Chicanery

\shih-KAY-nuh-ree\, noun:
1. The use of trickery or sophistry to deceive (as in matters of law).
2. A trick; a subterfuge.

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Part II

This has often been called the “morally relevant difference” in debates concerning animal ethics. I have scoured material on the subject since early this school year, and since first considering that humans, too, are animals, I have not found one morally relevant difference between humans and animals that makes it morally acceptable to kill one for food and not the other.

Some have argued that morality is the difference—animals cannot treat us with the same respect for our lives, and are thus unqualified to receive moral consideration. I find it rather the opposite—in all cases of moral patienthood, where one creature is capable of morality, and the other unable to self-reflect (and thus be consciously aware of the suffering they may or may not cause), it is in the responsibility of the self-reflective being (the moral agent) to, instead of ignoring considerations of suffering incurred via their actions, take it within context and act accordingly.

Under this proviso, considering that sentient animals are very much capable of suffering, that between sentient animals and humans there are no morally relevant differences that allow suffering to be consciously caused one but not the other, and that as similar members of the biosphere of sentient creatures (as we, too, are animals), I find a responsibility not to eat animals, whether personally killed or not.

But, of course, this is where the “but” comes in, as I do not very much expect everyone will have the same opinion as me on this issue. However, if asked, I do think the average American should be a vegetarian—it gets very scary when people force you to elaborate on the details of what you believe, but I am not so bashful as to claim I think I alone am the only moral agent reasonably compelled (or should be reasonably compelled) to vegetarianism.

Nonetheless, it is in my greatest disinterest to lay stake in the morality of others, which is why, particularly in this scenario, what is most crucial is continued dialogue about the issue—as with all moral quandaries, it will always be the individual who must conclude what moral action is; all else is an appeal to force from an unqualified authority, and an inefficacious one at that.

Sacrosanct

\SAK-roh-sankt\, adjective:
Sacred; inviolable.

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Part I

As mentioned in class, I think my answer to whether or not the average American should eat meat would be no, but under the proviso that this conclusion of my own not be arbitrarily or forcibly imposed on those who have no mind to follow it and probably would not anyway. As was seen with Prohibition, there is little sense in instituting a law most of the country would disagree with.

As that is the state of America today concerning meat eating, I think the most conducive platform to reform concerning animals begins with making the moral issue more visible—far too often the argument against meat eating is primarily concerned with whether or not the creature suffers, not whether or not it is wrong to kill the creature (which occurs for many different purposes, but one of the easier categories to discuss, I think, concerns killing them for food).

I believe the average American should not eat meat because they have the choice—the average American is monetarily equipped to choose their diet, and as such (ought implies can) owes it to themselves (again, of course, with respect to dietary needs) at least to consider why it is acceptable to kill and eat an animal and not a human. I am not here trying to establish the sameness of humans and nonhuman animals—as I myself believe there are valuable differentiations among living organisms (such as insects/plants and sentient creatures) that are morally relevant and important to keeping the argument from becoming a “all life is holy” fallacy.

Nor am I suggesting that animals are necessarily more valuable than humans merely because of their moral patienthood—rather, I suggest that we find a non-arbitrary criteria for determining why it is morally acceptable to kill a sentient animal and not a human.

Nefarious

\nuh-FAIR-ee-uhs\, adjective:
Wicked in the extreme; iniquitous.

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I know this doesn't count as a substantial blog entry.

http://www.xkcd.com/373/

Captious

\KAP-shuhs\, adjective:
1. Marked by a disposition to find fault or raise objections.
2. Calculated to entrap or confuse, as in an argument.

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We needn’t be agnostic about quantum gravity or string theory or dark matter or the multiverse. Hypotheses are claims to knowledge and insufficient claims are appropriately labeled. All our knowledge is imperfect and subject to continual revision. Why, then, is knowledge of god any different?

Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that we’re 75 years ago, and the effects of dark matter are first being observed. The reason why we needn’t be agnostic about something like dark matter is that as evidence accumulates, our hypothesis is better understood. What evidence can be found supports the knowledge claim to the existence of the object—in this case, dark matter. If someone proposed dark matter, and evidence was not yet found, people needn’t be agnostic about whether or not dark matter existed—instead, two alternatives appear: If sufficient evidence shows it exists, then it should be believed. If no or insufficient evidence comes to the fold, then it should not be believed.

I do not think the argument for god is any different, despite its human-universal importance (that is, universal importance, but only in regards to humans). If there is insufficient evidence, one is not unreasonable to say one does not believe in a deity. Similarly if sufficient evidence did arise, one would not be unreasonable, then, to accept the new, more tenable proposition that the deity does indeed exist.

In matters of inquiry, room must always be left for new evidence, and even when what some consider to be the oldest superstition is in play, this is still the case. But if the argument concerned dark matter instead of god, and there were insufficient evidence, would you say “we cannot know if there is dark matter”, or would you say “dark matter probably doesn’t exist” and change your mind if and only if the evidence changes?

Knowledge is not a static thing. It can and must change in response to input. When we say we “know”, what I think we’re stipulating is “we know now, on what evidence is provided” not “we know for sure, forever” (as some Skeptics would claim is the only real knowledge). We work with what powers we have, but I think we do ourselves a service to pick up primarily what we have evidence for, and trust primarily that.

Assuage

\uh-SWAYJ\, verb:
1. To make milder or less severe; to reduce the intensity of; to ease; to relieve.
2. To appease; to satisfy.
3. To soothe or calm; to pacify.

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“In other words, it is reasonable to disbelieve a proposition when there is no evidence. Even if it is less certainly false than propositions which are actually contradicted by evidence (although even that does not amount to a complete certainty), it is still reasonable to regard them as false so long as we've done some checking, and don't ignore new evidence that we come across.”

The discussion in class today had me rolling around a couple of conclusions, some of which I mentioned and some of which I didn’t, but to try and come to a final conclusion I’ll list most of them here.

Firstly, atheism, theism, and many other ‘ism’s are groups that help satisfy social needs regarding personal beliefs. What benefits they offer in unity are matched and sometimes overcome by the penalties they exact in autonomy and the ability to change one’s mind. Thus, ‘ism’s often group together large amounts of people who share a few of the same beliefs, and are otherwise wildly diverse. This is the first problem in discerning why people prefer agnosticism, I think—obviously, it’s an ‘ism’ (so one can be easily identified, or included) but it’s also colloquially a group of people that seem more tolerant because they’re still unsure (in Skeptic language, they have suspended judgment). Thus, by joining a group that avoids beliefs rather than summons it, one might be at least more humble by comfortably accepting the tentative nature of their beliefs.

Now, as we also mentioned, this draws many parallels with skepticism—enough that I would not hesitate to claim they are nearly the same. Skeptics often claim themselves more reasonable and humble than their credulous counterparts, because they reject the dogmatism of belief, often in several places rather than few. As well, just like agnosticism, skepticism is another ‘ism’ that lumps together people under a banner of withheld belief rather than credulity.

Here I argue, however, that ‘withheld belief’, more often that not, in both cases (skepticism and agnosticism) means ‘disbelief’, largely because both have insufficient evidence to make a conclusion about the object of inquiry. Where there is insufficient evidence, particularly in claims of existence, it is almost always (I won’t say always—I’m still working out that one) more rational to disbelieve the object exists.

However, this is not to say I believe in all cases persons undecided (and thus likely labeling themselves agnostic) are atheists. Though on stronger reflection they might incline in the direction of atheism, I don’t believe all people accept the notion that it is always irrational to believe something on insufficient grounds. Many people are drawn by more than evidence to the notion of god, and might be swaying as a matter of sensibly accumulated lacking or contradictory evidence, and other factors (such as emotional security, an inclination to believe the universe has meaning, absolute morality), between believing in a god and not.

I personally do believe that it is unreasonable to believe something with insufficient evidence in most cases, deity included. But I suppose I still believe agnostic is a tenable position for someone struggling between camps. Similarly, I think it likely someone calling themselves agnostic (in the sense that we literally cannot know whether or not god exists) is a skeptic, and should apply their logic appropriately—it is arbitrary to say we cannot know whether or not god exists and not question the external reality and whether or not humans can have any truth at all—as these are questions running parallel to the claim god cannot be known, and should be addressed.

I’ll have more to say on this later, I think.

Busker

\BUS-kur\, noun:
A person who entertains (as by playing music) in public places.

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The principle of exclusion is an almost prolific trait of religions, seldom failing to appear beside promised salvation for believers and dire punishment for nonbelievers.

Theorizing broadly (and thus, merely musing), it seems to me that such an emphasis on the “we’re right, you’re wrong” mentality is almost mandatory to comply with religion’s dictates: absolute morality and absolute truth (in certain matters). As we can find these two faculties nowhere else in the universe, and they can essentially never be agreed upon, it is a given that whomever takes up one religion must obviously forgo the absolutes of every other religion promising the same thing. (There are obviously exemptions from this model, such as oft-referenced Buddhism.)

For how can there be two gods, claiming that only their followers will go to heaven? Certainly no religions speak of warring deities, fighting, much like their followers, for position in the cosmos. The stipulation that one group of persons possesses the ‘truth’ and all others are misinformed is often (but not always) a key element of religion, which serves 1. to circumvent the falliblism of the quandary often called into greatest question (which is why religious authority in the older centuries (and today) referred to faith as a virtue, and considered it more thoughtful than reason), 2. to create a sense of solidarity among believers, enhancing the reasons to believe and, 3. to induce a indelible security that cannot be provided by science—a lifelong sense of purpose (however esoteric) and a compassionate, powerful father-figure.

These stipulations solve many of the most profound human insecurities—the fear of being wrong (absolute truth), the desire to live the ‘right’ way (absolute morality), the desire to be special (purpose, as well as paternal eyes personally concerned with each individual). But these are only mere speculations as to how religion conforms to insecurities, and not enough, on their own, to poke definitive holes in the notion that religions do indeed provide the truth.

However, the exclusion principle is often the most harmful, and the most difficult to circumvent. When one’s conclusion depends on such a principle (again, how can anyone else be right (about these questions) when one has absolute truth?), and especially when that conclusion includes violent and cruel punishment for any who disagree, this exclusion principle can easily produce irreconcilable dissonance.

So I agree with Clark, there needs to be a common ground. And from my experiences, people (religious and not) are certainly not opposed to it. We don’t want to war with one another (most of the time) merely due to different beliefs, even if those beliefs condemn some and not others, because, in a sense, the humans maintaining those beliefs, to me at least, are more compassionate than certain forms of god himself—willing not only to get along with, but be compassionate toward and love those who believe differently than they (of course there are many, many others less tolerant as well). It is in suspending judgment of one another on these grounds that diversity can be maintained, and neither side need die out, but continually agree on a set of ever-inclusive principles. But perhaps that is too hopeful.

Patina

\PAT-n-uh; puh-TEEN-uh\, noun:
1. The color or incrustation which age gives to works of art; especially, the green rust which covers ancient bronzes, coins, and medals.
2. The sheen on any surface, produced by age and use.
3. An appearance or aura produced by habit, practice, or use.
4. A superficial layer or exterior.

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(This is a continuation of the below post)

After determining how something functions, we are often drawn to ask why. Not the simple why, by which we calculate what causes precede the effects of stars exploding or genes mutating, but ultimate questions, like why does the universe exist? Why do we exist? How do we fit in the universe? Why can we understand the universe, and why do we want to?

And these are not trivial questions in the least—in fact, most people would prescribe them much more importance than understanding the mere functions of the universe. Thus, when we say “physical evidence only takes you so far”, we don’t necessarily mean that physical evidence can’t bring us truth, but that the kinds of truth we value the most aren’t always hiding behind physical evidence and true theories. Instead, these kinds of truth require very human (or very godly), and very subjective (or very infallible), inquiry and answers (deistical prescriptions and suggestions).

It is my opinion that these answers come from a mix of understanding the universe, the self, and the purpose one wishes to personally build and fulfill throughout one’s life. Others have found this sought-after meta-meaning in god, or spirituality, or something that lives among us but is not physical. These meta-meanings do not only inform us, but inspire and enliven us, such that our search for truth is made possible and valuable.

I think the meaning of one’s life is a subjective construction that we actively build, and which can be informed and directed by understanding the natural world and our interactions with those we love and don’t. But certainly I’m not such a hard-nosed naturalist that I think such a meaning can be derived from the motions of the universe alone.

The point I’m stumbling my way across is that there are two distinct kinds of truth that often overlap because humans seek “truth” as a whole, and blur the line. There is the truth we can find in the universe, which is rich and layered, complicated but satisfying to grasp, and which, in conjunction with turning the mirror on ourselves, can serve to greatly enhance our understanding of, and ability to act knowledgeable within, the universe.

Then there is a second type of truth, a self-wrought or spiritually-given purpose, by which our most crucial insecurities are anxious and tentative, and through which we find meaning for all the things we do. I do not think meaning can be found in the motion of the universe, nor do I think the universe (excluding sentience) can have a meaning. We are the makers of meaning.

“Physical evidence can only get you so far” if the road to truth includes meaning, and it most certainly does. But physical evidence is not the only requisite for finding meaning, nor the final word on the questions we care most about answering. Those questions, instead, are posed and answered by us.