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Living & Dead Letters • Is Antinatalism Misogynistic? • Is This The End? • Listening To The Enemy • Will to Power Over The Will to Power • Islamic Issues • Critical Habermas • Sincere Hypocrisy • Tallis’s Ghost Stories

Living & Dead Letters

Dear Editor: A long with everything else in the Life & Death Issue (174), I very much enjoyed Dan Pollen’s excellent article on the pluses and minuses of eternal life. But does having eternal life mean one is indestructible, unable to be snuffed out through murder, accident, or disease? Or would a certain amount of luck still be required to escape such mishaps? If the latter, avoiding death might prove tricky, especially in a future with a proliferation of silent electric vehicles, and especially if one is more than a hundred years old. Jumping out of the path of a speeding electric truck might prove even trickier after one has passed their thousandth birthday. But that’s presuming that along with eternal life comes aging. Or does eternal life mean age is just a number, with your mind and body remaining as they were from the moment one became immortal? Only, that would mean the body’s cells never change; so if eternal life began from the moment of conception, one would never develop beyond the moment of conception. Development into adulthood requires change, yet aging and degeneration inevitably follow as a result of that change. Therefore, wouldn’t the cellular changes necessary to development mean that eternal life would be impossible? Or perhaps the scientists will find a means of replacing cellular degeneration with cellular regeneration? Being a stoic, that seems wrong to me, inspiring me to write the following poem:

While many may embrace eternal life with glee,
The very idea seems a nightmare to me,
Akin to falling down a bottomless pit,
With no relief delivered by any ground to hit.

Stefan Badham

Dear Editor: Referring to ‘Who Wants to Live Forever’, by Dan Pollen in Issue 174, I raise three issues for the anti-immortalists:

1. If God exists, is He, She, or It infinitely bored, even though infinitely creative?

2. No one has lived long enough to be able to reflect on extremely prolonged life, especially in a state of perfect health.

3. All of these discussions are framed by the very limited horizons of our current knowledge and experiences.

I will gladly drink the Elixir of Life!

Sor Awdng, U.S.A.

Dear Editor: Jimmy Alfonso Licon’s ‘Making Omelettes & A Future Like Ours’ in Issue 174 brilliantly uses the humble breakfast table to stress-test our moral intuitions. By expanding the ‘future-like-ours’ argument to fertilized chicken eggs, Licon leaves us in a classic philosophical stalemate: either accept the moral gravity of the frying pan, or abandon the ‘potential futures’ argument altogether. But perhaps there is a third way – one that views humanity as a species in the middle of a long learning process. In Mind and Cosmos, Thomas Nagel argues that a universe containing flourishing life is objectively better than one without it. If Nagel is right, a world where we can nourish ourselves without extinguishing potential animal futures is simply a better world. Right now, our moral imagination is bottlenecked by cultural habits and economic necessity: many of us simply cannot imagine breakfast without the egg. But history shows that our moral circle expands as our practical ingenuity grows: we once found societies without draft animals or slave labor unimaginable, until the industrial revolution. As human cleverness advances, the gap between our nutritional needs and our compassion will close. A better world is waiting, where we can enjoy breakfast without cutting trajectories of life short. We just haven’t fully figured out how to get there yet.

L. Silas Sterling, currentphilosophy.com

Dear Editor: In your magazine there is a wonderfully-curated ‘Shorts’ section, which gives us vital insights into the diverse and eclectic range of topics that have come under philosophy’s radar. It was a great match to pair ‘butterflies’ with the life and death theme in Issue 174, as they live for just a few days or weeks. But as Rabindranath Tagore mentions, “the butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.” And when you featured Nietzsche, I distinctly recalled this very Nietzschean quote, “If you crush a cockroach, you are a hero. If you crush a beautiful butterfly, you are evil. Morals have aesthetic criteria.”

Zubin Zarthoshtimanesh, Mumbai

Dear Editor: I’d like to thank Joshua Clements for his article about a metaphor for death: ‘Death as Life’s Picture Frame’ in Issue 174. I found the idea of death as a frame for life to be emboldening. Joshua stated that “the method of our death may be akin to patterns or decorations on the frame, accentuating, or grotesquely marring, the picture that lies within.” This led me to think that the fear of death may have more to do with an anxiety over the manner of death than the subsequent non-existence. What we fear are the thoughts, perceptions and feelings we will have at the time of our death, and that although we may have tried to live a good life, our death may involve significant physical or mental suffering.

James Priestman, Ealing, London

Is Antinatalism Misogynistic?

Dear Editor: I picked up Philosophy Now 174 at a station before a long journey, wanting something to read. I’m not a philosopher, though I have thought long and hard about the meaning of life. Unfortunately, I was frustrated by the predominantly male perspectives; particularly so concerning antinatalism. How are antinatalist ideas taken seriously, when they seem to originate from childless, withdrawn, joyless, pessimistic, insomniac males? I have experienced many joys and pains, including those of giving birth and raising children. But nothing in the article considered the perspective of mothers. Are we supposed to be perpetually guilty for imposing life on our children? Or must the realities of sex, birth, and motherhood remain conveniently out of sight for male thinkers? Thinking particularly about Heidegger and Nietzsche my question is, to what extent does philosophy promote ideas that cause suffering? Perhaps antinatalists should be called ‘antihumanists’ instead.

Several articles in Issue 174 seemed to sidestep obvious questions. For example, why does the discussion about mountaineering ignore the perspective of those who’ve mostly lived in mountains – shepherds, peasants, sherpas etc? They have not always valued mountaineering: in the past they had neither time nor resources to be mountaineers, while later on they become the (often unrecognised) facilitators of the achievements of those more privileged than themselves. Historical context matters in philosophy, as it does with everything else. Moreover, the article about Magalit’s ‘rotten compromise’ concept did not tell me which compromises in the Middle East Magalit regards as acceptable or rotten. How does his philosophy play out in practice? What is his position on, say, new settlements? Who decides if a compromise is rotten? Might a Palestinian take a different view to an American?

In future issues I will be looking out for wider perspectives, issues regarded from more than one point of view, and commentary on the real world effects of academic philosophy.

Avril Danczak, Manchester

Is This The End?

Dear Editor: Your (Grant Bartley’s) sci fi story in Issue 174, titled ‘The Tragic Destiny of Life on Earth’ dealt with imagined scientific and technological advances as you gradually unfold life on Earth from 100 million years in the future to just over 600 million years. It reminds me of Einstein’s quote: “Imagination is more powerful than knowledge.” That is, imagination is the key to good literature, clearly; but it is also the key to good science. As the physicist Paul Davies says, “scientific research is an activity that blends logic and rigorous reasoning with a free-flowing creativity.” Just so, science fiction can generate a habit of reading: an addiction, compulsion, affliction and a necessity for sci fi!

Dr Kanan Purkayastha FRSA, Kent

Listening To The Enemy

Dear Editor: Tony Shenton’s article ‘Great Minds, Flawed Lives’ in Issue 174 has given me excellent material to frame replies to questions I get from students in my philosophy courses when they ask, “Why should I listen to someone who had so many moral flaws?” These students, forgetting about the log in their own eye, state this as though it puts them in some sort of morally superior position while they disregard philosophical thoughts and don’t engage with arguments. This applies to almost all subjects when people attack the player and not the ball. What is it in us that thinks that by making others small we’ll feel tall? A large part of how I became a philosopher was by listening to what others say. But I’m constantly amazed how often I find two people talking about another person, and usually not in a good way. Why are we so quick to blame and ridicule others? Shenton’s words should be taught in all schools.

Rob Ken, Canberra

Dear Editor: Tony Shenton (PN 174) asks: does the thing created become compromised by the life of its creator? A moral dilemma perhaps – particularly in the case of notables such as Dylan Thomas, Francis Bacon, Caravaggio et al, whose ‘imperfect’ behaviour arguably enhanced their creative output.

Kevin M. Hickson, Exeter

Will to Power Over The Will to Power

Dear Editor: I feel compelled to respond to a letter in Issue 174, from Patrick West, who writes to disagree with the (I had thought) established opinion of scholars that Nietzsche’s posthumous book The Will To Power is a gross distortion of his ideas. It is! To me it’s rubbish!

West writes correctly that The Will To Power was “brought together in book form by his sister Elisabeth”. But his sister held beliefs Friedrich found repugnant. Her antisemitic views both embarrassed and disgusted him, and of all his writings, this is this work that’s most easily appropriated by the Nazis. The Will To Power is also dogmatic to a degree never found with Nietzsche elsewhere, because it’s been distorted out of whack by his sister. Assuming West has read the works Nietzsche did choose to publish, he ought to know there is flexibility in abundance with the man: he tries ‘this idea’ and ‘that one’. He experiments, and does not come across as dogmatic, as The Will To Power does . Most in the know realize the book is a farce.

David Wright, Sacramento, CA

Islamic Issues

Dear Editor: I am writing to share my feedback regarding Issue 173, dedicated to Islamic philosophy, and edited by AmirAli Maleki. While the initiative is highly appreciated, I believe the articles presented a rather narrow picture of the subject that would have left unfamiliar readers with a misleading impression. The formative period and golden age of Islamic philosophy were marked above all by strong rationalist, even materialist, trends. This is evident in early movements such as the Mu’tazilah and the Ikhwan al-Safa, and in the works of its first philosophers, such as Al-Farabi and Ibn Sina, as well as its later representatives such as Ibn Rushd. Their engagement with Greek philosophy, particularly Aristotle, who was called ‘the first teacher’, reflected the intellectual openness and confidence that characterised this period. This contrasts sharply with later developments, in which theological and mystical approaches became increasingly dominant. So in my opinion, while figures such as Al-Ghazali and the great Sufi thinkers made important contributions to Islamic thought, they did represent the beginning of the decline of Islamic philosophy, opening up the road to centuries of stagnation and obstructionist thinking. For this reason, I believe that a discussion of Islamic philosophy should give greater attention to its rationalist and critical heritage, a revisiting of which is an urgent need for Islamic thought today.

Kamil Shami

Dear Editor: I read with interest Adnan Abbasi’s article ‘The Prayer the Machine Cannot Pray’ in PN 173, on an ancient Islamic take on consciousness. Some time ago I read a very different take on consciousness from Dr Eben Alexander, a consultant neurologist, and wondered if your readers might be interested in that?

Dr Alexander got a serious brain infection and was taken in as a patient to his own neurology department. There his brain scan flat-lined and his staff advised turning off life support, but his family refused. Some days later he suddenly sat up and spoke lucidly, then after a bit of gobbledegook, while his brain came online, he became lucid again and made some almighty claims about the afterlife, including his very novel take on consciousness. My interest was piqued here.

Previously, Dr Alexander had thought consciousness was somehow generated by the brain, and had given no thought at all to near-death experiences, except assuming it was the dying brain firing. Yet he says his brain could not generate experiences if it was flat-lining at the time. He goes on to claim that as your consciousness leaves your body at death, you experience the super intelligence of your soul, as it no longer has to operate through the limits of your brain. For example, as a scientist, he was interested in quantum theory, dark matter etc. As he thought about these theories while his brain was flat-lining, landscapes of knowledge came before him and he understood how the universe works! But back in his body he had no words in English to describe what he had learned, and as time passed he began to struggle to remember all this knowledge.

This certainly is not the materialist view of consciousness Dr Alexander had before his strange experience. Of course we only have his word for it. But his view is that consciousness is generated by the soul, and that’s why we cannot figure out how it comes about by looking at the brain, as the soul works through the brain.

Kristine Kerr, Renfrewshire

Critical Habermas

Dear Editor: While saddened by the passing of Jürgen Habermas (News, Issue 173), it was pleasing to reflect on his many contributions to public thought. Habermas was one of those theorists whose work was about sense-making in real life. For instance, his theorising on the ‘colonisation of the lifeworld’ made sense of the affluent world’s constant demand that everything be commodified, and insistence that worthy effort is that expended in pursuit of profit, efficiency, productivity, or some other economic measure. The pernicious infiltration of such ideas into all that was once private and social has got to the point now where three year olds don’t simply play, they’re ‘engaged in play-based learning’ as the beginning of their training to become economic actors!

When all of life becomes consumed with a preoccupation with matters of economy, it seems the process of colonisation of the lifeworld is complete; but perhaps not. Also in Issue 173, Wendell O’Brien gives us a robust defence of idleness, where idleness is not doing nothing – that’s not possible – but rather a focus on doing things that are simply pleasurable rather than productive. The simple pleasure of spending a day across which nothing memorable is accomplished; a day of reading or contemplation, of wandering and noticing surroundings at the level of bees, ants and lizards.

I am fortunate to be of an age and circumstances where I can engage randomly in idleness. If you are patient and take the time, watching bees in the garden can absorb hours saturated in quiet pleasure. And when doing this, if I think of Habermas – which I do – I know a part of that pleasure comes from realising the colonisation of my lifeworld is not complete.

Peter Pearce, Brisbane

Sincere Hypocrisy

Dear Editor: In ‘Why Do People Hate Hypocrisy?’, Issue 173, Professor Emrys Westacott distinguishes three basic kinds of hypocrisy, with the major culprit being behavioral hypocrisy – doing something that contradicts one’s professed beliefs. This is usually the one most folks condemn when there’s a hypocrisy accusation involving morally significant failures. The other two kinds – affective, claiming feelings you don’t have, and cognitive, claiming beliefs you don’t hold – are excusable or justifiable because of good ends or approvable behavior, Westacott argues. He only acknowledges rather dismissively that affective and cognitive hypocrisy are more commonly classified as ‘insincerity’ and ‘lying’ (we’ll presume white lies). Yet white lies still can have detrimental effects. In A Philosophy of Lying, Lars Svendsen argues that a white lie can be harmless, insignificant, charitable or acceptable, but some white lies have negative consequences. One determining factor is not a consideration of someone else’s feelings, but a need to spare oneself the discomfort of telling the truth. Lying for compassionate reasons, Svendson argues, is to appoint oneself the judge of what the other person can or cannot handle knowing. The white liar, Svendson continues, overlooks the corrupting effect lying has on their own moral character, in that it makes it easier to tell the next white lie, progressing to grey and black lies.

A “soft-hearted hypocrite is still preferable to a sincere hard-hearted brute” concludes Westacott, clinching his consequentialist analysis. But for Immanuel Kant, the underlying lie is a lie and could not be dismissed just because it’s white.

Michael Manoussos, Queens, NYC

Dear Editor: I enjoyed reading Westacott’s article on ‘Hypocrisy’ (PN 173), and could not help drawing a parallel with the concept of ‘bullshit’, defined by Harry Frankfurt as “being unconcerned with truth.” Both hypocrisy and bullshit involve some form of misrepresentation that causes a feeling of breach of trust. I’d suggest that the minimum requirements for social harmony are as follows:

a) Each person is expected to accept and respect the truth, given clear evidence and facts obtained through generally acceptable means; and

b) Each person is expected to behave and act consistently with her stated beliefs/values (assuming that these are within the accepted boundaries of society).

Violations at an individual level are mostly just annoying for the rest of us; but if we apply the same ideas to relationships between nations, even a minor violation could have catastrophic consequences for everybody. Sadly, this is precisely what is happening in the world today.

Quang Duong

Tallis’s Ghost Stories

Dear Editor: May I respond to Tallis’s essay on Heidegger in Issue 173? It is a mistake to think of Dasein as a ghost. Tallis criticises Heidegger for not starting with the body; but Heidegger’s project actually questions whether that is the right place to begin. If you start with the body, you’re already heading into the metaphysical weeds. Much of twentieth-century phenomenology tried to finish what Heidegger started. Dreyfus for instance turns to Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenology to address this gap.

Translating Heidegger’s work into English remains difficult, mainly because translators often try to make it fit Cartesian ideas. Dreyfus said that Sartre, as a French Cartesian, created a brilliant misunderstanding of Being and Time in Being and Nothingness! Instead, to really understand Being and Time, one must let go of Cartesian mind-body dualism. This is challenging, but there is no other way.

John McNam