Showing posts with label David Hume. Show all posts
Showing posts with label David Hume. Show all posts

Saturday, 7 May 2011

Happy Birthday, Dave!



I may just as well quote The Royal Institute of Philosophy:

The mighty David Hume was born on 7 May 1711. Enthusiasts might find an excuse to raise a glass twice, because before Parliament’s reform of the calendar in 1752, Hume’s date of birth was 26 April.  
For philosophers or those who have had some philosophy education, it would clearly be overdoing things to remind about the importance of Hume's achievements and legacy for just about all of contemporary philosophy – as well as psychology and behavioural, cognitive and social science. On this blog, but one post has referred explicitly to Hume, but I assure you that the legacy of his thinking and intellectual temperament can be traced in all posts. As Isiah Berlin put it in The Age of Enlightenment:

No man has influenced the history of political thought to a deeper and more disturbing degree.
And this may be said just as much about the development of science – not least the still very much lively and evolving sciences of human mind and action.

So, if you don't know much about Hume, but becomes curious – where should you start? Well, here nuances of taste would divide the advice you would get from different philosophers. My own favourite is the magnum opus of his youth, A Treatise of Human Nature – where, with a young person's passion, Hume sets out much of the ideas he would later work on in more concentration. It is only in the Treatise, though, where we can meet the wide philosophical grip of Hume in its entirety and most radical form. Here you will find ideas that are still radical and provoking and that, in contemporary linguistic dressing, are not seldom presented as the latest achievement of this or that currently upcoming academic star. Many of my colleagues prefer the more balanced approach of the "Enquiries" that Hume wrote in his later years, but as a primer, I still prefer the Treatise due to its passionately revisionary programme and style.

Both texts (and more) are available for free online inspection. If you can bear with the older style of English in which Hume himself wrote, the Hume collection at the Project Gutenberg is a good start (you need to scroll down a bit on the page linked to here). If you find it tiresome to read those texts, the distinguished contemporary philosopher Jonathan Bennett has made his own "translations" of Hume's texts into contemporary English.

Happy birthday, Dave!


Tuesday, 11 May 2010

What is a Religious Belief?

This piece is unusually long for a blog entry, and I've been working on it for some time. It contains the results (so far) of what is basically a side-track of a process of thought still in progress regarding the nature and values of secular societies.

The last decade or so has seen a revival of an increased public antagonism between self-proclaimed representatives of religious and non-religious people. The "New Atheism" movement (which mostly - if not merely - repeats Hume's and Russell's and maybe even (God forbid!) Nietzsche's classic criticism of religious belief and institutions, beefed up with some recent science) has become the stuff that fame is made of, thanks mainly to Richard Dawkins, and entered the world of populist politics through debaters such as P.Z. Myers. On the activist end, we have the conscious provocations such as the Danish Mohammad cartoons, which through the predictable reactions of outrage among many Muslims lead us over the religion side.

For these reactions, as we know, were not only about expressing a sense of humiliation, but about making claims on other countries not to apply their own laws, but rather let their policies be dictated by religious doctrine. Similarly, high-placed and influential religious leaders have sharpened the tone as regards their claim to authority considerably in general – also in relation to other religious movements. Just a couple of years ago, the current Pope openly declared all variants of Christianity except the one preached by the Roman Catholic Church to be false doctrines, thus reclaiming a sort of implacable position many of us would have believed irreversibly dated within educated Christianity. In several instances around the world, other Christian as well as Muslim, leaders have been on the offensive (and quite successfully so) to have the sort of freedom of religion statutes that are a part of the constitution of most developed countries protect them from abiding by laws otherwise applicable to citizens, e.g. this Swedish case regarding hate speech against homosexual people, alternatively, to have laws protecting religious freedom protect only the affirmation of religious belief, like in this recent Polish case. On a grander scale, we have the claims of predominantly Muslim leaders and countries to have so-called defamation of religion be declared as a human rights offense by the U.N. More subtle is the recent uptake of the so-called post-secularist claim that societies not based on or enforcing religion of some sort fail to meet fundamental "spiritual" needs of their citizens, thus cautiously pushing for a return of of the idea of the primacy of religion in politics, as well as for the return of doctrinal rather than informational religious public education.

In total, this highly infected situation of multi-level polarised public antagonism, makes it difficult for people like myself, who have some trouble feeling at home in any of the opposing camps. Or, rather, on my part, who usually describe myself as totally devoid of any religious inclinations, it has become so due to some of the recent rhetoric on the new atheist side. I say rhetoric, because I have not been able to reconstruct it as a piece of carefully made rational reasoning, but rather as a strategy of simplification employed to deflect public opposition and to attract sympathy among the already converted. It creates a sort of "either you're with us or you're against us" set-up that I personally find just as manipulative as I did in my youth when my hesitation to participate in the then highly pastoral end-of-school ceremonies held in the local church was responded to with accusations of not caring about moral values, lacking a sense of spirituality, wanting to destroy nice traditions, and similar things. Or when, in my, at the time rather conservative, home town I dared to openly express left-leaning political ideas and immediately was met by the "so you want to have it as in the Soviet Union" response. This has led me to ponder a bit what a well worked out rational atheist line of reasoning should look like, and this is what this comment is about.

A lot of the atheism-religion/secular-pastoral antagonisms (including the so-called culture/science wars) are as indicated above about claims to valid societal authority, and I will not be saying much about that, besides pointing out that religious belief is not automatically a claim to political authority or privilege, and that the issue I will be commenting on is central also for the political angle on the atheism-religion antagonism. That is, although there are indeed various brands of fundamentalist and creationist religion around, it is perfectly possible to be religious without being fundamentalist or creationist. Actually, in my part of the word, this is the rule and in several other parts as well, as far as I know. Instead, I want to focus on a concept that is as central for any atheist as it is for any religious believer, namely the concept of (theist or deist) religious belief itself. And I want to sketch a bit about what happens if you investigate this concept through the lenses of philosophical analysis and rational thinking and apply this to the atheism-religion antagonism. My reason for this take is the following: the basic tenet of any atheism is to claim that (theist/deist) religious belief is false, and if this opinion is to be the result of a rational argument it better rest on a clear definition of what it is denying. By the same token, secularism, which is often expressed as the idea that religion and politics should be kept separate would need a clear concept of religion to be open to rational assessment. Of course, the same holds for any attempt to study religious or non-religious belief scientifically.

I will soon get to the last mentioned point, but first I want to comment on what is or may be at stake when assessing (a) religious belief - that is, what methodological presumptions we need to make. In The God Delusion, Richard Dawkins mounts an argument to the effect that such an assessment has but one dimension, namely that of probability. This is a very important argument of the book, since it is here that Dawkins sets the scene for all of the other arguments in favor of atheism that he presents.  The main point being made is that all opinions regarding religious beliefs can be neatly plotted on to a probability-ascription scale, and in this way Dawkins finds himself able to discredit the classic position of agnosticism, famously supported by, e.g., Russell and several of the logical empiricists. In one simple sweep, he thus creates the polarised situation of "either you're with us or you're against us": Regarding a "belief in God" (I'll soon get to what that may be), either you plot yourself on the end of the scale between 0 and 0.5, thus being an atheist, or you position yourself between 0.5 and 1, thus being a theist, but also in need of arguments for your probability ascription (this while the atheist merely needs to disprove those arguments to justify his probability ascription). The only room for a sort of agnostic position given in this scheme is the 50/50 probability-ascription and this position, as Dawkins correctly notes, is a severely vulnerable one. I, however, would like to add that it actually doesn't merit to be called an agnostic position in the first place. Let me explain.

There certainly is a probability-version of agnosticism when looking shallowly on, e.g., the logical empiricist's position that neither the affirmation nor the denial of deities and other supernatural or metaphysical entities can be supported by rational arguments. However, the reason why the logical empiricist's held this position goes deeper; holding out the incomprehensibility (in terms of lack of a unique set of empirical truth-conditions) of all descriptive claims referring to concepts of this sort. This comes close to my own relation to claims of this type: I usually simply don't understand what it is that I am supposed to confirm or deny. This goes for the deities described in various scriptures, as well as those figuring in the many so-called proofs of the existence of God. The propositions are simply not precise and informative enough for me to be able to operationalise their truth-conditions (to be a bit technical), i.e. to identify what exactly I need to investigate in order to get hold of arguments logically connected to these propositions (observe that I'm not assuming a hard-boiled empiricist epistemology here!). So, I'm sorry, Richard Dawkins, I'm afraid that I cannot place myself on your probability ascription scale with regard to claims regarding the existence of God. And I very much wonder if Dawkins really would be able to present any claim presented by any religious believer capable of being so placed on the basis of scientific evidence. That is, with one notable exception that serves as a spring-board over to my next point: Some people do seem to make extremely precise religious claims, such as some of the nuttier creationists, that in detail presents an alternative natural history of the universe, earth and humanity - I'm quite happy to adopt the atheist position there. But, then again, these people are not very representative of religious people in general. So, one might ask, what would be so representative?

An old friend of mine used to describe herself as believing in God. When asked what she meant by that more exactly, she started to describe a very old, bearded man with a kind smile and warm eyes who was sitting on top of a cloud looking down at her. I asked, pointing at the sky: "Do you mean that you think that there really is such a person sitting up there on one of those clouds?". She answered: "Not really, but I like to think about that, it's important for me to muster up that image in my mind now and then, it gives me calm and reassurance". This sort of answer, which I have been receiving repeatedly when asking people identifying themselves as having a religious belief or faith about what their belief consists in, takes me over to the next part of a rational analysis of the religion-atheist antagonisms. This part puts into question whether the atheist really gets it right when assuming religious believers to hold beliefs in the strict, technical sense needed for the atheist arguments to be relevant. So, what then may be involved when people utter statements or sentences containing words like "God" and "exists", that philosophers and scientists are prone to interpret  very literally – as conveying an ambition to make a very precise description of reality?

With this question, I finally arrive at that which was declared as the subject of this little essay: the concept of religious belief. I've already argued that, to the extent that the sentences used for communicating such a belief really expresses the affirmation of a descriptive proposition (that is, a semantic entity with truth-conditions), the object of that proposition is as a rule (but with notable and ridiculous exceptions) so unclear that its truth-value is impossible to assess on rational grounds. What I now add to this suggestion is the idea that, actually, these sentences very seldom express such affirmations – at least not in the simple way needed for the atheist position to be easily confirmed.

This is no news, of course, to people involved in the empirical study of religion as a human and social phenomenon - so-called religious studies. Rather, from this perspective, the idea of applying one single identifier of what makes for a religious belief is generally taken to be a misnomer – religion and religiosity is preferred to be analysed as a complex notion, where the various constituents falling under the notion are at best united by something reminding of the Wittgensteinian idea of family resemblance. Nevertheless, some chief ideas perspectives can be broken out and systematically analysed. However, among these we will not find the idea of religious belief necessarily involving the affirmation of a descriptive proposition conjecturing the existence of something transcendent or non-natural. This since, if expressions of religious beliefs are to be taken literally, as expressing the affirmation of some descriptive proposition, such an interpretation needs to include also religious ideas that don't include such elements, but quantify over (and involving the worship of) natural phenomena, systems, regularities, etcetera. To the extent that, on such an interpretation, a religious belief can be given a clear descriptive content, it may be assessed rationally in terms of probability. However, as observed earlier, when involving reference to transcendent or non-natural objects, these are as a rule too poorly defined to make such an assessment possible. So interpreted, therefore, it seems to me that the rational view is that religious beliefs are either mostly false (attributing features to nature which are clearly not there, such as plans and wants to mountains or planets), or impossible to assess in terms of truth and falsity (this truly agnostic position, I claim, would apply to Judaism, Christianity and Islam alike under this interpretative scheme). In other words, the atheist – new or old – seems to me to have a problem of rationally justifying his/her position here.

Another way, to try to separate religious belief from other beliefs – still assuming that "belief" is here interpreted as the affirmation of a descriptive proposition – is to emphasise the nature of the conviction involved in the holding of the belief. When atheists, humanists, skeptics talk about what's irrational about religious belief, it is often underscored how religious believers seem to be unmoved by reason. In fact, within some religions the idea of faith is celebrated to involve exactly that: the believing in something in spite of apparently strong reasons to the contrary. Now, obviously, to the extent that religious belief actually involves this element, it is indeed being targeted by the atheist lines of argument. However, so is all other examples of dogmatic belief, be it political, scientific, or what have you. Moreover, religious belief that is not dogmatic seems to stay untouched by this way of characterising religion, e.g., strong traditions within Christianity where the notion of doubt is as essential to the faith as that of belief.

However, the empirical study of religion also presents a number of other ways of conceptualising the phenomena captured by the words "religion" and "religiosity". One of these, not sursprisingly, is the expressivist interpretation: rather than affirming descriptions, being religious is about liking certain thoughts, practices and social contexts bound together in a package, and religious beliefs simply expresses this liking. The description of her religious belief given by my old girlfriend referred to above seems to fit rather well here. And, under this interpretation, religious beliefs have no truth-conditions, so there is nothing to affirm or deny. A related interpretation that indeed gives religious beliefs truth-conditions, is the subjectivist, where the belief is taken to be a description of the mental states of the holder of the belief. This seems to be a rather common way of being a religious believer in contemporary forms of religiosity found in many developed countries; a person has experiences of particular profoundness regarding a unity, meaning or even beauty of a certain realm of reality (not seldom nature) and gives this experience the name "God". However, for an atheist to falsify a religious belief understood in this way,  a very different arsenal of arguments than those commonly mounted is needed. What would be needed is an argument disproving the actual presence of the described state of mind, or the naming of that state of mind. On this interpretation, atheism is probably a very weak position, and most religious beliefs are probably true.

There is a further interpretation that come close to the example of subjectivism above, but that cannot be classified as either subjectivist or expressivist (but neither as the affirmation of a descriptive proposition conjecturing the existence of something transcendent). When asking people who describe themselves as religious what is involved in their belief, I've often encountered descriptions of familiar phenomena that I find myself to be highly sympathetic to, with the slight difference of not using words like "God" to summarise them. This is not the case of people merely expressing or describing private mental states, they are talking about things "out there". On my understanding what goes on in  these cases is that a person senses that there is some sort of order in or explanation of phenomena that he or she is unable to fathom (again, often regularities or structures in nature) and gives the unknown order/explanation the name "God". There are probably further explanation of why they choose that particular name (while I and others don't), but the bare bones of the religious belief here seems to be this act of naming, so maybe nominalism would be a good term for this particular variety (not to be confused with nominalism in metaphysics or the philosophy of language). Again, unless an atheist can produce an argument to the effect that this naming violates some rationally prescribed rules, most religious beliefs interpreted in this way are probably true (especially if viewed from the perspective of science).

All of these attempts to make the notion of a religious belief more precise concentrate their clarifying efforts to the semantic content of the belief, or closely related mental states of the believer. However, an increasingly popular analytical take on religion and religiosity employed within religious studies is what we may call the functionalist one. Roughly, this perspective tries to understand religion as a social phenomenon rather than as a worldview (much as science studies look at science), and as a result it is the pragmatics rather than the semantics of religious belief that comes into focus. The functionalist analysis of religion goes something like this: some complexes of customs, practices, institutions etc. are called religions by the people involved in them. To understand these complexes as social phenomena we need to look at the various functions they perform for these people, and this goes for the various parts of the complexes as well. Let's start by looking at religion generally, using these spectacles, thus asking what religions are for.

Some of the answers to that question – such as Marx's and Engels' famous characterisation of religion as the opiat of the people –  concentrate on overarching social and/or societal functions. But since what I try to understand at the moment is not so much how religions affect societies and history, but what is involved in a person holding a religious belief, I will put that perspective aside for the moment and instead ask what function utterances of statements we normally take to convey religious beliefs have. Some of it, I presume, has already been touched on when describing the expressivist analysis earlier. However, in the context of religious belief in relation to religions seen as social complexes of the sort just outlined, it is obvious that religious belief is about more than expressing the mere liking of such a complex. Rather, I would suggest, although expressing such liking is a part of the pragmatics of religious belief, there is a salient social dimension to this liking. It's not only that the believer likes his/her religion (i.e., the complex of customs, practices and institutions in question), the belief also expresses a commitment to it and, I would suggest, a sense and signal of belonging to the group of people that like and are committed to the same religion. The function of such signals are mainly to coordinate groups of people in joint social practices and to hold these practices together over time. So far, religious belief is no different in this respect than a large number of other linguistic behaviors, such as cheering for your team, singing the national anthem, saying those things that are supposed to be said at family gatherings, and so on. For a functionalist, to get a more specific idea about religious belief the analysis has to be complemented by a look at what functions the religion in question is performing for the religious believer. This, of course, may vary a great deal. Nevertheless, I would suggest that the following functions are among the more central, playing a key role in attracting people to religions and holding them together over time: confidence and reassurance, social security, belonging and togetherness, moral guidance and a sense of meaningfulness or purpose.

One may note, of course, that all these goods may be attained through the participation in social complexes normally not called religions. However, from a functionalist point of view, this difference regarding commonly applied terminology is a shallow one and of minor concern. Rather, what we learn is that those social complexes normally called religions are far from alone in performing a religious function for people. In fact, this serves to partially explain some of the other aspects of religious belief touched on earlier, such as expressivism, subjectivism or nominalism. Thus, from a functionalist perspective, it becomes rather difficult to separate statements normally taken to express religious beliefs from other statements expressing the liking of, commitment to, and a signal of belonging in relation to any sort of social complex that performs the typical religious functions for those attached to it. This can be a sports team, a political party, a societal system or organisation, your neighborhood, and so on.

Obviously, atheism, when analysed from this point of view, becomes a rather incomprehensible position, since, for the functionalist, atheism may be as much a religious belief as deism/theism. In fact, lots of statements of committed atheists on forums for atheists, "humanists", "skeptics", "rationalists" and such confirm that this is actually the case – in the case of Humanism (the institutionalised movement), not surprisingly, since it markets itself as a secular religion. One of the issues frequently discussed in these contexts is namely how a person who do not affirm any descriptive proposition regarding the existence of something transcendental can still have beliefs and experiences that makes life meaningful, confer a sense of unity, belonging, and so on. Religiosity in the functionalist sense is obviously as important for atheists as it is for deists/theists.

So, where do I land after this long flight? Well, obviously, atheism is a relevant position with regard to religious beliefs adequately interpreted as affirmations of descriptive propositions. However, except in the case of very precise such propositions, atheism would seem to be quite weakly supported in comparison to bona fide agnosticism (not the half-baked Dawkins version, that is). In one case (subjectivism), deism/theism seem to have stronger support than both agnosticism and atheism. What is more, though, regarding many cases of religious belief, and many ways of explicating what religious belief is about, atheism seems to be plainly beside the point and, according to the functionalist reading, even paradoxical. Of course, this does in no way imply deism/theism to be a more confirmed position. On the contrary, what we see is that deism/theism seem to have very little to do with matters of the truth and falsity of propositions aiming at describing the world, and when they have, agnosticism or (in some uncommon cases) atheism has the upper hand of rational support.

Thursday, 11 February 2010

How our Compassion Reveals a Moral Abyss

Yesterday, BBC reported that the official death toll of the Haiti disaster is now 230 000, thus approaching the sum of lives claimed by the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami. Just as with the Tsunami, people and nations all over the world have reacted as we all expect from a standard of minimal decency: with horror and compassion put into action. Massive support programs have been set in motion to come to aid in the face of the unspeakable suffering and large numbers of voluntary individuals with useful skills have devoted time, resources and energy to the same end. Let it be that some of the initiatives have seen a bit odd, like the fixation of the US on tools of violence as the top priority when sending over 10 000 troops, or the outright bizarre, like this case that I covered in a former posting.

All of this is in line with the complex model of the human cognitive, emotional and motivational apparatus so famously sketched by David Hume in the 18th century: Besides experiencing and caring for ourselves, we have the evident natural ability to know the plight of others and the innate drive to be motivated by this knowledge. This picture still holds in most respects as modern psychological research and cognitive science advances - in fact, most of what is done in these fields build essentially on the basic psychological models of Hume. Similarly, modern science debunks the simplistic picture of human nature as essentially self-centered and egoistic in much the same way as Hume and his approximate contemporary Bishop Joseph Butler did: All of the tricks employed by advocates of psychological egoism to explain away evidence of non-selfish human motivation rests on a faulty picture of the human cognitive and motivational apparatus. What the psychological egoist would claim about our compassion and willingness to help in the face of the Haiti tragedy is that these things are mere side-effects of our striving for an emotional or material reward. Obviously, we may forget the material side - no one expects anything back from Haiti or its people; we even tolerate and understand that they are many times angry and disappointed at the result of the aid efforts when these fall short of meeting the needs. But the egoist has one more card up his sleeve, namely, the conjecture that we help because we strive for the feeling of satisfaction that being helpful provides. This argument, however, as Butler and Hume pointed out, puts the carriage in front of the horse, since it fails to take into account the source of the feeling of satisfaction: the fact that we need or want to come to aid. This is what motivates us - the emotional reward comes afterward. Modern cognitive science confirms this picture in terms of the biochemistry involved in motivation, emotion and feeling. The role of the neurological reward system is to uphold a system of motivation that in itself is not directed at achieving rewards or avoiding punishment, but at doing whatever it is one strives or wants to do. Only in special circumstances will our motivational attention be directed at the effects of the reward system (such as when we push ourselves to do something that we have a strong motivation not to do).

However, as Hume noted, our motivational capacities are at the same time rather arbitrary when it comes to our relations to other people, depending in turn on what associations between ourselves and others that are present in the mind. So, although we have that natural capacity for perceiving the emotional states of others that Hume called sympathy, and that enables us to identify the feelings, moods and affective states of others in terms of similarity and closeness to our own mental states, what we do in response to such perceptions is a rather open question. Moral reasoning, therefore, has to be about making such responses systematic and coherent, or at least to formulate an ideal pattern of motivational responses that we accept as desirable - the virtues in terms of prudence, benevolence and justice.

Since Hume's days, further factors influencing how we react to the plight of others have been mapped in psychological research, besides associations of similarity and closeness. For instance, various situational factors such as present mood is clearly influential and likewise regarding our sense of certainty with regard to our belief in our perception. Therefore, if I'm really pissed off when being asked to contribute to the Haitian cause I may end up not contributing just because of that, not because I fail to empathize with the victims. Or, if I doubt that my donation will really help these victims or that the situation is really as bad, this may counteract my willingness to give. Other well-known factors are assembled under the headline of framing; properties of the circumstances we are in that influence either our motivation or our tendency to act on it, such as threats or manipulations from other people. Moral thinking, ethical theory and our normative societal institutions (such as the legal system) have found various ways to get around all of these potential hurdles for moral reason to be able flourish. However, there is a further much more disturbing factor, having to do with the spatial-temporal denseness or concentration, and perhaps contrast to what one is accustomed to, of the perceived need.

Already during the aftermath of the Tsunami, UN aid officials pointed out that these sort of death numbers is what is ordinary due to poverty and starvation even in the absence of disastrous events such as storms or earthquakes. Rejoicing the willingness of people to give at the time, they expressed the hope that this willingness would continue in the face of this fact. This did not happen. Similarly, the Haitian death toll equals the number of children that die due to poverty every 10 days! Very many people are perfectly aware of this and there is no government anywhere that does not know these facts. But do they react proportionally to the way they react in the face of the Tsunami or Haiti tragedies? Of course not.

The explanation seems plain and straightforward. Our motivational system makes us prone to respond even to vast needs of many others when this collection of needs is experienced as spatio-temporarily concentrated and salient. Thus our admirable compassion for the victims of the Haitian disaster. But the flip side to that coin is that this property of our motivational system steers our motivation clear of being influenced by clear and certain knowledge of much much larger disasters when these are stretched out over larger portions of space-time and experienced as part of the ordinary. This is what makes us tolerate the ongoing processes that create this situation, some of which have been so well described by Thomas Pogge, rather than respond in a way similar to particular disasters such as the Tsunami or the Haiti earthquake.

Thus, the very source in human nature of the compassion that forms the root of our notion of morality is also the source of a virtual moral abyss. The challenge then seems to be: how do we get around this obvious lack of moral rationality without thereby sacrificing the sort of compassion we are already equipped with?