Theodicy and Free Will

Good discussion today, we covered a lot of ground.

The conversation began around the problem of evil, something we have touched on before https://nmhsphilosophyclub.wordpress.com/2017/02/03/addicted-to-love-and-apologetics-continued/ This is an ancient problem. It was formulated by the Greek philosopher Epicurus.

Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent.

Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent.

Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil?

Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?

— The Epicurean paradox, ~300 BCE

To help us out on this, we watched the Crash Course Philosophy video on this topic, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AzNEG1GB-k

We explored a couple of different responses to this argument. The first is that the argument, in a way, undermines itself. If you say that the allowance of suffering by God is “evil,” but then conclude that God does not exist, you are at pains to explain the basis for your definition of “evil.” It’s a case of begging the question. A way out of this would be to argue that the system is only internally incoherent. It is not necessary for the arguer to agree with Christianity’s definition of good/evil in order to point out that its God’s actions appear to be evil by the rules of its own system. It is not necessary to agree with the premises of an argument in order to demonstrate that it is faulty. The problem is then to show how, by Christianity’s own rules, God is acting in an “evil” manner. Then the question comes down to Biblical evidence. And the Bible consistently reiterates that God is good, and that everything he does is good, even if it is to allow evil, natural or otherwise.

There are other responses. One common defense is the free will defense, which says that God, in his omnipotence, has allowed humans to have free will, and that humans misuse this free will. That explains human evil, but it doesn’t explain natural evil. And isn’t this another way of saying that God isn’t all-powerful, even if it’s his decision to become less powerful? If you have human free will (as it is commonly conceived, i.e., God does not control what people do), then you don’t have an all-powerful God.

But there are even more problems. In the free-will formulation, God’s saving grace is an outstretched hand, which we freely grasp. But there are problems with this on the basis of the doctrines of sin and atonement. In the doctrine of sin, man’s heart is inherently corrupt, and it is impossible for him to save himself; it is impossible for him to turn his heart toward God. God has to act first, and that’s part of what the crucifixion was all about–God’s act of salvation. Instead of an outstretched hand that we freely choose to grasp as we are drowning in sin, it is a hand that reaches down into the water and pulls us out when we don’t even know that we are drowning, don’t even have the good sense to look for a hand to save us. If we are able to freely grasp the hand–to choose salvation–then what was the point of the cross? Merely an invitation? (And wouldn’t this mean that, theoretically, it were possible that all men choose against salvation, and then that Christ had died completely in vain?) If we follow this train of reasoning, it seems we must continue to limit God’s power and efficacy; he is not omnipotent.

If God is omnipotent, does his sovereignty mean that we don’t make decisions, that we are not responsible, etc.? Not necessarily. Only a certain formulation of free will says that it is incompatible with God’s sovereign control (hence the parenthetical  “as it is commonly conceived”). But another formulation says that the two can coexist, in the same way that light, studied under one circumstance exhibits the qualities of a wave, while under another exhibits the qualities of a particle. We don’t have the categories in which these two can coexist, but does that mean it is not possible? No.

God’s absolute sovereignty and initiative in salvation raises the specter of predestination, and its distasteful offspring, double predestination (God destines certain people for heaven, and others for hell, apparently arbitrarily). As offensive as these doctrines are, their offense does not prove them false. We will wrestle with this issue another time.

If the free-will defense fails and God is in sovereign control, then it appears that he is ultimately responsible for evil, even if we try to dodge the issue semantically by saying he merely “allows” it. How can else can we overcome this issue?

Another potential response attempts to dismantle the argument itself. The problem of evil asserts that the allowance of suffering is an unforgivable crime that God commits. But why is it a crime? Is the allowance of suffering bad? Is suffering the worst thing? We can all see how good often comes from suffering. The suffering in itself is unpleasant, and therefore probably “bad,” but if God is ultimately responsible for it, he has at least included in its design the reality that it can produce some sort of greater good, and in Christianity, he has taken responsibility for it by himself becoming a human and undergoing suffering, and using that suffering ultimately as the means of our own salvation.

You ask: Why does it have to be suffering? Why couldn’t he have chosen a less painful way to shape the world and work out his good purpose? Well, to ask these questions is to assert that you have a pretty good idea about the way the universe works–in fact, such a good idea that you can then assert that it would have been better if it had been designed differently from how it was. The proper retort, and the one that comes at the end of the Book of Job, is: are you in the businesses of creating universes? If you are, feel free to go ahead and create a better one than this. If not, then you are not in a position to judge the creator of the universe in his business of creating it. By many accounts, the assumptions behind the problem-of-evil argument are ones of unsupportable arrogance, grossly overestimating mankind’s understanding of and position in the universe.

This is a frustrating answer, because it doesn’t offer a counterclaim; it doesn’t give a reason why God allows suffering. But it rebuts to the problem of evil in two ways that seem sufficient to me: it says that no one has any business raising the objection in the first place, and additionally observes that even if we don’t know the reasons for God’s allowance of suffering, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t any.

Although this type of discussion tends to exclude those who are not of the Christian faith, some found it helpful to be reminded that the religious system they object to as an atheist or agnostic is not a holistic system with all points of doctrine agreed upon by all adherents. There are many internal issues in all of these systems–Christianity, atheism, etc.–some of which are of crucial importance not only for those who subscribe to them but also to those who reject them.

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Action and Intent

Why should one be generous?

That was the question we started with today. One of us had run across an argument that ran something like this: one should be generous because it gives you a self-satisfaction that nothing else can give you. But then, the question is, isn’t that then not really generosity but selfishness? And what happens after an act of generosity that is ineffective or poorly received? (“They totally didn’t appreciate what I did for them–my generous effort was wasted!”)

So, if the reason behind being generous can’t be only because it makes you feel good (although, happily, that is often a side-effect), why be generous? Why is generosity good?

As is the case with all of the ethical questions we discuss, we reached an impasse, but having discussed ethics so much, we reached it rather quickly. Either generosity is, of itself, inherently good (and there is no way to prove that), or it is good because it is dependent upon something else–a chain of reasoning, or a dictum from God.

We discussed the problems with morality from “God says so.” While this is actually a way to solve the ethics problem, people bristle at it. It’s a conversation-stopper, and it seems overly simple. Shouldn’t there be a chain of apparent reasoning in addition, if in fact morality comes from God?

There’s much to say on this issue, but our conversation instead turned to the analysis of moral actions themselves: specifically centering around the question of action vs. intent. Can someone commit an evil action with a good intent?

For the sake of argument, we all agreed that Hitler’s actions of genocide were evil. But his intent was to promote human flourishing. At first, it appears that it is possible to have a good intention but to go about it in an evil way that actually prevents it from being achieved.

But, I argued, Hitler’s vision of human flourishing is quite different from ours–one that involves racial purity. So, it’s not enough to say that Hitler’s goal was “human flourishing” and dismiss it at that. We have a different conception of human flourishing that does not involve racial purity, therefore we would never have need of genocide in going about achieving it. The goal, at least in part, dictates the action.

Thus, it may be that since the action is dependent in no small way on the intent, the separation of the two is artificial. The intent is embedded in the action. Again: is it possible to commit an evil act with a good intention, or does the evil present in the act indicate evil intent?

We explored this a little bit with the example of Robin Hood. Robin Hood’s crime of robbery might be evil, committed for the greater good of redistributing wealth and caring for the poor. But, would it not be possible to say that Robin Hood’s act of robbery, while a crime under law, was actually the breaking of an unjust law (which stipulated that the wealthy should maintain their wealth while the poor should suffer), and therefore actually a just/good action?

What if Robin Hood killed someone during his act of robbery? Would that still be achieving a good end through evil means? Well, partly this depends on the circumstances of the killing, but we concluded that the act of killing is separate from the act of robbery, and therefore its intent could (should?) be considered separately. If Robin Hood kills someone out of fear of being killed himself–a preemptive, defensive killing–then he is doing so with the intent of preserving his mission, supported by an unjustifiable prediction of the future: how does he know that no one will continue his mission if he is killed? However, if his intention is different–to commit a virtuous robbery without harming anyone unless necessary (whatever that might mean)–the killing will not happen. The intent dictates the action.

Even in the case of the US capture of Osama Bin Laden, the civilian casualties indicate something about the goal. The vision included the potential for civilian casualties. If the intent were for a more righteous capture of Osama Bin Laden, the actions would not have been the same–we might have waited for a more opportune time, or gone about it in a less destructive (although perhaps potentially less effective) manner.

We concluded that actions, being highly dependent upon intent, actually include intent as an embedded aspect. The two are inseparable.

Our conversation drifted to various topics: transgenderism, feminism, gender, the idea of rights in general. An interesting question was, if gender is only a societal construct, can there be any justification for gender reassignment surgery on the basis of someone “knowing” they are a certain way?

The arguments for certain of these positions seemed pretty poor, and it appears that many people choose their positions based on their feelings rather than any sort of rational or critical thought process. I recalled a passage from Alasdair MacIntyre about how the shrill “protest” that we see in marches and rallies comes from the subconscious knowledge of the protesters that they can’t actually win their case in rational argument, so they must put on a display of emotion as a means of persuasion instead.
After having discussed many hot-button issues calmly and in the space of about ten minutes, we lamented how easily people are swept up emotionally and hang on to certain positions even though they are clearly not tenable. An acquaintance of mine told me recently that he decides his beliefs based on interpreting the facts of his life objectively–but what manner of interpretation is objective? (Doesn’t objectivity rule out any sort of interpretation by definition?) And what constitutes “facts,” especially when it comes to one’s own life or experience? After a certain point, knowing about philosophy is, in a way, like knowing that the emperor has no clothes. We get in arguments with people forgetting that they still think the emperor has clothes on. It’s no wonder these arguments are frustrating and go nowhere–many people are not aware of the philosophical assumptions they hold, or if they are, they take them as “givens.”

Preservation of the unfit, survivalism, and conforming to nonconformity

It’s been a while since Philosophy Club convened, and even longer since I’ve kept track of the minutes.

We began throwing out some different topics: Aristotle’s idea of the highest good (is it called eudaimonia?) was the first, by way of moral relativism and my devastating critique of it. (There is still some discontent regarding that post, but the relativists are in retreat for now.)

Serious discussion began around this hypothetical question: If human beings were created/grown for the purpose of transplanting the consciousness of the elderly (in order to allow people to live longer), would that be ethical? The human beings grown would be fully-formed human beings, with consciousnesses of their own.

It seemed to us at first that it would be unethical, since the transplantation of consciousness would erase the “original” consciousness of the body. Even if the bodies are grown for this purpose, they are still human beings. We noted that a human being is more than the sum of his parts–growing an ear on a lab rat and then removing it is of little consequence, but growing an entire human being and then erasing his consciousness (in effect, killing him, although not bodily) is a different matter.

Then we discussed the euthanasia and assisted suicide question. At what point is someone’s suffering “enough” to merit his decision to kill himself, or the doctors’ decision to kill him if he is not conscious? Is it subjective? Some people find reason to complain even though they live in luxury. “My internet connection is slow!” Suffering? Whereas, some people whose situations and circumstances would seem to indicate great suffering can find contentment even so. A person can feel suicidal, like life is not worth living, at the breakup of a relationship–but someone who has lost loved ones, or worse, can still think that life is a blessing.

In the case of euthanasia, we observed that the predictive powers of doctors is limited. No matter how low the chances of recovery, there is always the chance. Does this chance for recovery not justify keeping the person alive? Euthanasia is, paradoxically, an act of both arrogance and hopelessness.

The next question was asked in the context of Darwinism and survival of the fittest. In providing cesarean sections for pregnant women who are having difficulty in labor, and providing life support to infants who need it, are we preserving people unfit for survival? The answer seems to be yes. If “nature” were left to its own course, many people now living would have died during childbirth (mothers and babies), and others would not have been born (the mothers having died previously in childbirth). What are the potential consequences of this? Are we breeding a race of people radically unfit for survival in this universe? Will we eventually turn into a race of weaklings who will need more and more forms of life support as we preserve those who are unable to survive on their own, and always have been since birth?

Someone postulated that ethics comes from man’s instinct to survive. Survival is the ultimate goal of all ethics–right and wrong is decided by what will preserve the species best. I objected to this with a few different ethical scenarios.

The first is, of course, eugenics and genocide. If we want the race to survive, shouldn’t we exterminate people who are less fit, who would weaken the human race and make it less likely or able to survive–or at least work to breed people who are stronger and more fit? Many people would say that both of these projects are ethically wrong. That it is even a question seems to indicate that ethics is not merely about survival.

Second, I posed the example of a woman who is infertile. Somehow, we know that she is infertile (perhaps she has had her ovaries removed). At this point, she is simply consuming resources. Should she not be exterminated, to preserve the resources for people who are actually aiding the survival of the race (by reproduction)? There were a couple of objections to this. First of all, people who are infertile can still make contributions to society. But then we run into the problem of deciding what constitutes a contribution. What, beyond existence, constitutes a contribution?

Third, I asked, what about acts of sacrifice? A man standing by a river, and seeing a drowning child, should not jump in to save the child if survival is the ultimate priority. It would not even be a question. Refraining from attempting to save the child would guarantee his own survival of the situation 100%, whereas jumping in would significantly lower his chance of survival, even if it might raise the child’s chance of survival a little bit. Further, a child stupid enough to fall in the river should be allowed to perish and not reproduce, since clearly this child is less fit than children who do not fall in rivers. This clearly runs against the vast majority of morality throughout human history, which values acts of sacrifice and courage. Survivalism values cowardice.

None of this says that survivalism isn’t correct as an ethical system, but it seems to dismantle the idea that as human beings we got ethics from our instinct to survive.

We discussed conformity and nonconformity. What exactly is non-conformity; is it even possible? If you are a nonconformist, aren’t you really conforming to a certain idea about what nonconformity is? At the very least, nonconformity indicates that there is, at the outset, something to conform to, and there may be a wide range of possibilities, but there is still a limit to them. There is a framework to conform to: at the very least it excludes whatever falls under “conformity.” I mentioned Thoreau’s apparent difficulty with holding nonconformity as an ultimate ideal–after two years at Walden pond, he felt frustrated at having conformed to the path he had laid out for himself. But what did he think was going to happen?! With every choice we make, we only choose what it is that we are going to conform to, or how. There is really no such thing as pure nonconformity. This might also be why Nietzsche had a hard time developing a “new ethics”–he was vehemently anti-Christian, and wrote that the Ubermensch would be the man free from all morality. But at the very least, wouldn’t this mean acting contrary to Christian values, and wouldn’t this be limiting?

I posited that all “nonconformity” is actually to conformity to something outside of what’s been called “conformity” in the situation. For example, an activist might refuse to conform to an unjust law–but only because he is conforming to a higher ethical framework, one that declares that the law is unjust.

Lastly, we discussed argument itself, and how too often people engage in argument to win, not to learn (ourselves included). I mentioned Rogerian argument as an ideal alternative, in which one argues by convincing the opponent that it is in her benefit to adopt his position, necessitating that he begins by finding common ground, a place of solidarity. https://writing.colostate.edu/guides/teaching/co300man/com5e1.cfm

Potpourri

Four of us total today. This week we took a more informal approach to conversation, first beginning by sharing stories about arguments that had gone sour on Facebook–often ending with one of the parties admitting that he or she had not read the article or viewed the video in the original post. We lamented, as e have done before, that people tend to take honest argument as aggressive or condescending (or both). Granted, sometimes in the presentation of an argument, an arguer is aggressive or condescending (or both), but still sometimes honest argument is wanted, but not received in its intended spirit. These arguments can ruin friendships, or sour family relationships.

It is difficult to remain open to arguments when we hold strong opinions and when whoever is presenting a counterargument lacks authority. Sometimes, even if we lose an argument, we are tempted to hold our ground even so. There is much more at work in argument than argument.

I’m not sure how we transitioned to the next subject, but we began talking about drugs, and how prevalent they are among teenagers, and how easy it would be to do them. We have all had experiences or seen movies or been raised to avoid drugs (usually a combination of these). One’s ability to resist drugs might come down to society and expectations. If we are around someone whom we respect, in a broad sense, who is doing drugs and offers them to us, we might be more tempted than we would if our friends and family were drug-free and the person offering it to us were a stranger. I mentioned Requiem For a Dream and Trainspotting–two films about the ill effects of drug use and addiction, presenting as good arguments as anything else against the use of drugs.

Someone brought up a particular method for understanding political preferences by way of critique–a spectrum from liberalism to conservatism with communism on one end and nazism on the other. The Nazis were National Socialists, so wouldn’t they be closer to the communism/socialism end of the spectrum? We agreed that the X-Y axis method of mapping political preferences was superior to the two-dimensional spectrum.

Similarly to the simplification of politics, history texts and presentations are often watered down. Specifically, we mentioned Martin Luther King, Jr. assemblies, which change the core message (“I have a dream” becomes “follow your dreams,” or “I love myself!”).

Somehow or other, we got to talking about religions, mentioning that there are several that compete for the title of “Christian”–i.e., Catholics, Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, etc.–but that, arguably, are not properly called Christian. The Mormons, for example, have an entire additional sacred text (the Book of Mormon), the most obvious point of difference, in addition to doctrines about the afterlife (do they really believe that you become a God of your own planet, and create “spirit babies”?).

We touched on many topics today but didn’t really get deep into anything. Potential future topics: the underlying biases in public school education, and comparative religion!

Is Education Social Engineering?

The three usual suspects. Today our question was: is education social engineering? We actually answered this question fairly quickly. First, we defined social engineering as any attempt by a person or group in power to manipulate other people and shape society, and then concluded that public education fits the bill. We spoke less argumentatively this session and more sociologically and speculatively.

We observed that there are many implicit (and sometimes explicit) values taught at school, and “caught” from the overall student culture. Cliques and groups are a reality, and so are their power structures–there are leaders and followers within these groups.

Our conversation turned towards discussing the major problems with school in general, other than that it is social engineering. One of the biggest problems we identified is the lack of freedom. Compulsion automatically decreases the student’s interest, investment, and sense of value. This is contrary to one of the goals of school: to impart a cultural ideal or norm to students, namely the academic tradition. Now that I’m thinking of it, this probably comes from one of school’s original purposes which was to develop and encourage a foundation for active and responsible citizenship. We mentioned Thoreau’s “On the Duty of Civil Disobedience,” in which he states that compulsion is contrary to the foundational principles of the United States, and that it discourages personal investment. His examples are of the use of money to purchase goods–it discourages a personal appreciation of that good–but I think by extension we could include education as well.

This led to a broader discussion about government welfare. Is it the government’s place to take the citizen’s money and determine where it goes, even if it is for the general welfare? Ideally, this should be up to the individual citizen. However, that takes a high amount of trust in the individual to spend money responsibly–an ideal that is not often met in reality. People are selfish with money. However, this does not justify the government to take the money and decide where it goes. Additionally, people on welfare seem unappreciative of what they are given, because they don’t have to work for it. It seemed more apropos to us that the government or other charitable agency provide services to people that enabled them to get back on their own feet–drug rehabilitation programs, job training, etc.–rather than handouts such as food stamps that people have come to rely on almost as “givens.”

Returning to our discussion of school, we observed that many teaching strategies are also manipulation tactics. We talked about how students move from one teacher to the next at least once every year (in most school settings), which prevents them from forming lasting attachments to adult teachers/mentors, and seems to teach them that those relationships are not as important as those with their peers. Perhaps this is why students seem apathetic or even resentful (and sometimes downright aggressive) toward teachers once they reach high school. And because the teacher-student relationship is often reduced to classwork and the resulting grades, a heavy emphasis falls on work and achievement. Students take grades and feedback personally. This sort of heavy personal and emotional emphasis on grades stigmatizes failure. But the educational system progresses people to higher levels of new and more difficult skills–and how often does anyone do something right the first time they do it? I argued that failure is normal and inevitable, given the introduction of new and more difficult skills, and that it should therefore be expected and embraced. No amount of pep-talking or proselytizing in class about how improvement is really what matters or how grades are only part of the story will change the emphasis that a grade has when that is what all work comes down to: a printed report card, a GPA, a transcript, a college application. Of those who do not develop a highly emotional attachment to their grades, many go the other direction and become apathetic. We wondered why apathetic students should be compelled to come to school, when they make it difficult for the students who want to be at school and for teachers who want to contribute to the learning of their students. We had all experienced classes with one or a handful of disillusioned students disrupting the educational process, hindering the learning of all students and creating otherwise needless difficulty for the instructor. Is there a better way?

We questioned the arbitrary selection of skills emphasized by schools. Standards seem only to compound this problem. We noted that elementary standards demand skills that children are not ready to perform cognitively. At the high school level, many required classes seem out of step with the career paths that students end up taking, especially technical careers. High school mathematics seem geared towards engineering and scientific professions, and do not emphasize practical skills such as might apply to taxes or insurance. English is focused primarily on literary study rather than career writing, and seems inappropriate for those not going into highly academic professions. Furthermore, the way these studies are taught seems to disconnect them from real life. History, for example, always bored me in school, because I never understood the connections to my own life or what was happening around me. Its presentation was so dry. But now, I love learning about history, especially the philosophical underpinnings of different historical movements and time periods, and understanding how our current thought is influenced by what people long ago thought, wrote, and did. Perhaps in its attempt to be “objective,” school also ends up cutting out aspects of subjects that generate personal interest.

Again, we seemed to see that systematic or institutional education kills a true desire to learn. The emphasis on arbitrary skills, measured by grades, creates a disconnect for the student between what he is learning and how it guides his destiny. He is not assessed on whether he learns the material; he is assessed on how he assesses on the material, and he is not trusted to judge for himself whether he has learned something or not. We seem to take this for granted that this is how education should work, but it seems more obvious that testing only demonstrates how a student performs on a test and often little else. It is only through a leap of faith that we can say that test results quantify actual student knowledge/skills/learning. This is a discussion that seems to be missing from the charter schools debate. People say that charter schools perform poorly. But there are two important points: who are the students who are usually sent to charter schools? The ones that are performing poorly in regular schools? (If so, perhaps that is why charter schools perform more poorly. What is the cause/effect relationship between charter schools and their performance?) Also, how is the performance of charter schools measured? By tests? (Are the students going to charter schools students who don’t test well? Again, what is the cause/effect?)

We discussed radical alternative methods of education, including the School Without Walls. How might it look if students were not, in fact, required to attend school, but rather attended out of their own free will, and directing their own course of study? Teachers would act as facilitators–rather than planning lessons and implementing crowd-management and manipulation tactics, would provide knowledge, insight, and feedback as requested. These sorts of radical changes are slow to materialize because of the massive size of education as an institution. While all of this structure and legislation is well-intentioned, it also hinders changes from taking place–changes that might be radical, but that might also drastically change and improve the state and nature of education.

Our last comments were toward the changing world of post-high school expectations. Many parents still emphasize the importance of college, but the career world may be moving away from that. More and more people are getting a college education, making a college degree a more common commodity, and therefore less of a distinguishing factor on an application or resume. Also, many fields, especially the technical ones, value experience and references just as much if not more than study work. I noted that of all the vastly numerous times I have submitted something for publication, I am asked about my education never, but about any previous publications always. So even in non-technical fields, a track record of experience and previous success may be worth more than any amount of education.

For further reading:

Fortress of Tedium (in part about the School Without Walls) https://www.nytimes.com/2016/09/11/magazine/fortress-of-tedium-what-i-learned-as-a-substitute-teacher.html?_r=0

Normal Accident Theory https://books.google.com/books?id=q6xEAwAAQBAJ&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false

The Death Penalty: Is There a Dispensable Mob Boss?

A small group, only three of us. We had no planned agenda. There was a question about Aristotle’s four causes, but I wanted to put off trying to talk about them until I had done some more research. So instead, we decided to discuss some ethical issue. On a whim, I suggested the death penalty. More specifically, I asked the question: is it ethical for a society to put to death one of its members, and if so, when?

To figure this out, we began by examining some of the common justifications for the death penalty. Turns out, the death penalty is cheaper than keeping someone alive for life in prison. However, the cheapest option is not always the “right” option. Lower cost does not justify something ethically.

We moved on to the use of the death penalty as a punishment. Is the death penalty a proper punishment for murder, and is it justified to carry out such punishment? (I separate these two questions because even if the death penalty is an appropriate punishment for murder, that does not necessarily justify a society to enact it.) “Punishment” seemed to suggest some different interpretations. One potential definition is that “punishment” is something that makes someone feel bad for their actions. Obviously, since the death penalty takes away one’s ability to feel entirely, it doesn’t really function to inspire guilt or create bad feelings for someone who has committed the action (other than, perhaps, their anguish in prison as they await the carrying out of their sentence–more like a torture technique).

Alternatively, it might be justified by its function as a deterrent: the threat of the impending punishment might be such that it causes an agent to alter his or her course of action. This had some issues. The strength of this particular threat, and thus its effectiveness as a deterrent, appears to come down to one’s personal beliefs about death. The more afraid one is of death, the more effective the threat of death should be as a deterrent. If you are afraid of going to hell, then you will not want to be sent there. However, if you believe that you will go to heaven, you might be less likely to fear death. Similarly, if you are an atheist and you view death as merely the cessation of biological activity, then you would have a lesser fear of death than if you were afraid you might go to hell. If you are a radical Islamist and you view the death penalty as a death in battle, or for a cause, you might even welcome it. Thus, its effectiveness as a deterrent is probably limited by a population’s beliefs about what happens after death.

The jury is still out on whether or not societies with the death penalty are statistically less likely to have murders. But even if the death penalty were shown to be an effective deterrent, would that necessarily justify it? More on that later…

Another potential function is as a settling of a score, a payment of a debt, a restoration of the balance of justice. But this also seemed inadequate. If I am a thief, and I steal money from someone, I can repay the debt. But if I am a murderer and I take someone’s life, I cannot give that life back. Furthermore, the taking of my life by capital punishment does not bring the scales back into balance, it simply adds to the body count. Capital punishment doesn’t seem to settle a score in the same way as other punishments or acts of retribution. (But even these have their problems. If I steal Steven’s car, I can return his car or pay him a sum of money equivalent to it–but if I steal Steven’s car on a day when Steven has a very important job interview, making him unable to go, I have not only robbed him of his car, but I have also robbed him of the opportunity to get a very important job. And there is no way to repay the debt that I owe him on that score, even if I return the car, or two cars, or three.)

Some would argue instead that it provides consolation for the victims, even if it is not a proper restoration of the balance of justice. Well, it might, but that isn’t necessarily an ethical justification. Just because something provides comfort or consolation, even if it did function as an effective restoration of the scales of justice, or as a deterrent, doesn’t mean it’s right. A common justification is “an eye for an eye”–you take a life, you lose your own. But we don’t do that for other crimes. We kill killers, but… we don’t rob robbers. We don’t rape rapists. How is it that we can say: killing is wrong for a citizen but okay for the government, while rape, for instance, is wrong for both the citizen and the government? Where does the double standard start and where does it end?

Human beings have a strong sense of justice, and the desire to see it done. Punishment can satisfy that desire. We watch TV programs like Game of Thrones and get wrapped up hating certain despicable characters, and then we feel catharsis when they are punished for their misdeeds. We all have a desire to see justice, almost to the point of bloodlust. But there is a problem. Steven used the example of a villain in Bad Boys II–an otherwise “disposable mob boss” who elicits no sympathy, but who has a daughter. When the villain is defeated, or killed (I don’t know, it’s been a long time since I’ve watched Bad Boys II), there is some lingering unease–what happens to the daughter? This raises the question if in real life there are any purely disposable people, like the deplorable characters in Game of Thrones, or if people always have mitigating factors that, if known, would make their death rest less easily with us, like the not-quite-disposable mob boss from Bad Boys II. Does everyone points of sympathy? As such, is it for us to say that they deserve death? We know that most murderers and likewise messed-up people usually have tortured pasts and histories, things that can make us sympathetic to their plight. At what point do we draw the line, and for what crimes, saying: we feel sorry for you, but not sorry enough that we won’t kill you–?

But this raises the broader question of to what extent anyone is responsible for their actions in general. We said that murderers and otherwise messed-up people almost always have some history of trauma, and this could potentially mitigate their responsibility for their actions in some way. But if that’s true, couldn’t it be argued for all of us? Aren’t we all, in not insignificant ways, the products of our upbringings and our backgrounds? And at what point do we stop saying “well, that’s just the way I was brought up” and start saying “yes, that was my fault”? Here it appears that we must either feel sorry for everyone or feel sorry for no one–unless we can identify a point at which someone is or is not responsible for certain actions.

This poses another problem though, because if someone’s action is often out of a person’s control, even more so is the result. For example, we discussed how murder and attempted murder are judged differently–but the problem is, the action was just the same, and the only reason that it turned out differently was likely due to some factor outside of the agent’s control: his lack of experience as a murderer, his clumsiness, accidents that conspired to keep his victim alive. We see fit to judge people on the results of their actions, which are just as much the results of accident as much as (or even more than) their intentions. (For more on this issue, see Thomas Nagel’s “Moral Luck”) Why do we judge someone differently for something that wasn’t their fault?

But the prospect of no longer saying that people are responsible for their actions does not seem like a viable option. (We all know people who shirk responsibility.) So perhaps we should judge someone by his intent, not by his actions. However, this is incredibly problematic for any serious system of justice in society. How do we know someone’s interior thoughts and intentions? “I didn’t mean to speed…”

We discussed negligence: when is not doing something doing something wrong? Here again, there seems to be a double standard. The law seems to indicate that some acts of neglect are reprehensible, while others are not. Neglecting to feed your child is illegal. Neglecting to intervene in a fight (which may lead to a murder) is not.

Somewhere in here, we also discussed the off-chance that a verdict is wrong. Is it excusable for a government to take the life of a citizen if there is a chance, no matter how slight, that its verdict was in error?

This was as far as we got. There is more to say on this issue, but so far we could not find an acceptable justification for the killing of another human being by a government unless it was preceded by a divine command–God ordering that the person should be killed. So many ethical issues seem to run afoul of the “moral luck” problem. And this I believe is where Aristotle’s ethics project led him, although instead of “moral luck” he might call it fate, or tragedy: no matter how virtuous a person’s character, intent, and actions, goodness may still be thwarted by factors outside of the control of human beings.

Next week: the four causes, and is institutional education social engineering?

Addicted to Love (and Apologetics Continued)

We picked up essentially where we left off, launching right into the arguments for the existence of God. Steven had done some outside research, looking into Aquinas’ arguments. The one he found most compelling was the first cause argument: that everything has a cause, but there must have been something at first without a cause. This led into a discussion of Aristotle’s four causes, since many of these arguments rest on Aristotelian metaphysics. Aristotle’s efficient cause is what we normally think of to be “cause” in our contemporary understanding, but there were three others that are also used to frame arguments for God. Our understanding of these arguments is necessarily impoverished because we don’t subscribe to these metaphysics. I will post some resources on these later, since our discussion mostly consisted of me trying (badly) to remember them, and not really understanding them sufficiently.

We then discussed the problem of evil: if God is all-good and all-powerful, why is there suffering and evil? This is a common objection to the existence of God (at least a good God), but my assertion was that this actually doesn’t function as an argument against the existence of God, since it necessarily assumes that God already exists in order to be meaningful. It is essentially an “interior” issue within the belief system, not an objection from outside of it. In any case, it is a problem, and there are a couple of responses. A common response is the free-will argument: God is not ultimately responsible for evil–human beings are. It was good for God to give humans free will, but humans misuse that free will, and therefore evil exists. There are a couple of problems with this argument. First, it fails to explain natural evil and suffering–natural disasters, disease, etc. Second, a potential loophole is the question, well wasn’t it up to God to give people free will? And in doing so, didn’t he know that people would commit evil, and therefore isn’t he ultimately still responsible for evil? There are some responses to this. Greg Boyd argues a position called “open theism” in which case God is said, in a way, not to know. This view is obviously problematic with a lot of what we see in scripture and with much theology about God’s omniscience and foreknowledge, but it is one potential response. A second response to the problem of evil is to identify a couple other problems with the argument itself, and those are that it assumes: 1) the allowance for suffering is not good, and 2) we as humans have a viewpoint comprehensive and objective enough to know that the universe would have been better had it been created without the inclusion of or potentiality for evil. Both of these assumptions are contestable. If there is a God, we are not that God, therefore we have no grounds on which to judge the act of creation, nor do we therefore have grounds on which to say that the inclusion of suffering in its design is ultimately an evil thing. The Bible itself (see the Book of Job) seems to say as much. This response is disconcerting–it does not easily satisfy the cognitive and emotional dissonance we feel over this issue. But I find it compelling, and see that it is sufficient as a rebuttal to the argument.

We left off here, and revisited the topic of artificial intelligence. The question this time was whether or not artificial intelligence could be said to be conscious, and whether or not it could be said to act deliberately. Aristotle separates human beings from the animals using this as one of his criteria: that human beings are deliberate agents. As such, it seemed to us that artificial intelligence does not meet this criteria. Whatever “deliberation” occurs is predetermined by its programming, and so artificial intelligence is simply following its programming to a predetermined end. The goal of artificial intelligence is ultimately the execution of its code. Human beings have a different sort of end or goal (telos in Aristotelian language), and seem to have a different level of awareness of the sensory data taken in and analyzed. Artificial intelligence only responds to stimulus; human beings deliberate.

The final topic of interest was that of romantic love, and whether an addiction to romantic love might qualify as a type of disorder, such as might be categorized in the DSM. First we had to delineate what constitutes romantic love versus other types of love (such as long-term relational love, the love of beauty, or a love of ice cream, for example), and we seemed to settle on “romantic love” as defined by the chemical responses in the brain that create the emotional “high” that someone gets at the onset of a new romantic relationship, for example. Then we determined that such a chemical response is not properly called an addiction yet–the chemicals in themselves don’t necessitate addiction. Addiction is a response to the chemicals, not the chemicals themselves. We all seemed to agree that this is at least a possibility, though not a reality for some, if not most people who experience romantic love.

Then, we raised the larger question: what merits inclusion in the DSM? We wondered if the inclusion of something in the DSM, as a “disorder,” isn’t arbitrary. What is the gold standard, the “average” person against which all of these disorders are weighed? We pointed to the fact that many disorders have the potential to be constructive (such as ADD properly managed), and that some have been removed (homosexuality used to be classified in the DSM). How is it that we know a certain facet of human behavior is a dis-order? We also pointed to the problematic nature of diagnosis itself. Someone might exhibit the symptoms of a disorder, but yet not have that disorder. It seems that in some cases, it’s the assumption that the person has the disorder that leads to the later diagnosis–confirmation bias. Sara told the story of a man in prison exhibiting the signs of a psychopath who could not escape diagnosis.

This was a particularly rich discussion, and I’m missing some of the details. We left off with some suggestions of potential topics for next time: substance dualism, and the everlasting problem of morality and ethics, which is almost as big a problem as that there were still no snacks.