Notes

This time of year makes me philosophical, or something. Maybe the early nightfalls turn me more inward than usual. So I find myself in a dispute with someone called “Atasca.” Here’s a synopsis:

Atasca: How can there be a natural explanation for the supernatural occurrence of the creation of the universe?

Me: You have already answered your own question. If you have already decided that the creation of the universe was a supernatural occurrence, then by definition there could not be a natural explanation for it. You might as well ask how a triangle could have four sides.

What makes you think “the creation of the universe” was supernatural? And if the universe were created by some sentient being who transcends the universe, why would you call that “supernatural”? Why not take it to mean that “natural” includes more than you thought it did? Moreover, how do you know that there even was an “occurrence” that might be called “the creation of the universe”?

Atasca: I haven’t decided anything except the definition of supernatural: ‘of or relating to an order of existence beyond the visible observable universe.’ Merriam Webster decided this, not me. The evidence (most scientists believe this I understand) suggests that there was a beginning to the universe. You may believe there wasn’t a beginning and that is fine but you are going against the evidence. At the beginning everything we know was created (or came into being) – either by design or by chance/accident/ whatever. Nature was created at this time. Nature or anything else cannot create itself so there must have been something not natural – supernatural – that explains it.

Me: How do you know that?

Atasca: I am having trouble with your question about how do I know that something cannot create itself. Please explain how “something” that did not exist, was nothing, non-information, what rocks dream about, is able to create anything, much less itself?? This is as much a philosophical question as scientific.

Me: I don’t know, but I’ll go out on a limb here and say there’s a 100 percent chance that you have never seen anything created ex nihilo. So you don’t even know if that’s possible, do you?

There might be more by the time you read this post. But there it is for now. It’s been a while since I’ve bothered with one of these disputes. Aren’t they all pretty much the same? That’s what I argued in “Getting Beyond Irrelevance,” almost a year ago:

A God that is said to exist because it is supposed to be logically necessary, like an Unmoved Mover, or something similar, is nearly meaningless. The logical necessity of God does not affect how people live their lives, provides no moral or ethical guidance, and will not suddenly reward us with a rash of theophanies when enough people apprehend the argument.

Likewise, even if we knew whether the universe had a beginning, what difference would it make? Even so, some people want to keep talking about it. Maybe there is still something to learn.

Most of my responsive questions in the dialogue above were intended (perhaps clumsily) to suggest that admitting ignorance of how or whether the universe was created is only the least honest one ought to be. But more thoroughgoing honesty might even compel one to admit that it’s not even possible to know what it might mean to say that “the universe had a beginning” or “the universe was created.”

That makes at least two tough conundrums. They’re related. On the level of language, what happens when we put words together to say things whose meanings are impossible to fathom? (Or can we?) And in thinking about reality, can you even imagine what the beginning of the universe or creation ex nihilo would look like?

Knowing the answers won’t make a lick of difference to anything. But they sure are fun to think about. Enjoy.

This is a pretty interesting explanation for why investing in efficient energy creates jobs. But maybe I’m missing something—doesn’t a big part of their argument assume an economy where profits aren’t disproportionately sucked up by a tiny fraction of people?

[E]nergy efficiency generates energy bill savings over the life of the investment, which frees up funds to support more jobs in the economy by shifting jobs in the energy generation and distribution industries (lower labor intensity: 10 jobs per $1 million) to jobs in all other industries (higher labor intensity: 17 jobs per $1 million on average).

Why assume that energy efficiency is going to create savings that will be “free[d] up to support more jobs in the economy”? It seems more likely that those savings will just join all the other cash that’s accumulating at the top and not creating jobs. But what do I know? If you have a different view, I’d like to hear about it.

From the Chicago Tribune:

Bank of America Corp. learned a lesson from its now-abandoned debit card fee and will work to provide transparency and fair pricing to customers while producing a return for shareholders, Chief Executive Brian Moynihan said on Tuesday.

I’d sure like to know what lesson that is. A recent article from the New York Times does not make me optimistic.

My brother just sent me a piece from the Washington Post by Thomas L. Day, “31, an Iraq war veteran, a Penn State graduate, a Catholic, a native of State College, acquaintance of Jerry Sandusky’s, and a product of his Second Mile foundation.” Day was prompted to write by the sex abuse scandal at Penn State, but he has some broader observations about our parents’ generation (that is, the parents of people now in their 20s and 30s):

They have failed us, over and over and over again.

I speak not specifically of our parents—I have two loving ones—but of the public leaders our parents’ generation has produced. With the demise of my own community’s two most revered leaders, Sandusky and Joe Paterno, I have decided to continue to respect my elders, but to politely tell them, “Out of my way.”

They have had their time to lead. Time’s up. I’m tired of waiting for them to live up to obligations.

Think of the world our parents’ generation inherited. They inherited a country of boundless economic prosperity and the highest admiration overseas, produced by the hands of their mothers and fathers. They were safe. For most, they were endowed opportunities to succeed, to prosper, and build on their parents’ work.

For those of us in our 20s and early 30s, this is not the world we are inheriting.

. . .

Our parents’ generation has balked at the tough decisions required to preserve our country’s sacred entitlements, leaving us to clean up the mess. They let the infrastructure built with their fathers’ hands crumble like a stale cookie. They downgraded our nation’s credit rating. They seem content to hand us a debt exceeding the size of our entire economy, rather than brave a fight against the fortunate and entrenched interests on K Street and Wall Street.

I agree. Read the rest.

Yes:

I find radical politics embarrassing, even my own, but I find mainstream politics baffling and disturbing. I understand the need for actual electable candidates that can beat other electable candidates who are marginally worse, but in my mind, realpolitik is a tiresome necessity, like defecation or classic rock. I’m profoundly troubled that so many people are so damn enthusiastic about it.

It’s a lot like sports, another phenomenon that consternates many geekfolk. Why do people get so concerned — sometimes murderously concerned — over whether people who weren’t born in their town beat another group of people who weren’t born in some other town?

But politics is worse than sports. Politics is like going to a game at your local sporting venue, rooting for the home team, then attempting to flee in terror as players and referees alike fire bowling balls into the stands. Also there’s barbed wire covering the exits. And the hot dogs are like eight bucks — what the hell?

Lore Sjöberg is a “humorist.” Which, in the tradition of Mark Twain and Ambrose Bierce, means “someone who sees through all your bullshit.”

Those “We the People” petitions are not drawing impressive responses. (I wrote about one a while ago.) So Jon G. in Coldwater, Michigan, came up with a brilliant tactic:

We demand a vapid, condescending, meaningless, politically safe response to this petition.

Since these petitions are ignored apart from an occasional patronizing and inane political statement amounting to nothing more than a condescending pat on the head, we the signers would enjoy having the illusion of success. Since no other outcome to this process seems possible, we demand that the White House immediately assign a junior staffer to compose a tame and vapid response to this petition, and never attempt to take any meaningful action on this or any other issue. We would also like a cookie.

It’s the command-your-cat-to-lick-its-own-ass technique. Go sign it.

Carl T. Bogus is a professor of law at Roger Williams University and a “a dyed-in-the-wool liberal” by his own identification. He recently wrote Buckley: William F. Buckley Jr. and the Rise of American Conservatism, which required him to read a pile of conservative books. And then, a few months ago (I’m late in finding this), he “interviewed” himself for the National Review Online.

His answers to his last three questions (“What is different between conservative and liberal literature?”, “Why the lack of symmetry?”, and “After having completed an extensive program of reading great conservative works, how can you still be a liberal?”) are illuminating. Here are his answers to the last two:

Conservatives have big appetites for ideology; liberals don’t. There are, of course, taxonomies of conservative schools of thought. People on the right classify themselves as libertarians, neoconservatives, social conservatives, traditional conservatives, and the like, and spill oceans of ink defining, debating, and further subdividing these schools of thought. There is no parallel taxonomy on the left. Maybe, in part, it is because a central tenet of liberalism is that ideology should be eschewed in favor of the supposedly enlightened, pragmatic approach of making ad hoc judgments about issues. But on this conservatives are more realistic. Ideology is inevitable; we all have an ideology, whether we are aware of it or not. First of all, ideology is about values, and we can’t decide how we wish to solve policy issues without having a firm grasp on the values we are seeking to advance. Second, the world is too complex for us to make informed judgments about all of the issues that confront us. We need a philosophy to serve as a north star. One way I’ve been enriched by reading the great works of conservatism is that I’ve come better to appreciate how central ideology is to thinking about matters of governance and public policy.

As Isaiah Berlin pointed out, what separates us at the most fundamental level may be our different conceptions of liberty. Conservatives value above all else what Berlin called the negative vision of liberty, namely, freedom from coercion. Liberals are more willing to balance that against the positive vision of liberty — that is, having a reasonable opportunity to realize one’s potential. The negative vision focuses conservatives on restricting the government’s ability to interfere in people’s lives. The positive vision leads liberals to believe that government has a role in guaranteeing baseline minimums in education, medical care, and healthy communities. Most of us probably accept both visions to some extent, but how we balance the two may be built into our DNA. It is not to be expected, therefore, that a liberal will be converted by reading the great works of conservatism, or vice versa. But there are rewards to be gained from doing so nonetheless. Often, we get a better understanding of what we believe by reading about a philosophy with which we have disagreements than by reading congenial literature. More important, reading its great works helps us better understand — and respect — the other side. That, at least, has been my experience.

And that’s a reasonable view. It also makes sense if you plug it into the stability-vs.-data framework: ideology offers far more stability than “pragmatic approach of making ad hoc judgments about issues.” And sorting through your positions to synthesize an “ideology” (the word seems fraught to me; “system,” maybe?) is certainly helpful—I agree with Bogus that liberals do a poor job of systematizing their views (which is why I suggested that many people in the Occupy movement are missing their own point).

But if you want to see why this bridge-both-sides view doesn’t help much “in the trenches,” with ordinary people, just read the comments on the piece. Few of them suggest a struggle to understand or explain. The popular conservatism apparent there (and almost everywhere else you find people who call themselves “conservative”) doesn’t strike me as very conservative at all—it’s not careful, it’s not thoughtful, and it’s mostly just anti-government. They’re missing the point of their own movement, too.

To put it another way, I don’t think the “great works” of either side make much difference to regular folks. They just don’t read them. Or, when they do, they don’t integrate them well—they just quote-mine (or meme-mine) them. Most of the “liberal” and “conservative” views that gain currency outside the offices and studies of their academic collectors and originators are bastardized and weaponized. They’re only useful for playing politics, not for running a society.

So, let me ‘splain. No, there’s too much. Let me sum up. Conservatives have lost their plot and liberals have never managed to write one down. And to make an even broader speculation, I think that’s almost completely due to the failure of post-Enlightenment secularists to replace the central organizing institution of the society whose church they destroyed. Conservatives have regressed into feral demagoguery because their mooring post has been removed and liberals are only loosely confederated in the vicinity of poorly thought-out good intentions because they’ve never managed to systematize a new organizing principle. As the MythBusters would say, “There’s your problem.”

I see that Google has made a couple teaks to its new Google Reader interface. Links are blue again, instead of gray, for one. But I still don’t understand why the border around the item you’re reading only has three sides. Or why it has to be gray.

I sure hope HiveMined succeeds.