Irrational Man: An Analysis (Part 3, Chapter 10: Sartre)

In the previous post from this series on William Barrett’s Irrational Man, I delved into some of Martin Heidegger’s work, particularly his philosophy as represented in his most seminal work, Being and Time.  Jean-Paul Sartre was heavily influenced by Heidegger and so it’s fortunate for us that Barrett explores him in the very next chapter.  As such, Sartre will be the person of interest in this post.

To get a better sense of Sartre’s philosophy, we should start by considering what life was like in the French Resistance from 1940-45.  Sartre’s idea of human freedom from an existentialist perspective is made clear in his The Republic of Silence where he describes the mode of human existence for the French during the Nazi German occupation of France:

“…And because of all this we were free.  Because the Nazi venom seeped into our thoughts, every accurate thought was a conquest.  Because an all-powerful police tried to force us to hold our tongues, every word took on the value of a declaration of principles.  Because we were hunted down, every one of our gestures had the weight of a solemn commitment…”

I think we can interpret this as describing the brute authenticity of all the most salient features of our existence that can result in the face of severe forces of oppression.  By living knee-deep in an oppressive atmosphere with little if any libertarian freedom, one may inevitably reevaluate what they consider to be most important; they may exercise a great deal more care in terms of deciding what to think about, what to say, or what to do at any given time; and all of this may serve to make that which is thought about, said, or done, to be far more meaningful and free of the noise and superficiality that usually accompanies our day-to-day goings on.  Putting it this way is not to diminish the heinousness of any kind of violent oppression, but merely to point out that oppression can make one consider every part of their existence with a lot more care and concern, taking absolutely nothing for granted while living in such a precarious position.

And when standing in the face of death day after day, not only is the radical contingency of human existence made more clear than ever, but so is that which is intrinsically most valuable to us:

“Exile, captivity, and especially death (which we usually shrink from facing at all in happier days) became for us the habitual objects of our concern…And the choice that each of us made of his life was an authentic choice because it was made face to face with death, because it could always have been expressed in these terms: “Rather death than…”

This is certainly a powerful way of defining authenticity, or at least setting its upper bound; by saying that you’d rather die than abstain from some particular thought, speech, or action is to make a declaration of what’s truly the most meaningful to any individual given their current knowledge and the conditions of their own existence; and this is true even if their thoughts or actions are immoral or uninformed, for nothing matters other than the fact that one has done so with an unparalleled amount of care and personal significance.

While all of this was going on, the French government and the bourgeoisie were seemingly powerless, undetermined, and incapable of any significant recourse:

“…’Les salauds’ became a potent term for Sartre in those days-the salauds, the stinkers, the stuffy and self-righteous people congealed in the insincerity of their virtues and vices.  This atmosphere of decay breathes through Sartre’s first novel, Nausea, and it is no accident that the quotation on the flyleaf is from Celine, the poet of the abyss, of the nihilism and disgust of that period.  The nausea in Sartre’s book is the nausea of existence itself; and to those who are ready to use this as an excuse for tossing out the whole of Sartrian philosophy, we may point out that it is better to encounter one’s existence in disgust than never to encounter it at all-as the salaud in his academic or bourgeois or party-leader strait jacket never does.”

The sheer lack of personal commitment and passion plaguing so many would certainly help to reinforce a feeling of disgust or even propagate feelings of nihilism and helplessness.  And the kind of superficiality that Sartre perceived around him was (and of course, still is) in so many ways the norm; it’s the general way that people conduct themselves, and not only socially but even personally in the sense that one’s view of themselves and who they ought to be is heavily and externally imposed from collective norms and expectations.

“The essential freedom, the ultimate and final freedom that cannot be taken from a man, is to say No.  This is the basic premise in Sartre’s view of human freedom: freedom is in its very essence negative, though this negativity is also creative.”

This is an interesting conception, thinking of the essence of freedom as having a negative character, although perhaps we can compare this to or analogize this with the general concept of negative liberty (freedom from interference from others) as opposed to positive liberty (having the means and freedom to achieve one’s goals).  Since there are a number of contingencies that can prevent positive liberty from being realized, negative liberty (which could include the freedom to say ‘No’) seems to be the more fundamental or basic of the two.  It makes sense to think of this as the final freedom too, as Sartre does, since physical force and contingency can take away anyone’s ability to do all else, except to say ‘No’ or at the very least to think ‘No’ (in the event that one is coerced to say ‘Yes’).  In other words, one can have a number of freedoms taken away, but nobody can take away your freedom to desire one outcome over another, even if that desire can never be satisfied.

At this point it’s also worth mentioning that Sartre’s writings seem to reflect conflicting views on what constitutes human freedom.  His views on freedom may have changed over the course of his written works or he may just have had two different conceptions in mind.  On the one hand, in his earlier works, he seemed to refer to freedom in an ontological sense, as a property of human consciousness.  In this conception, he seemed to view freedom as the ability of a conscious agent to choose the attitude they hold and how they react toward the circumstances they find themselves in.  This would mean that everybody, even a prisoner held captive, is free insofar as they have the freedom to choose if they’ll accept or resist their situation.  Later on, Sartre began to focus on material freedom, that is, freedom from coercion.  In any case, both of these conceptions of freedom still seem to resonate with the concept of negative liberty mentioned earlier.  The only distinction would be that ontological freedom is the one form of negative liberty that is truly inalienable and final:

“Where all the avenues of action are blocked for a man, this freedom may seem a tiny and unimportant thing; but it is in fact total and absolute, and Sartre is right to insist upon it as such, for it affords man his final dignity, that of being man.”

Along with this equating human freedom with consciousness (or at least with conscious will) is the consideration that consciousness is the only epistemological certainty we have:

“He (Descartes) proposes to reject all beliefs so long as they can in any way be doubted, to resist all temptations to say Yes until his understanding is convinced according to its own light; so he rejects belief in the existence of an external world, of minds other than his own, of his own body, of his memories and sensations.  What he cannot doubt is his own consciousness, for to doubt is to be conscious, and therefore by doubting its existence he would affirm it.  “

Sartre takes this Cartesian position to the nth degree, by constraining his interpretation of human beings with his interpretation of Cartesian skepticism:

“But before this certitude shone for him (Descartes), (and even after it, before he passed on to other truths), he was a nothingness, a negativity, existing outside of nature and history, for he had temporarily abolished all belief in a world of bodies and memories.  Thus man cannot be interpreted, Sartre says, as a solid substantial thing existing amid the plenitude of things that make up a world; he is beyond nature because in his negative capability he transcends it.  Man’s freedom is to say No, and this means that he is the being by whom nothingness comes into being.”

To conclude that one is in fact a nothingness, even within the context of Cartesian doubt is, I think, going a bit too far.  While I can agree that consciousness in many ways transcends physical objects and the kind of essence we ascribe to them, it doesn’t transcend existence itself; and what is a nothingness really other than a lack of existence?

And one can think of consciousness as having some attribute of negativity, in the sense that we can think of things and even think of ourselves as being not this or not that; we can think of our desires in terms of what we don’t want; but I think this quality of negation can only serve to differentiate our conscious will (or perhaps ego) from the rest of our experience.  Since our consciousness can’t negate itself, I don’t think that this quality can negate us such that we become an actual nothingness.

“For Sartre there is no unalterable structure of essences or values given prior to man’s own existence.  That existence has meaning, finally, only as the liberty to say No, and by saying No to create a world.  If we remove God from the picture, the liberty which reveals itself in the Cartesian doubt is total and absolute; but thereby also the more anguished, and this anguish is the irreducible destiny and dignity of man.”

And here we see that common element within existentialism: the idea that existence precedes essence, where human beings are thought to have no inherent essence but only an essence that is derived from one’s own existence and one’s own consciousness.  Going back to Sartre’s conception of human freedom, perhaps the idea of saying No to create a world is grounded on the principle of our setting boundaries or limits to the world we make for ourselves; an idea that I can certainly get behind.

However, even if we remove God from the equation, which is certainly justified from the perspective of Cartesian skepticism, let alone from the lack of empirical evidence to support such a belief, we still can’t get around our having some essential human character or qualities (even if no God existed to conceive of such an essence).  While I agree that of the possible lives that you or I can have, it shouldn’t be up to others to choose which life that should be, nor what its ultimate meaning or purpose is, if we agree that there are a finite number of possible lives to choose from (individually and collectively as a species), given our constraints as finite beings (a thoroughly existential claim at that), then I think we can say that we do have an inherent essence that is defined by these biological and physical limitations.

So I do share Sartre’s view that our lives shouldn’t be defined by others, by social norms, nor defined by qualities found in only some of the possible lives one has access to; but it needs to be said that there are still only a finite number of possible life trajectories which will necessarily exclude some of the possibilities given to other types of organisms, and which will exclude any options that are not physically or logically possible.  In other words, I think human beings do have an inherent essence that is defined to some degree by the possibility space we as a species exist within; we just tend to think of essence as something that has to be well-defined, like some short list of properties or functions (which I think is too limited a view).

“Thus Sartre ends by allotting to man the kind of freedom that Descartes has ascribed only to God.  It is, he says, the freedom Descartes secretly would have given to man had he not been limited by the theological convictions of his time and place.”

And this is certainly a valid point.  What’s interesting to me with respect to the whole Cartesian experiment was that Descartes began by doubting the external world and only by introducing an ad hoc conception of a deity, let alone a benevolent deity, could he trust that his senses weren’t deceiving him.  This is despite the fact that this belief in God would be just as likely to be a deception as any other belief (and so Descartes attempted to solve this problem through invalid circular reasoning).

More to the point however is the fact that we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a “real” external world and one that is imagined or illusory (unbeknownst to us) anyway, and so we might as well simply stick with the fewest assumptions that yield the best predictions of future experiences.  And this includes the assumption of our having some degree of human freedom that directs our conscious will and desires; a view of our having some control over what trajectory we take in life:

“He is not subordinate to a realm of essences: rather, He creates essences and causes them to be what they are.  Hence such a God transcends the laws of logic and mathematics.  As His (God’s) existence precedes all essences, so man’s existence precedes his essence: he exists, and out of the free project which his existence can be he makes himself what he is.  “

It’s worth considering the psychological motivations for positing and defining a God that has qualities reminiscent of human creativity and teleological intentionality; that is to say, we often project our human capacity for creation and goal-directedness onto some idealized being conception that accounts for our existence in the same way that we see ourselves as accounting for the existence of any and all human constructs, be they watches, paintings, or entire cities.  We see ourselves giving purpose and functional descriptions to the things we make and then can’t help but ask what our own purposes may be; and if so, then we feel inclined to assume it must be someone other than ourselves that gives us this purpose, finally arriving at a God-concept of some kind.  And lo and behold, throughout history the gods we see in all the religions have been remarkably human with their anger, jealousy, pettiness, impulsiveness, and retributive sense of justice, thus illustrating that gods are made in man’s image as opposed to the contrary.  But this kind of thinking only leads to our diminishing our own degree of personal freedom, bestowing it to a concept instead (whether bestowed to “society” or to a “deity”), and thus it abstracts away our own individuality and responsibility.

Despite the God concept permeating much of human history, we eventually challenged it with the greatest challenges precipitating from the Enlightenment, causing many of us to discover the freedom we had all along:

“When God dies, man takes the place of God.  Such had been the prophecy of Dostoevski and Nietzsche, and Sartre on this point is their heir.  The difference, however, is that Dostoevski and Nietzsche were frenzied prophets, whereas Sartre advances his view with all the lucidity of Cartesian reason and advances it, moreover, as a basis for humanitarian and democratic social action.  To put man in the place of God may seem, to traditionalists, an unspeakable piece of diabolism; but in Sartre’s case it is done by a thinker who, to judge from his writings, is a man of overwhelming good will and generosity.”

And this idea of human beings taking the place of God, is really nothing more than the realization of our having projected qualities that were ours from the very beginning.  This may make some people uncomfortable because they think that by eliminating the God concept, that humans are somehow seeing ourselves as a God; but we still have the same limitations that human beings have always had, with our limited knowledge and our existing in a world with many forces out of our control.  But now we have an added sense of freedom that further empowers us as individuals to do the most we can with our lives and to give our lives meaning on our own terms, rather than having them externally imposed on us (see the previous post on Heidegger, and the concept of Das Man or the “They” self).  Sartre’s appreciation and promotion of this idea is admirable to say the least, as it seeks to preferentially value human beings over ideas, to value consciousness over abstractions, and to maximize each person having a voice that they can call their own.

1.  Being-for-itself and Being-in-itself

“Being-for-itself (coextensive with the realm of consciousness) is perpetually beyond itself.  Our thought goes beyond itself, toward tomorrow or yesterday, and toward the outer edges of the world.  Human existence is thus a perpetual self-transcendence: in existing we are always beyond ourselves.  Consequently we never possess our being as we possess a thing.”

This definitely resonates with Heidegger’s conception of temporality, where our understanding of our world is constrained by our past experiences and is always projecting into the future in terms of our always wanting to become a certain kind of person (even if this vision of our future self changes over time).  And here, Sartre’s conception of Being-for-itself is meant to be contrasted with his concept of Being-in-itself; where the former represents consciousness and the latter non-conscious or unconscious material objects.

As mentioned in my last post, I agree with there being a temporally transcendent quality of consciousness, and I think it can be best explained by the fact that our perception of the world is operating under a schema of prediction: our brains are always trying to predict what will happen next in terms of our sensations and these predictions are what we actually experience (as opposed to sensory information itself), where we experience a kind of controlled hallucination that evolves its modeling in response to any prediction error encountered.  We try to make these perceptual predictions come true and reduce the prediction error by either changing our mental models of the world’s causal structure to better account for the incoming sensory information or through a series of actions involving our manipulating the world in some way or another.

“This notion of the For-itself may seem obscure, but we encounter it on the most ordinary occasions.  I have been to a party; I come away, and with a momentary pang of sadness I say, “I am not myself.”  It is necessary to take this proposition quite literally as something that only man can say of himself, because only man can say it to himself.  I have the feeling of coming to myself after having lost or mislaid my being momentarily in a social encounter that estranged me from myself.  This is the first and immediate level on which the term yields its meaning.”

And here’s where the For-itself concept shows the distinction between our individual self (what Heidegger would likely call our authentic self) and the externalized self that is more or less a product of social norms and expectations stemming from the human collective.

“But the next and deeper level of meaning occurs when the feeling of sadness leads me to think in a spirit of self-reproach that I am not myself in a still more fundamental sense: I have not realized so many of the plans or projects that make up my being; I am not myself because I do not measure up to myself. “

So aside from what society expects of us, we also have our own expectations and goals, many of which that never come into fruition.  Sartre sees this as a kind of comparison where we’re evaluating our current view of ourselves with the more idealized view of ourselves that we’re constantly striving for.  And we can see this anytime we think or say something like “I shouldn’t have done that because I’m better than that…”  We’re obviously not better than ourselves, but it’s because we’re always comparing our perspective to the ideal model we hold of ourselves that we in some sense transcend any present sense of self, and this view allows us to better understand Sartre’s idea that we’re always existing beyond ourselves.

Barrett describes Sartre’s view in more detail:

“Beneath this level too there is still another and deeper meaning, rooted in the very nature of my being: I am not myself, and I can never be myself, because my being stretching out beyond itself at any given moment exceeds itself.  I am always simultaneously more and less than I am.  Herein lies the fundamental uneasiness, or anxiety, of the human condition, for Sartre.  Because we are perpetually flitting beyond ourselves, or falling behind our possibilities, we seek to ground our existence, to make it more secure.”

We might even say that we conjure up a kind of essence of who we are because we’re trying to solidify our existence such that we’re more or less like the objects we interact with in our world.  And we do this through our imagination by projecting our identity into the future, effectively defining ourselves in terms of the person we want to become rather than the person we are now.  However, our imagination is both a blessing and a curse, for it is through imagination that we express our creativity, simulating new worlds for ourselves that we can choose from; but, our imagination is also a means of comparing our current state of affairs to some ideal model, in many cases showing us what we don’t have (yet want) and showing us a number of lost opportunities which can further constrain our future space of possibilities.  Whether we love it or hate it, our capacity for imagination is both the cause and the cure for our suffering; and it is a capacity that is fundamental to our existence as human beings.

“The For-itself struggles to become the In-itself, to attain the rocklike and unshakable solidity of a thing.  But this is can never do so long as it is conscious and alive.  Man is doomed to the radical insecurity and contingency of his being; for without it he would not be man but merely a thing and would not have the human capacity for transcendence of his given situation.”

It seems then that our projection into the future, equating our self-hood with some preconceived future self, not only serves as an attempt to objectify our subjectivity, but it may also be psychologically motivated by the uncertainty that we recognize in both our short-term and long-term lives.  We feel uncomfortable and anxious about the contingency of our lives and the sheer number of possible future life trajectories, and so we conceptualize one path as if it were a fixed object and simply refer to it as “me”.

“With enormous ingenuity and virtuosity Sartre interweaves these two notions-Being-in-itself and Being-for-itself-to elucidate the complexities of human psychology.”

Sartre’s conception of Being-in-itself and Being-for-itself are largely grounded on the distinction between consciousness and that which is not conscious.  On the surface, it looks like merely another way of expressing the distinction between mind and matter, but the distinction is far more nuanced and complex.  Being-for-itself is defined by its relation to Being-in-itself, where, for Sartre, Being-for-itself is, among other things, in a constant state of want for synthesis with Being-in-itself, despite the fact that Being-for-itself involves a kind of knowledge that it is not in-itself.  Being-for-itself is in a constant state of incompleteness, where a lack of some kind permeates its mode of being; it’s constantly aware of what it is not, and whatever it may be, lacking any essential structure to build off of, is created out of nothingness.  In other words, Being-for-itself creates its own being with a blank canvas.

As I mentioned above, I don’t particularly agree with Sartre’s conception here, that we as conscious human beings create our being or our essence with a blank canvas, as there are (to stick with the artistic analogy) a limited number of ways that the canvas can be “painted”, there are a limited number of existential “colors” to work with, and while the future may be undetermined or unpredictable to some degree, this doesn’t mean that any possible future that comes to mind can come into being.  As human beings that have evolved from other forms of life on this planet, we have a number of innate or biologically-constrained predispositions including: our instincts and basic behavioral drives, the kinds of conditioning that actually work to modify our behavior, and a psychology that can only thrive within a finite range of behavioral and environmental conditions.

I see this “blank canvas” analogy as just another version of the blank slate or tabula rasa model of human knowledge within the social sciences.  But this model has been falsified with findings in behavioral genetics, psychology, and neurobiology, where various forms of evidence have shown that human beings are pre-wired for social interaction, and have genetically dependent capacities such as intelligence, memory, and reason.  And even taking into account the complicated relation between genes and environment, where the expression of the former is dependent on the latter, we still have environmental conditions that are finite, contingent, externally imposed, and which drastically shape our behavior whether we realize it or not.

On top of this, as I’ve argued elsewhere, we don’t have a libertarian form of free will either, which means that if we could go back in time to some set of initial conditions (where we had made a conscious choice of some kind, and perhaps a significant life altering choice at that), we wouldn’t be able to choose an alternative course of action, barring any quantum randomness.  This doesn’t mean that we can’t still make use of some compatibilist conceptions of free will, nor does it mean that we shouldn’t be held accountable for our actions, as these are all important for maintaining effective behavioral conditioning; but it does mean that we don’t have the kind of blank canvas that Sartre had envisioned.

The role that nothingness plays in Sartre’s philosophy goes beyond the incompleteness resulting from a self that is in some sense defined by our projection into the future.

“The Self, indeed, is in Sartre’s treatment, as in Buddhism, a bubble, and a bubble has nothing at its center. (but not nihilism)…For Sartre, on the other hand, the nothingness of the Self is the basis for the will to action: the bubble is empty and will collapse, and so what is left us but the energy and passion to spin that bubble out?”

I can certainly see some parallels between Buddhism and Sartre’s conception of the Self, where, for example, the fact that we lack a persistent identity, instead having a mode of being that’s dynamic and based on a projection into an uncertain future, is analogous to or at least consistent with the Buddhist conception of the Self being a kind of illusion.  I also tend to agree with the basic idea that we don’t have any ultimate control or ownership over our thoughts and feelings even if we feel like we do from time to time, and our experiences seem to be just one infinitesimal, fleeting moment after another.  Our attention and behavior are absorbed and shaped by the world around us, and it’s only when we fixate or identify ourselves as a concept, a thought, or a feeling, or a certain combination of these elements, that we conjure up a seemingly objective and essential sense of Self.  While Sartre’s philosophy appears to grant us a greater level of free will and human freedom than that of Buddhist thought, it’s this essential self, this eternal self or identity, interrelated with the concept of a permanent soul that both Sartre and Buddhism reject.

“Man’s existence is absurd in the midst of a cosmos that knows him not; the only meaning he can give himself is through the free project that he launches out of his own nothingness.”

This is one of the core ideas in existentialism, and also in Sartre’s own work, that I most appreciate: the idea that we (have to) give our own lives their meaning and purpose, as opposed to their being externally imposed on us from a religion, a deity (whether real or imagined), a culture, or any other source aside from ourselves, if we’re to avoid submitting the core of our being to some kind of authoritarian tyranny.

Human beings were not designed for some particular purpose, aside from natural selection having “designed” us for survival, and perhaps a thermodynamic argument could be made that all life serves the “purpose” of generating more entropy than if our planet had no life at all (which means that life actually speeds up the inevitable heat death of the universe).  But, because our intelligence and the kind of consciousness we’ve gained through evolution grants us a kind of open-ended creativity and imagination, with technology and cultural or memetic evolution effectively superseding our “selfish genes”, we no longer have to live with survival as our primary directive.  We now have the power to realize that our existence transcends our evolutionary past, and we have the ability to define ourselves based on our primary goals in life, whatever they may be, given the constraints of the world we find ourselves born into or embedded within at the present moment.  And it’s this transcendent quality that we find in a lot of Sartre’s work.

“He (Sartre) misses the very root of all of Heidegger’s thinking, which is Being itself.  There is, in Sartre, Being-for-itself and Being-in-itself but there is no Being…Sartre has advanced as the fundamental thesis of his Existentialism the proposition that existence precedes essence.  This thesis is true for Heidegger as well, in the historical, social, and biographical sense that man comes into existence and makes himself to be what he is.  But for Heidegger another proposition is even more basic than this: namely, Being precedes existence.”

In contrast with Sartre then, with Heidegger we see an ontological requirement for Being itself, prior to even having the possibility for Sartre’s distinction between Being-for-itself and Being-in-itself.  That is to say, these kinds of distinctions would, for Heidegger at least, require a more basic field of Being within which one may be able to posit distinctive types of Being.  It would seem that some ultimate region of Being would be necessary in order for the transcendent quality of consciousness to manifest in any way whatsoever:

“To be sure, Sartre has gone a considerable step beyond Descartes by making the essence of human consciousness to be transcendence: that is, to be conscious is, immediately and as such, to point beyond that isolated act of consciousness and therefore to be beyond or above it…But this step forward by Sartre is not so considerable if the transcending subject has nowhere to transcend himself: if there is not an open field or region of Being in which the fateful dualism of subject and object ceases to be.”

One might also wonder how this all fits in with the question of how a conscious subject can ever truly know an object in its entirety.  For example, Kant believed that any object in itself, which he referred to more generally as the noumenon (as opposed to the phenomenon, the object as we perceive it), was inherently unknowable.  Nietzsche thought that it didn’t matter whether or not we could know the object in itself, if such an inaccessible realm of knowledge pertaining to any object even existed in the first place.  Rather, he thought the only thing that mattered was our ability to master the object, to manipulate it and use it according to our own will (the will to power).  For Sartre, the only thing that really mattered was the will to action, which was primarily a will to some form of revolutionary action, so he doesn’t really address the problem of knowledge with respect to the subject truly knowing some object or other (nor does he specify whether or not there even is any problem, at least within his seminal work Being and Nothingness).

Heidegger was less concerned with this issue of knowledge and was more concerned with grounding the possibility of there being a subject or object in the first place:

“For what Heidegger proposes is a more basic question than that of Descartes and Kant: namely, how is it possible for the subject to be? and for the object to be?  And his answer is: Because both stand out in the truth, or un-hiddenness, of Being.  This notion of truth of Being is absent from the philosophy of Sartre; indeed, nowhere in his vast Being and Nothingness does he deal with the problem of truth in a radical and existential way: so far as he understands truth at all, he takes it in the ordinary intellectualistic sense that has been traditional with non-existential philosophers.  In the end (as well as at his very beginning) Sartre turns out thus to be a Cartesian rationalist-one, to be sure, whose material is impassioned and existential, but for all that not any less a Cartesian in his ultimate dualism between the For-itself and the In-itself.”

I don’t think it’s fair to label Sartre a Cartesian rationalist as Barrett does here, since Sartre seems to actually depart from Descartes’ form of rationalism when it comes to evaluating the overall structure of consciousness.  And there doesn’t seem to be any ultimate dualism between Being-for-itself and Being-in-itself either, if the former is instantiated or experienced as a kind of negation of the latter.  Perhaps if Sartre had used the terms Being-in-itself and not-Being-in-itself, this would be made more clear.  In any case, it’s not as if these two instantiations of being need be separate substances, especially if, as Sartre says in Being and Nothingness, that:

“The ontological error of Cartesian rationalism is not to have seen that if the absolute is defined by the primacy of existence over essence, it cannot be conceived as a substance.”

So at the very least, it seems mistaken to say that Sartre is a substance dualist given his position on existence preceding essence, even if he may be adequately described as some kind of property dualist.

“But, again like every humanism, it leaves unasked the question: What is the root of man?  In this search for roots for man-a search that has, as we have seen, absorbed thinkers and caused the malaise of poets for the last hundred and fifty years-Sartre does not participate.  He leaves man rootless.”

Sartre may not have explicitly described any kind of truth for man that wasn’t a truth of the intellect, unlike Heidegger who had his conception of the truth of Being, but Sartre did also describe a pre-reflective aspect of consciousness that didn’t seem to be identified as either the subject nor anything about the subject.  There’s a mysterious aspect of consciousness that’s simply hard to pin down, and it may be the kind of ethereal concept that one could equate with some kind of pre-propositional realm of Being.  This may not be enough to say that Sartre, in the end, leaves us rooted (so to speak), but it seems to be a concept that implicitly pulls his philosophy in that direction.

2. Literature as a Mode of Action

Sartre places a lot of importance on literature as a means of expressing the author’s freedom in a way that depends on an interaction with the freedom of the reader.

“…the perfect example of what he believes a writer should do and what he himself tries to do in his own later fiction: that is, grapple with the problems of man in his time and milieu.”

As mentioned earlier in this post, Sartre’s personal experience during the time of the French Resistance colored his written works with an imperative to assert humanity’s radical freedom and did so in relation to the historical developments that affected the masses, the working class, and the oppressed.

“It is always to the idea, and particularly the idea as it leads to social action, that Sartre responds.  Hence he cannot do justice, either in his critical theory or in his actual practice of literary criticism, to poetry, which is precisely that form of human expression in which the poet-and the reader who would enter the poet’s world-must let Being be, to use Heidegger’s phrase, and not attempt to coerce it by the will to action or the will to intellectualization.  The absence of the poet in Sartre, as a literary man, is thus another evidence of what, on the philosophical level, leads to a deficiency in his theory of Being.”

And though Sartre may not be any kind of poet, that doesn’t mean his work doesn’t have some of the subjective, emotionally charged character that one finds in poetry.  But, Barret’s point is well taken as Sartre’s works don’t have the kind of aesthetic quality, the irrationality, nor do they make as much use of metaphor, as the majority of popular poets have.

“In discharging his freedom man also wills to accept the responsibility of it, thus becoming heavy with his own guilt.  Conscience, Heidegger has said, is the will to be guilty-that is, to accept the guilt that we know will be ours whatever course of action we take.”

Freedom and responsibility clearly go hand in hand for Sartre (and for Heidegger as well), and this very basic idea makes sense from the perspective that if one believes themselves to be free, then they must necessarily accept that they own their actions insofar as they were done freely.  As for conscience, rather than Heidegger’s conception of the will to be guilty, I’d prefer to describe it as simply a manifestation of our perception of both responsibility and duty, although one can also aptly describe conscience as a product of evolution that tends to produce in us a more pro-social set of behaviors.

The tendency for many to try and absolve themselves of their freedom, by submitting themselves to the conception of self that society or others draw up for them is addressed in Sartre’s 1944 French play No Exit.  In this play, the three main characters find themselves in Hell, being punished in a way that is analogous to that of Dante’s Inferno, in this case taunted by a symbol representing the inauthentic or superficial way they lived their lives:

“Having practiced “bad faith” in life-which, in Sartre’s terms, is the surrendering of one’s human liberty in order to possess, or try to possess, one’s being as a thing-the three characters now have what they had sought to surrender themselves to.  Having died, they cannot change anything in their past lives, which are exactly what they are, no more and no less, just like the static being of things…But this is exactly what they long for in life-to lose their own subjective being by identifying themselves with what they were in the eyes of other people.”

By defining ourselves in any essential or fixed way, for example, by defining ourselves based on the unchangeable past (as all its features are indeed fixed), we lose the freedom we’d have if our identity had been directed toward the uncertain future and the possible goals and projects contained therein.  In this case with No Exit, the characters were defining themselves based on the desires and expectations of society or at least of several members of society that these patrons of Hell deemed high in status or social clout.

And going back to the relation between freedom and responsibility, we can see how one can try and rid themselves of responsibility by holding an attitude that they have no freedom regarding who they are or what they do, that they must do what it is they do (perhaps because society or others “say so”, although it may be other reasons).  This can be a slippery thing to contemplate however, when we consider different conceptions of free will.

While it’s technically true that we don’t have any kind of causa sui free will (since it’s logically impossible to have this in a deterministic or random/indeterministic world), it’s still useful to conceive of our having a kind of freedom of the will that distinguishes between animals or people that have varying degrees of autonomy.  This is similar to the conception of free will that a court of law uses, to distinguish between instances of coercion or not being of sound mind and that of conscious intentions made with a reasonable capacity for evaluating the legality or consequences off those intentions.

It’s also important to account for the fact that we can’t predict all of our own actions (nor the actions of others), and so there’s also a folk psychological concept of free will implied by this uncertainty.  Most of these conceptions are psychologically useful, they play a positive role in maintaining the efficacy of our punishment reward systems, and overall they resonate with how we lives our lives as human beings.

In general then, I think that Sartre’s conception of tying freedom and responsibility together jives with our folk psychological conceptions of free will, and it serves a use for promoting a very functional and motivating way to live one’s life.

“As a writer Sartre is always the impassioned rhetorician of the idea; and the rhetorician, no matter how great and how eloquent his rhetoric, never has the full being of the artist.  If Sartre were really a poet and an artist, we would have from him a different philosophy…”

Although Barrett seems to be pigeonholing artists to some degree here (which isn’t entirely fair to Sartre), it’s true that what we find in Sartre’s written works are not artistic in any traditional or classical sense.  Even so, I think it’s fair to say that postmodern art has benefited from and been influenced by the works of many great thinkers including Sartre.  And the task of the artist is often informing us of our own human condition in its particular time and place, including many aspects of that condition that aren’t typically talked about or explicitly in our stream of consciousness.  Sartre’s works, both written and performed, did just that; they informed us of our modern condition and of a number of interesting perspectives of our own human psychology, and they did so in a thoroughly existential way.  Sartre was an artist then, in my mind at least.

3. Existential Psychology

“Behind all Sartre’s intellectual dialectic we perceive that the In-itself is for him the archetype of nature: excessive, fruitful, blooming nature-the woman, the female.  The For-itself, by contrast, is for Sartre the masculine aspects of human psychology: it is that in virtue of which man chooses himself in his radical liberty, makes projects, and thereby gives his life what strictly human meaning it has.”

And here some of the sexist nuances, both explicitly and implicitly in the minds of Sartre and his contemporaries, starts to become apparent.  The idea that nature has more of a female character is certainly far more justifiable and sensible because females are the only sex giving birth to new life and continuing the cycle, but the idea that the male traits subsume the human qualities of choice, freedom, and worthwhile projects, is one resulting from historical dominance hierarchies, which were traditionally patriarchal or androcentric.  But modern human life has illustrated this to be no longer applicable to humans generally.  In any case, we can still use traditional archetypes that make use of this kind of sexual categorization, as long as we’re careful to avoid taking those archetypes too seriously in terms of influencing an essentialist view of the human sexes and what our roles in society ought to be.

“The essence of man…lies not in the Oedipus complex (as Freud held) nor in the inferiority complex (as Adler maintained); it lies rather in the radical liberty of man’s existence by which he chooses himself and so makes himself what he is.”

And this of course is just a reiteration of the Sartrean existence precedes essence adage, but it’s interesting to see that Sartre seems to dismiss much of modern psychology, evolutionary psychology and any role for nature or innate predispositions in human beings.  One may wonder as well how humans can be free of traditional essentialism in Sartre’s mind while at the same time he assumes some kinds of roles or archetypes that are essentially male and female.  I don’t think we can avoid essentialism in its entirety, even if the crux of Sartre’s existential adage is valid.  And I don’t think Sartre avoids it either, even if he tries to.

“Man is not to be seen as the passive plaything of unconscious forces, which determine what he is to be.  In fact, Sartre denies the existence of an unconscious mind altogether; wherever the mind manifests itself, he holds, it is conscious.”

I’m not sure if Sartre’s denial of an unconscious mind is just a play on semantics (i.e. he’s defining “mind” exclusively as the neurological activity that directly leads to consciousness) or if he truly rejected the idea that there were any forces motivating our behavior that weren’t explicit in our consciousness.  If the latter is true, then how does Sartre account for marketing strategies, cognitive biases, denial, moral intuition, and a host of other things that rely on or operate under psychological predispositions that are largely unknown to the person who possesses them?  The totality of our behavior simply can’t be accounted for without some form of neurological processing happening under the radar (so to speak), which serves some psychological purpose.

“A human personality or human life is not to be understood in terms of some hypothetical unconscious at work behind the scenes and pulling all the wires that manipulate the puppet of consciousness.  A man is his life, says Sartre; which means that he is nothing more nor less than the totality of acts that make up that life.”

This is interesting when viewed through the lens of the future, our intended projects, and the kind of person we may strive to be.  It seems that in order for this excerpt above to be correct, according to Sartre’s (and perhaps Heidegger’s) own reasoning, that we’d have to include our intentions and goals as well; we can’t simply look at the facticity of our past, but must also look at how the self transcends into the future.  And although Sartre or others may not want to identify themselves with some of the forces operating in their unconscious, the fact of the matter is, if we want to be able to predict our own behavior and that of others as effectively as possible, then we have no choice but to make use of some concept of an unconscious mind, unconscious psychology, etc. It may not be the primary way we ought to think of ourselves, but it’s an important part of any viable model of human behavior.

Analogously, one may say that they don’t want to be identified with their brain (“I am not my brain!”), and yet if you asked them if they’d rather have a brain transplant or a body transplant (say, everything below the neck), they would undoubtedly choose the latter.  Why might this be so?  An obvious answer is because their entire personality, all that they value, believe, and know, is all made manifest in the structure of their brain.  Now we may see a brain on a table and have difficulty equating it with a person, and yet we can have an entire human body, only lacking a brain, and we have no person at all.  The only additional thing needed for personhood is that brain lying on the table, assuming it is a brain inherently capable of instantiating a personality, consciousness, etc.

Another aspect of Sartrean psychology is the conception of how the Other (some other conscious self) views us given the constraints of consciousness and our ability to see another person from that person’s own subjective point of view:

“This relation to the Other is one of the most sensational and best-known aspects of Sartre’s psychology.  To the other person, who look at me from the outside, I seem an object, a thing; my subjectivity with its inner freedom escapes his gaze.  Hence his tendency is always to convert me into the object he sees.  The gaze of the Other penetrates to the depths of my existence, freezes and congeals it.  It is this, according to Sartre, that turns love and particularly sexual love into a perpetual tension and indeed warfare.  The lover wishes to possess the beloved, but the freedom of the beloved (which is his or her human essence) cannot be possessed; hence, the lover tends to reduce the beloved to an object for the sake of possessing it.”

I think this view has merit and has a lot to do with how our brains make simplistic or heuristic models of the entities and causal structure we perceive around us.  Although we can recognize that some of those other entities are subjective beings such as ourselves, living with the same kinds of intrinsic conscious experiences that we do, it’s often easier and more automatic to treat them as if they were an object.  We can’t directly experience another person’s subjectivity, which is what makes it so easy to escape our attention and consideration.  More to the point though, Sartre was claiming how this tendency to objectify another penetrates many facets of our lives, introducing a source of conflict with our relations to one another.  Ironically, this could also be described as something we do unconsciously, where we don’t explicitly say to ourselves “this person is an object,” but rather we may explicitly see them as a person and yet treat them as an object in order to serve some implicit psychological goal (e.g. to feel that you possess your significant other).

“He is right to make the liberty of choice, which is the liberty of a conscious action, total and absolute, no matter how small the area of our power: in choosing, I have to say No somewhere, and this No, which is total and totally exclusive of other alternatives, is dreadful; but only by shutting myself up in it is any resoluteness of action possible.  “

Referring back to the beginning of this post, regarding the liberty of choice (in particular a kind of negative liberty) as the ultimate form of human freedom, we can also describe the choices we make in terms of the alternative choices we had to say no to first.  We can see our ability to say no as a means of creating a world for ourselves; a world with boundaries delineating what is and isn’t desired.  And the making of these choices, the effect that each choice has, and the world we create out of them are things that we and we alone own.  Understandably then, once this freedom and responsibility are recognized, they lead to our experiencing a kind of dread, anxiety, and perhaps a feeling of being overwhelmed by the sheer space of possibilities and thus overwhelmed by the number of possibilities that we have to willfully reject:

“A friend of mine, a very intelligent and sensitive man, was over a long period in the grip of a neurosis that took the form of indecision in the fact of almost every occasion of life; sitting in a restaurant, he could not look at the printed menu to choose his lunch without seeing the abyss of the negative open before his eyes, on the page, and so falling into a sweat…(this story) confirms Sartre’s analysis of freedom, for only because freedom is what he says it is could this man have been frightened by it and have retreated into the anxiety of indecision.”

This story also reminded me of the different perspectives that can result depending on whether one is a maximizer or a sufficer: the maximizer being the person who tries to exhaustively analyze every decision they make, hoping to maximize the benefits brought about by their careful decision-making; and the sufficer being the person who is much more easily pleased, willing to make a decision fairly quickly, and not worry about whether their decision was the best possible so much as whether it was simply good enough.  On average, maximizers are far less happy as well, despite the care they take in making decisions, simply because they fret over whether the decision they landed on was really best after all, and they tend to enjoy life less than sufficers because they’re missing many experiences and missing the natural flow of those experiences as a result of their constant worrying.  The maximizer concept definitely fits in line with Sartre’s conception of the anxiety of choice brought about by the void and negation implicit in decision making.

I for one try to be a sufficer, even if I occasionally find myself trying to maximize my decision making, and I do this for the same reason that I try to be an optimist rather than a pessimist: people live happier and more satisfying lives if they try and maintain a positive attitude and if they aren’t overly concerned with every choice they make.  We don’t want to make poor decisions by making them in haste or without any care, but we also don’t want to invest too many of our psychological resources in making those decisions; we may end up at the end of our lives realizing that we’ve missed out on a good life.

“…the example points up also where Sartre’s theory is decidedly lacking: it does not show us the kind of objects in relation to which our human subjectivity can define itself in a free choice that is meaningful and not neurotic.  This is so because Sartre’s doctrine of liberty was developed out of the experience of extreme situations: the victim says to his totalitarian oppressor, No, even if you kill me; and he shuts himself up in this No and will not be shaken from it.”

I agree with Barrett entirely here.  Much of Sartre’s philosophy was developed out of an experienced oppression under the threat of violence, and this quality makes it harder to apply to an everyday life that’s not embroiled with tyranny or fascism.

“…But he who shuts himself up in the No can be demoniacal, as Kierkegaard pointed out; he can say No against himself, against his own nature.  Sartre’s doctrine of freedom does not really comprehend the concrete man who is an undivided totality of body and mind, at once, and without division, both In-itself and For-itself; but rather an isolated aspect of this total condition, the aspect of man always at the margin of his existence.”

I think the biggest element missing from Sartre’s conception of freedom or from his philosophy generally is the evolutionary and biologically grounded aspects of our psychology, the facts pertaining to our innate impulses and predispositions, our cognitive biases and other unconscious processes (which he outright denied the existence of).  This makes his specific formula of existence preceding essence far less tenable and realistic.  Barrett agrees with some of this reasoning as well when he says:

“Because Sartre’s psychology recognizes only the conscious, it cannot comprehend a form of freedom that operates in that zone of the human personality where conscious and unconscious flow into each other.  Being limited to the conscious, it inevitably becomes an ego psychology; hence freedom is understood only as the resolute project of the conscious ego.”

Indeed, the human being as a whole includes both the conscious and unconscious aspects of ourselves.  The subjective experience that defines us is a product of both sides of our psyche, not to mention the interplay of the psyche as a whole with the world around us that we’re intimately connected to (think of Heidegger’s field of Being).

The final point I’d like to bring up regarding Sartre is in regard to his atheism:

“It has been remarked that Kierkegaard’s statement of the religious position is so severe that it has turned many people who thought themselves religious to atheism.  Analogously, Sartre’s view of atheism is so stark and bleak that it seems to turn many people toward religion.  This is exactly as it should be.  The choice must be hard either way; for man, a problematic being to his depths, cannot lay hold of his ultimate commitments with a smug and easy security.”

It’s understandable that most people gravitate toward religion because of the anxiety and fear that can accompany a worldview where one has to take on the burden of making meaning for their own lives rather than having someone else or some concept “decide” this for them.  Additionally, the fear of being alone, the fear of death, the fear of having a precarious existence generally throughout our lives and also given the fact that we live in an inhospitable universe where life appears to occupy a region in space comparable to the size of a proton within a large room.

All of these reasons lend themselves to reinforcing a desire for a deity and for a narrative that defines who we ought to be, so we don’t have to decide this for ourselves.  Personally, I don’t think one can live authentically with these kinds of world views, nor is it morally responsible to live life with belief systems that inhibit the ability to distinguish between fact and fiction.  But I still understand that it’s far more difficult to reject the comforts of religion and face the radical contingencies of life and the burden of choice.  I think people can live the most fulfilling lives in the most secure way only when they have a reliable epistemology in place and only when they take the limits of human psychology seriously.  We need to understand that some ways of living, some attitudes, some ways of thinking, etc., are better than others for living sustainable, fulfilling lives.

Sartre’s atheistic philosophy is certainly bleak, but his does not represent the philosophy of atheists.  My atheistic philosophy of life, for example, takes into account the usefulness of multiple descriptions (including holistic descriptions) of our existence; the recognition of our desire to connect to the transcendent; the need for morality, meaning, and purpose; and the need for emotional channels of expression.  And regardless of it’s bleakness, Sartre’s philosophy has some useful ideas, and any philosophy that’s likely going to be successful will gather what works from a number of different schools of thought and philosophies anyway.

Well, this concludes the post on Jean-Paul Sartre (Ch. 10), and ends part 3 of this series on William Barrett’s Irrational Man.  The last and final post in this series is on part 4, Integral vs. Rational Man, which consists of chapter 11, the final chapter in Barrett’s book, The Place of the Furies.  I will post the link here when that post is complete.

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Irrational Man: An Analysis (Part 3, Chapter 8: Nietzsche)

In the last post on this series on William Barrett’s Irrational Man, we began exploring Part 3: The Existentialists, beginning with chapter 7 on Kierkegaard.  In this post, we’ll be taking a look at Nietzsche’s philosophy in more detail.

Ch. 8 – Nietzsche

Nietzsche shared many of the same concerns as Kierkegaard, given the new challenges of modernity brought about by the Enlightenment; but each of these great thinkers approached this new chapter of our history from perspectives that were in many ways, diametrically opposed.  Kierkegaard had a grand goal of sharing with others what he thought it meant to be a Christian, and he tried to revive Christianity within a society that he found to be increasingly secularized.  He also saw that of the Christianity that did exist, it was largely organized and depersonalized, and he felt the need to stress the importance of a much more personal form of the religion.  Nietzsche on the other hand, an atheist, rejected Christianity and stressed the importance of re-establishing our values given the fact that modernity was now living in a godless world, albeit a culturally Christianized world, but one that was now without a Christ.

Despite their differences, both philosophers felt that discovering the true meaning of our lives was paramount to living an authentic life, and this new quest for meaning was largely related to the fact that our view of ourselves had changed significantly:

“By the middle of the nineteenth century, as we have seen, the problem of man had begun to dawn on certain minds in a new and more radical form: Man, it was seen, is a stranger to himself and must discover, or rediscover, who he is and what his meaning is.”

Nietzsche also understood and vividly illustrated the crucial differences between mankind and the rest of nature, most especially our self-awareness:

“It was Nietzsche who showed in its fullest sense how thoroughly problematical is the nature of man: he can never be understood as an animal species within the zoological order of nature, because he has broken free of nature and has thereby posed the question of his own meaning-and with it the meaning of nature as well-as his destiny.”

And for Nietzsche, the meaning one was to find for their life included first abandoning what he saw as an oppressive and disempowering Christian morality, which he saw as severely inhibiting our potential as human beings.  He was much more sympathetic to Greek culture and morality, and even though (perhaps ironically) Christianity itself was derived from a syncretism between Judaism and Greek Hellenism, it’s moral and psychologically relevant differences were too substantial to avoid Nietzsche’s criticism.  He thought that a return to a more archaic form of Greek culture and mentality was the solution we needed to restore or at least re-validate our instincts:

“Dionysus reborn, Nietzsche thought, might become a savior-god for the whole race, which seemed everywhere to show symptoms of fatigue and decline.”

Nietzsche learned about the god Dionysus while he was studying Greek tragedy, and he gravitated toward the Dionysian symbolism, for it contained a kind of reconciliation between high culture and our primal instincts.  Dionysus was after all the patron god of the Greek tragic festivals and so was associated with beautiful works of art; but he was also the god of wine and ritual madness, bringing people together through the grape harvest and the joy of intoxication.  As Barrett describes it:

“This god thus united miraculously in himself the height of culture with the depth of instinct, bringing together the warring opposites that divided Nietzsche himself.”

It was this window into the hidden portions of our psyche that Nietzsche tried to look through and which became an integral basis for much of his philosophy.  But the chaotic nature of our species combined with our immense power to manipulate the environment also concerned him greatly; and he thought that the way modernity was repressing many of our instincts needed to be circumvented, lest we continue to build up this tension in our unconscious only to release itself in an explosive eruption of violence:

“It is no mere matter of psychological curiosity but a question of life and death for man in our time to place himself again in contact with the archaic life of his unconscious.  Without such contact he may become the Titan who slays himself.  Man, this most dangerous of the animals, as Nietzsche called him, now holds in his hands the dangerous power of blowing himself and his planet to bits; and it is not yet even clear that this problematic and complex being is really sane.”

Indeed our species has been removed from our natural evolutionary habitat; and we’ve built our modern lives around socio-cultural and technological constructs that have, in many ways at least, inhibited the open channel between our unconscious and conscious mind.  One could even say that the prefrontal cortex region of our brain, important as it is for conscious planning and decision making, has been effectively high-jacked by human culture (memetic selection) and now it’s constantly running on overtime, over-suppressing the emotional centers of the brain (such as the limbic system).

While we’ve come to realize that emotional suppression is sometimes necessary in order to function well as a cooperative social species that depends on complex long-term social relationships, we also need to maintain a healthy dose of emotional expression as well.  If we can’t release this more primal form of “psychological energy” (for lack of a better term), then it shouldn’t be surprising to see it eventually manifest into some kind of destructive behavior.

We ought not forget that we’re just like other animals in terms of our brain being best adapted to a specific balance of behaviors and cognitive functions; and if this balance is disrupted through hyperactive or hypoactive use of one region or another, doesn’t it stand to reason that we may wind up with either an impairment in brain function or less healthy behavior?  If we’re not making a sufficient use of our emotional capacities, shouldn’t we expect them to diminish or atrophy in some way or other?  And if some neurological version of the competitive exclusion principle exists, then this would further reinforce the idea that our suppression of emotion by other capacities may cause those other capacities to become permanently dominant.  We can only imagine the kinds of consequences that ensue when this psychological impairment falls upon a species with our level of power.

1.  Ecce Homo

“In the end one experiences only oneself,” Nietzsche observes in his Zarathustra, and elsewhere he remarks, in the same vein, that all the systems of the philosophers are just so many forms of personal confession, if we but had eyes to see it.”

Here Nietzsche is expressing one of his central ideas, by pointing out the fact that we can’t separate ourselves from our thoughts, and therefore the ideas put forward by any philosopher are really betraying some set of values they hold whether unconsciously or explicitly, and they also betray one’s individual perspective; an unavoidable perspective stemming from our subjective experience which colors our interpretation of those experiences.  Perspectivism, or the view that reality and our ideas about what’s true and what we value can be mapped onto many different possible conceptual schemes, was a big part of Nietzsche’s overall philosophy, and it was interwoven into his ideas on meaning, epistemology, and ontology.

As enlightening as Nietzsche was in giving us a much needed glimpse into some of the important psychological forces that give our lives the shape they have (for better or worse), his written works show little if any psychoanalytical insight applied to himself, in terms of the darker and less pleasant side of his own psyche.

“Nietzsche’s systematic shielding of himself from the other side is relevant to his explanation of the death of God: Man killed God, he says, because he could not bear to have anyone looking at his ugliest side.”

But even if he didn’t turn his psychoanalytical eye inward toward his own unconscious, he was still very effective in shining a light on the collective unconscious of humanity as a whole.  It’s not enough that we marvel over the better angels of our nature, even though it’s important to acknowledge and understand our capacities and our potential for bettering ourselves and the world we live in; we also have to acknowledge our flaws and shortcomings and while we may try to overcome these weaknesses in one way or another, some of them are simply a part of our nature and we should accept them as such even if we may not like them.

One of the prevailing theories stemming from Western Rationalism (mentioned earlier in Barrett’s book) was that human beings were inherently perfect and rational, and it was within the realm of possibility to realize that potential; but this kind of wishful thinking was relying on a fundamental denial of an essential part of the kind of animal we really are.  And Nietzsche did a good job of putting this fact out in the limelight, and explaining how we couldn’t truly realize our potential until we came to terms with this fairly ugly side of ourselves.

Barrett distinguishes between the attitudes stemming from various forms of atheism, including that of Nietzsche’s:

“The urbane atheism of Bertrand Russell, for example, presupposes the existence of believers against whom he can score points in an argument and get off some of his best quips.  The atheism of Sartre is a more somber affair, and indeed borrows some of its color from Nietzsche: Sartre relentlessly works out the atheistic conclusion that in a universe without God man is absurd, unjustified, and without reason, as Being itself is.”

In fact Nietzsche was more concerned with the atheists that hadn’t yet accepted the full ramifications of a Godless world, rather than believers themselves.  He felt that those who believed in God still had a more coherent belief system given many of their moral values and the meaning they attached to their lives, since they were largely derived from their religious beliefs (even if the religious beliefs were unwarranted or harmful).  Those that were atheists, many of them at least, hadn’t yet taken the time to build a new foundation for their previously held values and the meaning in their lives; and if they couldn’t rebuild this foundation then they’d have to change those values and what they find to be meaningful to reflect that shift in foundation.

Overall, Nietzsche even changes the game a little in terms of how the conception of God was to be understood in philosophy:

“If God is taken as a metaphysical object whose existence has to be proved, then the position held by scientifically minded philosophers like Russell must inevitably be valid: the existence of such an object can never be empirically proved.  Therefore, God must be a superstition held by primitive and childish minds.  But both these alternative views are abstract, whereas the reality of God is concrete, a thoroughly autonomous presence that takes hold of men but of which, of course, some men are more conscious than others.  Nietzsche’s atheism reveals the true meaning of God-and does so, we might add, more effectively than a good many official forms of theism.”

Even though God may not actually exist as a conscious being, the idea of God and the feelings associated with what one labels as an experience of God, is as real as any other idea or experience and so it should still be taken seriously even in a world where no gods exist.  As an atheist myself (formerly a born-again Protestant Christian), I’ve come to appreciate the real breadth of possible meaning attached to the term “God”.  Even though the God or gods described in various forms of theism do not track onto objective reality as was pointed out by Russell, this doesn’t negate the subjective reality underlying theism.  People ascribe the label “God” to a set of certain feelings and forces that they feel are controlling their lives, their values, and their overall vision of the world.  Nietzsche had his own vision of the world as well, and so one could label this as his “god”, despite the confusion that this may cause when discussing God on metaphysical terms.

2. What Happens In “Zarathustra”; Nietzsche as Moralist

One of the greatest benefits of producing art is our ability to tap into multiple perspectives that we might otherwise never explore.  And by doing this, we stand a better chance of creating a window into our own unconscious:

“[Thus Spoke Zarathustra] was Nietzsche’s poetic work and because of this he could allow the unconscious to take over in it, to break through the restraints imposed elsewhere by the philosophic intellect. [in poetry] One loses all perception of what is imagery and simile-that is to say, the symbol itself supersedes thought, because it is richer in meaning.”

By avoiding the common philosophical trap of submitting oneself to a preconceived structure and template for processing information, poetry and other works of art can inspire new ideas and novel perspectives through the use of metaphor and allegory, emotion, and the seemingly infinite powers of our own imagination.  Not only is this true for the artist herself, but also for the spectator who stands in a unique position to interpret what they see and to make sense of it the best they can.  And in the rarest of cases, one may be able to experience something in a work of art that fundamentally changes themselves in the process.  Either way, by presenting someone with an unusual and ambiguous stimulus that they are left to interpret, they can hope to gain at least some access into their unconscious and to inspire an expression of their creativity.

In his Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche was focusing on how human beings could ever hope to regain a feeling of completeness; for modernity had fractured the individual and placed too much emphasis on collective specialization:

“For man, says Schiller, the problem is one of forming individuals.  Modern life has departmentalized, specialized, and thereby fragmented the being of man.  We now face the problem of putting the fragments together into a whole.  In the course of his exposition, Schiller even referred back, as did Nietzsche, to the example of the Greeks, who produced real individuals and not mere learned abstract men like those of the modern age.”

A part of this reassembly process would necessarily involve reincorporating what Nietzsche thought of as the various attributes of our human nature, which many of us are in denial of (to go back to the point raised earlier in this post).  For Nietzsche, this meant taking on some characteristics that may seem inherently immoral:

“Man must incorporate his devil or, as he put it, man must become better and more evil; the tree that would grow taller must send its roots down deeper.”

Nietzsche seems to be saying that if there are aspects of our psychology that are normal albeit seemingly dark or evil, then we ought to structure our moral values along the same lines rather than in opposition to these more primal parts of our psyche:

“(Nietzsche) The whole of traditional morality, he believed, had no grasp of psychological reality and was therefore dangerously one-sided and false.”

And there is some truth to this though I wouldn’t go as far as Nietzsche does, as I believe that there are many basic and cross-cultural moral prescriptions that do in fact take many of our psychological needs into account.  Most cultures have some place for various virtues such as compassion, honesty, generosity, forgiveness, commitment, integrity, and many others; and these virtues have been shown within the fields of moral psychology and sociology to help us flourish and lead psychologically fulfilling lives.  We evolved as a social species that operates within some degree of a dominance hierarchy, and sure enough our psychological traits are what we’d expect given our evolutionary history.

However, it’s also true that we ought to avoid slipping into some form of a naturalistic fallacy; for we don’t want to simply assume that all the behaviors that were more common prior to modernity let alone prior to civilization were beneficial to us and our psychology.  For example, raping and stealing were far more common per capita prior to humans establishing some kind of civil state or society.  And a number of other behaviors that we’ve discovered to be good or bad for our physical or psychological health have been the result of a long process of trial and error, cultural evolution, and the cultural transmission of newfound ideas from one generation to the next.  In any case, we don’t want to assume that just because something has been a tradition or even a common instinctual behavior for many thousands or even hundreds of thousands of years, that it is therefore a moral behavior.  Quite the contrary; instead we need to look closely at which behaviors lead to more fulfilling lives and overall maximal satisfaction and then aim to maximize those behaviors over those that detract from this goal.

Nietzsche did raise a good point however, and one that’s supported by modern moral psychology; namely, the fact that what we think we want or need isn’t always in agreement with our actual wants and needs, once we dive below the surface.  Psychology has been an indispensable tool in discovering many of our unconscious desires and the best moral theories are going to be those that take both our conscious and unconscious motivations and traits into account.  Only then can we have a moral theory that is truly going to be sufficiently motivating to follow in the long term as well as most beneficial to us psychologically.  If one is basing their moral theory on wishful thinking rather than facts about their psychology, then they aren’t likely to develop a viable moral theory.  Nietzsche realized this and promoted it in his writings, and this was an important contribution as it bridged human psychology with a number of important topics in philosophy:

“On this point Nietzsche has a perfectly sober and straightforward case against all those idealists, from Plato onward, who have set universal ideas over and above the individual’s psychological needs.  Morality itself is blind to the tangle of its own psychological motives, as Nietzsche showed in one of his most powerful book, The Genealogy of Morals, which traces the source of morality back to the drives of power and resentment.”

I’m sure that drives of power and resentment have played some role in certain moral prescriptions and moral systems, but I doubt that this is likely to be true generally speaking; and even in cases where a moral prescription or system arose out of one of these unconscious drives, such as resentment, this doesn’t negate it’s validity nor demonstrate whether or not it’s warranted or psychologically beneficial.  The source of morality isn’t as important as whether or not the moral system itself works, though the sources of morality can be both psychologically relevant and revealing.

Our ego certainly has a lot to do with our moral behavior and whether or not we choose to face our inner demons:

“Precisely what is hardest for us to take is the devil as the personification of the pettiest, paltriest, meanest part of our personality…the one that most cruelly deflates ones egotism.”

If one is able to accept both the brighter and darker sides of themselves, they’ll also be more likely to willingly accept Nietzsche’s idea of the Eternal Return:

“The idea of the Eternal Return thus expresses, as Unamuno has pointed out, Nietzsche’s own aspirations toward eternal and immortal life…For Nietzsche the idea of the Eternal Return becomes the supreme test of courage: If Nietzsche the man must return to life again and again, with the same burden of ill health and suffering, would it not require the greatest affirmation and love of life to say Yes to this absolutely hopeless prospect?”

Although I wouldn’t expect most people to embrace this idea, because it goes against our teleological intuitions of time and causation leading to some final state or goal, it does provide a valuable means of establishing whether or not someone is really able to accept this life for what it is with all of its absurdities, pains and pleasures.  If someone willingly accepts the idea, then by extension they likely accept themselves, their lives, and the rest of human history (and even the history of life on this planet, no less).  This doesn’t mean that by accepting the idea of the Eternal Return, that people have to put every action, event, or behavior on equal footing, for example, by condoning slavery or the death of millions as a result of countless wars, just because these events are to be repeated for eternity.  But one is still accepting that all of these events were necessary in some sense; that they couldn’t have been any other way, and this acceptance should translate to one’s attitude toward life reflecting this by some kind of overarching contentment.

I think that the more common reaction to this kind of idea is slipping into some kind of nihilism, where a person no longer cares about anything, and no longer finds any meaning or purpose in their lives.  And this reaction is perfectly understandable given our teleological intuitions; most people don’t or wouldn’t want to invest time and effort into some goal if they knew that the goal would never be accomplished or knew that it would eventually be undone.  But, oddly enough, even if the Eternal Return isn’t an actual fact of our universe, we still run into the same basic situation within our own lifetimes whereby we know that there are a number of goals that will never be achieved because of our own inevitable death.

There’s also the fact that even if we did achieve a number of goals, once we die, we can no longer reap any benefits from them.  There may be other people that can benefit from our own past accomplishments, but eventually they will die as well.  Eventually all life in the universe will expire, and this is bound to happen long before the inevitable heat death of the universe transpires; and once it happens, there won’t be anybody experiencing anything at all let alone reaping the benefits of a goal from someone’s distant past.  Once this is taken into account, Nietzsche’s idea doesn’t sound all that bad, does it?  If we knew that there would always be time and some amount of conscious experience for eternity, then there will always be some form of immortality for consciousness; and if it’s eternally recurring, then we end up becoming immortal in some sense.

Perhaps the idea of the Eternal Return (or Recurrence), even though this idea began many hundreds if not a few thousand years before Nietzsche, was motivated by Nietzsche’s own fear of death.  Even though he thought of the idea as horrifying and paralyzing (not least because of all the undesirable parts of our own personal existence), since he didn’t believe in a traditional afterlife, maybe the fear of death motivated him to adopt such an idea, even though he also saw it as a physically plausible consequence of probability and the laws of physics.  But either way, beyond it being far more plausible an idea compared to that of an eternal paradise after death, it’s also a very different idea; not only because one’s memory or identity isn’t preserved such that one actually experiences immortality when the “temporal loop” defining their lifetime starts all over again (i.e. the “movie” of one’s life is just played over and over again, unbeknownst to the person in the movie), but this idea is also different because it involves accepting the world the way it is for all eternity rather than an idea revolving around the way they wish it was.  The Eternal Return fully engages with the existentialist reality of human life with all its absurdities, contingencies, and the rest.

3. Power and Nihilism

Nietzsche, like Kierkegaard before him, was considered to be an unsystematic thinker by many, though Barrett points out that this view is mistaken when it comes to Nietzsche; a common view resulting from the form his writings took which were largely aphoristic.  Nietzsche himself even said that he was viewing science and philosophy through the eyes of art, but nevertheless his work eventually revealed a systematic structure:

“As thinking gradually took over the whole person, and everything else in his life being starved out, it was inevitable that this thought should tend to close itself off in a system.”

This systematization of his philosophy was revealed in the notes he was making for The Will to Power, a work he never finished but one that was more or less assembled and published posthumously by his sister Elisabeth.  The systematization was centered on the idea that a will to power was the underlying force that ultimately guided our behavior, striving to achieve the highest possible position in life as opposed to being fundamentally driven by some biological imperative to survive.  But it’s worth pointing out here that Nietzsche didn’t seem to be merely talking about a driving force behind human behavior, but rather he seemed to be referencing an even more fundamental driving force that was in some sense driving all of reality; and this more inclusive view would be analogous to Schopenhauer’s will to live.

It’s interesting to consider this perspective from the lens of biology, where if we try and reconcile this with a Darwinian account of evolution in which survival is key, we could surmise that a will to power is but a mechanism for survival.  If we grant Nietzsche’s position and the position of the various anti-Darwinian thinkers that influenced him, that is, that a will to survive or survival more generally is somehow secondary to a will to power, then we run into a problem: if survival is a secondary drive or goal, then we’d expect survival to be less important than power; but without survival you can’t have power and thus it makes far more evolutionary sense that a will to survive is more basic than a will to power.

However, I am willing to grant that as soon as organisms began evolving brains along with the rest of their nervous system, the will to power (or something analogous to it) became increasingly important; and by the time humans came on the scene with their highly complex brains, the will to power may have become manifest in our neurological drive to better predict our environment over time.  I wrote about this idea in a previous post where I had explored Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil, where I explained what I saw as a correlation between Nietzsche’s will to power and the idea of the brain as a predictive processor:

“…I’d like to build on it a little and suggest that both expressions of a will to power can be seen as complementary strategies to fulfill one’s desire for maximal autonomy, but with the added caveat that this autonomy serves to fulfill a desire for maximal causal power by harnessing as much control over our experience and understanding of the world as possible.  On the one hand, we can try and change the world in certain ways to fulfill this desire (including through the domination of other wills to power), or we can try and change ourselves and our view of the world (up to and including changing our desires if we find them to be misdirecting us away from our greatest goal).  We may even change our desires such that they are compatible with an external force attempting to dominate us, thus rendering the external domination powerless (or at least less powerful than it was), and then we could conceivably regain a form of power over our experience and understanding of the world.

I’ve argued elsewhere that I think that our view of the world as well as our actions and desires can be properly described as predictions of various causal relations (this is based on my personal view of knowledge combined with a Predictive Processing account of brain function).  Reconciling this train of thought with Nietzsche’s basic idea of a will to power, I think we could…equate maximal autonomy with maximal predictive success (including the predictions pertaining to our desires). Looking at autonomy and a will to power in this way, we can see that one is more likely to make successful predictions about the actions of another if they subjugate the other’s will to power by their own.  And one can also increase the success of their predictions by changing them in the right ways, including increasing their complexity to better match the causal structure of the world, and by changing our desires and actions as well.”

On the other hand, if we treat the brain’s predictive activity as a kind of mechanistic description of how the brain works rather than a type of drive per se, and if we treat our underlying drives as something that merely falls under this umbrella of description, then we might want to consider whether or not any of the drives that are typically posited in psychological theory (such as power, sex, or a will to live) are actually more basic than any other or typically dominant over the others.  Barrett suggests an alternative, saying that we ought to look at these elements more holistically:

“What if the human psyche cannot be carved up into compartments and one compartment wedged in under another as being more basic?  What if such dichotomizing really overlooks the organic unity of the human psyche, which is such that a single impulse can be just as much an impulse toward love on the one hand as it is toward power on the other?”

I agree with Barrett at least in the sense that these drives seem to be operating together much of the time, and when they aren’t in unison, they often seem to be operating on the same level at least.  Another way to put this could be to say that as a social species, we’ve evolved a number of different modular behavioral strategies that are typically best suited for particular social circumstances, though some circumstances may be such that multiple strategies will work and thus multiple strategies may be used simultaneously without working against each other.

But I also think that our conscious attention plays a role as well where the primary drive(s) used to produce the subsequent behavior may be affected by thinking about certain things or in a certain way, such as how much you love someone, what you think you can gain from them, etc.  And this would mean that the various underlying drives for our behavior are individually selected or prioritized based on one’s current experiences and where their attention is directed at any particular moment.  It may still be the case that some drives are typically dominant over others, such as a will to power, even if certain circumstances can lead to another drive temporarily taking over, however short-lived that may be.

The will to power, even if it’s not primary, would still help to explain some of the enormous advancements we’ve made in our scientific and technological progress, while also explaining (at least to some degree) the apparent disparity between our standard of living and overall physio-psychological health on the one hand, and our immense power to manipulate the environment on the other:

“Technology in the twentieth century has taken such enormous strides beyond that of the nineteenth that it now bulks larger as an instrument of naked power than as an instrument for human well-being.”

We could fully grasp Barrett’s point here by thinking about the opening scene in Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, where “The Dawn of Man” was essentially made manifest with the discovery of tools, specifically weapons.  Once this seemingly insignificant discovery was made, it completely changed the game for our species.  While it gave us a new means of defending ourselves and an ability to hunt other animals, thus providing us with the requisite surplus of protein and calories needed for brain development and enhanced intelligence, it also catalyzed an arms race.  And with the advent of human civilization, our historical trajectory around the globe became largely dominated by our differential means of destruction; whoever had the biggest stick, the largest army, the best projectiles, and ultimately the most concentrated form of energy, would likely win the battle, forever changing the fate of the parties involved.

Indeed war has been such a core part of human history, so it’s no wonder Nietzsche stumbled upon such an idea; and even if he hadn’t, someone else likely would have even if they wouldn’t have done so with the same level of creativity and intellectual rigor.  If our history has been so colored with war, which is a physical instantiation of a will to power in order to dominate another group, then we should expect many to see it as a fundamental part of who we are.  Personally, I don’t think we’re fundamentally war-driven creatures but rather that war results from our ability to engage in it combined with a perceived lack of and desire for resources, freedom, and stability in our lives; but many of these goods, freedom in particular, imply a particular level of power over oneself and their environment, so even a fight for freedom is in one way or another a kind of will to power as well.

And what are we to make of our quest for power in terms of the big picture?  Theoretically, there is an upper limit to the amount of power any individual or group can possibly attain, and if one gets to a point where they are seeking power for power’s sake, and using their newly acquired power to harness even more power, then what will happen when we eventually hit that ceiling?  If our values become centered around power, and we lose any anchor we once had to provide meaning for our lives, then it seems we would be on a direct path toward nihilism:

“For Nietzsche, the problem of nihilism arose out of the discovery that “God is dead.” “God” here means the historical God of the Christian faith.  But in a wider philosophical sense it means also the whole realm of supersensible reality-Platonic Ideas, the Absolute, or what not-that philosophy has traditionally posited beyond the sensible realm, and in which it has located man’s highest values.  Now that this other, higher, eternal realm is gone, Nietzsche declared, man’s highest values lose their value…The only value Nietzsche can set up to take the place of these highest values that have lost their value for contemporary man is: Power.”

As Barrett explains, Nietzsche seemed to think that power was the only thing that could replace the eternal realm that we valued so much; but of course this does nothing to alleviate the problem of nihilism in the long term since the infinite void still awaits those at the end of the finite road to maximal power.

“If this moment in Western history is but the fateful outcome of the fundamental ways of thought that lie at the very basis of our civilization-and particularly of that way of thought that sunders man from nature, sees nature as a realm of objects to be mastered and conquered, and can therefore end only with the exaltation of the will to power-then we have to find out how this one-sided and ultimately nihilistic emphasis upon the power over things may be corrected.”

I think the answer to this problem lies in a combination of strategies, but with the overarching goal of maximizing life fulfillment.  We need to reprogram our general attitude toward power such that it is truly instrumental rather than perceived as intrinsically valuable; and this means that our basic goal becomes accumulating power such that we can maximize our personal satisfaction and life fulfillment, and nothing more.  Among other things, the power we acquire should be centered around a power over ourselves and our own psychology; finding ways of living and thinking which are likely to include the fostering of a more respectful relationship with the nature that created us in the first place.

And now that we’re knee deep in the Information Age, we will be able to harness the potential of genetic engineering, artificial intelligence, and artificial reality; and within these avenues of research we will be able to change our own biology such that we can quickly adapt our psychology to the ever-changing cultural environment of the modern world, and we’ll be able to free up our time to create any world we want.  We just need to keep the ultimate goal in mind, fulfillment and contentment, and direct our increasing power towards this goal in particular instead of merely chipping away at it in the background as some secondary priority.  If we don’t prioritize it, then we may simply perpetuate and amplify the meaningless sources of distraction in our lives, eventually getting lost in the chaos, and forgetting about our ultimate potential and the imperatives needed to realize it.

I’ll be posting a link here to part 9 of this post-series, exploring Heidegger’s philosophy, once it has been completed.

“The Brothers Karamazov”: A Moral & Philosophical Critique (Part IV)

Throughout this post series on Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov (click here for parts 1, 2, and 3), I’ve been writing about some of the themes and concepts that are of particular interest to me, for example, the concepts of moral objectivity, God, an afterlife, immortal souls, free will and determinism, moral desert, and others.  In this post, I wanted to tie these themes all together with the main theme present throughout this entire novel, namely the existentially relevant conflict between religious faith and doubt.

Dostoyevsky clearly has a bias toward a world view that is based on or embedded within religious faith, and this can be seen most explicitly by the distinctions he makes between the idealistic religious characters Alyosha and father Zosima, and that of the logical skepticism instantiated by the atheistic Ivan (and through his influence, Smerdyakov).  Alyosha and Zosima clearly display an active form of love, forgiveness, and a consistent effort to do good in the world presumably predicated on their belief in the existence of God (though a very particular formulation of God is necessary here, not simply any kind of God).  Ivan on the other hand, as a result of his attributes of rationality, logic, and the importance he places on empirical evidence and analysis, ends up rejecting any belief in God (or at least, rejecting any belief in a good or loving God due to the Problem of Evil), rejecting conventional notions of (or foundations for) morality, and subsequently maintains a cold and callous view of mankind while suffering from a debilitating form of inner despair.

From the contrast seen between these limited character types (and many more characters in the novel), we are to ascertain that a life embedded in religious faith is clearly one with more happiness, stability, and goodness, whereas a life presumably encumbered by religious doubt is a life filled with chaos, despair, and often evil or immoral behavior.  As I’ve alluded to in my previous posts in this series, I think this perspective is highly flawed for a number of reasons.  However, in defense of Dostoyevsky’s perspective, I will say that I think it is often the case that religious faith inspires people to be happier than they otherwise would be, that it often gives people another form of social or psychological stability in an otherwise chaotic world (that’s why humans invented religion in the first place), and that it can lead people to do many good things.  And likewise, I will even concede that religious doubt or atheistic worldviews can often be nihilistic, and if so, can lead to less happy lives, less social or psychological stability, and possibly leading to more immoral behavior (though some religious beliefs can promote immoral behavior as well).  I wouldn’t describe my own atheism this way by any means, but many atheists would likely fit the bill (so to speak).

The problem however with Dostoyevsky’s perspective is that it is misleading with respect to the implied inherent characteristics of these divergent world views (theism vs. atheism), the obvious social and institutional causal factors that reinforce those different types of behaviors (what religious and non-religious institutions exist at any point in time), and the fact that people that abandon or reject religious faith often haven’t critically examined or formulated the philosophical foundations for their belief systems.  People that are indoctrinated with various religious beliefs often use the religion itself (or various theological claims) and the cultural traditions that have followed from them, as the foundation for many of their beliefs including those pertaining to morality, a sense of purpose, and ultimate meaning in their lives — a mistaken foundation that unfortunately has become deeply ingrained in our society and for quite some time now.

This erroneous foundation has become deeply ingrained, most especially in societies that have been Christianized or that have been theocratic at one time or another.  As a result, even if secularization eventually occurs in those societies (with the separation of church and state often improving lives by increasing equality and human rights), many non-religious individuals within those societies simply don’t know how to ground many of their beliefs within some secular/atheistic philosophical framework.  The assumed religious foundation for many of those beliefs has simply been taken for granted, and if that foundation goes away with secularization, and people actually realize that the foundation they once had for those beliefs is no longer valid, many people don’t know how to avoid slipping into some form of nihilism.

Nietzsche spoke about this process in his Will to Power, that is, the process of inevitably slipping into nihilism once one realizes that the foundation for their beliefs is in fact a false one.  The problem is, as Nietzsche pointed out, that nihilism should be treated as merely a transitional stage since it is ultimately pathological, and like all pathologies, ultimately needs to be overcome.  People slipping into nihilism and then concluding that life is meaningless or that moral action is meaningless is really a result of a false generalization.  Rather than rejecting their old beliefs and striving to search for new beliefs or a new foundation for them, some people simply give up the search and then erroneously think that there can’t be any real meaning in their lives or in humanity.  Nietzsche saw this perceived futility as fallacious, and believed that it really should be seen as an opportunity for one to find their own form of meaning for their lives, without any need of anything superhuman or supernatural.  Once one realizes this error in their nihilism, they can shift from a passive form of nihilism to an active one, such that it truly becomes a transitional stage toward a non-nihilistic world view.

In The Brothers Karamazov, the atheistic character, Ivan, seems to have simply fallen into a more or less passive form of nihilism.  As such, Ivan seems to have made the same erroneous generalization that Nietzsche warned us of.  Having been so deeply entrenched in a Christianized society, his lack of belief in God has pulled his (presumably original) foundation for morality out from under him, leading him to think that without God, anything is permissible and therefore no action can be said to be truly good or bad.  Dostoyevsky seems to believe (or so implies with his characters) that this passive form of nihilism (or something analogous to it) is all that can result with individuals that lack religious faith.  And on the other end of the spectrum, his devout religious characters (Alyosha and father Zosima in particular) don’t suffer from this problem because their belief in God, some of their religious traditions, and their particular religious perspective, have bestowed upon them a perceived foundation for their values and purpose in life.  Though this foundation is one that is not based on reason and evidence and therefore can have no reasonable claim of being true or valid, religious people nevertheless believe that it is true and valid and so it inevitably motivates their behavior which can often be for good.

So I think it’s fair to say that I agree with Dostoyevsky at least insofar as religious doubt (when compared to religious faith) can lead people down a path of decreased happiness and with a general disregard for (at least certain) moral considerations.  However, this is generally only going to be the case when those with religious doubt slip into a passive form of nihilism (rather than an active form, that can lead to a re-grounding and/or reformulation of one’s values).  And Ivan, with his admiration for evidence-based logic, should have realized that this passive form of nihilism is irrational and illogical, a fact that becomes obvious once one critically considers what human morality really is and what it is not (i.e. it is not rationally nor pragmatically based on Divine Command Theory, or any form of religious faith or dogma — even if people mistakenly believe this to be the case).  And it is a fact that becomes obvious once one realizes how morality is actually grounded in the natural world, where it can be described and optimized using a number of objective facts pertaining to our psychology, our biology, and how we interact with one another as a social species.

The radical freedom that people find themselves possessing in this world creates an existential crisis as Dostoyevsky and many other philosophers (such as Kierkegaard, Sartre and others) have talked about at great length.  This crisis leads many people into adopting any manner of beliefs, including but not limited to religious beliefs, to help them cope with this burden of choice (among other things to cope with), and to help make sense of a highly chaotic world.  Others that reject the religious path for coping and that are also unable to do so within their atheistic framework, will likely be led to a worldview full of despair and (passive) nihilism.  But if people want to have the most fulfilling lives that they can, while also seeking the truth to make as responsible of decisions as they are able to (including moral decisions), then they must find a way to incorporate reason and evidence into their philosophical framework (which means eventually rejecting religious faith and dogma) while not losing sight of the non-nihilistic end goal that they ought to strive for.

We need to give our own meaning to our lives and only then will we will be able to maximize our personal satisfaction and life fulfillment.  The current challenge for our society is finding more ways of replacing religious institutions with secular versions that accomplish the social cohesive structure that many people long for, and to better prepare and empower our children and the young adults in our society with more rigorous philosophical training in ethics and epistemology.  Reading the works of wonderful authors such as Dostoyevsky should be a part of this philosophical training, so we can look at our lives from multiple perspectives with any number of often difficult to describe nuances and subtleties, to find the truths and flaws in those perspectives and build off of them to better understand ourselves and to get where we want to go as individuals and as a species.  I must say that I’ve rather enjoyed writing this post series, reading this wonderful novel, and I hope to do more post series like these in the future.

“The Brothers Karamazov” – A Moral & Philosophical Critique (Part II)

In my last post in this series, concerning Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, I talked about the concept of good and evil and the character Ivan’s personal atheistic perception that they are contingent on God existing (or at least an afterlife of eternal reward or punishment).  While there may even be a decent percentage of atheists that share this view (objective morality being contingent on God’s existence), I briefly explained my own views (being an atheist myself) which differs from Ivan’s in that I am a moral realist and believe that morality is objective independent of any gods or immortal souls existing.  I believe that moral facts exist (and science is the best way to find them), that morality is ultimately grounded on objective facts pertaining to human psychology, biology, sociology, neurology, and other facts about human beings, and thus that good and evil do exist in at least some sense.

In this post, I’m going to talk about Ivan’s influence on his half-brother, Smerdyakov, who ends up confessing to Ivan that he murdered their father Fyodor Pavlovich, as a result of Ivan’s philosophical influence on him.  In particular, Smerdyakov implicates Ivan as at least partially responsible for his own murderous behavior since Ivan successfully convinced him that evil wasn’t possible in a world without a God.  Ivan ends up becoming consumed with guilt, basically suffers a nervous breakdown, and then is incessantly taunted by a demonic apparition.  The hallucinations continue up until the moment Ivan comes to find out, from his very religious brother Alyosha, that Smerdyakov has hung himself.  This scene highlights a number of important topics beyond the moral realism I discussed in the first post, such as moral responsibility, free will, and even moral desert (I’ll discuss this last topic in my next post).

As I mentioned before, beyond the fact that we do not need a god to ground moral values, we also don’t need a god or an afterlife to motivate us to behave morally either.  By cultivating moral virtues such as compassion, honesty, and reasonableness, and analyzing a situation using a rational assessment of as many facts as are currently accessible, we can maximize our personal satisfaction and thus our chances of living a fulfilling life.  Behavioral causal factors that support this goal are “good” and those that detract from it are “evil”.  Aside from these labels though, we actually experience a more or less pleasing life depending on our behaviors and therefore we do have real-time motivations for behaving morally (such as acting in ways that conform to various cultivated virtues).  Aristotle claimed this more than 2000 years ago and moral psychology has been confirming it time and time again.

Since we have evolved as a particular social species with a particular psychology, not only do we have particular behaviors that best accomplish a fulfilling life, but there are also various behavioral conditioning algorithms and punishment/reward systems that are best at modifying our behavior.  And this brings me to Smerdyakov.  By listening to Ivan and ultimately becoming convinced by Ivan’s philosophical arguments, he seems to have been conditioned out of his previous views on moral responsibility.  In particular, he ended up adopting the belief that if God does not exist, then anything is permissible.  Since he also rejected a belief in God, he therefore thought he could do whatever he wanted.

One thing this turn of events highlights is that there are a number of different factors that influence people’s behaviors and that lead to their being reasoned into doing (or not doing) all sorts of things.  As Voltaire once said “Those who can make you believe absurdities can also make you commit atrocities.  And I think what Ivan told Smerdyakov was in fact absurd — although it was a belief that I once held as well not long after becoming an atheist.  For it is quite obviously absurd that anything is permissible without a God existing for at least two types of reasons: pragmatic considerations and moral considerations (with the former overlapping with the latter).  Pragmatic reasons include things like not wanting to be fined, incarcerated, or even executed by a criminal justice system that operates to minimize illegal behaviors.  It includes not wanting to be ostracized from your circle of friends, your social groups, or your community (and risking the loss of beneficial reciprocity, safety nets, etc.).  Moral reasons include everything that detracts from your overall psychological well-being, the very thing that is needed to live a maximally fulfilling life given one’s circumstances.  Behaving in ways that degrade your sense of inner worth, your integrity, self-esteem, and that diminish a good conscience, is going to make you feel miserable compared to behaving in ways that positively impact these fundamental psychological goals.

Furthermore, this part of the story illustrates that we have a moral responsibility not only to ourselves and our own behavior, but also in terms of how we influence the behavior of those around us, based on what we say, how we treat them, and more.  This also reinforces the importance of social contract theory and how it pertains to moral behavior.  If we follow simple behavioral heuristics like the Golden Rule and mutual reciprocity, then we can work together to obtain and secure common social goods such as various rights, equality, environmental sustainability, democratic legislation (ideally based on open moral deliberation), and various social safety nets.  We also can punish those that violate the social contract, as we already do with the criminal justice system and various kinds of social ostracization.  While our system of checks is far from perfect, having some system that serves such a purpose is necessary because not everybody behaves in ways that are ultimately beneficial to themselves nor everyone else around them.  People need to be conditioned to behave in ways that are more conducive to their own well being and that of others, and if all reasonable efforts to achieve that fails, they may simply need to be quarantined through incarceration (for example psychopaths or other violent criminals that society needs to be protected from, and that aren’t responding to rehabilitation efforts).

In any case, we do have a responsibility to others and that means we need to be careful what we say, such as the case with Ivan and his brother.  And this includes how we talk about concepts like free will, moral responsibility, and moral desert (justice).  If we tell people that all of their behaviors are determined and therefore don’t matter, that’s not a good way to get people to behave in ways that are good for them or for others.  Nor is telling them that because a God doesn’t exist, that their actions don’t matter.  In the case of deterministic nihilism, it’s a way to get people to lose much if not all of their motivation to put forward effort in achieving useful goals.  And both deterministic and atheistic moral nihilism are dangerous ideas that can get some people to commit heinous crimes such as mass shootings (or murdering their own father as Smerdyakov did), because they simply cause people to think that all behaviors are on equal footing in any way that matters.  And quite frankly, those nihilistic ideas are not only dangerous but also absurd.

While I’ve written a bit on free will in the past, my views have become more refined over the years, and my overall attitude towards the issue has been co-evolving alongside my views on morality.  The main crux of the free will issue is that libertarian free will is logically impossible because our actions are never free from both determinism and indeterminism (randomness) since one or the other must underlie how our universe operates (depending on which interpretation of Quantum Mechanics is correct).  Neither option from this logical dichotomy gives us “the freedom to have chosen to behave differently given the same initial conditions in a non-random way”.  Therefore free will in this sense is logically impossible.  However, this does not mean that our behavior isn’t operating under some sets of rules and patterns that we can discover and modify.  That is to say, we can effectively reprogram many of our behavioral tendencies using various forms of conditioning through punishment/reward systems.  These are the same systems we use to teach children how to behave and to rehabilitate criminals.

The key thing to note here is that we need to acknowledge that even if we don’t have libertarian free will, we still have a form of “free will” that matters (as philosophers like Daniel Dennett have said numerous times) whereby we have the ability to be programmed and reprogrammed in certain ways, thus allowing us to take responsibility for our actions and design ways to modify future actions as needed.  We have more degrees of freedom than a person who is insane for example, or a child, or a dog, and these degrees of freedom or autonomy — the flexibility we have in our decision-making algorithms — can be used as a rough guideline for determining how “morally responsible” a person is for their actions.  That is to say, the more easily a person can be conditioned out of a particular behavior, and the more rational decision making processes are involved in governing that behavior, the more “free will” this person has in a sense that applies to a criminal justice system and that applies to most of our everyday lives.

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether someone thinks that their behavior doesn’t matter because there’s no God, or because they have no libertarian free will.  What needs to be pointed out is the fact that we are able to behave in ways (or be conditioned to behave in ways) that lead to more happiness, more satisfaction and more fulfilling lives.  And we are able to behave in ways that detract from this goal.  So which behaviors should we aim for?  I think the answer is obvious.  And we also need to realize that as a part of our behavioral patterns, we need to realize that ideas have consequences on others and their subsequent behaviors.  So we need to be careful about what ideas we choose to spread and to make sure that they are put into a fuller context.  If a person hasn’t given some critical reflection about the consequences that may ensue from spreading their ideas to others, especially to others that may misunderstand it, then they need to keep those ideas to themselves until they’ve reflected on them more.  And this is something that I’ve discovered and applied for myself as well, as I was once far less careful about this than I am now.  In the next post, I’m going to talk about the concept of moral desert and how it pertains to free will.  This will be relevant to the scene described above regarding Ivan’s demonic apparition that haunts him as a result of his guilt over Smerdyakov’s murder of their father, as well as why the demonic apparition disappeared once Ivan heard that Smerdyakov had taken his own life.

“The Brothers Karamazov” – A Moral & Philosophical Critique (Part I)

I wanted to write some thoughts on Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, and I may end up writing this in several parts.  I’m interested in some of the themes that Dostoevsky develops, in particular, those pertaining to morality, moral responsibility, free will, moral desert, and their connection to theism and atheism.  Since I’m not going to go over the novel in great detail, for those not already familiar with this story, please at least read the plot overview (here’s a good link for that) before pressing on.

One of the main characters in this story, Ivan, is an atheist, as I am (though our philosophies differ markedly as you’ll come to find out as you read on).  In his interactions and conversation with his brother Alyosha, a very religious man, various moral concepts are brought up including the dichotomy of good and evil, arguments against the existence of God (at least, against the existence of a loving God) such as the well-known Problem of Evil, and other ethical and religious quandaries.  I wanted to first talk about Ivan’s insistence that good and evil cannot exist without God, and since Ivan’s character doesn’t believe that God exists, he comes to the conclusion that good and evil do not exist either.  Although I’m an atheist, I disagree with Ivan’s views here and will expand on why in a moment.

I’ve written a bit on my blog, about various arguments against the existence of God that I’ve come across over the years, some of which that I’ve formulated on my own after much reflection – and that were at least partially influenced by my former religious views as a born-again Protestant Christian.  Perhaps ironically, it wasn’t until after I became an atheist that I began to delve much deeper into moral theory, and also into philosophy generally (though the latter is less surprising).  My views on morality have evolved in extremely significant ways since my early adult years.  For example, back when I was a Christian I was a moral objectivist/realist, believing that morals were indeed objective but only in the sense that they depended on what God believed to be right and wrong (even if these divine rules changed over time or seemed to contradict my own moral intuitions and analyses, such as stoning homosexuals to death).  Thus, I subscribed to some form of Divine Command Theory (or DCT).  After becoming an atheist, much like Ivan, I became a moral relativist (but only temporarily – keep reading), believing as the character Ivan did, that good and evil couldn’t exist due to their resting on a fictitious or at least non-demonstrable supernatural theological foundation and/or (perhaps unlike Ivan believed) that good and evil may exist but only in the sense that they were nothing more than cultural norms that were all equally valid.

Since then, I’ve become a moral realist once again (as I was when I was a Christian), after putting the philosophy of Ivan to the test (so to speak).  I realized that I could no longer justify the belief that any cultural moral norm had as equal of a claim to being true as any other cultural norm.  There were simply too many examples of moral prescriptions in various cultures and religions that couldn’t be justified.  Then I realized that many of the world’s cultural moral norms, though certainly not all of them, were largely universal (such as prohibitions against, at least certain forms of, stealing, killing, and others) which suggested a common human psychological component underlying many of them.

I also realized that as an atheist, much as Nietzsche realized, I now had to ground my own moral views on something that didn’t rely on Divine Command Theory, gods, Christian traditions, or any other foundation that I found to be invalid, illogical, unreasonable, unjustified, or not sufficiently demonstrated to be true.  And I had to do this if I was to find a way out of moral relativism, which simply didn’t sit well with me as it didn’t seem to be coherent with the bulk of human psychology and the more or less universal goals that humans strive to achieve in their lives.  It was ultimately the objective facts pertaining to human psychology that allowed me to resubscribe to an objectivist/realist morality — and now my views of morality were no longer contingent on merely the whim or dictates of some authoritarian god (thus bypassing the Euthyphro dilemma), but rather were contingent on objective facts about human beings, what makes us happy and fulfilled and what doesn’t (where these facts often disagree with moral prescriptions stemming from various religions and Divine-Command-Theory).

After dabbling with the teachings of various philosophers such as Aristotle, Kant, Mill, Rawls, Foot, and others, I came to accept a view of morality that was indeed coherent, sensible, sufficiently motivating to follow (which is a must), and which subsumed all the major moral theories into one framework (and which therefore had the best claim to being true since it was compatible with all of them –  virtue ethics, deontology, and consequentialism).   Now I’ve come to accept what can be described as a Goal Theory of Ethics, whereby morality is defined as “that which one ought to do above all else – when rational and maximally informed based on reason and evidence – in order to increase one’s personal life fulfillment and overall level of preference satisfaction”.  One could classify this as a subset of desire utilitarianism, but readers must be warned that this is NOT to be confused with traditional formulations of utilitarianism – such as those explicitly stated by J.S. Mill, Peter Singer, etc., as they are rife with problems resulting from not taking ALL consequences into account (such as consequences pertaining to one’s own character and how they see themselves as a person, as per the wisdom of Aristotle and Kant).

So how can good and evil exist without some God(s) existing?  That is to say, if a God doesn’t exist, how can it not be the case that “anything is permissible”?  Well, the short answer is – because of human psychology (and also social contract theory).

When people talk about behaving morally, what they really mean (when we peel back all the layers of cultural and religious rhetoric, mythology, narrative, etc.) is behaving in a way that maximizes our personal satisfaction – specifically our sense of life fulfillment.  Ask a Christian, or a Muslim, or a Humanist, why ought they behave in some particular way, and it all can be shown to break down to some form of human happiness or preference satisfaction for life fulfillment (not some hedonistic form of happiness).  They may say to behave morally “because then you can get into heaven, or avoid hell”, or “because it pleases God”, or what-have-you.  When you ask why THOSE reasons are important, it ultimately leads to “because it maximizes your chance of living a fulfilled life” (whether in this life or in the next, for those that believe in an afterlife).  I don’t believe in any afterlife because there’s no good evidence or reason to have such a belief, so for me the life that is most important is the one life we are given here on earth – which therefore must be cherished and not given any secondary priority to a hypothetical life that may or may not be granted after death.

But regardless, whether you believe in an afterlife (as Alyosha does) or not (as in Ivan’s case), it is still about maximizing a specific form of happiness and fulfillment.  However, another place where Ivan seems to go wrong in his thinking is his conclusion that people only behave morally based on what they believe will happen to them in an afterlife.  And therefore, if there is no afterlife (immortal souls), then there is no reason to be moral.  The fact of the matter is though, in general, much of what we tend to call moral behavior actually produces positive effects on the quality of our lives now, as we live them.  People that behave immorally are generally not going to live “the good life” or achieve what Aristotle called eudaimonia.  On the other hand, if people actually cultivate virtues of compassion, honesty, and reasonableness, they will simply live more fulfilling lives.  And people that don’t do this or simply follow their immediate epicurean or selfish impulses will most certainly not live a fulfilling life.  So there is actually a naturalistic motivating force to behave morally, regardless of any afterlife.  Ivan simply overlooked this (and by extension, possibly Dostoyevsky as well), likely because most people brought up in Christianized cultures often focus on the afterlife as being the bearer of ultimate justice and therefore the ultimate motivator for behaving as they do.

In any case, the next obvious question to ask is what ways of living best accomplish this goal of life fulfillment?  This is an empirical question which means science can in principle discover the answer, and is the only reliable (or at least the most reliable) way of arriving at such answers.  While there is as of yet no explicit “science of morality”, various branches of science such as psychology, sociology, anthropology, and neuroscience, are discovering moral facts (or at least reasonable approximations of these facts, given what data we have obtained thus far).  Unless we as a society choose to formulate a science of morality — a laborious research project indeed — we will have to live with the best approximations to moral facts that are at our disposal as per the findings in psychology, sociology, neuroscience, etc.

So even if we don’t yet know with certainty what one ought to do in any and all particular circumstances (no situational ethical certainties), many scientific findings have increased our confidence in having discovered at least some of those moral facts or approximations of those facts (such as that slavery is morally wrong, because it doesn’t maximize the overall life satisfaction of the slaveholder, especially if he/she were to analyze the situation rationally with as many facts as are pragmatically at their disposal).  And to make use of some major philosophical fruits cultivated from the works of Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau, Hume, and Rawls (among many others), we have the benefits of Social Contract Theory to take into consideration.  In short, societies maximize the happiness and flourishing of the citizens contained therein by making use of a social contract – a system of rules and mutual expectations that ought to be enforced in order to accomplish that societal goal (and which ought to be designed in a fair manner, behind a Rawlsian veil of ignorance, or what he deemed the “original position”).  And therefore, to maximize one’s own chance of living a fulfilling life, one will most likely need to endorse some form of social contract theory that grants people rights, equality, protection, and so forth.

In summary, good and evil do exist despite there being no God because human psychology is particular to our species and our biology, it has a finite range of inputs and outputs, and therefore there are some sets of behaviors that will work better than others to maximize our happiness and overall life satisfaction given the situational circumstances that we find our lives embedded in.  What we call “good” and “evil” are simply the behaviors and causal events that “add to” or “detract from” our goal of living a fulfilling life.  The biggest source of disagreement among the various moral systems in the world (whether religiously motivated or not), are the different sets of “facts” that people subscribe to (some beliefs being based on sound reason and evidence whereas others are based on irrational faith, dogma, or emotions) and whether or not people are analyzing the actual facts in a rational manner.  A person may think they know what will maximize their chances of living a fulfilling life when in fact (much like with the heroin addict that can’t wait to get their next fix) they are wrong about the facts and if they only knew so and acted rationally, would do what they actually ought to do instead.

In my next post in this series, I’ll examine Ivan’s views on free will and moral responsibility, and how it relates to the unintended consequence of the actions of his half-brother Smerdyakov (who murders their father, Fyodor Pavlovich, as a result of Ivan’s influence on his moral views).

Atheism, Morality, and Various Thoughts of the Day…

I’m sick of anti-intellectuals and the rest in their assuming that all atheists are moral Nihilists, moral relativists, post/modernists, proponents of scientism, etc. ‘Dat ain’t the case. Some of us respect philosophy and understand fully well that even science requires an epistemological, metaphysical, and ethical foundation, in order to work at all and to ground all of its methodologies.  Some atheists are even keen to some form of panpsychism (like Chalmers’ or Strawson’s views).

Some of us even ascribe to a naturalistic worldview that holds onto meaning, despite the logical impossibility of libertarian free will (hint: it has to do with living a moral life which means to live a fulfilling life and maximizing one’s satisfaction through a rational assessment of all the available information — which entails BAYESIAN reasoning — including a rational assessment of the information pertaining to one’s own subjective experience of fulfillment and sustainable happiness). Some of us atheists/philosophical naturalists/what-have-you are moral realists as well and therefore reject relativism, believing that objective moral facts DO in fact exist (and therefore science can find them), even if many of those facts are entailed within a situational ethical framework. Some of us believe that at least some number of moral facts are universal, but this shouldn’t be confused with moral absolutism since both are merely independent subsets of realism. I find absolutism to be intellectually and morally repugnant and epistemologically unjustifiable.

Also, a note for any theists out there: when comparing arguments for and against the existence of a God or gods (and the “Divine Command Theory” that accompanies said belief), keep in mind that an atheist need only hold a minimalist position on the issue (soft atheism) and therefore the entire burden of proof lies on the theist to support their extraordinary claim(s) with an extraordinary amount of evidentiary weight. While I’m willing to justify a personal belief in hard atheism (the claim that “God does not exist”), the soft atheist need only point out that they lack a belief in God because no known proponent for theism has yet met the burden of proof for supporting their extraordinary claim that “God does exist”. As such, any justified moral theory of what one ought to do (above all else) including but certainly not limited to who one votes for, how we treat one another, what fundamental rights we should have, etc., must be grounded on claims of fact that have met their burden of proof. Theism has not done this and the theist can’t simply say “Prove God doesn’t exist”, since this would require proving a null hypothesis which is not possible, even if it can be proven false. So rather than trying to unjustifably shift the burden of proof onto the atheist, the theist must satisfy the burden of proof for their positive claim on the existence of a god(s).

A more general goal needed to save our a$$es from self-destruction is for more people to dabble in philosophy. I argue that it should even become a core part of educational curricula (especially education on minimizing logical fallacies/cognitive biases and education on moral psychology) to give us the best chance of living a life that is at least partially examined through internal rational reflection and discourse with those that are willing to engage with us. To give us the best chance of surviving the existential crisis that humanity (and many more species that share this planet with us) are in. We need more people to be encouraged to justify what they think they ought to do above all else.

The Properties of God: Much Ado About Nothing

Having previously written about various Arguments for God’s Existence, including some of the inherent flaws and problems with those arguments, and having analyzed some of the purported attributes of God as most often defined by theists, I decided to reiterate some of the previous points I’ve mentioned and also expand further on the topic. Specifically, I’d like to further analyze the most common definitions and properties of God as claimed by theists.  God is often defined by theists as an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, and omnibenevolent being that is also uncaused, beginningless, timeless, changeless, spaceless, and immaterial among other attributes.  God is also defined by many as some form of disembodied mind possessing free will.  Since this list of terms is perhaps the most common I’ve seen over the years within theological circles, I’ll simply focus on these terms to analyze within this post.

Omniscience, Omnipotence, Changelessness, and Free Will

The property of omniscience is perhaps the single most significant property within this list because if it is taken to be true, it inevitably leads to the logical impossibility of some of the other attributes in this list.  For instance, if God’s knowledge includes complete knowledge of the future, then God is unable to change that future.  That is, whatever future that God would be aware of must happen exactly as it does, and God would not have the ability to change such a fate (otherwise this God would have failed to know the future without error).  This leads to the logical impossibility of God possessing both omniscience and omnipotence, as God loses the ability to enact any kind of change whatsoever that isn’t already pre-ordained or known by this God in advance.  God would not only know the future of all events occurring within the universe (presumably mediated by the very laws of physics that this God would have created) thus eliminating any possible free will for all of humanity, but this God would also know the future of all his other actions, thoughts, intentions, etc., and thus God wouldn’t be able to have free will either.  One can try to preserve the theological property of omnipotence or free will by denying that of omniscience (by limiting God’s knowledge of the future in some way).  However, even if this God didn’t have the ability to know the future with 100% certainty as implied with omniscience, the absence of omniscience wouldn’t negate the possibility that this God may still have no choice or ability to act any other way (even if this God doesn’t know ahead of time what those actions will be).

Even if we accepted that God doesn’t have omniscience, and if we also ignored the possibility that God may still lack free will or omnipotence even in the absence of that omniscient foreknowledge, one must still explain how a definitively changeless being could ever instantiate any kind of change at all, let alone to create the entire universe, space, and time (which is dependent on change).  Is it even logically possible for a changeless being to instantiate change?  That is, could a being possessing a de facto property such as changelessness simultaneously possess a modal property or capability of change?  Even if it were logically possible, there doesn’t appear to be any way at all for the modal property to ever be self-instantiated by a de facto changeless being.

An outside causal force may be able to instantiate the change in the previously changeless being, but I see no way that this could be accomplished by the changeless being itself.  One may try to resolve this dilemma by positing that one aspect or component of the changeless state of God was the constant or changeless intention to eventually cause a change at some future time x (e.g. to eventually create the universe), but this attempted resolution carries with it the problem of contradicting the supposed theological property of timelessness, since there can’t be some future moment for any change to occur in any kind of timeless scenario.  This would suggest that some kind of temporal delay is occurring until the change is eventually realized, which is logically incoherent in a timeless scenario.  Thus, I see no reason or logical argument to support the claim that a de facto property of changelessness could ever co-exist with a modal property or capability of self-causing any kind of change, and thus a timeless or changeless being would be causally effete thereby negating the property of omnipotence.

Omnibenevolence

One major problem that I see regarding the property of omnibenevolence, is that the term itself isn’t well-defined.  Sure, one can easily grasp the basic concept of being all-loving or all-good, but exactly what standard is one using to define goodness, or love, since these are not objectively defined concepts?  Another way of describing this problem, within the context of Divine Command Theory, is known as Euthyphro’s Dilemma (from one of Plato’s dialogues), where one must ask: Is something good because God says it is good, or does God say something is good because of some other quality it has?  If the standard of goodness comes from God (i.e. “it’s good because God says so”), then it is entirely arbitrary and this would also mean that the definition of omnibenevolence is circular and therefore invalid.  If the standard of goodness comes from some other cause or being, then that means that goodness is dependent on something other than God and this would also undermine the idea that God is uncaused or beginningless, since the property of God’s benevolence (even if omnibenevolent) would have been dependent on something other than God.  Beyond these problems it would also undermine the idea of God being omnipotent since God wouldn’t have the power to self-instantiate this standard of goodness.

Another problem with positing that God is omnibenevolent, is the oft mentioned Problem of Evil, which ultimately refers to the problem of how to reconcile the supposed existence and omnibenevolence of God with all of the suffering that exists in the world.  If God was truly omnibenevolent, then how can one explain the existence of any “evil or suffering at all?  If God doesn’t have the ability to create a universe without any suffering, then this is another argument against God’s omnipotence.  If God does have the ability to do this but doesn’t, then this is an argument against God’s omnibenevolence, assuming that the elimination of all suffering is in accord with the standard of goodness, as one would expect.

Some philosophers have attempted to form various theodicies or defenses to reconcile the Problem of Evil with the idea of an omnipotent and/or omnibenevolent God, but they are ultimately unsuccessful.  For example, some attempts to resolve this problem involve asserting that good simply can’t logically exist without evil, implying that they are relative to and thus dependent on one another, which basically reasserts the old adage “you can’t have the sour without the sweet”.  The problem with this argument is that, if taken further, it would also imply that an omnibenevolent being (as God is often defined as) is also logically dependent on the existence of an equal but opposite omnimalevolent being, or at the very least, that it is dependent on the property of omnimalevolence.  This would mean that if God is indeed omnibenevolent, then this property of God is logically dependent on the existence of omnimalevolence, and this is another argument showing that God is not uncaused or beginningless, because this particular property of God wouldn’t even be a possibility without the existence of something that is definitively not a part of God (by definition).

Beyond all of these problems mentioned thus far, there seem to be at least several possible solutions that God (if omnibenevolent and all-powerful) could employ to eliminate suffering, and if these possibilities exist, the fact that none of them have been implemented argues against God being omnibenevolent.  For example, why couldn’t God simply feed our brains (even if just a brain in a vat) with a sensory input of nothing but pleasurable experiences?  Even if pleasure was dependent on some kind of contrast with less pleasurable experiences in the past (or if we would unavoidably become desensitized to a particular level of pleasure), God could simply amplify the magnitude of pleasurable sensory inputs with each subsequent moment of time indefinitely, thus producing an experience of nothing but constant and equally potent pleasure.

Moreover, if the God that most theists propose truly exists, and some kind of heaven or eternal paradise is within God’s capabilities (filled with a bunch of disembodied minds or souls), then there’s no rational reason why God couldn’t simply create all of us in heaven from the very beginning of our existence.  This is basically the case already with many miscarried or aborted fetuses (if theists assume that fetuses have souls and go to heaven immediately after their death), since many of these fetuses aren’t even alive long enough to have developed a brain with any level of consciousness or ability to experience any suffering at all.  Thus, they would represent a perfect example of individuals that only experience an eternity of pleasure completely void of any kind of suffering.  One would think if this is already a reality for some individuals, God should have the power to make it the case for all people, so nobody has to suffer at all.  This is of course if God couldn’t simply create all humans in heaven from the very beginning and skip the creation of the physical universe altogether.  If God lacks this ability, it is yet another argument against this God being omnipotent.  In addition to this, if it were the case that any conscious being created by God is ever destined to any kind of eternal torture (i.e. some version of “hell”), due to no chance of forgiveness after death, this would be perhaps the strongest argument against this God being omnibenevolent.  So as we can see, if eternal paradise and/or eternal damnation are actually real places created/mediated by God, then their very existence argues against God’s omnibenevolence and/or God’s omnipotence since we’re not all created in heaven from the very beginning of our existence, and/or since there are people destined to suffer for eternity.

Another attempt to resolve this Problem of Evil is the argument that humans wouldn’t be able to have free will without the existence of “evil” or suffering.  However, this makes absolutely no sense for a number of reasons.  For one, as mentioned previously, classical free will (i.e. the ability to have chosen to behave differently, given the same initial conditions, less randomness) is already impossible based on the laws of physics and our level of causal closure, and this is the case whether our physical laws are fundamentally deterministic or random.  So this attempted resolution is a desperate objection at best, because it also requires us to assume that we’re constantly violating the laws of physics and causal closure in order to be causa sui, or self-caused intentional agents.  So we’d have to grant one absurdity in order to explain away another which doesn’t solve the dilemma at all, but rather just replaces one dilemma with another.

Finally, if “heaven” or some form of eternal paradise is still a possible product of God’s power, then the free will argument is irrelevant in any case.  After all, presumably we wouldn’t have free will in heaven either, for if we did have free will to rebel or cause “evil” or suffering in heaven, this would contradict the very idea of what heaven is supposed to be (since it is defined as an eternal and perfect paradise without any “evil” or suffering at all).  If one argues that it is still possible to have free will in a heaven that is guaranteed to be void of evil or suffering, then this simply shows that suffering isn’t necessary in order to have free will, and thus the free will argument to the Problem of Evil still fails.  If we didn’t have free will in heaven (which would seem to be logically necessary in order for heaven to exist as defined), then we can see that infinite or maximal “goodness” or eternal paradise is indeed possible even in the absence of any free will, which would thus negate the free will argument to the Problem of Evil (even if we granted the absurdity that classical free will was possible).  So no matter how you look at it, the property of omnibenevolence appears to be ill-defined or circular and is thus meaningless and/or it is incompatible with some of the other purported theological properties used to define God (i.e. uncaused, beginningless, omnipotent, etc.).

Omnipresence

If God was omnipresent, one would think that we would be able to universally and undeniably detect the presence of God, and yet the exact opposite is the case.  In fact, God appears to be completely invisible and entirely undetectable.  In cases where there are theists that claim to have actually experienced or detected the presence of God in some way, it is always in a way that can’t be validated or confirmed by any physical evidence whatsoever.  Science has demonstrated time and time again that when people experience phenomena that do not correlate with reality, i.e., phenomena that do not occur outside of their minds and thus that can’t be independently verified with physical evidence, they are the result of perceptual illusions and other strictly mental phenomena (whether they are full blown hallucinations, delusions, mis-attributed emotional experiences, etc.).  In general though, the basic trend exemplified by theists is that whenever they have an experience that is seemingly unexplainable, they attribute it to being an act of God.

Unfortunately, this is an extremely weak position to take (and increasingly weak as history has amply shown) simply because this “God of the gaps” mentality has been demonstrably proven to be fallacious and unreliable as science has continued to explain more and more previously unexplainable phenomena that were once attributed to one god or another.  So in Bayesian terms, the prior probability that some unexplainable phenomenon is the result of some kind of God is infinitesimally small, and that probability has only decreased over time and will only continue to decrease over time as scientific progress continues to falsify supernatural explanations and attributions by replacing them with natural ones.

So unless we are talking about some kind of Pantheism (where God is basically defined as being equivalent to the universe itself), then we have theists claiming that God is everywhere when this God in fact appears to be nowhere at all.  The simple fact that nobody has been able to demonstrate or verify the existence of God with any physical evidence whatsoever, is a strong argument against the omnipresence of God (if not an argument against the very existence of God).  Ultimately, the theological property of omnipresence is a meaningless term if this type of presence is one that is completely undetectable and unfalsifiable, which would make sense regarding a being that doesn’t possess any properties of space, time, or material, but unfortunately it also means that this term doesn’t adhere to any reasonable convention of what it means to be present, and it also means that the property of omnipresence is incompatible with the properties of being spaceless, timeless, and immaterial.  If the type of omnipresence is that which is claimed to be experienced by theists from time to time, experiences that have been shown to be strictly mental with no correlation to the external world, then this is actually nothing more than a limited type of presence (and one that is strictly mental), and one likely resulting from mis-attributed emotions combined with various inherent human cognitive biases.

Abstract Objects, Disembodied Minds & God

Perhaps the most interesting thing I’ve discovered regarding these theological properties pertains to the subset of properties that specifically describe God to be uncaused, beginningless, timeless, changeless, spaceless, and immaterial (which I’ll now abbreviate as simply UBTCSI).  These terms have also been formulated by theists in various arguments for the existence of God (such as the Kalam Cosmological Argument), with theists trying to argue that the origin of the universe must have been brought about by a cause having this particular set of properties.  What I find most interesting is that contemporary philosophers of ontology have ascribed this set of terms to certain abstract objects such as numbers and properties.  It is also notable that these properties seem to result by way of negation, that is, by removing all (or nearly all) aspects of our perceived reality.

The fact that these terms are used to describe the properties of abstract objects in general, which are almost universally agreed to be causally effete, actually supports the idea that God is nothing more than an abstract object.  Even if abstract objects have some kind of ontological existence independent of the brains that most likely produce them, they have still been shown to be causally effete.  If abstract objects do not have any kind of ontological existence independent of the brains that most likely produce them, then they are actually the product of brains which possess the converse of the UBTCSI properties, that is, they are the product of brains which possess the properties of being caused and thus having a beginning, as well as the properties of time, change, space, and material.

If abstract objects are nothing more than constructs of the brain, then we may expect that the minds that produce these abstract objects would have similar properties ascribed to them as well.  Sure enough, many philosophers have indeed also used the aforementioned UBTCSI properties to describe a mind.  So, if it is true that abstract objects as well as the minds they appear to be dependent on are ultimately products of the physical brain (with the latter being well-nigh proven at this point), then ultimately they are both produced from that which possesses the naturalistic properties of causality, beginning, time, change, space, material, etc., thus arguably challenging the claim that either abstracta or minds can be defined properly with the UBTCSI properties.

Many theists have taken advantage of the aforementioned “ontology of mind” and posited that God is some kind of disembodied mind, thus presumably adhering to these same UBTCSI properties, yet with the addition of several more properties that were mentioned earlier (i.e. omnipotence, omniscience, etc.).  However, one major problem with this tactic is that the term, disembodied mind, is simply an ad hoc conceptualization, and one that doesn’t make much if any sense at all when thought about more critically.  After all, if the only minds that we’re aware of are those demonstrably produced from the underlying machinery of physical brains, then what exactly would a disembodied mind entail anyway?  What would it be composed of if not physical materials (and thus those which lie in space)?  How would it function at all if the only minds we know of involve an underlying machinery of constantly changing neuronal configurations which subsequently cause the mental experience that we call a mind?  How can this mind think at all, when thinking is itself a temporal process, known to speed up or slow down depending on various physical variables (e.g. neurotransmitter concentrations, temperature, Relativistic effects, etc.)?

These questions illustrate the fact that the only concept of a mind that makes any sense at all is that which involves the properties of causality, time, change, space, and material, because minds result from particular physical processes involving a very complex configuration of physical materials.  That is, minds appear to be necessarily complex in terms of their physical structure (i.e. brains), and so trying to conceive of a mind that doesn’t have any physical parts at all, let alone a complex arrangement of said parts, is simply absurd (let alone a mind that can function without time, change, space, etc.).  At best, we are left with an ad hoc, unintelligible combination of properties without any underlying machinery or mechanism.

So the fact that there exist strong arguments and evidence in support of abstract objects being nothing more than products of the mind, and the fact that minds in general are demonstrably the product of physical brains and their underlying complex neuronal configurations, illustrates that the only things in our universe that philosophers have ascribed these UBTCSI properties to (minds and abstract objects) are in fact more accurately described by the converse of those very properties.  It would then logically follow that God, claimed to possess the very same properties, is most likely to be nothing more than a causally effete abstract object — a mere mentally simulated model produced by our physical brains.  This entails that the remaining properties of omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence, and omnibenevolence, which are themselves abstract objects, are ultimately ascribed to yet another causally effete abstract object.

Much Ado About Nothing

As we can see, the properties commonly ascribed to God suggest that this God as described is:

1) Ill-defined since some of the properties are ultimately meaningless or circular, and

2) Logically impossible since some of the properties contradict one another, and

3) Likely to be a causally effete construct of the mind.

So overall, the theist’s strenuous endeavors in arguing over what the properties of their purported God must be, has ultimately been much ado about nothing at all.