To Have Nought Is Ours

The Holdfast
by George Herbert

I threatnd to observe the strict decree
Of my deare God with all my power and might :
But I was told by one, it could not be ;
Yet I might trust in God to be my light.

Then will I trust, said I, in him alone.
Nay, ev’n to trust in him, was also his :
We must confesse, that nothing is our own.
Then I confesse that he my succour is :

But to have nought is ours, not to confesse
That we have nought. I stood amaz’d at this,
Much troubled, till I heard a friend expresse,
That all things were more ours by being his.
What Adam had, and forfeited for all,
Christ keepeth now, who cannot fail or fall.

Of Catamites and the Teaching of Texts

In class today we had a discussion of the following passage from Plato's Gorgias (494d-495a)

Callicles
What an odd person you are, Socrates—a regular stump-orator!
Socrates
Why, of course, Callicles, that is how I upset Polus and Gorgias, and struck them with bashfulness; but you, I know, will never be upset or abashed; you are such a manly fellow. Come, just answer that.
Callicles
Then I say that the man also who scratches himself will thus spend a pleasant life.
Socrates
And if a pleasant one, a happy one also?
Callicles
Certainly.
Socrates
Is it so if he only wants to scratch his head? Or what more am I to ask you? See, Callicles, what your answer will be, if you are asked everything in succession that links on to that statement; and the culmination of the case, as stated—the life of catamites—is not that awful, shameful, and wretched? Or will you dare to assert that these are happy if they can freely indulge their wants?
Callicles
Are you not ashamed, Socrates, to lead the discussion into such topics?
Socrates
What, is it I who am leading it there, noble sir, or the person who says outright that those who enjoy themselves, with whatever kind of enjoyment, are happy, and draws no distinction between the good and bad sorts of pleasure? But come, try again now and tell me whether you say that pleasant and good are the same thing, or that there is some pleasure which is not good.

It's very difficult to convey to students just how much of a face-slap Socrates' remark about catamites is. They had all read the passage, of course, but (and also of course) when I asked if they all knew what a catamite was, not one of them had a clue. This led, of course, to a long discussion that embarrassed most of my students, most of whom, despite their pretensions, have a more delicate sense of shame than I do. (My attitude is that of Reason in Jean de Meun's Romance of the Rose. At one point in the discussion, Reason talks about testicles and the Lover is shocked -- it's not something polite people do, and certainly not a ladylike thing for Lady Reason to do. Lady Reason, apparently irritated by this, launches into a speech -- but everyone launches into speeches in Jean de Meun's Roman -- about how God created testicles and she is the daughter of God, and therefore she has every right to talk about testicles if she sees fit.)

But it started me thinking about the primary difficulty in teaching texts to students. Here was a shocking thing to say, so shocking that the man beyond shame himself, Callicles, is shocked that Socrates would even bring it up. The attitude they should have had was to start up and say, "Whoa!" (or "Snap!" or give a low whistle). Callicles, as we say, got burned. But it just passed by: the students had just let it roll past their eyes without bothering to look up the word.

Part of this is translation; the difficulty of making a lively translation that is accurate is one of the most serious difficulties a translator has to face. There are plenty of lively texts that are killed by a competent but lifeless translation: the greatest treason of translation, perhaps. Part of it is perhaps context. People don't read things for school as if they would be lively: and if you don't expect it at all, you're likely not to see it. Possibly this is due to the fact that they are required to read it, but I think the real reason is that people simply don't think that things read for school should be lively, so they read them in the least lively way possible.

From what my students have said in the past, I think most of them would say that the problem was the "language". I'm not sure that this is so. For one thing, English, as it is usually found in easily intelligible conversation, is not, in fact, a very lively language. It has its beauties, but it is largely very pedestrian and bland, a language for greengrocers and supermarkets. And liveliness is really conveyed by the meaning. If you have a basic understanding of what a kinaidos was, you can see why Callicles was shocked when Socrates said his view put forward the life of one as ideal, and you can see that Socrates is not pulling his punches. A very lively exchange, however it is written up, can read as lively or dull depending entirely on how you approach it.

It's clear enough that one of the important things when teaching texts is to bring out to students just how vivid and lively they are (if they are), because this is what captures the student's interest enough to cause them to go farther. But it's a tricky thing to do. You can stop at every point and explain it, but this often has much the same effect as trying to show that a book is funny by stopping to explain the punchline of every joke: it's not that it can't work, but that it's only going to work if they already have some sense of the funniness of the text. It seems a bad thing to say that one teaches by hit-or-miss methods, but I really can't think of any approaches that aren't, in fact, very hit-or-miss. And what seems to work sometimes doesn't really do so: there's always that serious danger of capturing the students' interest, but in such a way that you've drawn their interest not to features of the text but rather to features of your entertaining way of talking about it. Interested students are better than bored students, but students interested in what zany thing you are going to entertain them with are not necessarily the same as students interested in what you are teaching.

It's a conundrum. I don't see how to get around it. And perhaps it's insoluble. But what do you think?

Propositional Logic with Literal Diagrams

Propositional logic is often taught as if the only ways to test groups of statement in propositional logic for consistency were truth tables and truth trees. But we can also easily handle simple statements with Lewis Carroll's literal diagrams, in a way that is far more clear than either truth tables or truth trees.

A literal diagram is a diagram that recognizes combinations of terms. The standard biliteral diagram looks something like this, with the boxes given labels:

That is, we have one letter (p) on the left, with its negative complement (not-p) on the right; and one letter (q) on the top, with its negative complement (not-q) on the bottom. In propositional logic this is understood to represent possible ways the whole domain can be, given the truth or falsehood (-) of two propositions, which we label 'p' and 'q'. Information about p and q 'black out' possible ways the world could be given that information; we can represent this on the diagram by X'ing out the relevant box. With this insight we can easily represent all the propositional connectives:

This is the biliteral diagram for the conjunction, also known as p & q.

This is the biliteral diagram for the disjunction, also known as p v q.

The biconditional, p ↔ q.

The conditional, p → q. [NOTE: This is actually an erroneous diagram; the X should be in the lower left rather than the upper right. This diagram is actually the diagram for q → p.]





Now, take the following set of sentences: p ↔ q, p, -q. The result is a world blackout, i.e., the conclusion that there is no possible way for the world to be given these three statements together:

p blacks out the -p+q and -p-q boxes; -q would black out out +p+q (and -p+q, but p already blacks it out). This only leaves +p-q. But this (along with the redundant -p+q again) is blacked out by p ↔ q. World blackout: the statements taken together are inconsistent.

Another example. The statements (p v -q), (-p), and (-p & q) lead to world blackout as well. -p blacks out +p+q and +p-q. -p & q blacks out all except -p+q. But -p+q is precisely what (p v -q) blacks out.

Diagrams with world blackouts always indicate inconsistent statements; diagrams with at least one space open are consistent. It's also easy to do two other useful things with literal diagrams.

(1) We can easily tell whether two statements are truth-functionally equivalent, by seeing whether they are diagrammed the same way. If they are, they are equivalent.

(2) We can easily tell that statement B is not implied by statement A by diagramming them and determining whether B is part of A. If B, for instance, has information not contained in A, then it is not implied by it. If, on the other hand, B's diagram is nothing more than part of A's diagram, A implies B. (In effect doing these comparisons is like making a higher-order diagramming showing A ↔ B or A → B, whichever is being considered, and whatever A and B might be.)

Of course, it is no mystery why literal diagramming works in this case; the literal diagram, interpreted for propositional logic, is logically equivalent to a truth table. We can think of them as truth diagrams. The advantage to working with them is that they make explicit and visual the concepts of inconsistency, equivalence, and implication. Their only disadvantage in comparison with standard truth tables, actually, is that they quickly become unwieldy as you multiply the number of propositions you work with. But one can easily imagine beginning with truth diagrams and using them to introduce truth tables.

I've noted this before, but I'm intending over the next few weeks to expand a bit on this; so this is a recap before I get to those other posts.

That Philosopher Who Loves the Original and Formless Light

“You are wrong,” said the Secretary, drawing his black brows together. “The knife was merely the expression of the old personal quarrel with a personal tyrant. Dynamite is not only our best tool, but our best symbol. It is as perfect a symbol of us as is incense of the prayers of the Christians. It expands; it only destroys because it broadens; even so, thought only destroys because it broadens. A man’s brain is a bomb,” he cried out, loosening suddenly his strange passion and striking his own skull with violence. “My brain feels like a bomb, night and day. It must expand! It must expand! A man’s brain must expand, if it breaks up the universe.”

***

As Syme strode along the corridor he saw the Secretary standing at the top of a great flight of stairs. The man had never looked so noble. He was draped in a long robe of starless black, down the centre of which fell a band or broad stripe of pure white, like a single shaft of light. The whole looked like some very severe ecclesiastical vestment. There was no need for Syme to search his memory or the Bible in order to remember that the first day of creation marked the mere creation of light out of darkness. The vestment itself would alone have suggested the symbol; and Syme felt also how perfectly this pattern of pure white and black expressed the soul of the pale and austere Secretary, with his inhuman veracity and his cold frenzy, which made him so easily make war on the anarchists, and yet so easily pass for one of them. Syme was scarcely surprised to notice that, amid all the ease and hospitality of their new surroundings, this man’s eyes were still stern. No smell of ale or orchards could make the Secretary cease to ask a reasonable question.

From The Man Who Was Thursday, of course.

Not Philosophers Indeed

Behold, however, others, not philosophers indeed, but men of ready power in disputation, who affirm that all men are happy who live according to their own will. But this is certainly untrue, for to wish that which is unbecoming is itself a most miserable thing; nor is it so miserable a thing to fail in obtaining what you wish as to wish to obtain what you ought not to desire.

Another quotation Augustine gives us from Cicero's Hortensius, this time from a letter to Proba. Augustine's comment on it:

What is your opinion? Are not these words, by whomsoever they are spoken, derived from the Truth itself? We may therefore here say what the apostle said of a certain Cretan poet whose sentiment had pleased him: “This witness is true.”

And, indeed, Augustine seems to have been very pleaed with this passage; he quotes it in the De Trinitate (XIII.8) as well with equal insistence on its truth. His comment there is also worth reproducing:

But when Cicero, too, had propounded this in opposition to himself, he so refuted it as to make them blush who thought so. For he says: "But, behold! people who are not indeed philosophers, but who yet are prompt to dispute, say that all are blessed, whoever live as they will;" which is what we mean by, as pleases each. But by and by he has subjoined: "But this is indeed false. For to will what is not fitting, is itself most miserable; neither is it so miserable not to obtain what one wills, as to will to obtain what one ought not." Most excellently and altogether most truly does he speak. For who can be so blind in his mind, so alienated from all light of decency, and wrapped up in the darkness of indecency, as to call him blessed, because he lives as he will, who lives wickedly and disgracefully; and with no one restraining him, no one punishing, and no one daring even to blame him, nay more, too, with most people praising him, since, as divine Scripture says, "The wicked is praised in his heart's desire: and he who works iniquity is blessed," gratifies all his most criminal and flagitious desires; when, doubtless, although even so he would be wretched, yet he would be less wretched, if he could have had nothing of those things which he had wrongly willed? For every one is made wretched by a wicked will also, even though it stop short with will but more wretched by the power by which the longing of a wicked will is fulfilled. And, therefore, since it is true that all men will to be blessed, and that they seek for this one thing with the most ardent love, and on account of this seek everything which they do seek; nor can any one love that of which he does not know at all what or of what sort it is, nor can be ignorant what that is which he knows that he wills; it follows that all know a blessed life. But all that are blessed have what they will, although not all who have what they will are forewith blessed. But they are forewith wretched, who either have not what they will, or have that which they do not rightly will. Therefore he only is a blessed man, who both has all things which he wills, and wills nothing ill.

Taking Courage to Renew the Battle

Now, if slavery had been a good thing, would the Fathers of the Republic have taken a step calculated to diminish its beneficent influences among themselves, and snatch the boon wholly from their posterity? These communities, by their representatives in old Independence Hall, said to the whole world of men: "We hold these truths to be self evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." This was their majestic interpretation of the economy of the Universe. This was their lofty, and wise, and noble understanding of the justice of the Creator to His creatures. Yes, gentlemen, to all His creatures, to the whole great family of man.

In their enlightened belief, nothing stamped with the Divine image and likeness was sent into the world to be trodden on, and degraded, and imbruted by its fellows. They grasped not only the whole race of man then living, but they reached forward and seized upon the farthest posterity. They erected a beacon to guide their children and their children's children, and the countless myriads who should inhabit the earth in other ages. Wise statesmen as they were, they knew the tendency of prosperity to breed tyrants, and so they established these great self-evident truths, that when in the distant future some man, some faction, some interest, should set up the doctrine that none but rich men, or none but white men, were entitled to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, their posterity might look up again to the Declaration of Independence and take courage to renew the battle which their fathers began—so that truth, and justice, and mercy, and all the humane and Christian virtues might not be extinguished from the land; so that no man would hereafter dare to limit and circumscribe the great principles on which the temple of liberty was being built.

Abraham Lincoln in a speech at Beardstown on August 17, 1858.

In Reason and in the Desire of Inquiry

While, then, we consider these things night and day, and sharpen our understanding, which is the eye of the mind, taking care that it be not ever dulled, that is, while we live in philosophy; we, I say, in so doing, have great hope that, if, on the one hand, this sentiment and wisdom of ours is mortal and perishable, we shall still, when we have discharged our human offices, have a pleasant setting, and a not painful extinction, and as it were a rest from life: or if, on the other, as ancient philosophers thought—and those, too, the greatest and far the most celebrated—we have souls eternal and divine, then must we needs think, that the more these shall have always kept in their own proper course, i.e. in reason and in the desire of inquiry, and the less they shall have mixed and entangled themselves in the vices and errors of men, the more easy ascent and return they will have to heaven....Wherefore, to end my discourse at last, if we wish either for a tranquil extinction, after living in the pursuit of these subjects, or if to migrate without delay from this present home to another in no little measure better, we must bestow all our labor and care upon these pursuits.

Cicero's Hortensius, again, this time as quoted in De Trinitate XIV.26. Augustine apparently quotes the Hortensius eleven times; I am told that five of these are fairly extended passages. Two of them I've quoted here, while a third from the De Trinitate is on its way. I'm interested in where the other two (or perhaps one, because the third passage I'll be putting up is quoted in two different places, and I don't know if it counts as two or as one) are, if anyone knows them off the top of their heads or has the locations within easy reach of their fingertips. Otherwise, I'll be searching for them, to put them up to.

Beati Cognitione Naturae et Scientia

If we were allowed, when we migrated from this life, to live forever in the islands of the blessed, as fables tell, what need were there of eloquence when there would be no trials, or what need, indeed, of the very virtues themselves? For we should not need fortitude when nothing of either toil or danger was proposed to us; nor justice, when there was nothing of anybody else's to be coveted; nor temperance, to govern lasts that would not exist; nor, indeed, should we need prudence, when there was no choice offered between good and evil. We should be blessed, therefore, solely by learning and knowing nature, by which alone also the life of the gods is praiseworthy. And hence we may perceive that everything else is a matter of necessity, but this is one of free choice.

This is from Cicero's Hortensius. The Hortensius is unfortunately one of the works of Cicero that has not survived, but St. Augustine was influenced by it and preserved some quotations. The above quotation is found in De Trinitate XIV.12. The Latin is:

Si nobis, inquit, cum ex hac uita migrauerimus, in beatorum insulis immortale aeuum, ut fabulae ferunt, degere liceret, quid opus esset eloquentia, cum iudicia nulla fierent; aut ipsis etiam uirtutibus? Nec enim fortitudine egeremus, nullo proposito aut labore aut periculo; nec iustitia, cum esset nihil quod appeteretur alieni; nec temperantia, quae regeret eas quae nullae essent libidines; nec prudentia quidem egeremus, nullo delectu proposito bonorum et malorum. Vna igitur essemus beati cognitione naturae et scientia, qua sola etiam deorum est uita laudanda. Ex quo intellegi potest, cetera necessitatis esse, unum hoc uoluntatis.

That's Leadership

(ht)

Notes and Links

* There has been some recent discussion of theodicy and the problem of evil on blogs, largely outside of the professional philosophical blogosphere; much of it has been interesting. Some of the notable posts and discussions:

Theodicy (bill's comments)
Evil, Still a Problem, Apparently
The Logical Problem of Evil? (Gypsy Scholar)
theodicy redux! (BigHominid's Hairy Chasms)
Free Will Defense Insufficient? (Gypsy Scholar)

As Hodges notes, very few philosophers of religion today think that the logical problem of evil is well-grounded, for the simple reason that constant trying has turned up nothing promising. Trying to establish that it is a contradiction for God and evil both to exist is tricky business at the very least; when you go to try to show it, you end up mired in all sorts of complicated problems. Showing the contradiction requires rigorous definitions and clear logical moves; every proposal so far has fairly easily been shown to have problems, the number of possible scenarios that have to be considered in order to eliminate potential counterexamples is extraordinarily vast, and reasons have been given for thinking it likely that any plausible proposal along these lines will fail, even if only due to potential ambiguities in the terms. Most philosophers of religion think that the evidential version of the problem has bite, however. (My own view is that the problem of evil, in any form, by its very nature is a weak ground at best for arguing that God doesn't exist, for much the same reason that apparent design is by its nature a weak ground for arguing that God does exist; and despite its popularity is, in fact, not the most promising line for an atheist to take, both for structural reasons and because it is necessarily an argument on the theist's own territory. And I think there is less of a sharp distinction between logical and evidential arguments than most people seem to assume: every logical version has a corresponding evidential version and vice versa, although, because they are evaluated by different standards -- the logical arguments by whether they actually generate a logical contradiction of the right sort, the evidential arguments by whether they actually disconfirm in the right way -- there are some important asymmetries between the two.)

* John Wilkins had an interesting little philosophical experiment in which he argues that some theistic position is compatible with scientific practice and principle, the point not being to show that every theistic position is so, nor even necessarily that any theistic position that is widely held (or held at all) is so, but instead that there is at least a minimal theism, clearly recognizable as theism, that is compatible with science. That's a pretty weak claim, but it's interesting that some people still refuse to move even that far. (I set aside the people who just can't see why one would be interested in the structure and logical relations of positions that might not even be held by anyone. There are obvious real-world uses, if that's what they mean; it's extremely valuable to know in order to diagnose real-world arguments properly, for instance. But perhaps appreciating the structure of positions on their own, and their structural relations with other positions, is itself the sort of thing only the philosophically minded have a taste for doing.) I think both scientists (whether theistic or not) and theists have more options available to them than Wilkins considers, but it's an interesting exploration, and the sort of thing people should do more of.
Random Thoughts about God and Evolution
The Problem of Foreknowledge
Consequences of Theistic Evolution

* Catholic bishops in Germany are beginning to be mired in financial scandals.

* Discussion of the future of Hinduism.

* North American Dialect Survey

* I once thought of writing a science fiction story -- it would have been called "Spirit" -- about an escaped robot that read the complete works of Thomas Aquinas, concluded on the basis of the arguments in the text that it was a person with an immortal soul and was made in the image of God, and was destroyed by its makers because of it, a sort of AI martyr. I've always suspected that there probably are a lot of stories floating around out there that have variations on this sort of theme (and Asimov's classic tale, "I, Robot," is in the vicinity, although, of course, Asimov has no sympathies, and expects his readers to have no sympathies, with QT-1). So I'm interested in reading Randall Garrett's Unwise Child, which came up in a post at "The Sci Fi Catholic". The writing doesn't seem especially great, but it is, in effect, an Asimov Three Laws story in which theology introduces new complications into the robot's malfunctions.