A link to Ted Honderich’s essay Terrorism for Humanity [sic] was recently forwarded to members of the Radical Philosophy Association listserv. Several members of the list wrote posts dismissing Honderich’s essay as nauseating–including one post wondering whether it was a hoax in the tradition of the Sokal affair. In response, Edward D’Angelo writes:

Ted Honderich is a respected contemporary British philosopher. He has contributed some important philosophical works in the latter part of the twentieth century. The remark that his paper Terrorism for Humanity, presented at the International Social Philosophy Conference, can be equated with the spoof on postmoderism is discounting the content of the paper. Additionally, saying that one can be nauseous about Honderich’s views is an emotive apppeal. I suggest that we examine the logical content of Honderich’s paper instead of using nonlogical devices to reject his viewpoint.

It seems to me that a flippant dismissal of the paper, or a feeling of nausea, is far from discounting the content of the paper–it is, rather, a very reasonable response to the content of the paper.

Nevertheless, D’Angelo’s suggestion that the logical content of the paper be examined is also a perfectly good one. Therefore, let’s do a bit of analysis, borrowing from the methods advanced by another respected British philosopher, Mr. G.E. Moore:

1. If everything in Ted Honderich’s essay is correct, then the use of terrorist tactics to commit mass murder against civilians is sometimes acceptable.
2. But the use of terrorist tactics to commit mass murder against civilians is never acceptable.
3. Therefore, it is not the case that everything in Ted Honderich’s essay is correct. (M.T. 1, 2)

And thus, something in Ted Honderich’s essay is wrong. Q.E.D.

The form of argument that I have adapted here is, of course, Moore’s famous refutation of external world skepticism; I have, I think, conclusively shown that Honderich’s argument, like the skeptic’s, . . .">deserves nothing more than a certain gesture of the hands.

[This is a somewhat modified version of an e-mail response that I sent over the RPA listserv.]

Notes

1. I leave the identification of which parts of his essay are wrong as a matter for further discussion.

2. It may be objected against my argument, as it was against Moore’s here is one hand, that it merely begs the question. But what meaning is being given to the term begging the question here? Question-begging is a term of logical criticism; what is being claimed is that a fallacy has been committed. One common way to gloss the fallacy involved, which would seem clearly to indict my argument, is that your argument begs the question if it depends on one or more premises that your interlocuter does not accept. If that is a logical crime, then, since Honderich readily denies the crucial premise (2), I (and, mutatis mutandis, Moore) am certainly guilty. But then so is Honderich, whose argument proceeds from the denial of (2); the objection cannot rule my argument out-of-court without doing the same to Honderich’s.

   Indeed, it is much worse than that–a charge of begging the question would, on this account, rule out any argument whatsoever if only some sophist is willing to pick a premise to deny, and stick to it relentlessly until the dialectical game is left in a complete stalemate. (Karl Popper pointed out that a resolute partisan could defend any empirical hypothesis, at the last resort, by simply insisting that any putative counterexample you discover must be a hallucination.) Now I don’t want to deny that someone could use just such a strategem to stalemate any attempt at argument–indeed, sophists sometimes do just that. But the point here is that when they do, it is silly: a sophist who does this is not playing by the rules. The point of dialectical discourse is to hash out reasons for what is said; the point of doing that is to fit what we say as closely as possible to the truth. It’s obvious that it is the sophist who is frustrating this aim, not the person who is actually giving arguments. If begging the question is supposed to pick out a fallacy, then that means it is the question-begger’s fault that the argument gets nowhere. But here it is not your fault, even though your argument depends on premises that the sophist denies.

   A better gloss of what begging the question means—one which nicely solves this difficulty–might be: an argument begs the question when it is less plausible to affirm the premises than it is to deny the conclusion (the word plausible here has to indicate something like objective grounding, rather than the mere willingness to assert a proposition–otherwise this picture merely reformulates the one that we just rejected). Our new gloss is much better fitted to what we think charges of question-begging ought to do: you make an argument in the course of dialectic in order to give reasons for a particular conclusions, and inferring Q from P only counts as giving a reason for Q if there are stronger reasons for affirming P than there are for denying Q. Thus, consider Moore and the skeptic: the skeptic claims to have a deductive argument from philosophical intuitions to the conclusion that one cannot know that Here is one hand. But what’s more obvious? Some murky philosophical intuitions about evil deceivers and the immediate objects of perception? Or the hand in front of your face? It is the skeptic, not Moore, who begs the question: any argument against a Moorean proposition must depend upon something far less plausible than the mundane truisms that one is supposed to be attacking.

   What I maintain, then, is that the massacre of civilians is always and everywhere wrong is a Moorean truth. So, too, is there is no excuse for making shrapnel tear into the guts of little children. So, too, are many others. Honderich thinks he has an argument to show that these are not true, based upon his speculations about the nature of moral philosophy and the hegemonic structuring of ethical sentiments among those benighted souls who disagree with the slaughter of helpless civilians. But Honderich is wrong–he offers no reasons in support of terrorism, because there are no such reasons. All that he can offer is a logical demonstration of the urgent need to reject his premises.

So, it’s official. I’m a Bachelor.

Saturday I graduated from Auburn University, with a B.A. in Philosophy (with a Computer Science minor tacked on for good measure). After the past few years of wandering the halls of learning (or, at least, the halls of Haley Center), I finally have to figure out a new gig. Usually at this point, someone makes some remark or another about leaving the bubble of the academy and being thrown out into the terrible freedom of the real world. You won’t hear it from me, though, for a couple of reasons.

First, I’ve been inhabiting the real world all along. I mean this in the truistic sense–Auburn University campus is no more illusory and no less material than the rest of the world–but I mean it in a deeper sense too. When people talk about school as not being part of the real world, they seem to have one of two things in mind (or, more likely, both). On the one hand, there is a particular picture of what academics do and how it relates to the world. The idea is that you’re dealing with the fabric of reality only when you’re in the midst of an active, practical life–that academics aren’t worldly wise enough to hack it in such a life–that the world of the academy doesn’t (and can’t) deal in experiential reality, because its whole purpose is to think rather than to do. On the other hand, there is a particular attitude towards school: it’s not part of the real world because it bears no deep relationship to what you intend to do with your life. At best, it’s a preparatory means, valuable purely instrumentally–it’s something that you do in order to get into a socio-economic position where you can strike off and do whatever it is that constitutes your real life–a career, a family, or what have you. At worst, it’s merely a holding pen where you wait around until you’re ready to go off the parental dole and get started on the real part of your life. The second picture is usually a direct result of the first. Going to school isn’t part of the real part of your life because the real part of your life consists of doing things, not of thinking about them.

I don’t want to deny that the second picture is an accurate empirical theory about how most people think of college in this day and age. But I think it is a pernicious picture if it is taken as a guide for how ought to spend your school years; those who act on a picture like that have basically been wasting their time and money for the past 4 years. It’s by no means necessary (however often it may be actual) for school to be cut off from the serious part of your life; such a dichotomy rests, I think, on a notion of the academic life that is completely false.

What I mean is this: in most other civilized times, we would hardly feel any need to defend the validity of the vita contemplativa, or the value of the way I’ve spent the past four years–learning and wrestling with important problems, for the sake of nothing except thought itself and knowledge of the truth. That is no small part of what I want to do with my life and to contribute to the world. The relationship between doing and thinking isn’t antagonism, or parasitism. Humans are rational animals; the very essence of how we live our lives is that we put thought into action, that thinking and doing are (for us) two sides of one coin. (Doing without thinking, in any literal and sustained sense, is a form of madness–indeed, a form of inhumanity.) So while I’m done being an undergraduate, my life for the past four years hasn’t been mere preparation for what is to follow. I’ve been doing what I want to do all along.

And I intend to keep on doing what I have been doing. But I’m out of school for the next year, and being a freelance academic doesn’t pay very well. So, I will be looking for a job, and working on graduate school applications for the academic year after the upcoming one. (If graduate school doesn’t work out, I might have to become a monk.)

In the meantime, however, I am on vacation. Right now I am reporting from Berea, Kentucky, where I’m visiting my old friend S. with the rest of my gang of friends from high school. S. pulls us into these fascinating conversations about sustainability and renewable energy and culture; we wander around the campus as if it were a swampy May night in Auburn again.

From there, it is a mere 12 hours by Greyhound bus to Detroit, where I will meet with my sweetheart. I can’t tell you how much I am looking forward to this–to the theological inside jokes, to talking again about philosophy and movies and the Middle Ages; to just having quiet time together to spend with absolutely nothing else eating time away. We’re heading out on a trans-continental road trip out to California, where the plan is (I think) to sit on the beach, C and talk and read and do as close to absolutely nothing as possible for a few days–then to meander around a few sites in Monterey and San Fransisco. My hope is that I won’t be heading back home until early June.

In any case, the plan from there is: (1) summer work, (2) break, (3) move, and (4) fall work. (1) will consist in serving as a T.A. in Philosophy of Mind for Johns Hopkins University Center for Talented Youth (except I won’t actually be at JHU; I’ll be at a program site in Loudonville, New York). After that I am moving to Ypsilanti, MI, and looking around to find out in what (4) will consist. Wish me luck!

Posting will be sporadic, but I fear that you are more than used to that already, gentle reader. I’ll try and drop a line from time to time, though, and when I get back some changes and updates the the site are in the works.

Ciao!

Wittgenstein once spoke of the Liar Paradox (This sentence is false) as a Janus-headed figure, facing both truth and falsity. So what is up with Libertarian theorists putting out Janus-headed weblogs that refuse to admit that they are weblogs? My first encounter with the phenomenon was Roderick’s weblog, In a Blog’s Stead. But at least Roderick explains why he hesitates to call his blog a blog. A far more egregious performative contradiction comes from another one of my favorite Libertarians – Chris Sciabarra’s NOT A BLOG.

Chris, of course, is a long-time student of Dialectic, so perhaps he finds the collision of thesis and antithesis amusing. Perhaps, by creating a Non-Blog that presupposes the activity of Blogging, he intends a synthesis — a transcendence of the blogging/non-blogging paradigm. In any case, his weblog compiles a lot of his best material from articles and listserv posts, as well as some interesting discussions that follow. In particular, check out his numerous essays on U.S. foreign policy, on Partisanship vs. Objectivity in Ayn Rand Scholarship, and his fascinating series of articles on Objectivism and Homosexuality.

P.S. The rest of this post is false.

For those of you who know me only through my online presence, you should be aware that I did not, in fact, commit suicide out of despondancy over the results of the November 5 elections. Nor have I become a reclusive monk (as much as my tastes may run in that direction). Instead, my weblog has simply been on a prolonged hiatus because of a couple months of nearly non-stop academic work and a blissful bit of reclusive relaxation for the week afterwards.

I just wanted to wish everyone a peaceful and happy holiday season, and to let you know that I shall return to posting more regularly in the very near future (whether this means before the New Year or not will depend on how long it takes me to revise certain essays of mine). In any case—talk to you again soon.

In the meantime, consider this bit of correspondance from Paul Feyerabend to his frequent partner in debates over philosophy of science and methodology:

Dear Imre,

You have powerful allies in this country: Ayn Rand (know her?) is after me. She wrote a long article against a short (three and a half pages) article of mine, and sent copies to 4,000 philosophers in order to prevent American philosophy from deteriorating further. Sample: the author (i.e. me) heralds the retrogression of philosophy to the primordial pre-philosophical rationalism of the jungle . . . But what is innocent and inexplicable in an infant or a savage becomes senile corruption when the snake oil, totem poles, and magic potions are replaced by a computer …

You must admit, she writes much better invective than you.

(from Lakatos, Imre and Paul Feyerabend, For and Against Method: Including Lakatos’s Lectures on Scientific Method and the Lakatos-Feyerabend Correspondance. Quoted in Gregory R. Johnson and Chris Matthew Sciabarra, "Ayn Rand in the Scholarly Literature," The Journal of Ayn Rand Studies 3.1)

This past weekend was fucked up and weird in any number of ways, but one thing which was good about it was my opportunity to attend and present at the annual meeting of the Alabama Philosophical Society in Orange Beach, Alabama. Thanks to the work of the people in APS – especially at Auburn and at the University of South Alabama – the APS is a strong and growing, but still very relaxing and laid-back conference. People from around the area are starting to catch on, and we’re getting submissions not just from ex-pat alumni, but also from folks down in Florida and out in Louisiana. A lot of kudos are do to folks like Kelly Jolley, Roderick Long, and Kevin Meeker who have put a lot of work into building such an enjoyable conference, and for working to create a real community of scholars for philosophers in Alabama.

For my part, I presented a paper from my fellowship work–Are There Worlds Enough and Time?–on modality and temporal logic. The central worry is this: many skeptics, and even some Christians, have accepted an argument that if there is an omniscient God who knows everything that we will do, then we do not have any option to act other than how God knows we will act, and thus, if the Christian God exists, we do not act by free will, but rather by necessity. And since free will is central to our ability to distinguish between acts we perpetrate and events that happen to us, this causes big problems for moral imputability on the Christian picture.

At first blush it seems like this is only a reason for Christians to worry, while we non-Christians either happily consign the debate to the flames, or else hang around out of metaphysical schadenfreude and urge the Christian to give up the incoherent picture of experience that Christianity gives. But arguments from the ancient debates over fatalism show that the same worry present in the foreknowledge argument actually raises its ugly head for everyone. God’s omniscience is one way of ensuring that what you do will be set in advance, but even if there is no-one who has any knowledge about what I will do today, if two people made precisely contradictory predictions about what I will do today, then one of those predictions would have to be true, and one of them would have to be false. Whichever one is true, fixes what I will do before I ever did it. No-one may know which one that is, but the concern here is metaphysics, not epistemology, and not knowing what the fact of the matter is doesn’t keep that fact of the matter from obtaining. So it looks like the Christian and the Aristotelian have found themselves to be allies in the same fight.

The general problem turns out to be a problem with the modality of temporal states of affairs, and the foreknowledge and prediction arguments are just illustrations to point the way. It seems that, if it turns out that S will be the case, then for all of history, it was true that S would be the case–for otherwise, S would not have happened. And if it was true then that S would be the case, then there is no way that S couldn’t be the case. Time itself seems to stop us from acting as we will.

As it turns out, there are two ways to get ourself out of this difficulty, each of which involves rejecting a different hidden premise of the fatalist’s argument. On one account, true predictions do not constrain choice because what they predict actually will happen–but actuality, unlike necessity, does not constrain alternative possibilities. There is only one thing that I will do when the moment of decision comes, but that does not mean that there weren’t other things that I could do instead. Alternatively, one can reject the premise that either of the predictions is true–and claim that predictions about the future simply are not truth-valuable until the event that they predict does or does not come to pass. In this case, the range of choices is not limited at the time of prediction, because there’s nothing to do the limiting in the first place.

Unfortunately, either solution raises thorny logical and metaphysical difficulties. The latter sections of the paper examine these difficulties and draw out the concerns on each side. I will leave the rest of the details in elipsis, however, because I hope to see this paper in published, so for the time being I’m not going to post it here. Not because I don’t love you, gentle reader, but because you aren’t the Harvard Review of Philosophy.

In any case, it was a very relaxing trip and I encourage anyone who has the opportunity to make it in upcoming years, to do so. You’ll get to spend some time on the beach (which is actually quite pleasant when it’s not being bombarded with heat, sun, and annoying people having fun), you’ll get to meet people doing some exciting work in philosophy, and hopefully, you’ll get to think about some new and interesting things.