Be Good for Goodness’ Sake?

I’m sentenced to death. Let’s say it’s because of a terminal disease and there’s the certainty that I’ll suffer a miserable, agonizing, slow demise. I’ve done nothing great in my life. I won’t leave behind any piece of me except what others’ memories may tell; no great writings, inventions, ideas; no children or spouse whose lives I’ve touched. As I’m lying on my deathbed, with my final, piercing gasps of breath, my life might, as the cliché goes, “flash before my eyes.” Will I be comforted by the thoughts of what I’ve done, or be sorry for all I haven’t? My reputation means nothing to the “me” there is once I’m buried. There’s little condolence to think that, if I’ve been good enough, at least my funeral will be well-attended and some people might be sad for a while. On occasion, they’ll say they miss me. Maybe even think back to the good times we had, or, if I’d been an especially important figure, write about me. And so what? What is bitter-sweet nostalgia, or fame and glory, or anything, to me in the end?
When your body goes into the earth, and they speak of you as such, as your “remains,” what of you really remains –– is your “self” as dead as your flesh? There’s your memory, belonging to others, the fading, abstract “remains,” and then also your body, the also fading, but slightly more concrete “remains.” The graveyard is piled high with those who were once important, and not; those who were loved and loved in return, and those who weren’t and didn’t; the virtuous, and the not. All come to the same fate. We leave behind on a stone slab a few scribbles to differentiate us from the countless others: our name and two dates separated by a line. A mere line! Maybe just a dash, really. And that’s our whole life, our existence, and experiences, summed up between two numbers.
What if that didn’t have to be the end of the story? What if we could pass on and then hear, “but wait, there’s more!” Maybe we have an eternal soul, and maybe there’s an afterlife after all. Would knowing that influence our actions on this earth? Does one act more virtuously or less if he believes there is life beyond this one, and should he? Little is certain in life, but dying is. While I’m not advocating becoming death-obsessed, I think we must wryly accept death as a fact of life, and only then can we master the art of living well. If we believe that death is the final end, that there is nothing beyond this life, what is the effect on our ethics?
We can never know that there is going to be more, but what we can know, and maybe the only thing, is that we exist (what existence is and what it is to “know” are tricky things in epistemology, but that’s not for this post). The only thing we’re assured is the present, and the knowledge that what we have in this present will not last. Actions reflect who we are, so do they become more important in light of an eternity, or less?
I’m tempted to say that I’m less virtuous if I believe there’s nothing beyond this life. Being a goody-two-shoes or actually doing great and worthy things means being admired, loved, and respected for a while. There is the possibility of “living on” by example though history, but that seems like weak incentive to me to sacrifice the only life I’m assured if it means constantly doing things I don’t want to do and aren’t in my immediate self-interest. I’m less likely to adhere to societal constructs if it’s better for me that I don’t and I know that my actions don’t, in the end, mean anything more than what they can do for me individually, in the here and now. Retaining liberty by staying out of jail is worth ensuring, of course, but anything beyond that is up for grabs. Actions, and life, ultimately become all that’s important; they also become completely unimportant too. All that I do is really all that matters, and that idea leads to some not so happy places if we want. I can strive to do my best, or to do anything else really, and it has no supreme meaning for me as a person with a soul if it really only has earthly meaning for me as an individual product of society.
We can say that. However, if we think there’s nothing more, no Supreme Reality or Ultimate Existence, or eternal damnation or eternal life, we could also choose another way. We can take it that, if this is it, our actions and character is all that much more important for their finality. We can choose to make our lives, instead of insignificant, meaningful and momentous, and cherish our short time, and seek to be and to do good, for there will be no second chance. To say, I know that this is all I have so I will make the most of it. I will choose to be happy knowing that I only have one shot at this life business, and that I did with it all that I could, even if there’s nothing more.
If, instead, there is an afterlife, and/or we do have eternal souls, this too would influence our course of actions, and there’s a world of interesting possibilities for that, but I’ll stop here for now. And, well, if there is life beyond this one, all I can say is that I hope there are the following things: Music, Love, and, of course, Baseball (but without the Yankees). So what do you think: Would the belief that there is no Great Beyond be a positive encouragement or a detriment to the common good, morality, and ethics?

Sherlock Holmes: Not a Detective?

Imagine that an evil sophist named Moriarty came and asked you the following question:

"I've heard that Sherlock Holmes was not a dentist; is it true that he was, instead, a detective?"

You are then faced with a conundrum. On the one hand, we would tend to say that Sherlock Holmes was not a dentist; he was a detective. However, if we affirm that Sherlock Holmes was a detective, we also affirm that Sherlock Holmes "was"-- that is, there was actually a "Sherlock Holmes". If his name refers only to the character of Sherlock Holmes, the position is not salvaged, because the "character" of Sherlock Holmes was not a detective; only those who actually exist can be detectives (so, Santa Claus is not a detective any more than he is a philanthropist), and as the "character" of Sherlock Holmes is not a real person-- merely a literary device-- he cannot be a detective.

One might attempt to salvage Holmes' professional status by adding a modifier: "[In the context of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's stories], Sherlock Holmes was a detective". While this seems a clever solution, it might not be sufficient to overcome the problem of reference. In the story, "The Sign of the Four", Sherlock Holmes "is" a detective. What does "Sherlock Holmes" refer to? Is it a detective? Yes, that seems to be the case. So, then, what does the modifier, [In the context of a story], actually mean?

It's an interesting question, in part because we assume that the context of a story is, generally, not a subset of our own context. If this were not the case, works of fiction whose context directly contradicted our own context would be problematic; a world where witches can fly on broomsticks would be false, as opposed to merely fictional. And it should be prima facie obvious that our world is not a subset of a fictitious world. Therefore, the context of a story is not a subset of the real-world context, and vice versa.

However, if Sherlock Holmes was a detective in the context of a story, and that context isn't a subset of our own, we return to Moriarty's challenge: "I've heard that Sherlock Holmes was not a dentist; is it true that he was, instead, a detective?"

We would, then, be forced to respond to Moriarty by stating: "No, Sherlock Holmes was not a detective; neither Sherlock Holmes, nor the character of Sherlock Holmes, exists. However, in the context of the stories, Sherlock Holmes was a detective, and existed. This context, however, does not posit any actual existence of Sherlock Holmes, which would suggest that he was therefore not a detective".

Boo hiss, Moriarty. You've presented us with a conundrum, and it seems rational to assume that we must deny Mr. Holmes' professional credentials, even as a character. Do you agree? Disagree? Think there's a flaw in the problem or in the argument? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Graphic Novel Pseudo-Review: Logicomix

Logicomix: An Epic Search for Truth was written by Apostolos Doxiadis and Christos Papadimitriou. It tells about part of the life, ideas, and effects of Bertrand Russell and some of his writings, particularly Principia Mathematica. Common themes that are dealt with include the relation between logicians and madness (and whether there is a causal connection between the two), the arrogance of ignorance about mathematics, and the futility of systematic philosophy.


I call this a pseudo-review because it is not a legitimate review in any meaningful sense. I have only read one other graphic novel before (Bone, which, though it is phenomenal, is quite different in terms of content and intent from Logicomix), so don't know much about the medium. I haven't read a biography of Russell, either, so I can't confirm the historical accuracy of the work. Clearly, I am unqualified to write an actual review... so, what qualifies me to write a pseudo-review?

Well, I have some exposure to logic, meta-logic, and the Russell Paradox (and a few other issues the book raises). I have a strong interest in the topics, and a desire to learn more. I was sparked by the book to do some more research and learn a bit about his life and the lives of those around him. And, perhaps just as important, I appreciate good books.

This was a pretty good book. The reader is told, to some degree, why he or she should care about Russell's life, given a reasonable setting for his life story to be told, and treated to a clever mix of wit and wisdom. I'm led to believe that it is not entirely historically accurate, but then, it doesn't claim to be-- it's fairly explicit about its status as a storytelling device first and foremost. The narrative was fairly gripping and, although mostly predictable in content, was more or less unpredictable in execution. The reader knows at the outset that Russell shall find his way at the end of the book to a certain status, because he is introduced as bearing that status, but the path to get there is communicated vibrantly and through pretty great storytelling.

There are a few problems, however. In my opinion, this is not a work for readers unfamiliar with logic and/or modern analytic philosophy. If you did not have a background in logic or computer science, you would...

1. Be unable to identify figures, such as Wittgenstein and Frege, with respect to their actual significance; they would likely appear as mere caricatures.

2. Be unclear about some of the actual arguments-- for example, while the authors admirably attempt to explain the effects of set theory on infinite sets with the classic hotel-room example, I myself was confused-- and I knew how it worked! If a reader without prior exposure to infinite sets, much less set theory, read the explanation, I'm fairly confident that they would likely be more perplexed by the end than they were at the beginning. I may be incorrect, though.

3. Be uncertain why Russell matters. [SLIGHT SPOILERS AHEAD! TREAD LIGHTLY!] The authors seem fairly dismissive about Russell to me, and reduce him in the end to being a Subjective-Responsibility-Drone. While he's presented as having done a great job of tearing down mathematics, we're lead to believe that he was unable to add anything new to the conversation (Principia Mathematica was moot when it was published, as the story goes), and we're not lead to believe, at least as far as I gathered from my initial reading, that he had any longlasting positive contribution to philosophy.

Additionally, the madness/logic debate is tossed around a bit, but not very convincingly argued-- there's some promising moments throughout the work, but don't expect any masterful resolution or innovative views on the issue.

However, don't let me discourage you; despite its problems, Logicomix is a great work, and I really did enjoy it! I read the entire thing during a single, several-hour sitting at a fast food restaurant, and really enjoyed it. If nothing else, it taught me a little about Russell's life and sparked my interest to do more research outside of the book.

Plus, it was an enjoyable book. And that's saying something, too.

Allah©

An unusual legal dispute has emerged in Malaysia recently about whether non-Muslims may use the word "Allah" to refer to God. The Malaysian government contends that the word is strictly Islamic and may only be used by Muslims, not by the minority religious communities of Christians, Buddhists, and Hindus in the country. The government argues that use of "Allah" in non-Muslim publications will confuse Muslims and presumably make them more likely to convert to other religions. A Catholic publication challenged this prohibition and the Malaysian High Court has ruled in favor of the publication. "Allah" is the English transliteration of the Arabic word for God, and both Christian and Jewish speakers of Arabic generally use it to refer to "their" God. The term entered into the Malay language with the arrival of Arab traders and one report I read claimed that there is no other recognized word in Malay for God. Some people contend that Jews, Christians, and Muslims all worship the same God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. But that's not so clear. What are the identity conditions that can be used to determine that my God is the same as your God? For example, most Christians think that God consists of three persons and that one of the persons is the Son of God. Muslims generally consider these beliefs to be both polytheistic and unacceptably anthropomorphic. If there is such radical disagreement about the nature of God, would it not make more sense to say that Christian and Muslims worship two different beings? Neither being might exist for all we know! In any event, maybe it would make sense to reserve "Allah" for the Muslim God (except that Christian Arabs may protest that they were using the word first).