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?

Challenges for Locke's Idea of Property Rights

Greetings,

In John Locke's Second Treatise, he argues for a certain conception of property rights and ethical ownership. You can read a relevant chapter of his work by clicking here. While there are several strong reasons to accept what Locke proposes, those who would do so ought to be able to deal with a few issues that may generate tension. That's not to say that these issues are insurmountable, per se, but rather than a coherent Lockean ought to be able to respond to them. I will try to mention a few possible issues below. Feel free to argue for your position or simply list your thoughts in the comments.

1. Assume that a corporation, Acme Co., has an employee, Moriarty, who is hired to cut down a tree that would potentially be in the way of the anvil plant that they are planning to construct. This land has never been claimed, and no one contests Moriarty's-- or, by extension, Acme's-- presence. Moriarty cuts down the wood. Per Locke, who owns the wood? Is Locke right?

2. Assume that Acme has entered into the music business. They hire a musician, Moriarty II, to produce music for them. A college student, Jack Sherman, downloads this music without the consent of Acme-- although, with the consent of Moriarty II. Per Locke, did Jack steal Acme's intellectual property? Did he steal Moriarty II's intellectual property? Is there such thing as intellectual property? Is Locke right?

3. Assume that Acme has generated a computer that strings together every possible combination of musical notes and lyrics-- and also strings together every possible combination of sequences of musical notes and lyrics, up to 45 minutes in length. It has an entire continent filled with speakers, stacked high to the sky, and each speaker plays a combination. Per Locke, does Acme thus own every song up to 45 minutes in length that had not been created before the computer did its work?

4. Assume that Acme has created biological life-- and it looks like a human, has the genetic composition of a human, and seems to age like a human. It was not contested that Acme owned the base materials it generated the biological lifeform, which it calls Moriarty IV, from. Per Locke, does it own that human? Is Locke right?

5. Assume that, while on the job, an employee, Moriarty V, dies. Acme immediately uses his body for lunchroom cafeteria meat. His relatives protest. Per Locke, did Acme have the right to Moriarty's body? Is Locke right?

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!

Philosophical Good Faith (Or, Boo, Hiss, Moriarty!)

As I tend to do, I’d like to make an argument that I am not necessarily ready to stand by; rather, I’ll throw it out there, and see if it sticks. I’m going to argue that “good faith” is necessary to genuine philosophical dialogue; without “good faith”, genuine philosophical dialogue cannot occur, and there is a direct correlation between the degree of good faith in such a discussion and the value of that discussion itself.

First, I’ll help to define some terms. I choose the word “dialogue” rather than lecture to indicate the method of direct communication between multiple parties, with the intent of communication between the two of them. Let’s leave “philosophical” ambiguous, but state that the goal should be that the dialogue be productive for both individuals, without getting too into what is meant by that (as the meaning of “philosophical” is another post in and of itself). Genuine means that the intentions of the individuals participating are explicitly and directly communicated or understood; there is not a hidden meaning or purpose behind the discussion.

What, then, to make of “good faith”? I’ll introduce the concept as follows: “good faith” refers to the state in which an argument is presented. In order for a state to be considered one of “good faith”, it is necessary (although not necessarily sufficient) that the individual in said state maintain the following three properties: absolute earnestness, justified belief, and coherence between one’s argument, one’s method of communication, and one’s intention. Let’s see if I can expand on those a bit, and how examples hold up.

By “absolute earnestness,” I mean that an individual’s argument must be communicated with conviction, and be willing to affirm that conviction’s relation to the argument. If there are contingencies attached to the conviction, they must be communicated, or else “absolute earnestness” shall not be attained, and an individual shall not be acting in a state of good faith. As an example, assume that I am engaged in what I intend to be a genuine philosophical dialogue with Moriarty, and assume that he proposes, “Atoms do not exist”, to be a justified belief (he might offer rational arguments for this position), and his argument might be internally and externally coherent. However, if his argument is made simply to frustrate his fellow dialoguer, rather than promote investigation and/or edification, his argument is not made in good faith; his argument lacks absolute earnestness. If he were truly acting in good faith, he would work to help either himself or his colleague (or both) reach a productive or edifying philosophical end, rather than simply trying to win an argument. Moriarty, unfortunately, tends not to act in absolute earnestness; he brings in unusual and jarring argument for the sake of confusing or perplexing his fellow philosopher, and doesn’t really intend to serve a philosophical cause with his arguments. Boo, hiss, Moriarty!

By “justified belief”, I mean that one must argue from a standpoint of belief, and that belief cannot be purely arbitrary. First, assume I say, “Murder is necessarily good”; if one stated that and did not believe it, they should not assume it as a premise for an argument. However, imagine that one stated, “Suppose that murder were necessarily good”, “What if murder is necessarily good”, or, “Wouldn’t that entail murder being necessarily good?” Such claims are interrogative, not declarative; they are not stating beliefs, but rather using contra-positives to help explore another’s (hopefully justified) belief. Justification refers to a degree of sufficiency with respect to reasons that one has a belief. Just because Moriarty argues that “Corporations are evil, because they want profit” is justified does not mean that said belief is sufficient (boo, hiss, Moriarty!). What determines sufficiency for justification would be a topic of another post; for now, hopefully my point is clear enough. At any rate, assume that I am dialoguing with Moriarty about whether a true practitioner of Nietzsche’s philosophy would necessarily believe in the existence of God. If Moriarty argued that “Nietzsche proved that God is dead, so God necessarily once existed”, his belief (let’s assume that he actually believes it) would not be justified; even a most basic understanding of Nietzsche’s point with that statement would explicitly affirm that Moriarty missed the point. Moriarty would not have been acting in good faith, because he was citing a vital argument (which he believed to be representative of Nietzsche’s philosophical arguments on the subject) that he did not even have a basic understanding of. Thus, his belief was not justified; he was not acting in coherence with philosophical good faith.

Lastly, good faith requires “coherence between one’s argument, one’s method of communication, and one’s intention”. Since there’s a lot of interplay here, I’ll try to be brief. Suppose that one is trying to communicate a philosophical argument, but doing so at gunpoint. There would not be coherence between the individual’s argument (which was philosophical in nature) and one’s method of communication (which is violent, forceful, and antithetical to the consent and understanding of the gunpointee). One would be acting in good faith if they were arguing, “Give me your money”, and had someone at gunpoint; this element of good faith would be satisfied, even though it might be an immoral act. Similarly, if intends to have a philosophically productive/edifying conversation, and yet their argument or their method of communication were quarrelsome and belligerent, they would not be acting in good faith. Moriarty might try those sort of things, but to him we say, boo, hiss.

So, there you have it. I could go on longer, but it’s a long blog post, already. Zach’s argument for what good faith is. I did not have time to actually argue why it’s necessary, but hopefully the necessity should be implicit in the arguments. If not, it’ll make for a good follow-up post…