Rebirth and Karma Rethought

I posted this on a forum I frequent. It's a critique of orthodox Buddhist concepts of karma and rebirth. I suggest a more metephorical approach to these Buddhist doctrines, so that one can both be a Buddhist and in harmony with science.

9/14/09 Note: I have since come to realize that this article is almost entirely in error, and misconstrues Buddhist views. I still like the idea of a more metaphorical bent being extended towards reincarnation, but don't read this article for a view of Buddhism. I leave it as an example of poor fact checking.

I was originally writing this as a response to Scameter's thread about past lives, but thought that my response was long enough, and strayed far enough from the topic of past lives at times, that it would be judicious to simply start a new thread. Bear with me--the post is rather long. In it, I first embark on a critique of karma and rebirth as they are usually viewed by orthodox Buddhists, and then offer a new view based on a looser interpretation of these concepts.

I consider myself to be a philosophical Buddhist (although I don’t practice meditation nearly as often as I should) as far as my perspectives on clinging, not-self, impermanence, etc are concerned. Rebirth and Karma, however, are where I disagree most sharply with the orthodox Buddhist perspective, and where I think that Buddhism often strays closest to pseudo-science (although I think that Buddhism is, as a rule of thumb, generally much more compatible with science than other religions).

First of all, I think that Buddhists commit a philosophical error when they say that Karma is "basically just" Newton's third law. I think that Karma is only vaguely and metaphorically comparable to some aspects of the Law. What Newton's third law really says has nothing at all to do with Karma. It says that for any quantity of mass multiplied by a particular acceleration vector (force) there exists a force vector of identical magnitude both in a direction such that the dot product of the two vectors is 1, and there exists another force vector that is identical to the original vector multiplied by a scalar quantity of minus 1. This is admittedly a clumsy way of stating the law. However, the way that I have stated it shows that unless one believes that karmic law is expressible entirely in terms of vectors, scalars, magnitudes, etc, Newton's laws and karmic law are completely different animals, connected in only a metaphorical sense.

Nor is Karma, as the concept is used in Buddhism, identical to the scientific notion of causality, although causality is, perhaps, the closest translation of the Buddhist term. There are many who believe in causality, but don't believe in that good actions will eventually and invariably lead to positive effects on the agent. Even if you disagree with the individuals who believe this, they seem to believe what they do while committing no obvious contradiction. This shows that Karma is logically independent of the notion of causality.

To believe in Karma is not to simply believe that there are causes and effects. It is to believe that certain sorts of causes have certain sorts of effects. For instance, it is logically possible that bad actions always yielded positive effects on the agent, and that good actions always yielded negative effects on the agent. A belief that this is the case would entail a belief in causality, but not a belief in Karma. To believe in Karma is to believe the opposite--that good and bad action yield positive and negative effects respectively for the agent performing the deeds.

I don't believe that Karma and Rebirth as it is commonly conceived is coherent. First of all, it is easily evident that within the boundaries of a specific lifetime, good is not always reciprocated with good, and evil is not always reciprocated with evil. So, a belief in Karma requires a belief that a bad action is reciprocated by bad effect, but perhaps in another life time. But how is one to verify this? Even those who claim to remember former lives don't remember their actions in enough detail to see if they committed grievous enough a sin to be cursed as they are in this life, or lived good enough a life to deserve the blessings they now experience.

Even having an extensive memory of one’s actions is past lives wouldn't supply one with any proof that the principle of Karma is valid. Let me illustrate why. Let "B" stand for a bad action, "G" stand for a good action, "H" stand for a happy experience, and "S" stand for an unhappy experience, suffering.

Let’s say that upon surveying one's past lives, one saw oneself commit actions B, G, B, G. (two bad, two good actions). In one's current life, one experiences H, H, S, S. Presumably, the order of these experiences and actions don't matter much, since "Karmic fruits" can occur either soon after or a long time after an action. Does viewing these experiences count as confirmation of Karma? Can we conclude that two good actions have been reciprocated by two happy experiences, and that two bad actions were reciprocated by two instances of suffering? No! We have no means of establishing that causal relationship. After all, it could have been the bad actions that caused the happy experiences, and the good that caused suffering, for all that we know. Or, alternatively, there could be absolutely not causal relation whatsoever. So, the way that Karma is stated, it cannot be confirmed even by someone who had extensive knowledge of past lives.

A side note—Akamu said in the a former thread:

According to Buddhism, Karma decides everything there is to decide.

I don’t think that Buddhism says this. If Karma decided everything that there was to decide, then Karma would determine actions, thoughts, etc. If Karma determined everything, then there would be no free will, no chance to liberate oneself from Karma. But Buddhism does not traditionally teach that Karma determines events. Rather, it conditions events, meaning that it effects them, but along with other factors. I believe that there is actually a list somewhere of factors that determine events pertaining to rebirth, of which karma was only one. I can’t recall where I read this, or what the factors were, so I may be mistaken.

I’ve covered my philosophical objections to Karma. I also have some ethical objections. Karma appears nice originally, because it says that reward and punishment are worked into existence. But this soon leads to very unfortunate consequences. I left Christianity because I balked at the notion that all Jewish people who died in the Holocaust would go to hell for not accepting Jesus. Karma, as often conceived of, offers an alternative that is little better—all of the innocents who suffered during the holocaust suffered because they did something to deserve it, although that something may well have been in a past life that they do not even remember. I think that this view shows nature not as an ultimately just world filled with a natural system of rewards and punishments, but as a rather tyrannical entity, demanding people be punished for crimes that can’t remember committing.

Now, rebirth. I don’t believe in the orthodox Buddhist view of rebirth, which I believe offer very little improvement of the Hindu concept. Hindu’s thought that there was an immutable self, identity, ego, atman, etc, that traveled from body to body. Buddhism, in contrast, suggests that there is not immutable thing that travels from life to life—merely a continuing stream of consciousness, that travels much like a flame passed between candles, or energy passed between billiard balls. But Buddhists and Hindu’s alike believe that there are distinct strings of lives, and that it is possible to match up a current life with a former life and a next life, regardless of whether or not one believes that there is something immutable that is constant in all of the lives. So, rebirth and reincarnation are actually quite similar in ways.

I believe that both Hindus and Buddhists stray into pseudoscience when they attempts to validate their belief in past lives by referencing personal testimonies, as the Dalai Llama does when he tells the story of the girl who remembers her parents. Experience shows that relying on personal testimonies of others is a poor way to validate a belief in something. Everyone “knows someone who…” was abducted by UFO’s, has a past life, or did such and such. I know that we’ve all read about instances where a person’s memories were supposedly confirmed, but making the generalization that everyone has a past life that they inexplicably can’t remember on the basis of such an extremely small portion of the population strikes me as a poor idea. Even if some child inexplicably remembered a great deal of detail about an individual who died before they were born (and I am skeptical of such accounts) it seems that a bizarre, but still more likely, explanation is that some sort of “psychic remnant” of experiences left on person at death and entered the child, and that this is a rare occurrence than that every single person on earth has numerous past lives. I don’t believe in this, but it’s still a more likely than jumping to the view of past lives on such scant evidence.

How then, can one reinterpret rebirth in a way that does not rely on the limited and problematic view of Karma as I have just critiqued? I believe, simply, that one needs to take the middle way. Let me explain, beginning with two schools of thought about the afterlife that existed in Buddha’s own time—the annihilationists and the eternalists. One believed that the self was finite, and one that the self was eternal. Both, in effect, believed that the Self was like a “light switch” of existence, if you will, where the switch is in the “on” position while one is in existence, and the switch is in the “off position” when one is not in existence. Annihilationists believed that these “ego switches” are turned on one day, stay on for a few decades, and then flip off, and stay in that position forever. Eternalists believed that the switch was on, always was on, and will always be on.

What did Buddha say? That there is no switch. There is not substantial ego, no fact of the matter as to when it is that one entity goes out of existence and another takes its place. Annihilationism and eternalism are two sides of the same coin, two explanations for the same set of facts. However, I belief that soon after, Buddhists slipped into a view of the afterlife much like the Hindu’s. They ceased belief in an enduring ego, but continued to believe that existence is periodic, that there are past and future lives.

But how can one both deny the existence of past and future lives, and still refrain from being an annihilationist? This is the tricky part, and takes a bit of explanation. I think that the boundaries of the self are shifting and fickle things. The orthodox view of Buddhism denies that the self is limited to a specific span of years, or lifetime, but seems to limit a “self” of sorts, to a specific string of lives. Buddhists talk of my past life and your past life. This is evidenced by the fact that Buddha said that anyone you meet could have been a relative of yours in “their” past life. I although this is an expanded view of self, I think that the notion of self can be expanded even further than simply talking about the manner in which it endures or fails to endure through time. A person in your “past life” is sort of you, but not really you. Buddhists would appear to say that the past life of another person isn’t even sort of you. It’s the past life of someone else. Personally, I think that since we all exist in a grand continuum, there is no strict dividing line where the self ends. The line between life and death is a blurry one, and after death, the matter of which you are composed is incorporated into other living entities. One mustn’t fall prey to an argument of the continuum—I was never Abraham Lincoln, even if it was true that I had more than a few of his atoms within me.

Personally, the intimate connection between others and myself, the existence of everything in a continuum, is how I interpret rebirth. I believe in the same set of facts as do scientists—I don’t think that there is anything hidden or ghostly, no kind of special energy of consciousness that emits from you and later becomes the seed of a later life. Rather, I interpret the facts differently, shift definitions and give new connotations. I don’t believe in lives strung out like strings of pearls, but I believe in Indra’s net after a fashion. We are connected in ways that are less than obvious, and any boundary established between self and other is illusory, fickle, and problematic as a metaphysical distinctions, although we can certainly talk about “me” and “you” as a matter of convenience when discussing ethical matters such as responsibility, ownership, etc.

This view ties in nicely with the rest of Buddhism, I think, although it is certainly different than the orthodox view. To awaken (ineffable portions of it aside) is to abandon clinging to temporal contingent views of the self and other matters, cultivate equanimity and kindness, and learn to stay “in between”. That much has not changed. So, I think that it is possible to break the limits set by orthodox views of Karma and rebirth, and still preserve what I believe to be the core of Buddhism—the four noble truths, eightfold path, three traits of existence, dependent origination, etc.

Belief and value

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about believe, meaning, and value. This is due in part to the fact that I’ve recently read William James’s Will to Believe, and just today read Bertrand Russell’s Free Man’s Worship. I found James’s essay particularly interesting and entertaining—James is a great writer, with many highly amusing metaphors (“The pancakes, butter, and syrup of nature seldom leave the plates so clean”). I also found his point an important one. In his opinion, it is acceptable to believe things without concrete evidence in special cases where one is forced to make a choice between two beliefs and has a personal stake in the option. James calls a choice to believe in spite insufficient evidence “willing to believe”. I shall call it faith, as it’s shorter and easier to write. Examples that he gave of things that were candidates to be believed in this way were religious and moral truths. Personally, I feel that religion often strays too far into matters of fact to be confirmed in the way that James suggests. I don’t believe that we should accepts things such as the Genesis story by faith, nor do I believe that we should use faith to bolster a belief in a God with lists of attributes such as omnipotence and omniscience.

But are there not some propositions that one might justifiably believe to be true before evidence presents itself? It’s a trickier issue that it might appear to be at first glance. Although ones gut reaction is to balk at the idea of believing in anything without evidence, there are a few scenarios where one might be quite tempted to “will to believe”. Specifically, I think that matters of value are likely candidates for propositions to be believed without evidence. Why? Well, first of all, I’m not sure whether it is even possible to confirm empirically whether a human life is more valuable than a bowl of porridge, and I’m certainly not waiting to find out before I believe that it’s true. Although I am opposed to believing anything without justification in justification is to be had, I will make an exception where value is concerned. It is, as James calls it, a forced option. Whether or not we believe other lives have value matters now. We don’t have the luxury to wait and see whether or not it is scientifically confirmable.

Is it possible to “scientifically” confirm whether things have value? I’m not sure. I don’t think that matters of value are in the domain of science as ordinarily conceived—matters of value seem different than chemistry, biology, or even psychology. But is value in the domain of science if “science” is taken in its philosophical sense—all things that can be gleaned off experience? Suppose for a second that one cannot tell from experience whether or not things have value. Then how in the world is it that one first becomes acquainted with the notion that some things have value? It seems to me that the belief that things have value is based on some sort of feeling, and feelings, of course, are things that are experienced.

But how does one go from acknowledging certain feelings about things to concluding that things really do have value? I’m not at all sure how this step is to be taken. Yet, as I have before stated, I don’t think that value is something that one can afford to be unbiased about, because it is of so direct and drastic a consequence.

Introduction to Determinism and Quantum Mechanics

The following is an email I sent to my friend Bryant Johnson a conversation we had about determinism. There are no pictures, so I might have to adjust the writting a bit later, so it's more stand alone. A good deal of what I know about the philosophy of quantum mechanics is due to the first section of a spendid book by Hans Reichenbach called, "Philosophic Foundations of Quantum Mechanics".

Dear Bryant,

I’m writing this in response to the conversation we had outside of Hyde dorm yesterday. I’m writing about how scientific discoveries within the last hundred years have done much to undermine notions of determinism which were largely accepted in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Before I embark on an explanation, of course realize that I am more of a philosopher than a physicist, and thus do not pretend to have too firm a grasp on quantum mechanics, especially as formulated mathematically. I will endeavor to limit myself to explaining some of the more basic elements of quantum mechanics in order to avoid wandering into areas where my knowledge is far less trustworthy. As I always say, to know what you’re talking about, talk about what you know.

Before addressing whether or not our world is a deterministic one, it’s an essential first step to talk about what determinism means, as the word is used in different senses in different settings. Specifically, I would like to make a distinction between epistemological determinism and determinism proper. Bountiful scientific evidence has been supplied against the former, while there is good reason to believe that no evidence can be supplied before or against the latter. If our world is epistemologically deterministic, it means that if we know everything there is to know about the universe at an initial time, we can calculate everything that there is to know about the universe at a later time. Determinism in the epistemological sense, then, has to do with our abilities to know the future.

Determinism proper, by contrast, means that given a state of the universe an initial time, there is only one possible state of affairs at a later time. This is best illustrated by an example. Suppose that we used the Cosmic Remote to rewind the universe to the earliest stages of the big bang. We then hit the play button. If the universe turns out exactly the same as it is today, from the organization of galaxies to atoms, then our world is deterministic. If it turns out to be different in the slightest, then our world is not deterministic.

It is Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle that provides strong evidence that we do not live in an epistemologically deterministic world—there are inherent physical limits as to how accurately we can predict the future. It used to be believed that if one could assess the momentum and position of every particle in the universe accurately enough then it would be theoretically possible, though consummately impractical, to predict the momentum and position of particles in the universe at future states. Since Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle places a fundamental limit on the accuracy with which we can determine the momentum and position of a particle. The more accurately we know the momentum of a particle, the less accurate it is possible to measure the position of a particle. Similarly, the more accurately we know the position of a particle, the less accurately it is possible to measure the position of a particle. Since you cannot measure momentum and position of present particles to an arbitrary degree of accuracy, you cannot calculate the momentum and position of future particles to an arbitrary degree of accuracy.

This is not, however, the whole story. Even after supplying strong evidence against epistemological determinism, it is entirely possible that the universe could be deterministic, comprised of an unbroken chain of cause and effect. The problem is that if this is the case, due to Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, we can never know it. There may be some unseen mechanism underlying the probabilistic science of quantum mechanics, but it is by its nature unobservable. I will explain why this is so by taking you through the astounding and paradoxical double slit experiment. This will be a bit of an aside, but you may find it interesting, and it will explain why science as it currently stands suggests that we cannot know.

There came a point in the 1800’s when physicists began to believe that they were finally beginning to fill in the holes in their picture of the universe. All that was left was to determine the nature of that most mysterious of phenomena—light. Scientists conducted a series of experiments to find out whether light was a wave or a particle. The most important of these was the double slit experiment by Thomas Young in 1803. It works as follows. A concentrated beam of light is aimed at a thin vertical slit in an opaque sheet. On the other side of the sheet from the source of light is a photosensitive screen on which you can see the pattern the light makes as it “scatters” through the slit. This pattern is known as the “interference pattern.”
When beaming the light at the slit, the light spread out slightly. What showed up on the photo screen afterwards was not simply a shadow of light behind the slit—it was more spread out. As interesting as this is, it’s trivial compared to the result that happens in the following variation: what happens if you aim the beam of light at two narrow slits very close together? What happens is counter intuitive. Instead of seeing two narrow slits of light on the photo sensitive screen, you see alternating bands of light and dark!

You can see what the bands look like from the picture above. The circles take some explanation, as they are the reason light is said to have a “wave nature” as well as a “particle nature”. The circles are simply how one would determine ahead of time the density of light at a various regions of the photosensitive sheet. You simply visualize light as waves radiating outward from the slits as if from two rocks dropped next to each other in a pool of water. Depending on the way these “waves” cross one another, they are said to be interfering (interacting) in a “constructive” manner, a “destructive” manner, or somewhere in between. Interference that is more constructive in nature corresponds to a lighter patch on the photo screen, and interference that is more destructive in nature corresponds to a dimmer patch on the photo screen. I realize that this is far from clear, but hopefully another picture I bummed off of Google will help demonstrate the point:

The point is that light appears to interact in a wave like way in the same way that matter seems to interact in a particle light way. Thus, for several decades, scientists believed that light had an exclusively wave like nature and matter had an exclusively particle like nature. This assumption was destroyed by new discoveries that were made in the 20th century. First of all, Planck discovered that light was actually emitted in discrete particles or “quanta” called photons. Secondly, it is not known that the experiment described above works for electrons as well as photons, suggesting that both photons and electrons have both a particle nature and a wave nature.
As mentioned above, the interference patterns on the screen seem to be due to particles passing through the slits interacting with each other in some way. This raises the question of what would happen if one were to use a device that emitted only one particle at a time (in the case electrons), supposedly depriving the particles of a chance to interact with other particles. Because of this, one would expect electrons to simply build up behind the two slits like an inverse shadow. Thus began an experiment with historically bizarre results. An electron beam was aimed at two slits, and electrons were fired one at a time. The following picture shows the buildup of electrons over time on the photo screen.

The exact same thing happens as did when electrons were emitted simultaneously. Even though the single electron has nothing to interact with, there is still an interference pattern. It appears as if the electron somehow interacts with itself by going through both slits at once! Astonishing. Excited scientific folk immediately set to work to detect if this was the case. If the electron really passed through both slits at once, then it should be possible to detect it doing just that. In order to detect whether the particle passed through one slit, or the other, or both, the experimenters set up detectors at both slits that would go off if an electron passed through that slit.

Something happened that the physicists weren’t counting on. The mere presence of the detectors changed the system so that the interference patterns disappeared, and instead there were the inverse shadows of electrons building up directly behind the two slits. Only one detector went off at a time, depending on which slit the electron passed through. Since the circumstances of the experiment were unexpectedly and radically changed, the original question of which slit the electron passed through remained unanswered. People debate to this day about whether or not there is even a fact of the matter of where the electron is before it hits the photo screen. The question is really one for philosophers now—scientists cannot detect where the electron is beforehand without radically changing the results of the experiment.

This concludes the admittedly lengthy portion of this essay about the experimental results, and I am now in a better position to use these results in order to explain why there is currently no evidence for determinism. The first thing that you will notice is that while one can visualize particles as waves interfering with each other in order to determine the interference pattern, there is no method to determine where an individual particle will hit the screen. Instead, all that can be given is the probability that the particle will hit a certain point on the photo screen.

The first thing that comes to mind upon hearing this is that this probabilistic nature of quantum mechanical predictions must reflect limits on what we can know, rather than an element of nature being fundamentally probabilistic. The problem with this view is that there is simply no evidence to suggest that there is some underlying mechanism that determines ahead of time where the particle hits the screen. In fact, a more recent (1970’s) experiment (that I do not understand nearly as well as the slit experiments suggests that) resulted in a ground-breaking discovery known as Bell’s theorem, which states “No physical theory of hidden variables can ever reproduce all of the predictions of Quantum mechanics.”

Basically, this means that there are no subatomic causal mechanisms that are determining ahead of time where the electron will hit the screen. Assuming the truth of Bell’s theorem, the only way to formulate a physically consistent deterministic theory is to allow nonlocal variables and causality at a distance. Some experiments do result in objects that are separated by great distances but are nevertheless “synchronized” in a way, a phenomena known as entanglement. It the crazy quantum world, non-local causality is a possibility. But as of yet, there is simply no evidence for it at all.

So, while it is still logically possible that our world is deterministic, that the state of the universe at one moment exact ally determines future states, there is no more solid evidence for it than the hypothesis that there are pink sub-atomic rabbits pushing the electrons to their final destination (I love using that example). There are several interpretations of quantum mechanics, some of which are deterministic, such as the Bohme interpretation and Everett’s many worlds interpretation, the first of which involves non-local causality, and the second of which involves an infinite (and growing) number of causally isolated universes constantly branching off from one another. As of yet, no methods have been devised for determining which interpretation is correct, although the Copenhagen interpretation is currently the most common (this is the one that says that there is not fact of the matter of a particles exact position or momentum before it is measured). There is good reason to believe that even a unified theory of physics would be ambiguous with respect to determinism.

Another objection that could be raised to my arguments is the possibility that macroscopic events are practically certain, since quantum effects happen at scales too small to translate into a probabilistic reality. The problem with this objection is that while the macroscopic world isn’t usually subject to quantum uncertainty, it certainly can be under certain circumstances. For example, say that I set up a single slit experiment, and drew a line direct ally down the center of the photo screen. I plan to fire a single particle, and tell myself that if the particle hits to the left of the line then I’ll eat dinner at Moulten and that if the particle hits to the right of the line then I’ll eat dinner at Thorne. If quantum mechanical phenomena really are inherently probabilistic, then I have just made a perfectly random macroscopic decision.

Lastly, it should be mentioned that even if does turn out to be true (although we now have no way of knowing) that our world in inherently probabilistic, it is still possible to accept determinism in a sense, only with a modified definition. Even if events do not strictly determine each other, it appears that at least probabilities directly determine each other. Given the probability distribution of a particle’s position at an initial time, I can compute exactly the probability distribution of the particle’s position at a later time

Early Entries

I've decided to post what I hope to be some of the more thoughtful entries in my “philosophy” journal. These essays are not always about philosophy in the strictest sense, but frequenty cross the line into existential musings about life, the universe, and everything (you knew I had to quote Hitch-hikers sooner or later). Many of these essays are rather personal, but I post them in hope that the manner in which I have struggled with some spiritual issues may be of help to others.

Because the pesky format of this blogging site necessitates that I enter in a time for each of these early enteries for which I don't recall the time during which I wrote them, I have decided to simply put 12:00 PM for every entry.

Older Writings

I've decided to post what I hope to be some of the more thoughtful entries in my “philosophy” journal. These essays are not always about philosophy in the strictest sense, but frequenty cross the line into existential musings about life, the universe, and everything (you knew I had to quote Hitch-hikers sooner or later). Many of these essays are rather personal, but I post them in hope that the manner in which I have struggled with some spiritual issues may be of help to others.

Because this pesky site necessitates that I enter in a time for all of the old writting pieces for which I do not remember the time it was durring which thoughts were first set to keyboard, I have decided to simply put 12:00 PM for every article prior to the first post in January.

When reading through my writings here, one must realize that my opinions are in a state of constant flux. This is partly due to the fact that I am in college, and am being exposed to new ideas constantly, and partly because of the fact that I am very reluctant to jump to conclusions about things, unless circumstances necessitate it.

Dreams of France

I had the most peculiar dream last night. I suddenly realized that I was resolutely hell-bent on doing graduate level philosophical study in France. This new passion of mine perplexed me, as it likely would mean studying in the continental rather than analytic tradition. I was also very worried about whether I would be able to learn French in time. I am already double majoring, so I have precious little time to take multiple French courses before I graduate. This strangest of dreams has a metaphor--never read a Wikipedia article about Michel Foucault before you go to bed.

First post

In the last 15 minutes or so, I've decided to start a blog. In my experience, many of the most delightful experiences result from a sort of prudent spontaneity, so I think this not a bad way to begin a blog. Truth be told, I've had the idea of starting a blog rolling around in my mind for some time now. I have more than a hundred pages of philosophical, spiritual, and personal insights (note that there is of course overlap between the three aforementioned categories), almost none of which have been read. So, I begin this blog in hopes that some of my ideas can be read by and discussed with others, and that the fact that my blog is public will encourage me to edit my writings to a greater degree than I currently do, which is very little.

Before I commence with the more philosophically substantial posts, I would like to share a bit about myself. As it says in the "About me" rectangle to the right, I am a philosophy student at Bowdoin College. I am currently intending to go into graduate school to become a professional philosopher. My interest in philosophy grew out of an interest in religion--my interest in Christian theology lead me indirectly to Descartes, and from then on to other philosophers, such as Sartre, Wittgenstein. My interest in religions has continued, and I currently hold a particular fascination with Buddhism, although other religions continue to draw my interest.

I also have a strong interest in mathematics. My strongest interests in the strange and often baffling world of mathematics is in those areas where philosophy and mathematics collide, namely formal logics and its application to foundational studies and mathematical logic. I also have an interest in computer theory, cellular automata, Turing machines, and related areas. Although I take great care not to pull a Hawking and attempt to apply abstract mathematical principle's to philosophy of science (*cough* using Godel's incompleteness theorem to "prove" the impossibility of a unified theory of physics *\cough*), I do occasionally employ mathematical concepts as philosophical metaphors.

Lastly, I appreciate humor. So if I appear deadly serious about certain matters, it is almost certainly the case that I am not being deadly serious, unless, of course, I am.

Anatta as applied to Star Trek

Before we start, I would like to give you a scenario, ask what you would do if put in the (unlikely) situation, and see how you answer. You are a crew member of the Star Ship Enterprise. There is a transporter machine that crew members use to “beam” themselves to planets. Until now, everyone on the crew has assumed that the transporter disassembles your atoms, beams them to a location, and reassembles the atoms when they arrive. However, one day, some classified information is leaked, and you learn that the transporter actually scans your for data on your atomic structure, painlessly incinerates your body, sends the information to earth, where the next transporter takes atoms at that location and re-arranges them to create a being that looks and thinks exactly like you. Now here’s the question: given this information, would you still use the machine?

I would. I would use it without any qualms at all. This belief stems from my views about the nature of self, and what it means to die. So, let’s address the usual reasons that using the transporter would cause someone concern. Obviously, the worry is that using the machine is suicide. Certainly the atoms of an intelligent being are disassembled—but does that mean that someone really dies? The question is a great deal more complicated than it at first appears to be.

Consider another scenario. You are condemned to be put to death for an inter-stellar crime, and are given the choice between being painlessly incinerated or being beamed, via the transporter, from your cold lonely prison cell to your nice safe bed. If you really believe that the transporter kills you, then the fact that you have an option as to how you will die will give you little relief. You may, out of a sense of altruism choose to be executed using the transporter so that some lucky person might have the chance to experiencing your living quarters. The result is the same for you though—an abrupt and painless death by incineration. I feel inclined to say that I would choose to be “executed” using the transporter for less than altruistic reasons.

If I did use the transporter, would it be appropriate for my family to weep my death? Should my parents bemoan the fact that they son they knew is no longer, only to be replaced by a mere substitute? Again, my intuition is that they would be acting quite silly, and even monstrous if they chose to avoid and neglect the person living in my house after my execution. Would that person be wrong in calling himself Alex? Would he be removed from the house that was, in fact, not his? Would he lose his job, be stripped of position? Inconceivable.

If I have convinced you to use the transporter, then consider another scenario. After every one has acclimated to the last revelation, and regained their psychological comfort in using the transporter, more classified information is leaked. Due to the way that transporters work, there is a slight delay in your body’s annihilation. In fact, the new you is created in the new transporter before the old you is annihilated! For a split second, there are two of you. Would you still use the transporter?

Again, I would, and for much the same reasons as before. You might well ask under what circumstances I wouldn’t use a transporter. The answer is this. I would not use a transporter if the delay between the creation of the new me and the annihilation of the old me were a long period, say, several months. Can you imagine knowing that there are two of you, walking around, living and loving, for several months, and that one is destined to die and the other not? The fact is, I believe that it is rather arbitrary how we define the self, and that there is only a continuum of comfort levels that we feel when faced with different transporter scenarios.

There’s something else—I think that we use the transporter machine every second of every day, merely by being “beamed” through time. If I take “I” to mean the Alex of today, then clearly I will not survive until tomorrow. The Alex of the past will have passed away, and will have been replaced by the Alex of tomorrow. If I decide to define Alex as a continuous biological process from womb to grave, then I only die when my heart and brain stop. But it’s even possible to stretch the definition further—to tell yourself that the only “you” that fails to survive death is the “you” given the second definition mentioned.

You see, I take a pragmatic notion of the self. Like so many other terms, the way we define self is a matter of convenience. The term is indispensable for us to talk about things like personal rights and ownership, and it helps us avoid coming up with different names for ourselves every day that we live. However, the term is still a definition, and nothing more. There is nothing arbitrary about the way we define it—we have specific reasons to do as such. But we must realize that our notions of self are only definitions and nothing more, with no underlying substance that makes our selves.

Personally, I take a wide enough view of self that I do not fear death. Well, I might fear death if someone pressed a knife to my throat, but I don’t fear death from a day to day basis. You see, the fact that there will be others living, breathing, and thinking after I die is a great comfort to me. Heck, the fact that there were once others before I was born living, breathing, and thinking before I was born supplies an equal comfort. There are only true and false states of affairs—there are no non-existent entities. I will not dwell in a non-existent state for all eternity, and I will never experience unconsciousness.

Grounds for Hope

Although I remain non-foundationalist in the sense that I don’t think that any sort of elaborate philosophical, scientific, or religious theory can be an adequate cornerstone of a life well lived, I am starting to think that science might give us some grounds for hope which we would be harder pressed to find without it. Although science debases all our illusions of humanity being separate and special, it offers something priceless, something of incomparable value—a vision of continuity. Our world is continuous, in time, in space, and in mind. I think that evolution shows that the difference between the mind of a human and the mind of an animal is merely one of degree. Furthermore, I believe that the differences between unconscious matter and mind is a continuum as well. The fact that our consciousness arose from aggregates of inert wave-particles has become a notion of immense comfort to me. In a way, all is one, in that everything lies of different parts of a grand continuum. There is no longer a fine line between self and other—the gap has been breached, and with this breach comes a vision of beauty that is hard to rival.

I think that Buddha was right about self and the afterlife, in a sense. Buddha lived in a time when there were two conflicting schools of thought about the nature of the afterlife. The Eternalists believed that we all possessed a “divine spark”, or Atman. This was tantamount to a soul of sorts—we are reborn again and again, but retain the same divine spark which never changes and never dies. The Annihilationist held the opposite view—we are temporal beings. As I gather, the materialist perspective was like this—we have selves, or egos, that are in the “on” position during life, and switch to the off position at death, and remain as such forever. The Buddha denied both these theories, teaching that the self was an illusion; that what we mistakenly call self is an aggregate of qualities such as mind, matter, sensation, etcetera. In this view, death is not an eternal nothingness, because there is no contained thing for death to be a nothingness for. In the end, death is absolutely nothing more or less than change, albiet change to a greater degree than anything that happens in the course of a life. It is change of a sort that, seen correctly, destroys the illusion that we are self-contained entities, islands of ego amidst a sea of other.

I think that the conflicting schools of Eternalism and Annihilationism, and the middle path in which there is no ego, is very applicable to the modern world. On the one side are the Religious individuals who believe us to be immortal units of soul. On the other side are the materialists who believe we are mortal units that shine briefly, only to be snuffed out forever. I think that there is reconciliation, the realization that we are part of a grand continuity, and that life and death are different ends of a spectrum.

The Myth of the Blind Dead Universe

As I continue to read my book on world philosophy, I find a particular theme emerging again and again. The essay writers in the book show that many elements of the Western Worldview that we consider “neutral” are in fact, when compared to or seen through the lenses of philosophies of other cultures, specific to our world view. Specifically mentioned are our attitudes toward nature. According to the modern secular Western view of nature, the universe is filled to the brim with matter that is blind and dead. We are just incidental specks of consciousness, anomalies.

This view is so familiar to us that we think of it as an objective way of seeing nature, a view that is more than just a product of our cultural backgrounds and philosophical traditions. This I disagree with. Could one not say that the universe is conscious merely due to the fact that we are conscious? We are part of the universe, are we not? One might argue that we are merely a part of the universe, and that our perception of the universe does not count as the consciousness of the universe. But we consider ourselves self-perceiving when we look at our feet, even though it is only our eyes that see the feet; the feet never look back. In the same way, I think that one could safely say that the universe is conscious now, although it needn’t always have been so.

Transcendence of Systems and Views: Ineffability and Enlightenment

Before I embark on this essay, I want to take a short detour and suggest a pat answer to that most difficult of questions—how does one define the self? I consider the self to be defined by our perceptions, ideas, and explanatory systems that we use to organize those ideas. In this way of self, we are quite literally identical to our worldviews—the ego, self, “I”, or self-consciousness is identical to a way, however simple, of seeing the world, along with all related biases, incites, superstitions, deductions, etc. To put it another way, observer and the observer’s perception are one. I am not going to further any argument to say why you should accept this definition of self—the definition is merely offered in hopes that it can make some of the claims about ego later in the essay more understandable.

I think that one of the biggest obstacles to our understanding of the world is that, to put it simply, the world is bigger than we are. What do I mean by this? Since we are considering “we” and “I” to be identical to our particular ways of observing the world, I mean that the real world contains more information than the systems that we use to explain and describe it. It seems to me, at least, that no matter what way I look at the world, I find out that the world is not, in fact, quite the way I looked at it. A question immediately comes to mind. How can one find out what the world is really like then?

One way that people attempt to find out what the world is really like is by allowing their worldviews (i.e. explanatory systems) to “expand”, or increase in generality without loss of accuracy. One can “expand” one’s world through reason, reading, conversation, etc. I realize that what I mean by “expanding” a world is still very very vague, and I will have to rely in part of your intuition on what it means to have a “big” view of the world. Again, I consider a “bigger” view of the world to be a view that is more general, but without loss of accurately. So, a world could be expanded by philosophy or science. In the case of science, one comes up with ever more general rules describing patterns we perceive in events. In the case of philosophy, one comes up with different ways of organizing and interpreting our knowledge of the world. Philosophers start with observation of the physical world, and come up with general logical relations between different facets of the world. For example, philosophy may examine the relationship between mind and body. Are they the same substance (Materialism, monism)? Different substances (substance dualism)? Are mental properties merely a byproduct of the physical (epiphenomenalism)? Even if one never does figure out the way that mind and body relate to one another, I think that one’s worldview is expanded by philosophy just by virtue of knowing the different alternatives.

The problem is that no matter how much one expands one’s world; there are still elements that do not mesh with that worldview. For an example of how even an extremely complex and sophisticated worldview can fail to reflect the world in all its complexity, consider the example of Einstein. I consider Einstein to have had one of the “biggest” views of things of any human who ever lived, insofar as he realized deep scientific truths and had some fascinating perspectives on philosophy of religion as well. Yet, the real world proved to be even stranger than this intellectual titan imagined it to be. While Einstein supposed that the world was entirely deterministic, that all events of past, present and future were suspended in an infinite and unbroken chain of cause and effect, the developing field of quantum mechanics flatly contradicted his worldview with results just as conclusive as those that supported relativity. Einstein was most likely wrong in thinking the universe to be entirely deterministic. So, regardless of how smart one may be, it seems to be true that one cannot apprehend reality with complete accuracy

What would it be like to really know reality? Perhaps know is the wrong word. “Know” seems to presuppose a system, a particular vantage point of perception, and I believe that systems are, by their explanatory nature, different than the things that they describe. To really “get” reality would be to reach out and grasp the thing itself, so to speak. One would have to transcend all systems and all ways of seeing things in order to grasp reality directly. Does this sound familiar? You guessed it—Zen Buddhism; the abandonment of all ways of thinking in order to grasp the world intuitively.

If one were to transcend all systems, I believe it would naturally follow (as Buddhists would most likely agree) that one would need to abandon the ego. The ego, or self, consists of part of the world standing in a certain relation to the whole. According to the definition of self I offered in my first paragraph, the ego is identical to its view of the world, and is thus itself a system. I don’t believe that anything like a self can exist without a system, vantage, or viewpoint from which the world is perceived. It is, of course, contradictory to say that there is a system which transcends all systems, and if my definition of the self has any truth to it, then it is contradictory to say that an ego can transcend all systems. To transcend all systems, becoming “enlightened” so to speak, one would need to transcend the ego as well (whatever that means).

Ha! As long as I’m indulging myself in pseudo-philosophy, I might as well make my night complete and indulge in pseudo-mathematics while I’m at it. I sometimes think of systems and their transcendence to be analogous to the search for totality in mathematics. A result in set theory discovered by a mathematician named Cantor is that there is no set of all sets. It’s also true that there is no set of all groups, and no set of all mathematical structures. If my definition of ego is correct, then I think that the ego can be considered as analogous to a set. In the same way that a set is completely defined by its elements, the ego is completely defined by its constituent ways of viewing the world. In the same way that set’s are ill equipped to handle totality, I believe that the ego is ill equipped to transcend all ways of viewing the world to intuitively grasp reality.

I associate the ineffable with the fact that the transcendence of all systems is not something that can be talked about, strictly speaking. To talk about something, one must use words, and the function of words is to outline systems, ways of seeing the world. The transcendence of all systems is not something that can be talked about with tools that can only be used to describe things that have not transcended systems. There are places that you cannot go with language. Of course, one now runs into a paradox similar to one found in Wittgenstein’s work Tractatus Logico Philosophicus—despite the fact I say that one can’t talk about the transcendence of all systems, I do seem to be talking about the transcendence of systems an awful lot, don’t I? Personally, I feel that the fact that this paradox arises exemplifies what I’m trying to get across—that words have limits, especially as concerns efforts to transcend all particular ways of viewing the world.

I’m done with my essay now. Some comments on my own essay—I’m not convinced. I created this and shared it because I thought it was interesting and hoped it would provoke discussion, but I wonder if it isn’t too vague to have any truth to it. It’s quite possible that my definition of the self is unsatisfactory (as I said, I didn’t consider any arguments for or against adopting this definition). Things also may begin to go awry at the very moment that I start talking about “transcendence of systems”—I’m not sure that the concept is coherent. In any case, even if you didn’t completely understand it (I know I don’t!) I hope you find this essay of some interest.

Intelligence: Qualitative, not Quantitative

I think that intelligence in the sense the term is usually used is qualitative rather than quantitative. By this, I mean that there is no complete objective criterion by which one can judge whether another entity is more or less intelligent than another. Asking whether Person A is smarter than person B is like asking if person A is more good looking than person B—an answer is neither completely arbitrary, but neither is it precise or exact. Intelligence is a societal construct, and judgments pertaining to it a judgment call.

I was in a conversation with Joseph about how intelligent animals are as compared to us. I mentioned to him that we usually judge intelligence by how similar animals are to us. That is, it’s only similarities to things we deem intelligent in humans that we deem intelligent in animals. A dolphin is intelligent for its occasional tendency to save people, but a fly is not smart for it’s amazing ability to avoid being swatted. The clear difference is that saving people seems a more human act than avoiding a fly swatter using compound eyes and wings, and is hence closer to our ideal our very human stereotype of intelligence. We never consider animals intelligent for doing things that we cannot—it is only when they do things that remind us of humans, and by association intelligent humans, that we deem said animals intelligent.

Some may object, saying that we can measure intelligence by studying brains of different species. But this objection falls short. What characteristics of brains are said to make a dolphin more intelligent to a fly? Why, precisely those characteristics that enable animal to act more like us!

Meditation
I’ve decided to write a little explanation of meditation based on my meager knowledge that I have gleaned from Buddhist literature and Shambhala meditation training weekend I attended some time ago. Although questions on the specifics of meditation are many, I find that the two most common first questions about meditation are the following: First, what is the purpose of meditation? And second, how does one meditate?

Upon consulting literature with the intention of discovering the purpose of meditation, one is likely to find a number of different explanations. Some sources say that meditation is for relaxation; others say that it’s primarily useful in gaining control of one’s own mind. There are even those who, due to a smattering of eclectic eastern beliefs distorted through a web of misinterpretation and obfuscation, insist that meditation can give one fantastic powers if practiced correctly. However, the most interesting and perplexing position on the purpose of meditation is the simplest as well. It is the stance held by those who declare that meditation has no purpose at all.

Now, upon hearing the last suggesting, no doubt some readers will suspiciously note that the answer appears, on the face of it, to be nihilistic, obscurant in nature, or just plain silly. I belief, however, that this answer comes closest to the truth as well as being more practical. The reason is this--meditation is most effective if one does not have any specific goal to reach or purpose to fulfill by doing so. Now, the observant reader may argue that the term “effective” presupposes some sort of unmentioned goal, one that is only attained when the lesser goals of relaxation or self-control are abandoned. This criticism is not unwarranted, but only half true. Relaxation and self-control must be admitted to be benefits of meditation, but they are not goals of meditation per se. If meditation had a relaxation as a goal, then one would have failed at meditation if one did not feel sufficiently relaxed while practicing it—and I assure you that this is not the case. One does not fail or succeed at meditation. Perhaps an analogy will help illustrate what I’m getting at—one does not really succeed or fail at walking as long as one does it, although one might not reach the place he or she intended. To fail at meditation would be to not sit down and meditate.

A denial of goal oriented meditation is also an answer undertaken from a much more pragmatic standpoint than I belief is often realized. Although meditation is not goal oriented, it is still a practice, and one that is primarily mental in nature, since physical posture is a relatively simple matter, which I will later address. To meditate is to simply be where you are, without anything particular in mind. If you have a specific purpose in mind, this mental aspect of meditation will be non-existent. Instead of passively being, you will be constantly monitoring yourself, checking your progress toward your goal. This is, of course, self-defeating with respect to those purposes—excessive worry or introspection does nothing to further the goals of relaxation or self-control. The quickest way to commence meditation is, then, is to abandon the superfluous processes of mind-policing by firmly reminding yourself that one cannot fail at meditation, and thus needn’t worry about it.

How does one meditate? If one consults literature on meditation, one is likely to find a different method in every book. Many books are very insistent that their particular meditation posture is the correct. Often the reason for this insistence is tradition. If you are consulting a religious source, they may be part of a sect that has been meditating in a specific way in their temple for who knows how many hundreds of years. I assure you, however, that it is best to simply pick a method that sounds right to you, and stick with it.

There are a few common elements that are almost universal in the various meditation postures. First of all, one should be sitting for sitting meditation, although you may walk for walking meditation, eat for eating meditation, and so forth. Although any posture is bound to make you feel a bit stiff the first few times, an acceptable posture should include sitting in a natural and reasonably comfortable way with your back strait. All though one usually crosses one’s legs, I must assure you that your meditation will not be the worse off for your having not assumed the full lotus position. Keep your eyes open, or you’ll likely fall asleep. Lastly, keep your face forward, chin tucked slightly in.

Don’t get caught up on sifting through hundreds of methods and worrying over whether your posture is “correct”. People often practice as if they assume that a minute element of their posture, such as the angle at which their head is tilted, is of supreme importance, which it isn’t. Things are done for relatively mundane reasons. You sit because standing is harder and laying down is not hard enough. You cross your legs because it’s uncomfortable and hard to balance while you have your legs stretched straight out in front of you. If religious practitioners are concerned about the specifics of their posture, it is often because they believe that one posture represents the awakened supreme Buddha. However, the most important thing seems to just do it rather than read about it.

I have already mentioned that meditation has no purpose or goal. This does not mean, however, that it has no value. The marvelous thing about meditation is that its value seems to be intrinsic, rather than utilitarian in nature. One can learn a great deal about oneself and one’s world through meditation. As to what those lessons are, that is left for the mediator to discover on one’s own. Just remember that the lessons are benefits, rather than goals to be sought. Really, that’s a lesson in itself.

Consciousness, Self, and Philosophy of Mind

I’ve been interested in philosophy of mind lately. Truth be told, I find it to be a very difficult subject to think clearly about. I think that this difficulty is, perhaps, a consequence of the recursive nature of self-consciousness. Recursion in general seems to give rise to a certain level of vagueness and confusion, and care is needed to be as precise as one can be. Conscious seems to be particularly enigmatic—at once ever-present and elusive. Before dealing with the nature of its existence and its relations with other things, one would think that it would first be necessary to get an idea of what consciousness is, and what exact ally it is that we’re dealing with. Unfortunately, this first step is one of the most the most complicated aspects of philosophy of mind—the first step is the trickiest.

Many philosophers of mind refer to subjectively experienced components of existence as “qualia”. Subjective experiences such as brown, happy, and cold are all examples of qualia. Qualia, however, has quite a bit of controversy attached to it however. Some philosophers, such as Daniel Dennett, deny the existence of qualia altogether, denying that it as something substantial that need be accounted for by a theory of consciousness. Other philosophers of mind, such as David Chalmers, think that this amounts to trying to solve a problem by ignoring it. According to the introduction to his book, Chalmers considers it quite obvious that consciousness exists and needs to be explained. I’m not so sure, personally.

I wonder if it’s possible that what we call consciousness is not something inherently different from the physical, but instead a particular facet or face of the physical world, a subsection of the material if you will. This fits in well with many Buddhist elements of consciousness—the illusory nature of the self. There would be not necessity of an observer—what we call subjective experience is just a particular facet of physical existence. Although I think that this is a possibility, I’m by no means convinced that this is the case either. Bertrand Russell once said that a theory of matter must be strange, regardless of how it’s made. I think that the same goes for a theory of consciousness. It’s bizarre to think that consciousness could arise from matter, but equally bizarre to think that matter consciousness is completely separate from matter. Bizarre no matter which way it arises, really.

I’ve been thinking through an interesting consequence of the theory that our minds are not any different than a biological computer. I want to write down my thoughts on the matter before I read more about Chalmers hypothetical panpsychism, for I believe that it might be similar. My own hypothetical runs as follows. Let’s say that our minds are not inherently different from a computer, and that the brain is something roughly similar to a biological circuit board. Now surely, if a biological computer can give rise to consciousness, then a silicon computer can as well. But why stop there? I could easily make a Turing machine with a collection of stones, my own hands, and some instructions. Now, this would be terribly inconvenient, but it is theoretically possible. Well, if I can make a computer out of stones, and if computers can become conscious, than why can’t a mind be made out of stone, carrots, or Brussels sprouts?

Now, in the examples I have mentioned, I have been part of the machine, my hands moving the objects, considering them as discrete elements of data. But is my conscious self an essential component of such a created mind? This is the most pressing question. You see, when a computer adds, there is no evidence that it realizes that is adding. But if consciousness is not necessary to perceive information as discrete binary components, then couldn’t anything be conscious? From ant colonies to fields of asteroids.

Pains of the Ineffable

I type only portions of what I think; indeed, I limit myself to writing only of those portions that can be written about. An when all of the explicable has been wrought into words, I find that so much remains yet unsaid. A Zen master once said that we cannot say truth, but can only point to it. Shakespeare’s Hamlet said that there are “More things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in our Philosophy.” I feel it’s true. After I am done expounding upon dry philosophical topics, I still havn’t even touched upon the edges of that which is beautiful.

There are so many things that I would like to write about. Not philosophical things—that which I wish to speak of is happily vague, or at least incapable of being expressed with the level of clarity that could be considered strictly philosophical. I come to the computer with a fire in my mind, a vision of glory, only to have it dissipate into dreams and shadows, like a morning mist driven away come daylight. All that remains is a faint feeling that there was once something beyond the broad daylight, something I would remember if I could.

Perhaps painful is too strong a word. The subtle ache is more akin to a sort of melancholy. And yet, even this silken nostalgia must pass. Its fabric soon becomes punctured by new thoughts that prod it with needle sharpness; doubt. It is possible that the nostalgia has no subject. Perhaps there is nothing beyond the yearning. It may be empty. As the doubts advance, I take reality as my balm. Whatever the unknowable is, it is. It is what it is. My faint attempts to grasp it are what they are as well. To me, this approach is more than a meaningless tautology—it marks acceptance of the way that the world is, whatever it is.

The world, insofar as I experience it, is a rough and rocky one. It exists with greater solidity than our idealized sterilized conceptions and pictures of it. For me, the greatest evidence that there is a reality beyond myself is the fact that events seem to depend on me so little. If there were nothing beyond myself, then how could I ever feel confused or lost? In this rockiness, I find nuance and flavor. It is a world devoid of undiluted agony or ecstasy. Everything exists in a sort of flux. My pains and pleasures are not solid, but rather tentative, as I wordlessly question their right to existence. When I am happy, I am not happy because I somehow manage to partially partake in some kind of essential or ideal happiness. I am happy in the precise way that I am happy at the moment, although I know not what that way is. And yet, I cannot even say for certain whether the world is rough, or just my part of it.

Moral Relativism vs. Moral Absolutism

And interesting accusation that I often here touted in order to denigrate specific ethical systems is that said system, unwittingly or not, permits of moral relativism. Moral relativism is a concept I would like to think is rejected by the majority of thinkers, even if only due to the reason that such an extreme position deprives the one who holds it for the grounds too say that they’re in the right, a deprivation for which most ego’s will not stand. But the compassionate realize that the extremes of moral relativism are unacceptable due to its inevitable theoretical outcomes, such as that Nazism is no better than altruism.

Although to think so is, perhaps, to exhibit a rather foolish level of optimism, I would like to assume that most thinkers, despite their many disagreements on other matters, would be inclined to believe that sneaking into a house at night in order to stab a baby for personal satisfaction is a bad thing. Let us suppose for a moment that my optimism is not too far off the mark and further more that the condemnation of such a behavior requires some philosophy other than the most extreme form of moral relativism. Why, then, is the charge of moral relativism so often waged against opponents? Are there different types of moral relativism? If one is disinclined to think that morals are absolute, does it follow that one must permit of any action, or contradict oneself?

I think that approaches to ethics are mistakenly thought by some to be either of two extremes—moral relativism or moral absolutism. I believe that ethics is a great deal more complicated than this. First of all, the rejection of a dogmatic or axiomatic approach to ethics does not entail the acceptance of moral relativism. For example, many conservative Christians seem to see moral relativism in the rejection of universal condemnation of all abortions. In reality, though, it is entirely consistent to hold to a notion of objective moral truths without calling a specific category of acts inherently good or bad—perhaps such acts can be objectively good or objectively bad depending on the scenario. In a way, one has the option of seeing objective ethics not as a large dogmatic block, but as a fractal pattern or ever more subtle nuanced situations and particular cases. One certainly needn’t entertain the wholesale rejection or acceptance of every conceivable category of actions in order reject moral relativism.

Meaning and Free Will

I recently wrote a paper in support of the compatiblist view of free will for my philosophy of science class. One thing that a philosopher (was it the Buddha?) once said was that if something is a conviction of yours, you should acknowledge it as such. I’ll admit that I’m not unbiased about a matter as of as much personal significance as free will. Free will matters a great deal to me, because so much hinges on it—our concepts of agency, accountability, etc.

Perhaps this view of mine is an egocentric view? I think that we’ve gotten quite carried away in opposing “anthrocentricism.” I understand that we should realize that the world doesn’t revolve around us, but must we think of ourselves as blind unfeeling machines in a cold indifferent world? I feel strongly against this view. It’s not so much that I oppose the notion of determinism—I disagree instead with the demeaning attitude that people carry with it. Compassion, love, and kindness are amongst the most important things that we have—and how can we hope to love others, to truly care for them, if we don’t love ourselves at all? If we think that we are accidental misshapen machines, then how can others be anything less?

I think that we should count ourselves equal to others; “love your neighbor as yourself”, not more or less than. If you value others less than yourself, then you’re self-centered. The opposite is little better though; if you love others significantly more than yourself, than you undermine the whole process. You need to provide justification for thinking that you are worthless and everyone else not so. Happiness and self-worth is contagious—others are heartened by a self-secure compassionate individual. If you are constantly concentrating on debasing and undermining your value as an individual, you’re being quite as self-centered as if you constantly praised and lauded yourself. Stop worrying about your own worth—just know it, take it as a given! Move on, and help others!

Universalism trumps altruism. Universalism is the belief that you should seek what is best for all, yourself included. Altruism is the notion that everyone else is worth more than you are, and that the noblest thing you can do is consciously and consistently sacrifice your own happiness for them. I think that this really just panders to the ego’s of both sides. And what if everyone in society was altruistic in this way? If the only thing that will make you happy is if I’m happy, and the only thing that will make me happy is if you’re happy, then how can either of us be happy or sad at all?! Partake in joy with others—by them an ice-cream cone, and get yourself one too. Eat them together, and have conversations. This is true beauty.

Ha, I just thought of a neat extra argument against incompatibles in addition to the arguments that I already have. Consider this incompatibles argument; “You are not responsible for eating the ice-cream cone. It’s the genes that are responsible.” Well, isn’t explaining things in terms of genes sort of like personifying the genes as a sort of agency? Consider this scenario—you coerced me to eat an ice-cream cone. If cause precludes free will, then you might say that I am not the one responsible for eating the ice-cream cone—it was you who is responsible. But by the same sort of argument, I might say that you are no more responsible that I, because your actions to were caused.

Now, consider the genes as the “second person” who convinced me to eat the ice-cream. We can’t say that the genes are responsible—they were caused just as much as I was! Blaming things on specific principles such as genes or evolution is really just to push the concept of agency back a level, and to a level considerably more anthropomorphic, since your supposing that genes can possess a sort of agency! Perhaps we can prescribe the agency to “universal laws” themselves? That simply won’t work; applying the concept of agency to laws that function throughout the entire process is to alter the fundamental meaning of agency itself. We are then faced with two options. Either drop the term agency entirely upon discovering that (surprise!) it doesn’t appear to be as universal and inherent as we supposed it, or simply use it as we always have.

Why I Like Mathematics

Mathematics is rather like philosophy’s Siamese twin. They both share a far reaching ubiquity, as these studies can be used to describe elements in such diverse areas of inquiry as biology, physics, sociology, or spirituality, although the last of these may only be touched by mathematics in a metaphorical sense, although I find this quite valuable. However, despite their like levels of applicability, mathematics and philosophy also have strong elements of abstractions within them.

Mathematics differs from philosophy only by virtue of its rigor and well-defined terms. Whereas philosophy is understandably and necessarily vague in its use of some terms, such as “beauty” and “good” mathematics builds up its definitions from initially meaningless symbols, so every term can be explained in terms of other definitions, all the way back to the axioms. It is a gargantuan system of deduction built by us for our own use—mathematicians generally avoid making proofs and definitions longer and more complicated when they could be shorter and simpler. And yet, despite the most rigorous efforts to make such a vast chain of deductive truths understandable and manageable, many mathematical truths still manage to come as a complete surprise; therein lies the true beauty of mathematics.

As far as I have observed in my relatively few years in this lifetime, many non-mathematicians seems to view mathematics and symbolic logic as being predictable, mechanical, and unquestionable—set in stone. What I find particularly distressing is the tendency of many philosophers and scientists making assumptions in their arguments based on this view. How many times have I seen a militant atheist talking about the “unquestionable mathematical truths of logic”? In reality, mathematics and logic defies all expectations—rather than being straightforward and predictable, it is a frenetic merry-go-round of unexpected connections, and seeming coincidences run-amuck. Intuition is defied at every turn, as the impossible is proven and common sense is abandon.

How can such unpredictability occur in a system so rigid? Do the following. Add Contintue this process for all of eternity. When you arrive at the end of forever, take the mysterious number that eternity has produced, and divide it by six. Take the square root of the resulting number. What is it? It’s But why? It can be proved beyond a reasonable doubt that it must be , that it cannot be anything else but . And yet, despite the level of certainty we can have about this claim, it is rather difficult to shake of the feeling that it is still a rather bizarre coincidence.

I like mathematics in much the same way that I like chess. Now, I’m terrible at chess; truly abysmal if I am to be honest with myself. I stare at the board, and do not know where I should move my piece. Finally, I feel a glimmer of understanding—I make a connection, and thus a move. Of course, two or three turns after my epiphany has passed, and I have lost my Queen. Not only have I lost my Queen, but it is completely obvious to me why I lost my Queen, and what mistake I made. No matter how firmly I declare that I shall not make such a mistake again (after all, I understand my mistake well!) the same thing happens game after game. Mathematics is like a chess game, save for the fact that there is no winning or losing—only rules and strategy. Breaking a rule results in a contradiction, equivalent to moving a rook diagonally. Like chess, mathematics follows definite rules, and yet can still take you by complete surprise.

Quantum Mechanics, Chaos Theory, and More

I’m on another one of my math/science sprees, where for a short measure of time my learning efforts are more concentrated toward disciplines of a rigorous mathematical nature (although rigor does indeed succumb to the constraints of the practical where science is concerned). Due to some fascinating things that I have begun to learn in astronomy class, and some things that I have investigated on my own time, I am becoming increasingly interested in the wild and wonderful realm of knowledge where advanced math and science intersect. I like science of a mathematical nature (in harmony with my natural tendency to favor the general and abstract over the specific and concrete), and have finally found some areas of scientific inquiry where math is applied beyond mundane uses of multiplication and addition. Quantum physics deals with wave functions, partial differential equations, and even lie algebras, a topic from modern algebra. Meanwhile, chaos theory busies itself with recursive functions and fractals. All brilliant, all fascinating!

Chaos theory is a real treat. Theoretically speaking, it deals with deterministic processes (math has yet to produce the truly random!) However, even in deterministic processes, the systems can be so complex and touchy that it is impossible to predict specific phenomena beyond a certain level of accuracy. Consider the weather—it is so dependent on minute fluctuations in air currents and slight changes in temperature that we might never be able to know for certain ahead of time whether or not it will rain. Chaos theory instead looks for patterns that are threaded through the chaos, patterns that make it possible to discover astonishing and bizarre facts that arise out of seemingly meaningless data.

For instance, some things, such as stock market fluctuations, were shown by Mandelbrot to exhibit fractal behavior! That is, the fluctuations of a day to day basis were rough copies of the fluctuations on a month to month basis. Another interesting relationship between fractals and chaotic systems is shown in bifurcation diagrams. Depending on the growth rate of an animal population, it might stabilize, or oscillate between two, three, or more values. Or, it might descend into “chaos”. Also, chaos theory deals with things called “attractors”, states to which chaotic systems tend to if they get close enough.

I’m also beginning to understand a bit more about the strange and wonderful world of quantum mechanics. We’ve encountered quantum mechanics multiple times in astronomy class, and I think that I may finally be beginning to attain a glimmer of understanding as to what Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle really means. It’s confusing, because it’s often explained with metaphors that make it sound as if the uncertainty principal is merely a facet of our tendency toward human error, rather than a property of quantum mechanics itself. But it seems that it really is a property of physics, at least insofar as it is described by current quantum mechanical theory.

Two things helped me understand—the double slit experiment, and the properties of wave addition. It is all very complex, and I am still struggling to wrap my mind around it, but it seems that practically speaking, measurement is inseparable from something being restricted, an action that effects the properties of the thing measured. For instance, if a particle travels through a small slit, it’s momentum at the point of the slit will be quite uncertain. Total momentum will be known, but its maximum direction, or its value in any particular direction, remains unknown. Thus, you don’t know where the particle will hit a sheet on the opposite side of the slit.

Thoughts about Consciousness

An interesting theory rolled into my head randomly not too long ago. I must say, the theory is simply too interesting not to be true, unless, or course, it’s counterfactual, in which case I’d have to say it’s baloney. Anyway, it’s a theory relating computers, consciousness, and the Buddhist concepts of anatta (no-self) and shunyata (emptyness).

Is there intelligent life out there, sentient life other than humanity? On the surface, it would appear that there isn’t, at least not within a large range of parsecs. But what do we look for when we look for sentient life? Creatures that talk, speak, write? It might be possible that some of the species that we live amongst are as intelligent as we are, but are simply so completely different in their ways of thinking that it doesn’t appear to us to be intelligence at all.

How do we even know that other people are conscious? Why do we believe that others are conscious as are we, rather than resorting to a philosophy of complete solipsism? Induction, obviously. Consciousness is a subjective phenomenon, and since we can’t directly experience the consciousness of others, we assume that they are as self-aware as we are based on other similarities such as physical habits. I think that this inductive knowledge is the strongest form of verification that we can get about consciousness. That is, I hypothesize that one could never physically detect the consciousness of another. It’s an “emergent phenomena” of sorts—you cannot explain consciousness in terms of the biological and chemical processes of the brain.

This idea that our consciousness is somehow an “emergent phenomena”, arising from but not completely reducible to in physical law is rather similar to the Buddhist concept of shunyata—that there is no constant principle or factor that underlies the mind, and that it is simply created as a factor of all surrounding circumstances. To sum this up, consciousness is only consciousness from a subjective point of view, and is assumed from the third person perspective only through induction. Also, I hypothesize that you could never read someone’s mind. Ever. There’s nothing objective to detect, since qualia are only directly detectable from a subjective perspective.

Personally, I think that the inductive inference that other humans are conscious is a good one. But why is it that we assume that termite colonies, or the wind, or forests aren’t conscious? We cannot “detect” the consciousness by viewing it under a microscope, but neither can we detect such consciousness in other humans. The inductive inference from the observation that another human looks and acts physically similar to us may be sufficient grounds to assume that they have consciousness, but it does not follow automatically that all phenomena quite dissimilar to us are not conscious. Could not the wind, in some incomprehensible way, be like a large computer, thinking thoughts so different from ours that they would be unfathomable even if we did know them? I am not, of course, asserting that this is the case, or even likely, but it is interesting to think about nonetheless

Beyond Death

What lies beyond death? What awaits us in the root of the unknown, past the last brink of our meager knowledge? It is beyond my ken; I stand defeated. And yet I remain defiant, for the final enemy shows prisoners no mercy. But perhaps it is mercy? Was it not Socrates who asked whether death might not yet prove the greatest blessing that can await a mortal? I know not if I shall dissolve like an autumn leaf crumbled to dust by the wind, if I shall endure for eternity in a realm of boundless pain or pleasure, or whether there lies a middle road, something unspoken and unsuspected.

Things are impermanent. We grow old and pass away, laughing children become hardened by the stings of life, and even nations pass in time. Mountain ranges are created and worn away, and even the stars themselves, ancient beyond comprehension, fade away at last. But all moments appear so eternal—the now never fails to be the now. Now will never cease to be, and yet will cease to be the now. How to reconcile with this paradox? The books of ages crumble to dust at its touch.

When I walk beneath the shining Sun and see the unbroken blue sky stretched above me, the sight is so beautiful that it hurts. I feel a soft ache, a gentle sadness. Part of me wants the moment to last, wants to walk beneath the Sun forever, and yet my other, perhaps wiser half, knows that this is folly. For though I were endless, the Sun would still set, and night would come. Neither would the night last—that too is transient. I will have memories of the land of Sun and sky, but these memories will be mere shadows, and they too will fade in time, even the memory of what once was passing away when I leave.

Will I endure? No. Neither shall I vanish. The now, devoid of parts and separations, shall glint sideways into the void, coiling into nothing like a wisp of smoke. And yet there will always be a now. I perish, and yet I won’t be gone. I am not more than myself, but more than myself is me—patterns, traces will bloom and wilt like flowers as the years soar ever onwards. Others will spin their dreams from threads of letters, love their families, and care for friends. And perhaps, in eons hence, a small child will stand beneath the splendor of the arching blue, and know it for what it is—the present.

A Deadly Paradox: Death and Induction

I’ve been thinking a lot about paradoxes of induction lately, undoubtedly due, in part, to the Philosophy of Science course that I’m taking. I’ve thought of a peculiar paradox concerning death. There seems nothing unusual about the statement that no one alive today will live for an infinite duration. And yet, how do we know this? Through induction, by the fact that everyone in the past died eventually. But is this a reasonable inference? Because everyone we use as evidence have a common property—they’re all dead, where as the people who we are making the inference about are still alive. It’s interesting, because you can’t say people today will die because “everyone who ever lived has died” because that’s not true; we are among the group of everyone who has ever lived!

I think that I finally see the connection between mathematical induction and scientific induction. Let’s say that we are trying to establish an infinite claim. Let Mx denote “Matter exists at instant x”. We can never look at all of these instants, as there will always be instant that remains in the future. So, in order to establish the universal claim, we must assume that if it holds true for all past instants, it must hold true for all future instances. In mathematics, universal claims can be proven about infinite sets of objects, and in science they can’t be. So for scientific induction, the claim cannot be confirmed in a deductive sense. However, as is often noted, it’s possible in theory (if not always in practice) to disprove a universal statement about an infinite number of objects inductively—just find a counter example. For instance if there is not matter at instant x (excepting, of course, the dubiously assumed observer), then it cannot be true that matter exists at all instants.

But can the universal “All humans die” be disproved, even in theory? We already know that we run into the same difficulty that we did before as far as confirming the universal; in accordance with problem of induction, we must assume that if a statement is true for all humans in the past, it is also true for all humans in the future. But again, it isn’t true that all humans in the past have died—it’s only true that all of the humans in the past that have already died have died.

Over dinner, I thought of a possible connection between Hume’s problem of induction and the Grue paradox. In the case of green vs. grue—let’s temporarily redefine grue as a relational predicate Fx,t where x is the object to be Grue or not Grue, and t is the time that the object must be green before or blue afterwards. We accept green and not grue due to a sort of meta-induction of the like that is found in the paradox of induction. Let’s say t is t=-60 days where 0 is the present. We know that it was true that all emeralds before were green, but no emeralds before t were grue. Thus, we have a sort of “meta-inductive evidence” to favor green.

Again, consider the death scenario. We believe that people will be alive before a time t and dead after a time t because that use of induction worked in the past, only for different values of T. Of course, in both the grue and death scenarios, this solution has a serious complication. I said that we justified induction working in the future on the basis of induction in the past. But there must have been a first case that we observed! Now, how was that first case justified, if there is no initial time to give it credence?

This is interesting! With this view of the problem of induction, the problem isn’t so much that induction begs the question as it is the problem that it can’t be justified ad infinitum.

On Misanthropes

In many places, I hear complaints from some about humanity and human nature. I too have been guilty of these complaints times, and have been plagued by the occasional feeling that human society is futile. Thousands upon thousands of years we tread this sphere, and although we have progressed in some ways, we remain apes in others. We still kill, steal, and disagree in a most extraordinarily unproductive manner. We split ourselves into groups and the weak are often harmed by the strong as a result. But must all of this sorrow result in a hatred of humanity?

Although I believe that humans should be responsible for their actions at some level, I honestly believe that a great deal (though certainly not all) violence and cruelty results from confusion and misunderstanding. In the simplest of mathematical systems, peculiarities can arise. Is it so strange to think that something such as evil could would arise systems as complicated as an entire self-aware species, even if that something is not inherent in human behavior? An accident as small as poor communication changes into offense, which turns into rudeness, which morphs into irritation, which results in increased tension that latter snowballs into retaliation. I think that we often have the tendency to blame all the worlds’ ills on individuals, hating others for their ignorant and small minded views. But miscommunication is always between two people, not one. Must individuals hate the masses for a folly in which they themselves partake?

At times, I fail to understand other people, what makes them tick. Some days, I feel that I am surrounded largely by foolish and harmful behavior. But I must realize how limited my vision is! As Sartre said, "What if everyone in the world thought like that?" You see, every individual person separates humanity mentally into two groups—themselves, and everyone else. When I see others hurting each other and themselves, exchanging cruel words, and exaggerating petty differences, my gut reaction is to despise them for their short-sightedness, their self-serving natures. But as I examine myself, I think as thus—I have no reason to think that I am born apart from humanity, an exception to the thoughtlessness that plagues our species. And by definition, if you’re short-sighted, you don’t know it! Who knows what I’ve overlooked, who I’ve hurt, what situations I have failed to react too properly.

Excess of “Logic”

Something I’ve noticed on philosophy forums is that some people have a tendency to saturate their language as much as possible with logical terms while simultaneously deciding to de-value meaning in things. I believe that they do this in order to make themselves appear more “logical” than others. But I think that it’s an entirely foolhardy practice for a number of reasons. First of all, logic does not produce true views! It does not produce meaningful views! What logic is a set of mathematical tools than can aid you in assessing the validity of complex arguments. Although the use of logic can help one to avoid making silly errors in arguments, it does not add one whit of value to the final conclusion if the premises are flawed.

The tendency to under-emphasize or deny meaning the meaningfulness of the human experience is something that I find even more disturbing. I see it as an extreme reaction against admittedly irrational nonsense. There are some out there who would see meaning where it is not, see immutable signs and symbols in the most trivial of circumstances, and condemn logic as restrictive. In reaction to such nonsense, others think that they can make themselves appear wiser than the former by acting as differently as possible from the first group, and by refusing to consider that anything has an intrinsic meaning. But where are we then? The laws of logic do not forbid one seeing a human life as a mere aggregate of chemical compounds and reactions, but if Humankind is see things as no more than that, who can object to the slaughter of another? Although we cannot build all our knowledge on perfect foundations, we must assume that some things are valuble.

The Big Questions…..Again

Honestly, I’m no closer any sort of answer to truth than I was a decade ago. Although I’m thankfully not in anguish over any big questions currently, I do puzzle over them frequently. My current worldview, when I began to questioning in ernest the notion that I would ever find a solid foundation to a belief, feels rather like an uneasy truce between several warring factions. For the time being, there is a great deal of unease, but no actual bloodshed. Metaphorically, I mean that I’m not having reoccurring anxiety attacks about philosophy, which is an improvement. I have slipped into a paradox, and have recently realized what it is—to question my current worldview is to accept it, for my worldview is a continuation of the nagging questioning nature that got me here in the first place!

And yet, I still feel a certain amount of unease, which makes sense, because I can't exactally expect perfect happiness any time soon. But I’m still stuck with the age old concern—what if I’m wrong? Perhaps my current worldview isn’t so much a position as it is surrender. And what if I’m missing something? It’s selfish, but I still worry a bit about whether I’ll end up in hell, or get reincarnated as a cockroach, or that I’ll just get snuffed out completely.

Let’s list the "big questions", shall we? What happens when we die? Is life futile, and if not, how should I spend it? Is our universe a loving one, a malicious one, or an indifferent one? Is there a higher being in which I can place my trust? These questions are all, often, painfully immediate and personal. I wonder at times if I am not too concerned with my own “spiritual welfare”, but what is one to do? I feel my lack of insight acutely, and am not immune to the oldest of human fears—fear of the unknown.