The New Intellectuals by S. Akbar Zaidi

Last Saturday, April 7th, 2012 ,we heard Dr. Mubarik Ali on the topic” Intellectuals and Society” and it was followed by lively discussion. This article is on the same subject.

It seems impossible to imagine a society, even such as ours, without intellectuals. They have existed from time immemorial, in every society, at different layers of the social strata interacting with, and frequently changing, the course of history, and of the future.

Intellectuals, in the past, have spoken, written, thought, proselytized and made different kinds of interventions in social processes. They are often considered to be the moral keepers of nations and societies, those who give direction, hope, those who explain and unravel issues which others fail to comprehend.

Intellectuals are a core component of society and are located at numerous steps of the social spectrum, many of them faceless, unknown. Allahrakha or Bala, sitting on their charpai near Mandi Bahauddin in the presence of locals explaining their notions of life and its meanings, are intellectuals, just as much as Shaukat Ali, sitting on the banks of a river with a group of friends under a moonlit sky discussing and explaining how the wheels of time move. But public intellectuals are those who require a public and a forum or public sphere.

In the West, at least, many of those who are considered public intellectuals and have thought and written about such issues are considered to be critics who offer ‘counter-discourses’ to their “merely professional routines creating social capital and cultural power”. Many of them, at least in the West, and especially those who are also academics, trace their lineage according to scholars, to “a tradition of rhetorical political inquiry, the domain of Socrates and Cicero, precursors to contemporary public forms and forums of democracy”.

As public intellectuals — as opposed to those who hold opinion in private or small circles — such individuals are called upon “to make public pronouncements on issues that ostensibly lie outside the purview of the academy”, as some academics have argued. Hence, they are public intellectuals, not simply lecturers and teachers. While there are scores of intellectuals who are formally outside the academy as well, one would argue that in the tradition of the modern West (and even East), at some time or the other, most have been located in academia, howsoever defined. Not so in Pakistan.

Pakistan’s new public intellectuals are television talk-show hosts, so-called analysts and journalists. These individuals have both an eager public listening to their observations, analysis and insights every day, often many times a day, and they have the extremely powerful medium of television, which has become the new public sphere. Most of these individuals are interpreters of our maladies, they give direction, propose solutions and sanction what is moral and what is not and determine codes of ethics. They do exactly what public intellectuals do.

Of course, a more radical interpretation of the public intellectual is based on Gramsci’s notion of the ‘organic intellectual’, who not only interprets the world, but actively changes it.

Here again, in this manner, the Pakistani intellectual no longer exists, since the organ itself has shrivelled and died. The presence of only variants of mainstream politics — with the exception of the radical religious right — precludes any notion of a Gramscian intellectual. Whether one calls the leaders of radical religious groups ‘intellectuals’, or ulema, or politicians, or something worse is worthy of intellectual debate.

Barring a few notable and exemplary exceptions, whether from the right or the non-right (it is impossible to call the other the left or even liberal), the spectacle of Pakistani intellectuals holding forth on complicated moral and ethical issues of consciousness, is just that — a spectacle.

These new intellectuals hold immense power and sway over a receptive audience, who are certainly by no means mere empty repositories of what is handed to them, yet are still unthinkingly and unimaginatively receptive to ideas and themes, and are fed opinions which are at best not thought through, if not highly biased and prejudiced. The level, quality and standard of discourse, for all that it is worth and for all that it contributes, cannot be considered to be intellectual. Perhaps it is not even meant to be.

This is obviously not the fault of those who are given or like many who appropriate the mantle of the intellectual but has far deeper systemic and intellectual roots. The state of the social sciences and humanities in Pakistan, the state of academia more generally, all of which are so critical to the formation of intellectuals, is self-evident.

Intellectuals emerge through an understanding of history, philosophy, theory and much more. Also, public spaces where those who have such skills can raise them interacting with others, creates an intellectual forum. Even if one had the sort of intellectuals who emerge from such academic traditions and disciplines — and Pakistan has very few — the absence of public forums aggravates matters.

With the op-ed pages of newspapers, or now television, the only forum for public debate, where retired bureaucrats, foreign secretaries or generals and journalists espouse opinions largely about contemporary politics or US-Pakistan relations, clearly an intellectual space doesn’t exist.

Again, this is not the fault of producers or editors or even those who do write and speak, but shows the absence of those who ought to. Many of those who could have emerged as intellectuals, have chosen a far easier, less troubling or challenging and far more lucrative existence, choosing to become consultants or joining ‘think tanks’, always distancing themselves from any ‘oppositional consciousness’.

The absence of academics, scholars and intellectuals, offers a partial explanation to why Pakistan is the way it is. The quality of those who actually are Pakistan’s new intellectuals helps complete that explanation.

The writer is a political economist.

The Quantum Physics of Free Will

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The Quantum Physics of Free Will

Do we have autonomy, or are our choices preordained? Is that a false choice? And what, if anything, does physics have to say about that?

Do quantum effects make our choices our own?

 

A debate that has gone on for millennia has flared up again in recent years

  1. Is the fact you are reading this story a decision you arrived at it by your own free choice, or was your interest programmed into the universe from the moment of the big bang? What makes free will such a fun topic is not only that it dives deep into physics, neuroscience, and philosophy, but also that we all feel we have a direct stake in the answers.

 

Part of my own interest is that I’ve never been able to see why people get worked up about a supposed conflict between free will and determinism. To my mind, there is no conflict. Human consciousness and therefore the concept of free will are emergent properties, so whether microscopic physics is deterministic or not is irrelevant. To speak of a conflict is to mix levels of description. In other words, there’s no “you” who is steered one way or the other by initial conditions. “You” are a product of those conditions.

 

I’ll grant that all this depends on what precisely we mean by “free will.” To me, it is the fact that you make choices. To others, though, free will involves some inherent unpredictability. In that case, it might well have something to do with the deep laws of nature. Within quantum mechanics, there are four basic arguments for such a connection:

 

1. Quantum mechanics is indeterministic, in that the outcomes of measurements are chosen at random from the slate of possibilities. So, if quantum effects help to shape our conscious choices, they sever the connection between us and the initial conditions of the universe.

 

2. When we conduct experiments on quantum particles, we exercise our free will—for example, we make choices about what precisely to ask of the particles.  Or at least we think we exercise our free will. How those particles respond can depend on whether we really do.

 

3. If you could predict someone’s decisions consistently, you could conclude that he or she lacks free will. To do that, you’d need to take a full brain scan and simulate his or her thought processes. Yet quantum physics forbids the reliable, nondestructive copying of particles, let alone whole brains. If you could never observe the loss of free will, then you should doubt whether it is ever really lost.

 

4. Quantum physics is time-symmetric, so we are as justified in saying that our choices set the cosmic initial conditions as the other way round.

 

Here, I’ll examine each of these contentions. This is an evolving document. Over time, I’ll gradually flesh out the points and add interesting new contributions to the debate. Later this year, Scientific American plans to publish a full-blown magazine feature on these issues.

2.Background

The question of free will is obviously one of the oldest in philosophy, but as good a place to start as any is a blog post last year by the ever-thoughtful blogger and cosmologist Sean Carroll:

Free Will

First published Mon Jan 7, 2002; substantive revision Fri Oct 29, 2010

“Free Will” is a philosophical term of art for a particular sort of capacity of rational agents to choose a course of action from among various alternatives. Which sort is the free will sort is what all the fuss is about. (And what a fuss it has been: philosophers have debated this question for over two millennia, and just about every major philosopher has had something to say about it.) Most philosophers suppose that the concept of free will is very closely connected to the concept of moral responsibility. Acting with free will, on such views, is just to satisfy the metaphysical requirement on being responsible for one’s action. (Clearly, there will also be epistemic conditions on responsibility as well, such as being aware—or failing that, being culpably unaware—of relevant alternatives to one’s action and of the alternatives’ moral significance.) But the significance of free will is not exhausted by its connection to moral responsibility. Free will also appears to be a condition on desert for one’s accomplishments (why sustained effort and creative work are praiseworthy); on the autonomy and dignity of persons; and on the value we accord to love and friendship. (See Kane 1996, 81ff. and Clarke 2003, Ch.1; but see also Pereboom 2001, Ch.7.)

Philosophers who distinguish freedom of action and freedom of will do so because our success in carrying out our ends depends in part on factors wholly beyond our control. Furthermore, there are always external constraints on the range of options we can meaningfully try to undertake. As the presence or absence of these conditions and constraints are not (usually) our responsibility, it is plausible that the central loci of our responsibility are our choices, or “willings.”

I have implied that free willings are but a subset of willings, at least as a conceptual matter. But not every philosopher accepts this. René Descartes, for example, identifies the faculty of will with freedom of choice, “the ability to do or not do something” (Meditation IV), and even goes so far as to declare that “the will is by its nature so free that it can never be constrained” (Passions of the Soul, I, art. 41). In taking this strong polar position on the nature of will, Descartes is reflecting a tradition running through certain late Scholastics (most prominently, Suarez) back to John Duns Scotus.

The majority view, however, is that we can readily conceive willings that are not free. Indeed, much of the debate about free will centers around whether we human beings have it, yet virtually no one doubts that we will to do this and that. The main perceived threats to our freedom of will are various alleged determinisms: physical/causal; psychological; biological; theological. For each variety of determinism, there are philosophers who (i) deny its reality, either because of the existence of free will or on independent grounds; (ii) accept its reality but argue for its compatibility with free will; or (iii) accept its reality and deny its compatibility with free will. (See the entries on compatibilism; causal determinism; fatalism; arguments for incompatibilism; and divine foreknowledge and free will.) There are also a few who say the truth of any variety of determinism is irrelevant because free will is simply impossible.

If there is such a thing as free will, it has many dimensions. In what follows, I will sketch the freedom-conferring characteristics that have attracted most of the attention. The reader is warned, however, that while many philosophers emphasize a single such characteristic, perhaps in response to the views of their immediate audience, it is probable that most would recognize the significance of many of the other features discussed here.

  • 2. Ownership
  • 3. Causation and Control
  • 4. Theological Wrinkles
  • Bibliography
  • Other Internet Resources
  • Related Entries

  • 1. Rational Deliberation

    1.1 Free Will as Choosing on the Basis of One’s Desires

    On a minimalist account, free will is the ability to select a course of action as a means of fulfilling some desire. David Hume, for example, defines liberty as “a power of acting or of not acting, according to the determination of the will.” (1748, sect.viii, part 1). And we find in Jonathan Edwards (1754) a similar account of free willings as those which proceed from one’s own desires.

    One reason to deem this insufficient is that it is consistent with the goal-directed behavior of some animals whom we do not suppose to be morally responsible agents. Such animals lack not only an awareness of the moral implications of their actions but also any capacity to reflect on their alternatives and their long-term consequences. Indeed, it is plausible that they have little by way of a self-conception as an agent with a past and with projects and purposes for the future. (See Baker 2000 on the ‘first-person perspective.’)

    1.2 Free Will as deliberative choosing on the basis of desires and values

    A natural suggestion, then, is to modify the minimalist thesis by taking account of (what may be) distinctively human capacities and self-conception. And indeed, philosophers since Plato have commonly distinguished the ‘animal’ and ‘rational’ parts of our nature, with the latter implying a great deal more psychological complexity. Our rational nature includes our ability to judge some ends as ‘good’ or worth pursuing and value them even though satisfying them may result in considerable unpleasantness for ourselves. (Note that such judgments need not be based in moral value.) We might say that we act with free will when we act upon our considered judgments/valuings about what is good for us, whether or not our doing so conflicts with an ‘animal’ desire. (See Watson 2003a for a subtle development of this sort of view.) But this would seem unduly restrictive, since we clearly hold many people responsible for actions proceeding from ‘animal’ desires that conflict with their own assessment of what would be best in the circumstances. More plausible is the suggestion that one acts with free will when one’s deliberation is sensitive to one’s own judgments concerning what is best in the circumstances, whether or not one acts upon such a judgment.

    Here we are clearly in the neighborhood of the ‘rational appetite’ accounts of will one finds in the medieval Aristotelians. The most elaborate medieval treatment is Thomas Aquinas’s.[1] His account involves identifying several distinct varieties of willings. Here I note only a few of his basic claims. Aquinas thinks our nature determines us to will certain general ends ordered to the most general goal of goodness. These we will of necessity, not freely. Freedom enters the picture when we consider various means to these ends, none of which appear to us either as unqualifiedly good or as uniquely satisfying the end we wish to fulfill. There is, then, free choice of means to our ends, along with a more basic freedom not to consider something, thereby perhaps avoiding willing it unavoidably once we recognized its value. Free choice is an activity that involves both our intellectual and volitional capacities, as it consists in both judgment and active commitment. A thorny question for this view is whether will or intellect is the ultimate determinant of free choices. How we understand Aquinas on this point will go a long ways towards determining whether or not he is a sort of compatibilist about freedom and determinism. (See below. Good expositions of Aquinas’ account are Donagan 1985, MacDonald 1998, Stump 2003, ch.9, and Pasnau 2002, Ch.7.)

    There are two general worries about theories of free will that principally rely on the capacity to deliberate about possible actions in the light of one’s conception of the good. First, there are agents who deliberately choose to act as they do but who are motivated to do so by a compulsive, controlling sort of desire. (And there seems to be no principled bar to a compulsive desire’s informing a considered judgment of the agent about what the good is for him.) Such agents are not willing freely. (Wallace 2003 and Levy 2007, Ch.6, offer accounts of the way addiction impairs the will.) Secondly, we can imagine a person’s psychology being externally manipulated by another agent (via neurophysiological implant, say), such that the agent is caused to deliberate and come to desire strongly a particular action which he previously was not disposed to choose. The deliberative process could be perfectly normal, reflective, and rational, but seemingly not freely made. The agent’s freedom seems undermined or at least greatly diminished by such psychological tampering (Mele 1995).

    1.3 Self-mastery, Rightly-Ordered Appetite

    Some theorists are much impressed by cases of inner, psychological compulsion and define freedom of will in contrast to this phenomenon. For such thinkers, true freedom of the will involves liberation from the tyranny of base desires and acquisition of desires for the Good. Plato, for example, posits rational, spirited, and appetitive aspects to the soul and holds that willings issue from the higher, rational part alone. In other cases, one is dominated by the irrational desires of the two lower parts.[2] This is particularly characteristic of those working in a theological context—for example, the New Testament writer St. Paul, speaking of Christian freedom (Romans vi-viii; Galatians v), and those influenced by him on this point, such as Augustine. (The latter, in both early and later writings, allows for a freedom of will that is not ordered to the good, but maintains that it is of less value than the rightly-ordered freedom. See, for example, the discussion in Books II-III of On Free Choice.) More recently, Susan Wolf (1990) defends an asymmetry thesis concerning freedom and responsibility. On her view, an agent acts freely only if he had the ability to choose the True and the Good. For an agent who does so choose, the requisite ability is automatically implied. But those who reject the Good choose freely only if they could have acted differently. This is a further substantive condition on freedom, making freedom of will a more demanding condition in cases of bad choices.

    In considering such rightly-ordered-appetites views of freedom, I again focus on abstract features common to all. It explicitly handles the inner-compulsion worry facing the simple deliberation-based accounts. The other, external manipulation problem could perhaps be handled through the addition of an historical requirement: agents will freely only if their willings are not in part explicable by episodes of external manipulation which bypass their critical and deliberative faculties (Mele 1995, 2003). But another problem suggests itself: an agent who was a ‘natural saint,’ always and effortlessly choosing the good with no contrary inclination, would not have freedom of will among his virtues. Doubtless we would greatly admire such a person, but would it be an admiration suffused with moral praise of the person or would it, rather, be restricted to the goodness of the person’s qualities? (Cf. Kant, 1788.) The appropriate response to such a person, it seems, is on an analogy with aesthetic appreciation of natural beauty, in contrast to the admiration of the person who chooses the good in the face of real temptation to act selfishly. Since this view of freedom of will as orientation to the good sometimes results from theological reflections, it is worth noting that other theologian-philosophers emphasize the importance for human beings of being able to reject divine love: love of God that is not freely given—given in the face of a significant possibility of one’s having not done so—would be a sham, all the more so since, were it inevitable, it would find its ultimate and complete explanation in God Himself.

    2. Ownership

    Harry Frankfurt (1982) presents an insightful and original way of thinking about free will. He suggests that a central difference between human and merely animal activity is our capacity to reflect on our desires and beliefs and form desires and judgments concerning them. I may want to eat a candy bar (first-order desire), but I also may want not to want this (second-order desire) because of the connection between habitual candy eating and poor health. This difference, he argues, provides the key to understanding both free action and free will. (These are quite different, in Frankfurt’s view, with free will being the more demanding notion. Moreover, moral responsibility for an action requires only that the agent acted freely, not that the action proceeded from a free will.)

    On Frankfurt’s analysis, I act freely when the desire on which I act is one that I desire to be effective. This second-order desire is one with which I identify: it reflects my true self. (Compare the addict: typically, the addict acts out of a desire which he does not want to act upon. His will is divided, and his actions proceed from desires with which he does not reflectively identify. Hence, he is not acting freely.) My will is free when I am able to make any of my first-order desires the one upon which I act. As it happens, I will to eat the candy bar, but I could have willed to refrain from doing so.

    With Frankfurt’s account of free will, much hangs on what being able to will otherwise comes to, and on this Frankfurt is officially neutral. (See the related discussion below on ability to do otherwise.) But as he connects moral responsibility only to his weaker notion of free action, it is fitting to consider its adequacy here. The central objection that commentators have raised is this: what’s so special about higher-order willings or desires? (See in particular Watson 2003a.) Why suppose that they inevitably reflect my true self, as against first-order desires? Frankfurt is explicit that higher-order desires need not be rooted in a person’s moral or even settled outlook (1982, 89, n.6). So it seems that, in some cases, a first-order desire may be much more reflective of my true self (more “internal to me,” in Frankfurt’s terminology) than a weak, faint desire to be the sort of person who wills differently.

    In later writings, Frankfurt responds to this worry first by appealing to “decisions made without reservations” (“Identification and Externality” and “Identification and Wholeheartedness” in Frankfurt, 1988) and then by appealing to higher-order desires with which one is “satisfied,” such that one has no inclination to make changes to them (1992). But the absence of an inclination to change the desire does not obviously amount to the condition of freedom-conferring identification. It seems that such a negative state of satisfaction can be one that I just find myself with, one that I neither approve nor disapprove (Pettit, 2001, 56).

    Furthermore, we can again imagine external manipulation consistent with Frankfurt’s account of freedom but inconsistent with freedom itself. Armed with the wireless neurophysiology-tampering technology of the late 21st century, one might discreetly induce a second-order desire in me to be moved by a first-order desire—a higher-order desire with which I am satisfied—and then let me deliberate as normal. Clearly, this desire should be deemed “external” to me, and the action that flows from it unfree.

    3. Causation and Control

    Our survey of several themes in philosophical accounts of free will suggests that a—perhaps the—root issue is that of control. Clearly, our capacity for deliberation and the potential sophistication of some of our practical reflections are important conditions on freedom of will. But any proposed analysis of free will must also ensure that the process it describes is one that was up to, or controlled by, the agent.

    Fantastic scenarios of external manipulation and less fantastic cases of hypnosis are not the only, or even primary, ones to give philosophers pause. It is consistent with my deliberating and choosing ‘in the normal way’ that my developing psychology and choices over time are part of an ineluctable system of causes necessitating effects. It might be, that is, that underlying the phenomena of purpose and will in human persons is an all-encompassing, mechanistic world-system of ‘blind’ cause and effect. Many accounts of free will are constructed against the backdrop possibility (whether accepted as actual or not) that each stage of the world is determined by what preceded it by impersonal natural law. As always, there are optimists and pessimists.

    3.1 Free Will as Guidance Control

    John Martin Fischer (1994) distinguishes two sorts of control over one’s actions: guidance and regulative. A person exerts guidance control over his own actions insofar as they proceed from a ‘weakly’ reasons-responsive (deliberative) mechanism. This obtains just in case there is some possible scenario where the agent is presented with a sufficient reason to do otherwise and the mechanism that led to the actual choice is operative and it issues in a different choice, one appropriate to the imagined reason. In Fischer and Ravizza (1998), the account is elaborated and refined. They require, more strongly, that the mechanism be the person’s own mechanism (ruling out external manipulation) and that it be ‘moderately’ responsive to reasons: one that is “regularly receptive to reasons, some of which are moral reasons, and at least weakly reactive to reason” (82, emphasis added). Receptivity is evinced through an understandable pattern of reasons recognition—beliefs of the agent about what would constitute a sufficient reason for undertaking various actions. (For details, see Fischer and Ravizza 1998, 69–73, and Fischer’s contribution to Fischer et al. 2007.)

    None of this, importantly, requires ‘regulative’ control: a control involving the ability of the agent to choose and act differently in the actual circumstances. Regulative control requires alternative possibilities open to the agent, whereas guidance control is determined by characteristics of the actual sequence issuing in one’s choice. Fischer allows that there is a notion of freedom that requires regulative control but does not believe that this kind of freedom is required for moral responsibility. (In this, he is persuaded by a form of argument originated by Harry Frankfurt. See Frankfurt 1969 and Fischer 1994, Ch.7 for an important development of the argument. The argument has been debated extensively in recent years. See Widerker and McKenna 2003 for a representative sampling. For very recent work, see Franklin 2009 and Fischer 2010 and the works they cite.)

    3.2 Free Will as Ultimate Origination (Ability to do Otherwise)

    Many do not follow Fischer here, however, and maintain the traditional view that the sort of freedom required for moral responsibility does indeed require that the agent could have acted differently. As Aristotle put it, “…when the origin of the actions is in him, it is also up to him to do them or not to do them” (NE, Book III).[3]

    A flood of ink has been spilled, especially in the modern era, on how to understand the concept of being able to do otherwise. On one side are those who maintain that it is consistent with my being able to do otherwise that the past (including my character and present beliefs and desires) and the basic laws of nature logically entail that I do what I actually do. These are the ‘compatibilists,’ holding that freedom and causal determinism are compatible. (For discussion, see O’Connor, 2000, Ch.1; Kapitan 2001; van Inwagen 2001; Haji 2009; compatibilism; and incompatibilism: arguments for.) Conditional analyses of ability to do otherwise have been popular among compatibilists. The general idea here is that to say that I am able to do otherwise is to say that I would do otherwise if it were the case that … , where the ellipsis is filled by some elaboration of “I had an appropriately strong desire to do so, or I had different beliefs about the best available means to satisfy my goal, or … .” In short: something about my prevailing character or present psychological states would have differed, and so would have brought about a different outcome in my deliberation.

    Incompatibilists think that something stronger is required: for me to act with free will requires that there are a plurality of futures open to me consistent with the past (and laws of nature) being just as they were—that I be able ‘to add to the given past’ (Ginet 1990). I could have chosen differently even without some further, non-actual consideration’s occurring to me and ‘tipping the scales of the balance’ in another direction. Indeed, from their point of view, the whole scale-of-weights analogy is wrongheaded: free agents are not mechanisms that respond invariably to specified ‘motive forces.’ They are capable of acting upon any of a plurality of motives making attractive more than one course of action. Ultimately, the agent must determine himself this way or that.

    We may distinguish two broad families of ‘incompatibilist’ or ‘indeterminist’ self-determination accounts. The more radical group holds that the agent who determines his own will is not causally influenced by external causal factors, including his own character. Descartes, in the midst of exploring the scope and influence of ‘the passions,’ declares that “the will is by its nature so free that it can never be constrained” (PWD, v.I, 343). And as we’ve seen, he believed that such freedom is present on every occasion when we make a conscious choice—even, he writes, “when a very evident reason moves us in one direction….” (PWD, v.III, 245). More recently, John Paul Sartre notoriously held that human beings have ‘absolute freedom’: “No limits to my freedom can be found except freedom itself, or, if you prefer, we are not free to cease being free.” (567) His views on freedom flowed from his radical conception of human beings as lacking any kind of positive nature. Instead, we are ‘non-beings’ whose being, moment to moment, is simply to choose:

    For human reality, to be is to choose oneself; nothing comes to it either from the outside or from within which it can receive or accept….it is entirely abandoned to the intolerable necessity of making itself be, down to the slightest details. Thus freedom…is the being of man, i.e., his nothingness of being. (568–9)

    The medieval philosopher Scotus and mid-twentieth century philosopher C.A. Campbell both appear to agree with Descartes and Sartre on the lack of direct causal influence on the activity of free choice while allowing that the scope of possibilities for what I might thus will may be more or less constricted. So while Scotus holds that “nothing other than the will is the total cause” of its activity, he grants (with Aquinas and other medieval Aristotelians) that we are not capable of willing something in which we see no good, nor of positively repudiating something which appears to us as unqualifiedly good. Contrary to Sartre, we come with a ‘nature’ that circumscribes what we might conceivably choose, and our past choices and environmental influences also shape the possibilities for us at any particular time. But if we are presented with what we recognize as an unqualified good, we still can choose to refrain from willing it. As for Campbell, while he holds that character cannot explain a free choice, he supposes that “[t]here is one experiential situation, and one only, … in which there is any possibility of the act of will not being in accordance with character; viz. the situation in which the course which formed character prescribes is a course in conflict with the agent’s moral ideal: in other words, the situation of moral temptation” (1967, 46). (Van Inwagen 1994 and 1995 is another proponent of the idea that free will is exercised in but a small subset of our choices, although his position is less extreme on this point than Campbell’s. Fischer and Ravizza 1992, O’Connor 2000, Ch.5, and Clarke 2003, Ch.7 all criticize van Inwagen’s argument for this position.)

    A more moderate grouping within the self-determination approach to free will allows that beliefs, desires, and external factors all can causally influence the act of free choice itself. But theorists within this camp differ sharply on the metaphysical nature of those choices and of the causal role of reasons. We may distinguish three varieties. I will discuss them only briefly, as they are explored at length in incompatibilist (nondeterministic) theories of free will.

    First is a noncausal (or ownership) account (Ginet 1990, 2002; McCann 1998; Pink 2004; Goetz 2002). According to this view, I control my volition or choice simply in virtue of its being mine—its occurring in me. I do not exert a special kind of causality in bringing it about; instead, it is an intrinsically active event, intrinsically something I do. While there may be causal influences upon my choice, there need not be, and any such causal influence is wholly irrelevant to understanding why it occurs. Reasons provide an autonomous, non-causal form of explanation. Provided my choice is not wholly determined by prior factors, it is free and under my control simply in virtue of being mine.

    Proponents of the event-causal account (e.g. Nozick 1995; Ekstrom 2001; and Franklin forthcoming) would say that uncaused events of any kind would be random and uncontrolled by anyone, and so could hardly count as choices that an agent made. They hold that reasons influence choices precisely by causing them. Choices are free insofar as they are not deterministically caused, and so might not have occurred in just the circumstances in which they did occur. (See nondeterministic theories of free will and probabilistic causation.) A special case of the event-causal account of self-determination is Kane (1996 and his contribution to Fischer et al., 2007). Kane believes that the free choices of greatest significance to an agent’s autonomy are ones that are preceded by efforts of will within the process of deliberation. These are cases where one’s will is conflicted, as when one’s duty or long-term self-interest compete with a strong desire for a short-term good. As one struggles to sort out and prioritize one’s own values, the possible outcomes are not merely undetermined, but also indeterminate: at each stage of the struggle, the possible outcomes have no specific objective probability of occurring. This indeterminacy, Kane believes, is essential to freedom of will.

    Finally, there are those who believe freedom of will consists in a distinctively personal form of causality, commonly referred to as “agent causation.” The agent himself causes his choice or action, and this is not to be reductively analyzed as an event within the agent causing the choice. (Compare our ready restatement of “the rock broke the window” into the more precise “the rock’s having momentum M at the point of contact with the window caused the window’s subsequent shattering.”) This view is given clear articulation by Thomas Reid:

    I grant, then, that an effect uncaused is a contradiction, and that an event uncaused is an absurdity. The question that remains is whether a volition, undetermined by motives, is an event uncaused. This I deny. The cause of the volition is the man that willed it. (Letter to James Gregory, in 1967, 88)

    Roderick Chisholm advocated this view of free will in numerous writings (e.g., 1982 and 1976). And recently it has been developed in different forms by Randolph Clarke (1993, 1996, 2003) and O’Connor (2000, 2005, 2008a, and 2010). Nowadays, many philosophers view this account as of doubtful coherence (e.g., Dennett 1984). For some, this very idea of causation by a substance just as such is perplexing (Ginet 1997 and Clarke 2003, Ch.10). Others see it as difficult to reconcile with the causal role of reasons in explaining choices. (See Feldman and Buckareff 2003 and Hiddleston 2005. Clarke and O’Connor devote considerable effort to addressing this concern.) And yet others hold that, coherent or not, it is inconsistent with seeing human beings as part of the natural world of cause and effect (Pereboom 2001, 2004, and 2005).

    3.3 Do We Have Free Will?

    A recent trend is to suppose that agent causation accounts capture, as well as possible, our prereflective idea of responsible, free action. But the failure of philosophers to work the account out in a fully satisfactory and intelligible form reveals that the very idea of free will (and so of responsibility) is incoherent (Strawson 1986) or at least inconsistent with a world very much like our own (Pereboom 2001). Smilansky (2000) takes a more complicated position, on which there are two ‘levels’ on which we may assess freedom, ‘compatibilist’ and ‘ultimate’. On the ultimate level of evaluation, free will is indeed incoherent. (Strawson, Pereboom, and Smilansky all provide concise defenses of their positions in Kane 2002.)

    The will has also recently become a target of empirical study in neuroscience and cognitive psychology. Benjamin Libet (2002) conducted experiments designed to determine the timing of conscious willings or decisions to act in relation to brain activity associated with the physical initiation of behavior. Interpretation of the results is highly controversial. Libet himself concludes that the studies provide strong evidence that actions are already underway shortly before the agent wills to do it. As a result, we do not consciously initiate our actions, though he suggests that we might nonetheless retain the ability to veto actions that are initiated by unconscious psychological structures. Wegner (2002) masses a much range of studies (including those of Libet) to argue that the notion that human actions are ever initiated by their own conscious willings is simply a deeply-entrenched illusion and proceeds to offer an hypothesis concerning the reason this illusion is generated within our cognitive systems. Mele (2009) and O’Connor (2009b) argue that the data adduced by Libet, Wegner, and others wholly fail to support their revisionary conclusions.

    4. Theological Wrinkles

    A large portion of Western philosophical writing on free will was and is written within an overarching theological framework, according to which God is the ultimate source and sustainer of all else. Some of these thinkers draw the conclusion that God must be a sufficient, wholly determining cause for everything that happens; all suppose that every creaturely act necessarily depends on the explanatorily prior, cooperative activity of God. It is also presumed that human beings are free and responsible (on pain of attributing evil in the world to God alone, and so impugning His perfect goodness). Hence, those who believe that God is omni-determining typically are compatibilists with respect to freedom and (in this case) theological determinism. Edwards (1754) is a good example. But those who suppose that God’s sustaining activity (and special activity of conferring grace) is only a necessary condition on the outcome of human free choices need to tell a more subtle story, on which omnipotent God’s cooperative activity can be (explanatorily) prior to a human choice and yet the outcome of that choice be settled only by the choice itself. For important medieval discussions—the period of the apex of treatments of philosophical/theological matters—see the relevant portions of Aquinas BW and Scotus QAM. For an example of a more recent discussion, see Quinn 1983.

    Another issue concerns the impact on human freedom of knowledge of God, the ultimate Good. Many philosophers, especially the medieval Aristotelians, were drawn to the idea that human beings cannot but will that which they take to be an unqualified good. (Duns Scotus appears to be an important exception to this consensus.) Hence, in the afterlife, when humans ‘see God face to face,’ they will inevitably be drawn to Him. Murray (1993, 2002) argues that a good God would choose to make His existence and character less than certain for human beings, for the sake of their freedom. (He will do so, the argument goes, at least for a period of time in which human beings participate in their own character formation.) If it is a good for human beings that they freely choose to respond in love to God and to act in obedience to His will, then God must maintain an ‘epistemic distance’ from them lest they be overwhelmed by His goodness and respond out of necessity, rather than freedom. (See also the other essays in Howard-Snyder and Moser 2002.)

    Finally, there is the question of the freedom of God himself. Perfect goodness is an essential, not acquired, attribute of God. God cannot lie or be in any way immoral in His dealings with His creatures. Unless we take the minority position on which this is a trivial claim, since whatever God does definitionally counts as good, this appears to be a significant, inner constraint on God’s freedom. Did we not contemplate immediately above that human freedom would be curtailed by our having an unmistakable awareness of what is in fact the Good? And yet is it not passing strange to suppose that God should be less than perfectly free?

    One suggested solution to this puzzle begins by reconsidering the relationship of two strands in (much) thinking about freedom of will: being able to do otherwise and being the ultimate source of one’s will. Contemporary discussions of free will often emphasize the importance of being able to do otherwise. Yet it is plausible (Kane 1996) that the core metaphysical feature of freedom is being the ultimate source, or originator, of one’s choices, and that being able to do otherwise is closely connected to this feature. For human beings or any created persons who owe their existence to factors outside themselves, the only way their acts of will could find their ultimate origin in themselves is for such acts not to be determined by their character and circumstances. For if all my willings were wholly determined, then if we were to trace my causal history back far enough, we would ultimately arrive at external factors that gave rise to me, with my particular genetic dispositions. My motives at the time would not be the ultimate source of my willings, only the most proximate ones. Only by there being less than deterministic connections between external influences and choices, then, is it be possible for me to be an ultimate source of my activity, concerning which I may truly say, “the buck stops here.”

    As is generally the case, things are different on this point in the case of God. Even if God’s character absolutely precludes His performing certain actions in certain contexts, this will not imply that some external factor is in any way a partial origin of His willings and refrainings from willing. Indeed, this would not be so even if he were determined by character to will everything which He wills. For God’s nature owes its existence to nothing. So God would be the sole and ultimate source of His will even if He couldn’t will otherwise.

    Well, then, might God have willed otherwise in any respect? The majority view in the history of philosophical theology is that He indeed could have. He might have chosen not to create anything at all. And given that He did create, He might have created any number of alternatives to what we observe. But there have been noteworthy thinkers who argued the contrary position, along with others who clearly felt the pull of the contrary position even while resisting it. The most famous such thinker is Leibniz (1710), who argued that God, being both perfectly good and perfectly powerful, cannot fail to will the best possible world. Leibniz insisted that this is consistent with saying that God is able to will otherwise, although his defense of this last claim is notoriously difficult to make out satisfactorily. Many read Leibniz, malgre lui, as one whose basic commitments imply that God could not have willed other than He does in any respect.

    On might challenge Leibniz’s reasoning on this point by questioning the assumption that there is a uniquely best possible Creation (an option noted by Adams 1987, though he challenges instead Leibniz’s conclusion based on it). One way this could be is if there is no well-ordering of worlds: some worlds are sufficiently different in kind that they are incommensurate with each other (neither is better than the other, nor are they equal). Another way this could be is if there is no upper limit on goodness of worlds: for every possible world God might have created, there are others (infinitely many, in fact) which are better. If such is the case, one might argue, it is reasonable for God to arbitrarily choose which world to create from among those worlds exceeding some threshold value of overall goodness.

    However, William Rowe (2004) has countered that the thesis that there is no upper limit on goodness of worlds has a very different consequence: it shows that there could not be a morally perfect Creator! For suppose our world has an on-balance moral value of n and that God chose to create it despite being aware of possibilities having values higher than n that He was able to create. It seems we can now imagine a morally better Creator: one having the same options who chooses to create a better world. For critical replies to Rowe, see Almeida (2008), Ch.1; O’Connor 2008b; and Kray (2010).

    Finally, Norman Kretzmann (1997, 220–25) has argued in the context of Aquinas’s theological system that there is strong pressure to say that God must have created something or other, though it may well have been open to Him to create any of a number of contingent orders. The reason is that there is no plausible account of how an absolutely perfect God might have a resistible motivation—one consideration among other, competing considerations—for creating something rather than nothing. (It obviously cannot have to do with any sort of utility, for example.) The best general understanding of God’s being motivated to create at all—one which in places Aquinas himself comes very close to endorsing—is to see it as reflecting the fact that God’s very being, which is goodness, necessarily diffuses itself. Perfect goodness will naturally communicate itself outwardly; God who is perfect goodness will naturally create, generating a dependent reality that imperfectly reflects that goodness. (Wainwright (1996) is a careful discussion of a somewhat similar line of thought in Jonathan Edwards. See also Rowe 2004.)

    Further Reading

    Pereboom (2009) samples a number of important historical and contemporary writers on free will. Bourke (1964) and Dilman (1999) provide critical overviews of many historically-significant writers. Fischer, Kane, Pereboom, and Vargas (2007) provide a readable while careful debate that sets out some main views by four leading thinkers. For thematic treatments, see Fischer (1994); Kane (1996), esp. Ch.1–2; 5–6; Ekstrom (2001); Watson (2003b); and the outstanding collection of lengthy survey articles in Kane (2002, with an updated version due to appear in 2011). Finally, for a topically comprehensive set of important contemporary essays on free will, see the four-volume Fischer (2005).

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    action | compatibilism | determinism: causal | fatalism | freedom-divine | free will: divine foreknowledge and | incompatibilism: (nondeterministic) theories of free will | incompatibilism: arguments for | moral responsibility

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    The Great Debate: Science vs. Religion

    by Sean Carroll

    Took a little work, but the spark of human willpower was ultimately able to overcome the stubborn resistance of technology, and the video from our science/religion debate at Caltech on Sunday is finally up. Michael Shermer and I took on Dinesh D’Souza and Ian Hutchinson. Short version: we won, but judge for yourself if you want to sit through all two hours.

    YouTube comments — always an enlightening read — seem to be mostly about Dawkins and Hitchens, although I don’t remember either of them being there.

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    March 28th, 2012 8:56 AM
    in Religion, Science, Top Posts | 31 Comments | RSS feed | Trackback >

    Baths and Quarks

    by Sean Carroll

    David Tong, a theoretical physicist at Cambridge, is excited about solitons. And he wants to share that excitement with you, and he’s willing to climb in a bathtub to do it.

    It’s a fun video, produced by the Institute of Physics. David’s interest is really in the issue of quark confinement in QCD, one of the Clay Millenium Prize problems. But we get there by thinking about bubbles and vortices and smoke rings. Worth a look.

    112  34 Share 0

    March 26th, 2012 11:20 AM
    in Science | 7 Comments | RSS feed | Trackback >

    ATLAS Peeped

    by Mark Trodden

    Not wanting to let Sean get away with the only marshmallow-related post this year, I’d like to bring to your attention that, for the fifth year running, the Washington Post recently held its Peeps Diorama Contest. This would be a pretty strange topic to cover on this blog were it not for the fact that one of the entries was the wonderful ATLAS Peeped!

    Designed and Constructed by Marilena Loverde and Laura Newburgh, ATLAS Peeped is a painstaking and delicious reconstruction of the detector and its environment, with great attention to detail in adapting it to the peep universe. For example, please note the textbooks in the following (click on the photo for a full-size version)

    I really hope Michael Peepskin is reading this.

    As a theorist, I can’t help but leave you with a detail with equations

    See! And I had thought peeps would naturally gravitate towards the soft sciences.

    Update: I had earlier referred to a third person helping create this, but was mistaken, and have edited the post accordingly.

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    March 26th, 2012 5:19 AM
    in Arts, Entertainment, Science and Society | 5 Comments | RSS feed | Trackback >

    Science/Religion Debate Live-Streaming Today

    by Sean Carroll

    [Update added below. Further update: here’s the video.]

    I’m participating this afternoon in an intriguing event here at Caltech:

    The Great Debate: “Has Science Refuted Religion?”

    Affirming the proposition will be Skeptics Society president Michael Shermer and myself, while negating it will be conservative author Dinesh D’Souza and MIT nuclear engineer Ian Hutchinson. We’ll go back and forth for about two hours, after which Sam Harris will give a talk about his most recent book, Free Will.

     

    Festivities begin at 2pm Pacific time (5pm Eastern). I hadn’t previously mentioned the debate here on the blog, because tickets sold out pretty quickly, and it didn’t seem right to taunt people by mentioning an event they couldn’t come see. But the Skeptics folks have been working hard to set up live-streaming video of the event, and it looks like they’ve succeeded! So you should be able to watch all the fun live on YouTube — and feel free to leave comments here.

    [Live-streaming didn’t work, but here’s the video.]

    I’ll come back when it’s all over and add some post-debate thoughts.

    Update after the debate: first off, very sorry that the live stream didn’t seem to work for many people. (Although the YouTube comments are occasionally funny.) That’s just what sometimes unfortunately happens when you try something new. Pretty sure that video will eventually be available, I’ll link when it appears.

    Also I deleted a bunch of comments about string theory from people who don’t take instructions well.

    As for the debate, it’s very hard to judge when up on the stage, but I hope there were some enlightening moments. I’m not sure it worked well as a “debate.” I tried to engage a bit with what Ian and Dinesh were saying, but I didn’t feel that they reciprocated — although they might make the same claim about our side. I’m thinking that four people is just too much to have in a debate; it could have been more direct confrontation if there had only been two, with twice as much time for each little speech.

    I don’t think I did a very good job in the cross-examinations, but hopefully the actual speeches came across clearly.

    The audience was pretty clearly biased toward us from the beginning. Which is great in some sense (go forces of reason!) but I’d actually like to do something similar before an audience that was tilted the other way, or (best of all) completely uncommitted at the start. Preaching to the choir is fun, but doesn’t really change the world.

    We had a great crowd, and I very much appreciate everyone who braved the not-that-great-by-Southern-California-standards weather. Would love to hear reactions from people who were actually there.

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    March 25th, 2012 9:57 AM
    in Personal, Religion, Science and Society, Top Posts | 60 Comments | RSS feed | Trackback >

    McEwan on Darwin, Einstein, and Priority

    by Mark Trodden

    In the Guardian, Ian McEwan writes beautifully, as always, about the passion involved in scientific discovery, and the drive to establish priority. While it is a refrain among scientists that they are only interested in the work, and gaining a better understanding of nature, it would be hard to believe that, on a personal level, we don’t care deeply about the recognition of our own contributions. McEwan illustrates this with two of the most revered and successful scientists – Darwin and Einstein. On realizing, surprisingly, his fear of being scooped by Wallace, Darwin wrote

    “I always thought it very possible that I might be forestalled, but I fancied that I had a grand enough soul not to care.”

    and after Hilbert submitted his formulation of the mathematics of General Relativity, Einstein wrote

    “In my personal experience I have hardly come to know the wretchedness of mankind better.”

    McEwan also discusses the fascinating question of how rapidly some of our greatest scientific accomplishments became accepted, even though, in the case of General Relativity, many years were required to perform the definitive precision experiments one would typically expect. He puts this down to the beauty of the underlying ideas, and emphasizes the important role this can play, particularly for a theory such as relativity, for which the mathematics is inaccessible to most people, and the implications are, at least seemingly, remote from any everyday experience.

    In the example of evolution, the basic concepts are much easier to grasp, and should be within the reach of anyone who chooses to think about them with an open mind. However, here the challenge to acceptance is not one of the inaccessibility of the theory, but the implications that it has for existing powerful world views.

    “On the other hand, as Steven Pinker has pointed out, the ramifications of natural selection are multiple. And, relatively, they are easily, if uneasily, understood: the Earth and life on it are far older than the Bible suggests. Species are not fixed entities created at one time. They rise, fall, become extinct, and there is no purpose, no forethought in these patterns. We can explain these processes now without reference to the supernatural. We ourselves are related, however distantly, to all living things. We can explain our own existence without reference to the supernatural. We may have no purpose at all except to continue. We have a nature derived in part from our evolutionary past. Underlying natural selection are physical laws. The evolved material entity we call the brain is what makes consciousness possible. When it is damaged, so is mental function. There is no evidence for an immortal soul, and no good reason beyond fervent hope that consciousness survives the death of the brain.

    It is testimony to the originality as well as the diversity of our species that some of us find such ramifications horrifying, or irritating, or self-evidently untrue and (literally) soulless, while others find them both beautiful and liberating and discover, with Darwin, “grandeur in this view of life”. Either way, if we do not find our moments of exaltation in religious awe and the contemplation of a supreme supernatural being, we will find them in the contemplation of our arts and our science. When Einstein found that his general theory made correct predictions for the shift in Mercury’s orbit, he felt so thrilled he had palpitations, “as if something had snapped inside. I was,” he wrote, “beside myself with joyous excitement.” This is the excitement any artist can recognise. This is the joy, not of simple description, but of creation. It is the expression, common to both the arts and science, of the somewhat grand, somewhat ignoble, all too human pursuit of originality in the face of total dependence on the achievements of others.”

    It is also true that any scientist can recognize the excitement of a great artist taking on a subject about which he feels deeply. I’m thankful that, for McEwan, that subject is frequently science.

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    March 24th, 2012 6:21 AM
    in Science and Society | 15 Comments | RSS feed | Trackback >

    Technological Applications of the Higgs Boson

    by Sean Carroll

    Can you think of any?

    Here’s what I mean. When we set about justifying basic research in fundamental science, we tend to offer multiple rationales. One (the easy and most obviously legitimate one) is that we’re simply curious about how the world works, and discovery is its own reward. But often we trot out another one: the claim that applied research and real technological advances very often spring from basic research with no specific technological goal. Faraday wasn’t thinking of electronic gizmos when he helped pioneer modern electromagnetism, and the inventors of quantum mechanics weren’t thinking of semiconductors and lasers. They just wanted to figure out how nature works, and the applications came later.

    So what about contemporary particle physics, and the Higgs boson in particular? We’re spending a lot of money to look for it, and I’m perfectly comfortable justifying that expense by the purely intellectual reward associated with understanding the missing piece of the Standard Model of particle physics. But inevitably we also mention that, even if we don’t know what it will be right now, it’s likely (or some go so far as to say “inevitable”) that someday we’ll invent some marvelous bit of technology that makes crucial use of what we learned from studying the Higgs.

    So — anyone have any guesses as to what that might be? You are permitted to think broadly here. We’re obviously not expecting something within a few years after we find the little bugger. So imagine that we have discovered it, and if you like you can imagine we have the technology to create Higgses with a lot less overhead than a kilometers-across particle accelerator. We have a heavy and short-lived elementary particle that couples preferentially to other heavy particles, and represents ripples in the background field that breaks electroweak symmetry and therefore provides mass. What could we possibly do with it?

    Specificity and plausibility will be rewarded. (Although there are no actual rewards offered.) So “cure cancer” gets low marks, while “improve the rate of this specific important chemical reaction” would be a lot better.

    Let your science-fiction-trained imaginations rome, and chime in.

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    March 20th, 2012 10:52 AM
    in Science, Technology, Top Posts | 105 Comments | RSS feed | Trackback >

    Sagan and Druyan: Shared Time in the Cosmos

    by Sean Carroll

    Ann Druyan, Carl Sagan’s wife, wrote a beautiful piece for the Skeptical Inquirer back in 2003. It’s about science and religion, from a naturalist point of view, expressed in graceful and uplifting prose. An excerpt was shared around on Facebook recently by Michelle Agnellini Yaney, and is worthy of wider distribution. It’s a personal note at the end of the piece — as good a summary of how naturalists view the preciousness of life as you’ll find anywhere.

    When my husband died, because he was so famous and known for not being a believer, many people would come up to me-it still sometimes happens-and ask me if Carl changed at the end and converted to a belief in an afterlife. They also frequently ask me if I think I will see him again. Carl faced his death with unflagging courage and never sought refuge in illusions. The tragedy was that we knew we would never see each other again. I don’t ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But, the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other than a final parting. Every single moment that we were alive and we were together was miraculous-not miraculous in the sense of inexplicable or supernatural. We knew we were beneficiaries of chance. . . . That pure chance could be so generous and so kind. . . . That we could find each other, as Carl wrote so beautifully in Cosmos, you know, in the vastness of space and the immensity of time. . . . That we could be together for twenty years. That is something which sustains me and it’s much more meaningful. . . . The way he treated me and the way I treated him, the way we took care of each other and our family, while he lived. That is so much more important than the idea I will see him someday. I don’t think I’ll ever see Carl again. But I saw him. We saw each other. We found each other in the cosmos, and that was wonderful.

     

    I can’t resist tacking on the previous paragraph, worthy of contemplation for its own sake:

    And there were other instances of Carl’s remarkable persuasiveness. One was a great story of a so-called “creation scientist” who watched Carl testify at a hearing about creationism in schools. Carl testified for about four hours. It was somewhere in the South, I can’t remember where. And six months later a letter came from the “creation scientist” expert who had also testified that day, saying that he had given up his daytime job and realized the error of what he was doing. It was only because Carl was so patient and so willing to hear the other person out. He did it with such kindness and then, very gently but without compromising, laid out all of the things that were wrong with what this guy thought was true. That is a lesson that I wish that all of us in our effort to promote skepticism could learn, because I know that very often the anger I feel when confronting this kind of thinking makes me want to start cutting off the other person. But to do so is to abandon all hope of changing minds.

    It’s hard to live up to Carl Sagan’s example.

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    March 19th, 2012 7:44 AM
    in Science, Top Posts, Words | 33 Comments | RSS feed | Trackback >

    Superluminal Neutrinos are so 2011

    by Sean Carroll

    We all knew that when the OPERA experiment announced preliminary evidence that neutrinos were traveling faster than the speed of light, the result was so hard to swallow that independent confirmation from other experiments would be necessary before too many people jumped on the bandwagon. In the meantime, a number of theoretical papers pointed out difficulties in accepting the result at face value (probably the cleanest by Cohen and Glashow). And just last month OPERA itself announced that they had located a couple of possible systematic errors in their experiment, without actually backing off the original result. But lets just say things haven’t been looking good.

    Now we have what might be the nail in the coffin: another experiment, ICARUS, at the same laboratory in Gran Sasso in Italy, has reported an independent measurement of the neutrino time-of-flight from CERN. (The CERN twitter feed points to an frustratingly vague press release; more useful info from Tommaso Dorigo.) Answer: spot on the speed of light. They even have a paper on the arxiv, from which we get this lovely plot:

     

    Colloquially, we would say “game over, man.” The new measurements sit spot on the speed of light (zero on the plot), and are inconsistent with OPERA. (Actually neutrinos have tiny masses and therefore move just a bit slower than light, but it’s close enough as to be invisible in this plot.) Note that ICARUS had previously “refuted” OPERA, but in a much more indirect way, by checking that the neutrinos hadn’t lost any energy along the way. This new result is a straight-up check of the original claim, and it falls short.

    As Tommaso points out, the precision of the ICARUS result is comparable to that of OPERA, so if you live in a mental space free of theoretical priors you could assign 50/50 weight to each one. Those of us in the real world should be ready to accept that the speed of light isn’t just a good idea: it’s the law.

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    March 16th, 2012 7:30 AM
    in Science, Top Posts | 29 Comments | RSS feed | Trackback >

    Time and Marshmallows

    by Sean Carroll

    “Perhaps no one comprehends the roots of depravity and cruelty better than Philip Zimbardo.” At least, that’s what it says here. They’re referring to the fact that Zimbardo — a psychologist who long ago supervised the notorious Stanford Prison Experiment (chilling video here) — is an expert on the psychology of “evil” behavior. But he’s also an expert on the psychology of time, which we can all agree is much more interesting.

    I recently got to hear a talk by Zimbardo, in which among other things he discussed the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment — a rather more adorable experience than the prison experiment, from what I understand. The Marshmallow experiment, originally conducted by Walter Mischel in 1972, was aimed at understanding how we think about different times — the future vs. the present. Children were asked to do some easy tasks, and then were rewarded by being given a marshmallow. But! They were told that the experimenter had to step outside for a few minutes, and if they could just sit tight and not eat their marshmallow until he came back, they could have that and also an additional marshmallow.

    It’s a matter of future vs. present rewards. It’s natural (and totally rational) to discount rewards that are promised in the future — after all, the future is hard to predict, and anything can happen. If I offered you a choice between $4 today and $5 ten years from now, you’d be sensible to take the lower amount today — depending on how much you trusted me, of course. But if there is a good reason to trust, and the future isn’t that far off, it makes sense to delay gratification a bit. So what happens when some four-year-olds are put to the test?

    Read the rest of this entry »

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    March 12th, 2012 5:42 AM
    in Science, Time, Top Posts | 29 Comments | RSS feed | Trackback >

    Journey to the Exoplanets

    by Sean Carroll

    My first contribution to Download the Universe, our collaborative site that reviews ebooks on science, is now up. It’s a review of Journey to the Exoplanets, a snazzy and fun iPad app from Scientific American. Teaser:

    When I was your age, we didn’t have any of these fancy hand-held portable ebook readers. We didn’t have any such thing as extrasolar planets, either. Planets orbited the Sun, and books were printed on paper. And we liked it that way.

    I’m assuming here I was about your age in 1992 or maybe earlier, because that’s when the world changed forever. Sony introduced a “portable” device called the Data Discman, arguably the first hand-held ebook reader. That same year, Alex Wolszczan and Dale Frail made the first discovery of extrasolar planets, orbiting a pulsar with the romantic name of PSR 1257+12.

    It’s been a busy twenty years. Everyone and their dog is reading ebooks, and astronomers are discovering planets around other stars (exoplanets for short) by the bushelful — 760 as of this writing, if we go by the Extrasolar Planets Encyclopedia. Which is why it seems perfectly appropriate that one of the first and snazziest ebooks devoted to science is Journey to the Exoplanets, written by Edward Bell and illustrated by Ron Miller.

    Check it out.

     

    What is Philosophy & other related Questions by Ayn Rand

     

    Ayn Rand’s views on Philosophy

    & other related Questions

     

    Questions by  William R Thomas

    Answers by Ayn Rand

    Question: What is philosophy? 

    Answer:  Philosophy studies the fundamental nature of existence, of man, and of man’s relationship to existence. … In the realm of cognition, the special sciences are the trees, but philosophy is the soil which makes the forest possible.” —Ayn Rand, Philosophy, Who Needs It (p. 2)

     

    A philosophy is a comprehensive system of ideas about human nature and the nature of the reality we live in. It is a guide for living, because the issues it addresses are basic and pervasive, determining the course we take in life and how we treat other people.

     

    The topics that philosophy addresses fall into several distinct fields. Among those of fundamental concern are:

    • Metaphysics (the theory of reality).
    • Epistemology (the theory of knowledge)
    • Ethics (the theory of moral values)
    • Politics (the theory of legal rights and government)
    • Aesthetics (the theory of the nature of art)

    The most widespread systems of ideas that offer philosophical guidance are religions such as Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. Religions differ from philosophies not in the subjects they address, but in the method they use to address them. Religions have their basis in mythic stories that pre-date the discovery of explicitly rational methods of inquiry. Many religions nowadays appeal to mystical faith and revelation—modes of belief that claim validity independent of logic and the scientific method, at least for the biggest questions. But most religions are in their origins pre-rational rather than anti-rational, a story-teller’s account of philosophic issues rather than a scientist’s.

     

    In Greek, “philosophy” means “love of wisdom.” Philosophy is based on rational argument and appeal to facts. The history of the modern sciences begins with philosophical inquiries, and the scientific method of experimentation and proof remains an instance of the general approach that a philosopher tries to bring to a question: one that is logical and rigorous. However, while today the sciences focus on specialized inquiries in restricted domains, the questions addressed by philosophy remain the most general and most basic, the issues that underlie the sciences and stand at the base of a worldview.

     

    Philosophy raises some of the deepest and widest questions there are. Addressing the issues in each branch of philosophy requires integrating everything one knows about reality (metaphysics) or humanity (epistemology, ethics, politics, and aesthetics). Proposing reasonable positions in philosophy is therefore a difficult task. Honest philosophers have often disagreed about key issues, and dishonest ones have been able to slip their own positions into the mix as well. For this reason, there is not one philosophy worldwide, as there is one physics. Instead, there are many philosophies.

     

    Over the course of history, philosophers have offered entire systems that pulled together positions in each of the branches of philosophy. Aristotle, the father of logic, authored such a system in ancient times, teaching that we could know reality and achieve happiness. In more modern times, philosophers such as John Locke and Immanuel Kant have written systematic accounts of their thought. Most modern philosophers, however, have specialized in one area or another within philosophy, although some schools of philosophy have emerged that are marked by the general positions of their members on a variety of issues and the members’ shared admiration for a chain of historical figures. These schools have included Pragmatism, Logical Positivism, and Existentialism, but are little-known outside of university classes in modern philosophy.

     

    Today philosophic issues often enter public life through political or social movements, some religious in inspiration, such as Christian conservatism, and others secular, such as left-wing environmentalism and socialism. The ideas of such movements are often called ideologies. That term, “ideology,” is another name for the systems of ideas we have been talking about. Though the focus of ideological movements is political, their political beliefs tend to be rooted in shared conceptions of reality, human nature, and values.

    Why Does Anyone Need a Philosophy?

    Question: Why does anyone need a philosophy?

    Answer:  “You have no choice about the necessity to integrate your observations, your experiences, your knowledge into abstract ideas, i.e., into principles. Your only choice is whether these principles are true or false, whether they represent your conscious, rational convictions—or a grab-bag of notions snatched at random, whose sources, validity, and consequences you do not know, notions which, more often than not, you would drop like a hot potato if you knew.” (Ayn Rand, Philosophy: Who Needs It, p. 5)

    Everyone has a philosophy, even if we cannot express it in words.

    We either act as if our eternal salvation depends on following the mandates of scripture, or we don’t. We feel the need to believe in something and search for understanding, or we adopt the cynical view that the search is useless. We all have some sense of what is right, and what is wrong. We can see ourselves as noble beings worthy of happiness or as guilty transgressors against the environment, social justice, or God. We will all decide often what it is that constitutes our duty. We think we know art when we see it. And we adopt political principles and support politicians and parties.

    All of these are philosophical issues.

     

    We need to know whether what we believe is really true.

     Philosophical convictions are often subconscious or inarticulate. We experience them emotionally in what Ayn Rand called a “sense of life.” Your sense of life reflects the fundamental ways you relate to the world and other people; it is your intuitive feeling of how things are and how they ought to be. Each of us needs to understand his own convictions consciously, to be able to put his sense of life into words. Otherwise we don’t really have a clear idea of what we believe or what is motivating us to make our biggest decisions—or whether it is true. We need to know what we think on philosophical questions, because our answers can affect the course of our lives. And the sense of life that dominates nations or cultures can determine their fates.

     

    We need a metaphysics (a theory of reality) because we need to know whether the material world of daily life is the only one that exists—which makes a difference between living for this life or some heavenly hereafter. We need to know whether the universe is lawful, or chaotic—which makes a difference between trying to improve things or viewing life as absurd and meaningless.

     

    You take your car to a mechanic because the engine misfires in damp weather. Wouldn’t it be strange if he were to shrug and say “Well, cars just do that sometimes?” But what’s wrong with that? Why shouldn’t you take that attitude to your own problems at home or at work? You need a philosophy to know the answer.

     

    An epistemology is a theory of knowledge. It may seem that if you know anything, then you know it, so what’s the issue? To have a clear grasp of one’s own life and context, one needs to be able to sort out the mass of information, claims, and ideas we receive from others; that skill is based in epistemology. After all, at root, we need to know whether what we believe is really true. How do you know when someone has proven a point? That can be terribly important when the truth of a scientific theory, a doctor’s diagnosis, or the outcome of a trial is at stake. Some people say that words are arbitrary and mean whatever we like. Does that mean it doesn’t matter if someone uses words he can’t define in down-to-earth terms? Should we worry if we don’t feel like we have mystic intuitions, or should we worry if we do?

     

    A neighbor comes to your door with a petition: Pesticides from nearby farms are appearing in trace quantities in the town’s drinking water. The neighbor wants them removed at all costs. “Nobody has proven that these chemicals won’t ever hurt anyone,” he says. But the farmers send around a flyer saying the chemicals have been scientifically tested and are proven to be safe. Both are talking about proof, but they don’t seem to mean the same thing by it. How could you tell who is right? You need a philosophy to know the answer.

     

    Ethics is the science we use to judge good from evil. We don’t want to do evil, and we would like to do good if we can. But to do that, we need to know what it means to be good, and what kind of actions tend to achieve it. People make demands on us: What do we owe to others and what do we deserve for ourselves? To organize our moral views and take the right course in life, we need to avoid being torn apart by contradictory goals and principles.

     

    You are working for a company and rising up to positions of greater responsibility. You try to work efficiently and you hope to make a lot of money, both in bonuses for yourself and in profits for the company. But you feel a little uneasy, and you wonder: Are you doing good there, or are you just playing the game of life and going with the flow? After all, your religion teaches you that the best people live simply and serve others. Should you feel guilty about trying to make money, or feel morally proud of your success? You need a philosophy to know the answer.

     

    We all know about practical politics, because we have to choose whom to vote for, and in which causes to invest our time and money. But though we argue about it, few people take the time to sort out their fundamental convictions about political issues. Is there a conflict between the social good and what’s good for individuals? Is society responsible for supporting the poor? For inculcating character and values? For regulating the economy? In part, our ideas will depend on our ethical beliefs, but we also need a clear idea of what government is for and what kinds of activities it should be engaged in, if any.

     

    It’s election time. One party promises to ensure that every person has a decent job by passing a law setting fair minimum wages and restricting layoffs. The other promises to make sure we are all free, and says we will all be better off in the end even if there are layoffs and wages are set in the labor market. Which one is best? What do political slogans like “fairness” and “freedom” really mean, anyway? You need a philosophy to know the answer.

     

    We all spend time and money on art: reading books, attending films and shows, listening to music, and so on. But unless we reflect on aesthetics, we can’t understand clearly why we have this need and what it is about art that fulfills it. What is the difference between good art and bad art? Art provides the spiritual fuel we all depend on, and trying to consume it without knowing anything about its basic purpose and the standards of judging it is like trying to run a car on any old liquid.
    A new object has appeared in front of a prominent building in your city. It consists of slabs of metal arranged to make a large and angular shape. The newspaper says it is a great new piece of art, but you wonder, if that is art, what isn’t? What is a piece of sculpture supposed to be like? You need a philosophy to know the answer.

     

    People often think of philosophy as a highly abstract and technical field, full of conundrums of interest only to academics. But, in fact, all of us depend on philosophic conclusions, and identifying one’s own philosophy is a highly practical activity. We don’t all need to be philosophers, any more than we all need to be mathematicians. But we all learn to add in school, and we all need to be able to do some basic philosophizing as well. That’s how we know where we stand in the world and what we ought to do in life.

     

     Why is Objectivism a System of Ideas

    By William R Thomas

    Question: Why is Objectivism a system of ideas?

    Answer:  “I am not primarily an advocate of capitalism, but of egoism; and I am not primarily an advocate of egoism, but of reason. If one recognizes the supremacy of reason and applies it consistently, all the rest follows.” (Ayn Rand, “Introducing Objectivism,” The Objectivist Newsletter Vol. 1 No. 8, August 1962, p. 35)

    Philosophies are systems of ideas because their theories are connected in a hierarchy. Beginning with the most fundamental issues, the conclusions one reaches in one field of philosophy have profound implications about what one can consistently conclude in another.

    Metaphysics is the most basic field. It tells you what reality is, which obviously sets the terms for other fields. If the world we see is an illusion, as the Buddhists teach, then epistemology must explain how we acquire knowledge by some means other than sense perception. And if there is an after life, and an eternal reward awaiting us in heaven or hell, as the Christians teach, then ethically we ought to do whatever we can to reach eternal bliss.

     

    Epistemology is also basic in a different respect. All our theories and ideas depend on the standards we have for knowledge. We cannot have ethical, political, or aesthetic knowledge except by the terms set by epistemology. Religions depend on being able to appeal to faith as a basis for knowledge of ultimate reality.

     

    Ethics establishes the difference between right and wrong. Its positions depend on a view of reality, on facts about human nature, and on the standards of knowledge. It establishes a code of values and explains the difference between virtue and vice. This provides basic and fundamental guidance for human choices, including the paths we take in our own lives, what we expect from others, and the direction of institutions and even whole cultures. All areas of human endeavor depend on ethical premises about what is valuable and what purposes are worthy.

     

    Aesthetics depends on ethics because ethics establishes what valid human needs are and what is good for humans as opposed to the bad. These are premises that any explanation of the value and standards of art must employ.

    Politics depends on ethics because ethics sets the goals of government and the aims, more generally, of social organization.

     

    A philosophy that does not address all the major issues is incomplete. A philosophy that is inconsistent in its positions is indefensible. We can see the importance of consistency by seeing how the lack of it affects political ideologies.

     

    Most American conservatives, for example, are Christians who attempt to be champions of industry and the free market, while advocating for their religion at the same time. But as most Americans sense, the two are not consistent. Jesus, after all, taught that the rich should give away all their possessions. And the core Christian virtues of faith, hope, and charity suit a St. Francis far better than a Bill Gates. So conservatives are torn between the two tendencies of Christianity and capitalism. Some, choosing capitalism, emphasize American traditions of freedom, local government, and tolerance. Others, choosing Christianity, attack our “materialist” culture, advocate paternalistic government programs like welfare, and push for greater government support for religion.

     

    American liberals, for their part, are torn between valuing freedom and personal happiness (which they advocate in regard to freedom of speech and abortion rights) and valuing equality (which they seek to promote through codes that restrict choice and restrain speech, such as the laws banning racial discrimination or sexual innuendo in private business contexts).

     

    Many formal philosophies suffer from similar contradictions. Immanuel Kant, for example, was an advocate of political freedom and peace, but his followers often supported dictatorships and war, because they tried to live by his morality of pure adherence to duty.

     

    Objectivism is a full system of thought that stakes out positions in all the major fields of philosophy. It is a consistent system of thought in which each position is supported by more basic positions beneath it and supports derivative positions that follow from it. Objectivists find that what they know about one field of philosophy supports what they know about the others, so they do not have to choose between contradictory tendencies as modern conservatives and liberals do. And their conclusions, being based in the facts, follow logically from the most basic ideas to the most derivative.

     

    By William R Thomas

    Question: What is the Objectivist view of reality?

    Answer: “Reality exists as an objective absolute—facts are facts, independent of man’s feelings, wishes, hopes or fears.” (Ayn Rand, “Introducing Objectivism,” The Objectivist Newsletter Vol. 1 No. 8, August 1962, p. 35)

    Objectivism holds that there is one reality, the one in which we live. It is self-evident that reality exists and is what it is; our job is to discover it. Objectivism stands against all forms of metaphysical relativism or idealism. It holds it as undeniable that humans have free will, and opposes metaphysical determinism or fatalism. More generally, it holds that there is no fundamental contradiction between the free, abstract character of mental life and the physical body in which it resides. And so it denies the existence of any “supernatural” or ineffable dimension for spirits or souls.

    Let’s consider each of these points in turn.

     

    Relativism and Objective Reality

    Today, especially in university departments of literature, there are some fashionable “postmodernists” who claim that we create reality with words, in our own minds. This view is an instance of a position that has frequently reappeared in philosophy: metaphysical relativism or idealism. It is the view that, ultimately, nothing is real except in relation to our perceiving it or thinking of it.

     

    But reality is not a function of our ideas. It exists, and it is what it is, regardless of whether we want it to be or not. Denying this is the intellectual equivalent of closing one’s eyes while driving down the highway. Car crashes do not happen just because one believes they do; they often happen even when we wish them not to. Facts are facts, independently of us. This is why things happen that surprise us. It is why science has been the process of establishing the truth about nature without regard for our preconceptions. It is why babies have to learn; they are discovering the world “out there.” Things in reality have real properties and exert causal powers without regard for us and our knowledge of them. Ayn Rand summed up this attitude to reality as the principle of the primacy of existence.

     

    Objectivism holds that there is one reality, the one in which we live.

     As Ayn Rand wrote in “The Metaphysical Versus the Man-Made” (Philosophy: Who Needs It): “The primacy of existence (of reality) is the axiom that existence exists, i.e., that the universe exists independent of consciousness (of any consciousness), that things are what they are, that they possess a specific nature, an identity.

    The epistemological corollary is the axiom that consciousness is the faculty of perceiving that which exists—and that man gains knowledge by looking outward.” Consciousness (i.e., the mind) is in essence a faculty of awareness. We are aware of the world around us through sense-perceptions, of course, but even in our abstract and theoretical knowledge we function primarily through identification of how things are. To give a simple example, we decide whether to say “that is a yellow house,” but we know that what makes that statement knowledge, rather than hot air, is whether or not it identifies a house that really is yellow.

     

    Free Will vs. Determinism

    Through our senses we see and feel a material world. It has physical characteristics such as form and mass. But our thoughts seem free: We choose by our own lights what we should do, even how we should move our bodies, and we can rove with our minds into worlds of fantasy and imagination that never existed. Our legs can be made to flinch by the tap of a hammer on our knees. But we can make up our minds unflinchingly to do whatever we must, even if it costs us our lives.

    Many philosophers and scientists believe in metaphysical determinism. This is the idea that everything in existence proceeds ineluctably from cause to effect, like a computer program, the orbits of the planets, or the motion of billiard-balls on a pool table. According to determinism, the universe was set in motion somehow, perhaps in a Big Bang, perhaps by God, and everything that has happened since has had to happen; nothing else was possible, the outcome is determined.
    In this view, we may feel like we make choices, but underneath our choices there lies some process that proceeds like clockwork: our genetic development, social and environmental factors, or perhaps something else or all of the above. Whatever the causal story given, in this view our actions and even our thoughts happen in the one and only way they can.

     The fact of free will is self-evident

    Objectivism holds, in contrast, that man has free will. We have the ability of choice, not over every aspect of existence, of course, but over a range of actions within our power. Every day we do things that we might have done differently. Our freedom to choose our actions is of the essence of what it means to be human: It underlies our need for moral guidance and is a major cause of our fallibility, but is also at the root of our ability to progress by imagining and creating improvements on the brute forms of nature.

     

    The fact of free will is self-evident; each of us knows we have the ability to control our own minds, to focus our thoughts on one issue or another, and to direct our own actions. Some fear that admitting we have free will amounts to denying causality, thereby rejecting the scientific worldview. After all, science has ably demonstrated that most things in reality function deterministically. Mechanistic theories of physics and chemistry, for example, work brilliantly because they are true; planets do not choose their orbits, and DNA molecules do not recombine out of delight in making life.
    But the idea of free will doesn’t deny causality or science, it just points out that for at least some of the things you do, you are the cause. We may not yet understand scientifically how the chemicals in the brain and nervous system give rise to this capacity, but science can no more explain away the fact of free will than the germ theory of disease could explain away diphtheria. Science doesn’t eliminate real features of existence, ones that we experience in every moment; it explains them.

     

    Mind and Body

    Free will is just one way in which the mind seems quite different from physical matter. The spiritual realm of thought, imagination, values, and aspirations seems far removed from the realm of material objects, physical forces, and biological need. Many philosophers have puzzled over questions such as whether a thought has weight or what the size of the mind is. One simple way to answer to these questions is to suppose that the mind is somehow radically distinct from the body: that there is a dichotomy between the two.

    In different forms, the mind-body dichotomy underlies many traditional ideas about human nature. Religious thinkers, for example, see the mind as an immortal soul that transcends the mortal husk of the body. They posit a spiritual life that is higher, freer, and better than material existence. This dichotomy has led to the tradition of asceticism, i.e., abusing the body for the sake of spiritual purity, and to the ideal of chastity, the experience of love unconnected to sex and the other lusts of the body. It also exists in secular forms, such as the division between reason and emotion symbolized by Star Trek’s unemotional Vulcans; the rational self is the mind, in this view, which must struggle to be free of the irrational passions that arise from our physical nature. In sum, it projects a view of man at war with himself, an angel imprisoned in the body of a beast, at once both Dr. Jekyll and Mister Hyde.

     

    Like many classical Greek philosophies,  including  Aristotelianism, Objectivism rejects this entire conception of man. There is a difference between the mind and body, to be sure, but no dichotomy or conflict. They are both aspects of human nature. We are living organisms, and all our faculties, mental as well as physical, work together to keep us alive.
    What we call the mind is the set of capacities to be aware, to perceive the world, to think about it, to feel, to value, to make choices. How do these capacities arise? In many respects, the answer to that question must come from science, not philosophy. But everything we know indicates that they are the product of biological evolution and that they depend on our physical sense organs and brain, as well as on the many other support structures that the body provides.
    What we call our spiritual needs, moreover, are not in conflict with our physical or biological needs. They are rooted in the same basic need to maintain our lives through purposeful action. Human beings lack sufficient instinctive drives to survive without thinking, learning, and making choices. Reason is our most important tool for survival. But it is a complex and highly demanding tool. According to Objectivism, our spiritual needs for values, principles, ideals, aesthetic experience, and love are requirements for the healthy functioning of a rational, volitional mode of cognition.

     

    In the course of life, we all encounter specific conflicts between our spiritual and our physical values (as well as conflicts within each category), but there is no inherent, global conflict between these aspects of our nature. Indeed, our most important activities serve the needs of body and soul, together. We live best when our reason and emotion are in harmony, for example. We know true love when we combine mental esteem with physical passion. Productive work is both a means of earning our daily bread and an expression of our creative powers.

     

    Natural vs. Supernatural

    The idea of exalting the spirit over the material existence of the body has long been tightly connected in religious thought to the idea that there exists some reality beyond the material world we know through our senses, a world our spirits long for as an escape from the needs of the body and the constraints of physical reality. In many traditions, this is a heaven, a place beyond all physical law to which the spirit can travel and in which many or even all things are possible. Many religions attribute this supernatural kind of existence, this existence beyond nature, to their God or gods.

    Objectivism holds that it is simply nonsense to speak of anything “supernatural”—literally beyond or above nature. The term “nature,” in the broadest sense, refers to the world we perceive, the world of objects that interact in accordance with causal law. If we discovered some dimension or universe that had radically different properties from the environment we live in, it would still be part of nature. If we could discover it or it could affect us, it would have some real, specific properties and would interact with our world in some way. However strange it might be, its characteristics could be compared in meaningful ways with things we already know, and it could be measured somehow. In fact, science has already explored some very weird and alien realms, as compared with the level of reality we see and hear. To pick just one example, light functions in ways so strange that we are not sure how to describe it: wave or particle? But even so, we know a tremendous amount about it, and use it to banish the night and communicate around the globe in the blink of an eye.

     

    The supernatural is supposed to be beyond human comprehension, to exist in no particular way, to affect our reality miraculously, beyond any and all physical laws. And indeed, supernaturalists make great hay out of the areas where science is silent either because the question is not really scientific or because the scientific jury is still out. It is as if they resent science for not yet explaining every single issue to their satisfaction, and yet insist that their most precious beliefs be immune to rational scrutiny.

     

    In effect, the supernaturalists want to have their cake and eat it too. They claim that gods, angels, and devils exist, but are not anything in particular. They hope to go to a heaven by some means, but not any specific means. And heaven must be a real place (some even say it is a lush garden stocked with virgins or a cheerful land in the clouds), but it isn’t anywhere real. The Buddhists even go so far as to deny that the realm beyond—nirvana—is any place at all. In fact, supernaturalism amounts to a brazen advocacy of contradictions. But, as  Ayn Rand pointed out over and over, contradictions can exist only in the human mind, not in reality as such. No fact is essentially contradictory.

     

    So there is no world beyond nature, nor any life beyond this one. But in contrast to the super naturalists’   view of nature as a vale of tears, an oppressive prison for the soul, Objectivism holds that we live in a “benevolent universe.” We are beings well-adapted to the real world in which we live, with the free will to carve our own path and the ability to achieve happiness and even exaltation. Reality does not watch out for us, and there is no reason to think any deity does so either. In fact, we must watch out for reality, as Ayn Rand recognized when she summed up her metaphysics with Francis Bacon’s dictum “Nature, to be commanded, must be obeyed.” But command nature we can, and this is what makes the universe essentially benevolent: It is propitious to beings like us.

    By William R Thomas

    Question: What is the Objectivist theory of knowledge (epistemology)?

    Answer:  Reason is the faculty which… identifies and integrates the material provided by man’s senses. Reason integrates man’s perceptions by means of forming abstractions or conceptions, thus raising man’s knowledge from the perceptual level, which he shares with animals, to the conceptual level, which he alone can reach. The method which reason employs in this process is logic—and logic is the art of non-contradictory identification.”
    Ayn Rand Faith and Force: The Destroyers of the Modern World,” in Philosophy, Who Needs It? p.

     

    Objectivism holds that all human knowledge is reached through reason, the human mental faculty of understanding the world abstractly and logically. Aristotle called man “the rational animal” because it is the faculty of reason that most distinguishes humans from other creatures. But we do not reason automatically. We are beings of free will and we are fallible. This is why we need the science of knowledge—epistemology—to teach us what knowledge is and how to achieve it.

     

    The basis of our knowledge is the awareness we have through our physical senses. We see reality, hear it, taste it, smell it, feel it through touch. As babies, we discover the world through our senses. As our mental abilities develop, we become able to recall memories and we can form images in our minds.

     

     Objectivism holds that all human knowledge is reached through reason.

    Other animals are also capable of perception and memory. What most obviously sets humans apart is our bountiful use of language. The difference is more fundamental, though: at root, language is a means of formulating and expressing abstract thoughts.

    Abstractions are ideas that correspond to an unlimited number of things at once. When you say or think “horse,” for example, your mind focuses on an idea—a concept— that refers to all the horses that ever have been or will be. Concepts allow us to consider the past and the future, things that are, things that might be, and even things that can’t be. Using concepts together, we can formulate general principles, like the laws of nature, that apply to many situations.

     

    The ability to grasp reality in the form of abstract concepts and principles is the essence of reason as a human capacity. But thinking abstractly is often a difficult process and each person must undertake it for himself in the solitude of his own mind. Because abstract thinking is not automatic, people can easily make mistakes and end up believing in false ideas. The only way to ensure the objectivity of one’s thinking is to use a deliberate logical method.

     

    Logic is the art of non-contradictory identification,” wrote Ayn Rand. Because there are no contradictions in reality,two ideas that contradict each other cannot both be true; and any idea that contradicts the facts we can observe through our senses is necessarily false. Logic gives us standards we can use to easily judge whether an argument makes sense. The scientific method is an advanced form of logical reasoning. Through it, reason has unlocked the secrets of nature and made our industrial civilization, with all its wealth and comforts, possible.

     

    Objectivists defend the efficacy of reason against all critics. Skeptics say that because we are fallible, we must doubt all our beliefs. But this claim is a self-contradiction: the skeptic is claiming certainty at least for his belief in our fallibility. Religious mystics often claim that God or the supernatural is so different from everything we know that it is beyond reason’s ability to understand. But since whatever exists has identity, i.e. definite and delimited properties, it is always possible to contrast it with other things, conceptualize it, establish standards of measurement, and thereby begin to reason about it. At a time when mathematicians explore the properties that even infinite spaces and processes must have, it underestimates the human mind to think it incapable of plumbing deep or complex phenomena.

     

    Anyone who claims insights that do not derive from sensory evidence and logical reasoning is, in effect, asking you to abuse your mind. Someone who claims, skeptically, that no real knowledge is possible is asking you to abandon your mind entirely. Objectivism holds that it is possible to be certain of a conclusion, and that there is such a thing as truth. But being certain depends on scrupulously following a logical, objective process of reasoning, because it is only that kind of thinking that allows us to formulate true ideas. To be objective, people must know how to define the terms they use (so they know what they mean), base their conclusions on observable facts (so their beliefs are anchored in reality) and employ the principles of logic (so that they can reliably reach sound conclusions).

     

    Question: What is the Objectivist position in morality (ethics)?

    Answer: 
    My morality, the morality of reason, is contained in a single axiom: existence exists—and in a single choice: to live. The rest proceeds from these. To live, man must hold three things as the ruling values of his life: Reason—Purpose—Self-esteem. Reason, as his only tool of knowledge—Purpose, as his choice of the happiness which that tool must proceed to achieve—Self-esteem, as his inviolate certainty that his mind is competent to think and his person is worthy of happiness, which means: worthy of living. These three values imply and require all of man’s virtues
    Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged.

    For thousands of years, people have been taught that goodness consists in serving others. “Love your brother as yourself” teach the Christian scriptures. “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need” preach the Marxists. Even the liberal Utilitarian philosophers, many of whom defended free market capitalism, taught that one should act always to attain “the greatest good for the greatest number.” The result of this code has been a bloody trail of wars and revolutions to enforce self-sacrifice, and an endless struggle in society to achieve equality among people.

     

    Meanwhile, like the barnyard revolutionaries of George Orwell’s Animal Farm, the advocates of uniformity and self-sacrifice strain to prove themselves “more equal than others,” so that they may determine how much love is enough, or what your ability is and what your needs should be. It seems loving our fellow man is a fine way to hate him.

     

    The Objectivist ethics rebuilds morality from the ground up. “You cannot say ‘I love you’ if you cannot say the ‘I’,” wrote Ayn Rand. According to Objectivism, a person’s own life and happiness is the ultimate good. To achieve happiness requires a morality of rational selfishness, one that does not give undeserved rewards to others and that does not ask them for oneself.

     

    Traditional moral codes have taught that social life is a war of dog-eat-dog and that people must restrain themselves through self-sacrifice and self-abnegation. “Live simply, that others may simply live,” is their slogan. It is a doctrine suited to a world of peasant villages and rapacious conquerors.

     

    Objectivism, on the other hand, was made for the era of industrial capitalism. It teaches what became plain as the West got rich: that a harmony of interests exists among rational individuals, so that no one’s benefit need come at the price of another’s suffering. Because one person’s happiness does not come at the expense of another’s, a life of mutual respect and benevolent independence is possible for all. It is the doctrine of “live and let live,” to the full and in every way.

     

     

     Because one person’s happiness does not come at the expense of another’s, a life of mutual respect and benevolent independence is possible for all.

    Now how can such a harmony of interests exist? Aren’t our interests really in conflict? Aren’t we each at the other’s throat? The answer is that human beings are not vampires, feeding on each other, nor need we live as hunter-gatherers, simply feeding on limited natural resources. Where animals graze the land, humans can cultivate it. The human mode of living is production: the creation of value from the raw materials around us. Human beings see a rock, and we invent tools, smelting techniques, stone buildings, steel girders, paved streets, and so on and on. We see a tree, and we make furniture, fuel, papers, books, construction materials, medicines, and so on and on. The application of reason to our problems allows us to create solutions. Thus we are not like dogs squabbling over meat or children sharing a pie; we are each creators, making new goods through our productive work, materially and morally.

     

    Material well-being is possible for everyone, and no one needs to make others poor to get rich. Consider the fact that the richest people in America are entrepreneurs who created products that millions of people were glad to use. And since knowledge, ideas, and other non-material goods can be shared as widely as need be, we are not in fundamental competition with others for our spiritual needs, either. So, because reason is our means of survival, we stand to benefit from every discovery others make, every image or story they share, and every dollar they earn by production and trade.

     

    Objectivism holds that the purpose of morality is to define a code of values in support of one’s own life, a human life. The values of Objectivism are the means to a happy life. They include such things as wealth, love, satisfaction in work, education, artistic inspiration, and much more. We choose many of our values, such as what work we enjoy and who are our friends and lovers. But we cannot choose the need for material goods or for friendship, if a happy life is what we seek. The ultimate choice open to us is whether we want life or not. Life is a choice we must make consciously and seriously, argues Rand, or else we may find that, by default, we have chosen the alternative: suffering and death.

     

    The cardinal values of Objectivism are Reason, Purpose, and Self. Reason, because it is our means of gaining knowledge, and, through production, our means of survival. Purpose, because each of us has free will and must direct himself toward chosen goals, through a chosen course of life. Self, because without self-esteem, a self-motivating being cannot find the means to continue. Just as one’s own needs lie at the heart of the Objectivist ethical code, so should respect for them lie at the heart of one’s values.

     

    The Objectivist ethics is a code that honors achievement and counsels the celebration, not the envy, of greatness. It honors the creativity not only of artists and scholars, but of the producers on whose shoulders civilization rests: industrialists and engineers, investors and inventors. It holds that any work is spiritual that is well and thoughtfully done, no matter what the scale of achievement, from the factory line worker to the corporate CEO, and from the most unknown clerk to the most celebrated movie star.

     

    The virtues of Objectivism, then, define principles of action that lead to the achievement of objective values, considered in the full context of human life. The key principle of the Objectivist ethics is rationality, as against mysticism and whim. The ethics is a code of benevolence and justice toward other people: holding evil-doers to account for their vices, but treating rational and productive people with good will and generosity. It entails integrity, allowing no breach between our principles and our actions. A rational being practices honesty, loving the truth more than deception; and he lives first-hand, on the basis of his own judgment and effort, so independence is a virtue. The Objectivist ethics places industry and productivity in one’s chosen work at the center of life’s concerns. It is the code of a person who holds his head up with pride, in an objective appreciation of his merits and in aspiration to improvement in the future.

     

    Traditional ethics contrast the image of man as an animal with the ideal of man as an otherworldly monk. Man is by nature a ravening beast, on this view, and he must be taught self-denial and self-sacrifice to be angelic and meek. Objectivism holds that man lives best as a trader, acting rationally for his own sake and dealing with others by exchanging value for value. Traditional ethics extol courage in the face of death as a virtue; Objectivism counsels integrity in the long-term pursuit of happiness. Traditional ethics extol charity as the mark of nobility; Objectivism extols productive achievement, because no one exists merely for the sake of others. It is an ethic for those who want all life has to offer, consistently, over the full course of life.

     

    By William R Thomas


    Question: What is the Objectivist view of law and government?

    Answer: “Capitalism is a social system based on the recognition of individual rights, including property rights, in which all property is privately owned. The recognition of individual rights entails the banishment of physical force from human relationships: basically, rights can be violated only by means of force. In a capitalist society, no man or group may initiate the use of physical force against others. The only function of government, in such a society, is the task of protecting man’s rights, i.e., the task of protecting him from physical force; the government acts as the agent of man’s right of self-defense, and may use force only in retaliation and only against those who initiate its use; thus the government is the means of placing the retaliatory use of force under objective control.” (Ayn Rand, “What is Capitalism?” Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal, poage 19)

    The Objectivist political theory has three main elements, all of which draw upon the classical liberal political tradition. First, the foundation of the political system should be the fundamental right to live free from physical force. Second, government has the strictly limited function of protecting rights. Third, government power should be exercised in accordance with objective laws. Capitalism is the politico-economic system implied by these principles.

     

    Individual Rights

    The Objectivist ethics holds that each person can live and flourish through the independent exercise of his rational mind. Economically, humans flourish through production and trade, as is evident from the fact that the freest countries are either the richest countries or are getting rich most quickly. Socially, trade is the model for how people can best deal with one another.

    Trade is voluntary exchange to mutual benefit. We trade money for the goods we need. But we form friendships and join clubs and associations as a kind of trade, too, investing our time, money, and energy in a relationship, for mutual enjoyment or the advancement of a shared cause. Independent people are traders because they give value for the values they receive from others. They do not mooch off of their friends and relatives, and they do not loot the resources of strangers.

     

    It is possible to live independently only if one is allowed to do so. One’s choices must be voluntary if they are to be freely made. Fundamentally, only the threat of deadly force can undermine one’s ability to reason and choose. Assault, murder, theft, fraud: All these are examples of the use of force to deprive someone of freedom, of goods, or even of life.

     

    Normally, one employs one’s mind to support one’s well being. The threat of force makes one accept someone else’s dictates, rather than one’s own judgment. This was the way the totalitarian systems such as Soviet Russia, Nazi Germany, or Maoist China treated their citizens, and that is why the effect of those systems was a gray, uniform style of life, faltering production, and periodic bouts of mass imprisonment and slaughter. Because force is a fundamental threat to the independent life of production and trade, there is one fundamental principle of social organization that a just society must secure: the principle that no one may initiate the use of physical force against any other.

     

    The principle of non-initiation of force does not prohibit its use in self-defense. Objectivism is not a pacifist philosophy. A trader does not seek to profit from the use of force, but he is able and willing to defend himself, his friends, and his goods if they are threatened or attacked. The pacifist is right to recognize that violence is not the best way for rational beings to deal with one another. But when the rational and good fail to defend themselves from those who attempt to live irrationally through force, they are surrendering all that is decent to all that is not. Those who choose the life of the animal, the life of tooth and claw, deserve a response in kind, if that is what will eliminate the threat.

     

    The individual rights to life, liberty, property, and the pursuit of happiness—mentioned in many American political documents—identify different dimensions of freedom and prohibit the corresponding types of force. “A ‘right’ is a moral principle defining and sanctioning a man’s freedom of action in a social context,” wrote Ayn Rand. “There is only one fundamental right (all others are its consequences or corollaries): a man’s right to his own life.” To live, one must be able to take action, by one’s own choice, in support of one’s life; that is the right to liberty. We are material beings, and so we need the freedom to keep the fruits of our labor and use or dispose of them as we see fit; that is the right to property. And we live as ourselves, for ourselves, so we have a right to pursue our own happiness.

     

    Limited Government

    The power of government is the power of the gun. It has the power to enforce a set of rules in the territory it controls, a power that is often turned against freedom. Objectivismtherefore advocates a strictly limited form of government: a republican system that has only those powers and takes only those actions required to secure our rights to freedom from force. There must be a military force for defense against external enemies. There must be a system of legislation and law courts to establish the law and to adjudicate disputes in which force might be used. And there must be a system of enforcement of the law such as the police, to make sure the law is a social rule, not empty words.

     

    No country today scrupulously respects rights, and indeed many people do not understand what rights really are. A limited, rights-respecting government would have no welfare system and no forced pension-paying system like Social Security in the U.S. It would not have agencies with open-ended and vaguely defined regulatory powers. There would be no anti-trust law, nor zoning laws, nor anti-drug laws. This does not mean that a free society would not have unemployment insurance or pensions, or that it would not have distinctive neighborhoods or public campaigns to reduce the use of dangerous narcotics. But if people wanted any of these things, they would have to organize and undertake them voluntarily, through individual contracts and free associations. And no one would have the right to enforce his preferences on someone else through violence. Free debate and rational persuasion would have to be the means a social organizer would use, and the result would be a system of freedom, in which each person would choose for himself the best course in life and would suffer or enjoy the consequences of his choices.

     

    Objective Law

    Civil law (primarily contracts, property, and torts) is government’s main positive service. Civil law provides objective, just, and peaceful means of resolving disputes among producers and traders. In so doing, it provides the context needed for reliable long-term planning and contracting, which in turn are necessary conditions for the prodigies of global capitalist production and the wonders and conveniences of modern life. Police and the armed services, by contrast, serve in a negative role: They protect citizens from threats by criminals and foreign aggressors. In both civil and criminal realms, law functions by providing clear standards for determining which actions and interactions among people are consistent with individual rights. Without these legal institutions, society collapses into warring camps; each interaction invites violent dispute; and life becomes more inconvenient, less productive, and more brutal—at best.

    Objectivity in the law is crucial to its function. The laws must be clearly expressed in terms of essential principles. The highly detailed, programmatic laws so common today violate this principle, as do the vague standards under which many regulations are issued. The law must be intelligible to the people on whom it is enforced. The law courts must be structured so that objectivity and impartiality are the hallmarks of any legal decision. And the law must always be grounded in principles of rights.

     

    Capitalism

    Thus capitalism is not merely a system of economic freedom, much less an economic system favoring big businesses. In its pure form, capitalism is a social system characterized by individual freedom, diversity, and dynamism. It is a system that treats people as individuals, with no ethnic, religious, or other collective principle enshrined in the law. It is the system under which each of us makes his own choices and must take responsibility for his own life and happiness. It is the system in which long-term peace and unbounded prosperity are possible, if people will work for them. As Ayn Randsaid, it is the system of separation of economy and state, just as there is separation of church and state, and for the same essential reason: because each person has a right to think and to live as his own conscience dictates, and because we all benefit from everyone having that freedom.

     

    Question: What does Objectivism consider to be art?

    Answer: “Art is a selective re-creation of reality according to an artist’s metaphysical value judgments. Man’s profound need of art lies in the fact that his cognitive faculty is conceptual, i.e., that he acquires knowledge by means of abstractions, and needs the power to bring his widest metaphysical abstractions into his immediate, perceptual awareness. Art fulfills this need: by means of a selective re-creation, it concretizes man’s fundamental view of himself and of existence. It tells man, in effect, which aspects of his experience are to be regarded as essential, significant, important.” (Ayn Rand, “Art and Cognition,” The Romantic Manifesto, p. 45)

     

    Just as language is distinctively human, so is art. Every human society has imagined and recreated its world in stories and music, in pictures and sculpture, and in derivative forms of art such as theater and dance.

     

    Many people think art is an indescribable, almost mystical aspect of human existence, that it is a self-contained realm, indefinable except in terms of itself. This has given license to those who want to turn making art into play, who say that art is anything one wants it to be and who reject objective standards for the arts. This view is standard fare among art promoters, philosophers of art, and many self-proclaimed artists. The result is that today the average person does not know what is art and what isn’t, and believes that the only basis for aesthetic preferences is subjective opinion and personal taste.

     

    The artist’s function is to interpret the world and present it as he or she re-envisions it.

     

    In fact, art is a distinctively human institution because it fulfills a vital need of human consciousness. And aesthetic issues can be analyzed objectively, like any aspect of reality.

     

    The Objectivist epistemology teaches that humans are conceptual beings. We are aware of the world directly and immediately through sense-perception, but we do much of our thinking at the conceptual level, using abstractions, language, and logic. Our concepts and theories have meaning only insofar as they are grounded in reality, but one cannot see a theory or feel an idea, nor can one perceive, in a single glance, all the facts of reality that validate a theory or idea. The wider and more fundamental the abstraction, the harder it is to experience it as having the reality of the concrete things we can see and feel in perception.

     

    The unique and vital function of art is to present, in concrete form, what is essentially an abstraction. We can use artistic techniques like pictorial representation or metaphor to show what an idea looks like; this is what a graph of economic growth does, for example. Art as such performs this function for the most fundamental abstractions: the elements of a worldview. And because a person’s worldview, his deepest values, are experienced most clearly in the emotional form of a sense of life (see FAQ “What is Philosophy?”), a work of art can touch the deepest places in us, feelings we often have trouble defining and making explicit.

     

    The different forms of art do this by re-creating reality, selectively representing things, sounds, or events either directly to the senses (as do pictures, sculpture, theater and cinema, music, and dance), or through the vividness of directed imagination (as with literature). The artist does the selecting, stylizing the scene or the world and presenting it in a certain light, with some things emphasized and others taken away. Journalistic and historical narratives, audiovisual recordings of an event, and museum displays are, like artworks, representations, but they are representations that attempt, in so far as possible, to convey the actual facts of a matter. The artist’s function, by contrast, is specifically to interpret the world and present it as he re-envisions it, using particular concrete elements to capture a deeper, more universal truth.

     

    An artwork must therefore be accessible to comprehension at the level of perception. It must be recognizably representative of something. A painting that presents a figure or scene is art. Paint splotches are not. A composition of recognizable tones is music. Random noise is not. A fictional narrative of sufficient length is a novel. A collection of sentences with no narrative structure is not. So it goes for every form of art: It must present something accessible to the senses, in the ways appropriate to connecting with those senses as forms of awareness.

     

    Saying that something is not art does not mean it is not a pleasant decoration, nor does it mean it is worthless. It simply means that it cannot be used for the function of concretizing our deepest values and experiencing directly the equivalent of a sense of life. For instance, because architecture has significant structural and functional obligations (a house must have a roof, bathrooms, kitchen, and so on), Ayn Rand concluded that it was not a pure form of art. Yet anyone who has read The Fountainheadknows how passionately she cared about the artistic dimension of architecture and what worth she attached to it.

     

    Part of what makes art “good” is the artist’s skill at capturing his worldview and essential concerns in his art. This has many aspects. It includes making an engaging and clear presentation, which requires drawing skill in the visual arts, for example, and talent with plot, character, and dialogue in drama and the novel. It also requires skill in organizing and integrating ideas. This is vital to choosing thematic elements of a work and for making it rich in symbolism and inner structure.

     

    Some of these are skills that make for good decoration and design. In this sense, works of design, such as a fine Persian carpet, can be lovely and well-made, even though they are not art. Many conventional accounts of aesthetics confuse decoration with art because they center aesthetics on the question of “what is beauty?” Objectivism regards this as a secondary issue, and because one’s idea of beauty is inevitably informed and affected by one’s sense of values, it is an issue that, like art in general, depends for its explanation on the fact that man needs philosophical principles.

     

    In addition to the artist’s skill, art can be judged in terms of its meaning. One may find a piece of work to be skillfully realized, yet be repulsed by what it says at the level of values and sense of life. This was Ayn Rand‘s reaction to Tolstoy’s novels. Similarly, one may be greatly pleased by an artist’s sense of life while not being entirely enamored of his skill in conveying it. This appears to have been Rand’s reaction to the detective novelist Mickey Spillane, for example.

     

    Ayn Randenvisioned a school of art called “Romantic Realism.” Romantic realist artists would, like Rand, combine a commitment to presenting believable scenes set in something like the real world with the ideals of a new romanticism, one that shaped scenes, melodies, and stories to present the essentially heroic character of man. In her own novels, Rand developed a style of “slanted realism” that wrapped rich characters around plots centered on key principles and ideas. Thus the world of her novels is not merely a report of the world as it is, but as it “might and could be

     

    ©2012 The Atlas Society. Washington DC Web Design by Gravitate.

    This article is the research result of Syed Imtiaz Bokhari