Category Archives: Philosophy

Spirituality and Evolution

A good friend recently steered me to a radio interview with Dr. Sherwin Nuland, author of the best-selling book How We Die. I am far too impatient to listen to the online stream of the interview, but fortunately a transcript was made available, so I could read it quickly. The title of the interview was The Biology of the Spirit, and it was based on Dr. Nuland’s theory that human consciousness and spirituality are based in evolutionary biology.

Nuland believes that humans have evolved to have a sense of spirituality. Although he comes from a Jewish background, Nuland’s theory is not based in religion, but rather in his understanding of human biology and how evolution works. In his view, spirituality tends to make people happy or relaxed or content – a position that is hard to argue with. And whichever one of those words you use, it implies being well suited to survival, and thus should be selected by evolution. Or, as Nuland puts it:

“When a stimulus comes in and the brain has 50,000 different ways of responding to it, some of those are useful for survival and some of those will either prevent survival or mar survival, and the human brain, in classical evolutionary pattern, will pick the one that is healthiest, that gives greatest pleasure. What gives greater pleasure than a spiritual sense?”

What struck me about Nuland’s theory is not just how common sense it is – assuming you believe in evolution – but how it resonates with the work of theologian Gordon Kaufman. Although I was unable to get into Professor Kaufman’s class while in graduate school (a fact which still mildly annoys me), I did study his great book In Face of Mystery, in which he discusses evolution. Kaufman’s view is that when you look at the history of evolution on earth, the general trajectory is up, toward what he calls the “human and humane.” This trajectory, this evolutionary path away from animals and toward all that is human, is, for Kaufman, God.

Kaufman comes at this as a professional theologian, an ordained minister in the Mennonite Church, but his position is not far from that of Nuland, the surgeon, who says “…for the past 40,000 years since modern Homo sapiens appeared on Earth, the way we have adapted to stimuli from the outside, we have relentlessly pursued this upward course, I believe, toward creating the richness of the human spirit.”

The fact that the minister and the surgeon have come to the same conclusion, from opposite directions, doesn’t mean that the conclusion is true, of course. But for me, it gives that conclusion some intellectual valences, a certain righteousness, that it might not otherwise have. Maybe that is because I agree with the conclusion; I have long argued that being human has a spiritual quality. But I think that even if I wasn’t on board with the results, I would pay closer attention to a conclusion that was reached by two such intelligent, yet opposite, thinkers.

Greed: It’s Not Just For Wall Street

After my last post, full of invective against greed by Wall Street bankers and corporate chiefs, it’s only fair that I mention that we are all guilty of some greed. When President Obama said in his inaugural address that the current financial crisis is a result of “our collective failure to make hard choices and prepare the nation for a new age,” he wasn’t just talking about Wall Street. “Collective” means all of us, and we all share some blame. Or if not actually “all,” at least most of us.

Most of us were on a consumption binge of one sort or another. Some were buying things they didn’t need, others were buying things they couldn’t afford. The most obvious, and painful, example, is in the housing market. Folks bought more house than they could afford, and often more than they needed, seduced by low teaser rates, or by the chance to get a big win by selling it later. Others bought houses purely as investments, planning to flip them, only to be squeezed by rising mortgage payments and falling housing prices. Some refinanced with foolish mortgages, so they could “take money out of the house” and use the tax-subsidized proceeds to buy consumer products.

But it wasn’t just houses. We bought giant flat screen TVs, charging them to our credit cards. We drove around in monstrous Ford Excursions (financed by the geniuses on Wall Street), burning a gallon of gas every 15 miles. We drank bottled water instead of tap, we carried Coach purses, we stayed at 4 Seasons hotels when our income was purely Hamptons Inn.

While the Wall Street big shots may have taken huge bonuses with our tax dollars, they weren’t the only ones looking for the big score. We all wanted some goodies, whatever our income level. Those days are over. The goodies are nice, if they haven’t been repossessed, but we can’t afford them anymore. We couldn’t afford them then, which is the whole point. The days of living beyond our means are over. That doesn’t mean we’re going to be in yurts, heated only by burning cow manure. It just means that maybe we don’t need to have the biggest and newest, all the time.

Obama: Greed is “Shameful”

This is the second in a series of posts about the need for Americans to step up and be more responsible. We all knew this need was coming – it has been a theme running through many of my posts – but when President Obama called it out during his inaugural address, I decided to address it more directly. My first entry in this series was about NIMBY attitudes preventing environmental projects from moving forward. Today’s entry is about greed, particularly among corporate executives and Wall Street bankers.

When Obama said during his inauguration that “what is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition on the part of every American that we have duties to ourselves, our nation and the world,” my guess is that he meant businesspeople too. And yet just three days after the inauguration, the Wall Street Journal ran an article about companies using dicey calculations to boost the value of pension payments they are making to senior executives. I won’t get into the mathematical details, but the basic story is that instead of using IRS rates to discount the value of future pension payments, companies are using their own rates, to generate a higher payment.

For example, one of the executives profiled, John Hammergren of McKesson, is due to receive $84.6 million, rather than the $66.4 million he would be paid using the IRS rate. This man made $38 million in 2008, $25 million in 2007 and over $10 million per year for the last several years. And on top of all this money he gets paid, he is due a pension payment of $66 million. But that isn’t enough…he seems to need even more money, so he monkeys with the numbers to boost that pension by another $20 million.

Merrill Lynch is a steady source of greed. First you have John Thain (am I the only one who thinks he’s a dead ringer for Mitt Romney?)

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spending $1 million to redecorate his office. His excuse: the redecoration was done during better times. Dude, if you’re spending $1 million of shareholder money on office decorations, you are being greedy, no matter how well your company is doing. Then there is Thomas Montag, who Thain recruited to Merrill from Goldman Sachs with a guaranteed pay package of $39 million for 2008. Mr. Montag’s debt unit lost $16 billion in Q4 of 2008. Because of those losses, taxpayers have had to invest over $20 billion in Bank of America to support its acquisition of Merrill, and agree to share losses on $118 billion in assets. But has Montag (who, let’s not forget, after 20 years at Goldman is already rich) offered to take less of his bonus? No way. Why? Because he is greedy.

Of course, the ultimate symbol of greed was the recent news that Wall Street bankers paid themselves $18 billion in bonuses while taxpayers bailed out all their companies. It was this act of greed that President Obama called “shameful.” And he was right. For bankers to insist on getting their multi-million dollar performance bonuses, when their companies clearly had not performed, and were taking taxpayer money to survive, is the apex of greed. Companies claimed that they had to pay bonuses to retain employees. Where were those employees going to go? Bear Stearns? Lehman? I don’t think so.

Look, I understand people wanting to make money. I understand the desire to be rich. But rich people grubbing for the last dollar…I have to ask: have you no sense of decency? Responsibility and duty – to the nation, to our neighbors – means sometimes leaving a little money on the table. If we are to “begin again the work of remaking America,” as President Obama encourages us to do, reducing greed is a good place to start. How can we expect to solve problems like Social Security, health care, or global warming if everyone is grabbing as much money as they can? Whether the sacrifice is flying commercial instead of private, or buying a 30″ flat screen instead of 50″, if we are going to build America back up we must all change our attitude from “I want it all now” to “I’d like most of it, but I’m willing to share.” Let’s show a little restraint and try to come together to solve some really difficult challenges.

J.S. Mill and Financial Regulation

I was recently on vacation, which gave me a chance to reread John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty. This is a classic of the individual liberty movement, and I thought this might be an apt time to revisit it, what with the government nationalizing some financial institutions and making major investments in others, and almost certainly about to heavily reregulate the financial markets.

My expectation was that Mill would provide ammunition for those arguing against government involvement, but I was wrong. In fact, Mill clearly supports a government that is active in many affairs of its citizens, as long as there are definite and specific limits to that activity. As Mill says, “the fact of living in society renders it indispensable that each should be bound to observe a certain line of conduct toward the rest.” (p 70, all quotes from the Norton edition)

But let me take a step back. The money quote that summarizes all of On Liberty is this: “the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others.” (p. 10) Mill’s basic position is that people should be allowed to do and say as they please, as long as they don’t harm anybody else. If left at this, Mill could easily be read to support a fully Libertarian position.

But Mill doesn’t leave it at that. Instead, he teases out a pretty broad definition of “harm,” and thereby a broad set of circumstances under which government can interfere in individual affairs. Continuing the quote from above, Mill notes “this conduct consists, first, in not injuring the interests of one another.” (p. 70) This sentence alone seems to support regulation of Wall Street, since virtually every trade has a counterparty whose interests are affected. Mill goes even further, claiming that the state can compel certain behavior from individuals: “to bear his fair share in the common defence, or in any other joint work necessary to the interest of the society of which he enjoys the protection.” (p. 12)

For Mill, the default position is to give people freedom, but he recognizes that a civil society involves so many interactions that the default may be infrequent, and thus there is significant warrant for government action. So while there are plenty of reasons to disagree with government policy on the financial bailout, John Stuart Mill is not one of them.

Religion and Violence

I recently attended a lecture by James Carroll, writer of Constantine’s Sword and House of War, among other books. Carroll was ordained a Catholic priest, but left the priesthood to write, and has become critical of both religion and the military-industrial complex. He combined these issues in his lecture, which was generally about war, religion and violence.

I won’t try to summarize Carroll’s lecture, which was wide ranging and full of allusions, particularly with references to Civil War violence and its place in the American psyche, but I’ll try to reconstruct the thrust of his argument. Fundamentally, Carroll believes that religion promotes violence, partly through its inherent duality – non-believers are wrong – and partly through its emphasis on martyrdom. He posits that this religious conveyance of violence is demonstrated by what he calls “irrational escalation” of violence: when individuals or states keep attacking beyond a point where it makes any sense. The bombing campaigns of the late Vietnam War are an example for Carroll of violence which a participant – in this case the US – escalated past rationality. For Carroll, the irrationality of this violence is proof of its religious origin (I’ll ignore for the purposes of this post any counterarguments, such as the role of game theory in irrational violence).

Carroll then takes this concept of escalating violence and brings it forward into the nuclear age. For him, nuclear war is fundamentally different than conventional war. While the bombing of Vietnam generated horrific deaths, it didn’t actually threaten humankind. Nuclear war does. Thus Carroll states that irrational escalation of violence, which used to be just awful, is now unacceptable, because it could destroy the world. Add in the potential of non-state actors to acquire nuclear weapons or other WMDs, and Carroll sees that religion has a duty to actively renounce violence. There are interesting parallels here to Sam Harris’ arguments in The End of Faith.

Carroll’s talk was surprisingly moving, and he received a heartfelt ovation at the end. I think the emotionality was due not only to Carroll’s outstanding oratorical skills, but also to the tremendous import of what he was discussing. This was not your standard scholarly lecture on the nexus of religiosity and violence, but rather an impassioned call for organized religion to try to save the world. Carroll’s passion was contagious; he stood, utterly firm in his analysis and resultant convictions, and we were inspired to stand with him.

It is unclear to me whether Carroll would position himself as a fully Gandhi-style non-violenceinist (no, it’s not a word), but he is absolutely trying to move the world away from institutionalized violence, pushing religion to help with that movement. In face of a history of human savagery, Carroll still hopes to create change, viewing his hope as not a futile dream, but rather an essential political act. And for the 75 people who heard him speak, we were lucky enough to experience how we can be moved and inspired by a single man’s fierce hope.

Yet again, thanks to Septa for her input.

The Myth of the Dehydrating Cocktail

People say that drinking alcohol dehydrates you. We all know the clichés: drink a glass of water between each cocktail, sip water along with your wine, chug Gatorade before you go to bed. Virtually everybody I know has a secret for surviving a long night of drinking, and those secrets always revolve around aggressive hydration. Science agrees, telling us that alcohol serves as a diuretic by inhibiting a hormone that regulates water absorption in the kidney.

I don’t care what science says. I know that my mouth waters in anticipation when I am making a cocktail; how could my mouth make this mistake? Moreover, common sense tells us that the dehydration risk is overstated. Consider the screwdriver, that most basic of cocktails. Two parts vodka to five parts orange juice. Orange juice — so wet, so delicious, so not just for breakfast any more – can’t be dehydrating, not with just two hits of vodka. Or contemplate a single beer, which has the same amount of alcohol as one shot, but diluted down with 11 ounces of sky blue water. That’s 11 times as much hydrating liquid as dehydrating alcohol.

But I don’t even care what common sense says. I reject the myth of the dehydrating cocktail because I know that drinking alcohol is more mental than physical. Drinking is a metaphysical act, transcending any impact on the body. I posit that drinking is an act of self-realization, one that affirms our own humanity. By drinking, we establish that we are more than just physical manifestations; we are controlling our minds, and thus our beings.

How can being drunk affirm the self? Because our minds make us human. Ever since that crisp French morning when Descartes said “cogito, ergo sum,” philosophers have situated the self within the mind. With lesser minds we would be nothing but tall bald monkeys; but with our big brains we achieve self-consciousness, the ontological root of humanity. By drinking, we focus on that human brain, not our bodies. With alcohol we seize control of our mind – its inhibitions and fears, the dark doubts that plague our sober thoughts – and bend it to our will.

Indeed, drinking is an act of free will, of choosing mind over matter. By controlling our mental state we control our very being, rejecting the nausea or dizziness with which our bodies seek to reclaim their concreticity. Just as we choose our minds over our bodies, we can similarly choose to reject dehydration. When drinking I affirm all that is human – and humane – about me; I prioritize my mind, and thus necessarily subjugate my body and its paltry claims of dehydration.

Deep Grief and Lost Keys

Recently I was reading a collection of religious writing and there was an essay by Patricia Monaghan called Physics and Grief about how she coped with the loss of her husband to cancer. A few months after he died, she misplaced her keys in her house, and was utterly unable to find them. She searched and searched, and finally giving up, she broke down and screamed, letting out all the accumulated grief, screaming at her husband, screaming at the universe. After, she regretted the scream, and particularly the subject: just a set of lost keys.

“If I were going to throw down the gauntlet to the universe…, couldn’t I have chosen something more important as proof? World peace? Personal economic security? A beatific vision?”

I’ve never lived through a tragedy like losing a spouse, and hope that I never do, but somehow screaming over lost keys seems entirely appropriate in a situation like hers. After suffering through something so meaningful and so horrific as a husband’s death, the least you might expect is that the little things in life would go well. I can fully see myself in her place yelling at the universe: “You took away my husband, now for fuck’s sake, at least give me my keys. You owe me that.”

The Everyday Social Contract

The concept of a social contract is not a new one. Theories of society as a collective agreement between its members have probably existed since people first began living in groups. Certainly Plato discussed society’s contract, and Rousseau’s biggest claim to fame is his 1762 book The Social Contract. The big social contract takes the form of following laws and voting and supporting the military and other major responsibilities of citizenship.

But we also enter into minicontracts every day, unspoken rules or little rituals and commitments whereby we all have to play our role to make the whole go smoothly. As an example, when you get on a city bus you effectively enter into an everyday social contract to cooperate with other passengers to make the ride work.

When you get on a city bus, you start looking for a seat. If the front seats are taken, you move to the back. If you see that all seats are taken, so you’ll have to stand, you should also move to the back. We all know this, and if we forget, we’re reminded by the driver, who continually yells “move to the back.” The only way a city bus can fill up to carry all the passengers who want to ride is for standers to keep moving back. But if even one person violates this everyday social contract, the system falls apart. If one person stands in the middle of the bus instead of the back, then nobody can get past that person, and the whole back of the aisle is empty. The back of the bus is bereft of standers, while a zillion people are crowded into the front half. How many times have you been on a bus like this, or even seen it pass by you, refusing to stop because the driver thinks it’s full, when you can see room for 10 more people in the back?

There are many other examples of everyday contracts: behavior on elevators, noise in apartment buildings, driving (go fast in the fast lane, etc.) and, of course, everyone’s hottest button, using cell phones in small spaces. In some ways, we can see the larger social contract of society as being made up of all these everyday contracts. And with these everyday contracts, one violator can cause problems for every other person who signs the contract. The question is how we keep people from violating the terms of their contract. Any ideas?