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(My) Atheist Philosophy

Published
by
Juno Walker
on February 18, 2011
.
This ain’t your grandfather's atheism - unless his name is Friederich Nietzsche. And it is in this spirit that I am writing this post.

Many nonbelievers have called upon the New Atheists and others to put forth a coherent secular philosophy to counter the prevailing and longstanding theistic hegemony. I can understand and appreciate this desire, especially here in America, where religious conservatives have been emboldened by the aggressive Tea Party movement and the popularity of media personalities like Glen Beck, Bill O'Reilly and Rush Limbaugh.

But as someone who has been a naturalist and an atheist for over a decade, who had grown up in an evangelical church and home, and who has kept tabs on the culture wars, I don't believe this will work. Atheists, secularists, nonbelievers - whatever you want to call us - are not a homogeneous group. Near as I can tell, the only thing we have in common is a lack of belief in gods, and specifically the God of the monotheistic religions.

However, I believe there is a wide range of thought on other issues: politics, ethics, economics, culture, etc.; though it might be fair to say that most of us support a classical liberal society, with equal rights, democratic government, etc. And we might even agree on a general moral system, though there is heated debate as to whether we can - or even should - try to discover and promote a rational or objective foundation for it.

But the crux of the issue, though it fades and reappears now and then, is the idea of meaning, or purpose. Ultimately, what many of us are calling for is a way of living without religious belief that counters nihilism. I personally believe that what really turns people off to atheism is fear - fear of letting go; fear of having to decide on life for oneself, of having to attempt answers to profound questions, of being responsible for the character and direction of one's life; in short, the fear of having to ultimately stand alone in the universe and affirm one's life - and all of life - nonetheless. The religious believer is largely relieved of this responsibility; though perhaps you could argue that they aren't really relieved of it, since they still have to 'interpret' what they are given - God isn't so clear as people make him out to be.

Like Nietzsche, I don't deny the arguments of the active nihilist - there is no ultimate meaning or purpose. The universe is indifferent to humans and their desires. But, also like Nietzsche, I believe there are ways to create our own meaning and purpose - or meanings and purposes, if you like. But success in this endeavor presumes a strong nature, a willingness to let go, a desire to revere oneself, and an imaginative, adventurous spirit - to “dance near abysses,” as Nietzsche put it. And here it seems that trying to put together a coherent secular philosophy is bound to fail: everyone is different. We are not all "created equal," though many of us may believe that we should all be considered "equal before the law."

I believe we need to incorporate the spirit of the great scientific (in the broadest sense) thinkers of our species - many ancient Greeks, Galileo, Einstein, etc. - into the character of our greatest modern philosophers and seekers of knowledge. Of course, we're not talking about academic philosophers; we're talking about a way of life, a way of being (Nietzsche called them free spirits). Anyone can be a philosopher in this sense. You could consider yourself to be the artist of your life, pursuing a vision that may be always changing, elusive - but you are nevertheless the artist trying to the best of his ability to capture and honor the reality he experiences.

The New Atheists have been criticized - by proponents and detractors alike - for not having or presenting a full grasp of the philosophical issues in this culture war. They claim that what is presented in New Atheist books like “The Moral Landscape,” “The God Delusion,” and “Breaking the Spell” is a simplistic, watered-down, sophomoric version of the fruits of some of the greatest philosophical thinkers our species has produced. I agree - but not in the way you’d imagine.

I would contend that what the New Atheists offer is not a “simplistic” version, but a “simplified” version: not only have the counter-arguments to and refutations of the most significant “proofs” for the existence of God been done, and done well (there’s no need to reinvent the wheel, in other words), but the majority of the “herd” - as Nietzsche put it - is simply not receptive to dry, academic wrangling over the meaning of words or the forms of definitions. So in this way the New Atheists are merely tailoring their writing to their target audience.

If we need to do anything, we need to leave the true believers behind. It's been my experience that the true believer can't be swayed. Experience shows that, when pressed, the dogmatic ideologue (and I mean any dogma) will only redouble his efforts at maintaining his dogma. There may be those who will be swayed, but they were on the fence anyway: in some reflective hour, reading a book, walking their dog, or riding the subway home, they will quietly admit to themselves that they don't believe. And though they might not publicly disavow belief, at least they won't take it to the ballot box or the latest Tea Party rally.

It seems to me that what we nonbelievers need to do is decide on a general strategy, as opposed to a formal philosophy. What I mean is, do we want to engage believers in order to convert them (or de-convert them, if you will)? I for one don't engage in discussions/debates with believers to convert them; I engage in these discussions to understand why they believe as they do. It's part curiosity, part due diligence - what I learn from these discussions will help me come up with ways to counter the prevailing psycho-religio-moral atmosphere, if I may coin an awkward phrase. That said, it's still a work in progress!

Or are we, at a minimum, interested in keeping believers from legislating their morality - whether on the Federal, State or Local level? As much as I enjoy reading the banter and bickering in the Comments section of blogs like Pharyngula, I believe one-on-one debating is largely ineffective. You will never win (because the opponent will never concede, even if you feel you've won - this isn't chess), and you will most likely not convert, especially if employing ridicule. Don't get me wrong, employing ridicule can be a pleasurable exercise, but it rarely, if ever, accomplishes the goal in mind.

So, what do we think? Given my beliefs about atheism, I know we won't all think alike. But can we come up with an outline of a strategy? Should we? Is there any consensus? Why do we do what we do? Why do we write, blog, debate, protest, etc.?

Nietzsche was primarily an esoteric moralist, notorious for his criticism of democracy and "equal rights." In Beyond Good & Evil, he said:

Are these coming philosophers new friends of "truth"? That is probable enough, for all philosophers so far have loved their truths. But they will certainly not be dogmatists. It must offend their pride, also their taste, if their truth is supposed to be truth for everyman - which has so far been the secret wish and hidden meaning of all dogmatic aspirations. "My judgment is my judgment": no one else is easily entitled to it - that is what such a philosopher of the future may perhaps say to himself.


So where do we go from here? Do we bid each other adieu - so to speak - and part company, each going her own way, choosing and fighting her own battles, creating her own life in isolation like Zarathustra - come what may in the larger politico-cultural arena?

Or - what?

The Teachers of the Purpose of Existence

Published
by
Juno Walker
on February 15, 2011
.


Deepak Chopra has an article on CNN's website called Science and spirituality should be friends.

My initial thought was: why? But as I read the article, it made me think of some thoughts by Nietzsche. But before I get into that, I want to point out a few things.

First, he says that interest in organized religion has declined, not because of the "rather noisy campaign by a handful of die-hard atheists to demote and ridicule faith," but because of Charles Darwin's dangerous idea of evolution.

However, I'm tempted to think that it has been the result of the efforts of "noisy atheists" to promote Darwin's essential idea that has resulted in science's ascendancy over traditional religious dogma. After all, Darwin published his idea 150 years ago; atheists since then have promoted it and made it accessible to a wider audience.

Next, Chopra says that the exodus from traditional religion has resulted in people seeking a "spirituality based on personal experience, with an openness to accept Eastern traditions like meditation and yoga as legitimate ways to expand one's consciousness." I don't mean to nitpick, but isn't all spirituality and religion based on "personal experience"? Does it make sense to talk about spirituality and religion - or anything of human concern, for that matter - without regard to personal experience?

At any rate, he says that scientists have a growing interest in "consciousness." This is undeniably true; the philosopher David Chalmers and scientists like Christof Koch are explicitly pursuing a "science of consciousness."

But Chopra has a much different - and really, unjustifiable - idea about human consciousness. Whereas the former view consciousness as a function of the physical brain, or a property of the universe subject to the same laws of physics as everything else, Chopra postulates consciousness not as an emergent property of the "physical" cosmos but as a near-supernatural entity. He asks, "Was mind also born in the same place outside space and time?" That is a property theists ascribe to God.

Chopra's gripe seems to be that scientists are bogged down in a materialism that "rules science." Well, that is what science is based on. As Tom Clark of the Center for Naturalism says: "Science doesn't presume the natural-supernatural distinction; it generates it by dividing what works from what doesn't."

Then Chopra notes that the "physical building blocks of the universe have gradually vanished; that is, atoms and quarks no longer seem solid at all but are actually clouds of energy, which in turn disappear into the void that seems to be the source of creation." I'm not sure contemporary physicists would characterize the basic building blocks as "clouds" of energy, but you can see where he's going with this. He's attempting a New Age "God of the Gaps" argument: since we don't really know the characteristics of the basic building blocks of the universe, it must be this mysterious, magical thing called "consciousness"!

Chopra then goes on to say that "it is becoming legitimate to talk of invisible forces that shape creation - not labeling them as God but as the true shapers of reality beyond the space/time continuum." Not among serious scientists it isn't. At least, not in the way Chopra thinks it is. What Chopra is doing is trying to make room for a metaphysically-privileged force/entity called "consciousness." But current research doesn't warrant this overreaching by Chopra. He's filling this alleged gap with his new "god" of "consciousness."

The penultimate fallacy in his article is when he says that "either atoms and molecules are smart, or something makes them smart." Well, not necessarily. It's as if Chopra has never heard of emergence. Or, if he has, he's not mentioning it in order to advance his spiritual agenda.

But the main fallacy is presented at the end of his article: he says that "we are conscious beings who live with purpose and meaning. It seems unlikely that these arose form a random, meaningless universe." Well, yes, we are conscious beings. And of course we desire to live with purpose and meaning. And this gets us to the title of my post. Why do we strive to live with purpose and meaning?

In The Gay Science, Nietzsche starts off with a section called "The Teachers of the Purpose of Existence." In it, he basically claims that "man has become a fantastic animal that has to fulfill one more condition of existence than any other animal: man has to believe, to know, from time to time why he exists: his race cannot flourish without a periodic trust in life - without a faith in reason in life."

Nietzsche claimed that the teachers of the purpose of existence actually "promote the interests of the species" because they promote exactly this faith in life, this image of meaning and purpose, whether or not it's actually true. Nietzsche says this "instinct for the preservation...erupts as reason and as passion of the spirit. Then it is surrounded by a resplendent retinue of reasons and tries with all the force at its command to make us forget that at bottom it is instinct, folly, lack of reasons."

This is also obviously true. But human beings can live without ultimate meaning and purpose: I'm living proof. I should say, however, that I distinguish between "ultimate" and "proximate." I have come to the conclusion that there is no ultimate meaning or purpose to life, but at the same time I create my own meaning and purpose. My meaning and purpose is not preordained by any other being, but is specific to my psycho-physiological constitution.

What I mean by this is that each of us has a different personality; at a minimum, we could say that some of us are more introverted whereas others are more extraverted. Similarly, some of us are more active and energetic than others. And so on. My meaning and purpose in life is determined by my personality and physiology. It has to be right for me.

But my gripe with the Chopras of the world is that they contribute to the overall denigration of science by unjustifiably asserting that science is impotent, and that the things we most care about as humans can be found in a non-human plane, a supernatural or categorically-privileged magisteria. The problem is, if that's the case, then human striving is all for naught because we are striving for something that in principle can't be obtained.

Putting our hopes in other-worldly forces or beings is not only foolish, but downright inimical to life. Creating our own meaning and purpose, and embarking on our own idiosyncratic projects requires that we deal with reality as we experience it, without postulating all sorts of superfluous entities and powers.

The Teachers of the Purpose of Existence

Published
by
Juno Walker
on February 15, 2011
.


Deepak Chopra has an article on CNN's website called Science and spirituality should be friends.

My initial thought was: why? But as I read the article, it made me think of some thoughts by Nietzsche. But before I get into that, I want to point out a few things.

First, he says that interest in organized religion has declined, not because of the "rather noisy campaign by a handful of die-hard atheists to demote and ridicule faith," but because of Charles Darwin's dangerous idea of evolution.

However, I'm tempted to think that it has been the result of the efforts of "noisy atheists" to promote Darwin's essential idea that has resulted in science's ascendancy over traditional religious dogma. After all, Darwin published his idea 150 years ago; atheists since then have promoted it and made it accessible to a wider audience.

Next, Chopra says that the exodus from traditional religion has resulted in people seeking a "spirituality based on personal experience, with an openness to accept Eastern traditions like meditation and yoga as legitimate ways to expand one's consciousness." I don't mean to nitpick, but isn't all spirituality and religion based on "personal experience"? Does it make sense to talk about spirituality and religion - or anything of human concern, for that matter - without regard to personal experience?

At any rate, he says that scientists have a growing interest in "consciousness." This is undeniably true; the philosopher David Chalmers and scientists like Christof Koch are explicitly pursuing a "science of consciousness."

But Chopra has a much different - and really, unjustifiable - idea about human consciousness. Whereas the former view consciousness as a function of the physical brain, or a property of the universe subject to the same laws of physics as everything else, Chopra postulates consciousness not as an emergent property of the "physical" cosmos but as a near-supernatural entity. He asks, "Was mind also born in the same place outside space and time?" That is a property theists ascribe to God.

Chopra's gripe seems to be that scientists are bogged down in a materialism that "rules science." Well, that is what science is based on. As Tom Clark of the Center for Naturalism says: "Science doesn't presume the natural-supernatural distinction; it generates it by dividing what works from what doesn't."

Then Chopra notes that the "physical building blocks of the universe have gradually vanished; that is, atoms and quarks no longer seem solid at all but are actually clouds of energy, which in turn disappear into the void that seems to be the source of creation." I'm not sure contemporary physicists would characterize the basic building blocks as "clouds" of energy, but you can see where he's going with this. He's attempting a New Age "God of the Gaps" argument: since we don't really know the characteristics of the basic building blocks of the universe, it must be this mysterious, magical thing called "consciousness"!

Chopra then goes on to say that "it is becoming legitimate to talk of invisible forces that shape creation - not labeling them as God but as the true shapers of reality beyond the space/time continuum." Not among serious scientists it isn't. At least, not in the way Chopra thinks it is. What Chopra is doing is trying to make room for a metaphysically-privileged force/entity called "consciousness." But current research doesn't warrant this overreaching by Chopra. He's filling this alleged gap with his new "god" of "consciousness."

The penultimate fallacy in his article is when he says that "either atoms and molecules are smart, or something makes them smart." Well, not necessarily. It's as if Chopra has never heard of emergence. Or, if he has, he's not mentioning it in order to advance his spiritual agenda.

But the main fallacy is presented at the end of his article: he says that "we are conscious beings who live with purpose and meaning. It seems unlikely that these arose form a random, meaningless universe." Well, yes, we are conscious beings. And of course we desire to live with purpose and meaning. And this gets us to the title of my post. Why do we strive to live with purpose and meaning?

In The Gay Science, Nietzsche starts off with a section called "The Teachers of the Purpose of Existence." In it, he basically claims that "man has become a fantastic animal that has to fulfill one more condition of existence than any other animal: man has to believe, to know, from time to time why he exists: his race cannot flourish without a periodic trust in life - without a faith in reason in life."

Nietzsche claimed that the teachers of the purpose of existence actually "promote the interests of the species" because they promote exactly this faith in life, this image of meaning and purpose, whether or not it's actually true. Nietzsche says this "instinct for the preservation...erupts as reason and as passion of the spirit. Then it is surrounded by a resplendent retinue of reasons and tries with all the force at its command to make us forget that at bottom it is instinct, folly, lack of reasons."

This is also obviously true. But human beings can live without ultimate meaning and purpose: I'm living proof. I should say, however, that I distinguish between "ultimate" and "proximate." I have come to the conclusion that there is no ultimate meaning or purpose to life, but at the same time I create my own meaning and purpose. My meaning and purpose is not preordained by any other being, but is specific to my psycho-physiological constitution.

What I mean by this is that each of us has a different personality; at a minimum, we could say that some of us are more introverted whereas others are more extraverted. Similarly, some of us are more active and energetic than others. And so on. My meaning and purpose in life is determined by my personality and physiology. It has to be right for me.

But my gripe with the Chopras of the world is that they contribute to the overall denigration of science by unjustifiably asserting that science is impotent, and that the things we most care about as humans can be found in a non-human plane, a supernatural or categorically-privileged magisteria. The problem is, if that's the case, then human striving is all for naught because we are striving for something that in principle can't be obtained.

Putting our hopes in other-worldly forces or beings is not only foolish, but downright inimical to life. Creating our own meaning and purpose, and embarking on our own idiosyncratic projects requires that we deal with reality as we experience it, without postulating all sorts of superfluous entities and powers.

Is Atheist Unbelief ‘Rational’?

Published
by
Juno Walker
on February 14, 2011
.


I just read an article on Christianity Today's website titled Unreasonable Doubt. The main point of the article (which is itself a reaction to the popularity of the so-called "New Atheists") seems to be that those who call themselves atheists do not arrive at their conclusion as a result of a process of rationality; instead, their cognitive functioning is "impaired" by sin, thus causing them to reject the Christian God as a result of poor reasoning and/or emotional reasons.

The article's author begins by citing a few non-believers who have made comments about their not wanting Christianity to be true (in addition, I assume, to their other reasons for being atheists). He quotes a prominent philosopher (Thomas Nagel) as saying, "I don't want there to be a God; I don't want the universe to be like that." But my considered response to this is: so what? Or, What's the point? I don't want the God of the Bible to exist either, but that's because I, like Thomas Jefferson, read his horrific human right's record and recoil in horror. As an aside, I grew up in a born-again Christian home and church; and once I started to dis-believe, if you will, I desperately wanted Christianity to be true: I didn't want to lose my chance for a life after death, or a "big brother God" who is constantly looking out for me and protecting me, or the prospect of seeing my loved ones again after we've all passed on, or to think that I didn't have free will. But I've reached the point in my life now (I'm 39) where it would take a truly extraordinary "miracle" to get me to believe in the Christian God.

But really, what's the point? Even if a person loses his belief in god (not just the Christian God) for psychological or emotional reasons, it doesn't follow that the author's hypothesis is therefore true. The author doesn't cite why the philosopher Thomas Nagel doesn't want God to exist, and an initial Google search by me yielded nothing of relevance. I'm familiar with some of Nagel's work, but mainly his ideas about consciousness (What Is it Like to Be a Bat?). I'll keep looking; but I've already stated my reason why I wouldn't want the Christian God to exist.

The author attempts to bolster his hypothesis by citing the fact that the New Atheists simply rehash traditional arguments against the existence of God. New Atheists offer traditional arguments because they feel they've already been well-argued, so there's no reason to reinvent the wheel. However, the discipline of science continues to offer explanations for gaps previously filled by God; but Christian dogma literally can't change, else it will cease to be Christian. So the New Atheists can offer a simple rehash of past philosophical arguments - which they feel have not been sufficiently refuted by theists to date - and move on to what the scientific method is continually telling us about human nature and Nature in general.

The author says that his suggestion is potentially offensive to unbelievers. I'm an unbeliever, and while I can't say I take offense to it - I understand the limits of human reason and the powerful effects of emotion on our cognitive processes - I have to say that it's just wrong, and needs a rebuttal in the marketplace of ideas.

The author then says, "According to Scripture, the evidence for God is overwhelming." And I say: well, of course! But I can also say that the Qur’an says the evidence for the exploits of Mohammed is overwhelming; or that the Vedas say that the evidence for their explanation for the origin of the world and its gods is overwhelming; or that the Iliad shows that the evidence for the Greek gods is overwhelming; or that...well, you get the picture.

But since the author is a dedicated Christian, I know he doesn't believe any of those other holy books. Why not? Like all serious Christians (or believers of any religion, really), they engage in special pleading: well, my god is the one, true God. But how do they know? Well, their holy book tells them so...and round and round we go. So, while citing scripture will help edify the faithful, it will really do nothing to convince the skeptic.

But then the author gets into the meat of his hypothesis: he quotes the apostle Paul as saying that unbelievers "suppress the truth by their wickedness." In other words, it's a willful disbelief, a not wanting to face the facts of the matter. The author is only partly right when he says that, "obedience and humility lead to insight and understanding." Humility? Yes. Obedience? Just the opposite! Christians have a vested interest in not questioning or doubting God - obedience is exactly what God wants. Obedience says, "Thou shalt - or else!" Humility says, "I believe X, but I could be wrong." Christians can't say, "I believe Christ died for my sins, but I could be wrong." That's the one thing they can't doubt. To doubt this is to exclude oneself from being a Christian.

The believer claims to have a hold on truth, and not just his truth, but Truth with a capital T. His skepticism, his inquiry, has come to an end. His mind is no longer open to alternatives. He is not free to entertain options because he would thereby forfeit his claim to the Truth - which is the perfect word of the Creator, Master and Sustainer of all there is! The believer is now like God, knowing what is good and what is evil. The New Atheists - and those with a scientific mind generally - don't claim to know absolute truth; indeed they don't believe absolute Truth exists. They have only varying degrees of confidence and probability, and they believe that the Christian God probably doesn't exist.

So now we must ask: in light of all this, who is more susceptible to self-deception, the believer who has a vested interest in such concepts (his eternal life depends on it!), or the unbeliever with no vested interest in rejecting these concepts?

To me, the obvious answer is that the believer is more susceptible to the incomparable emotional pressure of eternal damnation if they don't believe. Incidentally, why is belief so important? Why does the Creator, Master and Sustainer of all there is care more that people believe in Him than that we humans treat each other well? At any rate, if a believer truly believes that the fate of his eternal soul hangs in the balance, can he really conduct a dispassionate assessment of the issue?

I want to talk about a couple of other things the author brings up. First, the author cites Paul Johnson's book, "Intellectuals," which purportedly claims that "some of the most celebrated thinkers in the modern period...were moral wrecks." I have not read this book. Actually, I had no idea who Paul Johnson was. But I did a Google search, and I found it interesting that Christopher Hitchens - one of the über-atheists the author criticizes - wrote an article about him. This article speaks for itself - it is very cheeky, as Hitchens himself might say - but here is a blurb from it:

"Johnson has made a career as an especially bilious and persecuting moralizer. His disgraceful book "Intellectuals," a foul-minded assault on the Enlightenment, laid a feverish stress on the private lives of secular and rationalist intellectuals. Rousseau was not only 'vain, egotistical and quarrelsome,' but he 'enjoyed being spanked on his bare bottom.' Ibsen 'would not expose his sexual organ even for the purpose of medical examination.'"

If Hitchens' quotes are accurate, this does not imply to me that these thinkers were "moral wrecks." After all, are they known to have stolen, murdered, or raped? Were they known to have defrauded others? If not, then the author has some very confused ideas about "morality."

Your average atheist is as moral or immoral as your average Christian. Is Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, or Daniel Dennet a moral wreck? What does it mean to be a moral wreck? Do they steal? Murder? Rape? Defraud? What about the Christian "moral wrecks" - Ted Haggard, Jimmy Swaggart, Jim Baker, and Kent Hovind? Actually, so far as we know, the former are more moral than the latter - at least according to Christian ethics.

Second, he says that, for those who are not dogmatic in their beliefs, he is open to rational discussion. But isn't the Christian dogmatic? Don't they have to be? Aren't the principles of Christianity "incontrovertibly true" for the Christian? Can the Christian articulate what reason, evidence or argument would make him change his mind? It seems to me that for a believer, "keep an open mind" means "keep your mind open until you except the truth - my truth."

As Nietzsche said in The Gay Science: "Those who feel 'I possess Truth' - how many possessions would they not abandon in order to save this feeling! What would they not throw overboard to stay 'on top' - which means, above the others who lack 'the Truth'!"

Is Atheist Unbelief ‘Rational’?

Published
by
Juno Walker
on February 14, 2011
.


I just read an article on Christianity Today's website titled Unreasonable Doubt. The main point of the article (which is itself a reaction to the popularity of the so-called "New Atheists") seems to be that those who call themselves atheists do not arrive at their conclusion as a result of a process of rationality; instead, their cognitive functioning is "impaired" by sin, thus causing them to reject the Christian God as a result of poor reasoning and/or emotional reasons.

The article's author begins by citing a few non-believers who have made comments about their not wanting Christianity to be true (in addition, I assume, to their other reasons for being atheists). He quotes a prominent philosopher (Thomas Nagel) as saying, "I don't want there to be a God; I don't want the universe to be like that." But my considered response to this is: so what? Or, What's the point? I don't want the God of the Bible to exist either, but that's because I, like Thomas Jefferson, read his horrific human right's record and recoil in horror. As an aside, I grew up in a born-again Christian home and church; and once I started to dis-believe, if you will, I desperately wanted Christianity to be true: I didn't want to lose my chance for a life after death, or a "big brother God" who is constantly looking out for me and protecting me, or the prospect of seeing my loved ones again after we've all passed on, or to think that I didn't have free will. But I've reached the point in my life now (I'm 39) where it would take a truly extraordinary "miracle" to get me to believe in the Christian God.

But really, what's the point? Even if a person loses his belief in god (not just the Christian God) for psychological or emotional reasons, it doesn't follow that the author's hypothesis is therefore true. The author doesn't cite why the philosopher Thomas Nagel doesn't want God to exist, and an initial Google search by me yielded nothing of relevance. I'm familiar with some of Nagel's work, but mainly his ideas about consciousness (What Is it Like to Be a Bat?). I'll keep looking; but I've already stated my reason why I wouldn't want the Christian God to exist.

The author attempts to bolster his hypothesis by citing the fact that the New Atheists simply rehash traditional arguments against the existence of God. New Atheists offer traditional arguments because they feel they've already been well-argued, so there's no reason to reinvent the wheel. However, the discipline of science continues to offer explanations for gaps previously filled by God; but Christian dogma literally can't change, else it will cease to be Christian. So the New Atheists can offer a simple rehash of past philosophical arguments - which they feel have not been sufficiently refuted by theists to date - and move on to what the scientific method is continually telling us about human nature and Nature in general.

The author says that his suggestion is potentially offensive to unbelievers. I'm an unbeliever, and while I can't say I take offense to it - I understand the limits of human reason and the powerful effects of emotion on our cognitive processes - I have to say that it's just wrong, and needs a rebuttal in the marketplace of ideas.

The author then says, "According to Scripture, the evidence for God is overwhelming." And I say: well, of course! But I can also say that the Qur’an says the evidence for the exploits of Mohammed is overwhelming; or that the Vedas say that the evidence for their explanation for the origin of the world and its gods is overwhelming; or that the Iliad shows that the evidence for the Greek gods is overwhelming; or that...well, you get the picture.

But since the author is a dedicated Christian, I know he doesn't believe any of those other holy books. Why not? Like all serious Christians (or believers of any religion, really), they engage in special pleading: well, my god is the one, true God. But how do they know? Well, their holy book tells them so...and round and round we go. So, while citing scripture will help edify the faithful, it will really do nothing to convince the skeptic.

But then the author gets into the meat of his hypothesis: he quotes the apostle Paul as saying that unbelievers "suppress the truth by their wickedness." In other words, it's a willful disbelief, a not wanting to face the facts of the matter. The author is only partly right when he says that, "obedience and humility lead to insight and understanding." Humility? Yes. Obedience? Just the opposite! Christians have a vested interest in not questioning or doubting God - obedience is exactly what God wants. Obedience says, "Thou shalt - or else!" Humility says, "I believe X, but I could be wrong." Christians can't say, "I believe Christ died for my sins, but I could be wrong." That's the one thing they can't doubt. To doubt this is to exclude oneself from being a Christian.

The believer claims to have a hold on truth, and not just his truth, but Truth with a capital T. His skepticism, his inquiry, has come to an end. His mind is no longer open to alternatives. He is not free to entertain options because he would thereby forfeit his claim to the Truth - which is the perfect word of the Creator, Master and Sustainer of all there is! The believer is now like God, knowing what is good and what is evil. The New Atheists - and those with a scientific mind generally - don't claim to know absolute truth; indeed they don't believe absolute Truth exists. They have only varying degrees of confidence and probability, and they believe that the Christian God probably doesn't exist.

So now we must ask: in light of all this, who is more susceptible to self-deception, the believer who has a vested interest in such concepts (his eternal life depends on it!), or the unbeliever with no vested interest in rejecting these concepts?

To me, the obvious answer is that the believer is more susceptible to the incomparable emotional pressure of eternal damnation if they don't believe. Incidentally, why is belief so important? Why does the Creator, Master and Sustainer of all there is care more that people believe in Him than that we humans treat each other well? At any rate, if a believer truly believes that the fate of his eternal soul hangs in the balance, can he really conduct a dispassionate assessment of the issue?

I want to talk about a couple of other things the author brings up. First, the author cites Paul Johnson's book, "Intellectuals," which purportedly claims that "some of the most celebrated thinkers in the modern period...were moral wrecks." I have not read this book. Actually, I had no idea who Paul Johnson was. But I did a Google search, and I found it interesting that Christopher Hitchens - one of the über-atheists the author criticizes - wrote an article about him. This article speaks for itself - it is very cheeky, as Hitchens himself might say - but here is a blurb from it:

"Johnson has made a career as an especially bilious and persecuting moralizer. His disgraceful book "Intellectuals," a foul-minded assault on the Enlightenment, laid a feverish stress on the private lives of secular and rationalist intellectuals. Rousseau was not only 'vain, egotistical and quarrelsome,' but he 'enjoyed being spanked on his bare bottom.' Ibsen 'would not expose his sexual organ even for the purpose of medical examination.'"

If Hitchens' quotes are accurate, this does not imply to me that these thinkers were "moral wrecks." After all, are they known to have stolen, murdered, or raped? Were they known to have defrauded others? If not, then the author has some very confused ideas about "morality."

Your average atheist is as moral or immoral as your average Christian. Is Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins, or Daniel Dennet a moral wreck? What does it mean to be a moral wreck? Do they steal? Murder? Rape? Defraud? What about the Christian "moral wrecks" - Ted Haggard, Jimmy Swaggart, Jim Baker, and Kent Hovind? Actually, so far as we know, the former are more moral than the latter - at least according to Christian ethics.

Second, he says that, for those who are not dogmatic in their beliefs, he is open to rational discussion. But isn't the Christian dogmatic? Don't they have to be? Aren't the principles of Christianity "incontrovertibly true" for the Christian? Can the Christian articulate what reason, evidence or argument would make him change his mind? It seems to me that for a believer, "keep an open mind" means "keep your mind open until you except the truth - my truth."

As Nietzsche said in The Gay Science: "Those who feel 'I possess Truth' - how many possessions would they not abandon in order to save this feeling! What would they not throw overboard to stay 'on top' - which means, above the others who lack 'the Truth'!"

Applying the Intellectual Conscience to One Man’s "Theology"

Published
by
Juno Walker
on January 28, 2011
.


The following explanation of Christianity was taken from here. Its author is a former high school chemistry and physics teacher in my home state of Pennsylvania.

I'm going to ask the questions this seemingly well-educated man should have been asking before he wrote his thesis here. My comments will be in brackets.

"God created man to be His friend. [First, a simple 'why?' We might want to do a little philosophical analysis here: why would an allegedly perfect being - where perfect means 'being complete, lacking nothing' - create something to be his friend? Indeed, a perfect being wouldn't create anything at all.]

God has other friends. The angels, but angels do not have our free will. [How does he know this? How could he possibly know this?]

The Trinity also make good company, but though They have different jobs, The Trinity think exactly alike. They are, after all, one Being. [If they think exactly alike, then why distinguish between them? Why have a "trinity" at all. Has the author never thought of these questions? And, again, how does he know this?]

This friendship, like any other, requires a conscious effort from both parties. God wants man to accept the hand of friendship freely [How does he know this?], which means he can also refuse it.

In short, He had to give man a free will [Philosophers have dealt with the subject for centuries and the consensus is that, even sitting in your armchair, you can tell that a free will in the sense the author requires is logically impossible. Nietzsche noted that a thought comes when 'it' wants, and not when we want it to. More recently, Sam Harris noted that I, as the subject of my experience, cannot know what I will think next or do next until a thought or intention arises. In other words, we literally have no control over our thoughts and actions - in terms of initiating them - and, therefore, no free will in that sense. And in the past 20 years or so, our understanding of how the human brain works, especially when subject to brain damage that can, in some instances, completely change personality, inhibit any intentions by a person, or even cause people to do things they can't refrain from doing - i.e., against their will - has provided empirical evidence that the mind is the brain, which is a physical organ subject to the laws of physics, and therefore subject to cause and effect, and therefore there can be no 'self' outside that chain of cause and effect that can alter that chain without being altered itself.], our tendency to think ourselves in charge, our human pride.

If we accept it, this friendship lasts for eternity, a condition we call heaven. [So, if we agree to be God's friend and flatter Him, he will reward us, otherwise it's eternal torment? Doesn't seem too fair to me.]

If we refuse this hand of friendship, however, because we are immortal [how does he know? Has someone he knows come back from the dead and told him?], we exist forever in a state of isolation we call hell [Hmmm...he seems to be sugar-coating this a bit. I don't think "isolation" is a good translation of "wailing and gnashing of teeth," or swimming in a "lake of fire," do you?]

God also had to do something to show us how much He wanted that friendship and that this friendship was His doing, not ours [So have we been pre-programmed to want a friendship with God? What about free will?].

That something was the voluntary death on the cross of Jesus, One of the Trinity and part of Himself. [But why would God execute someone who didn't do anything wrong, who wasn't guilty? Should we be doing that in our justice system? If I kill someone, should the authorities execute you in my place? And of course the whole atonement is a farce anyway - presumably Jesus is eternal, immortal, perfect, all-powerful and all-knowing - remember, the Trinity thinks exactly alike - then going through 'death' is like us being bitten by a mosquito, or even less. Now, if God ordered Jesus to be permanently stripped of his divinity, and truly become human - in essence only losing 1/3 of the Trinity - then I would consider that a fairer deal to atone for my 'sins'. Literally sacrificing his divine Son for the billions of humans who will have died by the end of the world - when is that again? - would be a good deal. If I have the prospect of an eternity in hell, then so should Jesus. But Jesus never really had that prospect.]

We commit a lot of sins and cannot atone for most of these. For example, suppose you kill someone. How can you ever atone to that man’s family, let alone the victim? Our acceptance of Jesus’ Atonement pays for this sin and worse in God’s eyes. [See my notes on the above paragraph.]

The payment also puts us in God’s debt, which is precisely where He wants us, because God has important jobs and satisfying relationships for everyone who accepts this hand of friendship. [Again, how does he know this? And why is willingly becoming someone's debtor when you become their friend a good thing? And what does being in His debt have to do with having important jobs and friendships? Is that psychologically healthy?]"


Again and again I encounter the same thing: either a lack of critical thinking, or a lack of an intellectual conscience (a conscience behind the conscience), or critical thinking and the rudiments of an intellectual conscience, but a neurotic clinging to the patently implausible and pervasively unhealthy.

Applying the Intellectual Conscience to One Man’s "Theology"

Published
by
Juno Walker
on January 28, 2011
.


The following explanation of Christianity was taken from here. Its author is a former high school chemistry and physics teacher in my home state of Pennsylvania.

I'm going to ask the questions this seemingly well-educated man should have been asking before he wrote his thesis here. My comments will be in brackets.

"God created man to be His friend. [First, a simple 'why?' We might want to do a little philosophical analysis here: why would an allegedly perfect being - where perfect means 'being complete, lacking nothing' - create something to be his friend? Indeed, a perfect being wouldn't create anything at all.]

God has other friends. The angels, but angels do not have our free will. [How does he know this? How could he possibly know this?]

The Trinity also make good company, but though They have different jobs, The Trinity think exactly alike. They are, after all, one Being. [If they think exactly alike, then why distinguish between them? Why have a "trinity" at all. Has the author never thought of these questions? And, again, how does he know this?]

This friendship, like any other, requires a conscious effort from both parties. God wants man to accept the hand of friendship freely [How does he know this?], which means he can also refuse it.

In short, He had to give man a free will [Philosophers have dealt with the subject for centuries and the consensus is that, even sitting in your armchair, you can tell that a free will in the sense the author requires is logically impossible. Nietzsche noted that a thought comes when 'it' wants, and not when we want it to. More recently, Sam Harris noted that I, as the subject of my experience, cannot know what I will think next or do next until a thought or intention arises. In other words, we literally have no control over our thoughts and actions - in terms of initiating them - and, therefore, no free will in that sense. And in the past 20 years or so, our understanding of how the human brain works, especially when subject to brain damage that can, in some instances, completely change personality, inhibit any intentions by a person, or even cause people to do things they can't refrain from doing - i.e., against their will - has provided empirical evidence that the mind is the brain, which is a physical organ subject to the laws of physics, and therefore subject to cause and effect, and therefore there can be no 'self' outside that chain of cause and effect that can alter that chain without being altered itself.], our tendency to think ourselves in charge, our human pride.

If we accept it, this friendship lasts for eternity, a condition we call heaven. [So, if we agree to be God's friend and flatter Him, he will reward us, otherwise it's eternal torment? Doesn't seem too fair to me.]

If we refuse this hand of friendship, however, because we are immortal [how does he know? Has someone he knows come back from the dead and told him?], we exist forever in a state of isolation we call hell [Hmmm...he seems to be sugar-coating this a bit. I don't think "isolation" is a good translation of "wailing and gnashing of teeth," or swimming in a "lake of fire," do you?]

God also had to do something to show us how much He wanted that friendship and that this friendship was His doing, not ours [So have we been pre-programmed to want a friendship with God? What about free will?].

That something was the voluntary death on the cross of Jesus, One of the Trinity and part of Himself. [But why would God execute someone who didn't do anything wrong, who wasn't guilty? Should we be doing that in our justice system? If I kill someone, should the authorities execute you in my place? And of course the whole atonement is a farce anyway - presumably Jesus is eternal, immortal, perfect, all-powerful and all-knowing - remember, the Trinity thinks exactly alike - then going through 'death' is like us being bitten by a mosquito, or even less. Now, if God ordered Jesus to be permanently stripped of his divinity, and truly become human - in essence only losing 1/3 of the Trinity - then I would consider that a fairer deal to atone for my 'sins'. Literally sacrificing his divine Son for the billions of humans who will have died by the end of the world - when is that again? - would be a good deal. If I have the prospect of an eternity in hell, then so should Jesus. But Jesus never really had that prospect.]

We commit a lot of sins and cannot atone for most of these. For example, suppose you kill someone. How can you ever atone to that man’s family, let alone the victim? Our acceptance of Jesus’ Atonement pays for this sin and worse in God’s eyes. [See my notes on the above paragraph.]

The payment also puts us in God’s debt, which is precisely where He wants us, because God has important jobs and satisfying relationships for everyone who accepts this hand of friendship. [Again, how does he know this? And why is willingly becoming someone's debtor when you become their friend a good thing? And what does being in His debt have to do with having important jobs and friendships? Is that psychologically healthy?]"


Again and again I encounter the same thing: either a lack of critical thinking, or a lack of an intellectual conscience (a conscience behind the conscience), or critical thinking and the rudiments of an intellectual conscience, but a neurotic clinging to the patently implausible and pervasively unhealthy.

Review of "The Moral Landscape"

Published
by
Juno Walker
on January 16, 2011
.


I want to review Sam Harris' latest book, The Moral Landscape, in which he attempts to argue "how science can determine values." He wants to show that the traditional and long-entrenched view that the domain of scientific knowledge is limited to merely describing the physical world - and that religion is the sole arbiter of value and meaning - is wrong. He is also arguing that the largely secular notion that morality is all relative is wrong as well.

After reading the book, I read several critical reviews, and they all seem to follow a similar tack. But before I get to that, I want to cite Harris in a rather lengthy response to his critics. In it, he gives a concise summary of his argument:

"Morality and values depend on the existence of conscious minds - and specifically on the fact that such minds can experience various forms of well-being and suffering in this universe. Conscious minds and their states are natural phenomena, of course, fully constrained by the laws of Nature (whatever these turn out to be in the end). Therefore, there must be right and wrong answers to questions of morality and values that potentially fall within the purview of science. On this view, some people and cultures will be right (to a greater or lesser degree), and some will be wrong, with respect to what they deem important in life."

The main criticism of Harris is that he is violating 18th Century Scottish philosopher David Hume's famous "is/ought" distinction which, briefly stated, means that the discipline of science can tell us where we came from and what we are (for the most part), but this knowledge cannot tell us what we should do. Another way to put it is to say that there is an inviolable distinction between "facts" and "values." As modern philosopher Owen Flanagan says in his book, The Problem of the Soul, "Saying 'This bowl weighs 10 pounds' makes sense, as does saying 'He is dead.' But when we say 'This bowl is beautiful' or 'It is bad that he is dead' - where is the beauty or the badness?"

While most of Harris' critics view him as committing this fallacy, Harris himself claims that he is not "simply claiming that morality is 'fully determined by an objective reality, independent of people's actual values and desires.'" And he acknowledges that a long evolutionary history has made us the type of species we are, with our peculiar physical and psychological values. However, elsewhere in his book he says that a scientific account of human values is not the same as an evolutionary account. What are we to make of this apparent contradiction?

Well, first of all, he believes that a Darwinian account of human nature is too narrow a focus for determining what he considers is the standard of value for our species: human well-being. Unfortunately for Harris - and everyone else who has ever thought about it - a tidy definition for something has multifarious and even ambiguous as 'well-being' has proven itself elusive. Nevertheless, Harris says "Evolution could never have foreseen the wisdom or necessity of creating stable democracies, mitigating climate change, saving other species from extinction, containing the spread of nuclear weapons..."

There are three issues here: one, how do we define 'well-being' or 'flourishing'; two, why does Harris believe science can tell us what human well-being is; and three, why does Harris think science can tell us why we should value well-being?

Harris readily admits that there can be competing definitions of human well-being; and further, he admits that these competing definitions can be equally valid - that is, equally moral. These are the many peaks on his 'moral landscape.' To push the analogy a bit further, he sort of argues that there is a baseline of misery that every human being would wish to avoid - we could call this the horizontal base of the landscape. The competing views of human well-being make up the various peaks and, according to Harris, "there will be right and wrong ways to move toward one peak or another."

Harris believes science - specifically neuroscience - can tell us what human well-being consists of. Basically, he says we can identify the neural correlates of human happiness, pleasure and satisfaction, as well as human misery, pain and angst. To me, he seems to be arguing not that morality is an objective property of the universe like the spin, charge and mass of subatomic particles, but that, since we can tie specific actions (and, more importantly, the consequences of those actions) to actual brain states and other physiological facts of human beings, then in that sense they are 'real' or 'objective,' and we can therefore exercise our judgment within and across cultures. He further argues that we are all similarly constituted such that we can, with confidence, say that what's good for one brain is good for another - at least for most things that matter.

But is this really a good argument in support of his claim that science can determine human values? Is there a bait and switch going on here?

In his book "Beyond Good & Evil," Nietzsche said that every philosopher so far has sought - and thought he found - a rational foundation for his philosophy. Harris obviously thinks he has as well. But I think he falls short. Not only can Harris not define human well-being (and as mentioned above, he even admits that some competing definitions are equally valid and moral), he hasn't really given us concrete examples of his 'science' in action - he merely asserts, with confidence (because he is a neuroscientist), that science can determine human values. So, really, he wants us to trust him.

What Harris seems to be doing is arguing for a type of utilitarianism or consequentialism, where the moral worth of an action is based on whether or not it maximizes the apparent well-being of as many people as possible. Harris says on page 28 of his book: "As we come to understand how human beings can best collaborate and thrive in this world, science can help us find a path leading away from the lowest depths of misery and toward the heights of happiness for the greatest number of people."

But if this is what Harris is arguing for, why did he feel the need to write his book in such a way as he did? Others have argued for the same thing, and more convincingly, in my opinion. Harris cites contemporary philosopher Owen Flanagan as an intellectual ally and pre-print collaborator. But I find Flanagan's account - which is a chapter called 'Ethics as Human Ecology' in his book "The Problem of the Soul" - to be much more convincing and thorough. In fact, I'd take Flanagan's 54 pages over Harris' 191 any day.

The consensus seems to be - and for good reason - that the sciences can certainly inspire and inform our ethical endeavors, but cannot be used as a final, authoritative stamp of approval on a code of morality. I can understand and appreciate Harris' desire to come up with something that combats the smug certainty of religion's centuries-long moral hegemony, as well as the spineless moral relativism of some of our cultural elite (though there are far more of the former than the latter, at least in America). But I came away from Harris' effort feeling like he was preaching to the converted, especially with his chapter titled "Religion." We've heard it from him before, both in "Letter to a Christian Nation" and his much better book "The End of Faith."

Unfortunately, I can't offer a route through the Scylla and Charybdis of our ethical discourse. On the one hand, having divisive figures like Harris come out with books that simply preach to the converted isn't going to reach a wider audience - the people who need to engage in an honest appraisal of the issues aren't even going to pick up the book. On the other hand, philosophical treatises in the manner of Immanuel Kant or David Hume - or even Bertrand Russell - aren't going to convince the man on the street either. Besides, Nietzsche suggested over a hundred years ago that "reasons" don't really work against something like the self-righteous certainty of Christianity, which is so affect-laden to begin with.

But at least efforts are being made, critiques and discussions are happening, and hopefully this will spill out beyond the confines of academia and into the streets of 'the rabble,' as Nietzsche affectionately referred to us!

Review of "The Moral Landscape"

Published
by
Juno Walker
on January 16, 2011
.


I want to review Sam Harris' latest book, The Moral Landscape, in which he attempts to argue "how science can determine values." He wants to show that the traditional and long-entrenched view that the domain of scientific knowledge is limited to merely describing the physical world - and that religion is the sole arbiter of value and meaning - is wrong. He is also arguing that the largely secular notion that morality is all relative is wrong as well.

After reading the book, I read several critical reviews, and they all seem to follow a similar tack. But before I get to that, I want to cite Harris in a rather lengthy response to his critics. In it, he gives a concise summary of his argument:

"Morality and values depend on the existence of conscious minds - and specifically on the fact that such minds can experience various forms of well-being and suffering in this universe. Conscious minds and their states are natural phenomena, of course, fully constrained by the laws of Nature (whatever these turn out to be in the end). Therefore, there must be right and wrong answers to questions of morality and values that potentially fall within the purview of science. On this view, some people and cultures will be right (to a greater or lesser degree), and some will be wrong, with respect to what they deem important in life."

The main criticism of Harris is that he is violating 18th Century Scottish philosopher David Hume's famous "is/ought" distinction which, briefly stated, means that the discipline of science can tell us where we came from and what we are (for the most part), but this knowledge cannot tell us what we should do. Another way to put it is to say that there is an inviolable distinction between "facts" and "values." As modern philosopher Owen Flanagan says in his book, The Problem of the Soul, "Saying 'This bowl weighs 10 pounds' makes sense, as does saying 'He is dead.' But when we say 'This bowl is beautiful' or 'It is bad that he is dead' - where is the beauty or the badness?"

While most of Harris' critics view him as committing this fallacy, Harris himself claims that he is not "simply claiming that morality is 'fully determined by an objective reality, independent of people's actual values and desires.'" And he acknowledges that a long evolutionary history has made us the type of species we are, with our peculiar physical and psychological values. However, elsewhere in his book he says that a scientific account of human values is not the same as an evolutionary account. What are we to make of this apparent contradiction?

Well, first of all, he believes that a Darwinian account of human nature is too narrow a focus for determining what he considers is the standard of value for our species: human well-being. Unfortunately for Harris - and everyone else who has ever thought about it - a tidy definition for something has multifarious and even ambiguous as 'well-being' has proven itself elusive. Nevertheless, Harris says "Evolution could never have foreseen the wisdom or necessity of creating stable democracies, mitigating climate change, saving other species from extinction, containing the spread of nuclear weapons..."

There are three issues here: one, how do we define 'well-being' or 'flourishing'; two, why does Harris believe science can tell us what human well-being is; and three, why does Harris think science can tell us why we should value well-being?

Harris readily admits that there can be competing definitions of human well-being; and further, he admits that these competing definitions can be equally valid - that is, equally moral. These are the many peaks on his 'moral landscape.' To push the analogy a bit further, he sort of argues that there is a baseline of misery that every human being would wish to avoid - we could call this the horizontal base of the landscape. The competing views of human well-being make up the various peaks and, according to Harris, "there will be right and wrong ways to move toward one peak or another."

Harris believes science - specifically neuroscience - can tell us what human well-being consists of. Basically, he says we can identify the neural correlates of human happiness, pleasure and satisfaction, as well as human misery, pain and angst. To me, he seems to be arguing not that morality is an objective property of the universe like the spin, charge and mass of subatomic particles, but that, since we can tie specific actions (and, more importantly, the consequences of those actions) to actual brain states and other physiological facts of human beings, then in that sense they are 'real' or 'objective,' and we can therefore exercise our judgment within and across cultures. He further argues that we are all similarly constituted such that we can, with confidence, say that what's good for one brain is good for another - at least for most things that matter.

But is this really a good argument in support of his claim that science can determine human values? Is there a bait and switch going on here?

In his book "Beyond Good & Evil," Nietzsche said that every philosopher so far has sought - and thought he found - a rational foundation for his philosophy. Harris obviously thinks he has as well. But I think he falls short. Not only can Harris not define human well-being (and as mentioned above, he even admits that some competing definitions are equally valid and moral), he hasn't really given us concrete examples of his 'science' in action - he merely asserts, with confidence (because he is a neuroscientist), that science can determine human values. So, really, he wants us to trust him.

What Harris seems to be doing is arguing for a type of utilitarianism or consequentialism, where the moral worth of an action is based on whether or not it maximizes the apparent well-being of as many people as possible. Harris says on page 28 of his book: "As we come to understand how human beings can best collaborate and thrive in this world, science can help us find a path leading away from the lowest depths of misery and toward the heights of happiness for the greatest number of people."

But if this is what Harris is arguing for, why did he feel the need to write his book in such a way as he did? Others have argued for the same thing, and more convincingly, in my opinion. Harris cites contemporary philosopher Owen Flanagan as an intellectual ally and pre-print collaborator. But I find Flanagan's account - which is a chapter called 'Ethics as Human Ecology' in his book "The Problem of the Soul" - to be much more convincing and thorough. In fact, I'd take Flanagan's 54 pages over Harris' 191 any day.

The consensus seems to be - and for good reason - that the sciences can certainly inspire and inform our ethical endeavors, but cannot be used as a final, authoritative stamp of approval on a code of morality. I can understand and appreciate Harris' desire to come up with something that combats the smug certainty of religion's centuries-long moral hegemony, as well as the spineless moral relativism of some of our cultural elite (though there are far more of the former than the latter, at least in America). But I came away from Harris' effort feeling like he was preaching to the converted, especially with his chapter titled "Religion." We've heard it from him before, both in "Letter to a Christian Nation" and his much better book "The End of Faith."

Unfortunately, I can't offer a route through the Scylla and Charybdis of our ethical discourse. On the one hand, having divisive figures like Harris come out with books that simply preach to the converted isn't going to reach a wider audience - the people who need to engage in an honest appraisal of the issues aren't even going to pick up the book. On the other hand, philosophical treatises in the manner of Immanuel Kant or David Hume - or even Bertrand Russell - aren't going to convince the man on the street either. Besides, Nietzsche suggested over a hundred years ago that "reasons" don't really work against something like the self-righteous certainty of Christianity, which is so affect-laden to begin with.

But at least efforts are being made, critiques and discussions are happening, and hopefully this will spill out beyond the confines of academia and into the streets of 'the rabble,' as Nietzsche affectionately referred to us!

Morality Lesson: Intentions vs. Consequences

Published
by
Juno Walker
on January 2, 2011
.



Most of us, Christian or otherwise, judge the morality of others by their intentions. For example, former president Jimmy Carter (and, more recently, Christine O'Donnell) said that, because he felt lust for other women, he had already committed adultery in his heart, even though he had never acted on it.

Nietzsche, however, claimed that this was not always the case, and that there was a time in human history when the morality of a person was based on the consequences of his actions alone, and not on his intentions. Additionally, he claimed that, in the context of human history as a whole, this was a rather new development, and he claimed that it started with the Israelites. Without getting into an in-depth discussion of Nietzsche's moral philosophy - something that would really warrant a book-length tome - I want to focus on the intention/consequence dichotomy.

Since we here in America are still basking in the fading glow of the holiday season, let's use an example that you could easily encounter on any street in a large city - like Manhattan, for instance: Let's say that John is a man in his 30's who recently lost his job, his home, and his wife - and he has no family to which he could turn for support. He is now living on the streets of Manhattan because no one will hire him - not only is he homeless without access to a shower or clean clothes, but the economy is still in the worst recession in memory.

However, let's say for the sake of argument that all John needs is $1,000 to get him back on his feet and put his life together - enough to give him a fresh start and enable him to find cheap housing so he can clean himself up for a job search, etc. John is walking the streets of Manhattan, soliciting for handouts. It's been tough, because John is a fairly good-looking man, he's relatively young, in good physical shape, and his clothes aren't really that dirty yet (too dirty to get a job, but not dirty enough that someone would think he's destitute) - so people don't believe he's really homeless. They think it's a scam.

And then along comes Frank, a middle-aged, "self-made" entrepreneur whose net worth is counted in the tens of millions. Frank believes he owes nothing to his genetic endowment, society, political organization, or the age in which he lives - he believes everything he has is entirely his own possession and not subject to be taken away by anyone's wish or whim - no one else is entitled to the fruits of his labor. It's cold, so he's wearing a long Armani top coat. In his right pocket is a copy of the Declaration of Independence; in his left pocket is a copy of Atlas Shrugged - abridged version.

As Frank comes upon a melancholy John, he begins to think that this would be an opportunity for him to both increase his feeling of power as well as the sum of pleasurable feelings over disagreeable ones. What I mean is, and what Nietzsche thought was the case, is that "we benefit and show benevolence to those who are already dependent upon us in some way; we want to increase their power because in that way we increase ours."

Basically, you could say that, by being benevolent toward those less fortunate, you raise yourself up in the eyes of others as well as yourself. You are giving out of your abundance. Your cup runneth o'er, etc. In terms of feelings, you might feel good by helping someone. It is a pleasurable state of mind. I've long thought that this is what happens with most people when they help the poor, etc., whether they realize it or not. But in our case, let's assume that Frank is motivated by the former and not the latter.

Frank reads John's sign saying he needs $1,000 to get his life back on track, asks him if this is indeed the case, and, having received a reply in the affirmative, hands over 10 $100 bills to John and continues on his way without saying anything further. John does indeed get his life back on track and all's well that ends well.

There is no dispute that Frank helped John, helped him completely and precisely in the way he needed to be helped. Let's further assume that all of Frank's money was legitimately earned, no one - not even animals - was harmed in the earning of this money. Not only has Frank succeeded in increasing the total sum of "good" in the world (something you could attribute to a form of Utilitarianism), you could also include the pleasurable, or positive, feelings within Frank himself in this sum.

Let's assume that we know Frank's motivation - we know he helped John for selfish reasons. It wasn't simply out of the goodness of his heart, or from "fellow feeling." It wasn't the holiday music being piped out of the store near where John was standing, it wasn't because Frank had seen It's a Wonderful Life the night before, and it wasn't out of respect for any religious doctrine - Frank is an atheist. It was simple self-interest - just like John Galt.

Can we consider Frank to be a moral person? If not, why not?

Morality Lesson: Intentions vs. Consequences

Published
by
Juno Walker
on January 2, 2011
.



Most of us, Christian or otherwise, judge the morality of others by their intentions. For example, former president Jimmy Carter (and, more recently, Christine O'Donnell) said that, because he felt lust for other women, he had already committed adultery in his heart, even though he had never acted on it.

Nietzsche, however, claimed that this was not always the case, and that there was a time in human history when the morality of a person was based on the consequences of his actions alone, and not on his intentions. Additionally, he claimed that, in the context of human history as a whole, this was a rather new development, and he claimed that it started with the Israelites. Without getting into an in-depth discussion of Nietzsche's moral philosophy - something that would really warrant a book-length tome - I want to focus on the intention/consequence dichotomy.

Since we here in America are still basking in the fading glow of the holiday season, let's use an example that you could easily encounter on any street in a large city - like Manhattan, for instance: Let's say that John is a man in his 30's who recently lost his job, his home, and his wife - and he has no family to which he could turn for support. He is now living on the streets of Manhattan because no one will hire him - not only is he homeless without access to a shower or clean clothes, but the economy is still in the worst recession in memory.

However, let's say for the sake of argument that all John needs is $1,000 to get him back on his feet and put his life together - enough to give him a fresh start and enable him to find cheap housing so he can clean himself up for a job search, etc. John is walking the streets of Manhattan, soliciting for handouts. It's been tough, because John is a fairly good-looking man, he's relatively young, in good physical shape, and his clothes aren't really that dirty yet (too dirty to get a job, but not dirty enough that someone would think he's destitute) - so people don't believe he's really homeless. They think it's a scam.

And then along comes Frank, a middle-aged, "self-made" entrepreneur whose net worth is counted in the tens of millions. Frank believes he owes nothing to his genetic endowment, society, political organization, or the age in which he lives - he believes everything he has is entirely his own possession and not subject to be taken away by anyone's wish or whim - no one else is entitled to the fruits of his labor. It's cold, so he's wearing a long Armani top coat. In his right pocket is a copy of the Declaration of Independence; in his left pocket is a copy of Atlas Shrugged - abridged version.

As Frank comes upon a melancholy John, he begins to think that this would be an opportunity for him to both increase his feeling of power as well as the sum of pleasurable feelings over disagreeable ones. What I mean is, and what Nietzsche thought was the case, is that "we benefit and show benevolence to those who are already dependent upon us in some way; we want to increase their power because in that way we increase ours."

Basically, you could say that, by being benevolent toward those less fortunate, you raise yourself up in the eyes of others as well as yourself. You are giving out of your abundance. Your cup runneth o'er, etc. In terms of feelings, you might feel good by helping someone. It is a pleasurable state of mind. I've long thought that this is what happens with most people when they help the poor, etc., whether they realize it or not. But in our case, let's assume that Frank is motivated by the former and not the latter.

Frank reads John's sign saying he needs $1,000 to get his life back on track, asks him if this is indeed the case, and, having received a reply in the affirmative, hands over 10 $100 bills to John and continues on his way without saying anything further. John does indeed get his life back on track and all's well that ends well.

There is no dispute that Frank helped John, helped him completely and precisely in the way he needed to be helped. Let's further assume that all of Frank's money was legitimately earned, no one - not even animals - was harmed in the earning of this money. Not only has Frank succeeded in increasing the total sum of "good" in the world (something you could attribute to a form of Utilitarianism), you could also include the pleasurable, or positive, feelings within Frank himself in this sum.

Let's assume that we know Frank's motivation - we know he helped John for selfish reasons. It wasn't simply out of the goodness of his heart, or from "fellow feeling." It wasn't the holiday music being piped out of the store near where John was standing, it wasn't because Frank had seen It's a Wonderful Life the night before, and it wasn't out of respect for any religious doctrine - Frank is an atheist. It was simple self-interest - just like John Galt.

Can we consider Frank to be a moral person? If not, why not?

What is it Like to Be a Dog?

Published
by
Juno Walker
on December 30, 2010
.



I am a professional dog trainer. Specifically, I train dogs to guide those who are blind. Each month, the organization I work for teaches up to twenty-four blind students (many of whom have had dog guides before) how to work with and care for their new dog guide. Recently, I had the unfortunate opportunity to pick up a dog from one of my organization's graduates who passed away. The dog was a German shepherd, an intensely loyal breed. The dog and his now-deceased master were together for a little over seven years.

Now, most pet owners who have had a dog for seven years know what it's like to lose a beloved pet that has been part of the family for that long. However, a dog guide is more than just a pet: under Federal law, a dog guide can go anywhere its master can go: they go to the supermarket, the local Starbucks, the bank, the post office, the library, and the workplace. They spend much more time with their master than pet dogs do - nearly twenty-four hours a day. Additionally, dog guides - as near as we can tell - develop a unique sense of responsibility for their master, further deepening the bond between human and canine.

Where am I going with this, you might be thinking? Well, when I brought the deceased graduate's dog back to my organization, and into my kennel, the dog seemed to simply pick up where he left off seven years ago: he merged relatively seamlessly back into the pack - not the same pack he was in seven years ago, but a pack just the same. He played, asserted his dominance, sniffed, drank water from the trough - all the things he did seven years ago with a different group of about twenty dogs.

What about his master? What about the person who fed him and loved him for seven years? What about the bond they shared for seven years, guiding his master everywhere - proud when his master praised him effusively for avoiding a car coming out of a driveway, remorseful when he brushed his master's arm against a parking meter when he was distracted by another dog? The dog shows no sign of depression. He's active - playful, even. He's socializing with other dogs. By all accounts he seems normal.

I am intensely interested in - obsessed with, really - human consciousness. It is probably the most bizarre - and intractable - phenomenon in the natural world. The 17th Century philosopher René Descartes sort of kicked things off, in terms of consciousness studies. He's the guy who said he could doubt pretty much everything about the world except himself - his consciousness. He famously said, cogito ergo sum: I think, therefore I am. From this, he basically concluded that there are two kinds of stuff: material stuff, and thinking stuff; or, material and immaterial - body and mind. It's called dualism. Since then, modern science - and neuroscience in particular - has disabused most scientists (and nearly all philosophers) of the notion of dualism. In other words, the mind is the brain: consciousness arises from material brain processes. Serbian-born American philosopher Thomas Nagel wrote a paper back in 1974 called, "What is it Like to Be a Bat?" Hence the title of my blog post. In this paper, he suggested that "an organism has conscious mental states if and only if there is something that it is like to be that organism — something it is like for the organism."

But to step back from the abyss of philosophical inquiry for a moment, consciousness is the thing all of us laypeople are most familiar with (or so we like to think). Each of us has the experience of what it's like to be us; we have a subjective point of view. Additionally, we have thoughts, emotions, and visceral feelings of pain and pleasure. I know what it's like to be me and I assume, based on observations of your actions and the knowledge that you are a human being like me, that you know what it's like to be you. Many times I can guess what you're thinking or feeling based simply on your actions or body language.

But what about a dog? The relationship between humans and dogs goes back, presumably, for thousands of years. That's thousands of years of human beings observing dog behavior. So pet owners - and especially dog trainers - enjoy a level of confidence in determining what a dog is thinking or feeling. Now, modern neuroscience has grown by leaps and bounds in its understanding of how the human brain works, but not so much with the canine brain. However, given an evolutionary understanding of life and some inductive reasoning, as well as millennia of intimate human-canine interaction, humans can be fairly confident in their conclusions about the dog's mental capacities and limitations.

Still - and this might be an obdurate anthropomorphic tendency in me - I find it baffling when a dog like this German shepherd comes back after having lost its master, acting as if nothing has happened. For me, it raises a lot of questions: what is the nature of canine memory? Do past memories intrude into the dog's consciousness the way our memories sometimes do? Does he dream about his master? If he does, does he remember them in his waking state? Is a dog condemned by nature to be stuck in the present?

A more interesting question would be: would it be better or worse if human brains were structured like canine brains, living in an eternal present?

Neuroscientists have been working on - and making steady progress with - what are called the Neural Correlates of Consciousness. Now, describing the neural correlates of consciousness doesn't yet offer a robust theory of consciousness - and may never, in fact, achieve such a thing, but understanding these neural correlates is a step toward such a theory.


Maybe someday we'll actually know what it's like to be a dog.

What is it Like to Be a Dog?

Published
by
Juno Walker
on December 30, 2010
.



I am a professional dog trainer. Specifically, I train dogs to guide those who are blind. Each month, the organization I work for teaches up to twenty-four blind students (many of whom have had dog guides before) how to work with and care for their new dog guide. Recently, I had the unfortunate opportunity to pick up a dog from one of my organization's graduates who passed away. The dog was a German shepherd, an intensely loyal breed. The dog and his now-deceased master were together for a little over seven years.

Now, most pet owners who have had a dog for seven years know what it's like to lose a beloved pet that has been part of the family for that long. However, a dog guide is more than just a pet: under Federal law, a dog guide can go anywhere its master can go: they go to the supermarket, the local Starbucks, the bank, the post office, the library, and the workplace. They spend much more time with their master than pet dogs do - nearly twenty-four hours a day. Additionally, dog guides - as near as we can tell - develop a unique sense of responsibility for their master, further deepening the bond between human and canine.

Where am I going with this, you might be thinking? Well, when I brought the deceased graduate's dog back to my organization, and into my kennel, the dog seemed to simply pick up where he left off seven years ago: he merged relatively seamlessly back into the pack - not the same pack he was in seven years ago, but a pack just the same. He played, asserted his dominance, sniffed, drank water from the trough - all the things he did seven years ago with a different group of about twenty dogs.

What about his master? What about the person who fed him and loved him for seven years? What about the bond they shared for seven years, guiding his master everywhere - proud when his master praised him effusively for avoiding a car coming out of a driveway, remorseful when he brushed his master's arm against a parking meter when he was distracted by another dog? The dog shows no sign of depression. He's active - playful, even. He's socializing with other dogs. By all accounts he seems normal.

I am intensely interested in - obsessed with, really - human consciousness. It is probably the most bizarre - and intractable - phenomenon in the natural world. The 17th Century philosopher René Descartes sort of kicked things off, in terms of consciousness studies. He's the guy who said he could doubt pretty much everything about the world except himself - his consciousness. He famously said, cogito ergo sum: I think, therefore I am. From this, he basically concluded that there are two kinds of stuff: material stuff, and thinking stuff; or, material and immaterial - body and mind. It's called dualism. Since then, modern science - and neuroscience in particular - has disabused most scientists (and nearly all philosophers) of the notion of dualism. In other words, the mind is the brain: consciousness arises from material brain processes. Serbian-born American philosopher Thomas Nagel wrote a paper back in 1974 called, "What is it Like to Be a Bat?" Hence the title of my blog post. In this paper, he suggested that "an organism has conscious mental states if and only if there is something that it is like to be that organism — something it is like for the organism."

But to step back from the abyss of philosophical inquiry for a moment, consciousness is the thing all of us laypeople are most familiar with (or so we like to think). Each of us has the experience of what it's like to be us; we have a subjective point of view. Additionally, we have thoughts, emotions, and visceral feelings of pain and pleasure. I know what it's like to be me and I assume, based on observations of your actions and the knowledge that you are a human being like me, that you know what it's like to be you. Many times I can guess what you're thinking or feeling based simply on your actions or body language.

But what about a dog? The relationship between humans and dogs goes back, presumably, for thousands of years. That's thousands of years of human beings observing dog behavior. So pet owners - and especially dog trainers - enjoy a level of confidence in determining what a dog is thinking or feeling. Now, modern neuroscience has grown by leaps and bounds in its understanding of how the human brain works, but not so much with the canine brain. However, given an evolutionary understanding of life and some inductive reasoning, as well as millennia of intimate human-canine interaction, humans can be fairly confident in their conclusions about the dog's mental capacities and limitations.

Still - and this might be an obdurate anthropomorphic tendency in me - I find it baffling when a dog like this German shepherd comes back after having lost its master, acting as if nothing has happened. For me, it raises a lot of questions: what is the nature of canine memory? Do past memories intrude into the dog's consciousness the way our memories sometimes do? Does he dream about his master? If he does, does he remember them in his waking state? Is a dog condemned by nature to be stuck in the present?

A more interesting question would be: would it be better or worse if human brains were structured like canine brains, living in an eternal present?

Neuroscientists have been working on - and making steady progress with - what are called the Neural Correlates of Consciousness. Now, describing the neural correlates of consciousness doesn't yet offer a robust theory of consciousness - and may never, in fact, achieve such a thing, but understanding these neural correlates is a step toward such a theory.


Maybe someday we'll actually know what it's like to be a dog.

A Parable for the Holidays

Published
by
Juno Walker
on December 22, 2010
.



Two prehistoric men, Gorbag and Khuzdul, are sitting around the fire at the entrance to their cave, enjoying the bounty of the morning’s hunt.

“This mammoth tenderloin is delicious,” says Gorbag.

“Yes, I agree,” says Khuzdul. “It is a gift from Scrod.”

“What is Scrod?” wonders Gorbag, perplexed.

“He is the Creator and Sustainer of all there is,” responds Khuzdul, solemnly.

“I don’t understand,” says Gorbag.

“Well, he created you, and me, and this mammoth,” says Khuzdul, plainly.

“How do you know this?” asks Gorbag.

“I have seen it in a dream; Scrod spoke to me,” offers Khuzdul.

“In a dream?” asks Gorbag, in an incredulous tone. “You mean those things we see when we sleep?”

“Yes,” replies Khuzdul, “where all things are possible, and the dead live on...”

“The dead live on?” asks Gorbag. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” says Khuzdul, “but dreams show us another world - so there must be a life after death.”

“This is most distressing,” says Gorbag. “All sorts of improbable and even impossible things happen in dreams. For instance, sometimes when I awake, I recall that I was flying high above our cave and the steppe and all the world; yet no matter how hard I try, I cannot make myself fly when I am awake.”

Gorbag pauses for a moment, picks a strand of coarse mammoth hair from between his crooked teeth and turns again to Khuzdul.

“Have you seen this ‘Scrod’ when you are awake?”

“No,” replies Khuzdul. “But I’m sure He exists.”

“So,” says Gorbag, “you can’t tell me Scrod exists as surely as you or me, or your beautiful woman, Shagrat - or even your two offspring, Radbug and Othrod?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but - “

“Then why should I believe you?” asks Gorbag, finally.

“Because I believe in Him,” says Khuzdul, “and you should, too.”

“But if I tell you that there is a a group of suckling boars without their mother just over the hill, you would rightly ask me for proof,” says Gorbag.

“Of course!” says Khuzdul.

“And if I told you that rubbing an otherwise poisonous herb on your sabre-toothed tiger wound would heal you perfectly, you would want to know if it’s worked on others,” says Gorbag, “or more likely, you’d want me to try it first.”

“Absolutely!” replies Khuzdul.

“So if you tell me that you believe in this Scrod, you must first show me that he exists,” says Gorbag.

“Why?” asks Khuzdul, indignantly.

“Now don’t get defensive, Khuzdul, I’m just making sure you’re being reasonable; being unreasonable in this world can get you killed,” says Gorbag. “Lions, tigers, and bears - oh my!”

“But isn’t it enough that I’ve seen Him in my dreams, and that I know He exists?” says Khuzdul, with a hint of desperation.

“But how do you know, Khuzdul?” replies Gorbag.

“Well, uh, I, I mean - I’m not sure. I have very powerful feelings whenever I see Him in my dreams,” says Khuzdul. “I feel that it’s all true.”

“I feel a lot of things, Khuzdul,” says Gorbag, “but rarely, if ever, do any of them amount to knowledge.”

The two men paused for a moment, lost in thought, robotically chewing and gnawing on the connective tissue of their whooly mammoth ribs, the hiss and crackle of the fire a comforting backdrop and counterpoint to the brutish and arduous existence of Mesolithic life.

“Don’t worry, Gorbag,” says Khuzdul, “I’ve managed to convince others of our tribe to follow Scrod, marshaling an impressive contingent.”

“Oh?” says Gorbag.

“Scrod appeared to me in another dream,” says Khuzdul. “Tomorrow we will enter a neighboring tribe’s valley and claim it for our own. It is overflowing with all kinds of animals fit for consumption - boars, goats, deer, mammoths - and fruits, nuts and berries sweet to eat, as well as land and fields meet for great events and festivals.”

“Festivals?” asks Gorbag.

“Yes,” says Khuzdul. “We will celebrate Scrod’s faithfulness and the bounty He will provide. We will thank Him for delivering us from our harsh life and questionable ways.”

“At the expense of a neighboring tribe?” asks Gorbag.

“Thus Scrod wills it,” pronounces Khuzdul.

Of the many feelings Gorbag has had, of the many types of fear he’s felt, for the first time he felt a new fear...

And this fear would not dissipate.

A Parable for the Holidays

Published
by
Juno Walker
on December 22, 2010
.



Two prehistoric men, Gorbag and Khuzdul, are sitting around the fire at the entrance to their cave, enjoying the bounty of the morning’s hunt.

“This mammoth tenderloin is delicious,” says Gorbag.

“Yes, I agree,” says Khuzdul. “It is a gift from Scrod.”

“What is Scrod?” wonders Gorbag, perplexed.

“He is the Creator and Sustainer of all there is,” responds Khuzdul, solemnly.

“I don’t understand,” says Gorbag.

“Well, he created you, and me, and this mammoth,” says Khuzdul, plainly.

“How do you know this?” asks Gorbag.

“I have seen it in a dream; Scrod spoke to me,” offers Khuzdul.

“In a dream?” asks Gorbag, in an incredulous tone. “You mean those things we see when we sleep?”

“Yes,” replies Khuzdul, “where all things are possible, and the dead live on...”

“The dead live on?” asks Gorbag. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” says Khuzdul, “but dreams show us another world - so there must be a life after death.”

“This is most distressing,” says Gorbag. “All sorts of improbable and even impossible things happen in dreams. For instance, sometimes when I awake, I recall that I was flying high above our cave and the steppe and all the world; yet no matter how hard I try, I cannot make myself fly when I am awake.”

Gorbag pauses for a moment, picks a strand of coarse mammoth hair from between his crooked teeth and turns again to Khuzdul.

“Have you seen this ‘Scrod’ when you are awake?”

“No,” replies Khuzdul. “But I’m sure He exists.”

“So,” says Gorbag, “you can’t tell me Scrod exists as surely as you or me, or your beautiful woman, Shagrat - or even your two offspring, Radbug and Othrod?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but - “

“Then why should I believe you?” asks Gorbag, finally.

“Because I believe in Him,” says Khuzdul, “and you should, too.”

“But if I tell you that there is a a group of suckling boars without their mother just over the hill, you would rightly ask me for proof,” says Gorbag.

“Of course!” says Khuzdul.

“And if I told you that rubbing an otherwise poisonous herb on your sabre-toothed tiger wound would heal you perfectly, you would want to know if it’s worked on others,” says Gorbag, “or more likely, you’d want me to try it first.”

“Absolutely!” replies Khuzdul.

“So if you tell me that you believe in this Scrod, you must first show me that he exists,” says Gorbag.

“Why?” asks Khuzdul, indignantly.

“Now don’t get defensive, Khuzdul, I’m just making sure you’re being reasonable; being unreasonable in this world can get you killed,” says Gorbag. “Lions, tigers, and bears - oh my!”

“But isn’t it enough that I’ve seen Him in my dreams, and that I know He exists?” says Khuzdul, with a hint of desperation.

“But how do you know, Khuzdul?” replies Gorbag.

“Well, uh, I, I mean - I’m not sure. I have very powerful feelings whenever I see Him in my dreams,” says Khuzdul. “I feel that it’s all true.”

“I feel a lot of things, Khuzdul,” says Gorbag, “but rarely, if ever, do any of them amount to knowledge.”

The two men paused for a moment, lost in thought, robotically chewing and gnawing on the connective tissue of their whooly mammoth ribs, the hiss and crackle of the fire a comforting backdrop and counterpoint to the brutish and arduous existence of Mesolithic life.

“Don’t worry, Gorbag,” says Khuzdul, “I’ve managed to convince others of our tribe to follow Scrod, marshaling an impressive contingent.”

“Oh?” says Gorbag.

“Scrod appeared to me in another dream,” says Khuzdul. “Tomorrow we will enter a neighboring tribe’s valley and claim it for our own. It is overflowing with all kinds of animals fit for consumption - boars, goats, deer, mammoths - and fruits, nuts and berries sweet to eat, as well as land and fields meet for great events and festivals.”

“Festivals?” asks Gorbag.

“Yes,” says Khuzdul. “We will celebrate Scrod’s faithfulness and the bounty He will provide. We will thank Him for delivering us from our harsh life and questionable ways.”

“At the expense of a neighboring tribe?” asks Gorbag.

“Thus Scrod wills it,” pronounces Khuzdul.

Of the many feelings Gorbag has had, of the many types of fear he’s felt, for the first time he felt a new fear...

And this fear would not dissipate.

Free Will & Responsibility: A Brief Case Study in (mostly) Layman’s Terms

Published
by
Juno Walker
on August 30, 2010
.


Johnny stood impatiently at the curb edge, poised to rush across the busy intersection after his best friend, Billy. They had become fast friends after only a few weeks at training camp, and they have been inseparable since. Now Johnny sees Billy receding further into the distance; he knows it would be bad for him to try and cross now - the light is against him - and those cars and trucks are large and noisy.

Johnny is not being physically restrained, he is free to leap into traffic if he wants to. Nor is Johnny mentally deficient in any way. But he's been taught that vehicles are something to avoid, though he doesn't really understand that they can kill him. You can see he's itching to go, that he's mulling over the decision in his head, gauging traffic - should I stay? should I go? - how long do I have to wait?! At just about the point where he can't take it anymore, the light changes in Johnny's favor and he's free to cross. He does so with a mixture of caution and delight that he can now, at last, be able to catch up to his best friend, Billy.

It would seem that Johnny has a genuine choice - to cross the street against traffic (and risk getting killed), or to wait for the light to change and cross safely. It seems to us that his choice is free - he is not being physically held back (though even if he were, he could still make the choice to cross, he just wouldn't physically be able to), and he is not under any psychological compulsion to stay put - he has the same mental capacities as his peers.

So the question is: is his choice really free? To put it a bit differently: does Johnny have free will?

Most of us would answer yes - Johnny has free will, and he can choose equally between two real choices. If he chooses to cross the street against traffic, he could just as well have done otherwise - he could have decided to stay put and wait for the light to change.

But if this scenario seems a bit odd, that's because it is: both Johnny and Billy are dogs being trained to guide the blind and visually impaired. I am an instructor for The Seeing Eye - the oldest existing dog guide organization in the world - and for almost eight years I've been training dogs for guide work and observing dogs in pack-like scenarios (up to 20 dogs at a time) in our kennels.

Each dog is trained for four months, and I work with each dog each day during that time. As a pet owner and dog trainer, it would be easy for me to anthropomorphize my dogs. And as every dog lover knows, dogs even seem to be more human than some humans we know. And they definitely seem to deliberate and make choices, for good or ill.

Now, this case study is most definitely not meant to "prove" that free will doesn't exist (nor is it a lesson in training a dog to be a guide for the blind). I simply want to present, by way of analogy, a different way of looking at the problem of free will. Of course, the first step really should be getting people to even view it as a problem in the first place. It seems to me the vast majority of us take it as axiomatic that we have free will; it seems like the most obvious and most accessible thing about ourselves and our mental processes. Setting aside the more technical - and some would say pointless - philosophical arguments for the time being, what would it actually mean for us to say that our will is "free"?

Well, most people would say that, when confronted with a choice, they are able to deliberate in such a way that they could imagine themselves taking any number of options. For instance, in our example above, let's suppose that Johnny and Billy are human beings. Johnny can imagine himself crossing the street against the light - not without a good bit of anxiety at the thought of getting hit by a car - or he could simply endure the frustration of having to wait for the light to change in order to make a safe crossing. At the moment Johnny is thinking about what to do, he feels he has as much ability to cross as not to cross. It's simply a matter of making a decision to do one or the other, weighing all the factors. Johnny can take the risk of getting injured or killed in order to catch up to his friend, or he can take the risk of not catching up to his friend by deciding to wait until the light changes - who knows, by that time Billy could be long gone.

If someone were to tell us that our thought process in regard to decision-making is like a mathematical formula, or like a computer program with lots of inputs and if/thens, etc., we would surely say that they were mistaken. We are not computers, we don't run like mathematical equations - there's more to us than that. We may strive to have our decision-making run with the precision and accuracy of a computer program or formula, but we can always buck the system and choose whatever we want.

I said I wasn't going to present any philosophical arguments regarding free will; but I will paraphrase a couple dead white males on the topic. A human being can surely do what she wants, but she can't determine what she wants. In other words, each thought has a cause or causes, and each cause has a cause of its own, and so on. In order for me to say that my will is truly "free," there has to be some point along that chain of causes where "I" interject with my own, non-caused cause. Otherwise - theoretically - you can trace that chain of causes back to the point where it no longer makes sense to say that "I" chose anything.

But where does that un-caused "I" come from? Most religiously-oriented people would say that it is our "soul" that chooses. The more secular among us would say that it is our "spirit" or our "consciousness." The religious view of human beings is too common and too obvious to elaborate on. Besides, most people with a Judeo-Christian background don't believe dogs have "souls" per se anyway. The secular view is probably best summed up by what's known as libertarianism - the philosophical position as well as the political position (with a capital "L" - think Reason Magazine, John Stossel, etc.). The current Director of Programs of The Atlas Society, William Thomas, wrote an article for their website back in 2006 titled, "What Is the Objectivist View of Free Will?" I won't go into what is meant by "Objectivist" here, other than to say it gave birth to the Libertarian movement. The article, however, gives voice to the key intellectual underpinnings of libertarian thought. Mr. Thomas says that, "We observe [free will] through introspection, the inward perception of our own conscious processes...our free will resides, most basically, in our ability to direct our conscious attention."

Thomas calls this ability "focus," and the choice to focus is "the choice to think." For now, I will set aside the more philosophical problem of what it could possibly mean for "me" to direct my conscious attention. The question lying in wait for us here is similar to the question on every toddler's lips when confronted with the proposition that God created the universe: who created God? In our case, we would need to ask, "How does the 'me' direct its attention?" or "What causes the 'me' to direct its attention this way or that?" Neither the religious believer nor the libertarian has a clear answer to this question. Ayn Rand (the intellectual architect behind Objectivism and, hence, libertarianism) herself suggested that that is a question for the hard sciences to answer. Ayn Rand died in 1982, and the mind sciences have come a long way since then - but that is most definitely beyond the scope of this case study.

Thomas makes a few points that I believe are applicable to dogs as well as humans. For instance, he writes, "After all, if free will is false, how can anyone choose to change his mind on an issue?" and "Free will is simply a human capacity for action." In my work as a dog trainer - and specifically in training dogs to guide the visually impaired - I am responsible for training dogs to "think." In fact, part of my job is to train dogs to "intelligently disobey" a command if the dog thinks it will lead to danger for itself or its handler. As an example, and without going into too much unnecessary detail, I condition dogs to respect traffic. What I mean by this is that while I can't teach a dog that a car can kill it - indeed, no one really expects dogs to understand the concept of death at all - I can teach dogs to avoid them in certain situations; e.g., when a blind person is trying to cross an intersection.

I see dogs change their mind all the time. I see, on a daily basis, a dog's thought process. I can see by their body language what they are most likely "thinking." Every day I see dogs like Johnny (I don't use the dogs' real names for privacy reasons) deliberate and choose. Of course, since dogs can't speak human language, I have to rely on body language and behavior; but dog guide trainers - and dog trainers in general - are confident in their assessments of dog "thinking" because of literally thousands of years of human-canine coexistence.

But does this mean that dogs have free will? Most people say no. Why? Well, most people say that only humans have free will. But why do most people say this? Well, as I said before, most people believe in some sort of "soul" that is categorically different from what a dog has. And if they don't believe in souls per se, they at least believe that nature has produced humans as the crowning achievement of evolution and has endowed humans with a capacity that the rest of the "animal kingdom" simply doesn't possess.

But Charles Darwin postulated - and the scientific community has overwhelming concluded since then - that the tree of life is more like a bush than a tree, and definitely not like a ladder with humans at the top. Consciousness and free will (if there is such a thing) could certainly have evolved in a different species, and consciousness may have indeed evolved in other creatures - we simply have no current way of knowing this.

Regardless, most people view the difference between dogs and humans as an unbridgeable gap. Based on my experience, I view the difference between dogs and humans as one of degree and not one of kind. Dogs clearly have the capacity to choose between real options, as humans do. Dogs and humans both respond in a similar way to a system of rewards and punishments that condition their respective behaviors. Dogs and humans modulate their behavior in anticipation of these perceived rewards and punishments. In the dog training world, this is known as Operant Conditioning. Animal trainers conceive of two types of conditioning: operant and classical. In classical conditioning, a stimulus elicits an automatic response - think of Pavlov's dogs and their conditioned reflex of salivating at the presentation of a visual or auditory stimulus, instead of just food.

Operant conditioning, on the other hand, is the use of consequences to modify the occurrence and form of behavior. Subjects "voluntarily" alter their behavior based on the perceived consequences (by contrast, classical conditioning can be thought of as "involuntary" behavior). Our criminal justice system is premised on a similar type of conditioning. And this leads us to the real concern over free will: if we don't have free will, then how can we be moral? William Thomas, along with most Libertarians and almost all religious believers, offers the following lament in his article: "If our actions are not up to us, then we have no moral responsibility for them." But do we need to be concerned with the actual existence of such a faculty as free will, if our society is already set up to modify the behavior - in a moral way - of its constituents?

Thomas ends his article with, "There can be no effective guidance of human action, nor a satisfactory scientific account of human behavior, without taking into account the inescapable fact of free will." Dogs can be effectively guided in their behavior without us believing they have free will, while still believing - and witnessing - their deliberation and choices. If we were to take human free will out of the equation, and view the comedy of existence without that presumption, the comedy of existence would still play out the same: we would see humans modifying their behavior based on the perceived consequences of a system of rewards and punishments, just like dogs.

And I think that free will is far from being an inescapable fact of reality. In fact, when we think about it, its existence if far from being settled, and its importance far from being properly considered.