For those who have read Heidegger before: this book is definitely his magnum opus. Within it he establishes a point of departure for all of his later thought and works. It is also the most engaging and enlightening read you will encounter in his repertoire. Compared to Heidegger's post-kehre writings, you will find the material and style in Being and Time to be far more precise and clear [a very difficult feat indeed considering the elusive nature of the subject matter]. Also, reading this book more than once is a must! Do not be surprised if after the first read you feel as though you are missing something - you probably are.
Martin Heidegger's Being and Time (1927) is one of the most rigorous and methodically constructed treatises you will find anywhere in philosophy. Heidegger is known for his difficulty, but this book holds an added challenge due to its cumulative dependence. What I mean is, you cannot possibly come to fully grasp the later sections of the book without grasping earlier sections. Every bit of the author's impressive terminology (whether it be a common term imbued with new meaning or a clever neologism) is systematically chosen, introduced, questioned, and developed as the text moves along. If you have never read Heidegger before, expect to reread certain paragraphs at least twice before their meaning begins to dawn on you. If you are persistent, the meaning of his precisely formulated sentences will cause you to perceive the world in entirely new ways. I recommend - at least at first - taking this book in small doses. If you feel your mind wandering at all just stop and go back to it later. If you are looking to scan this book for tidbits of wisdom you will likely be disappointed. Alternately, I would plan on a commitment of at least a few months if you want to glean anything at all from the text. For those who have read Heidegger before: this book is definitely his magnum opus. Within it he establishes a point of departure for all of his later thought and works. It is also the most engaging and enlightening read you will encounter in his repertoire. Compared to Heidegger's post-kehre writings, you will find the material and style in Being and Time to be far more precise and clear [a very difficult feat indeed considering the elusive nature of the subject matter]. Also, reading this book more than once is a must! Do not be surprised if after the first read you feel as though you are missing something - you probably are.
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In 1078 the Italian theologian Saint Anselm, in his Proslogion, presented one of the earliest rational arguments for God’s existence [known as the ontological argument]. The Oxford Philosophy Dictionary presents the argument as follows:
God is something than which nothing greater can be conceived. God then exists in the understanding, since we understand this concept. But if He only existed in the understanding, something greater could be conceived, for a being that exists in reality is greater than one that exists only in the understanding. But then we can conceive of something greater than that than which nothing greater can be conceived, which is contradictory. Hence, God cannot exist only in the understanding, but also exists in reality.Is this argument sound? Does it prove the existence of God? Seemingly it does. The only apparent weaknesses in it are the characterization of God as ‘something’ [obviously if God did exist then God’s existence would transcend that of merely being a thing (since God is supposedly the supreme being)] and the adjective ‘greater,’ which may inadvertently introduce an element of subjectivism. But if we clarify the meaning of ‘something’ and ‘greater’ perhaps the argument will be strengthened. What does Anselm mean by ‘something than which nothing greater can be conceived’? If we conceive of every phenomenon present in every space at every time, and conceive of something greater than this, it can only be spatiotemporal omnipresence. What characterizes ‘presence’ is being in a particular space at a particular time, whereas omnipresence is characterized as being in all spaces at all times. Omnipresence is that of which no greater spatiotemporality can be conceived. While we cannot comprehend that which is omnipresent [for comprehension only functions in the realm of presences], we can comprehend that for the omnipresent to be incomprehensible, it must first of all be. The being – or existence – of this entity is thus substantiated by its incomprehensibility. As Kierkegaard says, “...how deceptive then, that an omnipresent being should be recognizable precisely by being invisible, only and alone recognizable by this trait, since his visibility would annul his omnipresence.” Science’s belief in a ‘Cosmos’ (a universe which exhibits interconnectedness and order) is no different from the belief in a spatiotemporally omnipresent entity: viz., a deity. Thus with minimal semantic clarification, Anselm’s argument can be shown to be sound. However, there was a monk in his time, Guanilo of Marmoutiers, who formulated a notable refutation to the argument. Guanilo’s refutation consists in the assertion that Anselm’s pattern of reasoning could be utilized to prove the existence of a perfect island. Let us test his assertion, referring to the island as Avalon: Avalon is the island of which none more perfect can be conceived. Avalon then exists in the understanding, since we understand this concept. But if it only existed in the understanding, an island more perfect could be conceived, for a perfect island existing in reality is more perfect than one existing only in the understanding. But then we can conceive of an island more perfect than the island of which none more perfect can be conceived, which is contradictory. Hence, Avalon cannot only exist in the understanding, but also exists in reality.The adjective ‘perfect’ obviously weakens this refutation (for it is a purely aesthetic term, viz. it is inescapably subjective). Meaning that Avalon cannot actually exist in the understanding because there can be no valid concept of perfection. For instance: is the perfect island’s perfection such because it contains certain numbers of certain species of tree? Is it perfect because only a certain number of mammals inhabit it? Is it devoid of insects? Is it x kilometers from the nearest mainland, at y latitude and z longitude? Perfection is obviously indefinable. The second weakness of his refutation is the fact that God is – by definition – greater than Avalon. Comparing Avalon to God is like comparing a water molecule to the ocean. Guanilo’s refutation is hence invalid (however intriguing). But although Guanilo’s refutation is unsound, his concept of the perfect island is utilizable. If we were to name the universe Avalon, and therewith conceive of it as an island of existence in a sea of nonexistence, its character as self-limiting – which is to say, its character of being limited by nothing – becomes conceivable (at least in words). How an Avalon universe derives existence from nonexistence – or as the Taoists would say, how Being is born of non-being [Daodejing 40] – is precisely that which is ungraspable of it. Moreover, does there exist a cosmological hypothesis which coheres to the Avalon universe more so than the others? For instance there is the open universe, which expands forever, the closed universe, which will eventually collapse into itself, and the phoenix universe, which expands then collapses then expands then collapses. Recent observations (1998) suggest that the universe’s expansion rate is accelerating, which seems to support the open universe hypothesis. Being that neither the closed nor the phoenix hypotheses seem to cohere to the Avalon universe any more than does the open hypothesis, for now we must conclude – in accordance with observation and linguistic conceivability – that we live in an open-Avalon universe. Addendum (2017): apparently when I wrote this essay I believed, or at least wanted to believe, that Anselm’s argument was sound. However, rereading it now – and having become far more acquainted with Kierkegaard’s thoughts on the matter – I do not perceive the argument [or any supposed proof of God’s existence] as valid. What characterizes a God-relationship is not such that it can be achieved by logical deduction, mathematical proof, or by the endless accumulation of scientific data. Alternately, only Kierkegaard’s leap of faith or something like it can bring one to this achievement. Even so, I am unsure whether I am the type of person who can make such a leap. Perhaps not everyone is meant to be as religious as Kierkegaard wanted to be.
In 1967 the English philosopher Philippa Foot proposed an ethical problem involving a runaway trolley which – if not interfered with – would barrel down the left fork of a track (where five people would be killed), but if interfered with, would go down the right fork (where one person would be killed). The problem falls on the bystander, who must decide whether or not to interfere. Which decision is ethical? The acts/omissions doctrine, in conceiving of acts and omissions to act as ethically unequal, would support the decision of non-interference: for whom has the bystander harmed by letting the trolley take its course? This is obviously a doctrine of free will. In other words, it was not the will of the bystander that the trolley be a runaway trolley, therefore it is not his or her fault when it kills the five people; nor is it the bystander’s responsibility to save the five by killing the one. From the perspective of determinism however – still under the assumption that the death of five people is worse than the death of one – the impulse to interfere is just as fateful as the runaway trolley itself, therefore the ability to act obliges the bystander to interfere. A deterministic ethics does not conceive of acts and omissions as unequal. Hence it perceives not interfering as an unethical act in itself. The essential dilemma of the trolley problem is then free will versus determinism, which is a metaphysical problem. With the inability to discern whether the universe is freewill or deterministic, or even the conclusion that it is governed equally by both free will and determinism, comes the inability to decide ethically between non-interference and interference. If the universe is governed by free will alone, then the trolley is not the bystander’s responsibility, and thus interfering would be unethical. If the universe is governed by determinism alone, then the trolley is the bystander’s responsibility, and interfering would be ethical. The principle of double effect arises within these considerations due to the fact of either decision resulting in an effect which is both good and bad, which is to say, in both cases someone lives and someone dies. But what if we were to remove the assumptions of the trolley problem, the first being that five people are better than one person, and the second being that the people on the tracks are strangers [the third assumption, which will be omitted here due to its instinctual character and undeniable significance for our survival, is that death is bad and life is good], what decisions regarding interference and non-interference would result? Let us say that the people on the left, who will be killed if we do not interfere, are a racist mob, and the person on the right, who will survive if we do not interfere, is Albert Einstein. Being that the one in this case is generally considered to be good, whereas the five are considered to be evil, the obvious decision arrived at (nearly without thought) is non-interference. Who cares if the trolley kills a racist mob? The answer is: virtually no one. Let us now say that the people on the left are a team of cancer-curing scientists, and the person on the right is Adolf Hitler. All of a sudden not interfering becomes unethical, and we decide to save the five and kill the one. But have we not murdered Hitler if we do this? And are we not just as much murderers as we would claim him to be (that supposed evidence of his evil)? The same holds for the previous scenario: is it an act of murder to let the racist mob die by not interfering (only because we do not wish to kill Einstein)? We will not attempt to answer these questions yet, but will only acknowledge that in the first instance – of interference being unethical – as in the second – of it being ethical – there are preexistent ethical judgments: i.e. that racist mobs and Hitler are evil, and that cancer-curing scientists and Einstein are good. Only on the basis of these preexistent judgments can the decision to interfere with the trolley become so unproblematic. Let us now say that on the left are strangers, and on the right is a family member: it is obvious that non-interference is the ethical decision. Conversely, if on the left are family members and on the right is a stranger, we obviously interfere to save our family. But in the first case it is conceivable that we have murdered strangers, and in the second case that we have murdered a stranger. Moreover, what if on the left is myself, and I have the ability to divert the trolley (which will save me, but kill a stranger in the right fork)? Is this not the instinct of self-preservation? Am I not merely surviving in this scenario? And finally, what if on the left is my family and on the right is myself, and I have the ability to divert the trolley (which will save my family, but will kill me in the process)? Is this not the instinct of self-sacrifice? Am I not merely allowing my family to survive? Considering all of these instances, it is clear that neither interference nor non-interference is absolutely classifiable as ethical or unethical. The decision in each case is dependent upon some preexistent judgment, which makes its ethicality obvious. It is not that the strangers in these examples are evil, but that family members are always valued higher than strangers (this is a judgment based solely on instinct). Neither is it that the stranger opposite me is evil, but that I am driven by instinct to value myself higher than he or she. With instinct as our basis then, we can say that any solution to the trolley problem which involves familial and/or self-preservation is ethical. But now we must return to our unanswered questions. It appears that the judgment of Hitler being evil is based solely on his detriment to humankind (his murdering many); and similarly, that the judgment of Einstein being good is based solely on his contribution to humankind (his benefiting many). These judgments taken together seem to suggest an ethics based upon the many, do they not? The same is the case with the racist mob (which murders many and is ergo evil) and the cancer-curing scientists (which benefit many and are ergo good). It is obvious in the cases of familial and self preservation that the number of people on either track is inconsequential. But if we are to solve the trolley problem by judging its track’s inhabitants based on how they are beneficial (or detrimental) to many, it is obviously not inconsequential that on the left there are five and on the right there is one. To state this more precisely: if we judge Hitler evil because of his detriment to many, we must also interfere with the trolley in order that the racist mob (the many) survives in lieu of Einstein. An ethics that judges Hitler evil and Einstein good always operates with the unstated assumption that five people are better than one. However, only a very superficial reading of the situation will result in this contradiction. For if we consider in the future how many people Hitler will be the detriment of, by killing him we benefit them. Likewise, if we consider in the future how many people the racist mob will be the detriment of, by letting them die we benefit those many. But what the acts/omissions distinction deals with is whether killing Hitler by interfering and letting die the racist mob by not interfering are both characterizable as murders. Does the ethicality of each action rest upon the intention of our decision? For instance, if the bystander’s intention is to let Einstein live, and therefore unintentionally (by not interfering) kills the racist mob, is such non-interference ethical? Conversely, if the bystander’s intention is to kill Hitler, and therefore unintentionally (by interfering) lets the cancer-curing scientists live, is such interference unethical? In other words, is intention a viable basis for ethicality? If we agree that it is, then not interfering to let Einstein live is ethical, although the racist mob dies; whereas not interfering to let the racist mob die is unethical, although Einstein lives. Not only are the outcomes of the two intentions identical, but the action which executes the intentions – that of not altering the trolley’s path – is one and the same action. Proving the bystander’s intention, therefore, is impossible; although in a Christian universe God would assuredly know it. Notwithstanding all of intention’s elusiveness, there emerges an undeniable hierarchy of value which we place upon different people within the trolley problem. The first (whom we value most) are our families; any time they are on the track we choose their lives instinctually. The second are ourselves, who we would only sacrifice for our families. The third are the good, the fourth are the strangers (good or evil), and the last are the evil. Those valued higher will always be chosen over those lower. And if, for instance, there are five Einsteins on the left and one Einstein on the right, to interfere is ethical; but if there are five Hitlers on the left and one on the right, then to not interfere becomes ethical. In light of these examples it is clear that the quantity of humans is no indicator whatsoever of their quality. And only if we have knowledge of their quality can we make a rational judgment regarding whether or not to interfere with the trolley. But given that we are ignorant of those on the tracks: by not interfering we may unintentionally let cancer-curing scientists die and a racist dictator live, or by interfering we may unintentionally save a racist mob and kill a brilliant scientist. It is clear that fate has caused the trolley to barrel out of control, but it is also clear that fate has placed us in a position with the ability to interfere. Now, we can interpret this as coincidental (and not interfere), or we can interpret this as destined (and interfere), or we can interpret it to be both (and stand indecisive for a moment). But in the end we have to choose, do we not? We either walk away or divert the trolley. We cannot do neither. I would say that since fate has brought us to the situation, we should flip a coin and let fate retain control of the situation: heads we do not interfere, tails we interfere. |
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