Violence, Justification, and Pain-Sensing Dandelions

Greetings,

Tonight's Philosophy Society meeting will cover the "Philosophy of Violence", and pose questions about possible justifications for acts of violence, including war. This post will touch on an element of the topic: why does violence need justification?

Princeton University's Wordnet offers three definitions for violence:

1. An act of aggression.
2. The property of being wild or turbulent.
3. A turbulent state resulting in injuries and destruction etc.

If we assume that violence can potentially need ethical justification, I think we should reject the second definition's utility to our discussion, as properties necessarily do not require ethical justification (feel free to disagree with this, or call for an argument, in the comments). We might, therefore, consolidate the definition into the following:

"An act or state of aggression that results in injuries and/or destruction".

Per this definition, we can expound a bit on the nature of violence:

1. Violence requires an aggressor-- there cannot be aggression without an aggressor. Thus, it is incorrect to speak of violence where there is no aggressor to be found.

2. An act is not violent unless it has certain consequences (injuries and/or destruction). Thus, it is incorrect to describe an entity as violent (video games, movies, et cetera) as violent, unless they themselves actually cause (rather than merely depict violence.

So, working from this definition, let's talk about justification. When we say that an action needs ethical justification, we implicitly argue that it should be taken to be ethically improper unless a sufficient argument can be made to the contrary. It's not enough to say that ethical justification is required for potentially (ethically) bad actions. Moriarty need give no justification for mowing his lawn, even though it is a potentially (ethically) bad action-- if, for instance, he were cutting his lawn to cause pain to the Pain-Sensing Dandelions that he believe live in it. If, however, you knew for a fact that Moriarty's goal was to cause pain to the Pain-Sensing Dandelions (a great evil, indeed; poor dandelions!), he would most certainly need an ethical justification to mow he lawn.

So, then: if violence needs (ethical) justification, it must be supposed to be by default an ethically bad action or state. Why, however, need violence be considered as such? Consider: if Moriarty were to spray a nerve-numbing concoction upon the Pain-Sensing Dandelions that prevented them from feeling pain, it would still (by definition) be an act of violence to chop them into tiny bits and pieces. The action would still be performed by an aggressor (Moriarty still hates and desires the genocide of Pain-Sensing Dandelions), and it would cause injury or destruction. However, is it unethical?

I don't think we would say so-- but then, this is an absurd example. You may find it outlandish. Let me resort to one that's a bit more easy to follow.

Let's say that you discover an army of ants living outside your home. It is not harming you, and they aren't violating any laws I am aware of, but you nevertheless wish them exterminated. You commit an act of violence by killing as many of them as possible with insecticides. Would this act of violence require ethical justification? I anticipate you would say, absolutely not!

This should be sufficient, I believe, to show that violence in and of itself is not an ethically inappropriate state or action. To say that Moriarty performed an act of violence is not sufficient to say that Moriarty must justify his action.

Therefore, I challenge those who attach ethical judgments to claims about violence: what is sufficient to make an act of violence one that requires ethical justification? Violence in and of itself is clearly not sufficient; therefore, there must be an external element that makes it need justification. If that is the case, why should this external element not be evaluated for its own sake, not with regard to its relation to violence?

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?