It has occurred to me that ontological fictionalism has a unique position in the defense of an anti-Realist (or a-Realist as I prefer to think of myself) position. The anti-Realist makes a career of finding ways to discount the various ontological claims that Realists find themselves making. However, the Realist would be out of a job if he found that his arguments actually convinced the anti-Realist. Indeed, the Realist also makes a career of creating entities to combat the various reductions that anti-Realists always try to get away with. For the anti-Realist, ontological fictionalism represents the ultimate reduction. Let us see why.
These days , the Realist is always a realist about some particular entity because it plays some noun-like role in language. For example, one might be a realists about propositions because we use them as nouns (i.e. they 'refer'). The usual argument is that because the noun is an integral part of some particular discourse, and because the discourse is one we want to preserve philosophically, there must exist a reference for the noun.One such standard argument concludes that numbers and other mathematical entities exist. Now, I don't buy this argument, but that is an explanation we can save for another day. The point is that the Realist has taken it upon himself to declare that all things about which we speak exist. Thus, the only way that the anti-Realist can really gain leverage is to find some noun or class of nouns that we use which uncontroversially fails to refer to an entity. If such a noun or class of nouns could be found (call them "empty nouns"), then the trick is to reduce to an empty noun every other noun which one does not want to refer to any real object. Fictional entities and fictional worlds, then, are the single most promising prospect for assuming the role of the class of empty nouns. If it could be shown that fictional entities and worlds do not, exist at all, then one can hope to reduce other strange entities to fictional beings or worlds. Thus we have all different breeds of fictionalism: modal fictionalism, mathematical fictionalism, semantic fictionalism, etc.
Now what would happen if, in his pursuit of fictionalism, the anti-Realist were to fail to provide the Realist any significant evidence that indicates that fictional entities and worlds do not exist? Well let us first determine what the plight of today's anti-Realist really is. Today's anti-Realist hangs his hat on a Dummett-like or Putnam-like argument which shows that language lacks the ability to escape its own strictures. Perhaps the most convincing anti-Realist argument is the argument Kripke expounds in his interpretation of Wittgenstein. This argument boils down to a rather Quinean claim that all meaning relies on definition and all definitions rely on other definitions. The goal of this method is to show that meaning does not rely on reference because it does not rely on truth-conditions. If principle this can be shown to obtain (and some believe it can), then we can evade the Realist's reference-based ontology.
Unfortunately this anti-Realist tactic of undermining the troubling concept causes just about as many problems as it solves. For if meaning does not rely on reference, then it makes as little sense to say that nouns do not refer as it does to say that they do refer. In other words, the anti-Realist is making claims about a realm that he commands the Realist not to make claims about. He is a hypocrite. Now, some anti-Realists claim that it is enough to simply show that reference is nonsense, and from this fact it is obvious without argument that a noun cannot refer. This objection is not without warrant, but I do not think that many Realists find it convincing.
What the anti-Realist needs, in addition to this skeptical argument, is an empirical coup de gras. Should the anti-Realist find empirical support for his claim that there are no entities beyond thought and experience, then he is home-free, for he has the advantage over the Realist on both the a priori and the a posteriori fronts. So if the anti-Realist cannot find a suitable means of supporting his claim that fictional entities and worlds do not exist, then we will find ourselves in a stalemate: the Realist can now posit an abstract entity (or concrete entity, if we are Lewisians) to counter every anti-Realist reduction. Just so, the anti-Realist can perform a reduction for every abstact entity (or concrete entity) that the Realist cares to posit.
In short, the program of anti-Realism rides on the back of the project of ontological fictionalism. for it is on this project alone that it relies for an empirical advantage to buttress its theoretical stalemate.
-Priam's Pride
Sunday, November 30, 2008
On Aesthetics: the Emotion of Wonder
Recently, I was washing dishes and had a small philosophical moment. The small whirlpool created when I let the water out of the sink caught my eye, and I couldn't help but wonder at the sheer beauty of the physics involved: The air bubbles through the bottom of the falling water and into the middle of the drain pipe, where it rises out of the sink to make way for the heavier water. At the same time, the water moves in a circular pattern down the drain pipe, creating the the inertial effect called centrifugal force. This circular motion pulls the water out of the middle of the spout, making way for the air.
After marveling at the beauty of the event, it occurred to me that I couldn't quantify what I was experiencing at that moment as anything but an emotion. Somehow I had never before realized that wonder is the philosopher's emotion, not just her attitude. Understanding wonder as a passion has made Plato's description of eros much more intuitive for me.
Anyhow, as any good emotion does, this emotion admitted to at least partial explanation. When I tried to figure out why the little whirlpool had made me wonder, the best I could come up with is that it was the simplicity and geometry of the event at which I was marveling, because I could not produce that sort of motion on my own. But it seemed strange to me that I would wonder at a simple geometric motion, because the most difficult motions to achieve are the complex ones -- ones the human body is good at creating. How does the whirlpool deserve wonder in the face of the violinist or the dancer?
There is a poem by W. B. Yeats which I am partial to, called "The Sorrow of Love". It is short, so I can just include it here:
The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,
And all that famous harmony of leaves,
Had blotted out man's image and his cry.
A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears,
Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships
And proud as Priam murdered with his peers;
Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves,
A climbing moon upon an empty sky,
And all that lamentation of the leaves,
Could but compose man's image and his cry.
First, I should note that this is a revised edition of the poem. The original is similar in structure, but much different in its ultimate content. The first stanza of the poem is a description of nature and an observation that "all that famous harmony of leaves had blotted out man's image and his cry." The second stanza of the poem is an expression of human sorrow, a sorrow epic in its content (indeed, Priam is a character very extreme in sorrow). For Yeats, this expression of sorrow is much greater than anything found in nature without human beings. Thus, the final stanza of the poem is a description of nature and an observation that "all that lamentation of the leaves could but compose man's image and his cry." Yeats, in his first act of wonder, has observed the world around him, amazed that there could be something so beautiful and sorrowful. But as soon as this observation has been made, the motion of his lover has turned his mind onto the beauty of humanity.
What I want to point out is that Yeats' prioritization of his emotion of wonder (that the human is more wondrous than the world) was appropriate for reasons that Yeats did not mention. In fact, the human mind and the human body alike have an architecture whose specific task is to do all those complex things that the world, by itself, cannot do. Indeed, it is we who do all the doing. Our sheer physical versatility allows us to create spectacular events and works of art, beings whose beauty lies not in a pure expression of geometric simplicity. Works of art are beautiful for their complexity. In nature, the beautiful panorama and the sunrise are events that occurs with ease, because the natural path is the path of least resistance. Conversely, works of art are events that require work. The human hand must force nature out of its normal course and into the course designed by that very hand. But this is only an a posteriori piece of evidence that human beings are more wondrous than their world.
There is, on the other hand, a priori evidence that humans are more wondrous than their world. For the emotion of wonder is an emotion that expresses an explicitly human attitude. I contend that wonder is the most human emotion there is. There can be argument that animals feel at least most of the emotions we feel when love, and it is clear that fear and anger are emotions that we share with animals. In any case, there is at least one thing that there is absolutely no evidence that animals do: recognize and adore beauty. Now those who think that I am making philosophy into the greatest career path ought to remember that wonder is not only the emotion of the philosopher. It is also the emotion of the poet, the musician, the dancer, in short -- the artist. It should not, then, be surprising if the most uniquely human emotion were expressed in its strongest forms as a reaction to the most uniquely human happenings. That is, it should not surprise us if our concept of beauty turned out to be an anthropocentric concept.
Obviously, this is just a suggestion, but I never claimed proof. The only a priori force behind this explanation of the phenomenon of wonder is the anti-Realist suggestion that all experience is inextricably tinged by the human mind that experiences it. Clearly, this suggestion rests on the primary metaphysical claim that we have no knowledge of a world beyond our minds and bodies. But, then, all personal positions rest upon a metaphysical claim of some sort.
As a side note, I should observe that an agnostic or atheistic metaphysical Realist would probably claim that the natural world is the most appropriate subject for the expression of wonder. A theist metaphysical Realist, on the other hand, would probably claim that something like God is the most appropriate subject. But, at least for me, my own experience disqualifies these possibilities. So, at the end of the day, it is the incompatible a priori positions that provide the alternatives for the possible subjects of wonder, and it is the a posteriori evidence that will determine which of these three alternatives obtains.
-Priam's Pride
After marveling at the beauty of the event, it occurred to me that I couldn't quantify what I was experiencing at that moment as anything but an emotion. Somehow I had never before realized that wonder is the philosopher's emotion, not just her attitude. Understanding wonder as a passion has made Plato's description of eros much more intuitive for me.
Anyhow, as any good emotion does, this emotion admitted to at least partial explanation. When I tried to figure out why the little whirlpool had made me wonder, the best I could come up with is that it was the simplicity and geometry of the event at which I was marveling, because I could not produce that sort of motion on my own. But it seemed strange to me that I would wonder at a simple geometric motion, because the most difficult motions to achieve are the complex ones -- ones the human body is good at creating. How does the whirlpool deserve wonder in the face of the violinist or the dancer?
There is a poem by W. B. Yeats which I am partial to, called "The Sorrow of Love". It is short, so I can just include it here:
The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,
And all that famous harmony of leaves,
Had blotted out man's image and his cry.
A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears,
Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships
And proud as Priam murdered with his peers;
Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves,
A climbing moon upon an empty sky,
And all that lamentation of the leaves,
Could but compose man's image and his cry.
First, I should note that this is a revised edition of the poem. The original is similar in structure, but much different in its ultimate content. The first stanza of the poem is a description of nature and an observation that "all that famous harmony of leaves had blotted out man's image and his cry." The second stanza of the poem is an expression of human sorrow, a sorrow epic in its content (indeed, Priam is a character very extreme in sorrow). For Yeats, this expression of sorrow is much greater than anything found in nature without human beings. Thus, the final stanza of the poem is a description of nature and an observation that "all that lamentation of the leaves could but compose man's image and his cry." Yeats, in his first act of wonder, has observed the world around him, amazed that there could be something so beautiful and sorrowful. But as soon as this observation has been made, the motion of his lover has turned his mind onto the beauty of humanity.
What I want to point out is that Yeats' prioritization of his emotion of wonder (that the human is more wondrous than the world) was appropriate for reasons that Yeats did not mention. In fact, the human mind and the human body alike have an architecture whose specific task is to do all those complex things that the world, by itself, cannot do. Indeed, it is we who do all the doing. Our sheer physical versatility allows us to create spectacular events and works of art, beings whose beauty lies not in a pure expression of geometric simplicity. Works of art are beautiful for their complexity. In nature, the beautiful panorama and the sunrise are events that occurs with ease, because the natural path is the path of least resistance. Conversely, works of art are events that require work. The human hand must force nature out of its normal course and into the course designed by that very hand. But this is only an a posteriori piece of evidence that human beings are more wondrous than their world.
There is, on the other hand, a priori evidence that humans are more wondrous than their world. For the emotion of wonder is an emotion that expresses an explicitly human attitude. I contend that wonder is the most human emotion there is. There can be argument that animals feel at least most of the emotions we feel when love, and it is clear that fear and anger are emotions that we share with animals. In any case, there is at least one thing that there is absolutely no evidence that animals do: recognize and adore beauty. Now those who think that I am making philosophy into the greatest career path ought to remember that wonder is not only the emotion of the philosopher. It is also the emotion of the poet, the musician, the dancer, in short -- the artist. It should not, then, be surprising if the most uniquely human emotion were expressed in its strongest forms as a reaction to the most uniquely human happenings. That is, it should not surprise us if our concept of beauty turned out to be an anthropocentric concept.
Obviously, this is just a suggestion, but I never claimed proof. The only a priori force behind this explanation of the phenomenon of wonder is the anti-Realist suggestion that all experience is inextricably tinged by the human mind that experiences it. Clearly, this suggestion rests on the primary metaphysical claim that we have no knowledge of a world beyond our minds and bodies. But, then, all personal positions rest upon a metaphysical claim of some sort.
As a side note, I should observe that an agnostic or atheistic metaphysical Realist would probably claim that the natural world is the most appropriate subject for the expression of wonder. A theist metaphysical Realist, on the other hand, would probably claim that something like God is the most appropriate subject. But, at least for me, my own experience disqualifies these possibilities. So, at the end of the day, it is the incompatible a priori positions that provide the alternatives for the possible subjects of wonder, and it is the a posteriori evidence that will determine which of these three alternatives obtains.
-Priam's Pride
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Do Dogs Have Spatial Logic?
Dr. Cogburn has mentioned in his metaphysics class that dogs have been shown to have spatial reasoning. The evidence of this claim, for Cogburn, is this: When a dog comes to a two-way fork in a path, while chasing a rabbit, he will only sniff one path before he decides which path to take. This means that if the dog sniffs in the direction that the rabbit did not go, it would know to go the other direction, because it is the only alternative left. Of course, such an explanation boils down to a logical deduction:
Let A = the path the dog sniffs
Let B = the path the dog does not sniff
Let C = the path the dog came from
Where did the rabbit go?
(1). A v (B v C)
(three-way split).
(2). ~A
(because the dog just sniffed there).
(3). B v C
(by 1 & 2).
(4). ~C
(because the dog was just there).
(5). B
(by 3 & 4).
Now, this is a very simple deduction, but had the dog sniffed both paths, then it would have gone more like this
(1). ~A
(because the dog just sniffed there).
(2). B
(Because the dog just sniffed there).
The first deduction is clearly more impressive than this one. So if this were, in fact, the dog's thought process, then I would agree that the dog exhibited spatial reasoning. What I contend is that there is a more likely explanation of the appearance of spatial reasoning, which reduces the phenomenon to a simple decision based on description of the sensory data rather than logical deduction.
I suggest to the reader to observe your spatial sensory data. However it happens, the mind interprets the sensory data and constructs for itself a vision of an environment. That is, a space is delimited to the mind. Now imagine that you are chasing some object in this visual environment without either the use of the other senses or the use of reasoning. Indeed under these conditions, one can only chase an object that remains in view. For as soon as the object escapes view, one could only guess where it is if vision is the only tool used.
With this imaginary artifice in mind, consider the dog. Dogs have very poor vision, and rely heavily on their senses of smell. Where the eyes, for us, delimit an environment more clearly than any other sense, it is reasonable to think that the nose, for the dog, delimits an environment at least as clearly as the eyes do. In other words, the dog, by smelling different areas in an environment, probably constructs these bits of sensory data into an entire olfactory environment. The rabbit, in passing through the environment left its scent swirling in the air. The dog is probably able to detect these fine-grain differences in direction, velocity and intensity of smell in the same way that we are able to detect fine-grain differences in direction, velocity and intensity of a sound. I think it is plausible to suspect that a dog's sense of smell functions in a very similar way to our sense of sound.
Should this description of a dog's sense of smell obtain (and I believe that it does), the dog in our example actually did smell the rabbit when it sniffed the side where the rabbit did not go. But it smelled the presence of the rabbit as a thing that was moving in a particular direction based on the scent left behind, and the dog simply followed this scent. So, given this broad description of the canine sense of smell, it is apparent that the dog need not do a logical deduction if the motion of the rabbit remains within the dog's sense of smell the entire time. The dog is still doing nothing more than following an object, which clearly requires no reasoning.
This is not meant to suggest that dogs or other animals do not ever exhibit rational behavior. Rather, it is meant to show that this one particular example does not provide evidence of rational behavior in dogs.
-Priam's Pride
Let A = the path the dog sniffs
Let B = the path the dog does not sniff
Let C = the path the dog came from
Where did the rabbit go?
(1). A v (B v C)
(three-way split).
(2). ~A
(because the dog just sniffed there).
(3). B v C
(by 1 & 2).
(4). ~C
(because the dog was just there).
(5). B
(by 3 & 4).
Now, this is a very simple deduction, but had the dog sniffed both paths, then it would have gone more like this
(1). ~A
(because the dog just sniffed there).
(2). B
(Because the dog just sniffed there).
The first deduction is clearly more impressive than this one. So if this were, in fact, the dog's thought process, then I would agree that the dog exhibited spatial reasoning. What I contend is that there is a more likely explanation of the appearance of spatial reasoning, which reduces the phenomenon to a simple decision based on description of the sensory data rather than logical deduction.
I suggest to the reader to observe your spatial sensory data. However it happens, the mind interprets the sensory data and constructs for itself a vision of an environment. That is, a space is delimited to the mind. Now imagine that you are chasing some object in this visual environment without either the use of the other senses or the use of reasoning. Indeed under these conditions, one can only chase an object that remains in view. For as soon as the object escapes view, one could only guess where it is if vision is the only tool used.
With this imaginary artifice in mind, consider the dog. Dogs have very poor vision, and rely heavily on their senses of smell. Where the eyes, for us, delimit an environment more clearly than any other sense, it is reasonable to think that the nose, for the dog, delimits an environment at least as clearly as the eyes do. In other words, the dog, by smelling different areas in an environment, probably constructs these bits of sensory data into an entire olfactory environment. The rabbit, in passing through the environment left its scent swirling in the air. The dog is probably able to detect these fine-grain differences in direction, velocity and intensity of smell in the same way that we are able to detect fine-grain differences in direction, velocity and intensity of a sound. I think it is plausible to suspect that a dog's sense of smell functions in a very similar way to our sense of sound.
Should this description of a dog's sense of smell obtain (and I believe that it does), the dog in our example actually did smell the rabbit when it sniffed the side where the rabbit did not go. But it smelled the presence of the rabbit as a thing that was moving in a particular direction based on the scent left behind, and the dog simply followed this scent. So, given this broad description of the canine sense of smell, it is apparent that the dog need not do a logical deduction if the motion of the rabbit remains within the dog's sense of smell the entire time. The dog is still doing nothing more than following an object, which clearly requires no reasoning.
This is not meant to suggest that dogs or other animals do not ever exhibit rational behavior. Rather, it is meant to show that this one particular example does not provide evidence of rational behavior in dogs.
-Priam's Pride
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Workoholism
When I reflect on the job that I have and the job that I want, I sometimes find myself imagining that workaholics are some of the happiest people alive.
-Priam's Pride
-Priam's Pride
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Metaethical Fiat and Moral Outrage
An interesting metaethical situation presented itself to me today. It is important to note that I have not yet done any research on metaethics, so these are virgin thoughts. It is likely that many (or possibly even all) of my points have been made by other people somewhere, but I do not know who or where.
Sarah and I went to the Renaissance Festival in Hammond, LA today. As far as Renaissance festivals go, it was quite mediocre, but this is not the point. We and some of our friends had purchased a heaping plate of Mediterranean food and were picking at it by ourselves on a set of wooden bleachers. We were having what counts, by any standards, as a lighthearted adult conversation. Being who we are, we spoke vulgarly at times and with sparse use of swear words for emphasis. As it turned out, a rather typical middle-class family had seated themselves next to us. As soon as I noticed them (and was surprised by their presence), I decided to stop using language that might be deemed inappropriate in front of children. However, I let this decision slip my mind, and incidentally uttered the word "fuck" without thinking about it. The father of the family had, apparently, had enough of our swearing and, with a note of irritation, asked if we could cool it with the "f-bombs". We were done eating, so I asked my friends if they were ready to leave the area.
These are the facts of the situation prior to any ethical judgment. What I wish to do now is explicate the events ethically. Clearly, my decision to stop swearing was an ethical claim that I made upon myself; this much is obvious. Loosely speaking, I probably made the judgment based on an ethics of personal reciprocity: I imagined myself bringing my young kids to a Renaissance Festival and dealing with the burden of them picking up new vocabulary words. It is important to observe that I was not necessitated to make this decision. That is, my ethics could have been different. I could, perhaps, have used an egoist ethics (which one of my friends did). In this case, I would observe that I had paid to attend the Renaissance Festival and had not agreed not to swear. Therefore, I was not ethically bound to not swear. Perhaps other plausible ethical assessments are also possible, but it is enough that there is more than one.
The father's reaction is also important. The father actually made two speech-acts when he asked my to stop dropping F-bombs. One speech-act is the actual request that he made: he was genuinely asking a favor of me. This speech act is not an ethical speech act, because he did not make a claim over me with it. Had this been his only speech act, it would be as benign as if he had asked me to pass the salt, which is generally considered an ethically neutral request. And by any plausible ethics, he would not be wrong to ask me to do so.
The second speech-act that the father made with his single question was moral outrage. His irritation revealed that he had expected that I would come to the ethical conclusion that I would come to and adhere to that conclusion. This irritation that this expectation had produced is evidence that he was holding me to an ethical standard (his own ethical standard) and that he was disappointed that I had failed.
What I find interesting about this contrast is that the father had imposed his ethics upon me before finding out what my ethics was! He did not simply ask if I would stop swearing, and judge from my reaction whether my ethics agreed with his -- that I should stop swearing. If I were adhering strictly to what I had agreed to do, then I might have said no. To elaborate this ethics further, I intend an ethics, here, of egocentrism. Such an ethicist might agree to do things that he was not bound to do by law, but only on the basis that it benefits him. For example, in this case, if I really thought that the children learning swear-words from me would not harm me or my world in any way (especially considering that they will learn them anyway), then I might be well justified in telling him that I would not stop swearing. As a matter of fact, I really do believe that his children learning swear-words from me, in particular, will not affect my world in even the remotest way. I could have been such an ethicist. Nevertheless, he did not pause to find out whether I was an egoist ethicist or a reciprocation ethicist.
Now not only did I make a mistake in forgetting to adhere to my own ethics; he made a mistake in holding me to his own ethics before determining whether such a metaethical claim even made sense. That is, in order for him to be able to ethically make an ethical claim upon me, his ethics must first demand that it is the only legitimate ethics. Naturally, there are many ethical systems which make this claim (many extreme religious systems, for example), but it is difficult to determine whether this appropriate. What we would find, should it be acceptable, metaethically, to demand universal acceptance of one's own ethical system, is that the entire field of metaethics would reduce to fiat. That is, the only metaethical principle is: 'All persons ought to share my ethical system'. Let us call this the Principle of Metaethical Fiat ("Fiat" for short). It is quite clear that such a metaethical move is simply implausible, because it would preclude the possibility of a peaceful plurality of ethical systems: we would always be at each other's throats forcing our own ethics down each other's throats. Therefore, if there exists any further metaethical principle, this additional principle would preclude the Fiat. For if there were any other metaethical principle, then it would be a principle of toleration, but the Fiat is a principle of non-toleration. Therefore, the Principle of Metaethical Fiat is inconsistent with any other metaethical principle.
These considerations on the Fiat entail that this principle is, effectively, a principle that there is no metaethics. If metaethics is determined publicly (and I believe that it is because metaethics is much more useful to the public than to individuals), and there are public contributors to the definition of metaethics who hold any other metaethical principle (and it is obvious that there are), then the Fiat is false. Simply put, if there exists a public metaethics, then the Fiat is false.
Thus, the father was bound by metaethics to discover my ethical system before he could be ethically justified in holding me responsible for having violated an ethical code (the code, that is, not to swear in front of children). He simply assumed that my ethical system was the same as his. This is evidence of a shift of blame. As soon as the father revealed his irritation, he broke his own ethical code just as surely as I broke my own. The most interesting thing about this dual violation is that in pointing out my personal error, he made an error of his own. And his error, as an offense against me, is an error for which I was justified in expressing moral outrage toward him. In fact, he was not justified in his moral outrage, whereas I would have been justified had I been morally outraged. In fact, had I been outraged, I could simply point to the fact that he sat next to us, and that there were plenty of equally comfortable places he could have taken his family. Thus, I could show him that he was presumptuous in expressing moral outrage to me, since he is equally responsible for sneaking up so close to a group of adults. Indeed, adult conversation is not surprising to hear from adults in a casual atmosphere.
But I did not express any outrage at all. Instead I was embarrassed because when he accused me of acting unethicaly, he was accurate in the accusation. In other words, the father was epistemically unjustified in his assessment of my ethics, and because his epistemic misstep factored into his action, he is guilty of epistemic irresponsibility. But despite this guilt on his part, I admitted my own guilt and we left his family because I decided I was likely to forget about the decision against swearing again.
Thinking back on this event, it is quite surprising to me that he was unjustified in being morally outraged, but became morally outraged anyway. One might find it equally surprising, on the other hard, that I was justified in being morally outraged, but did not become morally outraged. I'm not sure why I was so quick to forgive his presumptuousness. I should note that there are often times when I get morally outraged by the presumptuousness of others. Even when someone assumes that I believe something that I actually do believe, I am still prone to moral outrage because of presumptuousness. To the reader, this fact about my own ethical code is rather insignificant, but to me, it is evidence that there is something different about assuming ethical reciprocity.
But is it really a plausible ethics to adopt egoism rather than reciprocity? If moral outrage is the indicator of an ethical claim over others, then I invite the reader to examine her own instances of moral outrage, and determine whether it diminishes when one finds oneself as guilty as the accused. Intuitively, it seems that a person faced with such a fact would be likely to calm down, though this could again me a simply oddity about myself.
In closing, I would like to note that I believe that what I did is what Jesus actually meant by the phrase "Turn the other cheek" (assuming he ever said it). I don't think he was suggesting the slave-ethics that Nietzsche accuses him of. Unfortunately, many of his followers seem to believe that he did suggest this slave-mentality, but that is neither here nor there.
-Priam's Pride
Sarah and I went to the Renaissance Festival in Hammond, LA today. As far as Renaissance festivals go, it was quite mediocre, but this is not the point. We and some of our friends had purchased a heaping plate of Mediterranean food and were picking at it by ourselves on a set of wooden bleachers. We were having what counts, by any standards, as a lighthearted adult conversation. Being who we are, we spoke vulgarly at times and with sparse use of swear words for emphasis. As it turned out, a rather typical middle-class family had seated themselves next to us. As soon as I noticed them (and was surprised by their presence), I decided to stop using language that might be deemed inappropriate in front of children. However, I let this decision slip my mind, and incidentally uttered the word "fuck" without thinking about it. The father of the family had, apparently, had enough of our swearing and, with a note of irritation, asked if we could cool it with the "f-bombs". We were done eating, so I asked my friends if they were ready to leave the area.
These are the facts of the situation prior to any ethical judgment. What I wish to do now is explicate the events ethically. Clearly, my decision to stop swearing was an ethical claim that I made upon myself; this much is obvious. Loosely speaking, I probably made the judgment based on an ethics of personal reciprocity: I imagined myself bringing my young kids to a Renaissance Festival and dealing with the burden of them picking up new vocabulary words. It is important to observe that I was not necessitated to make this decision. That is, my ethics could have been different. I could, perhaps, have used an egoist ethics (which one of my friends did). In this case, I would observe that I had paid to attend the Renaissance Festival and had not agreed not to swear. Therefore, I was not ethically bound to not swear. Perhaps other plausible ethical assessments are also possible, but it is enough that there is more than one.
The father's reaction is also important. The father actually made two speech-acts when he asked my to stop dropping F-bombs. One speech-act is the actual request that he made: he was genuinely asking a favor of me. This speech act is not an ethical speech act, because he did not make a claim over me with it. Had this been his only speech act, it would be as benign as if he had asked me to pass the salt, which is generally considered an ethically neutral request. And by any plausible ethics, he would not be wrong to ask me to do so.
The second speech-act that the father made with his single question was moral outrage. His irritation revealed that he had expected that I would come to the ethical conclusion that I would come to and adhere to that conclusion. This irritation that this expectation had produced is evidence that he was holding me to an ethical standard (his own ethical standard) and that he was disappointed that I had failed.
What I find interesting about this contrast is that the father had imposed his ethics upon me before finding out what my ethics was! He did not simply ask if I would stop swearing, and judge from my reaction whether my ethics agreed with his -- that I should stop swearing. If I were adhering strictly to what I had agreed to do, then I might have said no. To elaborate this ethics further, I intend an ethics, here, of egocentrism. Such an ethicist might agree to do things that he was not bound to do by law, but only on the basis that it benefits him. For example, in this case, if I really thought that the children learning swear-words from me would not harm me or my world in any way (especially considering that they will learn them anyway), then I might be well justified in telling him that I would not stop swearing. As a matter of fact, I really do believe that his children learning swear-words from me, in particular, will not affect my world in even the remotest way. I could have been such an ethicist. Nevertheless, he did not pause to find out whether I was an egoist ethicist or a reciprocation ethicist.
Now not only did I make a mistake in forgetting to adhere to my own ethics; he made a mistake in holding me to his own ethics before determining whether such a metaethical claim even made sense. That is, in order for him to be able to ethically make an ethical claim upon me, his ethics must first demand that it is the only legitimate ethics. Naturally, there are many ethical systems which make this claim (many extreme religious systems, for example), but it is difficult to determine whether this appropriate. What we would find, should it be acceptable, metaethically, to demand universal acceptance of one's own ethical system, is that the entire field of metaethics would reduce to fiat. That is, the only metaethical principle is: 'All persons ought to share my ethical system'. Let us call this the Principle of Metaethical Fiat ("Fiat" for short). It is quite clear that such a metaethical move is simply implausible, because it would preclude the possibility of a peaceful plurality of ethical systems: we would always be at each other's throats forcing our own ethics down each other's throats. Therefore, if there exists any further metaethical principle, this additional principle would preclude the Fiat. For if there were any other metaethical principle, then it would be a principle of toleration, but the Fiat is a principle of non-toleration. Therefore, the Principle of Metaethical Fiat is inconsistent with any other metaethical principle.
These considerations on the Fiat entail that this principle is, effectively, a principle that there is no metaethics. If metaethics is determined publicly (and I believe that it is because metaethics is much more useful to the public than to individuals), and there are public contributors to the definition of metaethics who hold any other metaethical principle (and it is obvious that there are), then the Fiat is false. Simply put, if there exists a public metaethics, then the Fiat is false.
Thus, the father was bound by metaethics to discover my ethical system before he could be ethically justified in holding me responsible for having violated an ethical code (the code, that is, not to swear in front of children). He simply assumed that my ethical system was the same as his. This is evidence of a shift of blame. As soon as the father revealed his irritation, he broke his own ethical code just as surely as I broke my own. The most interesting thing about this dual violation is that in pointing out my personal error, he made an error of his own. And his error, as an offense against me, is an error for which I was justified in expressing moral outrage toward him. In fact, he was not justified in his moral outrage, whereas I would have been justified had I been morally outraged. In fact, had I been outraged, I could simply point to the fact that he sat next to us, and that there were plenty of equally comfortable places he could have taken his family. Thus, I could show him that he was presumptuous in expressing moral outrage to me, since he is equally responsible for sneaking up so close to a group of adults. Indeed, adult conversation is not surprising to hear from adults in a casual atmosphere.
But I did not express any outrage at all. Instead I was embarrassed because when he accused me of acting unethicaly, he was accurate in the accusation. In other words, the father was epistemically unjustified in his assessment of my ethics, and because his epistemic misstep factored into his action, he is guilty of epistemic irresponsibility. But despite this guilt on his part, I admitted my own guilt and we left his family because I decided I was likely to forget about the decision against swearing again.
Thinking back on this event, it is quite surprising to me that he was unjustified in being morally outraged, but became morally outraged anyway. One might find it equally surprising, on the other hard, that I was justified in being morally outraged, but did not become morally outraged. I'm not sure why I was so quick to forgive his presumptuousness. I should note that there are often times when I get morally outraged by the presumptuousness of others. Even when someone assumes that I believe something that I actually do believe, I am still prone to moral outrage because of presumptuousness. To the reader, this fact about my own ethical code is rather insignificant, but to me, it is evidence that there is something different about assuming ethical reciprocity.
But is it really a plausible ethics to adopt egoism rather than reciprocity? If moral outrage is the indicator of an ethical claim over others, then I invite the reader to examine her own instances of moral outrage, and determine whether it diminishes when one finds oneself as guilty as the accused. Intuitively, it seems that a person faced with such a fact would be likely to calm down, though this could again me a simply oddity about myself.
In closing, I would like to note that I believe that what I did is what Jesus actually meant by the phrase "Turn the other cheek" (assuming he ever said it). I don't think he was suggesting the slave-ethics that Nietzsche accuses him of. Unfortunately, many of his followers seem to believe that he did suggest this slave-mentality, but that is neither here nor there.
-Priam's Pride
Friday, November 7, 2008
It's Always Less Tragic on the Inside
This is a phrase that my friend, Matthew Carlin, said to me yesterday in reference to a common acquaintance. I thought that this phrase counted as an aphorism, because there seems to be a very important idea compacted into it. It recently occurred to me that most aphorisms occur in the context of a larger discussion, and the aphorism usually just encapsulates the discussion. This was one that did. When a person's life is clearly tragic in nature (that is, in the old Greek drama sense: one can do everything to the best of one's ability, and still the world falls apart in one's hands), it seems possible that that person might not ever be confronted with the full force of the tragedy. Though Oedipus is fully aware of his tragedy, the only reason this is so is that he has outlived what should have been his own death. Instead he merely tore his own eyes out. Hamlet, on the other hand, is never aware of his grand failure, because that failure includes his own death. In Hamlet's own mind, it sucks pretty bad, but until his death, there is reason for him to think that things might still get better. For the tragic hero, and even for the tragic character, there is often hope left that the world will balance out. But it is only we who will outlive the person or who can foresee the eminent destruction of the person long before it ever happens, so it is only we who are truly acquainted with the tragedy completed -- the life finished. Often there is nothing one can do when one sees a person whose life will end tragically unless something changes. One can attempt to make this person see the incumbent tragedy, the grand event that will inevitably happen, but it probably won't work, and the person will become indignant.
Thus, it's always less tragic on the inside.
-Priam's Pride
Thus, it's always less tragic on the inside.
-Priam's Pride
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