Category Archives: Philosophy

Book Idea: Designing Hat

Design, Design Instrumentalism, Ideas, Politics, Works

I have an idea for a book I will never write. I may just steal Borges’s beautiful move: writing a short story that is a review of a nonexistent book, outlining its key ideas. Or maybe I’ll add a new meta-level of laziness and just outline the Borgesian short story I will never write.

This never-to-be-written short story will be a fictional review of the never-to-be-written book Designing Hat, which is, of course, an allusion to DeBono’s actually-written pop-biz classic Six Thinking Hats. In this book DeBono advises strategic hat changes to address various situations. My book, however recommends putting on your one designing hat and never taking it off whenever approaching any problem involving human beings organizing themselves to do anything.

This single move, I’ll argue, can clear up all kinds of hellish nonsense we all detest. It won’t solve everything — no method can — but it can dramatically improve our chances of making real progress. In the process, it can reduce everyday hostility and nihilism while increasing solidarity and goodwill.

In the grand tradition of inflating the importance of design, I will insist that design thinking is effective far beyond its usual applications. Since almost everything we do is a variation on “problems involving human beings organizing themselves to do anything”, the advice is more or less to superglue your designing hat onto your head.

Political problems, from the pettiest household squabbles to international crises, should be addressed as design problems. Even if we are not hands-on participants in shaping domestic or foreign policy, our conversations about these issues will improve if we approach them in a designerly manner. And meetings, too… Ninety-five percent of meetings could be vastly improved if approached as design collaborations.

The review will offer a succinct summary of each chapter, showing how adopting designerly attitudes and practices makes everything better:

  • Segment people in reference to a clear purpose
  • Go to the reality you want to change and observe it for yourself
  • Ask people to teach you about their lives
  • Fall in love with problems, not solutions (I think Marty Cagan coined this?)
  • Win alignment; never resort to coercion
  • Do not argue if you can prototype and test
  • Do not debate; compare options
  • Make smart tradeoffs

There are definitely more chapters, and I’ll keep adding them as they occur to me. Please comment if you have ideas for chapters.

T’shuvah and-or metanoia

Design, Enworldment, Judaism, Philosophy, Religion

This morning I am reflecting on the crucial difference between two words, clumsily translated into English as “repentance”, the Greek word metanoia (a transformation in how we think), and the Hebrew word t’shuvah (a turn to, or back to God).

Almost certainly, the word used by John the Baptist and Jesus in the Gospels was t’shuvah, which is actually (I think) closer in tone to the English word, even if it etymologically maps less perfectly. In t’shuvah, we are to turn back to God in every way — certainly in our thinking, but also in our feelings, and most of all in our behaviors. Or to put it Jewishly, in t’shuvah we turn with our whole being, heart, soul and strength. (Jesus did not invent this formula. This, and many other of his most famous utterances, referred to Torah and other Jewish scripture, and derived their authority from these references.) Metanoia, on the other hand, is more spirit-first — a change in thinking or worldview that effects a change in feeling and behavior.

I’m not a New Testament scholar, but I would be curious to hear if Paul’s works-versus-grace distinction was essentially a t’shuvah-versus-metanoia distinction.

The reason I am reflecting on this question today is I am realizing that in the book I am slowly developing, I have differentiated these two concepts, and placed them under different domains. (The three domains I explore are religion, philosophy and design.) I didn’t even realize until today that I was doing this!

I assign metanoia, not to the domain of religion, but to philosophy. I take it even further, even; I make a somewhat reckless normative claim that the essential purpose of philosophy ought to be metanoia.

I assign t’shuvah to the domain of religion. T’shuvah can involve engagement with thought, but it must engage with more than thought, and more likely will with behavior, and will always engage and change aspects of our own being outside our cognitive grasp.

(And, please, when I speak of engagement beyond thought, please do not modernize what I’m saying by shoehorning it into “the unconscious”, that iron lung of late modernity, which pumps artificial spirituality into unrespirating secular bodies. It is time to pull the plug. And I don’t mean making changes to our physical bodies. I care less than nothing about neurons or neural pathways or brain physiology. These ideas are valid in some contexts, but play no role in my thinking. People who must compulsively physicalize and psychologize and scientize ideas in order to make them compatible with their existing thinking will dislike what I have to say. I’m gunning precisely for their most sacred ideas, and they will not understand what I am saying until they undergo a metanoia that renders this scientizing unnecessary.)

The overlap between philosophy and religion consists of metanoia that effects t’shuvah, and t’shuvah that effects metanoia. Not all metanoia turns us to God. Most metanoia does not, though all metanoia experiences feel like “religious conversions” as moderns misconceive religion. Much metanoia turns us away from God’s infinitude, toward closed finite theory-systems, like Hegelianism or inverted Hegelianism (Marxism), or other closed theory-systems, such as Progressivism. These seal us off and insulate us all that exceeds the grasp of cognition.

I’ll tease one more tangentially important idea. Design (the third domain my book explores) is also concerned with material and social realities that exceed the grasp of cognition, and which can, through our thinking, feelings and behaviors, effect both religious and non-religious metanoia — and/or t’shuvah.

Philosophical antecedents

Hermeneutics, Philosophy

Franz Rosenzweig’s description of the peculiarities of philosophical reading reads familiar and true:

The reader has a particularly high regard for the first pages of philosophical books. He believes they are the basis for all that follows. Consequently he also thinks that in order to have refuted the whole, it’s enough to refute these pages. Hence the immense interest in Kant’s teaching of space and time, in the form in which he developed it at the beginning of the Critique. Hence the comical attempts to “refute” Hegel by refuting the first triad of his Logic, and Spinoza by refuting his definitions. And hence the helplessness of the general reader in the face of philosophical books. He thinks they must be “especially logical,” and understands by this the dependence of every succeeding sentence on every preceding one; so that when the famous one stone is pulled out, as a consequence “the whole collapses.” In truth, this is nowhere less the case than in philosophical books. Here a sentence does not follow from the preceding one, but more likely from the one following. Whoever has not understood a sentence or a paragraph is little helped if, in the conscientious belief that he must not leave anything behind that is not understood, he reads it perchance again and again or even starts over again. Philosophical books deny themselves such a methodical ancien régime-strategy, which thinks it may not leave behind any fortification without having conquered it. They want to be conquered napoleonically, in a bold attack on the enemy’s central force, upon the conquest of which the small outlying fortifications will fall automatically. Thus, whoever does not understand something can most assuredly expect enlightenment if he courageously goes on reading. The reason why this rule is difficult for the beginner, and, as the cases cited above show, also for many a nonbeginner to accept, lies in the fact that thinking and writing are not the same. In thinking, one stroke really strikes a thousand connections. In writing, these thousand must be artfully and cleanly arranged on the string of thousands of lines. As Schopenhauer said, his entire book wants to impart only a single thought which, however, he could not impart more briefly than in the entire book Thus, if a philosophical book is worth reading at all, it is certainly so only when one either does not understand its beginning or at the very least misunderstands it. For otherwise the thought that it imparts is scarcely worth re-considering, since one evidently already has it, if one knows right at the beginning of its exposition “where it is leading up to.” All this is valid only for books; only they can be written and read without any consideration for the passing of time. Speaking and hearing follow other laws. Of course, only real speaking and hearing, not the kind that derogates itself a “lecture” and during which the hearer must forget that he has a mouth and becomes at best a writing hand. But, at any rate, for books it is so.

Just where that decisive battle of understanding is fought, where the whole can be seen at a glance, cannot be said in advance; in all probability already before the last page, but hardly before the middle of the book; and surely not by two readers at precisely the same point. At least when they are readers who read on their own and not readers who, because of their learning, already know before the first word what is written in a book, and because of their ignorance do not know it even after the last one. In respect to older books, the last-mentioned readers’ virtues are most often found in two sorts of people, professors and students; in respect to newer ones they tend to be found in one and the same person.

Exnihilist Manifesto

Enworldment, Metaphysics, Philosophy

In a deep and consequential epiphany, the revelation comes from nowhere. What I come to know as given, prior to the epiphany, is inconceivable and, therefore, nothing. In a moment of epiphany, a new given emerges from nothingness — ex nihilo.

I, who could not conceive and was oblivious, and that which was inconceivable and submerged in oblivion, have been conceived together.

What has changed? The beholding subject? The beheld object? Both have changed — and something more. The relationship between the subject and all possible givens changes. Reality is now revealed to the subject through a transformed objectivity.

It is now a given truth that reality is always given to every subject in the form of some particular objectivity. This is as true of a personal subject, like you or me, as it is of an academic subject. Reality is given to mathematicians in one way and to historians in another. But to the subject of epiphany, reality is given in a pluralistic objectivity: an objectivity of myriad objectivities.

But yet something more — beyond subject, object and objectivity — changes too. This beyond matters most of all: our relationship with nothingness changes.

In epiphany, all that is epiphanically given appears out of nothingness — ex nihilo.

The nothingness from which epiphanies appear does not feel like nothing.

We sometimes conceive nothingness as a kind of darkness. But darkness is something we see. The analogy falls short.

Nothingness must not be confused with sensing no thing. Nothingness is the loss of sense itself, or the absence of sensibility.

If we lose vision, we do not see blackness; instead, we experience boiling chrome of sightlessness.

If we lose a part of our body, we do not feel of numbness; we are tormented by an aching phantom limb.

If we lose our hearing, we are not submerged in silence; we experience intolerable hypersonic ringing.

If we lose our sense of smell, the world does not become odorless; it reeks of burning rubber, sulfur and brimstone.

If we lose our sense of taste, our mouths and tongue are filled with bitterness.

As it is with the senses of the body, so it is with the sensibilities of the soul.

If we lose sense of purpose, we do not become care-free; we are paralyzed by ennui.

If we lose capacity to love, we do not become detached or objective; we are depressed.

If we lack understanding, we don’t experience ignorance; we become negatively omniscient, and know that there is nothing to know.

If we lose our sense of self, we don’t become selfless; we become self-conscious nebulae of resentment.

Nothingness is dreadful.

It is from dreadful nothingness that all epiphanies emerge — ex nihilo.

Dread is the birth pangs of revelation.

If epiphany happens once, it can happen again, no matter how dreadful and impossible it seems.

It will always seem impossible. It will always be inconceivable. It will always be masked in oblivion. It will always be dreadful. We will always be certain that “this time is different; this time it is final.” But is not.

How, then, can we ever again take despair or hopelessness at face value? How could we ever be nihilists? How can we not become exnihilists?

The nothingness that engulfs and pervades our given world an inexhaustible wellspring of surprise.

This nothingness is real. It liberates us from every omniscience, and frees us for God.

Imagined murmurations

Philosophy

Imagine a murmuration of starlings alighting upon a tree. As they land, they converge on the tree, saturate its branches and shape themselves to the tree itself. This would be an intuitive murmuration.

Imagine this flock of starlings collectively recalling the tree within their flock. They sing to one another of their positions, relative to one another. They try to reproduce those same spatial relations in mid-air deep in the sky. And for a moment they collect themselves — re-collect themselves — into the form of that tree. This would be a remembered murmuration.

Imagine this flock of starlings collectively recalling all the various trees they’ve alighted upon. There is a way this alighting goes, despite the differences between one unique tree and another. It is different to land in trees than to land on rocks or roofs. A discipline is distributed throughout their flock, a discipline that knows landing in trees. This would be a practical murmuration.

Could this flock make use of its practical tree-alighting murmuration to collect themselves to form novel trees in the sky? This would be an imaginative murmuration.

Is there a limit to this imaginative murmurating? When is a formation no longer a tree, but a rock-form or roof form? When is the flock practicing, in its mid-air performance, alighting on a roof or rock, rather than alighting on a tree. This would be an essential murmuration.

Imagine a flock of starlings disciplined for simplicity, flying in geometric formation, according to strict rules of relation. This would be logical murmuration.

Imagine flocks of starlings flying out its simple logical murmurations in ever more elaborate permutations. It would form and reform itself according to its simple rules, ramifying limitlessly. This would be mathematical murmuration.

Imagine a flock of starlings who aspired to recreate essential tree forms, essential rocks forms, essential roof forms, using only logical and mathematical murmurations. This would be scientific murmuration.

Imagine a flock of starlings who attempted to use only its scientific murmurations for alighting in trees. Maybe it would fudge its landings to accommodate the essential noise of real trees. But iterative attempts to land with increasing precision reduce this noise to near silence. This would be technical murmuration.

Imagine a flock of starlings who never once alighted on anything. The flock learned to reproduce the technical murmurations of other flocks. It knows of tree, rocks and roofs by collecting itself into the technical murmurations for which it has been carefully trained. It doesn’t know what it is to alight on a tree, but it can collect itself into a technical murmuration “about” a tree. This would be alienated murmuration.

Our souls are murmurations of intuitive I-points. Each intuitive I-point knows a bit of the world around it. Each I-points knows some of its fellow intuitive I-points. In Kabbalah, they are known as divine sparks.

Our faiths are the murmuration movements we can perform — defined against those movements we cannot. Some faiths can alight on trees. Some cannot. Some faiths can imagine novel trees, and discern trees from rocks. Some cannot. Some can fly in technical formation. Some can only fly in technical formation. Our faith limits what we can intuit, conceive, recollect or imagine. I call these formation capacities enceptions.

A soul can be blown apart by strong winds.

Gut liberalism

Philosophy, Politics

It has been obvious to me for a while that Generation X was the last generation to be inculcated with liberal values. And by “inculcated, I do not mean only that we were taught to affirm the truth and correctness of a set of explicit liberal principles. We were trained to perform mental and social liberal acts. Perhaps it would be better to say that we were initiated into a liberal praxis. We are the last to understand liberalism from within.

What do I mean by praxis? Praxis is a reinforcing feedback relationship between theory and practice. Theory guides practice. Practice informs theory. The theory-guided practice informs theory. The practice-informed theory guides practice. Behind this loop, a set of intuitions develops, which move and shape perceptions, conceptions and responses. This intuitive grounding gives practice a reflective lucidity and theory applicability and effectiveness, and both a spontaneous naturalness. Praxis creates a tacit common sense among thinking and doing (and sometimes feeling). In other words, through praxis we develop a faith.

Until a faith develops behind praxis, the theories are only known about. And the actions are executed via memorized mental instructions. The practice is theoretically explained by reciting memorized concepts. The words and actions are stiff and unnatural.

After a faith develops behind praxis the words and actions are animated by something spontaneous and masterful, and they have a grace and naturalness. A person with faith-grounded praxis clearly “knows what they’re doing.” Their hands and bodies act with intelligence. And their minds are deferential. The mind knows it plays a leadership role, but must share credit with the whole being.

The point I am trying to make is that a great many young people I attempt to discuss politics with have been initiated into an illiberal praxis backed by an illiberal faith. They believe what they have been taught to believe about liberalism, from the understanding of an illiberal faith that rules out solidarity and understanding among unique persons, and accepts only shared interests among members of identities. They have been taught criticisms against liberalism and have accepted them uncritically, and are therefore closed to liberalism as a praxis, because it has been rejected as a theory. And against all evidence, they have been taught to interpret their own internalized nihilism, despair and dissatisfaction as caused by liberalism (and capitalism!), when, in fact, this unhappiness is a symptom of their own illiberal faith.

This seems true across the left-right spectrum. Young right-wing post-liberal youth are as smugly contemptuous of liberalism as the “left”-wing progressivists. They each see themselves as confronting an ideological other from the most diametrically-opposing position possible — as utterly opposite as Bolsheviks and Nazis.

From the perspective of this political Flatland, they cannot conceive how they are opposed from outside by something their omniscience cannot conceive, submerged in oblivion, a nothing from nowhere.

The sun is setting on our liberal-democracy. This is not because our institutions have eroded, or because one bad side is ruining everything. It is because we are running out of citizens who know how to participate in liberal-democracy. Liberalism must be inculcated in the young through education, but instead of educating our children, we stashed our children in childcare facilities where they were pacified for convenient management, while their parents dedicated themselves to what matters most in life: their career paths to retirement. The tradition has been broken, and now it is decaying, and the more people celebrate this fact, the faster we rot.

Changes of faith

Philosophy

In metanoia, what really happens? So much of it transpires beyond anything we can communicate. It isn’t ineffable. We can say all kinds of things about it. The problem is with being heard and understood. We are faced with an unhappy choice: We can say what makes perfect sense to our own ears, and face the perplexity, angst and hostility of those unprepared to comprehend our incomprehensible words, or we can translate our truth to familiar terms and be radically misunderstood.

Designers face this reality with their uninitiated clients and collaborators. We can “speak the language of business” and make do with approximate and often inadequate understandings of our work and what is required to do it effectively, or we can try to teach them designerly ways of understanding so they can collaborate with us effectively, or at least support the work, or at least not make our work impossible.

In reality, coming to that understanding requires a gentle transition from the familiar to a new unfamiliar praxis. The transition is only partly mental. Much of the understanding is acquired through doing. It is intuited in the How-doing hands and in the Why-feeling heart long before the What-knowing head catches up and can chatter explicitly about the What, How and Why of the work. To get that What-How-Why to coalesce and stabilize is to have a faith. The faith is not in the content of the understanding, nor is it in the willful believing of that content. Faith is what acts behind the understanding, that makes the explicit content of belief understood and self-evidently true. But to people who think exclusively in terms of systems of explicit content this just seems like mystical vapidity, a thereless there.

This understanding of design is not just a metaphor for religion. It is a species, or maybe a region, of religious understanding. There is a designerly metanoia a person will undergo, which will effect in them a designerly faith, which will animate their being and make it possible to think, feel and act as a designer in any situation where design is needed.

But returning to the question: in metanoia, what really happens? Do we awaken slumbering mental or spiritual faculties that allow us to receive previously undetected givens? Do we reorganize or recrystallize our souls to accommodate (or accommodate ourselves to) new intuitions and conceptions? How does it happen that a person and the world are reenworlded together in an event which changes nothing and everything together in one epiphanic rush? Does this question even need resolution? Or can we let it go with the simple fact that something of our ownmost own, nearer even than the content of our most intimate belief changes, and the consequences ripple outward to and beyond the furthest edges of the universe, before the advent of time and after it.

The Chinese coins hung from my reading lamp dangling over my right shoulder, are each the size of everything. It is only the metal part of the coin that is spatially constrained. The outer edge of the metal disk radiates an infinitely extensive circle along a two-dimensional plane, symbolizing in two dimensions an infinitely extensive sphere in a three-dimensional volume. This is the environmental part of the coin. But punched in the center of the metal is an empty square. This finite square-shaped bit of space is separated from the infinite environment of the coin, but it is also continuous with it, despite its apparent separation, and this is especially apparent when we see this coin from outside its plane, in three-dimensional space. Spatially-speaking, the metal is also continuous with the interior and environmental space, and the only difference is some of the space is occupied with the metal of the coin, and the rest is occupied by space and materials understood to belong to the coin’s environment. The entire world is saturated with myriad overlapping Chinese coin environments. These coins are quite overwhelming when we intuit their actual being.

When someone is faithless to another person, this just means they have allowed themselves to reenworld to us in unfamiliar form, as strangers. And some strangeness is so estranged it does not even want reconciliation, but increased estrangement. For reasons of its own, the new faith wants to divorce itself and alienate itself from the formerly uniting faith. We call it “breaking faith” for reasons few people recall.

Three neglected distinctions

Philosophy, Politics

I want to call attention to three crucial distinctions that I seldom see made, but which are disastrous if conflated.

  1. Evil versus immorality. Evil is acting with sadistic intent to harm or annihilate. Immorality does not intend suffering, harm or annihilation, but it tolerates or supports what does harm, and sometimes even tolerates or supports evil. When evil and immorality are conflated, moral judgment loses a primary point of orientation, and well-meaning people can be manipulated to tolerate or even support causes whose only goal is sadism, harm and annihilation. The passionate revulsion humans naturally feel toward evil is channeled into whatever examples of immorality capture their attention (whether injustice, indifference, disrespect or tribal animosity).
  2. Authoritarian versus totalitarian. Authoritarians attempt to tyrannically control what individuals do (and do not do). Totalitarians attempt to tyrannically control not only what individuals do, but also how they think and feel. Totalitarianism is not authoritarianism taken to an extreme; totalitarianism has the aim of displacing intuited reality with its own constructed truth, and it has its own path of development. When totalitarianism and authoritarianism are conflated, the visible brutality of authoritarians can be used to divert attention from cultural propagation of totalitarian ideologies through propaganda and indoctrination.
  3. Moral explanation versus justification. Moral explanation is descriptive, and causally accounts for the thoughts, attitudes and actions of an individual or group. Moral justification is normative and morally assesses the thoughts, attitudes and actions of an individual or group. When these are conflated a sympathetic description of how a person or group became evil can be passed off as a justification of evil.

Ungrounded is not abstract

Philosophy

I believe what is making so many people feel alienated from the world, from other people and from themselves is too much playing with remote notions and far too little intuition of what is present.

If the world feels like a simulation to you, maybe you inhabit a simulation. If you feel like a ghost, maybe you are not doing what is required to be.

Lacking intuitive grounding, the ideas the alienated thinker plays with are not even abstract. After all, an abstraction is abstracted from something real and concrete. An ungrounded idea might share the simplicity and insubstantiality of an abstraction, but it can’t even claim to represent anything other than itself.

Too much ungrounded thought-play and a thinker will almost automatically succumb to that perennial radical cop-out that today narcissistically claims to be a courageous assertion: reality itself is constructed.

People wonder why art today is so uninspiring: “When a poet is not in love with reality his muse will consequently not be reality, and she will then bear him hollow-eyed and fragile-limbed children.” Nietzsche saw what is coming, the last time it came.

Intuition abuse

Philosophy

Some people cannot believe something exists only if they are unable to think it.

Others think the more something is encountered as the existent it is, the less it can be thought, and the more one must rely on direct intuition, such as perceptions or tacit know-how and tacit feel-why.

This is a Kantian — not Jungian — use of the word intuition. By this use, intuition is a direct, non-linguistic, non-logical, non-representational relationship with some real, present entity or being we are presently encountering.

I am strongly in the second camp. Intuition gives us what is present. What we actually encounter in reality will always be partially incomprehensible and inconceivable, but, through skillful use of intuition supplemented by thought can become more comprehensible and conceivable.

Our thoughtful intuitive dealings with realities of various kinds is the best data (literally “givens”) for representations of reality. Thoughtful intuition provides us a repertoire of representations faithful to the real entities and actual beings we attempt to represent in language and thought. It also develops our capacity for interpreting and responding to present realities.

Intuitive grounding makes thought reasonable, and not merely ideologically logical — or capriciously illogical.

If we approach present realities representation-first, scanning for representations to recognize and logically manipulate, we lose our ability to improve our representations. Our ideology limits our ontological repertoire and we experience only what we were already “ready to see” or “ready to hear”. This data gets fed into our cognitive processes, which are also often limited to an ideological toolset. Ideologically-determined nounset interact by an ideologically-determined verbset.

But approaching representations intuition-first is also disastrous. Capricious illogic and intuitive manipulation of mental representations acquired willy-nilly from wherever does not produce a reliable sense of reality, nor any sense of the kinds of supernatural realities new age mystical types think they know. Intellectually laziness, indisciplined and unscrupulousness only reinforces and intensifies whatever unchosen prejudices and attitudes that passively infected our minds.

To rely on one’s intuition in matters of representation or language or logic to try to understand a distant reality is to misuse intuition and to short circuit intuition and turn it toward mental objects, instead of outward toward beings and entities transcending our mind. Intuiting mental objects is not a proxy for intuiting the realities these mental objects claim to represent.

A strong aversion to learning and informing your mental objects in order to make them more faithful representations — to rely instead on intuiting mental objects already inside your head — this is an alienation from reality akin to solipsism.

Moral benchmarking

Ethics, Philosophy

Before I dig all the way down into Bernstein’s Radical Evil, I want to benchmark my current views on what is evil, vs immoral, vs unethical.

Evil means active desire to annihilate and inflict suffering on other people.

Immoral means supporting evil, while stopping short of being evil oneself. One accepts, affirms and strengthens the conditions of evil and beliefs of evil-doers, while lacking evil desires.

According to this view, most progressivists are immoral. Only some among them — the ones who support Hamas, chant their slogans and mean it, or the ones who enjoy harming, abusing, terrorizing and humiliating living manifestations of identities they hate — are actively evil to any real degree.

But most progressivists I talk with believe the same things evil progressivists believe, and differ primarily in lacking an appetite to take part in the sadism and destruction. Part of progressivist immorality consists in a stubborn incuriosity to look into who they support and the practical implications of their beliefs. This allows them to water down their immorality with amoral ignorance, and to dissociate themselves from what they passively support, while also enjoying a sense of tribal belonging and security.

Ethics is fidelity to the behavioral rules of an ethos, which includes linguistic behaviors. It is entirely possible to be highly ethical within an amoral ethos. To be truly moral, one must actively choose a moral ethos. But most people are not morally responsible, and do not make such choices. They are merely ethical, and fail to make moral choices of any kind.

Richard J. Bernstein on evil

Ethics, Existentialism, Judaism, Philosophy

I have been observing an uncanny moral blind-spot among many people I know. They are apparently oblivious to an obvious distinction — that between 1) a violent desire to annihilate another people and inflict and savor their suffering, versus 2) an unavoidably violent defense against those who wish to annihilate and inflict suffering.

It is as if they need to skeptically dismiss out of hand making such distinctions.

Or maybe they know how to make this distinction among individual people, but cannot discern these distinctions among groups of people. (I do think an incapacity to understand political bodies plays into this problem, and in the compulsivly identitarian politics of the illiberal left and right but I do not think the bizarre amorality I am witnessing is attributable to this incapacity.)

These morally-blind people try to see the difference between better and worse strictly quantitatively: How many people have died on each side of the conflict? If the tally on one side is too big, the side with the larger numbers is morally abhorrent.

I am deeply bothered by this seeming incapacity of so many people to see perceive moral truths. I feel pain over it. And I intuitively blame them for their blindness. But I have not clarified this intuition, articulated it, or justified it.

This might be why Richard J. Bernstein’s 2001 book Radical Evil leapt off my shelf and caught my attention a couple of days ago. It opens with this gut punch:

In 1945, when the Nazi death camps were liberated, and the full horrors of what had happened during the war years were just beginning to emerge, Hannah Arendt declared, “The problem of evil will be the fundamental question of postwar intellectual life in Europe.” Later, when Arendt was asked about her first reactions to the rumors about the extermination camps (which she first heard in 1942), she said that it was as if an abyss had opened. “Something happened there to which we cannot reconcile ourselves. None of us can.” Arendt, like many others — especially the survivors of the camps — felt that what happened in the camps was the most extreme and radical form of evil. “Auschwitz” became a name that epitomized the entire Shoah, and has come to symbolize other evils that have burst forth in the twentieth century. We might also mention Cambodia, Rwanda, Bosnia — names and sites so very different, yet manifesting horrendous events that we desperately try to understand, but to which we cannot reconcile ourselves. Yet there is something extraordinarily paradoxical about the visibility of evil in our time — a visibility that can be so overwhelming that it numbs us. Andrew Delbanco acutely observes, “a gulf has opened up in our culture between the visibility of evil and the intellectual resources available for coping with it. Never before have images of horror been so widely disseminated and so appalling — from organized death camps to children starving in famines that might have been averted. … The repertoire of evil has never been richer. Yet never have our responses been so weak.” We have been overwhelmed by the most excruciating and detailed descriptions and testimonies; nevertheless the conceptual discourse for dealing with evil has been sparse and inadequate.

What do we really mean when we describe an act, an event, or a person as evil? Many of us would agree with what Arendt once wrote to Karl Jaspers: “There is a difference between a man who sets out to murder his old aunt and people who without considering the economic usefulness of their actions at all . . . built factories to produce corpses.” But what is this difference? How is it to be characterized? What are we really saying when we speak of radical evil?

Philosophers and political theorists are much more comfortable speaking about injustice, the violation of human rights, what is immoral and unethical, than about evil. … It is almost as if the language of evil has been dropped from contemporary moral and ethical discourse.

This brings the problem into the heart of my existentialist project.

For many people, what is thinkable limits what they will accept as real.

By “thinkable”, I do not merely mean what can be explicitly spoken about or argued. I mean what their faith can grasp. What exceeds the reach of their faith’s intuition, they regard not only as inconceivable, but unreal, non-existent. “If I cannot conceive the holocaust, it must have been exaggerated or invented.” If I cannot conceive the murderous mindset of Hamas, it must be sneaky Jew-propaganda fiction.”

I’ve noticed that people who approach the world this way resist whatever threatens this obliviousness. It is as if they viscerally need whatever realities transcend their faith to not exist. And they harbor semi-secret contempt for philosophy, so nothing can really challenge the solipsistic omniscience of their gnosis.

As an existentialist, I truly believe that existence precedes essence — “thatness” precedes “whatness” — that reality far exceeds the scope of our actual and potential faiths, which means completeness of truth content is the least of our worries. We lack the mental fingers required to grasp the truth of a great many realities.

And today, some of these realities loom directly before our faces, staring malevolently directly into our eyes, unseen.

By finding ways to conceive and speak about these unspeakable realities, we can detect them and respond to them. This is why philosophy is urgently important, especially right now.

But precisely those who need it most feel superior to philosophy. They see it as irrelevant, idle, speculative, abstract. They see it as a clumsy approximation of their gnostic omniscience. How wrong they are.

Equalities

Ethics, Philosophy, Politics

In a liberal-democratic order we are equal as citizens before the law.

In communion we are equal as souls within God.

In society, however we are not equals before one another. We assume roles and perform them within hierarchical systems — and these roles cary varying degrees of responsibility and authority. But in this social inequality, we must always remember our spiritual and political equality.

But those who do not understand the existence of political and spiritual have cannot know spiritual and political equality. So they can only conceive achieving equality in the social domain. Some demand equality from every social order, which is impossible, while others, noting the impossibility of social equality, deny the possibility of any equality. These are the origin of left illiberalism and right illiberalism, respectively.

The ethic and ethos of liberalism

Ethics, Politics

Liberalism is not a morality. Liberalism is an ethic.

The distinction I am making here is this: Morality is unconditional; ethics is contingent upon ethos.

An example of morality is rejection of sadism. There is never a situation where sadism, especially extreme sadism like that of Hamas on October 7th, is justified. Anyone who cannot understand this is a sociopath, or is morally confused to the point of sociopathy. Sadism can be explained, but explanations are not justifications. I am saying here that not only is sadism immoral, but justification of sadism.

The value of a liberal ethic is entirely instrumental. An ethic is a means to the end of supporting a liberal social order — a liberal ethos.

(A point where morality and ethics connect. Morality requires keeping ethical commitments. There are moral ways to renegotiate commitments, and immoral ways to break them. I taught my children that there are no preexistent rules to relationships, but once rules are made, those rules are ethical realities one is morally obligated to honor. And then there is etiquette, which is neither moral nor ethical, but something else of enormous importance.)

For a while now, I have been declaring “mutuality is for the mutual”. When I say this, I refer to ethics, and the ethic I almost always mean is liberalism. But this is not the only ethos. Friendships of various kinds also have their own ethics. Every enduring friendship is its own ethos and has its own ethic and etiquette.

When I make the mutuality declaration what I mean is this. Where there is no liberal ethos, and no reasonable possibility of a liberal ethos, a liberal ethic is not appropriate. Where illiberals are likely to exploit liberalism to undermine a liberal ethos, it is unethical to extend the rights, privileges and courtesies to illiberals.

Yes, this is a very dangerous stance to take. Conditional liberalism is the slipperiest of slopes. But unconditional liberalism is just as slippery, and we have already slipped far from our best liberalism. I meet very few liberals under the age of 40.

And, yes, the line between liberalism and illiberalism is faint, fuzzy and ambiguous. But fuzzy boundaries do not negate the clarity we see at the extremes. We can debate how liberal Winston Churchill or Franklin Delano Roosevelt were, but the fact that Axis leaders were illiberal, and less liberal than Churchill and Roosevelt is beyond reasonable dispute.*

And yes, if illiberalism is presumed, liberalism cannot take root and flourish. Sometimes an intricate and delicate dance must take place between nervous and skeptical liberals to cultivate mutual trust and establish a liberal ethos. It requires both liberals to “go first” and provisionally offer one another liberal courtesies. But there is a point where dancing ends and defensive maneuvers start.

I am still working on this. It does not yet feel complete and flawless. I do think it is fundamental,y right, though, so I’m putting it out there. There will be more.

  • Note: Regarding fuzzy lines and clear extremes, if you have a shred of intellectual and moral decency in you, you will admit that, while we can (and should) debate how moral or immoral Israel’s war conduct has been, there is no room whatsoever to dispute Hamas’s evil. Witness Hamas’s enthusiastic, joyous embrace of sadism on October 7, and its explicit genocidal goals. Israel is undoubtedly morally flawed. Hamas is undoubtedly morally depraved: evil. And anyone, however soft-hearted and well-intentioned, who justifies Hamas’s evil is morally corrupt. I stop short of calling them evil, but they support and enable evil to flourish, and that is immoral.

L’Chaim faith

Design, Judaism, Philosophy

For the last week, I have been closely and carefully reading a long, gnarly and crucially important passage from Buber’s I and Thou, in both the Smith and Kaufmann translations.

One benefit of understanding this book to be a prayer is that I am much more relaxed about getting through the book. The point of it is not to acquire information, but, rather, to allow it, invite it, entreat it to work on me. I have been taking my time and giving myself ample space to respond.

I want to share two key excerpts from this passage, each in both the Smith and Kauffman translations.

The first excerpt compares and contrasts Buber’s own Jewish faith with other forms of faith. He focuses on Buddhism, but Buddhism stands in for ascetic faiths in general.

This comparison is important, because Buber’s Judaism differs radically not only from conventional exoteric theisms, but from conventional esoterisms. It is a different religiosity that is often excluded from consideration. In my own experience, expressions of this faith — particularly practical ones — can trigger psychic allergies in both conventionally religious and “unconventionally” spiritual people.

Smith’s translation:

The Buddha describes as the goal the ‘cessation of pain,’ that is of becoming and passing away-release from the cycle of births.

‘Henceforth there is no return’ is the formula of the man who has freed himself from the appetite for living and thus from the necessity to become ever anew. We do not know if there is a return; we do not extend beyond this life the lines of this time-dimension in which we live, and do not seek to expose what will be disclosed to us in it own time and disposition. But if we did know that there is a return we would not seek to escape it, and we would long not indeed for gross being but for the power to speak, in each existence in its own way and language, the eternal I that passes away, and the eternal Thou that does not pass away.

We do not know if the Buddha actually leads to the goal of release from the necessity of returning. He certainly leads to a preliminary goal that concerns us — to the becoming one of the soul. But he leads thither not merely (as is necessary) apart from the ‘thicket of opinions,’ but also apart from the ‘illusion of forms’ — which for us is no illusion but rather the reliable world (and this in spite of all subjective paradoxes in observation connected with it for us). His way, too, then, involves disregard; thus when he speaks of our becoming aware of the events in our body he means almost the opposite of our physical insight with its certainty about the senses. Nor does he lead the united being further to that supreme saying of the Thou that is made possible for it. His innermost decision seems to rest on the extinction of the ability to say Thou.

Kaufmann’s translation of the same:

The goal was for the Buddha “the annulment of suffering,” which is to say, of becoming and passing away — the salvation from the wheel of rebirth. “Henceforth there is no recurrence” was to be the formula for those who had liberated themselves from the desire for existence and thus from the compulsion to become again ceaselessly. We do not know whether there is a recurrence; the line of this dimension of time in which we live we do not extend beyond this life; and we do not try to uncover what will reveal itself to us in its own time and law. But if we did know that there was recurrence, then we should not seek to escape from it: we should desire not crude existence but the chance to speak in every existence, in its appropriate manner and language, the eternal I of the destructible and the eternal You of the indestructible.

Whether the Buddha leads men to the goal of redemption from having to recur, we do not know. Certainly he leads to an intermediate goal that concerns us, too: the unification of the soul. But he leads there not only, as is necessary, away from the “jungle of opinions,” but also away from the “deception of forms” — which for us is no deception but (in spite of all the paradoxes of intuition that make for subjectivity but for is simply belong to it) the reliable world. His path, too, is a way of ignoring something, and when he bids us become aware of the processes in our body, what he means is almost the opposite of our sense-assured insight into the body. Nor does he lead the unified being further to that supreme You-saying that is open to it. His inmost decision seems to aim at the annulment of the ability to say You.

In response to this, I wrote a margin note: “L’Chaim! Declaration of faith.”

The second excerpt pertains to what I have called “enworldment”.

Smith’s translation:

The beginning and the extinction of the world are not in me; but they are also not outside me; they cannot be said to be at all, they are a continuous happening, connected with and dependent on me, my life, my decision, my work, and my service. But they do depend not on whether I ‘affirm’ or ‘deny’ the world in my soul, but on how I cause my attitude of soul to the world to grow to life, to life that acts upon the world, to real life — and in real life the ways of very different attitudes of soul may intersect. But he who merely ‘experiences’ his attitude, merely consummates it in the soul, however thoughtfully, is without the world — and all the tricks, arts, ecstasies, enthusiasms, and mysteries that are in him do not even ripple the skin of the world. So long as a man is set free only in his Self he can do the world neither weal nor woe; he does not concern the world. Only he who believes in the world is given power to enter into dealings with it, and if he gives himself to this he cannot remain godless. If only we love the real world, that will not let itself be extinguished, really in its horror, if only we venture to surround it with the arms of our spirit, our hands will meet the hands which held it fast.

I know nothing of a ‘world’ and a life in the world’ that might separate a man from God. What is thus described is actually life with an alienated world of It, which experiences and uses. He who truly goes out to meet the world goes out also to God. Concentration and outgoing are necessary, both in truth, at once the one and the other, which is the One.

God comprises, but is not, the universe. So, too, God comprises, but is not, my Self.

Kaufmann’s translation of the same:

The origin of the world and the annulment of the world are not in me; neither are they outside me; they simply are not — they always occur, and their occurrence is also connected with me, with my life, my decision, my work, my service, and also depends on me, on my life, my decision, my work, and my service. But what it depends on is not whether I “affirm” or “negate” the world in my soul, but how I let the attitude of my soul toward the world come to life, life that affects the world, actual life — and in actual life paths coming from very different attitudes of the soul can cross. But whoever merely has a living “experience” of his attitude and retains it in his soul may be as thoughtful as can be, he is worldless — and all the games, arts, intoxications, enthusiasms, and mysteries that happen within him do not touch the world’s skin. As long as one attains redemption only in his self, he cannot do any good or harm to the world; he does not concern it. Only he that believes in the world achieves contact with it; and if he commits himself he also cannot remain godless. Let us love the actual world that never wishes to be annulled, but love it in all its terror, but dare to embrace it with our spirit’s arms — and our hands encounter the hands that hold it.

I know nothing of a “world” and of “worldly life” that separate us from God. What is designated that way is life with an alienated It-world, the life of experience and use.

Whoever goes forth in truth to the world, goes forth to God. Concentration and going forth, both in truth, the one-and-the-other which is the One, are what is needful.

God embraces but is not the universe; just so, God embraces but is not my self.

This excerpt contains something close to a definition of enworldment, and notice that it includes an element of pluralism in affirming the weaving together of different attitudes of soul as intrinsic to actual life. Smith’s: “…how I cause my attitude of soul to the world to grow to life, to life that acts upon the world, to real life — and in real life the ways of very different attitudes of soul may intersect.” Kaufmann’s: “…how I let the attitude of my soul toward the world come to life, life that affects the world, actual life — and in actual life paths coming from very different attitudes of the soul can cross.” This connects powerfully with my vocation of polycentric design.

Importantly, this endeavor involves embrace of dread: Smith says, “If only we love the real world, that will not let itself be extinguished, really in its horror, if only we venture to surround it with the arms of our spirit…” and Kaufmann says, “Let us love the actual world that never wishes to be annulled, but love it in all its terror, but dare to embrace it with our spirit’s arms…”

This is my first reading of I and Thou since Bruno Latour induced my “material turn” ?a little over a decade ago.

At the time of my initial Buber immersion, I preferred ?Buber’s essays (especially those in Between Man and Man) to I and Thou, which at points seemed someone obscure and poetic, especially when it extended the I-Thou relationship beyond interpersonal interactions.

This time around, having embraced both an “apeironic” materialism and a Jewish life, the whole book makes perfect sense, and I cannot imagine preferring any prose to this prayerful poetry.