Saturday, March 02, 2013

Links and Notes

* James Chastek has a good post on blindness to what is self-evident to us.

* Joel Gehrke discusses Ricardo Blanco's Inaugural poem.

* Rebekah Higgit discusses the problems with the words 'science' and 'scientist'

* Baruch S. Davidson looks at Jewish traditions about why Moses broke the tablets.

* Adam Smith on trust and honour at "guylongworth"

* Studying the history of alchemy by doing alchemical experiments

* Ethics & International Affairs has a just war issue up.

* A man named Anthony Brasfield was recently arrested and charged in Florida with a third-degree felony for polluting to harm. His crime? On a date with his girlfriend he released a dozen heart-shaped balloons.

Looking at the relevant code, it does look like the act technically applies. This is one of those cases where a weighing of the letter and the spirit is in order, though; while the Act's definitions are quite general, almost everything in it is clearly assuming that we are talking about industrial and other potential high-quantity sources of pollution. When it gives the penalty for the particular felony for which Mr. Brasfield is punished, for instance, in 403.011, it seems to assume that it's the kind of thing that is institutional and at least potentially ongoing. The specific statement of legislative intent says that courts should impose such penalties that would "ensure immediate and continued compliance with this section", which could hardly come into view at all if you are talking about a one-time action of no malicious intent.

In case, you're interested, here is the relevant legal definition of pollution:

“Pollution” is the presence in the outdoor atmosphere or waters of the state of any substances, contaminants, noise, or manmade or human-induced impairment of air or waters or alteration of the chemical, physical, biological, or radiological integrity of air or water in quantities or at levels which are or may be potentially harmful or injurious to human health or welfare, animal or plant life, or property or which unreasonably interfere with the enjoyment of life or property, including outdoor recreation unless authorized by applicable law.

The Mylar balloons could indeed be considered as being or possibly being potentially harmful or injurious to animal or plant life. If you're thinking that this definition on its own would include any and all emissions by automobiles, it does indeed: the Act later has to exempt motor vehicles explicitly.

Incidentally, this raises one of my pet peeves of modern journalism. If you are reporting that someone was arrested, charged, or convicted for breaking a law, state precisely which law, so people who are interested as citizens can look it up themselves.


* In other news, a boy in Baltimore was suspended for two days from school in Baltimore because he made an inappropriate gesture with his food. According to the boy he was trying to sculpt a strawberry tart into a mountain, but couldn't get it to come out right; it ended up looking like a gun, which his teacher saw. Fortunately for everyone the strawberry tart shaped like a gun was confiscated before anyone was threatened or hurt by the seven-year-old in any way.

Lent XVI

For do not tell me that this or that man is a runaway slave, or a robber or thief, or laden with countless faults, or that he is a mendicant and abject, or of low value and worthy of no account; but consider that for his sake the Christ died; and this sufficeth thee for a ground for all solicitude. Consider what sort of person he must be, whom Christ valued at so high a price as not to have spared even his own blood. For neither, if a king had chosen to sacrifice himself on any one’s behalf, should we have sought out another demonstration of his being some one great and of deep interest to the King—I fancy not—for his death would suffice to show the love of him who had died towards him. But as it is not man, not angel, not archangel; but the Lord of the heavens himself, the only-begotten Son of God himself having clothed himself with flesh, freely gave himself on our behalf. Shall we not do everything, and take every trouble, so that the men who have been thus valued may enjoy every solicitude at our hands? And what kind of defence shall we have? what allowance? This at least is the very thing by way of declaring which Paul also said, "Do not by thy meat destroy him for whose sake Christ died."

St. John Chrysostom, Homily on Lowliness of Mind

Friday, March 01, 2013

On Hart's Kantian (?) Argument

There has been some discussion of Hart's recent salvo against natural law theory. I was going to say something about it, but I confess I'm utterly baffled by the argument. Hart argues that natural law theory cannot provide either categorical or hypothetical imperatives adequate to morality, but the two branches of the argument don't seem to cohere. His argument on the categorical imperative side is purely Kantian. But his argument on the hypothetical side is a sensible knave problem put in such strong terms that it would, if problematic for natural law theory, be equally a problem for the Kantian, who also cannot persuade Nietzsche. Perhaps this is why he also sometimes uses language suggesting not Kantianism but fideism? But it seems a little harsh to insist that a theory of practical rationality, which is what natural law theory is, can only be adequate if it is a completely compelling Kantian refutation of Nietzsche. This is a very specific thing to demand, and I'm not sure why it's being demanded.

Any natural law theorist already rejects the Kantian assumptions of Hart's argument. While a natural law theorist could have a sharp divide between categorical and hypothetical moral judgments, such a divide only makes sense if you concede Kant's analysis of judgment into three irreducible kinds. (The three kinds are categorical, hypothetical, and disjunctive. Disjunctive judgments don't come in at all here because Kant insists that moral judgments must have necessity, and his account of disjunctive judgments makes them concerned only with possibility. Hypothetical judgment can have a kind of necessity, but Kant argues that it doesn't have the right kind.) Kant's theory of judgment, while essential for understanding Kant, is not something that is widely shared. Most people usually treat hypothetical judgments as reducible to categorical judgments. Logically this is quite easy to do, actually, since all conditional propositions can be reformulated as categorical propositions and vice versa; the predicate calculus depends on this fact, since without the conversion it would not be able to handle basic syllogisms. (Kant's theory of judgment is not purely logical; it is in a sense intended to be pre-logical or meta-logical, so this disparity wouldn't necessarily be an issue for Kant himself.) Hart's argument that you can't get a categorical 'ought' from a conditional is certainly Kantian. But the question immediately arises: "Why would a natural law theorist be committed to a Kantian theory of moral judgment?"

Likewise, as I keep pointing out to people, it has never been true, as a matter of logic, to say that you can't get an 'ought' from an 'is'. Logically it's trivially easy to create 'is' statements that yield 'ought' statements. The standard forms of deontic logic, for example, all have what is called O-necessitation, or deontic necessitation; and it is equivalent to saying that you can get an ought from any logical theorem in the system (even if it is an 'is'). This is a very controversial rule, mostly tolerated because it massively simplifies deontic logic, making it well-behaved, but the point is that you can always get an 'ought' from an 'is' whenever the relevant modal inference rules allow you to do so. And in any given case, it's not a purely formal or logical matter what the relevant modal inference rules are.

There are, though, obviously specific contexts and obviously very specific sets of assumptions on which the claim would make sense or even be true. What about those? It made sense for Hume to put forward the dictum, because Hume argued for it on the basis of his account of relations, and did so against a position that made 'ought' a relation between ideas (which is why he talks about 'ought' as if it were a copula rather than a modal operator). But there's no reason to accept the Humean version of the dictum unless you accept Hume's insistence that the Humean theory of relations covers all legitimate kinds of relations, which few people do, and even if you did accept it, it would arguably only work for accounts that require that 'ought' be a relation between ideas, although this is a bit more debatable. Kant, who takes up Hume but whose Hume is a generalized Hume, Hume as idealized empiricist skeptic, also can put forward something like this claim. But in Kant it's grounded by the distinction between the phenomena and the noumena, or (to put it in different terms) by his account of intuition/experience and its limits. And again the question arises: "Why would a natural law theorist be committed to a Kantian account of experience?"

A Kantian theory of reason rules out any classical natural law theory, to be sure; but it obviously does so because natural law theory is a rival theory of practical reason. On Kant's account of morality, no moral law can have any empirical component, even if the empirical component is universal to human nature. This is precisely what Kant says about the desire for happiness: it is universal, but incapable of forming any part of a moral law because it is entirely concerned with pleasure, which presupposes the actual existence of something, which can only be established by intuition giving the concept an object, which means it is not a priori, which means it is not necessary, which means that it cannot ground a moral imperative in the proper sense of the word. It is certainly true that if you accept this entire line of reasoning you are committed to rejecting any classical form of natural law theory, but every single step in this chain is as controvertible as anything in natural law theory itself, and not a single one need be (or should be) accepted by a natural law theorist. Natural law theory insists that all moral judgments must be based on what is good; Kant insists that all judgments about the good must be based on moral judgment established independently of any idea of what is good, which is why moral judgment for Kant is based on the purely formal capacity of autonomous will to be autonomous. Natural law theory insists on a moral role for specifically human aspects of practical reason; Kant explicitly insists that any such specifically human aspect cannot have any moral role at all (unless by 'human' we just mean 'pertaining to any kind of rational being'). Kant denies any moral role to prudence because it deals with contingent matters; natural law theorists have historically insisted on the moral importance of prudence because it deals with contingent matters. Hart's (apparent) argument that Kantian considerations rule out natural law theory is surely right, but this is just because what we usually think of as natural law theories are anti-Kantian theories of practical reason.

In other words, it is true that natural law theory is not Kantianism. But where does that actually leave the natural law theorists? Short of a proof that Kantianism is the way to go -- which Hart doesn't seem to hold, either -- it seems to leave them exactly where they were.

I have similar kinds of questions on the hypothetical side of the argument, as well as with Hart's apparent fideism. And there are problems with putting so much emphasis on persuasion when talking about theories of rationality, which are concerned with things that can be true or false regardless of whether people are persuaded. (The fundamental idea of natural law theory is just that there are practical rational principles based on the notion of good, which are the practical counterparts of the logical principles we use in theoretical contexts; we don't usually judge logic on the basis of whether people are persuaded by arguments using logical principles. If someone doesn't want to be logical, that's a problem for them, not logic. You might look into what you could do in addition to logical reasoning, but you don't say, "Well, I guess that's it for logic." So what would make the proposal of natural law in practical matters so different from the case of logic in theoretical matters?) But I'll leave it at this, because, as I said above, I don't actually understand what the argument is.

Music on My Mind



Leonard Cohen, "The Future"

Aegidius

Capitulum Octavum Decimum
http://scion-of-lykaios.blogspot.com/2013/03/capitulum-octavum-decimum.html

Capitulum Nonum Decimum
http://scion-of-lykaios.blogspot.com/2013/03/capitulum-nonum-decimum.html

Capitulum Vicesimum
http://scion-of-lykaios.blogspot.com/2013/03/capitulum-vicesimum.html

Capitulum Vicesimum Primum, et Fortasse Capitulum Ultimum
http://scion-of-lykaios.blogspot.com/2013/03/capitulum-vicesimum-primum.html

And that's that. I was hoping to finish it all yesterday, but that just didn't quite happen, in part because it seems like, all of a sudden, I have to juggle every plate in the world this week, and perhaps next week as well.

So, where are we with it? Of course, it's a bit of a mess: while the basic plot won't change, the beginning is entirely wrong for where the story ended up, and there are inconsistencies that need to be ironed out. (As generally happens, it's the small ones that bug me, like repeated typos with Krasnoyarsky Krai and Vsesalevich. I find the Russian language baffling. And looking back, I honestly don't know how any Russian ended up in the story at all; I certainly didn't expect it going in. I signed up for a story knowing that it would give me trouble with Latin, I didn't expect one that would give me trouble with Russian as well. And I can, and did, cheat to make sure the actual Latin wouldn't be too awful without having to carefully work through each and every saying on this very first draft. But how do you cheat at Russian? I don't know. And this bugs me, too, even in the English. I will at some point have to go through the dialogues with Ivan and Vsesalevich and strip out purely English colloquialisms.) The narrator, too, will need to be brought to the fore less clumsily, and parts of the story are absurdly rushed. Lots to revise, although I think the story is worth revising -- I like Aegidius himself, anyway, even if the story around him is a shambles. But this revision is all for down the road, because I'll set it aside for now.

Despite the fact that it took me forever to finish even such an absurdly messy first draft, I did manage to finish it, which is something. After a breather I'll restart Tanaver.

Incidentally,speaking of cheating at Latin, the Latin from Vicesimum Primum is, with some minor modification and reordering, from Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy, which Giles has been quoting all the way through. Most of it is from Philosophy's diagnosis of Boethius's philosophical illness in Book I, Prose 6:

But this question would I have you answer: do you remember that you are a man?' --`How can I but remember that?' --`Can you then say what is a man?' --`Need you ask? I know that he is an animal, reasoning and mortal; that I know, and that I confess myself to be.' --`Know you naught else that you are?' asked Philosophy. --`Naught,' said I. --`Now,' said she, `I know the cause, or the chief cause, of your sickness. You have forgotten what you are....'
 But there are sprinklings from elsewhere in the book.

Lent XV

Fasting is as old as mankind itself. It was given as a law in paradise. The first commandment Adam received was: "From the tree of the knowledge of good and evil do not eat." Now this command, "do not eat," is the divine law of fasting and temperance. If Eve had fasted from the tree, we would not have to keep this fast now.

St. Basil of Caesarea, Homily 1 on Fasting

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Vacans



From the Vatican.va website. This is an image of the Umbraculum, which means exactly what you think it means; the Italian is Ombrellino. It is a standard papal symbol, representing the temporal powers of the Holy See -- governance of Vatican City, fiscal administration of the Patrimony, and the like. Despite being purely papal, it appears on the coat of arms of the Cardinal Camerlengo of the Holy Roman Church during a papal vacancy, because he wields the temporal powers of the papacy as steward and agent of the papal office. He only wields the temporal powers. Papal powers of routine and emergency ecclesiastical administration are administered by the College of Cardinals; and the entire episcopal college in communion with the Holy See retains, of course, its magisterial authority (to be in communion with a see, including the Holy See, does not require that the see be currently occupied by a bishop, because communion is, to put the matter somewhat simplistically, liturgical).

I once thought of writing a science fiction story called "Camerlengo," taking place in the far future, where, due to extraordinary and unexpected catastrophe and upheaval, the See was vacant and the College of Cardinals was literally unable to meet in proper Conclave for a very long period of time -- decades, perhaps. This would affect the Catholic Church in general much less than one might think, but obviously there would be problems to deal with. The story would have followed the Camerlengo in episodic fashion from the Incident (whatever it would be) through struggles to the final victory of forming the Conclave. In effect, it would be a story about a man dealing with the immense pressures and responsibilities that come with having to be a caretaker of another's estate for an indefinite period of time, along with the risks and temptations that could mean even for a very decent and intelligent man. It would be an interesting story to write, but to do it properly would take a fair amount of research and a properly thought-out Incident to set it all off, which is why this summary is about as far as the story ever got.