That is, and perhaps counterintutively, if space and time are real in themselves, despite being unobservable except through other things, and necessary for those other things to exist, then of course we would slip into idealism and say that everything is a “mere” appearance. Which means, of course, that if things are real, then space and time must only be relations between those things.
“It is only a very vulgar historical materialism that denies the power of ideas, and says that ideals are mere material interests in disguise,” says Isaiah Berlin, in “Two Concepts of Liberty.”
Yes, but some purported ideals really are just material interests in disguise; they are “ideals” or “worldviews” deployed to capture the attention of critics while unexamined values slip silently through a side door. The better ideas are the ones that present with values in full view, so that nobody is able to forget what they are discussing—which is almost always the extent to which we are responsible for the good lives of others.
In all the tussle over the minimum wage and how it will affect the employment rate, there’s a surfeit of theory and a dearth of data. Maybe the new minimum wage laws in various cities will fix that problem.
But speaking of theory, the employment rate isn’t the only number in play. For example, there’s also the income distribution curve, and the curve representing the propensity to spend or consume. If you’re at the low end of the income distribution, you almost certainly have a propensity—a need, really—to spend almost everything you earn, maybe more. If you’re at the high end of the income distribution, you probably have a propensity to spend a much lower proportion of your earnings; instead you’ll save or invest most of what you earn. Is there anybody left in the middle? You could have full employment with a few people earning almost everything and most people earning almost nothing. But what good is that? Odds are you’ll just end up with a revolt and exodus, or maybe a civil war, right? At the other extreme, you’d probably get the same result if you completely untethered effort and reward.
Prices are another number. They depend partly on what people are willing to pay and partly on what people are willing to receive. They also depend on things like the disparity of information between buyer and seller (whether voluntary or not), the raw fear of uncertainty if a deal isn’t done, built-in cognitive biases that distort perceptions of gains and losses, and the willingness to make economic demands on other people without assuming corresponding moral obligations for yourself.
You could say that all of those numbers affect each other in complex ways. But that’s not really true. The numbers aren’t interacting; people are. The numbers and equations are just tools to help people think about the consequences of their actions. (Too bad most of us are terrible at thinking in numbers and equations.) And that shouldn’t be surprising, given that economics grew up out of moral philosophy. The problem is not what we can do to ensure that our economy is humming along with the best possible numbers—because there is no guarantee that the economy with the best numbers will necessarily coincide with the happiest group of people—the problem is how to live well together.
I doubt that changing a single numerical parameter of our economy, like the minimum wage, is going to fix many problems all by itself. That seems to me like telling people not to use racial epithets, and then just hoping that racism will go away. There’s probably more work to do, if that’s the goal. But I also doubt that using economic ideas to atomize human society into a cloud of rational, self-interested actors is going to yield a just and happy world where morality is offloaded into mathematical constructs so that nobody has to worry about anybody else. The purpose of experimenting, gathering data, and formulating theories is to enable us to amplify our concern for each other, not to eliminate that concern.
So I hope that, if nothing else, the minimum wage experiments around the country will prompt people to think about each other as people, instead of just competitors, or costs, or consumers. Numbers are helpful, but they only measure the things we bother to count.
“[N]obody feels as much like a nobody as an immigrant does. And you can engage with a great power like the United States simply by throwing a bomb. You can declare war on the United States. And the amazing thing about it is that the United States will accept the declaration of war. We respond to terrorism by treating it not as a crime, but by treating it as war. So someone like Tamerlan [Tsarnaev], who feels small and insignificant, can suddenly claim a sense of belonging to a great, big effort—and a place in history.”
Masha Gessen, Interview with David Greene on NPR.
If everybody were allowed conscience exemptions from ordinary general laws, then exemptions would make sense—but we might as well give up any pretense to the rule of law.
When people are only allowed exemptions to ordinary general laws for “religious” reasons, then either we’re already halfway down the road to giving up the pretense of the rule of law, or we are nakedly giving some people special privileges because they present their moral judgments, and express their moral sentiments, in “religious” terms.
Maybe giving some people that special privilege of exemption is a way of ensuring that only “religious” people have the full array of choices as citizens, while people whose moral sentiment and judgment operate on other terms have some lesser standing within the law.
Or maybe allowing the special privilege of exemption from ordinary general laws disincentivizes the holders of that privilege from engaging, in their capacity as citizens, with the process of shaping public policy. Why bother to express your preferences in the public sphere when you have the privilege of enacting them individually, and without legal consequence, on your own?
There might be some middle ground, by which reasonable exemptions may be granted for reasons that do not require classifying people according to the terms and methods of their morality, and so that exemptions are rare enough that nobody worries about how they affect the integrity of the rule of law. But I have never heard an argument for such a system. Until I do, my lot stays with the opponents of exemptions.
A: Free will is an illusion. Everything is determined causally.
B: Those assertions are unrelated. If an exercise of free will were uncaused, then the act would be random, not free. So of course everything is determined causally.
A: Isn’t randomness the complete absence of constraint, and therefore complete freedom?
B: Only if you define freedom as the complete absence of constraint. But then you have made freedom into literal incoherence; you are saying that I have the greatest freedom when I am behaving in ways that are wholly unstructured.
A: Yes. But you are not behaving that way, therefore you are not free; your actions are constrained by causes.
B: Why should that mean free will is an illusion? Can’t a person make a decision that is constrained by causes and still be free?
A: Of course not! How can a constrained decision be a free one? If there are causes that result in some act, even if those causes look like a “decision,” and all of those causes are consistent with physical laws, then how could anything have been different? The purported decision is just events playing out in the only way they could have played out.
B: Ah, but you’ve smuggled in an assumption about the nature of causation, which is that any one cause can only have a single effect. If one cause might have several different effects, then there is a range of possible outcomes, in which the locus of decision may reside.
A: I did no such thing; I said right there in the open that all of the causes would be consistent with physical laws. Those laws are only laws because they are predictable, and they are only predictable because each cause is linked to a single outcome.
B: You overstate the nature of physical laws. Aren’t most predictions actually statistical rather than simply mechanical? And isn’t that especially true for the kinds of things we’re dealing with when we talk about free will, namely complex systems like human organisms?
A: Some predictions are statistical, yes, but they must arise from mechanisms that behave as you suggest, where each cause is connected with a single result. Maybe those mechanisms are tiny, and there are trillions upon trillions of them aggregated to yield an animal like humans, so that it would be very difficult to sort out each individual cause and effect, but each of those mechanisms must be constrained by physical law.
B: Now you’ve crossed into the realm of faith. You’re assuming something about the nature of things that hasn’t actually been observed or determined: that everything in the universe, down to the smallest scales, behaves mechanistically or classically, and that the statistical nature of predictions is just an artifact of having incomplete information about all of those mechanistic causes and effects. But you can’t actually identify all of the mechanisms whose existence you assume. And you’re still just assuming, rather than demonstrating, that every cause has only one effect.
A: It sounds like you have fallen for the silly idea that because the quantum realm is described statistically (for now), that somehow that indeterminacy has worked its way into the visible world. But even assuming you were right, you haven’t identified a mechanism either by which that might occur. How is it possible that quantum indeterminacy would give rise to multiple effects from a single cause in the visible world?
B: I don’t think you need to go down to the quantum level to find indeterminacy. How about just with chemistry? Don’t we see there just the aggregation of incalculable events into results that can only be predicted statistically? Why should we assume that it’s possible ever to have a non-statistical account of those results? It’s complexity that gives rise to indeterminacy, because there are more opportunities for randomness in systems that are more complex. Anyway, so neither of us has identified a mechanism, either for free will or for hard determinism. In that case, why should anybody believe that thinking about free will in terms of physics or chemistry should yield any useful information?
A: The difference is that my absent mechanisms—those trillions upon trillions of events that are beyond useful calculation—are inductively consistent with everything people have accomplished in studying the physical world, in which our understanding just gets more detailed, and our predictions more accurate, while your absent mechanism—visible free will somehow arising from indeterminacy in complexity—is contrary to even the statistical approach that you keep talking about: what makes statistics useful is that all of the messiness gets washed out when the number of underlying events is increased. So the more unobservable events we’re aggregating, the less likely that any few events turning out differently than expected if they were observable will have any effect on the visible whole.
B: Even if I agreed with you, you’re not really arguing a scientific proof that free will is an illusion; you’re arguing about the nature of scientific knowledge—or rather about the nature of future, as yet unknown, scientific knowledge. And that’s a philosophical argument, not a scientific one. Maybe the course of scientific inquiry will continue, and maybe it will lead where you believe it will lead. But you can’t know that it will; you just have a hunch. So what if I have a hunch that will lead elsewhere, based on the brute fact that, regardless of mechanism, we all seem to experience a process of making decisions? Don’t our different hunches mean we have on our hands a question that is clearly unresolved by science? Surely you agree that we seem to make decisions.
A: Why should we think that we really are making decisions just because it seems that way? And, at any rate, if our purported decisions are constrained by causation, then how can they possibly represent free will?
B: Why shouldn’t the phenomena we experience be evidence that we’re experiencing phenomena? Do you really mean to suggest otherwise? And you’re still hung up on the idea that free will is not free unless it is wholly unconstrained and uncaused. But surely there’s a middle ground between incoherence and hard determinism.
A: How would a middle ground like that work? There would need to be some outside influence, which means you’re introducing some kind of supernaturalist dualism.
B: Certainly not. All you need is indeterminacy, like I said before. If some causes can have multiple effects, then it’s possible for things to be different.
A: But you also said that indeterminacy would be incoherence. So are you saying that the process of making a decision is no better than a process of flipping a coin?
B: No, but the indeterminacy allows for different possibilities, within which people are able to behave differently depending on the choices they make, but still constrained by causation. That is, nothing is uncaused, but some causes might have multiple effects.
A: Now we’ve just gone in a circle. And if indeterminacy is the only means of introducing choice, then how can a “free” organism like a human possibly have any desires to drive its choices? In other words, if indeterminacy, or having several possible results from a single cause, means that things can go differently, then aren’t you assuming some kind of decider that stands at a causal crossroad and chooses a path? If so, then, again, you’re introducing a supernatural force.
B: No, what I’m saying is that an organism with multiple paths will already be affected with desires, which will automatically lead it down a particular path.
A: But where do those desires come from?
B: From other causes.
A: Are you saying our desires are affected with indeterminacy, too?
B: Why not?
A: Then how do you argue for the possibility of moral improvement? How can people cultivate “better” desires and make “better” choices of they’re constrained by causes? And how are they going to know what is better if the only means of decision is based on the introduction of indeterminacy? Shouldn’t we expect complete moral relativism?
B: No, what we should expect is what we see. People have some general similarities in underlying desires and moral instincts, but they implement those in a variety of ways. And we should expect those differences ultimately to aggregate into circumstances that become the causes of late decisions, by which people imitate strategies that seem to be successful at bringing other people into a happy condition.
A: Wouldn’t that mean, then, that there would be less and less free will in the world, as people ultimately converge on the perfect existence?
B: Certainly not! Because while all of these things are going on with people, their environments are changing, too. So the things that might make people happy in one situation might not work in another. The indeterminacy is like randomness in gene mutations: most of the time it just means people make stupid decisions. But sometimes it means that people stumble upon a better way, and that becomes a model for imitation by others—a cause that constrains the behavior of those others.
A: All of that is well and good, but you’re still assuming that indeterminacy really affects the visible world without violating the laws of physics.
B: Yes, and why shouldn’t we assume that? We are surrounded by chance and randomness all the time. But if free will is just an illusion, and everything that happens is what must happen, with no other real possibilities, and no indeterminacy, then why should anybody advocate the position that free will is an illusion? Do you really believe that people will be persuaded, or are you just compelled by deterministic causes?
A: Does it make a difference?
B: Sure. If you are just compelled by deterministic causes, then so am I, and we are both wasting our time. But if you believe that persuasion is possible, then you must believe that the universe has some tendency toward a goal of disclosing real truth—for example, that free will is an illusion.
A: If you think that the behavior of one person can cause another person to imitate it for greater success at happiness, then why should you have a problem with the idea that I might hope to persuade you?
B: Because where do you get that hope? Did you decide to have that hope?
A: Maybe I got it from the person that persuaded me?
B: And then where before that? Are you saying that nobody ever just thought of the idea that free will is an illusion, that it must have arisen because of deterministic causation, because that is the only way anything arises?
A: Yes, exactly.
B: So how do you know that “free will is an illusion” is the correct description of reality?
A: Because it corresponds with observations.
B: No it doesn’t! The pertinent observation is that we all seem to have free will!
A: To the contrary, the pertinent observation is that everything is caused.
B: And yet the world remains a mystery of chance most of the time.
A: That’s less and less true all the time, as we learn more. Look at how powerful we are now, compared to previous eras.
B: But what does it mean to be powerful if we have no ability to choose how to execute that power? That’s not powerfulness; it’s just difference. And of course the world remains a mystery of chance—that’s why every scientific result just leads to more questions!
A: But the mysteries are pushed back beyond the realm of ordinary human experience. Most of what we experience is fully explainable scientifically now.
B: Except free will. You’ve only assumed that free will is fully explainable. And I still don’t understand how you can believe that the idea “free will is an illusion” must have just arisen from deterministic causation and must also be true, and that you believe the people can be persuaded into that idea. If that’s the case, then aren’t you just saying that the universe has some underlying goal to disclose truths, like “free will is an illusion”?
A: No, I’m saying that just happens to be what happened.
B: So it’s just a random feature of the universe that free will is an illusion?
A: It has to be.
B: Then why must randomness and indeterminacy have disappeared? Is there no possibility for randomness ever again?
A: Not once the universe is set in motion. Then the laws of cause and effect take over, and everything is determined, from beginning to end.
B: Then we’re just wasting our time, because this whole conversation is already determined. Why bother?
A: Because we must.
B: But then that would be true of anything, and there would be no enjoyment of anything: we’re all just thrust along by necessity.
A: Not if the effects of some causes are that we experience pleasure.
B: But then say I know that. Now every time I experience pleasure, I’ll remember that this is just necessity, and the pleasure will disappear.
A: So maybe that is just the result of the cause of knowing, and pleasure is not for you.
B: In other words, ignorance is bliss. Then why would you torture people by introducing the idea that “free will is an illusion”?
A: How can I help it? Maybe the meaning of life is to be meaningless.
B: Or to be empty.
“The activity of thinking is as relentless and repetitive as life itself, and the question whether thought has any meaning at all constitutes the same unanswerable riddle as the question for the meaning of life; its processes permeate the whole of human experience so intimately that its beginning and end coincide with the beginning and end of human life itself.”
Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (University of Chicago Press, 2nd ed., 1998) page 171.
Ryan Bell is “Claiming Christmas for Humanism”: “whether or not Jesus was a real historical person, the legends about his birth and the counterintuitive announcement of peace and human flourishing make Christmas a beautiful humanist holiday.” (Go read the rest.)
Hey, in a world where people salivate over Marvel, Disney, and Lucasfilm joining forces, with a culture that can support subversively and ironically humanizing phenomena like Comic-Con and Star Wars conventions, and when the ancient tradition of reimagining old stories is chugging along with renewed (rebooted?) strength, there’s no reason why a story involving infanticide, other-worldly messengers, gritty shepherds, exotic magicians, and a subvert-the-powers-that-be vibe can’t be added to the mix.
And for me, Christmas has only improved with distance from the culture of Christianity. There’s no reason to pretend that we’re still using the Christian liturgical cycle to order our society or maintain solidarity, so why not step back and look at what we actually do with Christmas? It’s part of a big, nearly-three-month cycle of U.S. culture that manages to sweep up lots and lots of our culture in a wide array of festivities and contemplations.
It begins in October with a celebration of horror, death, humor, and sex. Interestingly, the family vs. friends dynamic for this celebration is relatively fluid—if you have young kids, you’re with them; otherwise, do as you please! Either way, be sure to push the limits. Explore the fine line between horror and hilarity. Cosplay at the boundaries of the sense of self, and wonder at the natural totemism of a kid dressed up as a monster. If you’re not spending the evening with the kiddies, then transcend convention by drinking a lot, and getting laid while wearing a costume. Contemplate death. This one is about ritual decoherence.
Having blazed quickly through an overtly raucous existential combo, we move into a strange, more interiorized phase where we wrestle with a variety of problems: incoherence from deseasonalization through globalization (“harvest” means almost nothing to most people anymore, but we keep the imagery, which becomes ironic because most of us are engulfed in plenty year-round); the question of whether “Christmas” decorations should start to go up yet (which I interpret as a manifestation of guilt arising from the tension between our need for lengthy celebration and our drive to work as much as possible); and an obligation and a desire to express gratitude and contingency (which can sometimes be a challenging mental state to reach, given the year-round plenty that we’re also failing to make sense of), culminating in Thanksgiving, which is solidly a family event. No wild sex involved. This one isn’t about transcending conventions, but embodying them, getting our feet back on the ground after the haze of Halloween.
Then we drop the interiorized stuff, jump into overt consumerism and gluttony, move temporarily away from the family (now’s the time for awkward office parties!), eat and drink to excess, listen to sentimental music, put up our most intense decorations of the year, and begin the terrifying slide back to the family core, culminating in the Christmas Eve—Christmas Day cycle that is so oddly syncretistic that one of the most common traditional threads is having distinct, family-unique traditions. (When does your family open presents? What food does your family eat? Does your family always go see a movie together? Attend church together?) Now that you’ve decohered into death, re-embodied convention, and spread yourself too thin, it’s time to hook back into your own nativity. This is the great star of the holiday cycle.
And then, finally, there’s a weird pause, where we’re all in this supersaturated state of peaceful (or is it just relieved?) afterglow for a few days, and the whole thing finishes with a bang-up party to celebrate the coming of the New Year. And it’s decidedly not a family-centered event: now is the time to get back with friends, let down your hair, and be relieved of the pressures and appearances of the family Christmas gathering. The New Year’s party has an interesting symmetry with Halloween in that sense, where humor and sex have survived the cycle, but horror and death are as far away as can be.
After all of that, go for a single jog or take a single trip to the gym, and eat healthily for a day or two, to symbolize your new resolve to live better, and then get back to work.
“Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old City knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them, for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed, and that was quite enough for him.”
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, Stave Five: The End of It.
“We know that the most blissful moments in our lives are those when we are swept up so deeply by an experience that it would never occur to us to check our e-mail. If we are fully in the moment, we wholeheartedly care about one thing and anxiety drops away. Wholeheartedness is great, but obviously we cannot be wholehearted if we thinking both ‘I like this baseball game’ and ‘It’s great that I’m being wholehearted.’ Then we have at least two thoughts.”
Eric Kaplan, Does Santa Exist? A Philosophical Investigation (Dutton 2014) pages 54–55.