For the sake of our gravest desiderata

     I occasionally write for the Mission Viejo Patch. One of my colleagues on the Patch (the admirable Mr. Shripathi Kamath) recently posted a brief discussion of the “ethics of torture” in which he seemed to argue for the moral necessity of torture under special circumstances. (See The Ethics of Torture, June 10, 2011)
     I joined in the discussion, which was a mix of the good, the bad, and the ugly (mostly good though).
     Eventually, I posted the following:

     IF WE GRANT THAT

G: There are occasions in which opting for the use of torture (on, say, a captured terrorist) will increase the chances of acquiring information – specifically in cases in which such information possibly would prevent moral disaster (e.g., the detonation of a nuclear bomb in a city)

—then (and I take this to be Shri’s core insight) it is morally odd (and by no means incontrovertably wise) to adopt an absolute prohibition/condemnation against the use of torture, for such prohibition would seem to allow moral disasters—situations even more regrettable (from a moral perspective) than the instance of torture.
     Philosophers have long known that, in contemplating extreme circumstances—as actually arise in, say, the setting of national leadership—paradoxes (I use the term somewhat loosely) emerge. Thus, for instance, Gregory Kavka* once argued that, to bring about the morally best outcome, it may be necessary for some individuals within a society to become morally corrupt—in order to act under special circumstances in a manner in which no decent moral being would act (namely, by retaliating against a nation’s nuclear onslaught with a reciprocating [and pointless] nuclear onslaught, for the sake of effective deterrence).

     A utilitarian (of a classic variety) always acts to bring about the greatest happiness for the greatest number. But it would seem that, in doing so, he or she will be obliged on occasion to violate individuals’ rights (e.g., one will sacrifice a healthy hospital orderly in order to save three patients by employing his healthy organs). But if everyone were a utilitarian, and if that were known, then everyone would live in fear of becoming the next utilitarian sacrifice to “the greatest happiness”—and this would ipso facto lower the level of happiness in society considerably.
     Thus, paradoxically, a utilitarian would not seek that everyone be a utilitarian.
     Many years ago, some philosophers began considering morality and moral principles from two perspectives: from the individual’s perspective and the perspective of a moral being who has the opportunity to decide on the rules and practices that would be adopted by everyone in society. Arguably, one would be in a much better position to maximize happiness (or minimize violence, pain, etc.—or, indeed, to achieve any overarching goal) if one had the latter perspective and could somehow enforce it or cause individuals to act accordingly. (Example of such theorizing: John Rawls’ mid-50s essay, “Two Concepts of Rules.”**)
     It seems clear that no society can flourish in which free and informed members are permitted acts of violence (including torture) as means to their goals, however noble. On the other hand, arguably, a community can together reflect on that general perspective mentioned above and in this way see the wisdom or desirability of permitting torture for cases such as G above.
     In a sense, we already approach some matters in this fashion—or at least some of us individuals do. I would argue that no large society (perhaps there should be no large societies!) can survive (and thus flourish) without a military and a substantial army. Further, no large army could function if it allowed its soldiers to exercise moral autonomy. And in fact, actual armies (certainly ours) operate in a manner that discourages autonomy among individual soldiers. (Unsurprisingly, we are not very honest with ourselves about this.)
     I have generally refrained from applying my usual demand (of persons) that they exercise moral autonomy in the case of soldiers (and other classifications) exactly because of this recognition that, as a matter of practical fact, no military can function if it encourages precisely the sort of character that, normally, we hope to instill in our children.
     So my perspective (here) parallels Kavka’s.

     I am somewhat of a communitarian, and so I (in some sense) hope that my fellow-citizens will be moral and will encourage virtue in their children. I would be pleased by the prospect of a society in which the norm among individuals is moral seriousness and the attending of one’s moral character. In such a society, individuals would be encouraged (presumably by their parents, but perhaps also by “society itself”) to achieve moral autonomy—i.e., the ability and disposition to act with moral seriousness and own responsibility for themselves and their actions. (Please excuse my informal language.)
     But I don’t see how a large army could function (especially during time of war) were that autonomy to be permitted or encouraged for soldiers qua soldiers. And so one confronts a kind of dilemma.
     And, for me, the dilemma is mitigated or alleviated by that higher perspective that sees the necessity of soldier non-autonomy relative to our society’s gravest desiderata. That is, that perspective is in some sense compelling, from a moral perspective. It is as compelling, perhaps, as the need for the condemnation of torture.
     I offer the above with no slight tentativeness.

   *Some Paradoxes of Deterrence (Gregory Kavka, 1978)
   **Two Concepts of Rules (John Rawls, 1955)

The same old irrational exuberance

     This morning, I noticed the above video posted at the Orange Juice Blog. It is a brief and interesting presentation by Internet guru Jim Gilliam entitled, “The Internet is my Religion.”

     Well, I watched it and left the comment below:

     I enjoyed Gilliam’s presentation and will acknowledge that he has quite a story to tell, but I do wonder about the label “humanism” applied to him and, frankly, about his philosophy also. Humanism—yes, a notoriously ambiguous term—is often viewed as a non-theistic (godless) philosophy that embraces the notion of the power of human faculties—especially reason. Gilliam has surely abandoned theism and embraced human capability, but his embrace of reason is questionable, for he does seem to embrace “faith,” or something very like it, and it is faith (one might argue) that makes religion religion more than does embrace of the supernatural. Yes, Gilliam was saved in part by internet activists, but his rescue had more to do with medicine and the phenomenon of individuals choosing to make their organs available to others—both pre-dating the Internet. And so why does he attribute the miracle of his rescue to the Internet and not to these other things, which surely are more fundamental to the event? At a certain point, Gilliam reminds one of the charismatic preacher who, having roused his audience with stories of happy accident, human kindness, and whatnot, commits the usual non sequitur: it’s Jeeeeeesus.

     Gilliam simply replaces Jesus with the Internet. So, what we have here is not humanism but a new, but a typical, religion—a thing with an utter failure of logic at its core.

     (Note: someone with a sounder training in the Humanities would not have made Gilliam's mistake—namely, conceiving and exhorting his godless, human-centered philosophy as a religion—something relying on "faith.")

“Absolutely, you have rights—just not absolute rights”

Absolut vodka

     In order to win the election the candidate must make a deal with a dishonest ward boss, involving the granting of contracts for school construction over the next four years. Should he make the deal? … He is extremely reluctant even to consider the deal, puts off his aides when they remind him of it, refuses to calculate its possible effects upon the campaign….
     Because he has scruples of this sort, we know him to be a good man. But we view the campaign in a certain light, estimate its importance in a certain way, and hope that he will overcome his scruples and make the deal. It is important to stress that we don't want just anyone to make the deal; we want him to make it, precisely because he has scruples about it. We know he is doing right when he makes the deal because he knows he is doing wrong. I don't mean merely that he will feel badly or even very badly after he makes the deal. If he is the good man I am imagining him to be, he will feel guilty, that is, he will believe himself to be guilty. That is what it means to have dirty hands.

—From “Political Action: the Problem of Dirty Hands,” Michael Walzer (1973)

Smith

     Suppose you are conversing with friends, including Smith and Jones, and you find yourselves discussing moral philosophy. In particular, you are discussing the notion of rights. At one point, Smith says, “Just because you have a right to your property—which entails a right that others not take your property—it doesn’t follow that I may never take your property!”
     Jones is perplexed. “What do you mean?” he asks.
     Well, says Smith, we can all agree that people have rights, and among these rights is a right to one’s property. I’m an absolutist about this. I believe that everyone everywhere has rights, including this right.”
     “OK,” says Jones. “I’m with you so far.”
     Smith continues: And if we say that people have a right to their property, we mean something like this: normally, nobody may take their property unless they give them permission to take it.”
     “What do you mean by ‘normally,’?” asks Jones.

Jones

     When we say that X has a right to his property, we mean, roughly, that everyone should refrain from taking it. But that isn’t quite correct, because rights and other moral considerations can come into conflict. What if there’s a terrible accident and I need to get someone to a hospital? But the only way I can do that is if I just take X’s car—she happened to leave her keys in it. It seems to me that, under the circumstances, I’m in a kind of dilemma, for if I honor X’s right to her property, I will allow this person to die. And surely we can all agree that the importance of preventing the person’s death (she’s a delightful person, I assure you) overrides X’s right to my not taking her car! So, even though I’m in a dilemma in which something’s got to give, it’s pretty clear what ought to “give” here.
     “So you’re saying that, under the circumstances, X’s right evaporates into nothing?,” says Jones.
     No, says Smith. X, like everyone else, really does have the right not to have her property “borrowed” or molested, and so on. But, there’s a conflict, and something’s got to give. The best thing to do, all things considered, is to violate X’s right in order to save a life. Naturally, we owe it to X to explain ourselves as soon as possible. We really feel bad about having to take her car. But, under the circumstances, that’s what had to be done. It would be different if, say, the only way to save the accident victim is by hurting X in some way. It wouldn’t be right to help the victim by hurting X. But we didn’t do that. We only “borrowed” X’s car.

X

     “So X’s right becomes nothing,” says Jones.
     Not at all! The fact that we owe her an explanation and even an apology shows that her right does not become “nothing.” It still is what it is, it’s just that life can get complicated, and it became necessary to use her car, to violate her right to her property in a limited way. We didn’t want to do that, but there was no alternative. And we aren’t willing to do just anything, relative to X’s rights, to save the accident victim. But we are willing—regretfully—to violate her right to not have her car used without permission—for the sake of saving an innocent life.
     “So you’re saying that her right to her property is not absolute!,” offers Jones.

Accident victim (all better now)

     Well, in one sense, yes; in another sense, no. That we have an obligation to her to treat her with respect is, I think, absolute. And, in this case, we’re honoring that, for we resist taking her car, we don’t want to take it. But we feel that we must take it, regrettably, to save a life. And the proof that her right did not become nothing is the fact that we feel the need to contact her as soon as possible and explain and even apologize for what we did. (We might even offer to compensate her in some way.) That’s the proof that her right, though violated, did not “disappear.” It’s still there. We still recognize it. And so X absolutely has a right to her property, her car. But that doesn’t mean that her right is “absolute.” We’re not saying that her right is absolute in the sense that it must always be honored or accorded, no matter what! No. We’re not saying that she has an “absolute” right in that sense. We are saying that, absolutely, she has a right to her property. That is, we should proceed with the idea that her ownership of her property must always be respected, if not accorded, even when it is taken from her, temporarily.
     See?

The case of torture

You

     I feel very strongly that torture is barbaric and unacceptable. I think it is inhumane and appalling. I always feel this way—i.e., there are no circumstances in which I do not find torture inhumane and appalling. I am, in that way, an anti-torture absolutist.
     And yet, in another sense, I am not an "absolutist" about torture. For circumstances are conceivable in which, though one does have that value/perspective, one reasonably judges that the morally best thing to do is to torture someone. If, for instance, terrorists have hidden a nuclear weapon in the city and we have compelling reasons to suppose that it will be detonated in a few hours, and if we have captured one of the terrorists, who refuses to divulge the location of the weapon—it is conceivable that the only prospect of getting the crucial information is in torturing the terrorist. (That this circumstance ever occurs is somewhat controversial, I suppose. This example is Walzer's, essentially.) If we were to do that, we would do it with profound regret. We would be appalled by our conduct. We may find it difficult to live with ourselves having done it. All of this is the "presence" of our rejection of torture; it is our "anti-torture" conviction. And yet (perhaps) we have done the morally right thing, the best that we can do, under these special circumstances, by torturing the terrorist.
     I might choose to describe my stance in this way: I am an absolutist about rejecting torture in the sense that I believe that one always has extremely powerful reasons to seek to avoid using torture—i.e., to "reject" torture. Nevertheless, it is at least conceivable that this horrendous circumstance could come about: despite these very powerful reasons not to torture the terrorist, reasons to torture him also exist, and these reasons outweigh the reasons against torture.
     I am an absolutist "against torture" in the sense that I believe that there is always a very powerful reason not to torture; but because I recognize the possibility of extreme moral dilemmas—who could deny it?—I am unwilling to say that one must never torture. So, in that sense, I am not an absolutist. There is always a reason not to torture; and yet sometimes one must torture—just as, there is always a reason not to kill the innocent, and yet, sometimes, one must kill the innocent (e.g., to defend one's family or home from an innocent threat).
     I’m rejecting "no exceptions" absolutism while embracing "always a reason" absolutism. And my thesis is that this is not an inconsistent position. It is a coherent position.

The agency of a soundly struck billiard ball

     Recently, I opined that, though one may well have good reasons to vote (in elections), one reason that one does not have is precisely the reason most commonly given—namely, that “one’s vote counts”—i.e., one’s vote is causally significant. This claim, of course, is manifestly false.
     It is a characteristic of our time that we often believe things—often false things—for manifestly specious reasons. I've grown accustomed to it.
     Recently, I came upon some writers who make similarly obnoxious points. For instance, political philosopher Jason Brennan, author of The Ethics of Voting, argues that citizens do not have a duty to vote (indeed, some of them have a duty to not vote). But, if they do vote, they have a duty to vote intelligently, something that most actual voters clearly fail to do:

     Before Canadians head once again to the polls, they should do their homework. This election is an opportunity to make Canada even better, but it’s also a chance to make it worse. Bad decisions at the polls can lead to increased poverty, a stagnant economy, lost opportunities, worse pollution or unjust wars....
     Casting an informed vote is hard. Knowing what the problems are is not enough, because the solutions to Canada’s problems are not obvious. Reading parties’ platforms is not enough. Knowing what policies the different political parties favour is not enough, because a voter needs to know which policies have any real shot of working. The Conservatives, Liberals, New Democrats, Greens and others each want Canada to be healthier, happier and stronger. They’re like doctors each offering different prescriptions to cure Canada’s illnesses. Some of these prescriptions will work, some will have no effect and some will make Canada sicker. Voters need to learn how to evaluate these prescriptions....
     Voting is not like choosing food from a menu. If a citizen makes a bad choice about what to eat in a restaurant, she alone bears the costs of her decision. But if she makes a bad choice at the polls, she imposes the costs on everyone. Voters are not just choosing for themselves, but for all. If a restaurant offers bad food, diners can walk away or get their money back. This is not the case with public policy. Political decisions are imposed on all and enforced by law. Fellow citizens can’t just walk away from a menu full of bad policies.
     Voters face some choices. They can form their beliefs about politics in a self-indulgent way. They can ignore evidence and form policy preferences based on what they find emotionally appealing. They can treat voting as a form of self-expression and ignore what damage they do. Or they can be good citizens. They can form their policy preferences by studying social scientific evidence about how institutions and policies work, and by using reliable methods of reasoning to study the issues. They can work to overcome their personal and ideological biases and choose in a smart, thoughtful way.

     I’m not sure about Canadians, but, near as I can tell, most Americans are utterly incapable of being good citizens, as Brennan understands that.
     Does this mean that we Americans have a duty to stop being a country? Gosh!
     On the other hand, if one’s vote “doesn’t count” (i.e., is inefficacious), in what sense can it be said that unintelligent voting is harmful?
     Plainly, the widespread phenomenon of unintelligent voting is harmful. But that is consistent with the “harmlessness” of any given unintelligent vote.
     On the other hand, there is, I think, a special sense of moral agency that defies ordinary causal agency. My moral agency is not like the agency of a soundly struck billiard ball.
     But that is a topic for another day.

The politics of "colored people"

NAACP graphic

“I have never been able to discover anything disgraceful in being a colored man. But I have often found it inconvenient….”

—Bert Williams

     Earlier today, I heard a great little news story on NPR about the NAACP and the so-called “new diversity” (listen to the story here).
     The gist of the piece is that the NAACP—i.e., the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People—had gone into decline but is now rebounding, in part because it in some sense embraces a “new diversity” such that the “colored people” of its name is increasingly understood as including, not only African Americans, but “people of color”* (i.e., all non-whites) and even gays.
     I say “in some sense” because, as the NPR story reveals, some blacks resist or reject this new diversity and regard the phenomenon of non-blacks—e.g., Hispanics—leading NAACP chapters as a kind of “hostile takeover.”
     Meanwhile, some African Americans in the NAACP establishment seem to welcome and celebrate the new diversity.
     Philosophically, this is a delicious issue, a real smorgasbord of reasonable but conflicting perspectives with no resolution in sight.
     The NAACP was in fact founded by blacks—and whites!—at a time (1909) when the term “colored people” was the least offensive term for blacks, but that, in fact, was also (sometimes?) thought to include Native Americans and even other non-whites.
     Sheesh.
     But, unless I’m very much mistaken, the NAACP was and has been dominated by African Americans (not Native Americans) and, during most of its century-long existence, it has focused on African Americans. And so, whatever the peculiarities of its philosophical origins, at some point before I came along (I’m 55), it had become the single most prominent organization of and for African Americans.
     And further, one might suppose, it is good that such an organization—one by and for African Americans—exists. That is, if there were no such organization, then—one might suppose—there ought to be one.
     Part of the trouble here is the term “colored people,” which is loaded with cool (and not-so-cool) issues. One such issue is the term’s curious status as both offensive and inoffensive. When used by clueless residual rednecks (who may or may not be racist), it is offensive, owing to that usage’s historical links to a racist past. On the other hand, when used (viz., in its name) by the NAACP, it is inoffensive, owing to the organization’s origins—at a time when the term “colored people” was the clear choice among the decent and progressive.
     But, again, unless I am very much mistaken, the NAACP continues to “use” the term (justifiably, I think) despite the term’s (otherwise) long ago ceasing to be appropriate for the group for which it was created. And, somehow, the term—remembered now by most of us as an artifact of an unfortunate past—has I think narrowed in meaning, no longer referring to Native Americans (et alia) but clearly only to African Americans.
     So it is understandable, I think, that some African Americans view the NAACP as an organization specifically for African Americans. It undeniably had become that kind of organization (many decades ago), and its very name arguably refers to African Americans, its century-ago meaning to the contrary notwithstanding.

Frederick Douglass

     NAACP’s (slightly troubled) embrace of all people of color (and even gays) as the referent of the phrase “colored people” strikes me as generous, magnanimous, and forward-thinking. I like the spirit of the “new diversity” crowd in the NAACP. But I am not inclined to carp about those blacks who want and value an organization specifically for African Americans—and who, for obvious reasons, take the NAACP to be that organization.
     Part of me wants to call this a “dilemma.” But, of course, if it is a dilemma, it isn’t my dilemma. This is an issue (if it is an issue) for, well, “colored people,” whoever they might be.

The man who has suffered the wrong is the man to demand redress . . . the man STRUCK is the man to CRY OUT—and … he who has endured the cruel pangs of slavery is the man to advocate Liberty. It is evident that we must be our own representative and advocates, not exclusively, but peculiarly—not distinct from, but in connection with our white friends.

—Frederick Douglass

*I hope that it goes without saying that “colored people” and “people of color” are very different terms, despite their grammatical similarity.

See also

• Lohan calls Obama ‘colored’, NAACP says no big deal
• Tea Party Express' Mark Williams: NAACP's Use Of 'Colored' Makes It Racist

NAACP graphic

This is your brain on drugs

     OK, I don't usually do this sort of thing, but, today, I'm gonna mention some paradoxes. Some philosophers love paradoxes. I merely like them.
     Here's one that, like it or not, I think about all the time, owing to how I make my living:

The Surprise Quiz Paradox:

[Y]our teacher tells you (i) she's going to give the class a surprise exam next week, and (ii) you won't be able to work out beforehand on which day it will be. Using this information, you work out that it can't be on Friday (the last day), or else you'd be able to know this as soon as class ended the day before, contrary to the second condition. With Friday excluded from consideration, Thursday is now the last possible day, so we can exclude it by the same reasoning. Similarly for Wednesday, Tuesday, and finally Monday. So you conclude that there cannot be any such exam. This chain of reasoning guarantees that when the teacher finally gives the exam (say, on Wednesday), you're all surprised, just like she said you'd be. (The Surprise Examination Paradox)

     As a teacher, hearing about this paradox is a little like receiving a notification from your insurance company that your policy is cancelled now that your dead. You're pretty sure you're not dead. But then there's this notice. Cool.  
     Here’s a paradox (or a set of paradoxes) that I often refer to in my lectures:

Puzzles (paradoxes) attributed to Eubulides of Miletus:

The Heap: Would you describe a single grain of wheat as a heap? No. Would you describe two grains of wheat as a heap? No. ... You must admit the presence of a heap sooner or later, so where do you draw the line?*
The Bald Man: Would you describe a man with one hair on his head as bald? Yes. Would you describe a man with two hairs on his head as bald? Yes. ... You must refrain from describing a man with ten thousand hairs on his head as bald, so where do you draw the line? (Sorites Paradox)

     Students imagine that every word can be defined with a precise definition.
     Nope. Imagine a series of slight modifications (removal of small amounts) of a chair. When does it cease to be a chair? Any answer will be unacceptable because it is arbitrary.

     VOTING. More than one thing is referred to as the “paradox of voting.” The particular “paradox” I have in mind (roughly) is discussed in the encyclopedia entry below:

The paradox of voting … is that for a rational, self-interested voter the costs of voting will normally exceed the expected benefits. Because the chance of exercising the pivotal vote (i.e. in case of a tied election) is tiny compared to any realistic estimate of the private individual benefits of the different possible outcomes, the expected benefits of voting are less than the costs. The fact that people do vote is a problem for public choice theory, first observed by Anthony Downs. (Paradox of Voting)

     Now, don’t get me wrong. I believe in voting. I vote (most of the time). I think that I have good reasons to vote.
     But, in my view, one reason that I do NOT have for voting is the one we most often hear, namely, that “one’s vote counts!”**
     Unless one will countenance the fallacy of equivocation, one cannot really defend the notion that one’s vote “counts,” for, to say (in the relevant contexts) that one’s vote “counts” is to suggest that it will make, or it quite possibly will make, a difference to the election’s outcome (winning/losing). (I'm not particularly interested in the issue of self-interest; I'm interested in a point about efficacy.)
     Here’s where the so-called paradox*** of voting comes in. Obviously, for typical government elections (I’m not referring to elections involving small numbers of people—department elections and the like), the chances that one’s vote will make a difference to the outcome are extremely small.
     Consider the recent election for the “board of trustees” seat now held by TJ Prendergast, which was unusually close. The final tally was the following:

115,304 Prendergast
111,197 Muldoon

     As it was, Prendergast received 4107 more votes than Muldoon did. Suppose that Smith voted for Prendergast. Had Smith not voted, the outcome would have been only very slightly different: Prendergast’s total would have been 115,303, not 115,304.
     So, in fact, Smith’s vote, if it “counted,” it did not “count” in the sense that it made a difference (of any consequence) to the outcome. To be sure, his vote was “counted.” Nevertheless, it did not “count.” (Remember: equivocation is verboten.)
     It is true, of course, that it could have counted, though, in fact, it did not count. But, clearly, the odds of one’s vote “counting” are infinitesimal. Very likely, all of you who read this (hundreds!) will go through your entire lives voting and, in the end, there will not have been even one election in which any of your votes “counted” or even came close to counting in any meaningful sense.
     Some will respond to this by noting that, in recorded history, there have been elections in which a single person’s vote “counted” in the way I have in mind. (For an illustration, see Examples of Why Your Vote Counts.)
     Of course this occurs. Given the great number of elections that occur, this goes without saying, I think.
     But the occurrence of these events does not respond to the point at hand, namely, that, though it is possible that one’s vote will “count,” it is extremely unlikely that it will count. Given that one could live a great many lifetimes before encountering even one election in which one’s vote “counted,” in what sense is one being told anything true and motivating**** when one is told that one’s vote “counts”?
     In my view, when we seek to persuade people to vote on the grounds that their “vote counts,” we are either confused (i.e., we think we have a valid point when we do not) or we are lying/manipulating (we know that we have no valid point, but we offer it anyway perhaps because [we think] our end is good).
     My guess is that confusion more than lying is afoot.
     On the other hand, there are so many instances in which our “teachings” are manifestly (or nearly manifestly) invalid, we should consider the possibility that, yes, we offer this false point not “knowing” that it is false—but, still, it must be said that we have good reasons to suspect that, often, what we “teach” is logically hinky at best, and so, quite possibly, this is logically hinky too.
     Organic muffins, anyone?

Footnotery:

   *So what's paradoxical about this? Well, you start with a heap of sand. Plainly, after removing grains of sand for a sufficient period of time, you end with a non-heap (one grain). And yet there is no "line" that you cross to get from "heap" to "non-heap." You cross a line, but there is no line to cross.

   **To act to influence large numbers of voters—something sometimes available to leaders—means the difference between a significant number of people voting for X or not. Here, whether or not “Smith’s vote counts,” the leader’s urgings might count a great deal. It will remain true, however, that not one of those votes counted.
   “Yes, but what if everyone thought that way.” It is of course true that what (say) 50,000 voters in state X do during a particular election can make all the difference. And that is why those who care about the outcomes of elections rightly concern themselves with persons and events that influence large numbers of voters. But all of that can be acknowledged without falsely supposing that each voter’s vote “counts.” That the collective vote of 50,000 voters “counts” does not imply that each of those votes “counted.”

   ***What is “paradoxical” here? It is, I suppose, that, though it matters a great deal how everyone votes, in fact it matters not at all how any given voter votes. That Americans in general voted for candidate X matters to the outcome of the election. That any given voter voted for candidate X does not matter to the outcome of the election. To endorse both statements might seem to be the endorsement of a contradiction, but it is not.

   ****Obviously, one is not being told anything of significance if one is being told merely that one's vote could mean something like the difference between Prendergast's receiving 115,304 and 115,303 votes. Why would anyone care about that difference?

Fookin’ Prawns

Guest writer: Alex Villarreal

     My girlfriend Katie and I were in the tub drinking martinis one night when our conversation drifted to the topic of District 9. For those unfamiliar with D9, it involves a group of malnourished and sick aliens found in a ship hovering above Johannesburg. The aliens (derogatorily referred to as "prawns") are taken to a government camp where the humans treat them with particular brutality.
     Katie commented how horrible it was the way the humans treated the aliens because the aliens were clearly intelligent beings so they deserved the same rights as humans.



     This got me thinking; what is it that makes a being worthy of so-called human rights?
     It seemed to me that Katie’s comment was implying that intelligence alone gives a being this privilege.
     The potential implications of that idea seemed interesting to me so I said for the sake of argument let’s assume the following:

1. A ‘being’ deserves fundamental rights on the basis of possessing some capacity or attribute

2. Furthermore, that attribute is intelligence

     Now wait a minute. Given those assumptions it appears to me there are whole groups of people in our society not deserving of human rights. Whether I refer to infants or the mentally disabled, certainly there are some unintelligent humans. Are those people unworthy of fundamental human rights?
     At one point in our conversation Katie claimed that infants and the mentally challenged do deserve rights because they are humans and humans are generally defined as being intelligent. Therefore they should be treated as intelligent (and consequently be worthy of natural rights).
     Now this reminded me strikingly of something professor Bauer said in ethics class concerning the nature of definitions according to Wittgenstein. He argued that you could never arrive at a set of necessary and sufficient conditions to define a word (for example try to find such conditions for the word game*). Bauer, following Wittgenstein, instead compared a word’s meaning to a system of family resemblances, pointing out that we could merely identify things that are generally true within the family but not exhibited by all its members.
     For example, in my family, the Villarreals are generally defined as being good motorcycle riders. But, you put my uncle on a motorcycle and you’re likely to donate a new hood ornament to some unsuspecting truck driver. So it would be ridiculous to treat every Villarreal as if they were all good motorcyclists.
     I think the same point holds true for humans. Just because humans are generally defined as intelligent does not mean we should treat every person as if they were intelligent. Clearly it would be ridiculous to treat a brain dead individual in a vegetative state as if they were intelligent. Distributing ballots to such individuals for the next elections would be an overtly absurd and wasted gesture.
     Regardless of where the line is drawn between an intelligent being and a non-intelligent being, there are certainly individuals who fall into the latter category. Consequently, if given that intelligence is the only thing that makes a being worthy of human rights, these individuals are not worthy of such rights.
     I definitely don’t like the sound of that. Of course I feel there is reason to give basic rights to infants (perhaps on the grounds of potential intellect) or to the mentally disabled (perhaps by a matter of degree or on some grounds independent of intellect) but if we assume that intelligence grants rights it comes down to the question: Where do we draw the line for intelligence? Is it some staggered hierarchy where the greater the intelligence of a being the more rights it deserves? Or is it some on/off switch where at hypothetical intelligence level “5” you have all your human rights and at level “4.99” you have none?
     Seems rather arbitrary to me… and particularly heartless. I just hope intelligence isn’t the only basis for human rights.
     I sure do love bath time =)

     —Alex Villarreal

    *Consider for example the proceedings that we call "games". I mean board-games, card-games, ball-games, Olympic games, and so on. What is common to them all? -- Don't say: "There must be something common, or they would not be called 'games' "-but look and see whether there is anything common to all. -- For if you look at them you will not see something that is common to all, but similarities, relationships, and a whole series of them at that. To repeat: don't think, but look!

—From aphorism 66, Philosophical Investigations

A President for the rational and adult, not the childish or pathological

.

“Cheating on a quiz show? That's sort of like plagiarizing a comic strip.”
     —Charles Van Doren’s patrician father speaking with his quiz show cheater son (“Quiz Show,” 1994)

     Today, the OC Reg reports a big win for a team of students at Chapman University: O.C. student team is national champs.
     Beating 120 competing schools, the Chapman team won the American Advertising Federation’s National Student Advertising Competition. See their winning commercial above.
     The Reg’s small business reporter, Jan Norman, explains the competitors’ task:

     Each year, NSAC partners with a corporate sponsor, which provides an assignment outlining the history of its product and current advertising situation. The assignment reflects a real-world situation, Chapman said. Students research the product and its competition, identify potential problem areas and devise a completely integrated communications campaign for the client. Each student team then “pitches” its campaign to a panel of judges.
     This year’s sponsor was State Farm Insurance, which gave the teams the task of creating a hypothetical $40 million media advertising campaign for auto and renters’ insurance targeting young adults, ages 18-25, according to Chapman. Three State Farm executives judged the national competition.

     I’m inclined to agree that there’s real skill, talent, and artistry involved in this sort of thing—successfully causing TV viewers to buy a product and trust the firm that offers it. But, from a philosopher’s perspective, these powers are like those that make for a really good confidence man. Never mind whether State Farm’s product, compared to its competitors’, is worth a damn. Don’t care about that. Just get people to want it.
     Can you do that? If so, we’ll give you fabulous prizes and the key to the freakin’ city!
     I’ve always been uncomfortable with admiration and celebration of skills that run contrary to honest and logical communication—and community. Especially at a college or university. Higher education ought to emphasize the "truth" thing, not the manipulation and flattery thing. That's why I am, um, unimpressed with "speech" instruction. To me, "speech" seems to teach effective bullshittery, flimflammery, hornswogglery. Leave that stuff (along with your clown shoes) down at the carnival, man. This is a college!

     Lately, lots of people have been carping about President Obama’s failure to hang around the oil-soaked gulf and “empathize” with the victims and, in general, with the frantic American people, who, evidently, need to be tucked in and given hot milk at night when things go wrong.
     (But none of that plugs the goddam leak or pays for the damage! It’s just making people “feel” that something is being done, whether or not it is! What’s the matter with ‘em, anyway? Are they children! Mental patients?)
     The philosopher part of me wants to say: Obama’s instinct was to say, “screw that sh*t”?
     Really? Then I say: he's my kind of guy.
     Barack Obama: a President for the rational and adult, not the childish or pathological.

Dan Enright: How much do they pay instructors up at Columbia?
Charles Van Doren: Eighty-six dollars a week.
Dan Enright: Do you have any idea how much Bozo the Clown makes?
Charles Van Doren: Well... we, we can't all be Bozo the Clown.

Stuff changes; and we are morons

     I'VE ALWAYS BEEN A FAN of libraries, but you’ve got to admit that the stature and love of Libraries is seriously bolstered with bullshit. –You know, like most things.

     “Books are wonderful.” –Well, no, most of ‘em are shit. Lots of ‘em are indeed wonderful, of course. But let’s not overdo it. Like we always do.

     “Libraries are full of wonderful books.” –Well, in my experience, public libraries seem pretty indiscriminate, book-selection-wise (and otherwise). At the local library, seriously shitty or mediocre books sandwich the occasionally excellent ones. Libraries are like the internet or a mall bookstore: point anywhere, and one is more likely to spot chaff than wheat.

     “Physical books are important. Libraries keep that tradition alive.” –Well, physical books do seem to be important to geezers, but not to most of the kids in college these days. If they read at all, typically they do that on the internet. Increasingly, to them, books are weird.

     And most of what they read is crap.

     “They’ve proven that FDR caused the Depression.”

     “Huh? That’s nonsense. Where’d you read that?”

     “It’s on the internet.”

     Physical books? You watch. Gizmos like Kindle are gonna replace physical books, and much else, bigime. The writing is on the wall–er, on the iPad. Already, I see students spotting a geezer like me with a book, and they immediately get that look they get when they encounter a Selectric. "WTF?"

     For oldsters and semi-oldsters, there’s a romance about books, and it is only enhanced by the tattered, musty, and worn quality of old specimens. One rescues such artifacts and then seeks to sit quietly in a cozy spot to just read, preferably while bespectacled and accompanied by a glass of good booze. 

     It's a quiet thing. It’s somewhat ritualistic. It’s a fine way of winding down and enjoying oneself, by oneself. And yet it is concordant with thought and the development of wisdom (or self-deception, natch).

     Books are great, but I’ve never really understood librarians. They exhibit an odd quietude and they look like refugees from activity-of-any-kind. If they love books, its very hard to see what good that does ‘em. What are these people experts at? I have no idea. The Dewey Decimal System?

     How come college libraries are still full of physical books (and VHS tapes)? I don’t get it. Aren’t these things available digitally and online somehow? Nowadays, for better or worse, the younger generation is almost exclusively online. It’s their default position (along with indifference). And books and magazines and references are often now available — you guessed it — online.

     Seems like a no-brainer to me.

     Plus online connections are cheaper than buying and displaying physical books. Way cheaper.

     So what’s with all the goddam books? I say: start selling ‘em. Get ‘em into the hands of fading geezers while they can still read and hold stuff up to their faces. In thirty or forty years, it’ll all be over, like family dinners and attention spans.

     There’s a funny piece in yesterday’s New York Times about changes in the ambiance of libraries. Check it out:

Complaint Box: The Lost ‘Library Voice’ (by Sung J. Woo; excerpts)

   The library of my youth…was a tomb of peace, where the only sounds were shuffles, whispers and the occasional shush — delivered with an index finger crossing the lips of a bespectacled, cardigan-wearing librarian.

   These days, at my local branch…, I have to play an MP3 file in a loop — a sound bite of a hair dryer blasting between my ears — because without the white noise, I would not be able to think straight.

   …When did libraries become a cacophonous combination of cafe, video store, music store, computer lab and playground?

   Twenty years ago, I was able to research my high school term papers in silence, but now the communal desks have been transformed into an open forum for children and adults to chat away as if they were hanging out at Starbucks.

   Back in the day, there was such a thing as your “library voice”…. Not anymore. When fellow patrons walk through the doors and make a beeline for the DVD section, when they are clacking the discs’ plastic cases and lecturing on the savvy beauty of “Mad Men”…, I can hear their every word across the room.

     One of the bigger libraries near me has a listening station for CDs, and the other day, two teenage girls sat down, clamped on headphones and proceeded to talk to each other while enjoying their music. Have you ever tried conversing with someone wearing Princess Leia-like headphones? You have to shout. Which is also what kids do when they log on the public computers to watch their favorite YouTube videos while opening up 15 windows of Instant Messenger. They may be quietly typing “LOL,” but they are also literally laughing out loud.

     Meanwhile, tykes are burning up the carpet. I cannot remember the last time I went to my library when children were not playing hide-and-seek in the stacks, shrieking as they chased one another. The parents are usually nowhere to be seen, maybe playing a little hide-and-seek from their offspring. If this were story hour, I could understand, but it seems as if every minute of every day is now playtime.

     Even librarians seem to be getting into the act, talking on the telephone as if sitting in a living room, letting everyone know that the plumber is arriving during lunch…. At one point I had to turn up the dial of my hair dryer symphony to 11 because two librarians were discussing the location of a particular audio book — while standing at the opposite ends of the room….

     We oldsters need to face reality. "The book is dead; long live the book." We’ve got to face the music and get with the program.

     On the other hand, in some ways, the new program stinks. There was something very good about physical books and the way we were with 'em. And there’s something bad about kids (or anybody) staring at a computer screen all day, comfortable with flash and ephemera and uncomfortable with thought or the notion that one is responsible for helping to fix the world. (Have you noticed that displays of torture are now simply a form of entertainment? God, we're idiots.)

     You see, the fundamental wisdom of conservatism is this: we have a way of being and doing, and we know that some of that “way” is good and valuable — and easily lost.

     So we should try carefully to preserve it. We shouldn’t let the entire younger generation run like hell after baubles and prodigies of unknown merit. Who knows what gems will be lost and what folly created?

     Go forward, into the future. But slowly, carefully.

     But no. We are morons.

The Kinks (1963 -   )

We are the Village Green Preservation Society
God save Donald Duck, Vaudeville and variety
We are the Desperate Dan appreciation society
God save strawberry jam and all the different varieties

Preserving the old ways from being abused
Protecting the new ways for me and for you
What more can we do?

We are the draught beer preservation society
God save Mrs. Mopp and good old Mother Riley
We are the custard pie appreciation consortium
God save the George Cross and all those who were awarded them

We are the Sherlock Holmes English speaking vernacular
Help save Fu Manchu, Moriarty and Dracula
We are the office block persecution affinity
God save little shops, china cups and virginity

We are the skyscraper condemnation affiliate
God save Tudor houses, antique tables and billiards

Preserving the old ways from being abused
Protecting the new ways for me and for you
What more can we do?

God save the village green....



The Modern Lovers (1970-1973)

My telephone never rings

She'd never call me

I hate myself today

But I can see through this bitterness and sadness

And so I won't die

Someday I think I'll be dignified and old



Well my friends say that I deceive myself

And that I contradict myself

And I can't say if they're right

But I'm not ashamed

Oh I can take a challenge

And so I won't die

Someday I'll be dignified and old

I know it


And I say hey kids 
(Hey kids)

I said hey kids 
(Hey kids)

I say someday we'll be dignified and old

That's right

I said some day we'll be dignified 
(Hey kids, Hey kids)

Someday we'll be dignified 
(Hey kids, Hey kids)

Someday we could be dignified and old together


Well now

Look at the mountain

My girl and I used to stand on the mountain

And the sun shines, she's dead, and I cry

But I can see through this death and the sadness

And so I won't die now

Someday I wanna be dignified and old



Well now, see the desert

I sit all alone in the desert

And no girl understands me

But I can see through this bleakness and grey and sadness

And well I won't die now

Someday I'll be dignified and old

I say, you, don't die now

Someday we'll be dignified and old together

It is what it is

I have long believed that the piece below is perhaps the worst thing I've ever written. It is utterly clueless, an embarrassment.      On the way home this afternoon, I heard on the radio someone say "It is what it is," and it seemed obvious to me that they were merely saying something like this:

In the matter presently under discussion, one would do well to remember that the challenge that now confronts us is founded on facts that are beyond our control or that cannot be removed or changed.

At the moment, it seems to me that that is all that I should ever have said about the matter and it is all that I shall ever say. (I hope it isn't what I said in the piece below!) —RB, 1-29-2020
  
On Thursday, young Mr. B wrote me. He asked:
     How do you feel about a phrase like, "It is what it is..."?
     I responded as follows:

   Excellent question. ... [T]he expression does seem to express something of significance. I say this because there are times when I am attracted to the phrase—I mean, I want to (or do) say it. But then I wonder what I'm saying or trying to say. (How odd that one can say something and not know what one meant….)
   I guess I've got to have concrete instances of its usage…. Got any? What do you make of it?

     Mr. B soon responded:

     ...[T]he phrase frustrates me ... because it is often used as an argumentative tactic against me. "Why explain something?" they seem to ask. "It is what it is." Though, as you indicate it may have some significance. It's just that these individuals I speak of often say it so casually turning something potentially sublime into a fuckin' handshake.
     So what could it mean? I think I have said it, referring to the context of some thing. I find that common, everyday language lacks rules (or words, or symbols, or whatever) to discuss contexts as symbols of their own so we are reduced to these seemingly vague situations of describing "it" by that physical existence that "it" is.
     For example, "a tree is a tree" is vague sounding, unless I take you outside and say "a tree is (I then point at a tree) a tree," then that whole human experience thing, plus my words, aid in your understanding of what a tree is.
     I could be wrong, but I am just chattin' right now, so forgive me if I sound like a total tool.

[At this point, I sense a yawning generational gap. “Chattin’”? A “tool”? Wow, B is grody to the max! He continues:]

     So, perhaps you have stood at the beach on a pleasantly chilled clear dawn, maybe not viewing the sun, but gazing across the vast sea, feeling a tickling of excitement in your body that you get to experience something so grand, and "What is that?" you might ask. It is what it is.
     [Something wonderful yet indescribable! "Do not sully it with your analyses!"]
     I guess in this little fit I am throwing, I think that only people who get that should be allowed to say the phrase. [Most of the time, uttering “it is what it is” provides] a sort of safe haven for people who have no fucking clue as to what they are talking about—to sound wise, or knowledgeable or something.
     Get what I am saying?

     Two days later, utterly ignoring B’s profounder suggestions, I replied [actually, I am hereby replying to him]:

     B, I was watching some stupid TV show, and I saw a guy look up at a big amusement ride and say, “Once it’s built, it is what it is.”
     OK, so, here, “it is what it is” (IIWII) seems to mean, “You may want to change this, but there’s no changing it now. Deal with it.”
     It then occurred to me to consult the Urban Dictionary.
     The first UD contributor asserted that IIWII means “fuck it,” but “fuck it” itself stands in need of analysis, and, besides, his definition got lots of southward thumbery.

Contributor 2 offered two meanings:

A) A phrase that seems to simply state the obvious but actually implies helplessness.

B) A phrase that seems to simply state the obvious but actually means "it will be what it is," as in "it ain't gonna change, so deal with it or don't."

Contributor 3 suggested a definition that seems to match B above:

A cliché, popular within the circles of coaches, business execs, and those of us who just want to say "It's happened. 'I'm going to forget about it. I'm going to move on. There is nothing that can be done about it."
...
"We showed up and gave 100%, and it is what it is."— NASCAR driver Jimmie Johnson, after finishing second in the Nextel Cup championship.

Contributor 4 wanted to vent about assholery. He reminded me of you, B:

A trite, overused and infuriatingly meaningless cliché that is utilized by provincials who think they are adding some deep, meaningful insight during a discussion when all they are offering is senseless, unwarranted repetitiveness to what would otherwise be a far better conversation had they not shown the shallowness of the gene pool they spawned from by using this asininely useless and redundant phrase to begin with.

An interesting conversation is being had, when quite suddenly….

     Yeah, many who use IIWII should be slapped upside the head. Much the same, of course, could be said of people who use the word “utilize.”
     But, hey, it is what it is. (Thwock!)

Contributor 5 seemed to detect an admonition in IIWII: don’t try to define the indefinable, College Boy:

In a nutshell, it means "this is the way its going right now, and that’s how it is." Kind of a way to say: don’t overthink the situation. A reminder to keep things simple, don’t overanalyze things, or a way to put a definition on something that’s hard to explain.

Friend: "So what's the deal with you and Bobby? I thought you guys were together, but then someone said you broke up, and then somebody else told me you were broken up but 'friends with benefits' So what's the true relationship status?

Girlfriend: it is what it is.

*  *  *

Sunny Girl w/ kittens

     Well, all of this reminds me of my favorite quotation, attributed to Bishop Butler, which appears at the beginning of G.E. Moore’s famous Principia Ethica, published in 1903:

“Everything is what it is, and not another thing.”

     Trivial? Tautologous? Well, no.
     Moore is famous for his assertion that moral “goodness” is an indefinable concept. For centuries, philosophers have sought to define “the good,” but those efforts appear not to have succeeded.
     Moore offered an argument. Hedonists (to pick one kind of thinker) tell us that, ultimately, only pleasure has value—that pleasure is the good and “pleasant” is the meaning of the word “good.”
     But, reasons Moore, if the meaning of “good” is “pleasant,” then the question "Is it good that x is pleasant?" should not be an open question. That is, it should strike us as trivial.
     Confused? Well, consider a term whose meaning is clear. Consider “bachelor.” A bachelor, by definition, is an unmarried man (more or less). This statement—that a bachelor is unmarried—seems trivial to us exactly because “unmarried man” is indeed the meaning of “bachelor,” and so, naturally, saying that a bachelor is unmarried strikes us much like saying that an unmarried person is an unmarried person, which is a trivial and obvious thing to say.
     Therefore: it is an indication that we have not successfully defined “bachelor” with “X” if asking, “Is a bachelor X?”, strikes us as a significant (an “open”) question.
     According to Moore, any attempted definition of “goodness” runs into this difficulty: the statement that goodness is X (where X is an alleged definition of “good”) always strikes us as non-trivial. And so, he concludes, no definition of “good” works. “Good” is indefinable.
     Everything is what it is and it is not another thing.

*  *  *
IT

     We have worked hard on the project, you and I. But we are now finished. Our friends and supporters stand with us at this moment of completion.
     At once, we all stand back and behold IT. We—you and I—are not entirely sure that we have succeeded.
     “It is what it is,” you say.
     After a few seconds of ominous silence, you turn to me: “Do you have anything of significance to add?”
     “Yes I do,” I reply. All eyes dart my way. Everyone awaits my words.
     Finally, I declare: “There’s no changing it now. We must accept it as it is, whatever its virtues or vices.”
     Question: how many assessments have now been offered? One or two?

IT #2

     I wake up as always. I stand sleepily over the percolator. I sense something odd about the morning light outside. I wander out the door, looking toward Santiago Peak.
     Just then, B drives up. “Wuzzup?” I say.
     “Nothing,” he says, as he climbs out of his car. We stand together, staring northward, in silence.
     Suddenly, an enormous head rises above the mountain. It fills the sky, as the moon plunging into Earth might do. It is the head of a vital yet aged Italian man.
     God’s head.
     Soon, the head is immediately above, looking straight down at us. We are stunned and motionless, staring skyward.
     “B, Roy. I want to show you two something,” booms God.
     Fantastically, we are transported upward. Evidently traveling at many times the speed of light, we are brought to a vast and colorful nebula. We race into its center, and we see and hear and feel things beyond our wildest imaginings. Somehow, we are neither frightened nor stupefied. We are dazzled and moved beyond anything we could ever have dreamed. Our minds are aglow.
     Then, suddenly, we are brought to the percolator and the ordinary morning kitchen.
     We stand, silent.
     After a few seconds, B and I look at each other, wide-eyed. I begin to speak, desperately attempting to describe our experience.
     But B’s eyes say no. I stop.
     “It is what it is,” he says. “It … is … what … it … is.”