Saturday, December 19, 2020

Arguments from design

Nature can strike us in different ways. Depending on who you are, you will take notice of different things about it, and draw different conclusions about the general character of its operation. Depending on your conclusions, you may be led to think that it was designed, and conclude from this thought that there is a God.

I think that, generally, four kinds of relevant conclusions are arrived at.

0. Contents

1. Nature’s operation is artful
2. Nature’s operation is useful
3. Nature’s operation is lawful
4. No conclusion

1. Nature’s operation is artful

One may, upon examining nature, immediately conclude that it was designed; the character of its working seems immediately to be something that arises out of thoughtful contrivance.

If this happens immediately, it is not concluded from any particular characteristic of the operation of nature which may be stated without reference to art, contrivance, or design; no argument to show that nature is designed is produced. Nature is simply clearly designed, and therefore a designer exists.

Since no arguments can arise from this, none do. We know that it happens because some people report it to be their experience, or because their report seems to imply it. I think it does happen to some people, wherefore I included it; some poetic praises of nature seem to me to communicate it.

2. Nature’s operation is useful

Various things in nature, especially the bodies of living things, are very well adapted to fulfilling various purposes which living things have for them; whence it is concluded that they were designed to fulfill those purposes. Here, purpose has specifically the sense of use: a living creature has some goal in mind, and the operation of nature conveniently concurs with her design.

Arguments for the existence of God that focus on the usefulness of nature may fittingly be called watchmaker arguments, after the most famous example, William Paley’s Natural Theology. There were various watchmaker arguments before and after it, and there will continue to be for as long as people continue to find nature useful.

The earliest watchmaker argument I know of is in Xenophon’s Memorabilia, book 1, chapter 4. Aristodemus admits that “it is reasonable to believe that the things which are good and useful are the workmanship of reason and judgment”, and Socrates points him to the usefulness of the senses for sensing, the usefulness of the teeth for chewing, the usefulness of affections for reproduction, and so on; wherefrom the conclusion follows.

Cicero’s argument in On the Nature of the Gods, book 2, chapter 34, also focuses on the usefulness of nature. “All the parts of the world are so made up that they could not be better fitted for use, or more beautiful to behold”; he explicitly compares it to a clock, prefiguring the pocket watch Paley would employ.

It seems that modern arguments based on “fine-tuning” are also watchmaker arguments, in the sense employed here. The universe is mightily useful for the existence of life.

3. Nature’s operation is lawful

Nature may also seem to run “like clockwork” in another sense: not of being useful, but of being regular – in the sense of “rule-bound”, from regula, not in the weaker sense of “predictable”. Nature’s operation seems to be the result of rules, rather than only described by them; it seems that it could not possibly act differently.

“All nature, indeed, is nothing but a combination of phenomena which follow rules; and nowhere is there any irregularity. When we think we find any such, we can only say that the rules are unknown.” * Arguments that focus on this property are those which I think are most properly called teleological, since Aristotle’s final cause, whence the word is derived, was precisely a metaphysical principle of regularity in nature.

Accordingly, I think Thomas Aquinas’s Fifth Way is the typical example of a teleological argument in the proper sense. On the more popular level, Chapter 4 of G.K. Chesterton’s Orthodoxy runs much in the same vein. “The mere repetition made the things to me rather more weird than more rational”; it is perfectly imaginable, Chesterton argues, that things happen otherwise than as the laws of nature would predict them to, and the fact that they don’t is rather strange and wonderful indeed.

4. No conclusion

Finally, you may look at nature and see no art, use or law to it. Its operation is the result of “chance”; its usefulness is no wonder, given evolution; and its so-called laws only apply very frequently, even constantly as far as we can see it, but not necessarily. This is the opinion which used to be ascribed to David Hume, though the IEP now warns me against doing so. “There is no physical necessity, either in laws or in nature itself. There is no intermediate state between logical necessity on the one hand and sheer contingency on the other.”

It is my opinion that this is the sort of opinion which every atheist must have regarding nature; either way, it seems that this is the opinion which, most frequently, they do have. Sometimes, however, they claim that while the regularities are physically necessary, and not logically, this is a kind of “blind necessity”; things just happen to act for an end.

Wednesday, December 9, 2020

New, retarded systems

The usefulness of brand-new, retarded philosophical systems is twofold.

First, in that they are retarded; the student need not take them very seriously, or consider how they might apply to the world, given how very obviously they do not. He need only consider the ideas, and their connections to each other, and trace the key mistakes. They are great abstract use cases for the science of logic, and for skills in the interpretation of arguments. It is easier to look for how it is that something is wrong, when it is obvious that it really is wrong.

Second, in that, often just insofar as they are retarded, they are brand-new; the student need not trace a very long chain of references in order to have a ‘full’ understanding of the work, that is, one including its context. The philosopher, in central and important ways, has made all this stuff up; there is no need to consult other works for his sources, since for the most part he has none. His ideas stand or fall (and they probably fall) on their own.

Thus, the student of philosophy may study such new, retarded systems sporadically, on their own, without any close connection with a larger course of study of the history of philosophy, or of philosophy itself. They are an interesting and fruitful intellectual exercise, provided he is up for it; they provide a richer picture of the history, and of philosophy itself, without demanding, for their understanding, much from the reader in return.

Friday, November 20, 2020

Division of ethical opinions

Note: This blog post has been retracted, since I no longer think of it as a good representation of how I think about its topic. I may, or may not, have written a better post about the same topic since; check the full list of posts.

As an aid to my own study of ethical opinions, I have decided to divide them into six types.

0. Contents

1. Fundamental distinctions
1.1. Ethics vs. non-ethics
1.2. Utility vs. abstract duty
1.3. Comprehensive vs. particular
2. Division
2.1. Particular utility
2.2. Comprehensive utility
2.3. Particular duty
2.4. Comprehensive duty
2.5. Non-ethics, self-serving
2.6. Non-ethics, cause-serving
3. Remarks on scope

1. Fundamental distinctions

The division is based on three fundamental distinctions, which does not yield eight types because the second two distinctions do not apply within one of the prongs of the first, and that prong is in turn divided into two types based on a criterion which is not very important.

1.1. Ethics vs. non-ethics

Some ethical opinions believe in ethics. Some do not; they believe in non-ethics. And yet they are ethical opinions, because they are opinions about a rule for action.

In this division, I call ethics any opinion which will lead to a rule of action which is consistent, that is, leading to similar actions in similar circumstances, abstracted from whether the actions are judged helpful or harmful to a man (that is, the actor holding the opinion) or his cause.

Non-ethics are other opinions, that is, those which may lead to very different actions in very similar circumstances, because judgment is to be based on such practical concerns, and not on a consistent rule.

1.2. Utility vs. abstract duty

Utility here is fully intended to evoke utilitarianism, but is taken much more broadly. An ethical opinion is a rule of utility when the fundamental goal of action is to increase happiness in some sense. Nothing needs to be done if it will make no one happier, whether in the short or the long run.

These opinions constitute ethics because it is held that similar actions will tend to lead to happiness in similar circumstances. There may need to be many particular considerations about the circumstances, but the action is still abstracted from helpfulness to a man or his cause, which is what excludes an opinion from ethics. Utilitarians seek the greatest happiness of the greatest number; if they sought their own greatest happiness, simply, they would be non-ethicists.

Rules of utility may even go so far as to prescribe some general rules of conduct, abstracted from certain particular circumstantial considerations, but this is always done because it is thought to lead to greater happiness; often, the rules are regarded as heuristics, to be abandoned in extreme situations where following them would clearly lead to great suffering.

Abstract duty, by contrast with utility, abstracts from considerations of happiness, as the name is meant to imply. That said, I may often write simply “duty” where I find that it will be unambiguous, such as in the next sentence. An ethical opinion is a rule of duty when the fundamental goal of action is the act’s conformity with certain rules, whencesoever they come; they must be obeyed even at the loss of all.

It will often be held by proponents of rules of duty that following one’s duty is always conducive to one’s own greater happiness. It is never held, however, that following duty will always lead to greater happiness for any man other than the individual actor; if so, what we have is a kind of rule of utility.

1.3. Comprehensive vs. particular

An ethical opinion is comprehensive when it takes into account man’s entire existence, composed of mortal body and immortal soul; a particular opinion disregards the latter.

In the case of rules of utility, being comprehensive means taking into account, for every action, men’s welfare or happiness in the afterlife as well as on this world; and it means accounting for ways to harm men’s souls that do not translate into perceptible harm to their physical or mental health.

In the case of rules of duty, being comprehensive means that the rules or duties prescribed may command or forbid actions relating to men’s souls, even if they do not perceptibly affect them physically or mentally.

Being particular, in either case, means disregarding such things, perhaps for their being held not to exist.

2. Division

The above distinctions being drawn, it is easy to sort opinions into these divisions. The order is not very important.

2.1. Particular utility

Into particular utility may be classed many opinions held by atheists, though certainly not all. Within this class I would place Epicurean hedonism, all sorts of utilitarianism, and some kinds of ethical intuitionism – that is, at least Bertrand Russell’s kind.

2.2. Comprehensive utility

The one opinion I believe can be classed into comprehensive utility at this moment is the ethics of Plato’s Gorgias. In that dialogue, pleasure is distinguished from good, but the good is to be sought primarily for its leading to abiding human happiness; which is much more emphasized at the end, when the doctrine of an afterlife is introduced. This is yet more plausible if the doctrine of the good in the Protagoras is held to be in harmony with it; in this interpretation I believe I accord with Franco Trabattoni, Platone, §2.

2.3. Particular duty

Many liberal and especially libertarian ethics may be classed into particular duty. I believe all major theories of “libertarian ethics”, of the vein of Rothbard and Hoppe, would be classed here.

2.4. Comprehensive duty

I believe most ethical opinions within the major monotheistic religions would be classed here.

2.5. Non-ethics, self-serving

This is the opinion of the proverbial selfish and cruel man who seeks nothing but to advance his own interests. Since his interests may, in different, similar situations, be best served in some ways and sometimes in others, depending for instance on whether the people involved in a situation are his friends or enemies, this is a rule of non-ethics. This opinion is almost never defended theoretically, although it seems plausible that it is somewhat often seen in practice.

2.6. Non-ethics, cause-serving

This is where all other rules of non-ethics go; if a man does all his actions to advance a particular woman’s interests, for instance, that woman may simply be regarded as being his cause for the purposes of this division.

I named this section cause-serving because I believe it is most often seen in ideologues, who seek nothing but to advance the interests of their party or class. Since these interests may, in different, similar situations, be best served in some ways and sometimes in others, depending for instance on whether the people involved in a situation are the party’s friends or enemies, to seek those interests in every action is to follow a rule of non-ethics.

3. Remarks on scope

Many things are left out of this division, which merely captures the elements which I find most interesting in ethical opinions.

It leaves out, for instance, whether an opinion is consequentialist or not. If someone creates a rule of action which favors some actions rather than others because of their consequences, and this is in no way for the reason that these consequences are associated with greater happiness in any sense, but for some other reason which is nevertheless held to be binding, this rule would be a rule of duty, not of utility. So, while I cannot think of anyone that did this, technically this division does not divide every conceivable consequentialist opinion into one particular category.

It also leaves out meta-ethical concerns. An opinion’s category says nothing about whether its holders believe moral laws to be natural, rational, positive, divine, human, &c.

Monday, November 16, 2020

What is born creates its own use?

Before the theory of evolution by natural selection was well-known, it seems that the usefulness of our organs was explained in two major ways. Either (a) they were designed for the purpose or fulfilling the ends that we achieve with them, or (b) they arose through mindless means and, after this, we discovered that they were useful for certain purposes and began to use them for those purposes.

The latter was argued by Lucretius in the following passage:

Herein you must eagerly desire to shun this fault, and with foresighted fear to avoid this error; do not think that the bright light of the eyes was created in order that we may be able to look before us, or that, in order that we may have power to plant long paces, therefore the tops of shanks and thighs, based upon the feet, are able to bend; or again, that the forearms are jointed to the strong upper arms and hands given us to serve us on either side, in order that we might be able to do what was needful for life. All other ideas of this sort, which men proclaim, by distorted reasoning set effect for cause, since nothing at all was born in the body that we might be able to use it, but what is born creates its own use. Nor did sight exist before the light of the eyes was born, nor pleading in words before the tongue was created, but rather the birth of the tongue came long before discourse, and the ears were created much before sound was heard, and in short all the limbs, I trow, existed before their use came about: they cannot then have grown for the purpose of using them. But, on the other side, to join hands in the strife of battle, to mangle limbs and befoul the body with gore; these things were known long before gleaming darts flew abroad, and nature constrained men to avoid a wounding blow, before the left arm, trained by art, held up the defence of a shield. And of a surety to trust the tired body to rest was a habit far older than the soft-spread bed, and the slaking of the thirst was born before cups. These things, then, which are invented to suit the needs of life, might well be thought to have been discovered for the purpose of using them. But all those other things lie apart, which were first born themselves, and thereafter revealed the concept of their usefulness. In this class first of all we see the senses and the limbs; wherefore, again and again, it cannot be that you should believe that they could have been created for the purpose of useful service.

This, likewise, is no cause for wonder, that the nature of the body of every living thing of itself seeks food. For verily I have shownn that many bodies ebb and pass away from things in many ways, but most are bound to pass from living creatures. For because they are sorely tried by motion and many bodies by sweating are squeezed and pass out from deep beneath, many are breathed out through their mouths, when they pant in weariness; by these means then the body grows rare, and all the nature is undermined; and on this follows pain. Therefore food is taken to support the limbs and renew strength when it passes within, and to muzzle the gaping desire for eating through all the limbs and veins. Likewise, moisture spreads into all the spots which demand moisture; and the many gathered bodies of heat, which furnish the fires to our stomach, are scattered by the incoming moisture, and quenched like a flame, that the dry heat may no longer be able to burn our body. Thus then the panting thirst is washed away from our body, thus the hungry yearning is satisfied.

On the Nature of Things, book IV, 823–76

William Paley took the time to argue against this opinion in the following section:

To the marks of contrivance discoverable in animal bodies, and to the argument deduced from them, in proof of design, and of a designing Creator, this turn is sometimes attempted to be given, viz. that the parts were not intended for the use, but that the use arose out of the parts. This distinction is intelligible. A cabinet-maker rubs his mahogany with fish-skin;* yet it would be too much to assert that the skin of the dog fish was made rough and granulated on purpose for the polishing of wood, and the use of cabinet-makers. Therefore the distinction is intelligible. But I think that there is very little place for it in the works of nature. When roundly and generally affirmed of them, as it hath sometimes been, it amounts to such another stretch of assertion, as it would be to say, that all the implements of the cabinet-maker’s workshop, as well as his fish-skin, were substances accidentally configurated, which he had picked up, and converted to his use; that his adzes, saws, planes, and gimlets, were not made, as we suppose, to hew, cut, smooth, shape out, or bore wood with; but that, these things being made, no matter with what design, or whether with any, the cabinet-maker perceived that they were applicable to his purpose, and turned them to account.

But, again; so far as this solution is attempted to be applied to those parts of animals the action of which does not depend upon the will of the animal, it is fraught with still more evident absurdity. Is it possible to believe that the eye was formed without any regard to vision; that it was the animal itself which found out, that, though formed with no such intention, it would serve to see with; and that the use of the eye, as an organ of sight, resulted from this discovery, and the animal’s application of it? The same question may be asked of the ear; the same of all the senses. None of the senses fundamentally depend upon the election of the animal: consequently neither upon his sagacity, nor his experience. It is the impression which objects make upon them that constitutes their use. Under that impression he is passive. He may bring objects to the sense, or within its reach; he may select these objects; but over the impression itself he has no power, or very little; and that properly is the sense.

Secondly, there are many parts of animal bodies which seem to depend upon the will of the animal in a greater degree than the senses do, and yet with respect to which this solution is equally unsatisfactory. If we apply the solution to the human body, for instance, it forms itself into questions upon which no reasonable mind can doubt; such as, whether the teeth were made expressly for the mastication of food, the feet for walking, the hands for holding; or whether, these things being as they are, being in fact in the animal’s possession, his own ingenuity taught him that they were convertible to these purposes, though no such purposes were contemplated in their formation.

All that there is of the appearance of reason in this way of considering the subject is, that, in some cases, the organization seems to determine the habits of the animal, and its choice, to a particular mode of life; which, in a certain sense, may be called ‘the use arising out of the part.’ Now to all the instances, in which there is any place for this suggestion, it may be replied, that the organization determines the animal to habits beneficial and salutary to itself; and that this effect would not be seen so regularly to follow, if the several organizations did not bear a concerted and contrived relation to the substances by which the animal was surrounded. They would, otherwise, be capacities without objects; powers without employment. The web foot determines, you say, the duck to swim: but what would that avail, if there were no water to swim in? The strong, hooked bill, and sharp talons, of one species of bird, determine it to prey upon animals; the soft straight bill, and weak claws, of another species, determine it to pick up seeds: but neither determination could take effect in providing for the sustenance of the birds, if animal bodies and vegetable seeds did not lie within their reach. The peculiar conformation of the bill, and tongue, and claws of the woodpecker, determines that bird to search for his food amongst the insects lodged behind the bark, or in the wood, of decayed trees; but what would this profit him if there were no trees, no decayed trees, no insects lodged under their bark, or in their trunk? The proboscis with which the bee is furnished, determines him to seek for honey; but what would that signify, if flowers supplied none? Faculties thrown down upon animals at random, and without reference to the objects amidst which they are placed, would not produce to them the services and benefits which we see: and if there be that reference, then there is intention.

Lastly, the solution fails entirely when applied to plants. The parts of plants answer their uses, without any concurrence from the will or choice of the plant.

— Natural Theology, 5§5

It is interesting to me to see how entirely the state of this question was changed by the introduction of natural selection. I don’t know if there had been more sophisticated arguments on either side back then, but it seems to me that the Lucretian side was clearly disadvantaged in that state of human knowledge. Our organs are just too convenient; it seems clearly motivated to simply dismiss their obvious “appearance of having been designed for a purpose” in this way; and coming from an Epicurean, we might easily think that the motivation was to excuse for his impiety and hedonism.

Update 2021-07-05: To add another reference that I just saw, the same two alternatives are presented in the introduction to William Ogle’s 1882 edition of Aristotle’s Parts of Animals.

Thursday, November 12, 2020

Euthyphro was right (updated 2020-11-22)

Note: This blog post has been retracted, since I no longer think of it as a good representation of how I think about its topic. I may, or may not, have written a better post about the same topic since; check the full list of posts.

Another consequence, good or bad, of holding my opinion about justice is this: that I must say that Euthyphro was right. Not that he knew perfectly the true nature of piety, but that he gave a perfectly good definition of it, and that Socrates objected very poorly to it.

I do not mean the subterfuge regarding the pious being loved by the gods, but the definition he gave after some pressure: that piety is “that part of justice which attends to the gods, as there is the other part of justice which attends to men.” (12e) Given my opinion about justice, this would seem to be an adequate definition; at least, it picks out a virtue. It makes sense to divide justice according to the different counterparts of our rights and duties. Stated this way, it seems to me to be identical to what Thomas Aquinas called the virtue of religion.

But Socrates, taking the “attention” too literally, and in line with his own, wrong opinion about justice, decides that if this part of justice “attends” to the gods, it must make them better in some way, as when the huntsman attends to dogs, or the horseman attends to horses, or the physician attends to men.

As we know from the Gorgias, Socrates does think that justice, as a whole, is supposed to make men better, namely by healing the injustice in their souls; as a result, he can make no sense of piety, not as a part of justice at any rate. Not without admitting that our prayers and sacrifices improve the gods in some way, or our gifts supply their wants in some way; which would itself be impious.

Addendum (2020-11-22)

The above is probably not the best interpretation of Socrates. It has been pointed out to me that Socrates may more plausibly be read as having no problem with the definition, and actually accepting it.

In the text, he does accept it, but I took this to be provisional – the definition is then implied to be worthless after Euthyphro is unable to give something that the pious man assists the gods in producing. I saw this as something immediately absurd – the gods being helped seemed ridiculous.

But it is not really ridiculous that the gods be aided in the production of something. It is absurd that they be improved, or benefited, but not assisted, which Euthyphro clarifies is what he means by the “attention”. An alternative reading is that the reader was meant to see piety as something that assists the gods in producing virtue – that is, what Socrates had been doing, though Athens would never admit it. Or, at least, that piety does assist the gods in producing something, at any rate, and Euthyphro is shown to lack knowledge by not knowing what that is.

I saw the dialogue as being against the definition of piety as a part of justice, so that piety would have to be defined in some other way under the “physician theory” of justice. But it doesn’t have to.

And there is reason to think it wasn’t meant that way, in that the Definitions of Speusippus define piety as, well, “justice relating to the gods”. It would be strange that this definition became current in the Academy, and made its way into that work, if Plato had written a dialogue against it.

Thursday, November 5, 2020

The principled curmudgeon

Note: This blog post has been retracted, since I no longer think of it as a good representation of how I think about its topic. I may, or may not, have written a better post about the same topic since; check the full list of posts.

I am like unto an old crank. I hate today’s times; I hate today’s youth; I hate today’s culture and music. But, to me, this is not a matter of practice, but of principle.


I hate the times. I don’t hate them for being worse than other, earlier times; that would be ridiculous. There have been much worse times, with more wars and poverty and disease, even very recently before now. Any time from before which was better in some respect was also much worse in others, and it seems a folly to choose among them; we cannot get a clear enough view.

Nor do I hate them for being bad in an absolute sense; I do not believe in an absolute standard for judging of the times. Some times are better or worse than others, but there is no rule besides the times that have actually obtained for judging of the times; imagined times, which we may take for a standard, may well be unobtainable, illusory.

I hate the times for being times – for that they will pass. They call for my worries, for a place in my memory, and yet, much later, they will not, for the most part, be relevant again. They are naught but a pressing waste; they are the bane of souls.


I hate the youth. I don’t hate them for being worse than other, earlier generations; that would be ridiculous. Today’s old persons did much greater evils when younger; there have been much worse generations throughout time. Any earlier generation which was better in some respect was also much worse in others.

Nor do I hate them for being bad in an absolute sense; I can certainly judge absolutely of a man, but not of a humanity. I can recognize that some earlier generations had a much better understanding of particular truths; I cannot make that judgment about truth in general, nor about their wills rather than intellects. Some generations are better and worse, absolutely; it is presumptuous for a man to judge of which.

I hate the youth for being young – for that they are inexperienced. They try to have an effect upon the world, and yet their knowledge is meager and their habits are ill-formed. They have great energy, which is always ill-employed; they are the bane of times.


I hate today’s music, mores, and culture. Not for being worse than that of other times, or absolutely bad; that would be a ridiculous, stupid, extremely rash judgment. I hate them for being today’s; I hate them precisely insofar as they are today’s. For to that extent they will not survive this age, and are the bane of body and of soul – which both spring from an age-old, near-eternal kind. Innovation is always to be hated.

Tuesday, November 3, 2020

Finitude is unbearable

Suppose for the while that there is no immortality of the soul.

Now try to imagine dying.

If you think you succeeded, you probably committed a few mistakes. First, you may have explicitly, or subconsciously, relied on memories of when you had been sleeping. Second, you may have imagined a blank, a complete darkness and silence. If there is no immortality, these conceptions are wrong.

There is no good reason to imagine death is like sleep, but there are a couple bad ones that happen to be persuasive. First, the dead are like the sleeping in appearance. Which is no reason to infer that they are alike in experience as well – we have the best reasons to suppose that they are very different in their experience. We instinctively draw some relation from the fact that they both sit motionless. We even, in funerals, array the dead as though they were sleeping.

Second, the first thing we do when trying to imagine death is try to imagine being unconscious, which we figure is the primary feature of a corpse, along with the lack of the potential to return to consciousness. Since we think we have memories of sleep, which is always called unconscious, we rely on those.

The problem is that, of course, insofar as we were capable of forming memories, we were not actually unconscious. We were dreaming, or almost waking up, or awake with our eyes closed and trying to sleep. Maybe we had a quite uneventful and ‘blank’ dream, and so we thought we were not dreaming but only sleeping. Either way, logically we can have no memories of being unconscious to rely on. The only way those half-conscious states resemble death is in their paucity of sense experience.

Realizing this, we may eschew the idea of sleep entirely and try to construct an experience of being unconscious. This is oxymoronic, but we do it anyway. We try to imagine darkness, silence – we imagine being in some way deprived of all sense experience. We try to imagine thinking nothing at all in this state, as we sometimes seem to do, especially when tired. Being satisfied, we think we have done it – that’s all that death is like, without immortality. We may then go on to use this to reason about whether immortality is desirable or not.

The problem is, of course, that this is still an experience. As you imagined this, there was still an “I” in your imagination. It was still you that was experiencing nothing, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. Death should cut away at that very self. Now try to imagine not being at all.

You can’t. And there’s the rub. It is impossible to imagine not existing. We think we can, but we can’t.

Since this ‘blank imagination’ is not really a proper imagination of non-existence, it is just as illogical to think death, without immortality, is like it, as to imagine that what follows is heaven, or hell, or Jello World. It is no more than a pleasant imagination that we use to stand in for a proper concept – pleasant, yes, because sleep is pleasant.

This is where reasoning about death, without immortality, should begin. From the utter unimaginability of death, not from the illusory conception. You have to be very aware that any imagination you have is wrong, that you are dealing with an absolute unknown.

Trying to do this, I find death to be absolutely terrifying. It is rational to fear the unknown. This world is ‘known’ and ‘given’ by comparison, and any chaos should be feared. If losing any important part of our world is a scary thought, it should be scariest to think of losing all of them, precisely because the unimaginability is greater. To cease to exist is an unbearable prospect, and it fills me with dread when it crosses my mind.

So, if I did not believe in immortality, and since I do not believe that I could “upload myself” into a computer and live on in it, as some people think they could – I would cling onto this life as tightly as I could. I would worry greatly about my health. I would look widely for the best ways to expand longevity, for death must be kept away. Either this, or I would try my hardest not to think about death – I could not, in good conscience, revert to the illusory conception.

But since I do believe in immortality, and I think I have good reasons to do so, that is not really my current problem as it stands. Non-existence is not only unimaginable, but actually impossible as a future prospect.

This is just my answer to the common atheist idea that, on their version of death, there is nothing to fear. Their version of death is the scariest possible. I would prefer hell – hell is suffering, and I can imagine suffering. I can even cherish the prospect, conditionally on my deserving it, as a reflection of the beauty of divine justice. But while I can fear it, it is finite fear, of something very conceivable – in comparison with nothingness, anyway.

This is also the reason why I despise annihilationists, who think non-existence is somehow a more bearable thought than hell.

Sunday, November 1, 2020

Solon & Philo: Ten ages of man

Philo of Alexandria, in his treatise On the Creation of the World (§104; I quote §§103–105), as part of a broader point on the perfection of the number seven (of the days of creation), preserves a poetic fragment of Solon:

And besides what has been already said, the growth of men from infancy to old age, when measured by the number seven, displays in a most evident manner its perfecting power; for in the first period of seven years, the putting forth of the teeth takes place. And at the end of the second period of the same length, he arrives at the age of puberty: at the end of the third period, the growth of the beard takes place. The fourth period sees him arrive at the fullness of his manly strength. The fifth seven years is the season for marriage. In the sixth period he arrives at the maturity of his understanding. The seventh period is that of the most rapid improvement and growth of both his intellectual and reasoning powers. The eighth is the sum of the perfection of both. In the ninth, his passions assume a mildness and gentleness, from being to a great degree tamed. In the tenth, the desirable end of life comes upon him, while his limbs and organic senses are still unimpaired: for excessive old age is apt to weaken and enfeeble them all. And Solon, the Athenian lawgiver, described these different ages in the following elegiac verses:

In seven years from th’ earliest breath,
The child puts forth his hedge of teeth;
When strengthened by a similar span,
He first displays some signs of man.
As in a third, his limbs increase,
A beard buds o’er his changing face.
When he has passed a fourth such time,
His strength and vigour’s in its prime.
When five times seven years o’er his head
Have passed, the man should think to wed;
At forty two, the wisdom’s clear
To shun vile deed of folly or fear:
While seven times seven years to sense
Add ready wit and eloquence.
And seven years further skill admit
To raise them to their perfect height.
When nine such periods have passed,
His powers, though milder grown, still last;
When God has granted ten times seven,
The aged man prepares for heaven.

Solon therefore thus computes the life of man by the aforesaid ten periods of seven years. But Hippocrates the physician says that there are Seven ages of man, infancy, childhood, boyhood, youth, manhood, middle age, old age; and that these too, are measured by periods of seven, though not in the same order. And he speaks thus; “In the nature of man there are seven seasons, which men call ages; infancy, childhood, boyhood, and the rest. He is an infant till he reaches his seventh year, the age of the shedding of his teeth. He is a child till he arrives at the age of puberty, which takes place in fourteen years. He is a boy till his beard begins to grow, and that time is the end of a third period of seven years. He is a youth till the completion of the growth of his whole body, which coincides with the fourth seven years. Then he is a man till he reaches his forty-ninth year, or seven times seven periods. He is a middle aged man till he is fifty-six, or eight times seven years old; and after that he is an old man.”

Ivan Linforth gives a different translation of the poem in his book Solon the Athenian:

A boy, before he cometh to man’s estate, and while he is still a child, getteth and loseth his rampart of teeth within the first seven years. When God bringeth the second seven to a close, the signs of budding manhood begin to show. In the third period, a downy beard appeareth, though the limbs have not reached their full growth, and the boyish bloom of the complexion fadeth. In the fourth period of seven years, every man is at the prime of his physical strength.... The fifth period is the season for a man to bethink him of marriage and seek offspring against the future. In the sixth, experience of every sort carrieth his mind on to perfection, and he feeleth no longer the same inclination to the wild pranks of youth. In the seventh seven, he is at his prime in mind and tongue, and also in the eighth, the two together making fourteen years. In the ninth period, though he still retaineth some force, he is feebler both in wisdom and in speech and faileth of great achievement. If a man attaineth to the full measure of the tenth period, the fate of death, if it come upon him, cometh not untimely.

So, just to be clear:

Period # Age What he is What happens
1 0–7 infant he gets and loses his first set of teeth
2 7–14 child this period itself is unremarkable, but at the end of it he reaches puberty
3 14–21 boy he grows a beard
4 21–28 youth he reaches the prime of his physical strength
5 28–35 man in this season, he should think of marriage
6 35–42 man he reaches the maturity of his understanding; he no longer feels the same inclination to the wild pranks of youth
7 42–49 man he reaches the prime of his wit and eloquence, that is, his prime in mind and tongue
8 49–56 middle-aged same as the previous period, or maybe the previous two periods; he is at his best in understanding, reasoning, speaking
9 56–63 old man his intellectual passions/powers grow milder and gentler; he is feebler both in wisdom and in speech, and does not reach great achievement
10 63–70 old man Philo thinks that this is a good time for him to die, since his limbs and senses are still unimpaired
11+ 70+ old man / dead Solon thinks that death is not untimely from this point on

That’s all.

...or so I thought. Seeing how terribly the table above seemed to render on my computer and phone, and having no hope of making it better in a durable way through styling on this blog, I have rendered it in Microsoft Excel and made an image of it:

On the topic of dividing life into seven-year periods, see also this SMBC comic; on the topic of there being seven ages, see also Shakespeare’s As You Like It, Act 2, scene 7.

Friday, October 30, 2020

Intellectual property, to Catholics

What ought a Catholic to think of intellectual property? I mean the class of rights including patents, copyrights, and trademarks.

You would think that this is one of those things that someone could easily look up and find ‘the official Catholic doctrine’ about, but it is not; it seems to be taken for granted in most popular sources. As a result, many opinions seem to have appeared on this subject in the minds of the public, and two of them are so terribly wrong, that I thought to write a blog post. This post will examine the two opinions that I think are awfully wrong, the one that I think is the most plausible, and some possible difficulties to its applicability.

0. Contents

  1. That to respect intellectual property is a moral duty because such rights are a private property of its holder, so that to infringe upon them is a kind of theft, or vandalism
  2. That to respect intellectual property is a moral duty because it is sinful to defraud a laborer of his wages, which is always done when someone infringes upon intellectual property
  3. That to respect intellectual property is a moral duty because intellectual property laws, like other civil laws, are binding in conscience, and ought to be followed on pain of sin
  4. Conclusion

1. That to respect intellectual property is a moral duty because such rights are a private property of its holder, so that to infringe upon them is a kind of theft, or vandalism

Two facts apparently support this opinion; first, that the name “intellectual property” seems to imply it.

This can be dealt with very quickly. It is an elementary mistake to derive the nature of something from its name, and the name in this case is applied only analogously. Every legal system distinguishes intellectual property rights from property rights, and every Catholic system of moral theology means only the latter by the word property.

Second, at least one notable modern philosopher has strongly supported such an opinion – Ayn Rand, most clearly in the following quotation:

Patents and copyrights are the legal implementation of the base of all property rights: a man’s right to the product of his mind.

Every type of productive work involves a combination of mental and physical effort: of thought and of physical action to translate that thought into a material form. The proportion of these two elements varies in different types of work. At the lowest end of the scale, the mental effort required to perform unskilled manual labor is minimal. At the other end, what the patent and copyright laws acknowledge is the paramount role of mental effort in the production of material values; these laws protect the mind’s contribution in its purest form: the origination of an idea. The subject of patents and copyrights is intellectual property. [...]

Today, patents are the special target of the collectivists’ attacks—directly and indirectly, through such issues as the proposed abolition of trademarks, brand names, etc. While the so-called “conservatives” look at those attacks indifferently or, at times, approvingly, the collectivists seem to realize that patents are the heart and core of property rights, and that once they are destroyed, the destruction of all other rights will follow automatically, as a brief postscript.

— Ayn Rand, Patents and Copyrights

I believe that Ayn Rand’s doctrine cannot be maintained by a Catholic, for three reasons. First, because it is innovative in the extreme. No one held Ayn Rand’s doctrine, or anything similar, up until around the time she came up with it; if it were part of the natural or divine law, then the consequence is that no one understood this important aspect of the law until her time, which is absurd.

Second, because there is no reason to think that “a man’s right to the product of his mind” is “the base of all property rights”. This is something that Ayn Rand simply made up, for no reason.

Third, because competing doctrines are endorsed by the Church, namely that of Thomas Aquinas, who said, in S.T., II-II, Q66, A1–2, that “the possession of external things is natural to man” because “man has a natural dominion over external things”, and that “the division of possessions is not according to the natural law, but rather arose from human agreement which belongs to positive law”. Ayn Rand’s doctrine contradicts this by giving a different base for property rights, one which is innovative besides.

2. That to respect intellectual property is a moral duty because it is sinful to defraud a laborer of his wages, which is always done when someone infringes upon intellectual property

This one is strange, but it comes up in discussions. It is said that patents and copyrights ensure that a writer, or inventor, will get the just payment for his work.

This is strange, since no one is due any payment for work which he was not hired to do. If I decide, out of my own free will, to build a public park on my private property, no one is obliged to pay me anything for having done this; they need only pay me for such things as they ask me for, such as entry or food, if I choose to charge for them. The work of building the park, which was not requested, deserves no payment.

Similarly, suppose a band were to play so loud in a concert that I can hear it from a neighboring house. I also owe no payment to that band; unlike someone who paid for a ticket, I did not ask for the band to play any music. It was once said to me that to infringe upon intellectual property is like sneaking into the concert, but, of course, someone who sneaks into the concert is infringing upon physical property, namely the land where the concert is held.

There is really nothing to be said in favor of this opinion, that I can think of at least. I will go on to the next one now.

3. That to respect intellectual property is a moral duty because intellectual property laws, like other civil laws, are binding in conscience, and ought to be followed on pain of sin

I think this one is the most likely to be correct. It is a well-known Catholic doctrine that civil law binds in conscience, and ought therefore to be followed, on pain of sin. It is worth noting that one consequence of this being the reason for the duty to respect intellectual property is that, if intellectual property laws were abolished, there would be no sin in making unlicensed copies of new artistic works or scientific inventions.

It is not obvious, however, that all intellectual property laws existing today are of such a kind as to bind in conscience. Some facts could, in theory, change this. I can think of three: first, if they were immoral laws; second, if they were abrogated by some custom; third, if they were merely penal laws. I will speak of each in turn.

Immoral laws, of course, do not bind; it would certainly be right to disobey a law commanding blasphemy. It is unlikely, however, that any current intellectual property laws are actually immoral. There seems to be no reason to consider them immoral, however prejudicial they may be. I have heard one argument that they are immoral because they make ideas into property, which ideas cannot be; but legally they generally in fact do not, despite the use of the word “intellectual property”, as I have already said.

Second, it is sometimes argued that Thomas Aquinas said that a law can be “abolished by custom”, and that since the state does not seem to prosecute some kinds of intellectual property infringement, namely the downloading of pirated movies, the law has been abolished by this new custom. I have no idea whether this is correct.

A third concept that may be brought to bear upon intellectual property laws is that of “merely penal” laws. Such laws, in Catholic moral theology, are “laws which oblige the citizen either to obey them or to accept the penalty appointed for their violation”; it is not a sin to break these laws, but it is a sin to evade punishment if caught breaking them. This seems to be how many Catholics approach copyright laws, although they have not heard of the term for it.

It is unclear, however, whether the concept of “merely penal” laws applies to any modern intellectual property laws, and one author has written a lengthy criticism of the concept. So it seems to me that, besides being the “safe” opinion, it is also the more probable opinion that intellectual property laws are not merely penal.

4. Conclusion

The conclusion is that the first two opinions I proposed to discuss are definitely wrong, and the third one may be correct, but may also, depending on the applicability of some strange conditions, not apply to particular modern laws.

Update (2021-09-18): I have written a follow-up post to this one.

Friday, October 23, 2020

Obviousness

Note: This blog post has been retracted, since I no longer think of it as a good representation of how I think about its topic. I may, or may not, have written a better post about the same topic since; check the full list of posts.

What is obvious should never be denied or doubted. No good has ever come from doing so and no good ever will.

When Parmenides came to the conclusion that motion does not exist, this should have been a reason for him to stop and think about where he made a mistake.

When Descartes made a method out of doubting everything, he created the largest amount of errors that have ever been made at once in philosophy.

Anyone who doubts or denies the obvious is not thinking seriously, and the doubt or denial should not be taken seriously. Only confusion, error and disaster can come from doing so.

Thursday, October 22, 2020

Kindle in bed

I have a Kindle, and it is the best device for reading in bed. These are the reasons:

1. Light

The front light of the Kindle Paperwhite is much softer and more comfortable to see in the dark than the backlighting of a phone screen. Of course, having any attached light at all also makes it superior to physical books, which require careful positioning of a lamp to be read in the dark.

2. Battery

My phone’s battery is pretty good, but not that much; I want it to be fully charged when I wake up. I think this is the case with most phones. If I use it while charging, then I have to lay in bed in a certain position, so as to not tangle myself with the cable or pull it tight, which is less comfortable. The Kindle has a long battery; while Amazon no longer advertises, or provides, one month of battery duration, it is still long enough that I can use it without charging for many days in a row; I can read it in bed without thinking of the battery.

3. Notes

The Kindle has a rudimentary notes function, made rudimentary mainly by the annoying on-screen keyboard. It is still enough that I do not need to immediately stop reading and turn on a light or look at a bright screen in order to make a note of something or remember to look something up later.

Mercy

Note: This blog post has been retracted, since I no longer think of it as a good representation of how I think about its topic. I may, or may not, have written a better post about the same topic since; check the full list of posts.

Mercy should clearly be defined in relation to justice, on which I have already written. That blog post left a gap for some further explanation of mercy, which I will now try to give. (This post is a sequel to that one, and §§1–3 of it apply here too.)

A brief excursus on the physician theory. As I said, most clearly in the fifth footnote of that post, “mercy” to criminals is unjust according to that conception, if it is conceived of as involving not punishing them, or lowering the degree of their punishment from the amount you think they need. Someone holding the physician theory might therefore define “mercy” differently – I have once heard one such person say that “mercy” would be to punish an evildoer, while “justice” would be to not punish him, since this leaves him with his just desert, viz., the injustice in his soul which comes from his evil act. I will no longer entertain physician notions in this post.

Mercy, then, according to my view of the debt theory of justice, should be defined as destroying a right that you have, whether this right be a monetary debt or a ‘debt of justice’ – a right to punish. A right, in turn, is defined simply as another person’s obligation towards you, which means mercy can equally be defined as the relieving a man of his obligation. If it is the case that some rights are indestructible, i.e., some obligations cannot be relieved, then mercy is simply impossible with respect to those rights.

It can then, in my opinion, never be unjust to forgive a debt or a criminal – your rights, like your property, may in justice usually be done with as you like. I think it may be wrong to do so, but the mode of its being wrong is that it is imprudent, or unwise. And the reason of its being imprudent is that it fails to fulfill certain conditions of prudence. I have been able to think of two of them, which I currently believe to be exhaustive; what follows is my statement of them.

1. The will condition: It is imprudent to forgive a man if that man is more likely to do further wrong if forgiven than if not forgiven.

I believe this one is uncontroversial. It is often held to be a purpose of punishment that it incapacitates the criminal, or removes him from society. I do not believe that this is a requirement of justice, but of prudence. If punishment may be demanded in a way that protects society from further harm, it is unwise to demand it in another way – e.g., to inflict corporal punishment when the criminal may be better prevented from doing further wrong by being jailed –, or to fail to demand it by way of forgiveness.

This is also true with monetary debts, although it is more difficult to apply to them. Prudence demands that you do not forgive a debtor if you know that he is likely to use his money to do wrong.

2. The knowledge condition: It is imprudent to forgive a man who will not acknowledge that he is in debt.

I believe this one is very controversial. Yet, it seems self-evidently true to me. I can think of a few considerations that may support it, but neither amounts to an argument:

  1. Doing this is bad for the debtor, since it tends to allow him to get into the vicious habit of neglecting his debts.
  2. It tends to have the appearance, to onlookers, of rewarding the behavior of forgetting or denying a debt, which encourages this bad behavior in them.
Even if neither consideration seems to apply to a particular case, though, I would still find it imprudent to forgive a criminal who does not acknowledge that he did wrong, or to forgive a debtor who does not acknowledge that he is in debt. I hope to one day be able to better explain this impression that I have.

Monday, October 19, 2020

Purpose of this blog

Note: This blog post is retracted; for information about this blog, see this new post.

On some things, I have a pretty constant opinion which takes some length to state clearly. If I write a blog post with my opinion about something, I can link people to the post instead of repeating what I usually say. I can also improve the post over time so that it is as clear as possible, though very major revisions are more likely to be written as new posts.

I have also posted some of my research into my particular interests here. Really the blog is very open-ended, but in case someone ever wonders, its main purpose is to link people to particular posts when in the future I might wish to do so.

Saturday, October 17, 2020

The threefold division

This is a collection of quotes I have gathered regarding the ancient division between physics, ethics, and logic, whether regarded as a division of philosophy, of the sciences in general, or of anything, really. I have tried to reach as wide as I could, capturing also the use of the Latin words natural or real, moral, and rational, as well as any reference made to mathematics instead of logic or rational philosophy, and the different combinations and orderings that the division could take. As you will notice, I have usually chosen to include rather than to exclude something.

Friday, October 16, 2020

Paradox of the stone

I here record my favorite answer to the paradox involving God’s omnipotence and a stone. I saw it somewhere on the Internet before and cannot find a source for it now, so here it is as I can best remember it. It went something like...

Can God create a stone so heavy that even he cannot lift it?

Either God can do logically self-contradictory things, or he cannot.

If he cannot, then he cannot create such a stone, since it is incoherently described – nothing could be too heavy to be lifted by an omnipotent being.

If he can, though, then yes, he can create such a stone – but then, of course, he can also lift the stone that he cannot lift.

Saturday, October 10, 2020

The use of philosophy

I always find it strange when someone asks me what philosophy does, and what it’s for. I mean, all the problems of philosophy are self-explanatory and impose themselves as a problem.” — My friend Vitor Matias, in a Facebook post in March

When next someone asks you for the use of philosophy, I think it might be useful to give him this list of questions that William James gives in lieu of a definition of ‘metaphysics’:

What are ‘thoughts,’ and what are ‘things’? and how are they connected? —— What do we mean when we say ‘truth’? —— Is there a common stuff out of which all facts are made? —— How comes there to be a world at all? and, Might it as well not have been? —— Which is the most real kind of reality? —— What binds all things into one universe? —— Is unity or diversity more fundamental? —— Have all things one origin? or many? —— Is everything predestined, or are some things (our wills for example) free? —— Is the world infinite or finite in amount? —— Are its parts continuous, or are there vacua? —— What is God? – or the gods? —— How are mind and body joined? Do they act on each other? —— How does anything act on anything else? —— How can one thing change or grow out of another thing? —— Are space and time beings? – or what? —— In knowledge, how does the object get into the mind? — or the mind get at the object? —— We know by means of universal notions. Are these also real? Or are only particular things real? —— What is meant by a ‘thing’? —— ‘Principles of reason,’ – are they inborn or derived? —— Are ‘beauty’ and ‘good’ matters of opinion only? Or have they objective validity? And, if so, what does the phrase mean?

— Some Problems of Philosophy, §2 (p. 30 / PDF p. 46)

Faced with this collection of questions, I would find it very strange if someone could think that they are all uninteresting or unimportant, though I have seen someone dismiss them quickly with strangely simple answers. I encourage the use of the above as a copypasta.

Certainly you might think of your own questions that could merit a place in the ensemble – I would find it interesting if you can post some in the comments – but the above is valuable partly for being from a reputable author, for better or worse.

James continues:

Such are specimens of the kind of question termed metaphysical. Kant said that the three essential metaphysical questions were:—

What can I know?

What should I do?

What may I hope?

A glance at all such questions suffices to rule out such a definition of metaphysics as that of Christian Wolff, who called it ‘the science of what is possible,’ as distinguished from that of what is actual, for most of the questions relate to what is actual fact.[...]

Friday, October 9, 2020

Conditions and causes of thought (updated 2021-05-02)

In my Portuguese-language edition of Régis Jolivet’s Cours de philosophie, near the end of §138, I find (the equivalent of) this sentence.

Without a doubt, intelligence has organic conditions, which are the nerves and the brain, but conditions are not causes. (To play the violin, the artist requires a bow. But the bow is not the cause of the melody: it is only the condition.) Therefore, we must say with Aristotle, that “we think without an organ of thought” (88).

The number 88 refers to §88, which says much the same thing. (Update 2021-05-02: it would have been more useful to refer to §196; see the addendum.) This sentence and example perplexed me, though; what is he on about? What is it about the violin that makes it a condition and not a cause? Is it not a material cause, in the Aristotelian reckoning? What are conditions and causes, anyway? What is the difference? Does anyone ever explain that?

The answer to the last question is that almost no one ever explains that, for some reason. We use the words recklessly and do not care.

I surveyed some people in a philosophy forum about this, on whether (a) all conditions are causes, and whether (b) all causes are conditions. The result was dishearteningly close; some people thought (1) that both propositions are true, which would ruin Jolivet’s doctrine, by making the terms coextensive. Some people thought (2) that neither is true, which no one really explained. Some people thought (3) that conditions ⊃ causes. Thankfully, apparently no one thought (4) that causes ⊃ conditions.

If a close number of people agree with each of these possibilities, then possibility (3) is made the most plausible, since the supporters of possibility (1) agree with it about (a), and the supporters of possibility (2) agree with it about (b). Sure enough, (3) seems to be the opinion defended by Mackie, who defined causes as a particular type of conditions.

Mackie’s opinion is likely to be quite interesting, but I have no reason to think that his analysis agrees with the use of these terms in scholastic manuals such as the one I was reading. When I asked a different forum for resources on the distinction, I was linked to a paper, based on Suárez’s metaphysics, that explicitly mentioned Mackie’s analysis as unsatisfactory, for its “inability to draw a sharp metaphysical distinction between ‘real’ causes and mere background conditions.”

Whatever that paper concludes, it is much more likely to agree with the book I was reading. It is also hosted on the highly useful Jacques Maritain Center website, which gave me the idea to search that website for more information. Doing so, I found two (2) books that said something useful. So, as the result of my research, I will now end this post by quoting serially from that paper, from the two books I found in the same website, and finally twice from an interesting book I found on Google Books, which, attempting to argue a similar point, that sensation is a mere condition of reasoning, quotes several illustrations of the distinction from different authors.

[I]t is the active communication of esse to an entity that constitutes the core of efficient causality, and Suárez’s account presupposes that the production or conservation of any effect in nature involves some agent’s communicating esse of some sort to some recipient. This is true even when a patient suffers a loss or privation of esse as the result of an agent’s causal influence--as, for instance, when a living organism dies or when someone is blinded by being struck in the eye. What occurs in such cases is the introduction into the patient of a formal determination which is incompatible with the form that the patient is thus deprived of. Such examples should make us aware that even though every instance of efficient causality involves a giving of esse or perfection, this does not mean that the patient is itself more perfect absolutely speaking as a result of the agent’s influence.    

Given this background, we are now in a position to appreciate Suárez’s characterization of a per se and immediate efficient cause:    

A per se cause is a cause on which the effect directly depends with respect to that proper esse which it has insofar as it is an effect. And since this cause alone is a cause in the proper and absolute sense, almost the whole next disputation [Disputation 18] will be concerned with it alone. [—DM 18, sect. II, §2.]

More formally,

x is a per se and immediate efficient cause of y at t if and only if x, by acting, directly communicates esse to y at t

This, according to Suárez, is the metaphysical core of efficient causality. All the other related notions that philosophers, past and present, have used to characterize causality—e.g., constant conjunction, causal regularity, statistical correlation, causal law, the transmission of probabilities, INUS condition—must, if they have any relevance to causality at all, find their place within the framework established by this basic causal notion.  

Suárez goes on to distinguish two main types of per se causes, viz., principal and instrumental, where an instrumental cause is, in general, an agent that is employed in some way by a principal cause in effecting its own proper effect.[...]

— Alfred J. Freddoso, A Suarezian Model of Efficient Causality, §4.2¶8ff.

The requisites for the exercise of a power are called conditions; these are not properly causes, since they do not bring about an action, but only remove what might prevent action. For instance, citizenship is usually a condition required for voting, but it does not as such induce one to vote. A circumstance which is apt to induce an agent to act, though he might also act without it, is called an occasion; thus, a time of political excitement is an occasion apt to induce many to vote. If occasions influence actions they are real causes.

— Charles Coppens, S.J., Mental Philosophy, §82

“A cause is more than a condition.” This saying is of a different type from those previously explained, and leads some people to a hazy and erroneous idea, that a condition may positively do something, without being a cause. We must try to distinguish different senses.

The most pure instance of a condition is one which does nothing, but consists in the mere absence of an obstacle. Thus a window is a condition of seeing, because it does not impede the course of light; it may be a simple hole, as in more primitive buildings, or it may be glass, inasmuch as it has the negative quality of not appreciably obstructing the luminiferous waves. But the best glass gives no light of its own, as we may verify for ourselves at night, when the candles are out.

The second case of a “condition,” is one where the reality does something positive, but, as a cause, it is so comparatively inferior in rank, or so far removed from the final result as not to be reckoned among the causes. This is instanced by the oft-quoted relation of the bellows-blower to the organist. The former has positively to cause something, but his work is unskilled labour, and he is not the immediate producer of the musical sound. If we were so inclined we might also call the organist a condition; for he only opens the vents and lets the imprisoned air act on the tubes; but because it requires much skill to press the keys in the ways required, the actions are dignified with the title of principal causes. The remoteness of the organ-builders, or of the musical composer from the actual playing at the time, would lower them to “conditions,” though in point of dignity they might claim to be causes.

A third meaning of “condition” refers to a moral agent, who is not simply made to act upon the fulfilment of certain “conditions,” but chooses to act where these motives are presented. Thus, the grace of God is sometimes “conditioned” by certain acts on the part of man, though there is no obligation, not even one consequent on a promise given. If not the free acts only, at least the free acts especially, of a moral agent deserve to be styled acts dependent on conditions.

We conclude that in reference to a moral agent, so far as his action is distinctively moral, a condition furnishes a requirement without which he will not act: while in reference to physical agency as such, a condition is either a remote or a comparatively insignificant cause, or else it is the absence of a possible obstacle.

An occasion is a conjunction of causes, efficient and material. Those who speak of the evolution of our solar systems from a primitive nebula, have noticed that, not only the primitive elements of matter in such a nebula need to be accounted for, but that likewise their collocation, their arrangement, their distribution, is a distinct fact about them, of which some account should be rendered. Now an occasion answers to this collocation: it always must have a distinct cause, but in itself we regard it as an incident of causation, not as a cause. If on the occasion when a flower is ready to scatter its seeds a high wind arises, they are dispersed all the further; if on the occasion when a tile falls from a roof a man is passing just under the spot where it falls, he is injured. Our ordinary practice is, to take the conjunction of two or more causes which we regard as practically independent, to ignore the cause or causes which have brought them into conjunction, and then, to speak of their combination as occasional. In the example of a free agent, he may choose his occasions because of their special fitness to his purpose, and they may become conditions of his action.

— John Rickaby, S.J., General Metaphysics, 2.3.4e

It is admitted that apart from sensation and sense-perception there can be no true cognition. Still it is not sensible experience alone which produces consciousness. Sensible experience is the occasion (the condition), but the reason is the true cause of that knowledge we call consciousness.

First notions are not transformed but informed sensations—that is sensations illuminated and informed by rational ideas, for without ideas, sensation has no form. The ideas of the Supreme Reason are symbolized or embodied in nature, and it is the apperception of these ideas by the reason of man (made in the image of God) which enables him to translate the affections of the sensibility into consciousness and thought. All light, all comprehension, all coördination comes from the reason. Therefore, reason is the true cause of knowledge.

Note.—Between the real cause and the occasion of any phenomenon there is a clear distinction. The former implies a real, efficient, productive power; the latter, some condition or conditions under which the power is manifested. I cast a grain of wheat into the earth. The occasion of its germination and development into leaf, stem, ear, and grain, is light, warmth, moisture, etc.; but these are by no means the cause. The cause is the mysterious, organizing force which is immanent in the seed. The rest are but conditions under which or upon which the cause produces the effect.

— Benjamin Franklin Cocker, Handbook of Philosophy, Division I, p. 64 (PDF p. 133)

Reason is the real Cause, Sensation and sensible Experience are the Conditions of real Knowledge. It is admitted that apart from sensation and experience there can be no knowledge of the external world; but it is not sensation, nor a repetition of various sensations which constitutes knowledge. Sensation is merely the occasion; the true cause of knowledge is the intuitive reason with its universal and necessary ideas. Thus, without the observation of contiguous and successive change there could be no clear idea of cause; but whenever change is perceived, it presents itself at once to the reason as a manifestation of power, and refers us to a causal ground. Without the perception, by sense, of the collocation and disposition of objects or parts of objects, there could be no clear idea of design; but on such collocations and arrangements being presented, the mind intuitively regards them as being intended, or designed. The sensation or perception is not the cause of the judgment, it is simply the occasion. The idea of power is not seen by the senses, it is given by the reason. The purpose, or design, is not perceived by the material eye, it is not in the mechanism at all. The design, or purpose, exists in the mind of the maker of the machine and is perceived by the eye of reason in the arrangement of the parts of the machine, that is, the same idea is excited or occasioned in our mind which existed in the mind of the maker or the contriver of the mechanism.

“We always single out one dynamical antecedent—the power which does the work, or one rational antecedent—the purpose for which work is done, from the aggregate of material conditions under which these are manifested.” — Dr. Carpenter: “Nature,” vol. vi., p. 210.

“There is danger of confounding conditions and causes. The dilute acid in the battery will attack the zinc only on condition that you connect the zinc and platinum externally by means of a conductor; but this does not make the conductor the agent which dissolves the zinc. I build a wall behind my grape trellis and I find the ripening of the fruit accelerated ; but it is not the wall which does the work, it is still, as before, the sun. The amount of light emitted by my lamp is determined, within certain limits, by the height of the wick; but this does not render the wick the cause of the light. The varying wick is only a varying condition of a varying result of a varying activity of a constant physical force—chemical action between oil and oxygen. Similarly, the amount of thought which I can evolve is conditioned by all the affections and conditions of the brain. My poetry and my philosophy are indeed correlated to brain and blood and oxygen and beef-steak, but only in the same way as my boots are correlated to calf-skin and tan-bark and black-wax. These conditioned the exercise of the boot-maker’s skill; beefsteak conditioned the exercise of mine. It is quite true that the activity in both cases has other conditions, but it is also true that none of these conditions can be elevated to the dignity of causes. The physical scientist is sometimes hoodwinked by the exact gradation of mental activity to the condition of the brain, and commits the mistake of clothing condition with the character of cause.” — Dr. Winchell: “Thoughts on Causality,” pp. 21, 22.

“Conditions are not actively productive, but are passively permissive; they do not cause variation in any direction, but they permit and favor a tendency which already exists.” — Huxley: “Critiques,” etc., p. 273.

“To make the stimulating condition or occasion the cause of, cognition is as illogical as to make the setting of the pointer-dog, which aroused the attention of the sportsman, the cause of the killing of the game.” — McCosh: “Defence,” etc., p. 86.

— Benjamin Franklin Cocker, Handbook of Philosophy, Division I, pp. 87–88 (PDF pp. 180–181)

Update 2021-05-02: The same Cours de philosophie turns out to answer this question in a later paragraph. It did not occur to me to skip ahead, and I took a long time to get to this paragraph because I had only read this book intermittently. It is probably no harm that I did some research, and this blog post, before reading ahead; what I had read does not conflict with the book’s own answer. In §196, it says the equivalent of this:

Cause, condition, occasion.— It is necessary to distinguish carefully these three notions. The condition is that which allows the cause to produce its effect, be it positively, as an instrument or a means (so the bow is, to the violinist, the condition of the melody which he will play), – be it negatively, by removing obstacles (so, the pianist must have his piano tuned, if he is to play aright). 
The occasion is an accidental circumstance, which creates conditions favorable to the action (so, good weather is the occasion for me to decide to take a walk). Not even the most favorable condition, not even the most indispensable condition (called a condition sine qua non) can be confused with the cause properly so called, for the effect does not depend on it essentially, but accidentally.

Tuesday, October 6, 2020

Division of the works of Plato

I here reproduce and transcribe[1] the ancient division of the works of Plato, as given by St. George William Joseph Stock’s[2] edition of the Meno. (I wanted to have a way to link people to this division, and I know of no such page yet.)

I made this black and white version; see footnote for original colors.[3]

Plato’s works – Λόγος Πλατωνικός

1. Expository, or hyphegetic (ύφηγητικός)

1.1. Theoretical (θεωρεματικός)

1.1.1. Physical (φυσικός)

1.1.1.1. Timaeus (Τίμαιος)

1.1.2. Logical (λογικός)

1.1.2.1. Statesman, or Politicus (Πολιτικός)
1.1.2.2. Cratylus (Κρατύλος)
1.1.2.3. Parmenides (Παρμενίδης)
1.1.2.4. Sophist, or Sophistes (Σοφιστής)

1.2. Practical (πρακτικός)

1.2.1. Ethical (ήθικός)

1.2.1.1. Apology (Απολογία Σωκράτους)
1.2.1.2. Crito (Κρίτων)
1.2.1.3. Phaedo (Φαίδων)
1.2.1.4. Phaedrus (Φαίδρος)
1.2.1.5. Symposium (Συμπόσιον)
1.2.1.6. Menexenus (Μενέξενος)
1.2.1.7. Cleitophon (Κλειτοφών)
1.2.1.8. Letters (Επιστολαί)
1.2.1.9. Philebus (Φίληβος)
1.2.1.10. Hipparchus (Ἵππαρχος)
1.2.1.11. Anterastae (Ἀντερασταὶ)

1.2.2. Political (πολιτικός)

1.2.2.1. Republic (Πολιτεία)
1.2.2.2. Laws (Νόμοι)
1.2.2.3. Minos (Μίνως)
1.2.2.4. Epinomis (Επινομις)
1.2.2.5. Critias (Κριτίας)

2. Inquisitory, or zetetic (ζητητικός)

2.1. Exercitatory, or gymnastic (γυμναστικός)

2.1.1. Elicitory, or maieutic (μαιευτικός)

2.1.1.1. Alcibiades I (Αλκιβιάδης Α΄)
2.1.1.2. Alcibiades II (Αλκιβιάδης Β΄)
2.1.1.3. Theages (Θεάγης)
2.1.1.4. Lysis (Λύσις)
2.1.1.5. Laches (Λάχης)

2.1.2. Tentative, or peirastic (πειραστικός)

2.1.2.1. Euthyphro (Ευθύφρων)
2.1.2.2. Meno (Μένων)
2.1.2.3. Ion (Ίων)
2.1.2.4. Charmides (Χαρμίδης)
2.1.2.5. Theaetetus (Θεαίτητος)

2.2. Controversial, or agonistic (άγωνιστικός)

2.2.1. Probative, or endeictic (ένδεικτικός)

2.2.1.1. Protagoras (Πρωταγόρας)

2.2.2. Eversive, or anatreptic (άνατρεπτικός)

2.2.2.1. Euthydemus (Ευθύδημος)
2.2.2.2. Hippias Major, or Greater Hippias, or Hippias I (Ιππίας μείζων)
2.2.2.3. Hippias Minor, or Lesser Hippias, or Hippias II (Ιππίας ελάσσων)
2.2.2.4. Gorgias (Γοργίας)

Stock’s explanation of the division (from his Introduction, §5)

Quite apart from the division into trilogies or tetralogies, there was current also among the Ancients a subtle logical division of the works of Plato, which possesses a real philosophical value.

It is assumed, to begin with, that the works of Plato fall into two main classes, one in which there is a more or less definite conclusion present in the author’s mind, to which he wishes to guide the reader, the other in which the object is vague inquiry. This gives us the two principal ‘characters’ of the λόγος Πλατωνικός—ύφηγητικός and ζητητικός. The foregone conclusion may be of a merely speculative nature or one bearing upon life and practice. Thus we are led to a subdivision of the first of the two main classes into theoretical and practical; and these again are subdivided respectively into physical and logical, ethical and political. It is on the other side of the division that we must look for the Meno. The ‘inquisitory’ dialogues are all so many exhibitions of the art of mental wrestling, but may be distinguished into dialogues of practice and of combat (γυμναστικός and άγωνιστικός). The latter may end either in proving one’s own proposition or upsetting the adversary’s (ένδεικτικός or άνατρεπτικός); the former may assume the shape either of eliciting a conclusion from an unpractised thinker or of demolishing his successive attempts to reach one (μαιευτικός or πειραστικός). Here then are the eight infimae species which we reach in our division. Plato’s works are either — physical, logical, ethical, political, elicitory, tentative, probative[4], or eversive. Below these there is only the enumeration of the individual dialogues falling under each class, which gives scope for difference of opinion, and we find the list presented by Albinus very different from that of Diogenes Laertius. As to the tentative nature of the Meno, however, all are agreed.

Notes

[1] Special thanks to this on-line Greek keyboard and to this list of work names in Greek for speeding this up. For more good material on the dialogues and their tetralogies, I highly recommend the website plato-dialogues.org.

[2] A note on Stock’s name. He was not canonized; his first name was “St. George”, with the title included, cf. https://www.zinzin.com/observations/2012/who-was-st-george-william-joseph-stock/

[3] Here:

[4] [Stock’s footnote] It is worth noticing that Albinus has έλεγκτικός in his list (Hermann’s Plato, vol. vi. p. 148), and makes no mention of ένδεικτικός. The latter therefore may be a mistake in Diogenes Laertius, iii. §49. The Protagoras is the only dialogue referred to this head. 

Taxation is not theft

Note: This blog post has been retracted, since I no longer think of it as a good representation of how I think about its topic. I may, or may not, have written a better post about the same topic since; check the full list of posts.[4]

I used to be inclined towards libertarianism. I still really like libertarians. I don’t know whether I ever called myself a libertarian, but anyway, now I definitely don’t, and can’t.

In the United States, often libertarian is used to mean anyone who is in favor of a largely free market. I don’t mean something as general as that by the word, since I think it is not helpful to use it this way, and it is not how it is used here in Brazil. I think a libertarian is someone who believes in some form of libertarian ethics, holding to something like the non-agression principle, or self-ownership,[2] or however they slice it. This means they are almost always anarcho-capitalists, but that word approaches them more from the political than the ethical angle, which is the one intended here. There are different versions of libertarian ethics, but they are all very similar and I don’t care enough to distinguish them. All of them have in common the doctrine that taxation is theft.

I cannot believe that taxation is theft, because I am a Catholic, and such a doctrine would be against the constant teaching and practice of the Catholic Church, of her popes, and would even seem to be inconsistent with the existence of canonized royalty.

So, why is it that taxation is not theft?[1] Well, because state authority exists, of course. How does that work?

To be honest, I have no idea. I know God grants authority to governments in some way, and that He does so in such a way that most governments right now are probably legitimate,[3] since it seems that this is the general assumption of how the Church operates. But I have no sophisticated theology or philosophy of this; so, as far as I currently know, authority is very much what libertarians think it is – some magic hidden property of governments that makes taxation not be theft. That seems pretty reasonable to me.

[1] The naïve will dismiss the question, because taxation seems less grossly violent than theft, and it is at least partly used to the benefit of society. These are not serious considerations – taxation is physically the same act as theft, and its usage cannot justify it any more than the usage of the products of theft. Something like authority is necessary to change its nature from that of theft to that of a permissible act, whether it is held to exist because of a social contract or some other nonsense.

I believe that the “magic” theory is much more plausible than the “social contract” theory, though it is woefully unsophisticated in comparison, and I hope to replace it with something more philosophical someday, after I read more on the subject.

[2] Update (2022-02-10): I have come to believe in a form of self-ownership myself, though without becoming a libertarian. See my post on private property to learn more.

[3] Update (2022-02-10): Because of recent papal statements, have changed my mind on the legitimacy of states.

[4] Update (2022-05-04): Retracted the post; at this time, I would point readers to my post on human nature.