A bit of philosophy: An important distinction

In Svorjak’s article on evil, wherein he explores the nature of, what he calls, radical sin he makes some interesting comments on some of the essential qualities of sin.

His argument rests entirely on the distinction between sin and danger, and he claims that mostly we confuse the two. Danger is, by his own stipulative definition, a value which is attributed to a situation or entity which is believed by the observer to be placing a threat on something they wish to protect. Like most of us he believes that sometimes the value of danger is misattributed and sometimes this is aptly done. But this is an issue in itself- which does not form part of his central argument. The reason for this is because it should not be difficult to observe, if the agent is being rational, when there is a real danger and when it is imagined.

However, when feelings of danger are confused for a certain detection of sin it becomes very difficult to pull the two apart. This is because mostly we are (and this is true across all cultures) hard wired for recognising evil. Whether Svorjak actually believes in sin as something which has independent existence is hard to determine from his argument, and maybe even irrelevant.

His point really is that, when the one is confused for the other it becomes impossible to even start looking at whether the danger is real. It raises defenses. It results in witch hunts and in crusades. His appeal, and this it must be said, has a normative or revisionary component. The request is that we use obvious observable evidence, reliable testimony and reason to determine whether the danger is real. If not it cannot be sin.

Another little bit of Philosophy: An abstract of something to come

Who, really, is afraid of objectivity?

In the current debates around truth, meaning and other such matters, much is said about whether or not truth should be construed as mind-independent. It is also a particular characteristic of the current debates which sees the term ‘mind-independent’ interchangeably used with the term ‘objective’. So, ‘mind-independent truth’ becomes analytically equivalent to ‘objective truth’. This is an unfortunate practice, leading to, what I believe, some of the impasses within this polemic. This confusion is further exacerbated by fallacies of equivocation when employing terms such as ‘fact’ within the speculations around whether facts are, once again, to be considered objective or not.

This paper sets about a very simple task: It aims to illustrate what some of the foundational terminology of the current debates could look like, and hints, but does not explore, what some of the immediate a priori consequences would be of accepting some of the proposed definitions.

For Adam- A bit of philosophy: Who, in the world, gets to eat?

When Mill went about his business in the later part of the Enlightenment period of Europe, some interesting things were said. Some of it, of course, was moral theory, our hero claimed, but there are those who will deny that moral theory based in, what seems like, economic principles, can make any sense at all. In other words, talking about ‘happiness’ as the measurement for what is good and right, simply does not describe what we take to be commonsense about such matters.

But what does all this have to do with eating, you ask?

It really has nothing to do with eating at all but, my suggestion is that, utilitarian theories, such as that proposed by Mill, may have something interesting to say about who, in this world, gets to eat. And why. And here ‘world’ is used in the literal sense. Being a great proponent of utilitarianism myself (even whilst thinking that Kant was more successful in some ways) I would like to suggest that the moral agent is, indeed, governed by utilitarian principles. And this is precisely the reason why there are people starving.

So, let’s assume that Mill is right, and that the following propositions are true:

1. That we are all predisposed to psychological hedonism. In other words, we cannot help aiming, with our every action, to increase our pleasure and decrease our pain. This, of course, cashes out differently for everyone on account of their individuality.

2. And then, Mill reasons, because my happiness is so important to me, it can be assumed that everyone’s happiness is important to them.

So far so good, dear reader.

3. He then goes on to say, and it is a pity that he does, that based in 1 and 2 above, it
can be assumed that general happiness is what everyone desires.

I shan’t go into the logical failings of this reasoning, but just hope that you can see, with me, that the argument has run horribly aground: The leap from ‘everyone’s happiness is important to them’ to ‘everyone’s happiness is important to everyone else’ is a tad, let’s call it, ambitious.

And it is precisely what is contained in this leap (that everyone’s happiness does not necessarily matter to me) that explains why there are starving people. So Mill, by a sort of fault in his reasoning, inadvertently demonstrates why it is that some have so much and others so little. Surprisingly, some small wisdom can be got from logic. Or maybe the lack of, I should say.

If the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer, and some are shutting down their organs for all the lusciousness of their favourite cuisine, while others’ bodies learn to manifest nutrients out of thin air, it is precisely because we do not care about everyone’s happiness.

Evidently, gluttony and starvation is an inevitable extension of our basic nature. One which could be constrained, of course, but not by another natural inclination, as Mill hopes to show.

To the Moral High Ground

You ask, where to and what do I mean?
Onwards to the moral high ground, of course!
A place that is innocuous, circumspect and clean
to the touch, to a show of force.
Onwards, to a place where hygiene is sanity
and infected thoughts are dangerous,
where doubt is only vanity
and new desires condemned, expeditious.

You ask, rightly, but what could be a sadder ending?
Nothing is sadder than the moral high ground, of course!
But to choose otherwise is to be defending
the lonely road on an unbridled horse.
So onwards, to a place where everything is good and right.
Without the frightening whims
of an earnestly coveted night;
Of wonderful passions but horribly hurtful sins.

C. Goodwin

A little bit of Philosophy: Moral or not

The debate, of course, is long, involved and much divided. It is riddled with the pedantic, and not such pedantic, distinctions which so characterises philosophy. And for meta-ethics the theoretical positions being occupied range from:
1. A sort of post-modern relativism in morality (where morality is reduced to nothing more than social construction, along with truth and knowledge)
2. Absolute moral objectivity, such as what Kant proposes with the logical necessity of moral laws (i.e. the Categorical Imperative)
3. The metaphysical stance of moral values being real things, with mind independent existence, which it is our duty to track correctly as moral agents. This position alone can then be divided into: A. Meta-ethicists proposing that moral judgment is “particularist” (stupid word- if you ask me), with the moral value of action being judged according to a whole lot of contingent facts in the environment and within the agent, but that the values are nevertheless real (as in objective). Untenable, entirely, of course. B. A Platonic sort position holding the obscure claim of certain actions and things having an inherent or innate sort of value. And this is somehow mysteriously related to the “essence” of that thing. The Form- the Greek sense, of course. Surely God only knows what Plato meant by this. Which, unfortunately, does not aid human enquiry.

The Juicy Bit: "But is it wrong to..."

So, dear reader and favourite person in the whole world, now that the theoretical map has been laid out, let us get to something a little more personal:

When Macbeth committed murder so foul, was it wrong because he was Scottish and, therefore, of a culture and religious persuasion which condemns murder? Was it wrong because it is irrational to commit murder if you yourself would not like to be subject to a murder? Or was it wrong because the action of murder itself, intrinsically, is wrong and will always be so- regardless of what the moral agent may think of it at any given time.
Or was it maybe not wrong of Macbeth to murder the Scottish king, because the particular circumstances, such as a very devious and persuasive wife, led him to believe that this action was justified?

But what does seem evident, is that nature and reason must come apart.

Macbeth had to choose.