My bread is ready, I've buttered it up, I'm getting excited, I'm hungry as tup!
I've sliced up red pepper, some lettuce for crunch, but can't wait much more, it's been ages since lunch.
The smell is delicious; the anticipation! Now come on and cook you naughty old bacon!
Thursday, 12 July 2012
Thursday, 3 May 2012
The Value of 'Divine' Revelation
Among many philosophers today, religious fundamentalism is seen as an easy target. Dawkins, for example, has been criticised for focusing too much on 'extreme' forms of religion in his critique of faith in the God Delusion. Those who do so, mean to imply that there are more sophisticated faith positions, other attitudes to scriptures more worthy of discussion. I think they are right, though I understand why Dawkins feels that the simpler hardline literalist needs to be tackled, especially as it seems (to me) that such attitudes are too widespread to be ignored, and those who espouse them are increasingly politically active. Meanwhile, it seems, more moderate traditions, and more 'educated' strands of faith are dwindling in influence. If every man of faith were as erudite, subtle and thoughtful as the Archbishop of Canterbury, I doubt that atheists would have much to grumble about. The charming 'debate' between Dawkins and Rowan Williams I think is an ample illustration of this - (if you are interested in the conflict between religion and science on the nature of life, I recommend taking the time to watch it).
However, I am of the opinion that many of these 'non-extremist' defenders of religion do not go far enough. Whilst seeking to distinguish themselves from the 'unsophisticates' lampooned by the atheists - nonetheless they are often, in my view, too conservative and too attached to a certain kind of idolization of the 'word'. I will attempt to argue for the value of a more liberal approach, and that these conservative views are defending a primitive or inferior view of revelation.
Although the word 'fundamentalism' has slightly more precise sociological connotations due to its history in terms of defending certain threatened/unfashionable beliefs, nonetheless for the purposes of this essay I shall define 'fundamentalism' as a kind of absolutism about biblical authority: - the belief that all scripture is inerrant.
My argument is not simply that fundamentalism is wrong because they set too much store in the idea of revelation. Rather, it is that by arguing for the inerrancy of scripture (often by circularly referencing St. Paul's letter to Timothy and the claim that all scripture is 'God-breathed'), they have undermined the notion of revelation. Fundamentalism has done more damage to the idea of revelation than any of the simplistic atheistic arguments that the Bible is self-contradictory or contrary to evidence. I don't wish to explore these attacks on scripture in this essay, but they are much debated elsewhere (e.g. here, and here). A subtler notion of revelation could survive these challenges without much difficulty; and without any need for the theological contortions, justifications and mysteries that abound in defending biblical views.
The heart of the problem is in arguing for an idea of revelation that is so authoritarian, so dependent on the idea that it is God that is the author and not the actual human author. As a result, the idea of revelation has been distanced from ordinary human experience. We find it hard to relate to the claims of Muhammad or Paul because most people (I am fairly sure) do not claim to hear such a clear voice of 'truth from above'. An external personage speaking or dictating facts in this way is simply not something that many can conceive or support with any confidence. We all have a kind of internal dialogue; we have the ability to reflect on ideas deeply from different perspectives, conducting a kind of inner dialectic in search of that which is most wise and true. However, those who do hear such 'externalised' voices might be more likely to question their mental health (or spiritual health, perhaps) rather than assume a communication channel has been established with the divine and infinite source of being.
My contention is that their notion of revelation has become too divorced from the concept of wisdom. A more liberal understanding of revelation as 'insight' is preferable, or even 'inspiration' - a word that is often used by fundamentalists, but only in some context that is far removed from our ordinary experience of feeling 'inspired'. For this reason, many modern Westerners feel more comfortable seeking ideas from 'Eastern' scriptures that make smaller claims for their truth, rather than having to engage more passively with a text that claims to be an absolute dictator of truth. We feel more encouraged to explore these scriptures as ideas we can relate to, criticize, respond to, and apply as we see fit, rather than having to accept or reject in some black-and-white, all-or-nothing kind of way. As a result, we are likely to get much more out of them by studying them in this way. What is wrong with selecting ideas that are appropriate for our contexts, considering the value and wisdom contained in these phrases and viewpoints? Highlighting that which is good and useful, regardless of the apparent imperfections of the texts taken as a whole, just seems much more practical. If we felt more able to do this with Abrahamic texts, then the value of Amos's experiences and ideas, or John's or Peter's might be considered afresh, rather than rejected out of hand for containing other passages supporting slavery or genocide or condemning homosexuality.
Of course, once we accept this 'downgrading' of revelation, we destroy the line between 'scripture' and other 'literature'. However, I think this is a good thing. My hope is that people will also 'upgrade' their approach to other writing. Obviously there is a lot of 'trashy' literature out there: there is the tedious and the uninspiring, and there is also writing that may actually be harmful. Rather than enlightening us, some human texts are expressions of ignorance, hatred, and crass materialism. Indeed, some of those with the greatest potential for harm, I believe, are found in amongst these collections of scripture.
We should approach all literature with an openness to the idea that we may be sharing in someone else's wisdom - that they may have had a 'stroke of genius' or a 'touch of inspiration'. I personally have had a Christian upbringing, and feel I have learned a lot from the teachings of Jesus. But I don't think his purported sayings in the Gospels have to be accepted en masse without criticism. I have also learned a lot about life, humanity, morality and reality from reading Buddhist suttas, Shakespeare's plays, Louis de Bernieres' novels, Steven Pinker's explanations of scientific theories, Keats' poems, to name but a few. Every time I read a good philosophical work, I am engaging with something that could potentially enhance my experience and understanding of the world. Equally, however, we must approach any text with a critical mind, recognizing that they may be passing their own negativity, misery, false beliefs and malicious propaganda onto others. The more that such an attitude -(evaluative, open-minded but critically engaged)- can be fostered amongst everyone, the better.
However, I am of the opinion that many of these 'non-extremist' defenders of religion do not go far enough. Whilst seeking to distinguish themselves from the 'unsophisticates' lampooned by the atheists - nonetheless they are often, in my view, too conservative and too attached to a certain kind of idolization of the 'word'. I will attempt to argue for the value of a more liberal approach, and that these conservative views are defending a primitive or inferior view of revelation.
Although the word 'fundamentalism' has slightly more precise sociological connotations due to its history in terms of defending certain threatened/unfashionable beliefs, nonetheless for the purposes of this essay I shall define 'fundamentalism' as a kind of absolutism about biblical authority: - the belief that all scripture is inerrant.
My argument is not simply that fundamentalism is wrong because they set too much store in the idea of revelation. Rather, it is that by arguing for the inerrancy of scripture (often by circularly referencing St. Paul's letter to Timothy and the claim that all scripture is 'God-breathed'), they have undermined the notion of revelation. Fundamentalism has done more damage to the idea of revelation than any of the simplistic atheistic arguments that the Bible is self-contradictory or contrary to evidence. I don't wish to explore these attacks on scripture in this essay, but they are much debated elsewhere (e.g. here, and here). A subtler notion of revelation could survive these challenges without much difficulty; and without any need for the theological contortions, justifications and mysteries that abound in defending biblical views.
The heart of the problem is in arguing for an idea of revelation that is so authoritarian, so dependent on the idea that it is God that is the author and not the actual human author. As a result, the idea of revelation has been distanced from ordinary human experience. We find it hard to relate to the claims of Muhammad or Paul because most people (I am fairly sure) do not claim to hear such a clear voice of 'truth from above'. An external personage speaking or dictating facts in this way is simply not something that many can conceive or support with any confidence. We all have a kind of internal dialogue; we have the ability to reflect on ideas deeply from different perspectives, conducting a kind of inner dialectic in search of that which is most wise and true. However, those who do hear such 'externalised' voices might be more likely to question their mental health (or spiritual health, perhaps) rather than assume a communication channel has been established with the divine and infinite source of being.
My contention is that their notion of revelation has become too divorced from the concept of wisdom. A more liberal understanding of revelation as 'insight' is preferable, or even 'inspiration' - a word that is often used by fundamentalists, but only in some context that is far removed from our ordinary experience of feeling 'inspired'. For this reason, many modern Westerners feel more comfortable seeking ideas from 'Eastern' scriptures that make smaller claims for their truth, rather than having to engage more passively with a text that claims to be an absolute dictator of truth. We feel more encouraged to explore these scriptures as ideas we can relate to, criticize, respond to, and apply as we see fit, rather than having to accept or reject in some black-and-white, all-or-nothing kind of way. As a result, we are likely to get much more out of them by studying them in this way. What is wrong with selecting ideas that are appropriate for our contexts, considering the value and wisdom contained in these phrases and viewpoints? Highlighting that which is good and useful, regardless of the apparent imperfections of the texts taken as a whole, just seems much more practical. If we felt more able to do this with Abrahamic texts, then the value of Amos's experiences and ideas, or John's or Peter's might be considered afresh, rather than rejected out of hand for containing other passages supporting slavery or genocide or condemning homosexuality.
Of course, once we accept this 'downgrading' of revelation, we destroy the line between 'scripture' and other 'literature'. However, I think this is a good thing. My hope is that people will also 'upgrade' their approach to other writing. Obviously there is a lot of 'trashy' literature out there: there is the tedious and the uninspiring, and there is also writing that may actually be harmful. Rather than enlightening us, some human texts are expressions of ignorance, hatred, and crass materialism. Indeed, some of those with the greatest potential for harm, I believe, are found in amongst these collections of scripture.
We should approach all literature with an openness to the idea that we may be sharing in someone else's wisdom - that they may have had a 'stroke of genius' or a 'touch of inspiration'. I personally have had a Christian upbringing, and feel I have learned a lot from the teachings of Jesus. But I don't think his purported sayings in the Gospels have to be accepted en masse without criticism. I have also learned a lot about life, humanity, morality and reality from reading Buddhist suttas, Shakespeare's plays, Louis de Bernieres' novels, Steven Pinker's explanations of scientific theories, Keats' poems, to name but a few. Every time I read a good philosophical work, I am engaging with something that could potentially enhance my experience and understanding of the world. Equally, however, we must approach any text with a critical mind, recognizing that they may be passing their own negativity, misery, false beliefs and malicious propaganda onto others. The more that such an attitude -(evaluative, open-minded but critically engaged)- can be fostered amongst everyone, the better.
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Homophobic abuse, football chants, humour, liberty and tolerance.
On a moral level, verbal abuse is verbal abuse, whether it is racist or anti-gay, and it is by definition liable to hurt or cause offence. Blaming someone for taking offence is ridiculous. After all, what is the difference from blaming someone for being upset if they get bullied? It is not the same thing as blaming someone for being raped, which is arguably a much more serious issue, but it is still a regrettably common defence of abusive language to say that it is just 'banter' and to suggest that we should tolerate it. I can remember from primary school years the nasty comments directed at some of my peers, and it is interesting that sometimes these jeers were followed by the chant: "You can't take it - You can't take it!" ...As if the victim was further at fault for being upset by the bullying.
I was driven to write this after reading this article about abuse directed at fans of Brighton & Hove Albion FC by Leicester City supporters, (of the same sort given by Leeds United fans recently, and which has also been directed towards Blackpool FC fans, so not an isolated occurrence). There are some fairly ignorant comments below the article, but also some positive ones; I think the most interesting comment is from someone called Lee, who questions where we draw the line. He then mentions regionalism, which I think this is absolutely relevant. The only consistent moral line to take is that all abusive comments are wrong.
Homophobia is arguably a bigger issue than regionalism right now, (even in football, as Amal Fashanu's documentary has highlighted, which is deeply, if not inherently tribal)... but regionalism can have harmful consequences nonetheless. Perhaps one day society will evolve to the point where anti-Scouse prejudices, to take one notable example, are more universally frowned upon, if not prohibited. If you think that is overly optimistic, I would have to agree... but if you think that such a world is not desirable- that is a view I want to contest. For instance, I imagine critics trying to argue that offensive language is somehow a right, or that it would be impossible for them to find anything funny if it doesn’t involve nastiness. To those who feel that this so-called ‘banter’ is acceptable, I would ask: why? What about it is at all good? Surely you don’t think it is somehow an important civil right to be horrible to others? Oh! They say, the world would be drab without being able to 'take the piss'. But what is so bland about peace, love and understanding? [Apologies to Elvis Costello!]
A distinction might also be drawn between gentle mockery and more obviously cruel comments. Matt Lucas, an openly gay comedian, suggested in the documentary mentioned above that one chant directed at Brighton fans: "we can see you holding hands" was acceptable, whereas a chant directed at Sol Campbell (which I will not quote) was unacceptable. There were other chants directed at Brighton fans that go somewhat further than reference to holding hands, but there is no doubt that the words directed at Campbell were nonetheless many times nastier. To me, the main thing that made the latter chant worse was not simply a 'degree' of nastiness, but the fact that it made reference to him dying a gruesome death. Matt Lucas' main defence of the former chant was that it was 'witty'. But, I would argue, his real point was, or should have been, that it was not as unfriendly. After all, the Sol Campbell chant involved wit and skill, but was absolutely vile. The difficulty that then arises is deciding how cruel the intention is.
The documentary also highlights another way this same distinction that may be drawn. In the case of Anton Hysen, his teammates seemed (largely) comfortable with his homosexuality, but felt more able to make jokes about it, now that he was 'out'. The clear implication was that these jokes were ok, because they were done in a friendly spirit. Some footballers at Millwall FC suggested that making certain jokes might be a way of actually showing camaraderie, and of indicating acceptance. Clearly, the context has a huge impact on whether any harm is caused. Amongst friends, I often hear jokes that play on prejudices of all sorts, and which may be told purely for their wit. For example, although the majority of my friends are straight white males like myself, they might share a joke they have heard about black people or blonde females or even about paedophiles or some such thing. These are sometimes funny, I admit, either because they are deliberately risqué, or perhaps intended ironically (though sometimes I wonder), or simply well-crafted with skill and wit. However, I would be uncomfortable repeating them outside the company of friends that I trust not to take this amusement further. Whilst I trust my friends would never use such 'humour' to actually directly oppress the 'victims' of such jokes, does tolerating this kind of joke necessarily imply that one condones actual discrimination towards them? I don't believe so. There is a possible question of hypocrisy here: I would not allow such jokes in my classroom, but I tolerate them in privacy with my friends. For me, the difference is that I presume my friends are educated and refined enough to know how damaging these jokes might be in a different context, and it is part of my remit as an educator to challenge the presuppositions of social attitudes. When it comes to this kind of humour, I am a fan of 'anti-jokes' (some good, but many bad examples here) that deconstruct or invert these presuppositions.
Now, when it comes to the issue of public comedy, satire and mockery, how far do we go? I think there is a relevant moral difference in [a] mocking someone for something they have no control over (e.g. their skin colour, or their sexuality) from [b] mocking them for something they have done (for example, I think that chants critical of John Terry’s private life are fair game, given the allegations of adultery.) Clearly, I think, it would be going too far to ban someone from shouting at a team that they are rubbish at football (to paraphrase one well-known chant), or to direct this at an individual- even if they find this opinion hurtful. Findley's recent miss for Forest against Leicester in the FA Cup, for example, was pretty funny. What about chants such as, ‘You fat bastard!’? I would argue this too comes into the second category... just. However, there might be an argument that although one's physical fitness is largely controllable, in fact one's size is at least partially genetic.
I was driven to write this after reading this article about abuse directed at fans of Brighton & Hove Albion FC by Leicester City supporters, (of the same sort given by Leeds United fans recently, and which has also been directed towards Blackpool FC fans, so not an isolated occurrence). There are some fairly ignorant comments below the article, but also some positive ones; I think the most interesting comment is from someone called Lee, who questions where we draw the line. He then mentions regionalism, which I think this is absolutely relevant. The only consistent moral line to take is that all abusive comments are wrong.
Homophobia is arguably a bigger issue than regionalism right now, (even in football, as Amal Fashanu's documentary has highlighted, which is deeply, if not inherently tribal)... but regionalism can have harmful consequences nonetheless. Perhaps one day society will evolve to the point where anti-Scouse prejudices, to take one notable example, are more universally frowned upon, if not prohibited. If you think that is overly optimistic, I would have to agree... but if you think that such a world is not desirable- that is a view I want to contest. For instance, I imagine critics trying to argue that offensive language is somehow a right, or that it would be impossible for them to find anything funny if it doesn’t involve nastiness. To those who feel that this so-called ‘banter’ is acceptable, I would ask: why? What about it is at all good? Surely you don’t think it is somehow an important civil right to be horrible to others? Oh! They say, the world would be drab without being able to 'take the piss'. But what is so bland about peace, love and understanding? [Apologies to Elvis Costello!]
A distinction might also be drawn between gentle mockery and more obviously cruel comments. Matt Lucas, an openly gay comedian, suggested in the documentary mentioned above that one chant directed at Brighton fans: "we can see you holding hands" was acceptable, whereas a chant directed at Sol Campbell (which I will not quote) was unacceptable. There were other chants directed at Brighton fans that go somewhat further than reference to holding hands, but there is no doubt that the words directed at Campbell were nonetheless many times nastier. To me, the main thing that made the latter chant worse was not simply a 'degree' of nastiness, but the fact that it made reference to him dying a gruesome death. Matt Lucas' main defence of the former chant was that it was 'witty'. But, I would argue, his real point was, or should have been, that it was not as unfriendly. After all, the Sol Campbell chant involved wit and skill, but was absolutely vile. The difficulty that then arises is deciding how cruel the intention is.
The documentary also highlights another way this same distinction that may be drawn. In the case of Anton Hysen, his teammates seemed (largely) comfortable with his homosexuality, but felt more able to make jokes about it, now that he was 'out'. The clear implication was that these jokes were ok, because they were done in a friendly spirit. Some footballers at Millwall FC suggested that making certain jokes might be a way of actually showing camaraderie, and of indicating acceptance. Clearly, the context has a huge impact on whether any harm is caused. Amongst friends, I often hear jokes that play on prejudices of all sorts, and which may be told purely for their wit. For example, although the majority of my friends are straight white males like myself, they might share a joke they have heard about black people or blonde females or even about paedophiles or some such thing. These are sometimes funny, I admit, either because they are deliberately risqué, or perhaps intended ironically (though sometimes I wonder), or simply well-crafted with skill and wit. However, I would be uncomfortable repeating them outside the company of friends that I trust not to take this amusement further. Whilst I trust my friends would never use such 'humour' to actually directly oppress the 'victims' of such jokes, does tolerating this kind of joke necessarily imply that one condones actual discrimination towards them? I don't believe so. There is a possible question of hypocrisy here: I would not allow such jokes in my classroom, but I tolerate them in privacy with my friends. For me, the difference is that I presume my friends are educated and refined enough to know how damaging these jokes might be in a different context, and it is part of my remit as an educator to challenge the presuppositions of social attitudes. When it comes to this kind of humour, I am a fan of 'anti-jokes' (some good, but many bad examples here) that deconstruct or invert these presuppositions.
Now, when it comes to the issue of public comedy, satire and mockery, how far do we go? I think there is a relevant moral difference in [a] mocking someone for something they have no control over (e.g. their skin colour, or their sexuality) from [b] mocking them for something they have done (for example, I think that chants critical of John Terry’s private life are fair game, given the allegations of adultery.) Clearly, I think, it would be going too far to ban someone from shouting at a team that they are rubbish at football (to paraphrase one well-known chant), or to direct this at an individual- even if they find this opinion hurtful. Findley's recent miss for Forest against Leicester in the FA Cup, for example, was pretty funny. What about chants such as, ‘You fat bastard!’? I would argue this too comes into the second category... just. However, there might be an argument that although one's physical fitness is largely controllable, in fact one's size is at least partially genetic.
Also, I would argue, it is important that our culture tolerates mockery of religion and political views. I have been a strong supporter of Rowan Atkinson's campaign to defend freedom of speech against certain movements to limit criticism of religion. And although I wouldn't advise it, given the intolerance of certain elements of the Islamic world, I think that I should have a right to draw a cartoon of Muhammad if I want. Satire is an important tool in exposing irrational and hypocritical beliefs and behaviour. After all, if you hold such views, I believe you should be able to justify them.
Now, as for the philosophical dimension to this issue, the only possible justification for allowing such abuse would be some naïve version of Benthamite Utilitarianism. If a whole crowd of fans are enjoying the chants, then so what if a few people are offended? A simplistic quantitative application of the 'greatest happiness principle' might be used to argue that the minority must suffer the barbarism of the majority because otherwise the overall 'amount' of happiness would be reduced. The same sort of logic could be used to 'justify' gang rape.
However, this brute form of utilitarianism is not one that a philosopher would dream of defending. Back in the 19th Century, John Stuart Mill realised that Bentham's formula needed some qualification. He developed the philosophy by arguing that certain pleasures were 'more desirable than others', which paves the way to argue that some forms of suffering are more undesirable than others. In this case, the base excitement caused by bullying is of a lower kind than more noble or intellectual pleasures, and thus cannot justify causing more serious forms of harm.
In addition to the principle of utility (the 'greatest happiness principle'), Mill added the principle of liberty: "Over himself, over his own body and mind, the individual is sovereign". He argued against state intervention, and thus might be used in arguments against legal sanctions for those abusive fans.
“Mankind are greater gainers by suffering each other to live as seems good to themselves, than by compelling each to live as seems good to the rest”. (On Liberty)
However, to quote Mill in this way- to justify the behaviour of an abusive majority- is arguably unfair. He limited the 'liberty principle' with the 'harm principle'. Whilst Mill thinks we have the right to do what we want with our own lives, this right does not allow us to do the same with others. We must not allow one person's liberty to infringe another's. The crucial issue here is how to define 'harm'. If it is restricted only to physical harm, then there is little we can do as a society to prevent bullying: the large part of which is not physical. So much the worse for society.
However, at the other end of the scale, we must allow a person to criticise another, even if they become upset. For example, an art critic might greatly hurt the feelings of the artist he/she is reviewing; an employer should be able to discipline an employee; and society must be able to punish criminals (to what degree is a matter for another essay). How we define 'offence' is a crucial matter for politics today. We can consider, for example, whether to allow public displays of homosexuality (such as a gay kiss on Eastenders), despite a fair proportion of society finding this to their distaste. Richard Dawkins has joked that he is offended by chewing gum and backwards baseball caps! To some extent, it might be argued these cases are affected by the context, and to what extent someone has been subjected to the 'offensive' situation rather than 'choosing to take offence'. Comments made in private may not warrant the same legal restriction as those that are broadcast, perhaps. I submit that the only reasonable line to draw is not based on how strongly you care about something (as people may care intensely about their unreasonable prejudices), but whether the criticism should be defined as acceptable (rather than abusive) must centre on whether or not it concerns something for which the person is responsible.
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Atheism 2.0: Brief review of TED talk by Alain de Botton
I enjoyed the TED talk by Alain de Botton on the idea of Atheism 2.0. It is a subject that interests me, as I am a non-believer in theism who feels at times estranged from some of the mores and attitudes of some members of the atheist 'community'. I write that deliberately in 'scare quotes' as one of the features of atheism as opposed to certain denominations, churches or religious subgroups is that they do not have much of an authentic community in terms of warm, friendly interaction. Philosophical exchanges and scientific peer reviews are interesting, but not socially rewarding in the same way as meeting together to worship or some such thing. I have personally enjoyed informal philosophical meetings to discuss flighty ideas and serious concepts in a light-hearted setting over a drink or three, and there are many such groups, but they rarely venture much further than 'book club' territory. In fact, the internet has made a notable impact in bringing atheists together to share ideas, even if that is done in the space of a few barbed Youtube comments. However, they are notably united mostly by sharing a common enemy, and often fail to share much that positively enriches their daily experience of life.
In anticipation of reading more in his book, I have a few brief responses to the talk that I wished to write down.
One of de Botton's motivating premises in his talk: 'we have secularised badly', seems to me to be quite reasonable. Many of the hopes and dreams of sceptics, reformers and revolutionaries since the 1600s have gone sour.
His argument that moral lessons need repeating seems a strong one too. The idea that because I have done some moral philosophy at university, or once I have covered a certain amount of ethical training I don't need to do any more is obviously false, I think. From personal experience, for example, I find it helps me to return to the Art of Happiness at regular intervals.
There were plenty of good ideas in this talk about the social and personal benefits of religion. My main problem with the argument, as I understand it, is, I think, a practical one. How do you get atheists to agree on anything? Secular Philosophy works through a dialectic process of opposition. However, Alain de Botton seems to be suggesting a much more homogenised atheism. I'm not sure that atheists gather well together in herds.
Furthermore, the idea of institutionalising secular ideas is potentially off-putting. Much in a similar way to how those of a libertarian right-wing mindset might look at socialism and question their imposition of morals/values/communities/welfare, likewise, I think those of an atheist mindset might understandably ask: 'under whose authority would such structures be set up?' How will they be maintained?
The adoption or acceptance of the principles of the free market worked exceptionally well for those religious communities who settled in America (as John Micklethwait and Adrian Wooldridge have persuasively argued in their recent book 'God is Back'). The competition between ideas, methods of worship and styles of charismatic preaching allowed religion to flourish whilst it became less and less socially acceptable in Western Europe. Is a free market of ideas and social organisations the way forward for atheism? Would atheists tolerate the rise of certain 'cult' leaders?
PZ Myers and Richard Dawkins seem to command a loyal following from a certain section of the internet community, but equally can be reviled by others who seek a different kind of atheism. For the record, I admire both, to a degree, but would not call myself a follower of their views, in any sense. I have found Dennett's ideas much more philosophically interesting, and Sam Harris' optimism much more encouraging. I have also really enjoyed listening to the late Christopher Hitchens. De Botton's talk seemed to suggest a need for someone to do some organising or mobilisation (or did I read him wrongly there??) How would this be brought about, I wonder? Is he thinking of something like the 2012 Global Atheist Convention? I reckon I am as keen on reason as the next atheist, but I am not sure I want to celebrate it at a convention with other atheists - with whom I fear I might share little, other than a non-belief in a personal theistic God.
In anticipation of reading more in his book, I have a few brief responses to the talk that I wished to write down.
One of de Botton's motivating premises in his talk: 'we have secularised badly', seems to me to be quite reasonable. Many of the hopes and dreams of sceptics, reformers and revolutionaries since the 1600s have gone sour.
His argument that moral lessons need repeating seems a strong one too. The idea that because I have done some moral philosophy at university, or once I have covered a certain amount of ethical training I don't need to do any more is obviously false, I think. From personal experience, for example, I find it helps me to return to the Art of Happiness at regular intervals.
There were plenty of good ideas in this talk about the social and personal benefits of religion. My main problem with the argument, as I understand it, is, I think, a practical one. How do you get atheists to agree on anything? Secular Philosophy works through a dialectic process of opposition. However, Alain de Botton seems to be suggesting a much more homogenised atheism. I'm not sure that atheists gather well together in herds.
Furthermore, the idea of institutionalising secular ideas is potentially off-putting. Much in a similar way to how those of a libertarian right-wing mindset might look at socialism and question their imposition of morals/values/
The adoption or acceptance of the principles of the free market worked exceptionally well for those religious communities who settled in America (as John Micklethwait and Adrian Wooldridge have persuasively argued in their recent book 'God is Back'). The competition between ideas, methods of worship and styles of charismatic preaching allowed religion to flourish whilst it became less and less socially acceptable in Western Europe. Is a free market of ideas and social organisations the way forward for atheism? Would atheists tolerate the rise of certain 'cult' leaders?
PZ Myers and Richard Dawkins seem to command a loyal following from a certain section of the internet community, but equally can be reviled by others who seek a different kind of atheism. For the record, I admire both, to a degree, but would not call myself a follower of their views, in any sense. I have found Dennett's ideas much more philosophically interesting, and Sam Harris' optimism much more encouraging. I have also really enjoyed listening to the late Christopher Hitchens. De Botton's talk seemed to suggest a need for someone to do some organising or mobilisation (or did I read him wrongly there??) How would this be brought about, I wonder? Is he thinking of something like the 2012 Global Atheist Convention? I reckon I am as keen on reason as the next atheist, but I am not sure I want to celebrate it at a convention with other atheists - with whom I fear I might share little, other than a non-belief in a personal theistic God.
Thursday, 5 January 2012
Is Intelligent Design "Theory" Scientific?
According to the website for the Intelligent Design and Evolution Awareness Center ('IDEA'):
"Intelligent design is a scientific theory which has its roots in information theory and observations about intelligent action." http://www.ideacenter.org/contentmgr/showdetails.php/id/832
In many respects, admittedly, it looks like science.
1) It uses diagrams, scientific terms, and empirical observations.
(For example, Michael Behe is famous for having argued that the bacterial flagellum is irreducibly complex. He supports this claim with information about the amount of proteins in its molecular structure) His book, Darwin's Black Box (1996) is a major intelligent design (ID) text.
2) It doesn't use religious terms, Bible references, or refer directly to the supernatural.
3) It uses mathematics, equations, algebra and lots of talk about probabilities. (For example William Dembski tries to use the No Free Lunch theorem: (wiki link here) 2002)
However, ID theory was ruled to be unscientific in the US federal courts in the Kitzmiller v Dover trial (2005). Judge Jones found that ID theory was nothing more than creationism in disguise, and the 'research' done by ID supporters lacked any support from peer-reviewed scientific journals. [link to legal reference]
In that trial, the cell biologist Ken Miller was a key witness. He showed firstly that many of Behe's claims are simply false (scientists can show how certain complex biochemical structures develop), and secondly that, unlike evolutionary biology, the arguments from ID creationists never propose an alternative hypothesis that is testable. Evolutionary biology has gradually told us more and more about the complex processes of cells and organisms, and is continuing to shed more light on how they work. Each time the ID theorists say that X is irreducibly complex, it merely provides yet another challenge for scientists to eventually explain.
Let us look back to the claims of the IDEA organisation. At the bottom of the webpage (link as above) they have written:
"In all of this, there have been no mentions of God, religion, or adherence to any religious text but rather we use observations about how intelligent design works in the present to look at aspects of the natural world to see if they are designed. Intelligent design theory is based solely upon applying observations about intelligent action and principles of information theory to the construction of biological systems, and nothing more. There is nothing mystical, supernatural, religious, or non-scientific about intelligent design theory. in its current form, intelligent design theory can also say nothing about the designer other than that the designer was intelligent. Whether you agree with the methodology of intelligent design theory or not, you have to agree with one thing: it has a scientific basis". [Needless to say, despite this protestation, the majority of scientists and philosophers are agreed that ID theory is not on a level with 'proper science'].
There is nothing wrong with challenging evolution. Challenging accepted theories is an important part of improving and developing new scientific understanding. However, ID theory fails to provide any testable hypotheses for scientists to investigate. It simply amounts to an expression of disbelief at the processes of nature, and suggests no other process of nature to explore.
ID theorists avoid mentioning what the intelligent designer is, but this is not actually a good strategy if they want to be scientific. (Note: By not saying it is God, they are apparently keeping their options open, but in reality almost all ID theorists are religious believers who take their holy text to be inerrant). This vagueness about the intelligent designer poses a problem: it places the intelligent designer beyond investigation.
A parallel example might be if someone (let's call her Jen) tried to find aspects of some theory in Particle Physics that are not fully explained or understood yet (such as the standard model). Now, it may well be that physicists may have to change their understanding of fundamental particles, (the Higgs Boson continues to be elusive, despite recent optimism, I believe...), however, if Jen then said that these anomalies were evidence that there is some other explanation involving a divine being, but refused to say what this other explanation is and how it might be tested, then Jen has not proposed a scientific hypothesis. She has merely pointed out difficult aspects of the currently accepted theory. Like a typical ID theorist, she might then argue that her explanation (an untestable being makes the particles behave the way they do at different times) should be taught alongside particle physics.
A website (venganza.org) was set up to protest against ID theory being taught in Kansas schools, by a man called Bobby Henderson. He made a parody religion called 'pastafarianism', and argued that his theory was the same as ID theory, but the intelligent designer was made of spaghetti and meatballs. His point was that if ID theory is a rival to evolution, then so is FSM. In fact, I would argue, the FSM would actually be more scientifically testable than traditional religions, as their concept of 'God' (the FSM) is more defined in terms of observational predictions of what their divine being looks like.
Daniel Dennett has written lots about this issue, and is recommended further reading. I have found the following article - [link here] - particularly enlightening, and will finish by including a few direct quotes from it, with comments:
"Saying, as intelligent design proponents do, "You haven't explained everything yet," is not a competing hypothesis. Evolutionary biology certainly hasn't explained everything that perplexes biologists. But intelligent design hasn't yet tried to explain anything".
In the quote above, Dennett is agreeing with Bobby Henderson in saying that ID is not a rival theory, as it proposes no alternative explanation. However, he argues the issue of creationism is more serious than the FSM website with its somewhat cheeky humour suggests:
"The focus on intelligent design has, paradoxically, obscured something else: genuine scientific controversies about evolution that abound. In just about every field there are challenges to one established theory or another. The legitimate way to stir up such a storm is to come up with an alternative theory that makes a prediction that is crisply denied by the reigning theory — but that turns out to be true, or that explains something that has been baffling defenders of the status quo, or that unifies two distant theories at the cost of some element of the currently accepted view.
To date, the proponents of intelligent design have not produced anything like that. No experiments with results that challenge any mainstream biological understanding. No observations from the fossil record or genomics or biogeography or comparative anatomy that undermine standard evolutionary thinking."
Here, Dennett is arguing that ID is not just unscientific, it is actually harmful to the progress of science, because it distracts from genuine research into controversies about how evolution works.
Saturday, 26 February 2011
Existentialism - a philosophical joke
Just thought of this tonight and published this on twitter- I believe it to be original - (though perhaps not actually funny).
The teacher is starting a new topic. "If you don't understand existentialism, raise your hand". A forest of hands appears.
"Why have you all got your hands up?", demands the teacher.
The class reply: "Because you told us to..." - "Exactly!" the teacher cries, and begins the lesson.
Friday, 21 January 2011
There are certain things I would never do...
“There are certain things I would never do…”
(An essay on principles, dilemmas and consequences…)
There are certain things I would never do. If I was in a committed relationship, I would never cheat on my partner. I would never steal something out of greed or jealousy. I would never attack a person as an act of aggression. I would never deliberately deceive someone in order to exploit them… I could go on.
Are these principles? They seem like evidence of a strict, rule-based approach to decision-making. However, you might point out, these are perhaps a little too specific. “Why didn’t you say that you would never steal, full stop?” they might ask. And what about ‘do not kill’? I missed that out. Am I saying I think murder is ok?
Well, having studied and taught ethics for a while, I am very familiar with certain awkward hypothetical situations, each of which seems specifically designed to challenge the traditional idea that morality is about following rules. For example, there is now a whole ‘branch’ of ethics that deals with variations on a famous example suggested by Phillippa Foot (RIP) where you have to decide whether to divert a heavy ‘trolley’ away from a track with 5 people onto it, onto another line where it would kill just one. The point of most of these kinds of extreme examples, it seems, is to show cases where following a rule would lead to ‘worse’ consequences, and therefore show that principles are not the right way to approach ethics.
I think there are at least two valid points to these examples. Firstly, as a response to a sort of fundamentalist attitude where people apply Biblical laws in a strict, legalistic manner. Even if most people in the 21st century would agree that some of the laws in the Old Testament are fairly ridiculous - (what exactly is wrong with blending wool and linen?) – they might still argue that we have to accept that the Bible is right about some laws – such as ‘do not commit murder’. “You can’t argue with that”, they claim, hoping to defend religion as the source of an absolute standard of ethics. Well, in my opinion, many of these situational examples show (with a fair degree of plausibility) that in some cases murdering someone seems to be clearly the right thing to do… (when the alternative is the genocide of millions, for example).
Secondly they show us the range of competing intuitions that we apply to life (which, for the vast majority of us, is not a straightforward matter). These intuitions include feelings about such things as freedom, anger, hunger and lust; and taboos about how we behave towards family, dead people, old people, and animals. If ethics were about blindly adhering to simplistic laws such as ‘do not lie’ without any consideration for these feelings about the situation and the potential consequences, then the most ethical people would be those who were most robotic – like following a programmed rule.
Utilitarianism claims to offer a rational and scientific alternative to following absolute laws. Most famously, Bentham defined this approach as seeking to achieve the ‘greatest happiness for the greatest number’. This can be approached in a systematic and logical fashion, and crucially, it can take into account evidence that might point towards which decision is likely to be most effective in causing positive consequences. For example, if evidence showed that shrimp was a highly tasty, nutritious and healthy food, this could be used to help justify ignoring the kosher rules about not eating shellfish.
So, we should not follow rules blindly, and consequences are important. This does not mean that we should disregard the idea of principles. Principles are a way of codifying the values we feel most strongly – they provide a landmark for an individual or a group that can guide them when our intuitions become confused and when the consequences seem equally awkward for each choice. However, they should not be seen as absolute principles. There is a problem with treating them thus, which is that when there is a situation where two principles conflict, (i.e. in order to keep to one principle, you have to break another), then you need a ranking of principles or some kind of meta-principle to decide which principle to stick to.
So, what did I mean when I said I would never do those things? I meant the following: because I know myself and my values, and despite my moral weaknesses, I cannot imagine ever being put in a position where I would feel any doubt that those things were the wrong choice. So, although I am aware that there might be some very extreme dilemmas where I should be willing to break them, I still think it is correct to say that these moral limits I mentioned are principles for me.
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