Richard J. Eisner: Writer / Philosopher

35. Nietzsche’s “Master” Morality     © 21 May 2003 by Richard J. Eisner

In a radio interview a philosophy professor said that Nietzsche opposes liberal democracy, or egalitarianism, or utilitarianism (the greatest happiness for the greatest number), which he (Nietzsche) calls “slave morality,” on the ground, among others, that, in seeking to advance the general welfare, they enhance the average at the neglect of the exceptional, and therefore militate against individual (and hence also societal) excellence, and that he (Nietzsche) favors a return to the kind of hierarchical, authoritarian (frankly, fascistic) social and political structures prevalent before the French Revolution, which structures Nietzsche calls “master morality.”

            I disagree (with Nietzsche). I think utilitarianism and its cognates are preferable to authoritarianism, even just in their effect on “excellence.” The utilitarian touchstone in resource distribution is, not slavish equality, but rather society’s greatest good (utility). For example, a given amount of musical education would yield greater benefit to society if given to a musical genius instead of to a musician of mere talent, and so utilitarianism would distribute that resource accordingly. Contrariwise, in a master-slave situation, what masters seek is advantage, which need not take the form of excellence. But even to the extent that masters pursue excellence, they pursue, not excellence generally, but rather their own excellence. If, for example, a master knew that one of his slaves possessed innate musical genius, but that his (the master’s) son possessed mere musical talent, the master would likely still devote greater resources to his son’s musical training than to his slave’s. So utilitarianism better fosters human achievement, by promoting it more widely: among all people, not just the privileged few.

            But even if a utilitarian distribution of resources is simply an equal distribution, you can’t become a great artist or philosopher or scientist if you’re too poor to get a good education, or if you have to spend all your time and energy working to get enough money to survive, as is the case with so many poor and working-class people even now. Egalitarianism does not mean that everyone is to be equal (average) in every way. It means that everyone is to have equal resources to live—equal right and opportunity to actualize his potential. And the greater the number of people who actualize their potential, the greater the amount of excellent work that will be produced. Of course, those who have already achieved intellectual/artistic excellence would benefit personally from a less egalitarian society, which, by limiting the rise of competitors, would preserve their own superiority. One wonders if that isn’t Nietzsche’s true interest.

43. Gun Control Redux     © 24 February 2018 by Richard J. Eisner

Gun-rights proponents now argue that the key problem in the epidemic of civilian gun massacres is, not guns, but the mental illness of those who commit the atrocities, with the suggestion that we should therefore focus, not on guns, but on "mental illness," and on keeping the mentally ill from acquiring guns. But even if we define the intent or the planning to commit mass murder as mental illness, some of these killers acquire their guns before they form that intent. And often people who interacted with the mass murderer before the crime, even recently before, express surprise and shock on learning of that person's being the perpetrator, and they say: "That's not the person I knew." In other words, whatever mental illness these killers may have, they're shrewd enough to effectively hide it from the world, so as to accomplish their deadly purpose. The fact is, many of those killers, when they acquire their guns, have no readily detectable signs of serious mental illness (and no public record of antisocial acts). Because we cannot reliably identify such dangerous persons before they commit a crime, it seems that the sole way reliably to keep extremely dangerous weapons away from dangerous people, is to keep them away from everyone. And as between, on one hand, those weapons being widely available, including to persons bent on mayhem, and, on the other hand, their being available to no one-the latter option's preferability seems obvious. I, for one, would gladly give up my right to possess those weapons, for the sake of public safety. An AR-15 assault rifle is not particularly good for hunting, for precision target shooting, or, for that matter, for self-defense. As to the claim that a citizen needs a weapon like that to resist an oppressive government, even an AR-15 would be about as effective as a BB gun against a military force wielding machine guns, artillery pieces, tanks, ships, planes, and bombs. But until the coming of that great fantasized apocalypse, citizens are being massacred. And we must do something to stop it.

44. Does the Universe have a Purpose?     © 23 February 2014 by Richard J. Eisner

Does the universe have a purpose? Consider the human lung. We might say that its purpose is to enable men to breathe. But what’s the universe’s purpose? It would seem that, if it has any purpose, the purpose would somehow involve life. A universe with no life—with just a bunch of stars and barren planets flying around—would be pointless. So perhaps the universe’s purpose is to serve as man’s home. In other words, like the lung, its purpose is to enable man’s existence. So the question of the purpose of the universe collapses to the question of the purpose of man. But if all men were irredeemably unhappy, man’s existence would seem pointless. Which suggests that what’s purposeful is happiness. Unhappiness would not be merely pointless; rather, it would have a sort of negative purpose. It seems, then, that purpose is closely related to value. As I’ve shown (elsewhere, and I won’t rehearse the argument for it here), intrinsic value is impossible. But there is what we might call extrinsic value—what we value. Correspondingly, there is no intrinsic purpose, but there is extrinsic purpose—the state of mind akin to intention, or what we want, a property of individuals, not of man. Extrinsic purpose is subjective: your “mission in life” does not exist prior to and independent of you, awaiting your discovery of it, but instead arises from you. Different people have different purposes, and not all of them involve happiness, which we often sacrifice for other desiderata. For example, my own purpose is to write well. Another man’s purpose may be to get rich; or to help his family; or to do God’s will.

             As to the proposal that we have the creator, God’s purpose for us, the same analysis applies. Even if we assumed (against reason) that God exists, God could confer neither intrinsic value nor intrinsic purpose on man. God’s purpose, likewise, would be extrinsic—it would be God’s purpose, not man’s purpose.

45. Desire     © 5 July 2014 by Richard J. Eisner

The so-called good-based theory of desire (“For a person to desire P is for him to believe P is good”) is demonstrably wrong, since we can desire what we believe is bad (like craving a piece of cake, knowing it’s unhealthy). More generally, the good-based theory is fallacious because desire is a matter of feeling, while belief is a matter of intellect; and the two (head and heart) are fundamentally different, and not infrequently (if not always) in conflict (as with the cake). More generally still (this is an observation a philosopher should use sparingly), in many contexts desire is not susceptible of philosophical rigor, which puts too fine point on it; it's better understood by reference to a dictionary than to a philosophy book.

46. John Rawls     © 20 December 2014 by Richard J. Eisner

I largely agree with Rawls’s “justice-as-fairness” thesis, except his “difference-principle,” according to which social and economic inequalities must be to the greatest benefit of the least-advantaged class in society. Rawls says that the difference-principle differentiates his conception from the variety of Utilitarianism known as average utility: the principle that society should be structured so as to produce the greatest per capita utility (utility being roughly equivalent to well-being). The difference-principle is indeed inconsistent with average utility. And therein lies its flaw, as shown by this hypothetical example. Take a society comprising a billion and one people. A billion of them are constantly mildly happy. The remaining one also is constantly mildly happy, except for two hours a year when he's mildly sad. This state of affairs could be changed so that the billion become better off, in being constantly ecstatic (ecstatic is much better than mildly happy), but the other man becomes worse off, in that his yearly period of mild sadness doubles, to four hours. Average utility would compel, but Rawls’s difference-principle would preclude, this (clearly-for-the-better) change.

             Yet the difference-principle is likewise inconsistent with justice-as-fairness, because justice-as-fairness implies average utility. Rawls’s basic argument for justice-as-fairness is the veil-of-ignorance thought experiment, whereby he argues that justice-as-fairness is the societal arrangement that would be chosen by a self-interested, rational person for himself to be born into if he were ignorant of the conditions of his birth, like his social position, wealth, income, race, religion, sex, health, intelligence, talents, and motivation. This thought experiment, together with Rawls’s pervasive insistence on equality, implies the standard of the maximum well-being of a randomly selected person, which translates to maximum per capita well-being.

             Thus the difference-principle should be modified or replaced, or excised. And justice-as-fairness should be described, not as a doctrine in conflict with Utilitarianism, but rather as a form of Rule Utilitarianism, whereby following its principles is simply more likely to maximize utility than is aiming at it directly.

             Footnote. Query: Given the importance to a person’s well-being of income and wealth; our ability to distribute them; and Rawls’s emphasis on equality—why does Rawls classify those (income and wealth) as conditions of birth, rather than as social elements to be decided on?

47. Justice     © 14 February 2015 by Richard J. Eisner

My philosophizing about justice is marred by my own interest. My own interest, to be a famous writer, gives me a motive to suppress the work of other writers, to reduce my competition, my doing which would be unjust, to them, and perhaps also to society at large. With my personal interest, can I even know what I think justice dictates? If I can somehow force myself to discover what I might think about it in an unbiased state of mind, I can write down my thought, which is philosophizing about justice. I’ll try.

             Justice is the proper allocation of goods among conscious beings. (Justice may demand reward [an increase of good] or punishment [a decrease of good].)

             Starting in the abstract, if it were up to me, as a sort of hypothetical god, wishing to do justice, and beginning with a blank slate—no existent beings (except me)—how would I proceed? Prefatorily, no matter how many beings exist, even if infinitely many, only an infinitesimal portion of possible beings can actually exist. This bears on justice, for, necessarily, if some are, then some potential beings will enjoy the benefits of existence, and others not. One option would be to actualize no one, maintaining perfect equality among all potential beings. An alternative would be to create a profusion of ecstatic beings. I would prefer this option, since the disparity (some existing but most others not) is unavoidable, and nonexistent beings would not feel the sting of any prejudice against them. I wouldn’t even have to make the existent beings equally ecstatic, for in an abstract world, unburdened by a scarcity of resources, a gain by one would not mean a loss by another. And no such being would be unhappy having less ecstacy than others—by creation, he would be ecstatic, and exactly as ecstatic as he was made.

             But let’s consider the real world. Now, justice is not the same as goodness, and the two need not coincide. Imagine there are one hundred ten persons. Fifty of them grievously and maliciously harm the other sixty. You have this choice: Either the fifty wrongdoers die, and the sixty victims turn into very (and equally) happy persons, living together in harmony; or the sixty victims die, and the fifty become very happy persons living in harmony. While all of the fifty would be equally happy, they would be slightly happier than the sixty—enough so, in fact, that even their total happiness would be greater. Arguably, the latter would be a better but less just world.

             As a practical matter, the supposedly better second situation (the fifty wrongdoers’ surviving) would never be selected if the sixty victims, the majority, made the decision—they would choose the first situation (their surviving) because it benefits them, and they would rationalize it as being required by justice.

             But even if we say that we would bring about the best possible world, regardless of justice, justice must be taken into account, since we are so constituted that our perception of justice is an element in our happiness. We will be less happy if we think that an injustice has been done—at least if we think it has been done to us. Conversely, of course (by definition), the good is an element of justice. Justice may indicate punishment, but disproportionate punishment is unjust. Generally, an unwarranted, avoidable deprivation of good is unjust to those affected.

             Perhaps we decide our affairs on the basis of three contending forces: our perception of justice; our perception of the good; and self-interest.

             In this messy world, can these three disparate forces ever coalesce, to helpfully point our way? I think so. They can unite if we focus on the element that is both the most easily manipulable and yet also the most strongly determinative of the distribution of people’s opportunity to pursue their conception of the good life (including their ability to express themselves artistically)—money. The constraints on our ability to control the world I think on balance actually help us in this regard. Our task is more difficult than that of a god in an abstract world, for we must deal with men’s tricky feelings and personalities. But our task is easier than a god’s task would be in this world. For example, I would not have to decide how much innate talent people should have. All I would have to decide is how much money they should have, a more superficial responsibility, which avoids my deepest psychological demons.

             The unification of these three forces through economics is usefully introduced by a meditation on the current healthcare debate.

             Reasons against a right to healthcare are objections by those who have it to giving it to those who don’t have it. Take the prolonging of wait times. This adversely affects just those who already have access to the healthcare service in question. It does not adversely affect those who don’t have access to it, because they now have no wait time—they simply don’t get it; for them, getting it at all, whatever the wait time, would be an improvement. Arguments against a right to healthcare are selfish, implicitly saying, “Sharing with you means less for me.”

             The foregoing observation prompts a question. Some who have no, or very little, access to healthcare may want it treated as a right so as to gain access (or greater access) to it themselves. This, too, is self-interested. But is it selfish, in the bad sense in which I imply that the opposite stance is selfish? No. The difference is that pursuing more than one’s fair share is wrong; but demanding one’s fair share is right, even commendable.

             And I think that, by and large, a fair share is a roughly equal share. Why? One, in this real world with scarce resources, equality means that no one’s well-being comes at another’s expense. Chiefly, though, it has to do with utility: In general, with respect to a given population; the greater the disparity in wealth, the less the per capita happiness or well-being. By the law of diminishing returns, a certain amount of money means more to a poorer man than to a richer one: a billion dollars would not make a millionaire a thousand times—or any—happier, but even the relatively small sum needed to give a homeless man a home would significantly increase his quality of life; wherefore, equality maximizes per capita well-being (which [the maximization of per capita well-being] should be the guiding principle).

             Economic equality, then, furthers justice, goodness, and people’s (enlightened) self-interest because it maximizes well-being.

48. Justice and Marx     © 18 September 2018 by Richard J. Eisner

● It has been noted that Marx often and in many ways implies that capitalism is unjust, and that communism is just, but he never (explicitly) declares it. One commentator has explained this feature of Marx’s work by proposing that Marx “believed that capitalism was unjust, but did not believe that he believed it was unjust.” “In other words, Marx, like many of us, did not have perfect knowledge of his own mind.” I think that’s unlikely (that Marx believed it, but didn’t believe that he believed it—that he didn’t know his own mind). Here, I think, is a more likely explanation: Marx’s main, and more important, theory was a factual one: that social forces would eventually and inevitably cause capitalism to collapse and be replaced by communism. He also, incidentally, thought, or felt, that capitalism was unjust, and that its replacement by communism was just.

            In some of my own essays, I start with a statement of objective truth on the topic at hand, and then give my own (subjective) opinion, or sentiment, on it. In fact, I’ve used that pattern as the structural scheme in some of my works. Unlike me, Marx could not quite work out how to integrate the two aspects of his thought—his main social, factual theory, and his moral sentiment on the subject. He may even have felt they were in some way inconsistent. So he simply chose not to dwell on the latter aspect. But this hardly means that he was unaware that he had those thoughts or sentiments.

● On the other hand, some argue that Marx actually thinks that capitalism is not unjust, and does not think that communism is just (meaning, not that he thinks communism unjust, but merely that he would not use “just” to describe it). Indeed, a more general clarification of just is in order. It cannot mean simply “not unjust.” My eating spaghetti for dinner tonight instead of macaroni is not unjust, yet “just” seems far too grand a word for it. I think justice properly refers to what justice demands, usually in response to, or as a remedy for, an injustice. For example, if someone commits murder (an injustice), we might think that justice demands that the murderer be punished, and perhaps that he make reparation to the victim’s family.

            But if Marx thinks that capitalism is not unjust and that communism is not properly described as just, why?—what’s his argument? Let’s take capitalism first. I frankly see no convincing arguments on Marx’s part here. (Perhaps they’re there, and I just don’t see them.) A situation, as Marx acknowledges capitalism is, wherein a privileged few live in extravagance by stealing from and impoverishing the many—whatever you call it, or don’t call it, seems a classic, paradigm case of injustice. So if Marx thinks that capitalism is not unjust—he’s just wrong.

            As to communism not being just, Marx’s argument seems to be that communism transcends justice. The purpose of justice, he reasons, is to resolve disputes. But there would be no disputes under communism (and hence no need for dispute resolution [justice]), for two reasons. First, communism would bring about such great material abundance that everyone could have all he wants without taking from anyone else. But such a state of affairs will never be. It’s pure fantasy, the stuff of thought experiments, or the religious notion of heaven, which Marx purports to disdain. Besides, like a mixed metaphor, it confuses concepts. That kind of abundance could happen only through a (fantastical) technological breakthrough. But communism is an economic revolution, not a technological one.

            The second reason why, in Marx’s vision, there would be no disputes under communism is that it would bring about complete fellow-feeling among all people. This seems just as illusory as the other supposition, but let’s indulge in the thought experiment: Imagine that there’s total fellow-feeling. Everyone feels he’s on the same team, works hard for the commonweal, and never begrudges anyone else anything—everyone, that is, except one man. He’s still selfish; he takes advantage of everyone else’s generosity and maneuvers the situation so that he does no work, but amasses great wealth, at everyone else’s expense. Now, it seems to me that justice serves at least two functions: yes, it deals with resolution of disputes; but it also, and more fundamentally, deals with the proper distribution of goods among people. And even if the first function is not needed, the second still is. Is theft not unjust merely because the victim doesn’t know he’s been robbed, and makes no claim against the thief? Even with complete fellow-feeling, we would still need to see to the proper allocation of goods among people.

            Capitalism and communism are economic systems. The essence of an economic system is distribution of goods among people. If capitalism should be replaced because it’s unjust, and communism is the ideal economic system that should replace it, then communism is demanded by justice, and so is just.

● If Marx thought communism just, his particular theory of justice would probably be his famous formulation that each person should contribute according to his ability and receive according to his need. My own particular theory of justice is, essentially (with many provisos), average utility (or happiness or well-being). The two theories not only differ, but potentially conflict, because supplying the needs of one person or group might reduce average well-being. Take a society composed of one hundred people. Ninety-nine are happy, with, say, 8 units of happiness apiece. The other person’s level of happiness is only 7; he has a rare disease, and needs a million dollars’ worth of medical care a month to keep him alive, which money would have to be supplied by the other ninety-nine people. He needs it, and they can give it. But that expense would deplete the others’ funds enough to cause their level of happiness to diminish to 7 units apiece (versus 8 if they let the sick man die, and saved the money). Hence Marx’s ethic would be for the expenditure; mine, against it. If the average utility standard were adopted, however, it should not be applied strictly or mechanically, for we don’t want to live in a cold, compassionless world.

49. Nothingness     © 24 November 2015 by Richard J. Eisner

Could there be nothing? To start with, there is something—at very least me (or my awareness). One problem with the possibility of nothing is that, just as something cannot come from nothing, nothing cannot come from something. This does not apply to awareness, however, since every sentient creature could die, and not be replaced. (And yet, how do we classify a past experience? Is it a sort of existence? If so, then perhaps the nonexistence even of experience is impossible, because, while it can cease to be now, its having-been cannot be undone. If not—if an awareness’s once having been, does not count as existence—then, arguably, after we die, our having been [except what we create for posterity] is equivalent to our not having been, and does not matter.) But there is also non-sentient stuff, which, it would seem, cannot come to naught.

             In a larger sense, if we imagine total nothingness, what sorts of things would we still allow to “exist”?—those that are in all logically possible worlds, or necessarily existing things, like mathematical truths (“Twice two is four,” for example). Conversely, the sorts of things we think would not exist if there were nothing are contingent things, those that are in some logically possible worlds, but not in others. Saying that, the question seems almost to answer itself. There is a logically possible world that contains no contingent things. And hence nothingness is physically impossible, but logically possible.

50. Explanation, Reason, Cause     © 30 January 2016 by Richard J. Eisner

● To posit that everything has a reason for being, because omniscient and omnipotent God made it all, and He had a good reason for it—is to anthropomorphize the universe.

● The philosophers who espouse the Principle of Sufficient Reason (the “PSR”) talk about things having reasons (plural). But if there is explanation, reason, cause; why should it be discrete, multiple? Why should there not be just one explanation, reason, or cause—for the whole? And where and when does the cause leave off and the effect begin?

● Descartes maintains that necessary truths (like “Twice two is four”) are caused (by God). He’s wrong. A necessary truth cannot be caused, since cause implies that what is caused could have been different, and that at some time (before it was caused) it did not exist. But a necessary truth could not be different, and (necessarily) always was. I give two reasons despite the PSP, the Principle of Sufficient Proof (my own invention, or discovery): the principle that one conclusive proof (or disproof) of a proposition is sufficient.

● There is no “filler”
In the field of stars at night:
Each one is a gem.
All that is, is; conflicts none,
Just our misunderstandings.

51. Explanation, Reason, Cause: Rebuttal to Robert     © 10 July 2016 by Richard J. Eisner

In his “Fallacies and Confusions” (3 May 2016) Robert attacks several of the theses I state in my above “Explanation, Reason, Cause” (30 January 2016).

             He starts with this thesis of mine, which he quotes: “To posit that everything has a reason for being, because omniscient and omnipotent God made it all, and He had a good reason for it—is to anthropomorphize the universe.”

             Robert writes: “First, ‘to posit’ is to suppose. We may suppose anything we like. Our conclusions may be false, or even absurd, but they will follow (if we use good logic) from our suppositions. If our supposition is false—and it may well be—then our conclusion may be false as well.” That’s true. But irrelevant. Yes, a person is free to suppose anything he likes. And when he does, the rest of us are free to comment on its truth and its implications. If, on the other hand, Robert’s point is that I should have said “argue” instead of “posit,” because “posit” pertains just to single, simple propositions, and what I’m criticizing is not a proposition but an argument, it’s a quibble.

             Robert continues: “And if we suppose the universe, or its elements, has purposes, we by no means have to suppose an anthropomorphic being is the source of them . . .” This, too, is true but irrelevant. The issue is not whether a purposeful universe implies an anthropomorphic creator, but whether our supposing a purposeful creator as the reason for the universe’s purposefulness constitutes our anthropomorphizing the universe.

             Robert finally gets to a relevant point in his next paragraph: “Second, suppose there was in fact an omniscient, omnipotent being, full of purposes and intentions, with some great ‘plan’ for the universe, and for us. Such a being need not be ‘anthropomorphic’ at all.” I disagree. Parenthetically, you cannot (rationally) suppose “there is in fact” such a being, since it’s impossible. (See my “On the Impossibility of Knowledge, Free Will, and God”—above.) But here’s the main point. It’s been said that man was not created in God’s image; but, rather, God was created in man’s image. I agree. I think that the traditional concept of God (which Robert describes) is a peculiar figment of the human mind: it is a man blown up in our imagination to cosmic proportions. Like a man (or an ideal man), it is conscious, intelligent, knowing, wise, purposeful, and well-meaning. We’ve given God human traits, which is to anthropomorphize.

             Robert’s next attack on my opening thesis is this: “Third, the existence of a ‘God’ (an omniscient, omnipotent creator) does not entail that the universe need be ‘anthropomorphic.’ Either Richard misspoke, or he has something like the erroneous view of a pantheistic ‘Brahmin’ of Hindu lore in mind (the universe as a ‘man,’ hence, it is ‘anthropomorphic’). No one I can think of ever thought of the universe as ‘anthropomorphic’ (even Hindus—Brahmin is not seen by them as ‘a man’; that is a Western Judeo-Christian-Muslim conceit). In the West people think of the creator as anthropomorphic [What?! Wasn’t Robert just before arguing against that assertion?], and humans as ‘made in the likeness of God’ (anthropomorphism), but never the universe as a man-like being.”

             No, I didn’t misspeak. But perhaps Robert did. My argument (which Robert has been discussing) is to equate the universe, not with a man, but with God. What Robert probably meant, or would have meant, and probably would have said if he hadn’t misspoken, is a variation on what he did say. (A good philosopher adheres to the principle of intellectual charity, whereby, in going over another man’s argument, you address the strongest possible interpretation of it, rather than the weakest.) What Robert should have said is this: God is not the same as the universe; He is contained within the universe and smaller than it. So even if God is anthropomorphic, that doesn’t mean that the universe is. I agree. But we’re not talking about how Robert or I view it, but about how those who posit the thesis I reference view it. And they equate the universe with God. They don’t see God as smaller than the universe. They see the two as coextensive. If you ask them where God is, they’ll say, “God is everywhere.” (I guess that’s what “omnipresent” means.) Indeed, God is perhaps bigger than the universe. God didn’t just pop up in the universe (which would be more reasonable), but the other way round: God created the universe, and everything in it. And everything has the good reason for being that God gave it. In other words, as these people see it, the universe is totally infused and identified with God. And since God is anthropomorphic, the universe, too, is anthropomorphic.

             About half way through his (approximate nine-page) article, Robert attacks my third point. Quoting me, his paragraph begins, “‘Descartes maintains . . .”. Robert then says that my statement is “simply untrue.” He offers no explanation, analysis, or argument why it’s untrue. Instead, his attack consists of a disparaging remark (“Richard needs to review his Logic 101”), followed by half a page or so of some general statements on the subject of causality, none of which, as far as I can tell, contradict my claim. I’ll comment briefly on two of them. One statement of Robert’s here that at first blush seems to be a specific response, in part because it comes near the beginning, “A Cause ‘C’ of some Effect ‘E’ in no way implies that E could have had a different cause,” actually does not respond to my argument, which is that an absolute truth can have no cause, not that it can have just one cause. Two, Robert says, “[A] triangle is caused by a closed geometric figure having three sides and three angles,” possibly proposing that this is an example of an absolute truth that’s caused. My own original example (“Twice two is four”) could be rephrased in the same way: “Two and two makes (or causes) four.” But my point is not about elements within the statement, but about the statement as a whole—that “Two and two causes four” itself has no cause. So if that’s Robert’s argument, it fails.

             This approach of Robert’s, which could be described as argument by insinuation and disparagement, relieves him of having to grapple with my argument; of having to determine whether it’s sound; and of having to identify and articulate the flaw in it, if it is flawed. He doesn’t even have to understand it. He perhaps believes that if he makes his writing long-winded enough, and full enough of pedantic jargon, a lay audience won’t scrutinize it, that they’ll assume that he knows what he’s talking about, that what he says is pertinent, and that his criticisms and insults are just—that readers won’t see through him. There’s another word for Robert’s approach: intellectual dishonesty. And this isn’t the first time I’ve called him on it. See my 23 February 2013 entry in the “Moral Luck” topic on this website. [That website is now defunct.]

             Robert’s final attack on me comes at the very end of his item, which he closes with these words: “. . . Richard seems to endorse Reveen’s view that there isn’t anything at all—a curious position to take for a man who takes pains to post his contact information at the end of every post.” Robert’s comment that I endorse the view that “there isn’t anything at all” makes no more sense than his other attacks on me. Again, he doesn’t explain it. It’s not what I believe. More important, nothing in my piece (or in anything I’ve ever written), I think, supports Robert’s conclusion. Indeed, quite the contrary; if I talk about anthropomorphizing the universe, then I believe in the universe, and man; and toward the end of my piece I say: “All that is, is.” Which includes me . . .

— Richard J. Eisner (1-818-343-0123; richard@richardeisner.com)

52. Black Lives Matter     © 15 August 2016 by Richard J. Eisner

Some have criticized the Black Lives Matter movement with the retort, “All lives matter.” Glenn Beck recently commented that that criticism makes no more sense than criticizing him for objecting to a waiter’s failing to bring his order of pie, while bringing pie for everyone else at the table, by retorting, “No, Glenn, all pie matters.” Beck’s focusing exclusively on his own pie is reasonable, since it was just his pie that was not brought. That’s the point. But let me elaborate.

             In the national epidemic of unjustified police killings of civilians, if the victims’ race was not a factor, if the killings were apparently random with respect to race, if the proportion of Black victims and of White victims roughly corresponded to their proportion in the population—in those circumstances, if Black people complained about the Black victims, shouting, “Black lives matter!”; the rest of us could rightly reply, “What about the White victims—don’t they matter, too?! Don’t all lives matter?!”

             But if, as seems to be the case, almost all of the victims are Black; and they’re being killed because they’re Black—the response by Black people of “Black lives matter!” responds exactly pertinently to the situation, which is that, apparently, judging from the actions of those policemen, and, perhaps even more important, of the so-called justice system, which refuses to punish them for it—in their eyes, Black lives don’t matter. If you want the phrase “Black lives matter!” to be inapposite, end the police murder of Black people.

53. Confederate Statues Should be Removed     © 27 June 2020 by Richard J. Eisner

In her September 2017 essay “Destroying Confederate Monuments Hurts Us All—and Accomplishes Nothing,” Cheryl Benard argues for that conclusion—or is that her conclusion? A significant problem with Benard’s argument is that it’s not clear what her conclusion is. She rails against, alternately, destruction and removal. I agree with her that no monument or any work of art should be destroyed; but I disagree that none should be removed. Perhaps neither would Benard herself support a blanket prohibition on removal. She starts her essay’s last paragraph with this sentence: “It’s true, of course, that there are historic personages who should not be honored or venerated.” But that’s what a public statue does: it honors the person depicted. We don’t erect statues to those we despise.

             Julian Baggini, in his (June 2020?) essay “Not All Slopes are Slippery,” argues that removing offensive statues is not a slippery slope, in which the removal of any inevitably leads to the removal of practically all. There’s good reason to remove some, but also good reason to keep many others. We must think it through carefully, and make a thoughtful determination in each case. He offers what I think is a useful three-part test for deciding whether to remove a given statue: one, Is the achievement for which the subject is being celebrated closely tied to his sins?; two, Was he significantly worse than others of his time?; and three, How recent was the offense? Especially apropos here is the first prong: Confederate statues recognize their subjects precisely for their part in the fight to perpetuate the enslavement of black people. Moreover, today’s (black) descendants of those former slaves continue to suffer from slavery’s legacy: widespread racism against them, including general impoverishment and frequent murder by police. A fourth relevant factor in deciding a statue’s fate, not mentioned by Baggini, but implied, is whether it genuinely causes offense to and distress in a significant number of people. To black people, those statues are like a giant extended middle finger, which causes them considerable pain—and that was the intent. Hence, those monuments should be removed from their prominent public pedestals, and be put in museums or special parks. It may be that someday, when racism has long since been banished, and brotherhood and equality reign, we might all be able to laugh at statues of Confederate generals and politicians, seeing them as monuments to our former ignorance and wrongheadedness; then we might harmlessly return the statues to their original places. But that’s not today.