since being reincarnated, however, I have been exposed to more modern ways of thinking about things; so I no longer view my body as disposable but in fact essential to who I am and what I can do, even mentally. But I had figured out even in ancient times that how to live in this life is the proper object of our inquiries. So what now intrigues me about my final instructions to Crito is something quite mundane: the sacrifice of an animal.
You will forgive me if I seem squeamish or simply a silly, sentimental, if not senile (!) old man: but I can no longer abide these casual abuses of living creatures. And please don’t tell me it’s all symbolic. To the rooster, having his neck rung or sliced through is not symbolic. One thing that amazes me is that after all these years the human world is still not beyond animal sacrifice. Does that surprise you? You do not observe animals being sacrificed at the altar of a god? Well in a way you moderns have done us one better: you sacrifice humans. And humans are animals, are they not?
But what: you do not see humans beings sacrificed? Then it is only because you sacrifice the gods themselves! You must think I am really showing my superannuated age now. But it is true. When I enter a house of worship today, I am as likely as not to see the whole congregation eating the body and drinking the blood of their God. They insist that they are literally doing this … well, some of them do; but the rest take almost rapturous delight in the symbolism, which I find almost as strange. And they all equally insist that the God was at one time a flesh-and-blood human being, which means, on the modern view, a mammal, and hence, as I began, an animal. So you see, I am not crazy. But … is everyone else?!
The story is that Jesus was the lamb of God -- the very lamb that God gave to Abraham to sacrifice instead of Abraham's son Isaac. God gave His son in sacrifice. This is what Jesus then re-enacted when he returned in human form and died on the cross. And human beings killed both -- the animal lamb as a sacrifice in honor of God, the human lamb as God's sacrifice for the sake of humans – in a reciprocal relationship. But there's nothing in it for the literal lamb!
I am playing a little naïve with you, I admit. In my own times we knew of similar myths, such as the sacrifice of Iphigenia by her own father to the goddess Artemis, or possibly a deer in her place sent by Artemis. I suppose it does not totally surprise me that their vestiges would be retained in later times. However, I see nothing redeeming about the continued quite literal “sacrifice” of animals on the altar of diet.
You know, that very word “diet” comes from our díaita, which meant “way of living.” And since how one should live is still my main concern, I am therefore very much a stickler for the right diet. As I had explained to Glaucon when describing the ideal state, meat-eating would be avoided since it leads to the need for increased land for pasturage and hence, inevitably, war for territory. Today we know that animal agriculture is the leading source of global warming. Besides, meat is simply not one of the necessities of human life and, indeed, makes us more sluggish, even in thinking, as anyone who has tried the alternative knows from his or her own experience. So my contemporary way of advising “release from the body” in order to be a better philosopher would be, not to anticipate death, but rather to lighten the load on one’s own body and mind precisely by not causing the death of others.
Let us not believe, then, that by eating other animals we nourish our body, any more than by eating God we nourish our soul. It is no sacrifice to “give up” somebody else’s life. I choose to show my reverence for the divine creation, therefore, by making a personal sacrifice, and so I have given up eating meat or any animal products. The only true “sacrifice of animals” is to give up exploiting them! Your myth thus nicely describes the beginning blessed state to which we desire to return: “And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed … and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.” Therefore I hope that faithful Crito was derelict in his duty to me that one time.
As ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 73, May/June 2009
Dear Socrates,
Your last words in ancient times, as reported second-hand by Plato, were, “Crito, we ought to offer a cock to Asclepius. See to it, and don’t forget.” Did you really say that, and if so, what did you mean?
Yours truly,
Farmer Jones
Dear Jones,
I’m a little hazy after 2400 years, but it sounds close enough. Asclepius was the god of medicine, and I was expressing relief and thankfulness that my illness was about to be cured. That illness was life on the solid surface of the Earth. I was looking forward to shedding my body, just like the skin of the serpent on Asclepius’s staff, and entering a new form of existence, where I might hope to engage in philosophy nonstop, unemcumbered by physical needs and limitations.
Since being reincarnated, however, I have been exposed to more modern ways of thinking about things; so I no longer view my body as disposable but in fact essential to who I am and what I can do, even mentally. But I had figured out even in ancient times that how to live in this life is the proper object of our inquiries. So what now intrigues me about my final instructions to Crito is something quite mundane: the sacrifice of an animal.
You will forgive me if I seem squeamish or simply a silly, sentimental, if not senile (!) old man: but I can no longer abide these casual abuses of living creatures. And please don’t tell me it’s all symbolic. To the rooster, having his neck rung or sliced through is not symbolic. One thing that amazes me is that after all these years the human world is still not beyond animal sacrifice. Does that surprise you? You do not observe animals being sacrificed at the altar of a god? Well in a way you moderns have done us one better: you sacrifice humans. And humans are animals, are they not?
But what: you do not see humans beings sacrificed? Then it is only because you sacrifice the gods themselves! You must think I am really showing my superannuated age now. But it is true. When I enter a house of worship today, I am as likely as not to see the whole congregation eating the body and drinking the blood of their God. They insist that they are literally doing this … well, some of them do; but the rest take almost rapturous delight in the symbolism, which I find almost as strange. And they all equally insist that the God was at one time a flesh-and-blood human being, which means, on the modern view, a mammal, and hence, as I began, an animal. So you see, I am not crazy. But … is everyone else?!
The story is that Jesus was the lamb of God -- the very lamb that God gave to Abraham to sacrifice instead of Abraham's son Isaac. God gave His son in sacrifice. This is what Jesus then re-enacted when he returned in human form and died on the cross. And human beings killed both -- the animal lamb as a sacrifice in honor of God, the human lamb as God's sacrifice for the sake of humans – in a reciprocal relationship. But there's nothing in it for the literal lamb!
I am playing a little naïve with you, I admit. In my own times we knew of similar myths, such as the sacrifice of Iphigenia by her own father to the goddess Artemis, or possibly a deer in her place sent by Artemis. I suppose it does not totally surprise me that their vestiges would be retained in later times. However, I see nothing redeeming about the continued quite literal “sacrifice” of animals on the altar of diet.
You know, that very word “diet” comes from our díaita, which meant “way of living.” And since how one should live is still my main concern, I am therefore very much a stickler for the right diet. As I had explained to Glaucon when describing the ideal state, meat-eating would be avoided since it leads to the need for increased land for pasturage and hence, inevitably, war for territory. Today we know that animal agriculture is the leading source of global warming. Besides, meat is simply not one of the necessities of human life and, indeed, makes us more sluggish, even in thinking, as anyone who has tried the alternative knows from his or her own experience. So my contemporary way of advising “release from the body” in order to be a better philosopher would be, not to anticipate death, but rather to lighten the load on one’s own body and mind precisely by not causing the death of others.
Let us not believe, then, that by eating other animals we nourish our body, any more than by eating God we nourish our soul. It is no sacrifice to “give up” somebody else’s life. I choose to show my reverence for the divine creation, therefore, by making a personal sacrifice, and so I have given up eating meat or any animal products. The only true “sacrifice of animals” is to give up exploiting them! Your myth thus nicely describes the beginning blessed state to which we desire to return: “And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed … and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.” Therefore I hope that faithful Crito was derelict in his duty to me that one time.
As ever,
Socrates
Darwin's Compassion
Copyright © 2009 by Joel Marks
Philosophy Now, issue no. 74, July/August 2009
Dear Socrates,
Previously [in issue no. 63 – Ed.] I asked you why religion had become your hobbyhorse. Since then you seem to have been riding another one, indeed, a real horse: our mistreatment of animals. Is there a connection?
Yours truly,
Still Curious
Dear Curious,
At first I did not think so, but of late I have indeed become convinced that the way humans treat other animals does have a great deal to do with religion. You know that I have been resident in the United States for some time since my return, and here it is impossible not to notice the sharp divide between theists and atheists. A significant proportion of the population cleaves to a claimed “literal interpretation” of the Bible. This in turn has led some of them to object strongly to teaching biological evolution in the schools, for they see it as contradicting what the Bible says. For example, evolution requires that the universe be very old, but the genealogies of the Bible are claimed to limit the universe’s age to just several thousands of years.
Most emotionally charged is evolution’s implication that human beings have “descended” from ape-like beings, who in turn descended from rodents, etc., rather than each species having been created as such by God, as the book of Genesis would have it. The way the Biblical literalists react, you would think Darwin had suggested that all of their parents had committed animal sodomy! The question is usually portrayed as whether a Creator is needed to account for the existence of the universe as we know it. Darwinism is seen as giving a body blow to religion with its intuitively powerful explanation of the “fitness” of every type of organism to its environment. Prior to Darwin’s postulation of natural selection, the imagination of human beings had been limited to a benign divine designer as the only possible explanation.
But the real clash between evolution and religion is not a metaphysical one about the need for a Creator but rather a moral one about the compatibility of a benign Creator with the world as we know it. My understanding in this regard came from reading an excellent book by James Rachels, called Created from Animals, as well as Darwin’s Autobiography. In Darwin’s own words:
That there is much suffering in the world no one disputes. Some have attempted to explain this in reference to man by imagining that it serves for his moral improvement. But the number of men in the world is as nothing compared with that of all other sentient beings, and these often suffer greatly without any moral improvement. A being so powerful and so full of knowledge as a God who could create the universe, is to our finite minds omnipotent and omniscient, and it revolts our understanding to suppose that his benevolence is not unbounded, for what advantage can there be in the sufferings of millions of the lower animals throughout almost endless time? This very old argument from the existence of suffering against the existence of an intelligent first cause seems to me a strong one; whereas, as just remarked, the presence of much suffering agrees well with the view that all organic beings have been developed through variation and natural selection.
And thus you see the real connection of religion to animals: for even more than the evil that befalls human beings is the evil that nonhuman beings have suffered. Darwin was not even speaking here of the evil inflicted on animals by humans, but rather of the mechanism of natural selection itself, which carves out new species precisely by killing off the less “fit” ones. But note that there is only a problem if animals are capable of suffering. That they are is commonsense; but now commonsense is further backed up by evolutionary theory itself, since it does not admit any sharp dividing line that might otherwise have been supposed to exist between the experience of human beings and other animals.
This further suggests to me that it is not so much our being related to animals that so riles the religionists as that this relation infringes on our presumed prerogative to use them as we will. The former “insults” us as being “mere” animals, but the latter “inconveniences” us, which is even more intolerable! Recently I came upon an article which confirmed this suspicion. It was written by Rabbi Marc A. Gellman, who answers readers’ questions just as I do. One of his readers had written in to profess his atheism, and here is an excerpt from the rabbi’s response:
What I can't quite understand is how a person who believes that we are just chemicals and goo can find a way to affirm the special dignity and moral worth of human beings. The reason religions endorse eating and using animals is the religious belief that, although created by God, animals do not have souls. (The God Squad, © Tribune Media Services, March 19, 2009)
There you have it in a nutshell, except that I think the rabbi has put his cart before my hobbyhorse. The truth of the matter, I now believe, is the opposite of what Gellman asserts, to wit: Religions deny souls to animals so that we can use them! And that is why evolution is anathema to such religions, since it shows that other animals have souls as much as we do, so we should treat them far better than those religions currently condone. Darwin could not morally countenance or ignore the suffering of other animals any more than he could logically reconcile its existence with a benign Creator.
As ever,
Socrates
Philosophy Now, issue no. 74, July/August 2009
Dear Socrates,
Previously [in issue no. 63 – Ed.] I asked you why religion had become your hobbyhorse. Since then you seem to have been riding another one, indeed, a real horse: our mistreatment of animals. Is there a connection?
Yours truly,
Still Curious
Dear Curious,
At first I did not think so, but of late I have indeed become convinced that the way humans treat other animals does have a great deal to do with religion. You know that I have been resident in the United States for some time since my return, and here it is impossible not to notice the sharp divide between theists and atheists. A significant proportion of the population cleaves to a claimed “literal interpretation” of the Bible. This in turn has led some of them to object strongly to teaching biological evolution in the schools, for they see it as contradicting what the Bible says. For example, evolution requires that the universe be very old, but the genealogies of the Bible are claimed to limit the universe’s age to just several thousands of years.
Most emotionally charged is evolution’s implication that human beings have “descended” from ape-like beings, who in turn descended from rodents, etc., rather than each species having been created as such by God, as the book of Genesis would have it. The way the Biblical literalists react, you would think Darwin had suggested that all of their parents had committed animal sodomy! The question is usually portrayed as whether a Creator is needed to account for the existence of the universe as we know it. Darwinism is seen as giving a body blow to religion with its intuitively powerful explanation of the “fitness” of every type of organism to its environment. Prior to Darwin’s postulation of natural selection, the imagination of human beings had been limited to a benign divine designer as the only possible explanation.
But the real clash between evolution and religion is not a metaphysical one about the need for a Creator but rather a moral one about the compatibility of a benign Creator with the world as we know it. My understanding in this regard came from reading an excellent book by James Rachels, called Created from Animals, as well as Darwin’s Autobiography. In Darwin’s own words:
That there is much suffering in the world no one disputes. Some have attempted to explain this in reference to man by imagining that it serves for his moral improvement. But the number of men in the world is as nothing compared with that of all other sentient beings, and these often suffer greatly without any moral improvement. A being so powerful and so full of knowledge as a God who could create the universe, is to our finite minds omnipotent and omniscient, and it revolts our understanding to suppose that his benevolence is not unbounded, for what advantage can there be in the sufferings of millions of the lower animals throughout almost endless time? This very old argument from the existence of suffering against the existence of an intelligent first cause seems to me a strong one; whereas, as just remarked, the presence of much suffering agrees well with the view that all organic beings have been developed through variation and natural selection.
And thus you see the real connection of religion to animals: for even more than the evil that befalls human beings is the evil that nonhuman beings have suffered. Darwin was not even speaking here of the evil inflicted on animals by humans, but rather of the mechanism of natural selection itself, which carves out new species precisely by killing off the less “fit” ones. But note that there is only a problem if animals are capable of suffering. That they are is commonsense; but now commonsense is further backed up by evolutionary theory itself, since it does not admit any sharp dividing line that might otherwise have been supposed to exist between the experience of human beings and other animals.
This further suggests to me that it is not so much our being related to animals that so riles the religionists as that this relation infringes on our presumed prerogative to use them as we will. The former “insults” us as being “mere” animals, but the latter “inconveniences” us, which is even more intolerable! Recently I came upon an article which confirmed this suspicion. It was written by Rabbi Marc A. Gellman, who answers readers’ questions just as I do. One of his readers had written in to profess his atheism, and here is an excerpt from the rabbi’s response:
What I can't quite understand is how a person who believes that we are just chemicals and goo can find a way to affirm the special dignity and moral worth of human beings. The reason religions endorse eating and using animals is the religious belief that, although created by God, animals do not have souls. (The God Squad, © Tribune Media Services, March 19, 2009)
There you have it in a nutshell, except that I think the rabbi has put his cart before my hobbyhorse. The truth of the matter, I now believe, is the opposite of what Gellman asserts, to wit: Religions deny souls to animals so that we can use them! And that is why evolution is anathema to such religions, since it shows that other animals have souls as much as we do, so we should treat them far better than those religions currently condone. Darwin could not morally countenance or ignore the suffering of other animals any more than he could logically reconcile its existence with a benign Creator.
As ever,
Socrates
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