Scrawled out in various places; somewhat different from my usual scribbles.
Commonplace Things
The light lies softly on my eyes,
then dies;
broken upon a battered wheel,
tidal pulses that I feel,
the light lies softly on my eyes.
Touch is but a taste and then
the sons of men
leap up at little whispers;
and, as for vespers,
touch is but a taste of then.
The sweet of light is softly thrown
with gentle moan
across a tree that, lying, lies,
where the tree, in dying, dies,
the sweet of light its softest throne.
The child is made by folk and sun,
the little one
is flesh and lighted heat;
from head to dusty feet,
the child is made by folk and sun.
Thought
My thoughts are pendant in a void
dewdrops suspended on the air
before they splash the ground,
planets spinning in their space
around a spinning sun.
A gleam of light through crystal glows,
a rainbow leaps, unbodied,
a newborn spirit in the light.
My thought is in that promise,
the moment before the rainbow's birth.
Winter Sunset
the light is rosy pale
the sun swings low
the moon has raised her head
a trifle early today
my fingers are numbed
by cold that makes my breath
billow out clouds
like a dragon's sign
all is pure and good
not made for man
but pure and good
and man can live
with things not made for man
Saturday, February 05, 2005
A Brief Explanation of the Lullian Argument
I recently put up the following argument by Ramon Lull, framed in the mechanism of his Art:
[ A A | being perfection | nonbeing imperfection | S V | Y Z ]
The Lullian Art is sometimes called a 'formal logic', but this is not strictly true. A formal logic, in our sense, is usually a literal calculus, i.e., a set of operations on variables identified by letters. Lull's work is not like this at all. It would be closer to think of it as akin to musical notation. [ S V | Y Z ] serves as a sort of key signature for the argument, and the goal of the Art is to optimize the harmony of concepts. So we are trying to find the greatest possible consonance among our fundamental dignitates, or key principles (which in the Lullian Art are things like Goodness and Greatness). S represents the soul, the person who is actually engaging in the argument, remembering (being mindful of, keeping in mind), understanding, and willing; V indicates virtue or vice in these activities. Y and Z represent truth and falsity, respectively. [ A A ] indicates the question whose answer we are trying to find; in this case, Does God exist?
The way the argument proceeds, put very briefly, is by comparison and contrast of being and nonbeing on the one hand with perfection and imperfection on the other, to see which is the true consonance and which is the false. It is, in other words, the Lullian version of an ontological argument.
[ A A | being perfection | nonbeing imperfection | S V | Y Z ]
The Lullian Art is sometimes called a 'formal logic', but this is not strictly true. A formal logic, in our sense, is usually a literal calculus, i.e., a set of operations on variables identified by letters. Lull's work is not like this at all. It would be closer to think of it as akin to musical notation. [ S V | Y Z ] serves as a sort of key signature for the argument, and the goal of the Art is to optimize the harmony of concepts. So we are trying to find the greatest possible consonance among our fundamental dignitates, or key principles (which in the Lullian Art are things like Goodness and Greatness). S represents the soul, the person who is actually engaging in the argument, remembering (being mindful of, keeping in mind), understanding, and willing; V indicates virtue or vice in these activities. Y and Z represent truth and falsity, respectively. [ A A ] indicates the question whose answer we are trying to find; in this case, Does God exist?
The way the argument proceeds, put very briefly, is by comparison and contrast of being and nonbeing on the one hand with perfection and imperfection on the other, to see which is the true consonance and which is the false. It is, in other words, the Lullian version of an ontological argument.
Readworthy
* Religious Experiences at "Philosophy, et cetera"
* Two Senses of 'Analytic' at "The Conservative Philosopher"
* On Prayer--Fluency Comes With Practice at "Flos Carmeli"
* The Cognitive Science of Art: Beauty and the Brain at "Mixing Memory"
* Jazz for beginners at "Inkless Wells" (Hat-tip: A Journey Through Time.)
* "Science and Politics" has a post with links on Ernst Mayr's death Thursday. He was 100 years old.
* The Mechanisms of the Slippery Slope (PDF) by Eugene Volokh; see also this post at "The Volokh Conspiracy".
* Two Senses of 'Analytic' at "The Conservative Philosopher"
* On Prayer--Fluency Comes With Practice at "Flos Carmeli"
* The Cognitive Science of Art: Beauty and the Brain at "Mixing Memory"
* Jazz for beginners at "Inkless Wells" (Hat-tip: A Journey Through Time.)
* "Science and Politics" has a post with links on Ernst Mayr's death Thursday. He was 100 years old.
* The Mechanisms of the Slippery Slope (PDF) by Eugene Volokh; see also this post at "The Volokh Conspiracy".
Friday, February 04, 2005
Omnium
"Is it about a bicycle?" he asked.
His expression when I encountered it was unexpectedly reassuring. His face was gross and far from beautiful but he had modified and assembled his various unpleasant features in some skilful way so that they expressed to me good nature, politeness and infinite patience. In the front of his peaked official cap was an important-looking badge and over it in golden letters was the word SERGEANT. It was Sergeant Pluck himself.
"No," I answered, stretching forth my hand to lean with it against the counter. The Sergeant looked at me incredulously.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Certain."
"Not about a motor-cycle?"
"No."
"One with overhead valves and a dynamo for light? Or with racing handle-bars?"
"No."
"In that circumstantial eventuality there can be no question of a motor-bicycle," he said. He looked surprised and puzzled and leaned sideways on the counter on the prop of his left elbow, putting the knuckles of his right hand between his yellow teeth and raising three enormous wrinkles of perplexity on his forehead. I decided now that he was a simple man and that I would have no difficulty in dealing with him exactly as I desired and finding out from him what had happened to the black box. I did not understand clearly the reason for his questions about bicycles but I made up my mind to answer everything carefully, to bide my time and to be cunning in all my dealings with him. He moved away abstractedly, came back and handed me a bundle of differently-coloured papers which looked like application forms for bull-licences and dog-licences and the like.
"It would be no harm if you filled up these forms," he said. "Tell me," he continued, "would it be true that you are an itinerant dentist and that you came on a tricycle?"
"It would not," I replied.
"On a patent tandem?"
"No."
"Dentists are an unpredictable coterie of people," he said. "Do you tell me it was a velocipede or a penny-farthing?"
"I do not," I said evenly. He gave me a long searching look as if to see whether I was serious in what I was saying, again wrinkling up his brow.
"Then maybe you are no dentist at all," he said, "but only a man after a dog licence or papers for a bull?"
"I did not say I was a dentist," I said sharply, "and I did not say anything about a bull."
The Sergeant looked at me incredulously.
"That is a great curiosity," he said, "a very difficult piece of puzzledom, a snorter."
--From Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman (a great bit of reading if you have a taste for the absurd).
His expression when I encountered it was unexpectedly reassuring. His face was gross and far from beautiful but he had modified and assembled his various unpleasant features in some skilful way so that they expressed to me good nature, politeness and infinite patience. In the front of his peaked official cap was an important-looking badge and over it in golden letters was the word SERGEANT. It was Sergeant Pluck himself.
"No," I answered, stretching forth my hand to lean with it against the counter. The Sergeant looked at me incredulously.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Certain."
"Not about a motor-cycle?"
"No."
"One with overhead valves and a dynamo for light? Or with racing handle-bars?"
"No."
"In that circumstantial eventuality there can be no question of a motor-bicycle," he said. He looked surprised and puzzled and leaned sideways on the counter on the prop of his left elbow, putting the knuckles of his right hand between his yellow teeth and raising three enormous wrinkles of perplexity on his forehead. I decided now that he was a simple man and that I would have no difficulty in dealing with him exactly as I desired and finding out from him what had happened to the black box. I did not understand clearly the reason for his questions about bicycles but I made up my mind to answer everything carefully, to bide my time and to be cunning in all my dealings with him. He moved away abstractedly, came back and handed me a bundle of differently-coloured papers which looked like application forms for bull-licences and dog-licences and the like.
"It would be no harm if you filled up these forms," he said. "Tell me," he continued, "would it be true that you are an itinerant dentist and that you came on a tricycle?"
"It would not," I replied.
"On a patent tandem?"
"No."
"Dentists are an unpredictable coterie of people," he said. "Do you tell me it was a velocipede or a penny-farthing?"
"I do not," I said evenly. He gave me a long searching look as if to see whether I was serious in what I was saying, again wrinkling up his brow.
"Then maybe you are no dentist at all," he said, "but only a man after a dog licence or papers for a bull?"
"I did not say I was a dentist," I said sharply, "and I did not say anything about a bull."
The Sergeant looked at me incredulously.
"That is a great curiosity," he said, "a very difficult piece of puzzledom, a snorter."
--From Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman (a great bit of reading if you have a taste for the absurd).
The Second History Carnival
The second History Carnival is up at Cliopatria. I didn't submit anything, but I probably will for the next one, if I can find the time. I want to write a post on Ottobah Cugoano's responses to Hume. We'll see if I get around to that any time soon. In any case, there are lots of great things there; go see.
Buddhism and Religion
There's some interesting discussion of whether Buddhism is a religion:
* Buddha, Stoicism, and Epicureanism at "Dangerous Idea"
* Is Buddhism a Religion?, a reply at "The Maverick Philosopher"
* Buddhism: a Religion and more on Buddhism-as-religion at "BigHominid's Hairy Chasms" (For those who prefer not to deal with such things, the site itself is fairly racy, so be forewarned.)
And, independently, on related issues:
* Buddhism without Beliefs at "Practical Dharma"
* The Jewel in the Torah at "the fourth rabbi"
While I primarily do Christian philosophy of religion (for obvious reasons), I do have an interest in others - Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, or what have you. And it often has relevance, anyway. For instance, the question of whether state Confucianism was a religion or instead a highly ritualized system of civic participation was a question of immense importance for Christian missionaries in the early modern period (the Chinese Rites Controversy -- as always, take the Wikipedia with a grain of salt; but it gives the gist).
* Buddha, Stoicism, and Epicureanism at "Dangerous Idea"
* Is Buddhism a Religion?, a reply at "The Maverick Philosopher"
* Buddhism: a Religion and more on Buddhism-as-religion at "BigHominid's Hairy Chasms" (For those who prefer not to deal with such things, the site itself is fairly racy, so be forewarned.)
And, independently, on related issues:
* Buddhism without Beliefs at "Practical Dharma"
* The Jewel in the Torah at "the fourth rabbi"
While I primarily do Christian philosophy of religion (for obvious reasons), I do have an interest in others - Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, or what have you. And it often has relevance, anyway. For instance, the question of whether state Confucianism was a religion or instead a highly ritualized system of civic participation was a question of immense importance for Christian missionaries in the early modern period (the Chinese Rites Controversy -- as always, take the Wikipedia with a grain of salt; but it gives the gist).
In Which Georges Rey Makes a Pretense at Saying Something Constructive
I had originally intended to put up the second part of "The Lotus" today; I had to come to campus anyway to return some library books. However, I was feeling rather wilted (due to this cold) before I started out, so I left it at home, assuming I wouldn't be in any condition to type it up. However, once I was here I felt a great deal better. Whoops. So that will have to be put up this weekend. In any case, I don't know whether this is the actual recovery or an interlude before another wilting. We'll see what I manage to get done today.
I came across this (old) lecture by Rey via Richard's sideblog. It is a quasi-argument for saying that most people do not actually believe God exists but only make a pretense at doing so. I say 'quasi-argument' because it doesn't actually argue this (as Rey himself appears to recognize), but rather just lists a few 'peculiarities' of religious belief that seem to him to suggest it. I'll just list my responses to his numbered points (for the context, see the lecture).
1) But we do. Can anyone seriously think that Jews, Muslims, and Christians write zillions and zillions of books of theology and never at any time discuss details? Indeed, isn't the bigger problem not that there's 'detail resistance' but that there's a tendency to jump to conclusions about the details?--Actually, I know exactly what is going on here; and it isn't about 'detail resistance'. What Rey wants is a mechanism, in some undefined sense; and his complaint is that theism doesn't provide one. But the question at hand is whether theists really believe that God exists; and it isn't clear how this is supposed to bear on that issue, which brings us to the next point.
2) If (1) fails, so does this one. But even if (1) were right, it needs this one in order to be relevant to the subject; and this is merely vaguely suggestive, and nothing more. After all, it is as silly to demand details about many common things that do, in fact, happen; for example, it would be silly to demand details like (for instance) the precise steps I took in order to reach the campus today, when all one actually needs to know is that I walked here.
3) This presumes that all traditional arguments for the existence of God fail. I look forward to Rey's rigorous refutation of them all. More seriously, however, he has lost track of what he was trying to do. His argument is that theists (for the most part) only pretend to believe God exists. But the fact that they present anecdotal evidence (whether or not Rey considers it of a sort that is 'unreliable and subject to a multitude of alternative explanations') is itself prima facie reason to think they do really believe it. And, further, even if Rey considers it 'unreliable and subject to a multitude of alternative explanations', the question that is relevant for Rey's argument is whether the theists in question do.
4) 'Mystery' is not a synonym for 'ignorance' in a theological context. But again, the question is not whether Rey finds it a reason, but whether theists do.
5) Again, Rey is losing sight of his point; the question relevant to whether theists actually believe what they claim to believe is not whether people like Rey find things like vicarious atonement appropriate, but whether theists do.
6) If I have a very close friend that I know will be leaving me for a very long time to do something somewhere else, and believe that this something is what is best for her, does that mean I won't be sad? If I am sad, does that mean I really don't believe that it is what is best for her? -- This whole issue of reactions not clearly reflecting belief is a somewhat interesting one. Here in Toronto there is a tall structure called the CN Tower, which has a glass floor at 1,122 feet. The floor is constructed so that it can easily hold your weight. But, no matter how clearly you believe this, managing your physical reactions so that you can actually stroll across it without any difficulty is an entirely different matter. And in morals it has always been a commonplace that the relation between belief and action is very, very, very tricky. There is no reasonable argument whatsoever that, if we really believed that x, we would always act as if x is true, unless we are putting some sort of weird emphasis on the 'really' that needs to be explained. And even if there were, we would need to have a clearer notion of 'acting as if x is true', which is not as straightforward a notion as it sounds.
7) This is all a complete garbling, an even more serious one than the 'mystery' case, as any look at either Aquinas or Luther or any other such person on belief should show. But even if it weren't, this is a question of beliefs about the nature of belief, and doesn't necessarily bear on the issue of whether theists really believe or not.
8) Again, Rey seems to be losing sight of his point, since none of this shows that theists do not really believe that God exists. (What Rey intends here is very vague. He has not shown that people who project do not believe that the property they are projecting is objective. Indeed, his characterization of projection suggests the exact opposite.)
Rey's quasi-argument is something of a very odd one. The idea seems to be that no reasonable person can believe that God exists, but he seems to want to allow that some theists are reasonable people. However, his way of allowing this is to hold that all these reasonable people are marked out by what would have to be a very unreasonable set of beliefs (very unreasonable if some of Rey's characterizations were accurate) about what they actually believe. And his argument, or quasi-argument, doesn't even tend in that direction; since most of his points have to do with whether or not believing God exists is reasonable, not whether theists generally do actually believe that God exists.
On the issue of theistic belief, a much better work would be H. H. Price's Belief, which actually looks at real issues of belief in a serious way. Also good is Newman's An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent.
I came across this (old) lecture by Rey via Richard's sideblog. It is a quasi-argument for saying that most people do not actually believe God exists but only make a pretense at doing so. I say 'quasi-argument' because it doesn't actually argue this (as Rey himself appears to recognize), but rather just lists a few 'peculiarities' of religious belief that seem to him to suggest it. I'll just list my responses to his numbered points (for the context, see the lecture).
1) But we do. Can anyone seriously think that Jews, Muslims, and Christians write zillions and zillions of books of theology and never at any time discuss details? Indeed, isn't the bigger problem not that there's 'detail resistance' but that there's a tendency to jump to conclusions about the details?--Actually, I know exactly what is going on here; and it isn't about 'detail resistance'. What Rey wants is a mechanism, in some undefined sense; and his complaint is that theism doesn't provide one. But the question at hand is whether theists really believe that God exists; and it isn't clear how this is supposed to bear on that issue, which brings us to the next point.
2) If (1) fails, so does this one. But even if (1) were right, it needs this one in order to be relevant to the subject; and this is merely vaguely suggestive, and nothing more. After all, it is as silly to demand details about many common things that do, in fact, happen; for example, it would be silly to demand details like (for instance) the precise steps I took in order to reach the campus today, when all one actually needs to know is that I walked here.
3) This presumes that all traditional arguments for the existence of God fail. I look forward to Rey's rigorous refutation of them all. More seriously, however, he has lost track of what he was trying to do. His argument is that theists (for the most part) only pretend to believe God exists. But the fact that they present anecdotal evidence (whether or not Rey considers it of a sort that is 'unreliable and subject to a multitude of alternative explanations') is itself prima facie reason to think they do really believe it. And, further, even if Rey considers it 'unreliable and subject to a multitude of alternative explanations', the question that is relevant for Rey's argument is whether the theists in question do.
4) 'Mystery' is not a synonym for 'ignorance' in a theological context. But again, the question is not whether Rey finds it a reason, but whether theists do.
5) Again, Rey is losing sight of his point; the question relevant to whether theists actually believe what they claim to believe is not whether people like Rey find things like vicarious atonement appropriate, but whether theists do.
6) If I have a very close friend that I know will be leaving me for a very long time to do something somewhere else, and believe that this something is what is best for her, does that mean I won't be sad? If I am sad, does that mean I really don't believe that it is what is best for her? -- This whole issue of reactions not clearly reflecting belief is a somewhat interesting one. Here in Toronto there is a tall structure called the CN Tower, which has a glass floor at 1,122 feet. The floor is constructed so that it can easily hold your weight. But, no matter how clearly you believe this, managing your physical reactions so that you can actually stroll across it without any difficulty is an entirely different matter. And in morals it has always been a commonplace that the relation between belief and action is very, very, very tricky. There is no reasonable argument whatsoever that, if we really believed that x, we would always act as if x is true, unless we are putting some sort of weird emphasis on the 'really' that needs to be explained. And even if there were, we would need to have a clearer notion of 'acting as if x is true', which is not as straightforward a notion as it sounds.
7) This is all a complete garbling, an even more serious one than the 'mystery' case, as any look at either Aquinas or Luther or any other such person on belief should show. But even if it weren't, this is a question of beliefs about the nature of belief, and doesn't necessarily bear on the issue of whether theists really believe or not.
8) Again, Rey seems to be losing sight of his point, since none of this shows that theists do not really believe that God exists. (What Rey intends here is very vague. He has not shown that people who project do not believe that the property they are projecting is objective. Indeed, his characterization of projection suggests the exact opposite.)
Rey's quasi-argument is something of a very odd one. The idea seems to be that no reasonable person can believe that God exists, but he seems to want to allow that some theists are reasonable people. However, his way of allowing this is to hold that all these reasonable people are marked out by what would have to be a very unreasonable set of beliefs (very unreasonable if some of Rey's characterizations were accurate) about what they actually believe. And his argument, or quasi-argument, doesn't even tend in that direction; since most of his points have to do with whether or not believing God exists is reasonable, not whether theists generally do actually believe that God exists.
On the issue of theistic belief, a much better work would be H. H. Price's Belief, which actually looks at real issues of belief in a serious way. Also good is Newman's An Essay in Aid of a Grammar of Assent.
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